Last night, I got a very disturbing phone call. I know when I look at my phone and it says, "Mama's Cell", I better answer (my parents are of the generation that cell phones are only for 'mergencees). My Dad is in the hospital with chest pains. Now, normally, it wouldn't be a big deal, but this summer marks the 10-year anniversary of his first heart attack.
As little girls, we think our Daddies can do anything. They are the strongest, smartest, and most idyllic figures in our little pink fluffy worlds. So, when you see your Daddy lying on a hospital bed connected to wires and monitors, there tends to be a paradigm shift in your mind. Big Time.
The years have gone by and he, for a long time, watched what he ate and paid more attention to exercise. Big Wayne retired, moved to a river, and bought a bigger boat. Now, here we are again, without stress to blame. In a few words, he let himself go. And my heart is broken.
What does this have to do with the Woodstock reference??? Well, I recently returned from a week long stay with one of my best, dearest friends in San Francisco. I fell in love with the city. I had visited years ago, but had only done the tourist things. I hadn't really seen the city. Everywhere we went, the food tasted better, the air was crisp and clean, and you actually wanted to walk everywhere. You were cheating Mother Nature somehow if you were in a car or sitting on a couch re watching the latest episode of Charm School.
I came home and told my lovely husband that we were going green. No more processed foods (his favorite, yech). We were going organic, a decision I had been mulling over for a few months anyway. I had officially drank the California granola-flavored Kool-Aid. Thank you, Dr. Leary. I want to leave the world a better place for Rylee and our future children and I don't ever want them to see me in a hospital bed before my time.
Which brings me back to Big Wayne. Had he heeded the advice of my mom and his doctors, he would still be on his John Deere, making sure each blade of emerald green grass is totally even. However, his Southern Pride gets in the way and he always has to have the "Pork Plate with a Jumbo Sweet Tea" or douse everything in gravy and ketchup (sometimes at the same time). He knows it's bad for him, but as a society, we tend to think if it's healthy, it's weird, strange, new-fangled or not right.
Why do we, as a collective American culture, tend to laugh at people who "Go Green"? Aren't we saving ourselves from ending up gone to soon? I want to know my children as adults, their children and their children's children. I want to make sure everything is a little bit better for them than it was for me. I want to live a long life with my husband.
So, if that makes me a nerd, a dork, whatever. I will lift a great big glass of organic Chardonnay (from Sonoma, of course) and toast your Budweiser. At least when I'm 65, I'll only look 50.
P.S.-Please pray for Big Wayne.
