A Flour/Sugar Funeral

Dear Flour/Sugar,

I have to say goodbye to you. One of my student's says, "If its fun, it can't be unhealthy." Cheryl Crow said that too, but I know its not true. You have been comfort and happiness. But not joy and contentment--not peace. For more than 10 years you have been my best lover. Above my ambitions to lose weight, become a famous writer, look fabulous, find romance--I have wanted you.

You have been my favorite gift. Dad used to come home every day and we would share some facet of you. When I think of a party I think of your unlimited delicious presence--the company, location, festivities are merely details compared to you. That doesn't mean I am undiscriminiating--I will not eat Russel Stover, or store bought bakery products, most cakes, stale anything, and corn syrup products. I will accept no imitations of you.

At a very early age I have been envious of your other lovers. I want you all to myself. I don't mind enjoying you with others, as long as I get the most--and the last taste of you.

In the summers I frequently visited Grandma. Her neighbors once invited me over for fudgesicles. The two neighborhood girls prized themselves in savoring the gooey deliciousness. They waited until the sun had melted the frosty outside, and the stick fell through the mushy chocolate. They held the chocolate slush with the plastic wrapper, and slowly, rapturously slurped up the fudgesicle with their popsicle stick. I gobbled mine up in the first five minutes. Rage built up inside me as the girls talked and laughed about their delicious chocolate lumps. I was entitled to some! Why weren't they sharing? Sure I had already eaten mine, but didn't they know it was impolite to eat in fron of me!! It didn't matter that we started off with the same amount. I deserved more! I needed more!

My happy childhood memories center around you. Haloween binges (we could eat as much candy as we wanted on Haloween....10 lb bags were gone in a couple of days.) I earned my way to campfire camp by selling mints, almond roca and turtles. ("How many would you like to buy? They will be 4 for 10 dollars or 2 for five dollars." I was very charming :) ) We bought four at a time, and gobbled them up. I was proud to be a campfire girl instead of girl scouts. Compared to mint patties and almond roca, Girl Scout cookies suck.

At my first childhood home we had a neighborhood parade. One year I dressed as an indian and rode my horse. I was envious of the kids that rode in the bull dozer--they got more of you because the big dozer scoop caught all the candy that they didn't catch.

Vacations centered around you. For camping trips we had endless smores. We stopped off for our favorite pieces of you before we went to the dump at this place we called the "Country Store." My first bike rides were to 7-11. Even my dog Lucy was a chocohalic.

When I broke my arm in third grade, I was rushed to the family practitioner, who told me he couldn't fix it. There was too much growth plate damage--my arm might not grow. I was forced to sit in agony on the couch while we waited to fit into emergency surgery at a downtown hospital. My placebo was 7-Up and ice cream. Mom said it would help. I think it did!

Bonding with the women in my family took the form of baking. Mom made me a homemade cake from scratch every birthday. She decorated them with whatever I wanted--"Strawberry Shortcake," "My Pretty Pony." Weekend cookie batches, several dozens of sugar cookies decorated with butter creme frosting on Christmas and Valentine's Day, Peanut brittle, almond roca, fudge, home-made rolls on Christmas.

Every Easter we celebrated Jesus with a gigantic easter basket of you with pounds of candy. It was hidden in the house and the Easter Bunny always made it tricky. Santa filled our stockings to the brim. We kids could get into our stockings without waiting for the adults. So we would wake up at 4 am and bask in you until every one woke up.

When I was little, my crimes were all crimes of passion. At age 4 I blamed my imaginary friend Woogler if cookies were missing. I stole candy from my sister-- worse. One month I convinced her to stockpile all of our candy with me in a cubby in my closet. when a friend came over, my friend and I gobbled up all the loot.

I recieved a message early on that you are a healer. When I was depressed, I ate chocolate. If I need energy, I could drink soda. If I needed comfort, I should eat some baked goods. If I felt overheated, I could eat some ice cream. If I am cold, I can have some hot chocolate. If I want to show loves for others--to tell them, "Thanks", "Get well soon", "I am sorry", "You are special", "I am thinking of you"--I should send the message with some delicious versions of you.

I have always had a pot belly. When I was little my relatives said, "She is allergic to milk." As I got older, people would say, "She would be so cute if she lost a few pounds." One moment of self-awareness was my senior pictures. I was so frumpy!

When I first got to the Naval Academy, I lost some weight. I wasn't trying--we were up at five for a formation run to a training session with more push-ups and sit-ups than a a person could do. Then we ran back to the dorms where we ate breakfast under extreme duress. We were marched to classes for hours and ate lunch in 15 minutes in a giant hall full of screaming upperclass who berated us. They withheld food from the unstudied and forced the greedy to eat large quantities of condiment coctails. The afternoons were spent learning military skills and testing physical prowess, while dinner was the same agony as lunch.

Nevertheless, we clung to you like a life preserver. In our daily minutes of personal time, care packages were our only solice. When mine was gone, I would help my friends with theirs. Helping became stealing. Vicky began to lock up her dad's chocolate chip cookies (which, to my horror, she ate so slowly that they went stale!) Meg counted her Godiva Chocolates. My friends loved me despite my greed for you, but you have always threatened my friendships. Once Plebe Summer was over, on the rare occasions when I had liberty, my friends and I walked to "Ben and Jerry's" or the Italian Gellato Shop--you were Freedom!

I went to Officer's Christian Fellowship and Fellowship of Christian Atheletes to worship you. You were always present there. Sometimes I worshiped God and Jesus there too.

I picked cycling as my sport. I was good immediately. I could push through the pain. I was faster than all of the first year men. I ate like them too! The cycling room became my clubhouse--a hide out. I wouldn't get yelled at by upper class or forced to do special favors. Also there were unlimited granola bars and Raisonettes. I could never get enough of you. I was never satisfied. I gained 25 lbs in college. It was clear that my success as a cyclist was sabotaged by my wieght. I won conferences and was 12th in the nation, but I was the heavest racer there.

You got me through the misery of Yard Patrols. Yard Patrols are these fake war ships we were trapped on for three weeks. Between canned and frozen food, you were all I could stomach. Then, my first blemish on my reputation--I made up with a fast-talking football player. I am not "that kind of girl!" You comforted me in my shame and loneliness.

In college I tried to quit you! The Weigh Down Workshop, various rules and forbidden foods. Most of the girls at the academy had eating issues. The diet at the mandatory meals was high in fat and served family-style. If a girl wasn't careful, she would start ballooning. If we were desperate, we could get a "chit" from the nutritionist for hard-boiled eggs, tuna fish, and cottage cheese. Many girls lived on that. There were anorexics, bulemics, exercise-aholics, food addicts--most girls I knew had some issue.

One interesting phenomenon occured with religious girls. Mix a type-A personality, hero-child mentality, fundamentalist Christianity, and a hyper awareness of body image and femininity, then add an environment where women were not wanted, had to wear unattractive uniforms (hair pulled back or boy-cut), while the system demanded they perform better than men and you have a coctail of crazy. I knew two friends who who went on 40 day fasts. Nothing but water and occasional juice for 40 days in the midst of a very demanding, physical schedule!

I too fasted. For approval from God, weightloss, cleansing, penance. Its hard to be real excited about a God who doesn't want you to eat, so I resented the God I thought wanted me to fast.

Special occasions at the Naval Academy were marked with candy. Rules were let up during the annual crab fest, where the menu was crabs, snickers and Jolt. We were rewarded with pizza parties and ice cream socials.

I was friends with a baker named Clyde th Black Hercules. One night, after everyone was asleep, Clyde let my two friends and I make 50 dozen cookies for all of our friends in the 4 food high mixer! We each showed at least 60 people how much we cared.

I chose to enter the USMC after graduation, because the USMC is on land most of the time and there is better food! In the field, I refused to eat anything but the candy out of MREs. I brought my own jerky, cereal, granola bars and candy to take the place fo the Chicken Tetrazini that is supposed to last 10 years without deteriorating. I drank some in the USMC--I even began to appreciate certain beers and wines. But I would always rather have dessert.

Then I went to war. It was stresseful, and I was completely isolated. I was sent on an independent assignemnt with my 40 Marines to Aschuaba Port, Kuwait, where I unloaded Maritime Prepositioning Force (MPF) ships. I was to work with my platoon sergeant, who was the man right under me. He was this 20 year Marine who hated me! I was stressed! My only comfort was in care packages from home. They say when you are about to eat remember H.A.L.T. (don't eat when you are hungry, angry, lonely or tired.). I spent eight months there!! There was no comfort except in food and occasional companionship. I made friends with a couple of men (There were only two girls there; one was an enlisted girl who worked for me, and the other was a peer who was openly antagonistic) These two men both wanted romance, although I didn't see that at the time. Well, I guess with one I did. I kissed that one, and the other one kissed me (I didn't see that one coming!). I was so freeked out! Its a big deal in the Marine Corps to fraterinize--have unprofessional relationships with enlisted people. I wrote my best friend about the whole ordeal on a govenment computer. The platoon sergeant who worked under me (and hated every second of doing anything I told him) found the email, and turned it in to my boss. I was in big trouble, since the two guys were enlisted. I got sent away from my platoon in shame and ignonomy. I was sent to the middle of the desrt, where my job was clearning port-o-pottys and building gazebos for smokers to smoke in the shade.

There were unlimited dove bars in the desert. It was 120 degress out and nothing was cold--except for the ice cream. I started off at 1 dove bar per fday. Then, I went to 2. Then--it seemed reasonable--to at least be able to eat the chocolate off another one but not eat the ice cream. Then--I though about it--why put milk in my coffee and waste that extra ice cream from the third chocolate bar? I would just put the ice cream in the coffee!

My best friend from High School, Heather, sent me a care package full of candy while I was at war. She drew me a comic with the following caption, "Jaimie's typical day at war:

0800--PT the troops
0900--Eat Candy
1000--Practice shooting
1100--Eat Candy
1200--Shoot bad guys
1300--Eat Candy
1400--Make Bombs
1500--Eat Candy

Etc...

It hit me that ironically the comic was true.

I gained 15 lbs at war. It didnt really show, seeing as how I was draped in cammoflauge. I had a friend who was really petite and she gained about 30 lbs. She looked like a little chipmonk. Eight girl officers shared a tent. Its odd how girls can be... If someone ate no junk food then girls judged her--she was too wierd. But the girl who gained 30 lbs was shamed. She would get up in the middle of the night, sleep walk over to her care packages, and scarf down marshmellow treats and chocolate bars.

I have always been able to believe that the next phase promised relief of my addiction of you. Going to the Naval Academy, the USMC, riding my bike across country, moving to Denver, staying busy, clearing my schedule, riding my bike across Mexico, traveling to other countries (which of course in my imagination don't even eat dessert :) ).

The bike messenger plan was the the worst idea yet. Over thirty offices a day worth of office candy, cheep fast lunches, then beer, fries, and burritos for dinner. I went to a Monastery for two months to fast on bread and water. It turns out even monks find comfort in food. On Sundays at the monastery, unlimited beer, wine, chocolate, and baked goods! Woohoo!

I then became a teacher. It has been the most stressful thing I have done. When I first started, weight flew off, because I was so busy all the time. It felt good to lose weight. I looked good. But I soon realized that you are the most effective short term motivator for students. I simply didn't have the knowledge, energy, skill to instill long term motivation on a large scale. I relied a lot on you. The problem is, to cope with the stress, I started to lean on you. It didn't matter what it was--I scarfed down Nerds Ropes! The faculty room was also a harbinger of you...its been a never ending battle. I havent been able to stay away.

I have finally just decided that I am done. You aren't a very good lover. I feel great with you for a while. But you leave me guilt-ridden, torn-up, catatonic, overweight, depressed, addicted. I don't like the low that comes after your high. I am compulsive, I steal, I am obsessed when I am around you. I am missing out on romantic love with a human, genuine connections with others, a feeling of control, a body that is well nourished. I am missing out on life! I need to say goodbye to you.

I guess I don't have anything more to say. I will miss you sometimes, but I know if I let go, I can find better lovers than you.

Jaimie

Jaimie