Comfort Zone

The plain Hershey chocolate bar is broken down into its four rows, alternating with two rectangles together and one lone rectangle.  The rows are then broken down in an alternating fashion of one piece, two pieces.  The bar is then partially unwrapped, and two single pieces retrieved for consumption.  Each singular piece is placed under the tongue, in order to melt and provide the best possible user enjoyment.  Only after all the single rectangles have been consumed can the "double" pieces be broken down and eaten in similar fashion.

I know this is the proper way to eat a Hershey bar because I have eaten a lot of them.  A lot. I was under the guise that along with pizza and a few others, the consumption of the plain old Hershey bar was the mental equivalent to "drawing the blinds" on the pain I have in my life.  This false comfort, and it is false, is just treating the symptom not the disease.  

So many times we look to food and our relationship with it as a source of comfort.  But ultimately what ends up being perpetuated is a mechanism for reinforcing shame, and negative feelings towards eating outside ones system of values. 

I used to think that the answers to all my questions and/or the only proper way to distract myself from the irritant of the day was in the inside of a pizza box or the Hershey bar wrapper.  

Sweets are the last hold out for me.  I have broken my relationship with pizza and pop.  I still enjoy them both, but on a level that in no way resembles the bingeing and mass consumption days of yore.  

It is a funny thing the relationships we form with food.  Much has been written about the proper way to eat an Oreo and how to eat a Reece's Peanut Butter Cup.

Are there comfort foods that you have to eat a certain way?  Leave a comment. Maybe you are the person that eats pizza crust first. 

Miked, MMFIC

License to Ill

 This October will mark eight years since the passing of my father. For those that knew him, he was the life of the party and one of those personalities for which the rules just did not apply. If you ever had the pleasure of an unofficial garage session (which just by being unofficial made it, well, official) then you probably have a story or two to tell. 

My father had many awesome traits, loyal, generous, patience of a saint, just to name a few.  Always willing to take time out of his day to help someone out or show someone how to fix something.  The only payment would be time spent and a bump of Kesslers and a beer.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that I lost something else besides my father and best friend when he passed away. I lost my ability to charmingly pee wherever and whenever I wanted.  

If you must know, one of my father's most endearing qualities was to make urinating anywhere anytime seem normal and completely not out of the ordinary.  Truly a man with the "act like you are supposed to be here and no one will notice" ethos, my father was nothing less than a serial urinator.

I don't want you to think this was spurred on as some sort of creepy behavior.  This was  a skill that was cultivated out of a time where there were many shared beverages combined with an elevated age and most likely a prostate the size of a softball.

Not only did he have the superpower to make it seem normal, he also did it with such a charming nonchalance that also gave everyone else around him artistic license to mark their territory.

I have seen my father piss in parking lots, driveways, along highways, in bushes, between cars, next to porta-shitters, and for the most part I was probably standing next to him.

Even when "caught", he would almost always pull off his hat and with a guilt laden grin "I just had to go!". The judge, jury and executioner almost always turning frown to understanding smile.

Recently I have come to the realization that with the loss of my father and the addition of an amazing and understanding wife that I have let the serial uriniator gene wane just a touch. 

While it is true my knuckles no longer quite reach the ground and I am somehow walking a little more upright I can not help but feel that these are skills that will come back to me as I too reach an age of wisdom and acceptance.