Frostie the Snow Goat

I have been thinking a lot about why giving up meat seems like the right thing to do.  When someone asks me why I am going veg, I say, "I am just more comfortable with it."  I have not been able to articulate my thoughts much better than that.  I am no zealot and I will never be comfortable going out and beating the drum for a cause.

I came across this video of Frostie the Snow Goat from Edgar's Mission.  Am I imposing human emotions on a baby goat?  Probably.  But it is still the most joyful things I have seen in a long time.

There is a wonderful quote on the website, "If we could live happy and healthy lives without harming others, why wouldn't we?"  I think I like that answer better than anything else I've heard.

And seriously, Frostie the Snow Goat, with wheels.

Pigs Are Cute

Recently, my 10-year-old niece announced that she will not longer eat pork or ham because pigs are cute.  My sister (her mother) shared this on Facebook.  Most comments could be categorized as either "oh how cute" or "yum bacon."  There were a few comments, however, that I would put in a third category - it is just a phase, don't let her get away with it.  In other words, not eating pork is really a power play on the child's part and you as a parent must discipline the child when it comes to food.

I am not about to start another round of the mommy wars.  I have no interest in battling it out with other parents about how they choose to raise their children, or trying to get validation for the choices I make raising my daughter.  I just find it interesting that no one, including me, saw my niece's decision as a legitimate or reasonable choice.  I am not sure if it was because of her age or her personality or how my sister had presented the situation.  No one took it seriously.

I remember a night when I was very little, and I was trying to understand where the food on our dinner table came from.  With some help from my older sisters, I made the connection between the chicken in the oven and the chickens I had seen when visiting a farm.  I was crushed.  I cried and cried.   I don't remember why it bothered me so much or what my mother did about it.  I must have stopped crying and my mother continued to feed me chicken, and I continued to eat it.

I guess a part of me is still that little kid crying about the chicken and wondering what is so bad about not eating pigs because they are cute.

Have Grill, Can't Cook

We are finally seeing what could be described as nice weather here in New England so on Saturday, Matt decided to get the grill ready for the season.  He had new cleaner, special brushes, and an entire roll of heavy-duty paper towels ready for action.  He scrubbed, he hosed, he brushed.  He was out there for hours but when he was finished, the grill looked great.  All shiny and clean and ready for all my grilling experiments.

At least we thought so.

This a gas grill.  After he put everything back together, he tried to light it.  Nothing.  He waited until everything was dried out - still nothing.  He tried it the next day, and got worse than nothing.  He smelled gas leaking.

We have a beautiful, clean grill and nothing to do with it.  At least I won't be embarrassed in front of the repairman.

The Story of An Egg and A Potato

This past weekend, we attended my niece's First Communion.  Everything went well - the weather was beautiful, the kids all looked adorable and the food at the party was great.  Vegetarian choices for every course and since the food was served family-style, no one noticed or commented on what I was or was not eating.  I did not have to ask for anything special and could just pass the platters along.  Best of all, lots of homemade cookies.  I love cookies.

The actual First Communion mass left something to be desired.  Now I have heard a lot of bad sermons, but this one was in a category by itself.  First, the priest started with a story about 1500 sheep going over a cliff.  I think it had something to do with Jesus being the good shepherd, but that was never made clear.  The priest really focused on the dead sheep for a long time.  Then he moved on to a story about a couple whose child had died (great topic for First Communion mass!) and how he had counseled them through their grief.  It was all about an egg and a potato.

You see, an egg starts out fragile and delicate.  When faced with boiling water, it gets hard and cracks under the heat.  It eventually becomes grey and flavorless.  A potato, on the other hand, starts out hard as a rock, but when thrown into the fire it gets soft and pliable and delicious.  We are suppose to be potatoes, not eggs.

He went on like this forever, and even circled back to this clever metaphor at the close of mass.  Did the kids understand it?  Of course not!  The metaphor falls apart when you really look at it.  So are we suppose to be hard all our lives?  Is there something wrong with being more sensitive?  Potatoes eventually fall apart if you heat them enough - are we suppose to be mashed potatoes?  And hey, I happen to like hard boiled eggs.  Food metaphor fail.

When the priest finished, I leaned over to Matt and said, "All I got from that was hungry."  Matt nodded and answered, "I hope they aren't serving eggs or potatoes at lunch."

Veg on Vacation

Colonial cheesecake?  Yes, please!

For spring break, the family took a trip to Williamsburg, VA - along with half the population of the eastern seaboard.  Everything was crowded!  I thought finding vegetarian food would be the challenge on this trip; just finding a place to eat was the challenge.  Every place we went there were lines and crowds and wait times measured in hours.  Once we found a restaurant, I managed to find good, meatless food but boy did I have to wait for it.

All except one meal.  We spent a day at Busch Gardens.  The amusement park is divided into themed sections based on different countries - Germany, Italy, France, Britain, Ireland.  These themes extend to the food.  You would think that this would allow a good amount variety in the restaurants and it does, but not when it comes to vegetarian options.  The restaurants were crowded, loud, chaotic and thoroughly unappetizing.  We were miserable.  We finally found a stand with a few quiet tables open and a short line.  I did not care what food they served, as long as I could sit and eat something without someone screaming in my ear.  What did they serve?  Hot dogs in pretzel rolls.  Hot dogs?  In pretzel rolls?  Oh, and there is spicy mustard for dipping?  Sure I can blame the heat, or the crowds, or anything else I want to blame.  Those hot dogs in pretzel rolls were so good.

Even with that small, delicious failure, I am pretty happy about my first (almost) vegetarian vacation.  Now, if I could just stay away from hot dogs.