Archive for category Introspection

I am (still) a vegetarian.

Posted by Katy in Introspection on April 4th, 2009

Some people ask, as if they expect me to change. I suppose they might expect that considering I married a meat eater.

Three months or so ago I was quite scandalized when I was chowing down on my Thai sweet and sour tofu and realized it was chicken. I lost my appetite after that and felt a bit of revulsion. Whether the revulsion was toward the chicken or myself for having eaten it is still to be determined.

I kept quiet about it to my friends, because the embarrassment would have mortified me. I did tell my husband though, who was quick to tease me. He mentioned it to his family while we ate lunch together. His parents eat meat, his younger brother, Tim, does not. Tim looked at me with astonishment. "you did what?" Tim said. "As soon as I realized--I didn't eat anymore" I said placating him. "I felt sick to my stomach." After that, I think Nick realized it wasn't something I wanted to be teased about, and he didn't mention it again.

There is an inconvenience factor to being a vegetarian. I hate being an inconvenience to people. Folks not accustomed to people who don't eat meat, feel like they have to make special accommodations. Aunts and uncles make special visits to the grocery store when we visit. In China, our host for a special dinner, felt she was not giving us the type of meal she really wanted, because "cooking vegetables was so easy, so simple." Going to restaurants with friends revolves around "Did you see anything on the menu you can eat?"

Nick likes to tease me that I am a very picky eater. This is in spite of the fact that I eat avocado, and he does not. (They have the wrong texture.) I eat squash, and he does not. (The texture again.) I eat eggplant, and he does not. (Too slimy he says.) I eat beets and he does not. (Just plain bad.) I eat artichoke and he does not. (How can you eat something with the word "choke" in its name?) Then he pulls out his trump card, "You don't eat a whole food group. You don't eat meat. You are way more of a picky eater than I am."

I watch, fascinated by the cooks on television as they prepare their meals. Open eyed wonder at the intricacies in preparing meat. Intrigued by the taboos about what can and can't be eaten. Eating and preparing meat is another culture I don't quite understand. I wondered once to Nick what was the attraction in a disposable cutting board. He replied, "You are such a vegetarian."

I am not out to convince anyone else to be a vegetarian. I am not about to quote a list of vegetarian celebrities. (That methodology goes south when you realize that some believe Hitler was a vegetarian.) I don't pass judgment on you because you are or are not a carnivore.

I just don't eat meat. I'm not planning on changing.

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Moments of Fear

Posted by Katy in Introspection on March 28th, 2009

I got out of the plane to check the fuel in the tanks. I had just finished my solo short cross-country. I hopped up to the wing, opened up the gas cap, and stuck my measuring stick in the tank holding a finger over the top. I heard a metallic clang. I pulled it out. Nothing. Then panic hit me. I tried the other tank. Same result. How low on my fuel reserves had I gone?

Earlier in the day I had started out on that flight. I had filed my flight plan and talked to the South Bend tower and triangulated my position. Then the tower called me up and told me I was getting very close to air space designated for model rocketry. I corrected my flight path. Then the tower contacted me again. This time sounding snippy and aggravated with me. I hadn't corrected enough. They gave me a vector to follow. I looked at my sectional. How would I ever get to Rensselaer if I didn't know where I was? It was somewhat with awe that I looked down and saw the stone quarry that was one of my visual way points. I landed in at my first stop and looked over and saw that the wind sock was pointing in the wrong direction for what I had landed. I was scared. I had to fly the plane back, but was I capable of doing it safely? And now, here I was holding an empty fuel measuring device, suddenly deeply afraid at what I had put myself through.

When I took SCUBA class there was one important task that needed to be completed in order to get certified. I had to go down, carrying my gear, to the bottom of the deep end of the pool. The instructor gave instructions of what I was to do, "find your regulator, put on your mask, clear it, put on your tanks and Buoyancy compensator." I went down with him, and tried. I couldn't clear my mask, I couldn't breathe. My chest tightened. I reached for his secondary regulator. We came back to the surface. "I panicked" I said. "I was starting to hyperventilate." "I know" he said. "Do you want to try it again?" Yes, I did. They had told us that if we didn't pass this task tonight we would fail the class. We would not get another chance. This time I went down and did the whole thing with my eyes closed. I did it perfectly, without panic.

It was an unusually warm March day. The sky was clear and the sky so very blue. It was a windy day and I was leaning my motorcycle into it. A gust of wind throttling over the open stubbled corn field pushed me into the oncoming traffic lane. Ahead the road dropped down a hill.

In front of me Nick waved his hand emphatically for me to get back to our lane. I saw the oncoming black pickup truck come up over the rise. I leaned on my right hand and willed the motorcycle to move back into the proper lane. I decided right then and there to return home. I continued to crab into the wind until we stopped at an intersection. I honked my horn to get Nick's attention. I thumped my chest and then pointed down the road the way we'd come.

It was too windy for me to handle my motorcycle that day. 'Why was I riding on a day like today?' I thought. I enjoyed warm, sunny, balmy weather rides--especially with the smell of grapes ready for harvest. That was the magic of riding. I rode scared all the way back home. Thankful, I set the kick-stand down in the garage.

A healthy dose of fear keeps you safe.

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Is Your Mirror Mute or Mouthy?

Posted by Katy in Introspection on March 20th, 2009

Headshot of Katy looking into the distance, with a soft window light on her face.
I look in the mirror and see how young I look. The freckles, the pimples, the dimples all seem to say "she's not old enough to vote, to drive, to answer any difficult questions".

I see the spot where I shaved off part of my eyebrow. I was in the habit of watching my dad and older brothers shaving. One day, alone in the bathroom, I couldn't resist picking up one of the razors and trying it. The hair has grown back funny in that part of my eyebrow. It is longer than the rest and points in odd directions. I looked at myself in the mirror that day with horror. I couldn't undo what I just did. Why did I do it in the first place? That eyebrow is an example of my lack of thinking things through before I do them.

I look in the mirror and I am drawn to my eyes. They are an aspect of myself I truly find aesthetically pleasing. I love their quirky nature of appearing to change shades. Perhaps a grayish-blue one day and a brilliant blue the next.

If I look in the mirror long enough I start to feel disappointed in my crooked teeth. I feel my lower front teeth with my tongue and frown. My brow furrows as I remember the three years I spent wearing orthodontics. They were perfect once. Having had known the pleasure of perfectly straight teeth I want it back.

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

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