Is God Laughing?

As only a former anorexic can can confide in another, my friend K said the other night, while sampling some of my raw lemon-coconut macaroons, "They're good, but this feels too healthy." In other words, after all those years of carrot sticks and cottage cheese, K still feels like a too-long rendevous with fresh veggies and whole grains kicks her back in time to that 90-pound high-school-cheerleader mentality when carrot sticks and general deprivation was her lot in life. "Whenever that happens, I've gotta eat some junk food." And she does. Recovered long after her recovery was complete, I used to watch with envy and a certain degree of bewilderment as she ate half a bag of barbecue potato chips in one sitting, as she popped pocorn in olive oil for dinner, and when she broke out the Breyers mint-chocolate-chip ice cream afterwards.

In spite of the conclusion I've arrived at that I should do my best to honor this body God gave me, take care of it, feed it healthful things, there was something in her words that stung me, and I remembered how easily, in my carnal quest for peace and control, one obsession of mine can replace another. I'm not anorexic any more, but I've lived in my skin long enough to know I can pick up new rules for eating like I do a new memoir, and discard them just as quickly.

But just the same, after a birthday weekend filled with raspberry chocolate cake and baby shower-treats, I decided I would get back on the raw wagon. I thought about it in extremes: Maybe I would be 100% raw for 5 days (until the next family birthday celebration this comign weekend). Maybe the 100% raw thing could be like a spiritual fast, not something done just because. I could give up pizza for God. I read raw-food testimonials. Someone was cured of cancer through raw food. Someone else lost 100 pounds. A fifty year old "just keeps getting younger," having tapped into the vitality of a pack mule. What would it be like, I wondered, to be 100% raw for 2 years? What sort of energetic bliss could I enter into?

Two days back on my raw food wagon, I swear God played a joke on me and reminded me to stick with my new Rule To Trump All Rules, which is, simply put: No Rules.

There, on my back porch on Tuesday afternoon was a second-day air box, a belated birthday delivery. Its contents: 2 pounds of my favorite chocolate in the whole world. I've found this chocolate only on the west coast, Chicago, and at a little holiday kiosks in malls in other big midwestern cities. In other words, I hardly ever have an opportunity to buy it. When I do, its pricetag limits me. The dear lady who sent it to me ordered all two pounds to be packed in ice and shipped to me, having heard I loved it. I sat staring at the box and the irony of the situation did not escape me. I could not escape TWO POUNDS of chocolate, my favorite chocolate, cooked chocolate, staring me in the face. It was too much to quickly gobble up as a delightful one-time snack. Too much to even let sit on my counter for long, as the buttercream inside would go bad.

Unfortunately, I don't do well with excess. This might be related to the way I used to hoard food in my closet when I was five, thinking there wouldn't be any food for me the next day. Now, when I get a lot of something I love, I immediately fear losing it, and my impulse is to think I have to eat it all at once. I could feel my wheels spinning. What was I going to do with all chocolate? What was my plan for dismembering, piece by piece, the small bunker of cream and sugar and cocoa that trumpeted its presence on my kitchen counter? If I kept it in the house for a long time, I know it would call my name every raw day thereafter. I needed to enjoy it or in other ways get it out of my house.

Well, that was two days ago. I cannot claim I found any sort of zen when it comes to dealing with two pounds of chocolate. It's true my husband felt he had to take a chastising tone when cautioning me against throwing chocolate down the garbage disposal. Appalled, I claimed I would never do that. What I did was give a lot of it away. A huge portion to my mom, who also claims this chocolate as her fave. A couple pieces to a friend. More to my family. And, I ate milk chocolate bordeaux as meals for lunch and dinner, right along side my grapefruit and nori rolls. Do I feel as healthy and physically alert if I'd stuck with raw food? No. Did I keep to my No Rules rule in spite of all my intentions to the contrary? Yes. Is God laughing? Probably.