Rocket Boy and I have had a Netflix movie sitting around for several weeks now, so last night we decided to watch it. We are on the 2 movies a month for $5 plan and I feel as though we ought to watch at least ONE movie a month. So we watched the movie. It was a documentary from a year or two ago called Food, Inc., all about how our food supply has been ruined by Corporate America. I chose it because I thought Rocket Boy would enjoy it.
OH MY GOD.
Now, there's almost nothing in the movie that I hadn't heard about/read about already. I haven't actually read any of the many depressing books out there about what's happened to our food, but I've read reviews of them. I've read reviews of this movie. I've read articles about problems with various bits of this and that part of the food industry. I know all about how you're supposed to eat food grown locally, unprocessed food, food without high fructose corn syrup. I know that all our food is basically just corn, in various disguises. I KNOW ALL THAT!
But it's one thing to know all that, and it's quite another to see the poor chickens with huge inflated breasts, barely able to walk, falling all over each other in their horrible henhouse. I cannot get those chickens' faces out of my mind. They didn't know what was wrong because they'd never known anything different. But they were all miserable and dying.
I started crying toward the end of the movie and cried all through the credits.
Then I went out into the kitchen and looked at some labels. It was worse than I thought. It's not impossible to buy organic, healthy foods in Ridgecrest, but it sure isn't easy -- especially with regard to meat. I do buy eggs produced by free-range chickens. Albertson's used to carry organic chicken but they don't anymore. I suppose I could ask to have it brought back. The movie noted that stores respond to requests from the shopping public.
I concluded that I would have to stop buying all processed foods and cook everything from scratch.
This is not a great thing to conclude at a time when I am hanging on by my fingertips.
So then today I was just a basket case. I went to Weight Watchers (which is no longer my happy place) and people kept talking about fake food. All I could think about was those chickens' faces. I came home, snapped at Rocket Boy, and burst into tears. Later, in the babies' room, I fell apart again. It wasn't just the chickens. I'm overwrought right now. Too much has been going wrong. Plus, I still live in Ridgecrest.
When I feel like this, I remind myself of how things could be worse. The list currently looks like this: (1) could have lost our jobs, had house foreclosed on; (2) could have cancer; (3) could live in Kyrgyzstan.
Oh, except that as my sister reminded me, if we lived in Kyrgyzstan, we would be surrounded by relatives, who would help take care of the twins. And, it occurs to me, if I had cancer, I would get to go to the doctor and they would take care of me. Even if I died, at least someone would take care of me first, instead of me having to always be the one to change the diapers. And, now, make all food from scratch.
So, here is the revised list of things that could be worse than my current situation: (1) lost jobs, house foreclosed on; (2) cancer, but with no health insurance due to lost jobs, so no doctors to take care of me; (3) be FROM Kyrgyzstan, but living in Ridgecrest now, so ALL THE RELATIVES are still in Kyrgyzstan, thus no one here to help change diapers, cook food from scratch, etc.
Despite this revised list, I just couldn't pull myself together today. I wanted so badly to be able to call my mother and tell her about the chickens. She would have understood.
The thing is, if I had called her, I might not even have told her about the chickens. I might just have said a few vague things about what's happened to our food, and she could have told me about what food was like in the 1920s, and then the conversation would have moved on to other things and soon we would have been laughing hysterically.
My mother had a good sense of humor; I have a good sense of humor; but what really made it special for us was that we had almost identical senses of humor. I couldn't talk to her for more than a few minutes without both of us going off into gales of laughter. I miss that so much.
Rocket Boy and the twins and I ended up going to Palmdale this afternoon so that I would stop crying. I cried part of the way there and part of the way back, but it wasn't too bad. We did some shopping (at Target, which I'm supposed to be boycotting, more tears). We went to Trader Joe's and I looked at labels. Before we left to come back here we ate an early dinner at Red Lobster. Both Rocket Boy and I ordered Pacific Snapper, which I THINK is wild caught, not farmed (and fed corn). The babies mostly ate ketchup, which is undoubtedly made with corn, but at least (I think) not chicken.
I've just got to get a handle on myself. Maybe tomorrow. At least it's a little cooler this weekend.
Believe it or not (and I barely believe it), I miss Whiskers too.
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