A-MUSINGS

While stopping through several airports recently, I was struck by how many of the usual poster ads had been replaced by the public awarness campaign, “If You See Something, Say Something.” After the September 11th attack, the New York subways and bus stops were plastered with these signs, but I didn’t realize it was a national campaign by the Department of Homeland Security.

The premise of the program is to empower citizens to identify and report possible threats of terrorism or crime to law enforcement officials. This applies to anything suspicious, from an unattended package to shifty-looking behavior. This is contrary to the apathetic nature of jaded New Yorkers who tend to turn a blind eye to any number of transgressions that don’t directly affect them. I’m reminded of the tragic story of Kitty Genovese, the woman whose 1964 murder was witnessed by 38 bystanders who did nothing to help her during the attack.

However, I think this new crusade is working because a New York street vendor actually said something this past spring; he reported a suspicious vehicle to an NYPD officer, and thwarted a car bombing in Times Square. In this case, saying something saved lives. Sometimes the impact may not be as extraordinary, but it can still be significant.

One of my daughter’s new friends saw something and said something to me I didn’t expect. She and her family had recently moved to our land-of-four-seasons from the warm south. When visiting our home, she complimented us on the bright red, orange and yellow leaves scattered about our yard. We had not yet had time to rake this fall season, but the girl thought the yard looked lovely with all the brilliantly colored leaves blanketing the lawn. While I have always loved the season’s color changes, up until that point, I had just thought of the littered leaves as a nuisance instead of a thing of beauty.

Some other friends were at our house a couple of weeks ago. We served sodas for our casual get together using a collection of large plastic cups we have acquired from some of our favorite Texas hometown restaurants: Bill Miller’s BBQ, What-a-Burger, Rudy’s BBQ, and of course, our best-loved Tex-Mex fast food joint, Taco Cabana. We joke that this is our “fine glassware,” but these cups are special to us because they remind us of home. What I didn’t expect is how much one of our friends actually liked the cups and commented that he wanted to start his own collection just like ours. Had he not said anything, we would never have known that we had struck this common, albeit a little goofy, chord.

So let’s take Homeland Security’s campaign to heart, but with a less ominous twist. If you see something you appreciate, find interesting, that makes you happy, or just makes you stop and think…say something. How often do we witness an act of kindness and fail to acknowledge it? Maybe your neighbor brings your newspaper to your porch, or your daughter saves the last cookie for her brother. Perhaps you notice your friend’s new haircut but don’t take the time to offer a compliment. Or maybe you see someone who needs encouragement, like the embarrassed parents of the screaming newborn, who are receiving all the dirty looks on the airplane.

Don’t be silent. Speak up. A few thoughtful words can help someone feel better, change their attitude, give them hope. And it doesn’t cost you a thing. If you see something, say something.

Did you remember to turn your clocks back this weekend? It’s that glorious time of year where we take back that extra hour that was stolen from us last spring. How did you spend your extra hour?

My favorite usage of the hour is sleeping. I know it may seem wasteful or sloth-like (one of the Seven Deadly Sins), but I love to sleep. As a child, I could nod off during the shortest of car rides (I still do–but not when I’m driving). When I hit my teens, I craved sleep like a woman with PMS craves chocolate. As a college student, I scheduled morning classes whenever possible so I could work in an afternoon nap.

The sleep deprived period of having babies around the house was almost my undoing. Our children decided to take their sweet time before sleeping through the night. I vaguely remember those years through a zombie-like haze. We even upgraded our bed to king-size to accommodate toddlers crawling in for cuddles during the night (it was far easier than trying to get them to go back to sleep in their own beds. I’m sure Dr. Spock would disapprove, but I think everyone turned out okay — I actually miss those times). Now that the children are teenagers, the circle is complete; if left to their own devices, my kids would sleep for twelve hours at a stretch.

I’m definitely more of an early bird than a night owl. It’s all I can do to make it through prime time television viewing without snoozing on the couch. It never fails. I always doze off during the final ten minutes of a show–just when “who-done-it” is revealed. My husband insists on torturing me and not telling me how my favorite shows end.

Now that I’m older, I find myself still desiring the eight hours of sleep, but never getting them. I have no problem falling asleep, but invariably, I wake up in the wee hours of the morning and can’t get back to sleep. My mind starts to fret about work and run through the list of things I need to get done that day. Do any of you have that problem, too?

Helpful Sleep Techniques

Here are a few techniques that I’ve found helpful. They don’t always work all of the time, but they are worth trying (and if you think you have a chronic sleep disorder, definitely consult a professional):

• Write down your thoughts so you can release them from your mind. I used to keep a notebook and a light-up pen next to my bed. Now I use the notepad feature on my iPhone. Once the thoughts are out of my head and captured elsewhere, I can allow myself to stop thinking about them for a little while.
• Take several slow, deep breaths and concentrate on the breathing, itself, gradually relaxing your body each time you exhale.
• Mental relaxation – give your mind something else to focus on. Here’s a link that suggests visualizing a graphic number ten and allowing it to morph into a countdown of digits (and more stylized version of counting sheep) as you let go of the day’s worries.
• Keep your sleep environment dark and quiet. Sometimes falling back asleep is just a matter of grabbing a pair of eye shades and ear plugs.
• And some sleep experts say if you awake in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep after 15 minutes, then just get up and do something non-stimulating until you are tired again (perhaps a warm soak in the tub).

Please post a comment and let me know if you have trouble sleeping, and what you do to help get a better night of shut-eye. Pleasant dreams.

It’s that time of year again. The season when many dog owners submit their quadrupeds to the ultimate humiliation. It’s worse than the cone of shame. It’s…[not Monty Python’s Flying Circus] the dog Halloween costume!

My inbox has been flooded with images of chihuahuas dressed as Yoda, and golden retrievers with Carmen Miranda fruit perched upon their heads and ruffles wrapped about their flanks, dachshunds either sandwiched inside hot dog buns or squeezed into banana suits, and one of the greatest affronts to canine pride — a greyhound in a grass skirt and coconut bra.

Dog owners seem to delight in dressing their pets as other animals: butterflies, spiders, crabs, horses, dinosaurs, alligators, skunks, giraffes and bunny rabbits. (You’ll note that conspicuously absent from the list of animal costumes is the cat.) Why can’t you just appreciate your dog for what it is…a dog.

People! This has to stop. Sure they look absolutely adorable all decked out  in their little costumes. We smile. We saw “Awwww.” We take pictures. We have parades and force them to walk down the street as people gawk and laugh. But suppose the tables were turned, and we were the pets. How would you feel if our animal owners submitted us to such indignities? Think Planet of the Apes. Would the reigning simians have put Charlton Heston in a bumble bee costume? I think not. (Besides, he looked awfully good already in that loin cloth.)

Okay, okay. I will admit that one year, we did place a chicken hat on our kitty, Cleo. She was a very docile cat (which could be explained by the fact that she was about 147 years old at the time) and tolerated quite a bit. But we only kept it on for a few minutes…while we took pictures. 

The RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals) in England has actually suggested that people who needlessly adorn their dogs (especially dressing them up as little human beings) should be prosecuted. Fashion faux pas aside, there are actual dangers in dressing your dogs in inappropriate clothing. Dogs could easily overheat or injure themselves if they become entangled in restrictive clothing or trip in apparel that is too loose. While some clothing definitely exists for the welfare of the dog (for instance, specially made coats for small or short-haired dogs in the winter), the Paris Hilton doggy evening dress is just a bit over the top.

So please, this Halloween think twice before turning your mutt in Elvis Pawsley, your Pomeranian into a pirate or Fido into Frodo. Consider their feelings. Their pride. Their dignity.

Spend time instead, working on your own costume. And of course, there are always your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, whom you can dress up. And the added benefit is that you can take pictures of them and embarrass them when they become teenagers.  Bonus.

Our next door neighbors invited us over for a BBQ this summer. They are retired and spend their days puttsie-ing (as my Dad says) in their garden and tending to their lawn.  Their yard is immaculate — healthy, green, neat and tidy. We crossed our yard with its splotchy brown patches and sporadic colonies of vining weeds, and headed toward a lovely afternoon in our neighbor’s backyard. 

When I looked across the fence at our yard from a distance, we realized that it didn’t look all that bad.  The crunchy dead spots and persistent weeds blended in with rest of the grass and looked like a smooth sea of green. As we sat on the patio, our neighbors pointed out their problems with grub infestation and the damage that squirrels and raccoons were causing when they burrowed to get to the little bugs. We saw chunks of their grass missing that we couldn’t see from our kitchen window, and realized that up close, all lawns have some flaws.

I’m usually not much of a complainer. I’m one of those people who wears a “Life is Good” T-shirt and means it. Sure I have my cranky PMS days when just about everything in the world irks me, my computer keeps crashing, and I’m certain aliens have abducted some of my clients and replaced them with mindless replicas. But most of the time, I live life with a grateful heart. Or at least I try.

I recently joined a social network for people dealing with congenital pseudoarthrosis, a condition I had as a child that caused my tibia to easily fracture, never to heal. Most of the people on the site are parents with little kids afflicted with the disorder, but many of their children have complications that I never had ranging from partial blindness, cognitive deficiencies, and brain and spinal tumors. By comparison, my life has been easy.

So for those who think the grass is always greener on the other side, you need a swift kick in the astroturf. Your grass is plenty green right under your feet. It’s all a matter of distance, perspective, and putting yourself in someone else’s shoes.

And speaking of shoes, I love the story of the two shoe salesmen from the west who travel to Africa to scout for a new marketplace.  The first salesman sends a message back to headquarters saying, “Trip was a waste of time. I can’t sell shoes here.  Everyone is barefoot.”  The second salesman scoped out the situation and transmitted his enthusiastic message, “Possibilities are unlimited here!  Everyone is barefoot. Think of all the shoes we can sell!” It’s all in your perspective.

As Petula Clark sang in the 1960s:

The other man’s grass is always greener
The sun shines brighter on the other side
The other man’s grass is always greener
Some are lucky, some are not
Just be thankful for what you’ve got.

I may not agree with Petula about the grass and the sunshine, but I am thankful for what I have. How about you?

My son took the PSAT yesterday, the first of several rites of passage from high school to college that will be determined by a #2 pencil. Just what is the significance of the #2 pencil you might ask?  Well, you are in luck. Here’s the Reader’s Digest version. Pencils have been around since the discovery of a large graphite deposit in England in the 1500s. The substance was easily sawed into sticks and wrapped in string to be used as a writing instrument. Later, pieces of graphite were inserted into hollowed out wooden sticks, the precursor to the modern pencil. Back in day, graphite was thought to be a form of lead and called plumbago, Latin for “lead ore.” Graphite is in fact a form of carbon and does not contain the metal lead element, yet we still call the core of a pencil “lead.”

Pencils are graded based on the qualities of the graphite core. The European scale uses the term HB for classifying the pencil; H stands for the Hardness of the graphite and B represents the Blackness level. An HB pencil falls in the center of the spectrum. A 9H pencil would have the hardest graphite core but would produce the lightest mark. The 9B pencil at the opposite end produces the darkest imprint yet smudges easily.

In the 19th century, Americans devised a practical numbered system of pencil grading. A #1 pencil is the equivalent of a B instrument, just slightly darker than the median HB, which was given the now-well-known designation of #2. School testing systems often require the #2 pencil because it produces the optimal opacity of a mark that can be read by the omnipresent Scantron machines. A pencil with harder lead would make too light a mark. A darker pencil might smudge and confound the Scantron system.

The Pencil Parable

While I was pondering the marvel that is the pencil, someone happened to send me an email with a Pencil Parable. It went something like this:

A pencil maker told the pencil 5 important lessons before putting it in the box and sending it out into the world:

1. What is important is what is inside of you.
2. Everything you do will always leave a mark.
3. You can always correct the mistakes you make.
4. To be the best pencil, you must allow yourself to be held and guided by the hand that holds you.
5. In life, you will undergo painful sharpenings, which will only make you better.

The moral of this little tale?  The most important part of who you are is what is inside of you. Everything you do will have an impact on someone or something, even if you don’t see it, so choose your words and actions carefully. You might make mistakes in life, but know that it’s not too late to fix them.  Don’t be afraid or too proud to ask for help and guidance. And finally, similar to my favorite quote by Friedrich Nietzsche, “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” 

So the next time you pick up a pencil, perhaps you’ll remember the positive aspects of a pencil that are in all of us. I know I will. Of course, I would never think of you as #2…

As for my son, he needs to stay sharp. The SAT is just around the corner.

Ah (choo), the flu season is once again upon us. All the morning TV shows are abuzz with the latest and greatest recommendations for us to get stung in the arm or swabbed up the nose to prevent the flu. And actually, the vaccination doesn’t preclude us from getting the flu; it only lessens the symptoms if we do get sick.

The U.S. reportedly spends more than $1 billion in research, manufacturing and distribution of flu vaccines for an issue that occurs primarily during one season each year. I’m not saying that the money isn’t warranted or that you shouldn’t get a flu shot (that’s a personal choice). I’m just wondering if money could also be spent on developing vaccines for problems that plague us on a daily basis. How about these?

• Vaccine to Protect Us from Stupid People – How great would it be if we could get a shot and be instantly insulated from reckless drivers, folks who ask dumb questions, or guys who think they are starring in Jackass: The Movie. When we are approached by a someone about to do something idiotic, a giant white corpuscle would descend from the sky and envelope the offending person (think Fantastic Voyage and the demise of the evil Dr. Michaels played by Donald Pleasence).
• Politeness Injection – It fortifies our immune system against rude people. This medicine keeps our blood from curdling when hearing cruel remarks, and helps us ignore clueless staring and oblivious behavior. It would also alter one’s genetics to make smiling easier and cause spontaneous oral eruptions of “please” and “thank you.”  This would be a Health Department requirement for all cashiers at big box stores.
• Heartbreak Immunization – Primarily for teenagers in high school and college, although it could be administered to patients of any age as no one is completely resistant. This literal shot in the arm bolsters self-esteem, strengthens the heart muscle supporting one’s resolve to keep moving forward, and purges the offending heart breaker from the cardiovascular system.
• Technology Patch 2.0– Recommended for all frequent users of computers, PDAs, smart phones and other devices. This topical adhesive patch shields the wearer against a variety of bugs causing frustration, headaches resulting from banging one’s head against a desk and finger fatigue from pounding keyboards. It also eases the desire to assign blame to one’s mother…board. Requires upgrade to 2.1 the following season.
• Bad Decisions Suppository (as a special reminder not to make an a** of ourselves) – Safeguards the patient from engaging in health-compromising activities such as ordering the hot fudge sundae after the five-course meal, substituting super glue for false eyelash adhesive in a pinch, or executing a bicycle jump over three of your closest friends using a homemade, plywood ramp. Added benefits include providing mild clairvoyance to foresee negative outcomes in hopes of redirecting behavior along a more optimal path. 

So as millions of people dutifully march into their doctors’ offices or local pharmacies and roll up their sleeves this flu season, ask yourself, what’s needling you…and feel free to share in the comment box below.

This weekend marked the release of The Social Network, the film about the creation of Facebook, the website with 500 million members worldwide. I’ll admit that when social networks starting gaining steam, I quickly dismissed them as forums for narcissistic teens and internet stalkers. But when my son reached the age of but-all-my-friends-have-a-Facebook-account, I acquiesced under the condition that I could log into his account at will to monitor his activity. We reached an accord.

The first time I logged on, I couldn’t figure out what I was looking at. What’s a Wall? What is Flair? What is poking? (It didn’t sound like something I wanted my teenaged boy to be doing.) I wanted to explore this strange new world but didn’t want to do anything to possibly disrupt his page…or heaven forbid, embarrass him. So I established my own Facebook account.

Within a day or two, I had been found by some other parents in our neighborhood, who sent me Friend Requests. I accepted, and before long, I had a handful of local Facebook friends. Then I got a friend request from a high school friend with whom I had lost touch for decades. This was kind of fun. My son even “friended” me. Who knew the word friend had become a verb?

Friending someone on Facebook means different things depending on one’s age group. For the younger set, it’s more about collecting friends than really connecting with friends. One of my teenaged relatives has 1,579 friends. I don’t even know that many people, much less want to befriend them online.

As my group of online friends and family topped the 100 mark, I started to realize that I couldn’t keep up with all the posts. I would just have to miss some of the latest goings on in my friends’ lives. And, like the TV series Lost, where people initially pull together in a shared experience, the group eventually began to splinter. Politics reared its ugly head, and many friends began to show their true colors…namely red and blue. I watched as people who had been pals for years suddenly unfriended each other over disagreements about health insurance, tax cuts and government spending. Talk about taking the fun out of reconnecting with friends. Maybe this is why many of us lost touch to begin with.

But there is an upside. Social networks can serve as great information resources and helpful support groups. I was born with a very rare condition called pseudoarthrosis resulting in a leg that easily fractured, never to heal. As a child, I knew of no one else with this condition, and my parents were in the dark. I recently found a Facebook support group for children with pseudoarthrosis and their parents. At this point in my life, it is I who is giving the support to others. But wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have Facebook decades ago when my family and I had no one to turn to?

So now, a few years into my Facebookness, I find the environment closely resembles life. We naturally resonate with some people more so than others. Some friends are like the seasons, falling away or going dormant, then suddenly reappearing like spring blossoms.  And when times are tough, we see who our true friends really are, whether online or in the flesh.

What do you think about social networks?  “Like” or “Unlike?”

“Let’s eat Grandma!” OR “Let’s eat, Grandma!”  Punctuation saves lives. 

I saw this on Facebook the other day while I was drinking my Constant Comment, and the tea almost came out my nose. Granted, I’m not the grammar police all the time, but I find subtleties like this both amusing and sad.

I’m a lexophile — a lover of words. A word nerd. It’s not that I love words just for the sake of speaking. I admire how carefully selected words can be artfully combined to tell stories, persuade, and evoke emotions. And puns? Don’t get me started. No, really. For your own sake, don’t get me started.

My favorite book is my thesaurus. There’s something about the delicate crispness of the onion-skin paper and the millions of word choices that we can use to express ourselves more effectively. Okay, it’s a little goofy and pathetic, but what can I say?

When I find words being mangled, abused or incorrectly punctuated, I feel the need to point it out to whomever might be unlucky enough to be standing near by. Here are a few recent examples from television that caught my attention. (Since we cannot see punctuation in voice-overs, it is the responsibility of the writers to properly structure the language.)

Campbell’s Soup commercial “These are the farmers who grow vegetables in Campbell’s Soup.”  What is that?  Some new kind of hydroponics?  I picture a massive vat of soup with little veggie seedlings struggling to thrive in a steaming chicken broth.

Promo for Oprah:  “We’ll hear about people who died suddenly today on the Oprah Winfrey Show.”  If only the writer had used a subordinate clause…  But then again, think of how many morbid viewers might actually tune in to watch people drop dead at Oprah’s feet. Her ratings could skyrocket.

Needless to say, I find the website engrish.com beyond hilarious. It’s wet-your-pants funny. But we have to cut these folks some slack. They are not native English speakers, so things are definitely bound to get lost in translation. But from time to time, everyone makes a typo–the accidental pressing of teh wrong key on a keuboard (did you catch those?). However, misspelling words and using incorrect grammar approach the realm of unforgivable. (So now you’re going to re-read this post to search for verbal blunders, aren’t you?)

The exception to the rule?  Blogging. I prefer a conversational tone, so I bend some of the rules…a little.  Like using sentence fragments. And starting a sentence with a conjunction. Or ending it with a preposition just because. But there should never be misspelled words. 

I have one helpful word for you: proofread. And I don’t mean using the computer spell-checker or grammar-checker. Do it the old-fashioned way.  Read your document. Say it. Out loud. (“Vampire!”) Double-check spellings of names; this is especially critical when you are sending a letter. There’s no quicker way to make a strong (read bad) impression than to misspell the name of the recipient. Read headlines and body copy backwards. It makes you focus on the words and not the context. Then read everything from start to finish again. Make sure all the words make sense.

Early in my marketing career, I repurposed a business pitch for Orange Crush and sent it to Nike–but I forgot to replace Orange Crush with Nike. I tried to tap dance and explain how important it is to stay hydrated while exercising… Uh, right. I didn’t make the sale. But as they say, when you lose, don’t lose the lesson. My lesson?  Proofread!

September 14th at St. Francis Heart Hospital. Nine-month-old Mikey has been in the Pediatric ICU for just a few hours. Earlier in the morning, he had open-heart surgery to close a large hole in his heart.  His family was standing around his bed watching him as he lay in a medicine-induced sleep, a respirator breathing for him, and at least six tubes either draining or pumping fluids into his tiny body.

The PICU nurses who had been calmly caring for him suddenly began to move more deliberately, checking and rechecking the equipment that monitored his vital signs and speaking to each other with a growing intensity. They paged cardiologists who rushed to the bedside. His parents stood together in silence as doctors and nurses determined the problem. Their baby was bleeding out into his chest. He would have to go back into surgery immediately.

As Mikey was prepped to go back to the operating room, his parents were joined in the PICU by grandparents, an aunt and uncle. They stood around his bed, simply held hands and prayed, staying there for as long as the nurses would let them, until Mikey was wheeled out of the room. His family continued to pray, standing in the empty space where his bed had been.

We watched all this as we stood in the PICU beside the bed of our own son. Just six months old and weighing barely twelve pounds, he, too, had had open-heart surgery that morning to correct a myriad of congenital problems. We added quiet prayers to those of Mikey’s family — in part, praying for our own son and asking God’s grace for the both of them.

In what seemed like only minutes, Mikey was unexpectedly back in the PICU. The nurse told his parents that he had been taken into the O.R., but by the time they got ready to open him up again, the bleeding had suddenly stopped on its own without explanation or any intervention. At that moment, we all relaxed the grips of hands held too tightly and allowed ourselves to breathe again, giving thanks for answered prayers.

There have been many scientific studies over the years about the power of prayer. Some investigations have suggested that prayers offered for the sick, even by strangers, had accelerated healing. Other reports said it has no impact at all. I don’t think the findings of these studies by detached researchers is important. What matters is what we believe.  On many occasions, I have experienced  the incredible results of positive thinking and an optimistic outlook — none more powerful than the recovery of our own baby after a week of touch-and-go moments in the PICU.

On the 9th day after surgery, our cardiologist visited us in our son’s room and rather matter-of-factly said, “I can now tell you with confidence that your son is not going to die.”  I was stunned. That possibility had not entered my mind — not even remotely. Sure, we had been given the mortality rate speech from the surgeon, but instead of dwelling on the 10% chance of devastating heartbreak, we focused on the 90% positive outcome and enveloping our baby with the kind of love that would save Harry Potter from Voldemort.

That was September 14, 1994. Today is September 14, 2010. The 16th anniversary of an amazing day. We still keep in touch with Mikey and his family. Both our boys are strong, healthy young men who believe in the power of prayer because they have lived through it.

Please share your experiences with positive energy, directed thinking, meditation, spirituality or whatever you call prayer.

Labor Day. The official end of summer. This is always a gloomy time of year for me because my kids are going back to school. Some parents can’t wait for that first bell to ring, but I actually enjoy spending time with my children and the relatively stress-free nature of the vacation season. I love the whole package: T-shirt weather, sunshine, a slightly more leisurely pace, the fresh veggies from our garden and lots of family time. And now it’s coming to an end for the year. I need a cookie.

Cookies are my comfort food. The term “comfort food” can actually be found in several dictionaries defined as food prepared in a style to evoke a psychologically content or pleasurable state. I like a warm cookie and a glass of ice cold milk–or sometimes a homemade chicken pot pie, thick and creamy with a puff pastry crust. 

Gin Dui

Comfort foods are helpful in many situations. We bring casseroles to new neighbors to make them feel welcomed. We eat ice cream after break-ups or other losses. We make stews when we are homesick. Chicken soup is the ultimate comfort food (and merchandise franchise) meant to heal both body and soul. Almost every culture and region has its own version of chicken soup. My husband’s Texas family makes Frito Pie, multiple layers of Frito corn chips, chili, and cheese, which our Yankee-born son calls “redneck lasagna.” Some of my German friends like goulash and spaetzle. At a recent reunion in Hawaii, we put together a book of fond memories of our family matriarch, and almost all of the comments were about one particular dessert my great-grandmother made that brought us joy throughout the years:  gin dui, a tasty soft-ball sized sphere of rice flour dough filled with coconut or sweet black beans, and rolled in sesame seeds.

Comfort Foods are from Mars…and Venus

Cornell University conducted a study of comfort foods among more than 1,000 participants and determined that cravings differ by gender and age.  Men tend to prefer heartier, meal-related foods like steak and casseroles, while women find solace in snack-related goodies like chocolate and ice cream. The younger set prefer salty or sweet, flavor-saturated snack foods compared to their senior counterparts. Specific food preferences among all people were influenced by childhood experiences and other social contexts.

Why do comfort foods work?

The study suggests that certain food cravings can be triggered by the body trying to correct certain nutrient imbalances. An athlete friend of mine once told me that the reason why women crave chocolate during their monthly cycles is because the body’s magnesium supply becomes depleted…and chocolate tastes like magnesium. I like that explanation. Is it accurate? Who knows? But it sounds logical. Hand me that king-sized Kit Kat bar, please.

The other side of the comfort food coin is the psychological effect. We associate certain foods with happy experiences, and we seek to recapture those positive feelings when we consume such foods. A Nation’s Restaurant News article in October 2001 recounted how the sale of comfort food items, such as macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, pudding and soup, increased in restaurants nationwide immediately following the September 11th attacks.

Other study results found that people who ate meal-related comfort foods said they felt healthier than those who ate snack-related comfort foods. Some women in the study even reported feeling guilty about partaking in comfort foods of any kind. However, age also affected these sentiments.  Older participants were less likely to have feelings of unhealthiness or guilt even if they ate snack-type foods. Perhaps they have just reached the point where they realize that life is short, and they don’t give a darn. I think I’m there.

So as I get ready to say good-bye to summer and hello to the school year, I reach for the warm chocolate chip cookie that my daughter has so considerately just baked for me, and wish everyone a Happy Labor Day.

Please post a comment with your favorite comfort food.