Carnism: It’s worse than it sounds

Tonight for dinner I ate a delicious, spicy bean burger and nothing was killed in order for me to have a healthy, high protein meal. Saturday night, my friends and I cooked Spinach Stuffed  Portabello Mushrooms. Yes, a few mushrooms had to come out of the dark, but they didn’t come kicking and screaming.

For almost twenty years I was a vegetarian, eating animal by-products, i.e. yogurt, cheese, eggs. Then I moved to Imperial Valley, “Where the Sun Spends the Winter.” That was in the year 2000. There was no health food store and it was uncommon to find organic anything in one of the few supermarkets. Where had I landed! I felt like a foreigner in a world of meat-eaters. Everywhere I looked: meat, meat everywhere. Tri-tip (which is a cut of beef specific to this area), steak and ribs. Eating out for me became a thing of the past.

And it wasn’t long before my vegetarian lifestyle became a vague memory. I began to eat fish. We all know how healthy salmon is. And somehow we convince ourselves that it is not cruel to kill and eat them. You know that those fish tossed on the deck of a ship are screaming in pain, don’t you? Don’t laugh; it’s true.

January of this year I couldn’t do it anymore. Fish feel pain. Fish have mothers. For the first time I heard the word carnism. It basically means that eating animals is a belief system that conditions us to eat certain animals. Carnism is invisible in that if we had to slaughter our own meat, we wouldn’t be so willing to eat it.

I’m pretty much a city girl.  I still remember visiting my grandparents in rural Texas and being chased around the yard by my cousin swinging the head of a decapitated chicken. I was horrified. My aunt chopped the head off that chicken while it was still alive. I had gathered eggs from that very chicken in morning. Alive, she chopped the head off an alive chicken. I didn’t become a vegetarian then, but I pretty much blocked the image of the murder of that chicken from my mind and continued to eat fried chicken after church every Sunday.

Of course we eat only certain animals. We have some arbitrary system and belief system that drives our choices. Would you eat stew made from Labrador Retriever? OMG!! We can’t even imagine it. My sweet little chihuhuas, Taco and Daisy for dinner—no way in hell! I would fight to the death to save my dearest friends.

I promised myself I would keep my posts to around 400 words, and I haven’t said all the words I have on the subject of carnism, but I’m going to quit writing.  So stop and think when you cut your steak, chicken, pork or fish tonight. What if it were Daisy! Bon appetit!

 

 

 

 

 

Cyberstalking starts at home

When I started writing this post, I couldn’t decide whether to title it “Cyberstalking Starts at Home” or “My Husband, the Felon.” You can tell which one I chose. And yep, my husband is now a felon. At least he will be if I have anything to say about it.

He has been opening and reading my email, probably for months. Can you believe that. He never asked permission and he never told me that he was doing it. He invaded my privacy and intruded on my conversations with friends and business associates. And he didn’t tell me! That makes it sneaky and clandestine. That’s stalking.

What was he hoping to find? Evidence of an affair? I wish! Evidence of excessive spending? Not my style. How do I know he’s reading my email, you ask? He let something slip, something that was only accessible in an email.

I don’t think he is a criminal or has intentions of doing me harm, at least I hope not. But I do think he’s crossed over the line that married couples draw to have a few morsels of privacy. We need boundaries.

Years ago (we’ve been married over 20) I asked hubby specifically to not open mail or packages unless both our names are on it. No problem. Mutual respect. Great!

Now, here it comes, wouldn’t you think the same directive applies to email? Well, I do. And so does Oprah. That’s good enough for me. That practically makes it relationship law. The consensus of Oprah followers is that even if your spouse gives you his/her password, it’s still your spouse’s “personal” email and should be respected and left alone.

It gets even better. In Florida, I don’t live there, but I could move. Anyway, in Florida if you read someone else’s email and disclose it to someone else you could go to prison for five years. Five years! If you read it without the permission of the owner, even if you keep it to yourself, you could still be guilty of a misdemeanor and get a year in prison. I gotta tell you, that sounds about right.

Reading someone’s email without their permission is illegal! But you know what is worse, the violation of trust. How can you fix that?

First thing I did, no brainer—changed the password. What next? Do I say anything? Do I just go on like I don’t know he’s been reading my book club list and the recipes my girlfriend sends me? Will he say anything when he tries to access my email again and my old password doesn’t work? Probably not unless he wants to fess up to the crime. The chief of police is a personal friend. I could call him. Tempting.

What to do? What to do? There is no conclusion to this post, no summary, no pulling together of thoughts. Wow! Writing a blog is better than therapy. I feel better already.