The party’s over.
It’s time to call it a day.
They’ve burst your pretty balloon
And taken the moon away.
It’s time to wind up the masquerade.
Just make your mind up, the piper must be paid.
— “The Party’s Over,” Words by Comden and Green, music by Jule Stein, sung by Nat King Cole, Willie Nelson, Dean Martin, Jean Stapleton, Doris Day etc.
My mood is always glum on New Year’s Eve. I see no reason to celebrate the passing of another year of my life, no matter how filled with woe it was. I write no list of resolutions since I know that I am weak and shall not keep them.
The party’s over! Oh yes it is! I mean it. This year I really mean it. My mother said that people dig their own graves with their forks; and oh ‘tis true, ‘tis true. We refuse to heed our physicians’ warnings about salt, fat, meat, alcohol, smoking, pop, sugar, and the need to drink water.
I conquered my addiction to cigarettes many years ago after a vascular surgeon warned me that I’d be on the operating table for another balloon angioplasty in a year if I didn’t quit smoking because it constricts the arteries. Unfortunately, I inherited my father’s family curse of plaque in the arteries that killed many of them when they were young.
Now I battle another addiction which is as bad for me as cigarettes ever were. I’m a foodie. I never met a pasta that I didn’t like. Whether it’s good ol’ beans and cornbread or fancy French cuisine, I love it all. “Love” truly is the operative word here. I love the taste, texture, aroma, the sizzle of a steak and the color of food. A good meal is a work of art.
I don’t eat because I’m hungry. I don’t need a reason to eat. I eat when I’m happy, sad, angry, excited, bored, celebrating or discontented. Forget about portion control! I take seconds, even thirds, because food tastes so good, brings comfort, contentment and peacefulness and appeases something deep within me.
We homo sapiens have the biggest brains in nature, but we allow bodily impulses to overrule common sense. We know better, but we keep kicking the can down the road to tomorrow. People say to me, “But, Rose Mary, you don’t look all that heavy.” Wrong!
I dislike dwelling on health, but perhaps my story will make someone think. I had a major wake-up call in November, 2010. I was enjoying a glass of Champagne and merrily chatting with Jean and Bill when suddenly I invented a new language. The only problem was that no one could understand it. The words that came out of my mouth were gobbledygook.
The episode passed, but I knew immediately what was wrong. I had an attack of aphasia brought on by a serious TIA — next thing to a stroke. It scared the hell out of me as I had encountered people who suffered from aphasia. Aphasia affects the language center of the brain so that one cannot process words. During several days in the hospital, they discovered that plaque has narrowed an artery in my brain. A neurosurgeon prescribed warfarin which means that I can’t eat much green stuff and ordered me to walk three miles a day and to lose twenty pounds. I almost made it, but I’ve gained back ten.
I love life, but evidently I don’t love it more than eating. What frightens me more than dying is the thought that I might lose my ability to speak, read and write. Just think how awful that would be for me.
Unlike the birds and the beasts, we smart humans have a choice. It’s up to us to decide how soon and in what coin the piper must be paid. wclarke@comcast.net
P.S. There’s a lovely pink sunrise outside my window.