Uncommon Valor Pt. 2

Uncommon Valor Pt. 2

My father died last week.  He had just turned 70 years old.    The official diagnosis was Agent Orange Related Parkinson’s Disease.   The official cause of death was asphyxiation.   He died choking on his own blood.  And though he may have died on January 29th, 2020, the truth is, Agent Orange exposure killed him 50 years before.   He died a slow, painful death.   And guess what?  It seems that he, and millions of other sons, fathers, brothers, and husbands, have died for fucking nothing.   I don’t care who you are and I don’t care what you believe, there is only one truth.  There are brave men, and there are cowards.

To quote the late Edmund Burke “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  Unlike our current puppet, my father served his country with valor and honor.   In fact, he told my mom once that being a soldier was the only thing he was ever really good at.    Yet, after doing his duty (with honors) he came back to a nation that spits and yells at him.  Can you imagine?

For the first two years of their marriage, my mom was the recipient of many a late-night trip to the floor as my father would grab her and toss her,  yelling  “incoming.”   The only story I had ever heard about his time in Vietnam was one in which he was riding shotgun, holding a shotgun, as their convoy passed through a small village.   As was often the case the villagers in town would gather on each side of the road as the soldiers would throw provisions and food to them.   The young Vietnamese children would run up yelling, “chop, chop”  which meant candy.   In fact, my Dad said he often knew when they were among the Viet Cong because no one gathered.   But this particular day as the crowd parted a young Vietnamese girl about 4 years old walked from the crowd and stopped about 20 feet ahead of them.  My father saw the grenade.  As the truck stopped he got out and slowly made his way over to her.  He spoke to her in Vietnamese and asked her to drop it.  He asked again, and he asked again.  In one fail swoop, my father made a decision that would change his life forever.  I HAVE TO ASK MYSELF WHY. Why have good men died, and are still dying, so that opportunists, and careerists, can treat our Constitution like a placemat?

The only other story I have heard about my dad, and Vietnam, came last week at his service.   This letter was written by one of my dad’s platoon buddies.   Jay had reached out to my dad via email before he died, but my dad was unable to respond.   So after letting the pastor know about the email, he decided to reach out to him.  This is the letter that was read…

Hello Reverend Apple,

Thanks so much for letting me know about Glenn’s passing.  I am sorry to hear that he is gone and wish we might have had the opportunity to reconnect.   My thoughts and prayers are with his family.

Glenn did indeed save my life on Easter Sunday 1969 (April 6) in a clearing in the jungle near Black Virgin Mountain Nui Be Den) in Vietnam.  Our company’s lead platoon was ambushed earlier in the afternoon, with two men either killed or badly injured laying in the clearing, exposed to fire from North Vietnamese Army soldiers concealed in well-camouflaged bunkers.   Our platoon was called forward to try to reach the casualties, and the platoon leader instructed me to send a fire team (3-4 guys) forward toward the nearest body to pull it back.  Leading the team, I crawled across the clearing, but was suddenly hit by a burst of fire from an AK-47, which tore my rifle from my hands and also punctured my left lung, just missed my heart, and wedged within an inch of my spine.  About the same time, a rocket-propelled grenade went off in a tree at the edge of the clearing, and I was also spattered with shrapnel.  I did some serious praying, and God sent Glenn Dale and the platoon leader across that bullet-swept field to pull me back.  The enemy was still very much present, as I was shot again in the leg after being pulled back to our side of the clearing. 

I suspect that Glenn did not receive an award for bravery for his actions that day (enlisted men seldom did), but he certainly deserved to do so, as he openly exposed himself to the enemy fire in order to carry me to safety.  Without his action, I would certainly have died there and then.

Later in the afternoon, I almost missed the medevac helicopter, as they thought I was a goner.  When I finally lay on an operating table at a MASH hospital in Tay Ninh, a priest gave me the last rites. You cannot imagine my surprise when I awoke the next morning.  I spent the rest of 1969 in military hospitals until discharged – from the hospital and the army – on December 31, 1969.

Please express my condolences and my eternal thanks to Glenn’s family for sending him to me on that Easter over a half-century ago.

Jay Phillips

P.S.  The two men we were hoping to rescue, Angelo Figueroa and Melvin Lee, did not survive and their names are on panel 27 West, lines 24 and 25 of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC.

My father did receive an award.   But what difference does it make?  We have a box of ribbons and metal.   Fort Leavenworth is so full of bodies for those who fought for our country that there was no room for his body, only his ashes, much like the ashes of our democracy, which is but dust in the wind.

Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen…

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A while back, I sat down to read a book called “Women Food And God.” Written by Geneen Roth, a pioneer in the field of eating disorders, Roth was one of the first people to “link compulsive eating and perpetual dieting with deeply personal and spiritual issues that go far beyond food, weight and body image.” Ms. Roth is also designated mentor and friend… Whether she will ever know me, or not.

As a health coach, many of my clients are seeking to lose weight for the umpteenth time. They come to me wanting to know how I could possibly help them when none of the popular weight loss programs could. And most of them look at me like I’m crazy when I tell them, “Because we aren’t going to count calories, or points, and I don’t care how much you weigh. You see, it’s not about the food, and it never has been.”

Before puberty, I was a scrawny kid.  I had thin, wispy hair, huge eyes, and lots of freckles.  My poor, single mother constantly moved my brother and I from town to town. Even when she remarried, we still moved.  A lot.  I counted once, and realized I had lived in 18 different homes from birth until college. I remember in 5th grade attending two different schools in the same week.  I was often teased for being the new kid, for being gangly and awkward, for being poor, for being me.  And my inner voice, HER voice, was always there to assure me that somehow they were right, and that I deserved their ridicule.

But by the time I was 14, my freckles had faded, my hair was thicker, and my mom said my head had finally grown enough to catch up with my eyes.  At 15, a modeling scout noticed me while at the mall with my Grandmother, and signed me. Suddenly life was exciting. People were telling me that I was pretty, that I was fashionably thin, and that my eyes were not only huge, they were beautiful. For me, this translated into being valued. I spent the next two years modeling clothes for major retailers, going on cattle calls for commercials, and was selected from dozens of other girls to represent my agency in a nationwide “Look of the Year,” contest.  Suddenly, the popular girls at school were noticing me, wanting to be my friend, me, the girl who had managed to mostly fade into the background.  Though I was still quite insecure, HER voice had been just a whisper.

Print ads required a lot of “prep time,” sometimes as much as two hours before the shoot.  I was taped up, taped down, lifted, tucked, and padded.  In one particular store ad, I had underwear physically taped onto my back. I got highlights, lowlights, and my front teeth were filed down. I was told I’d never do runway because I was only 5’6 but not to worry because the camera loved my face.  By the age of 17, I was dizzy, exhausted, and confused.  I was tired of living in a world of false impressions, flawed concepts of beauty, and a world full of judgment.  I was terrified of being accepted one day, and rejected the next.  I had witnessed girls pass out from hunger. One girl was hospitalized for bulimia (and almost died), and countless other girls internalized that they were not pretty enough, tall enough, or thin enough.  And for many of those impressionable young women, myself included, those things ultimately translated into not being good enough.  HER voice was getting louder.

In college, I cut off my long blonde hair, traded in my penny loafers for Birkenstocks, and established friendships with a group of women who raged against our culture’s personification of beauty and body image. I was in awe of their strength and courage. From them, I began to see glimpses of myself as a whole being, though it would be years before I came to accept all of me, I rejoiced at the possibility that there more to me than what people saw on the outside. Soon after I graduated, a 5-year emotionally (and one night physically) abusive relationship came to an abrupt end.  He gave no reason, no warning (although it turned out he had been “dating” another woman for almost a year.)  He just stopped calling and refused to take my calls.  It simply ended. Forever. At which time, I stopped eating and went from 118 pounds down to 97 pounds.  Smoking a pack or two of Marlborough Lights a day, I hardly slept, nearly passed out on more than one occasion, and was plagued by chronic panic attacks.  For 5 long years, for better or worse, my life revolved around the need to be accepted by this man.  By now, HER voice was screaming.  YOU ARE NOT WORTHY.  YOU ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH.  YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY. IN FACT, WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?

Roth calls HER, “The Voice.”  The Voice “usurps your strength, passion and energy–and turns them against you. The Voice is merciless, ravaging, life destroying. The Voice makes you feel so weak, so paralyzed, so incompetent you wouldn’t dare question (its) authority.”  Roth goes on to explain “According to developmental psychologists, The Voice is fully operative in most of us by the time we are four years old.” And, “Everyone has The Voice. It’s a developmental necessity.  When external authority figures, parents, teachers, family members, (even peers), communicate verbal and nonverbal instructions about physical and emotional survival, we coalesce those voices into one voice–THE VOICE.   You need to learn not to put your hands into fire, walk into oncoming traffic, stick electrical wires in water.” In my version of THE VOICE it was, you’re ugly and poor, and you don’t matter because you don’t wear the same clothes as the rest of us. Or, “Sorry Stephanie, but you just aren’t the marrying kind.” The VOICE lies to you. It makes you believe that you are all of the things it’s telling you. In fact THE VOICE “feels and sounds so much like you, that you believe it is you.”

Eventually, I moved away, married a sweet, loving man, and life was good.  My husband and I had our first baby a few years later, and life was even better.  In fact, HER voice remained silent until the birth of our third baby just four days after I turned 41.  Aside from the stress of having three kids, and a husband who traveled, I began to get sick, really sick. I suffered from chronic joint pain, recurrent sinus infections, and reflux so bad I slept sitting upright in my husband’s recliner. My nails and hair had stopped growing and I could scarcely walk up the stairs without gasping for air. Exhausted and depressed I began to hear HER voice again.  YOU MIGHT HAVE BEEN HAPPY FOR A WHILE, BUT I’M BACK, AND I’M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW THE OTHER SHOE…ALWAYS DROPS.

In her book, Roth described it this way, “You can be showered with money or love or thin thighs and still feel as if you are separate from all that is good about being alive. Despite present-day circumstances, your deepest beliefs will always–100 percent of the time–reconfigure you into the familiar patters you associate with being yourself.  Being at your natural weight will be impossible to maintain. Having what you want will not seem real.  When someone truly loves you, you will dismiss her or him as unattractive or shallow or dumb.  You will feel like an imposter living someone else’s life and you will once again inhabit the skin and the life of “un-love” in whatever forms you find the most familiar.”  Her words rang almost prophetic.

With the help of an amazing nutritionist, I got better. And for the last four years I have dedicated myself to learning as much as I possibly could about the connection between food and health.  But until I read Roth’s book, I never knew other people were plagued with the same kinds of thoughts. I never realized that those voices in my head were not my true voice. But that they were the internalization of the many negative voices I associated with in my early years. And that the awful things I believed to be true about myself, the ones that I let define me for most of my life, were nothing more than a bunch of lies.  When I began to, as Roth put it, “disengage from THE VOICE,” I began to see myself differently. The more I stopped listening to HER, the more I began to feel free.

In the beginning I told HER to shut up.  I told HER that she was a hateful liar who couldn’t be trusted.  I told HER that I resented HER and blamed HER for all of the years I spent feeling sad, insecure, and lonely in a room full of people.  Looking at my life through the lens of compassion and gratitude I was able to see my accomplishments and my failures, with objectivity and discernment. I began to see the possibilities that life had for me, and that the proverbial glass was actually half-full.  Whether we use food, or men, or clothes to comfort us, it doesn’t matter. We can only find true peace, when we begin to look deeper into ourselves and separate the truth from the many lies we tell ourselves.  Sometimes, I still hear HER.  But now, instead of begrudging HER, I want HER to be at peace. And I want HER to know that forgive HER for being wrong about me.

Mixed Berry Acai Bowl

I love Smoothies.  Every day my husband and I have a fruit and a veggie bomb for breakfast.  But sometimes a girl wants some substance.  Enter the Acai Bowl.

The Acai berry is one of the most powerfully healthy berries on the plant. It stimulates the immune system, trace minerals, boosts energy levels, has anti-aging benefits, and improves mood, skin, and hair. This Acai bowl is loaded with antioxidants (help fight off free radical damage), it’s filled with Magnesium, Potassium, Calcium, Vitamin C, Vitamin B1, B2, and B3. Protein, Omega 3’s, fiber, Iron, Vitamin A, Zinc, all 8 Essential Amino Acids, Copper, Biotin, Electrolytes, Anthocyanin’s and polyphenols, (anti-inflammatory).

Acai Bowl

(Makes 4 cups) Freeze then thaw, or refrigerate extra.

1 cup frozen blueberries

1/2 cup frozen strawberries

1 frozen peeled banana

1 package of frozen unsweetened Acai packet (I used Sambazon)

1-cup plant-based milk of choice

1 Tbsp Cacao powder (Wal-Mart carries in Gluten free section)

2 Tbsp Orgain Organic Vanilla Bean powder (Costco or Amazon)

Blend well. Should be smooth and creamy.

**Top with raw unsweetened coconut, cacao nibs, walnuts, blueberries, goji berries or any other yummy treats you have on hand.

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7 Day No Dairy Challenge

 

 

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7 Day No-Dairy Challenge

 Welcome!  This is your quick survival guide for the week!  Thank you participating and please text me or contact me via Facebook if you need ANYTHING!

A few things to know:

  1. You will NEVER find a vegan cheese at the grocery store that tastes exactly like cheese. So please keep an open mind.  When I began my dairy free life, it was out of necessity.  My first purchase of Daiya brand cheeze shreds (not a fan of any of their products) was not only disappointing, it was down right disgusting.  Since then, I’ve had some amazing artisan nut cheeses at local veggie restaurants that inspired me to buy a book and begin making my own!

Here is the best sliced soy cheese I’ve found.  The kids really like it and my two little ones don’t like much!  You can buy it at Wal-mart and it melts well over medium heat.  Give it a little longer than regular cheese to melt.

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  1. For me, cheese was definitely the hardest thing about being dairy-free. It was actually the rich creaminess that I missed, not necessarily the taste.  So…some of the recipes that I have included, use things like creamy cashew sauces, rich avocado garlic sauces, and I’ve even included a Vegan Alfredo (my favorite)!
  1. A word about Carrageenan: Carrageenan is commonly used to thicken and emulsify non-dairy based products.  If you suffer from any digestive/intestinal issues please avoid all products with Carrageenan in them.  There is a very strong link in the literature about the ingredient and gastrointestinal disease in lab animals, including ulcerative colitis, intestinal lesions, and colon cancer.  So please avoid it.

Here is a link for products that DO NOT contain Carrageenan.  Also, most “So Delicious” creamers are now Carrageenan free.

http://sodeliciousdairyfree.com/files/so-delicious-carrageenan-free.pdf

  1. You may feel kinda crappy. It is not uncommon to have withdrawal and detoxification symptoms when you remove any kind of food from your diet.  Dairy is particularly nasty because the casein protein binds to the same “opiod” receptor sites in the brain as heroin and other narcotics.  So when people say they are addicted to “ice cream, cheese, etc.,” they probably are.   You may have headaches, fatigue, mood swings, or what I commonly refer to as “The Bitch is Back”.   It will pass, hopefully leaving you more energetic and clear thinking! That is why I want you drinking water.  A LOT of water.
  1. We will start every morning with a glass of “ROOM TEMP” water with ½ of a squeezed lemon, and a pinch of fine ground sea salt. Water helps move things through your system.  When you detoxify, water is your friend.   So please stay hydrated throughout the day.  This is very important.

 

FUN FACT:  When your body loses just 2% of it’s hydration you begin to feel tired.   In the morning I drink 20oz of water, I have a smoothie for breakfast, and then a cup of coffee.  I am super hydrated in the morning.  But…by the afternoon I’ve slowed my water consumption, and I begin feeling tired.  So, I drink about 8-12 oz of water, and then BOOM, I’m fine!

  1. One final note. I would encourage you to write down how you feel.  What do you notice on day one?  Is it any different on day five?  Measure yourself, weigh yourself, so you have some kind of baseline.  My hope is that some of you will want to continue, making it a 14-day, or even a 21-day challenge!

GOOD LUCK!  Remember you are NOT denying yourself anything.  You are GAINING health benefits, learning some new things, and hopefully changing the way you think about food and health!