Crushed by the Weight of Genetics

Dear Descendants,

Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of my mother’s death.  So maybe she was on my mind, or maybe she’s channeling.  (Which way does that go?  Am I channeling? Or do we need someone to channel?)  Anyway, I’m calculating my mother’s age at different periods of her life.

She was always…unique!

Both Mom and Dad were health nuts.  They had strange friends who were vegans (except for the bugs in their unsprayed broccoli).  They quoted the Ehret Diet, and the Grape Cure, banned white sugar in our home and served only organic food and whole grains.  Hmmm….

After their divorce, Mom discovered a new atrocity…the “green drink”,  a concoction made primarily of wheat grass which she grew on all flat surfaces  bathed in the light of an available window.

In her fifties and sixties my mother became even MORE weird!

She began to fully espouse all  New Age theories and jargon.   She brought or sent me books (no websites in those days)  that she thought would help in my enlightenment, health or well-being.  Again, I say, “Hmmm…”.

Somewhere in there she began to write.  She self-published embarrassing books in which she exposed our history as a family (with faintly disguised assumed names) and (I was convinced) recreated her own history.  Well, I STILL think she recreated history:  I can’t fathom having such cohesive memories and personal drive beginning at the age of three.  (BTW, her writings are peppered with a plethora of capitalized or italicized words and parenthetical thoughts.)

Until this morning I have never connected these similarities.  What brought me to this “Aha” moment?  It was the little green pieces of parsley floating in my modified* recipe of Dr. Oz’s Green Drink.

I am my mother.  (With a little of my Dad’s obsession with picking up the phone and calling to check on his sizeable family.  Of course, he later switched to email.  And if he were alive today, he would be on Facebook with 80 descendants on his family tree.)

I’m sure you all think I am just as weird, just as difficult and just as embarrassing as my mother ever was to me.

Oh well.

Chances are I won’t  be here to see it, but you may be drowning in the same genetic pool.  If so, you’ll be able to move a flat of your wheat grass to the altar on Dia de los Muertos.

Mom and I will love that!


P.S.  I haven’t divorced your Dad yet, but luckily for the longevity of our marriage he usually goes along with me:)

*I cut the recipe to one day’s portion, add cilantro because I love it, leave the apple out because I eat one every day, and sometimes add avocado because it makes it more satisfying as a breakfast when I am running behind.

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