- TRANSIT UNLIMITED
- GET OUT: Signal Mountain has history, views, nachos
- WELL, THAT HAPPENED: The Golden Age of Women
- MUSIC BOX: Silver Dollar Bar shines with makeover
- FEED ME! The Pub still has it
- FREE WILL ASTROLOGY: WEEK OF MAY 21, 2015
- PROPS & DISSES
- COSMIC CAFE: Do you know how the earthquakes in Nepal invisibly affect everyone on Earth?
- BUZZ: The Wort’s expansion comes full circle
- GALLOPIN’ GRANDMA: A guide to driving your kids nuts
GALLOPIN’ GRANDMA: Amazed in the Land of Odd
When I grew up in the big out there long ago, concepts like wellness and wrapping your core were alien to us. If you saw someone running they were probably being chased by someone’s dog. We knew nothing about yoga, but the Methodists probably wouldn’t have approved of dog facing down. Pilates had to be one of the popes, the Obliques were a mountain range in Turkey and abs, pecks and glutes were the real names of the Three Stooges.
We did have free-range food because all our food was free range. You drove to a farm, trying to avoid the free-range pig in the road. A farmer grabbed your free-range chicken dinner by the head, gave it a good twist and handed the remains to you. After scraping off the outside and scraping out the inside, you just hoped it would taste better than it smelled.
Now that I am here, I am in a state of unending amazement. I saw swarms of skinny stringy women wondering if they could get in another marathon by lunch. I saw hordes of skinny stringy men with taut buns and tight shorts pedaling over hill and dale. I saw herds of merry hikers skipping up hill and down with grim glee like the Von Trapp kids gone bad. I am a firm believer that the outdoors is outside for a reason and I do not have to be there.
More was to come, I discovered a market where odd things were sold. I never saw so many damn dried beans in my life and there were strange grains from weird places and salad stuff I know that they had picked out by the edge of the parking lot. I am an Iowa girl and I know crabgrass when I see it.
Worse was coming. I saw a troupe of skinny persons at the juice counter, wearing natural fiber clothing and fuzzy hats, knitted by an old lady in Peru. They were slugging down their crabgrass and chickweed smoothies and they were so delighted that there must have been something else green in them besides seaweed and kale.
I am going out to get a Big Mac and big fries; they are loaded with grease, fat, gluten, carbs and crud. My buns aren’t taut enough for tight pants anyway.