Rough Stone Rolling

My Aunt Anita, a family icon, died yesterday at the age of 79. She was looking forward to her 80th birthday, but instead was found sitting peacefully in her favorite chair, with her spirit relocated to a new address. Anita was a tough-as-nails Manhattenite, abrasive (she was something of a bully as a kid), but with a heart as big as Times Square. She considered herself my mom’s guardian and consigliere right up until her last breath. She had some extremely tough breaks in her life: My grandmother was sickly and went to the hospital for long periods, leaving the kid Anita to watch after her siblings. My cousin Michael, her son, was an alcoholic, then a drug addict, then died of AIDS. Anita, herself, drank like a fish and it took most of her adult life to finally kick the booze. Despite her tempestuous nature, however, her husband Richard stuck by her and loved her deeply to the end.

My mom, age 78, was terrified of and adored her sister. As a kid I was scared stiff of Anita and, even last year at a reunion, I was unnerved by her acrimony. When Mom heard the news, she cried, but she’s one of those real Catholics that looks at death like the LDS bereaved; it’s just another chapter in an eternal life. She’s actually a lot more distressed over the fact she has to get on a plane to NY and is probably now reassessing just how close they really were.

Ironically, I went in for a long-overdue physical yesterday– EKG, the works. The only thing left is a blood test (I’m expecting my cholesterol to still be a little high– a gene thing), but everything else looked great. I’ve had my doctor for about 18 years, and he still reacts when I tell him I don’t drink alcohol, smoke, drink coffee or now soda. “Do you have to get up frequently in the night to pee?” he asked as he was volleying a battery of questions reserved for old men. “Well, maybe once,” I replied, “I drink a lot of Pellegrino.” That got a laugh. Now because of high cholesterol I also don’t eat meat, dairy or fried foods, and am not allowed to snack (save the occasional bite of dark chocolate). I do eat tons of fish, pasta with olive oil, and I love garlic (much to my wife’s displeasure as it ventilates through my pores like a sulphuric Airwick Solid). I told the doc I expected him to give me at least another 30 years or I’d be greatly disappointed in him.

Last month the Word of Wisdom celebrated its 175th anniversary (I tried to find the traditonal gift for a 175th anniversary, but they stop at 90. For a 90th anniversary, you know what the traditional gift is? Granite. I mean, what the hell?). As with other aspects of the Church, I find it interesting how its importance, practice and definition evolved over time. I heard once the WoW actually came to be when Emma and the sisters complained of having to clean up chaw spit after the brethren’s meetings. This prompted Joseph to inquire of the Lord, and the rest is history. The story’s delightfully feasible, but I still wonder about its veracity. I’m also amused by how general authorities enjoyed coffee into the 20th century (fast-forward to 1979 and my mission president brazenly admitted he loved his Dr. Pepper, the scamp). There are also the geographical/cultural differences: In Argentina the Saints (and missionaries) enjoy mate’, a beverage containing stimulants, including caffeine, prepared by steeping dried leaves in hot water and usually adding an equal amount of sugar. Hot mate’ is a popular social ritual considered carcinogenic to humans– but that doesn’t really fall under the letter of the law, so it’s OK. And it tastes great, trust me.

If you don’t recognize the title of this entry, or wonder why it sounds familiar, it’s a line from the Talking Heads song, “(Nothing But) Flowers” (It bears a look-see). For me it speaks of the unsuspecting fallout of Shangri-La. I miss steak and cheese and onion rings . I miss Diet Coke. That said, I’ve been feeling and sleeping much better lately (and you wanna talk regularity…). I’m also more calm and patient, and (I’m still debating whether this is just coincidental) I’m more spiritually focused. The dichotomy of my yearnings and well-being is an interesting experience. I’m in a much better place, but a large part of me doesn’t want to be. I think there’s a spiritual lesson there (who am I kidding? a Mormon could find a spiritual lesson out of anything– from a turkey dog falling through the barbecue grate, to toe jam).

More than anything, the fact that I feel physically better and more in-tune because I’m refraining from meat and that other stuff– as well as the standard Word of Wisdom laundry list– gives me a greater personal testimony of the doctrine than I’ve ever had before. The meat part of the law, it’s really true. All these years I’ve chosen to ignore it because it wasn’t convenient to my carnal lust for beef. However, with the intervention of a divinely planted, obscenely high cholesterol count and a strategically placed, fascist cardiologist, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to shed my gastronomic shackles, trading Double-Doubles for spicy tuna roll.

So, happy birthday Word of Wisdom. If it means anything, should they ever repeal you, I still won’t go back to my beloved prime rib. I promise. But I will have a double Jack Daniels, rocks. And start a tab, please.