The Vegan Religion

I was in a health food store recently, and asked the clerk a question. "Are you vegan? Could you please help..." That was as far as I got, before the conversation, or rather, her rant began and my mouth and business left her store.

A simple question about a product, turned into a tirade against being vegan, by a person who could have profited from the very people she was angry at.

I for one, believe that religion is something very personal that is between a person and their God. My diet is for anyone who cares to know about it, and for the people I ask questions of for clarity about a product. What this clerk did was something that took me by surprise, since she was the sales woman in the store I was visiting, who accused me of worshipping animals. Herein lies the problem.

As a woman who HAPPENS to be Christian, and who HAPPENS to be a vegan, I don't worship animals. But I respect their lives. I can no more take the life of an animal than I could a person, because in a world where there is nothing for all of us but death, life to me is precious.

I am hungry, I will pluck the fruit of a tree, or dig the root of a plant. Why must I cut the throat of an animal? In all religions, there is dogma that dictates whether or not a person who eats meat must do it by killing this way or that. But the key here is IF a person must eat meat. Not one religion dictates that a person has to eat meat in order to be of this religion or that. I could be wrong, but seriously, is there? Most religions call for a fast for some length of time, for what ever holiday or religious moment.

Even Christ, when passing out  the sacrament of Holy Communion, passed out bread. He blessed it, He brake it, they ate it, and drank His "blood", which was the wine. In no bible anywhere on Earth does it say He slit his wrists and poured it into a cup for anyone to drink. It is symbolic in every sense of the word. It symbolizes His suffering, and His death. It symbolizes how we all share a responsibility for that death by our lives, and our imperfect selves.

It is not stated in the bible that Christ was a vegan, or that he ate meat, or fish, or anything stronger or more protein filled than bread or wheat or corn. But Christ respected life, He lamented the animals that were suffering, and the world should take notice.

To say that anything and everything is given to humans to oversee, is a biblical statement, most likely one found in every religion. What this doesn't say is that it is our decision as flawed individuals, to do with the Earth what we like, consequences be damned. We are given dominion over the earth and all its inhabitants to maintain as a good steward, all these wonders.

Mountaintop removal coal mining, disturbs the land to a hideous degree, turning mountains into deserts, and the owners of the mine live no where near these monstrosities. Others suffer. They take the money and blood, sweat, and tears of their workers and pocket the profits. Cattle ranchers will raise cattle to the age of two years, and "finish" them on corn in crowed feed lots, that may or may not adjoin the slaughterhouse. The point is, we are given dominion over the earth. It does not mean to destroy, pillage, and plunder the earth, water and air, so that a few may profit, just because we can. This is called greed.

Use the land. Respect the earth. Honor the animals that give their lives so that others can eat. I don't agree with it, but as much as I would love to see the world turn vegan in my lifetime, I know that is not going to happen. But if those who would eat meat would do their buying at small family, organic  farms, be a part of the animal's life, be present when the animal gives up its life so they can fill their freezer, I would venture a guess that there would be much less meat eaten, and far fewer animals killed.

It boils down to respect. I don't worship animals. But I do respect them. I respect life, and I don't want another to lose theirs, so that I can have a taco, a pair of shoes, or a cool jacket. Where is the respect in that?

Life's Painful Bit

There is nothing in this life that will knock a mother on her butt quite like finding out her kid is a drug addict. "Just stop it," is the first thing that comes to mind, and often out of my mouth. Then your kid desperately tells you, "I can't."

I worked so hard in my kids life, to let them know I don't believe in "can't". I always told them, as so many of us do, that there is nothing they won't accomplish, if they believe in themselves enough to try. But I never smoked oxycontin, either. I never sucked it's awful smoke up a straw straight into my lungs, and into my bloodstream. Direct contact. Flush, relax, zone out of reality. I suppose it is like heroin, only without the needles. No, I don't want to know all the ways one can get that bit of nightmare into ones' body.

My first husband, my children's father, had an addictive personality. He liked the drugs, the way they took him away. As a young girl, yes, I tried some of them with him. But unlike him, I hated being out of control of my head. With coke, I hated the sniffing. I hated the hole it put in my friends septum; I hated the way people cut the stuff, acted like it was gold, and inhaled it. I hated the devious way people were in order to use it. I hated that he liked it so much. I hated the zombie he became, a walking dead man.

It was years later, but he found the newer version of it. He smoked crack, which I assume that he had been smoking some before we separated. I assume that his influence and the way he talked to my middle son about drugs was just enough to make it appealing to the child who idolized his father. I assume, because I can. Richard is dead, of a massive heart attack due to crack cocaine use, and not taking care of himself. That is what happens when you use drugs.

My son is a gem. All mothers of drug addicts say that. He is, though, a remarkable 'young' man. He has been able to get certified in loan officer training, (whatever they are called) he got his real estate certificate, and he got an insurance certificate. If there is anyone out there who thinks that any one of those things is hard, and tedious, and boring, try doing all three. Though he did not graduate high school, none of my children did, he is accomplished. He knows people, and he is above everything else, compassionate. On top of all that, (no, wait! There's more!) he's always had the ability to laugh at himself and has a great sense of humor.

But my son cannot kick oxycontin. That drug that should have been prescribed only for cancer, has been prescribed to him for everything from knee surgery to a broken nose. It must have worked. He went on to getting it for himself and others. He is in the worst shape of his life, and my heart is paper thin. I've not given him money, I can't. I've not done anything but pray and beg him to find ways to get himself and the love of his life clean. Yes, she is addicted too. They are precariously balanced. They teeter over an abyss of death, as they walk the tightrope of life. He needs help, but there is nothing available. I cannot afford to pay for it. She has no insurance.

He has spiraled into a depression so deep, so heart wrenching. He cannot see the top of this hole he is in. All the cliche's come to mind about light, and darkness. Dawn, and day.

It strangles me with fear, this addiction. If anyone tells you it is the kid, and not the parent who suffers, they haven't been here. They haven't worried that his liver will give out, or his kidneys fail, or his heart explodes. They haven't been terrified that to make money he will do something illegal, and I will keep my promise, and not speak to him, I can't say for ever. I love him too much to cut him off completely.

But it is there. It is here. His addiction colors my opinions of everything I took for granted. I understand now, that the world is not black and white, that there is grey, and there should be. I do not judge the parents for the child's addiction, like I did before my babies were adults. It was so easy to make those judgements, but we forget how the universe works, when we do that. Never say never, it is like opening a door to calamity, so that all that nonsense comes into your house, and it is truly, never the same. Ever. Streets are different, darker and full of threats. Poltics is different, and sucking the life out of the middle class, and making sure we have no health insurance, because it benefits them. Your interests are colored by this ache, and your light is dimmer than it was yesterday. Your plans surround the what if's of possibilities, too dark to contemplate.

But it is not up to me. His grabbing this monkey is not my job, not within my grasp. Oh, I would, as every mother of an addict out there would, if we had the ability, because we are strong enough to choke the life out of it.

This is the painful bit. I cannot lift him up and kiss his scraped knee. I cannot yell at the other kids, and threaten to talk to their parents for bullying him. I cannot do anything. I can point him to help, I can direct him to go, but if he can, and I pray like a mad woman that he will, I will be there to help him any way that I can. My heart is broken, and shredded. I know the boy he was, and the man he can be. I know this like I know my name. He is my son. He is an addict.

Vegan Things

Becoming vegan was the next logical step in my life. I had been vegetarian for a few years, but the time to take the plunge to vegan was now. PCRM had their 21 Day Kickstart, which was the impetus for me. It came in January of 2012, was the logical starting point, and it made no sense to me in waiting for my husband to get back and do this with me. It was now, or forever wish I had.

Perfect timing, for me, anyway. I was in the mood for weight loss. I threw out my dairy products, of which I had very little to begin with, and I hadn't bought eggs for awhile, so that was easy.

But did you know that refined sugar is most often refined using bone char? I put that in the box. My jar of Tika Masalla had to go in there too.  Then went in my Ghee, my marshmallows, my chocolate chips.   I like to bake for my husband's office mates, who love my chocolate cookies. I'd have to look for substitutes for all of it.

It turns out that eliminating the food out of my cupboard's was the easy part. I gave my neighbor's boxes of food stuff's, all containing dairy, eggs, or cassein, and glycerin is something that can be derived from either an animal source or plant source. How do we find out which is which? I am not so strict that I have to eliminate food prepared in a facility that also prepares food containing dairy or eggs.   BUT...

I love my watch. It is a Fossil, with a great wide, patterned band, that is leather. My husband also has a great watch, likewise with a wide band, that happens to be leather. We took our watches off, and put them into a drawer. We were determined to find bands made of canvas, or plastic, or metal, that had a unique look, that wasn't conventional, or old fashioned, or, well, ugly.

My husband must dress for the office, but wants vegan shoes. He wants to find a vegan belt, jacket, shirts...in order to live an ethical and moral life, living our beliefs, we must give up all the trappings of death that surround everyday life. Leather is everywhere. I gave away my shoes that I loved, my leather designer favorites like Franco Sarto, and my black leather pumps that took me forever to find (before I was vegan) and that I hadn't even had a chance to wear! He gave away his favorite shoes, all his belts, all the silk and leather we had. We felt that we had arrived, that becoming vegan, we now belonged to the next iteration of the human race. We gave away our treasures, all my pearls, all my sexy shoes, everything that we could point to and say that animal had to die so I could enjoy a night out on the town, which was just too much. You can't separate cruelty from fashion if there is animal on the trim.

Being vegan is a commitment to a mindful lifestyle. I no longer want to be associated with death, to wear something that once was alive, that walked, that suffered and died, for nothing more important than some bit of fluff, that will be thrown away when it goes out of style. A life is a thing of beauty, a joy of opportunity, a rare thing in the context of all the death around us daily. It is not important to me to be fashionable at the expense of a living being. So.

That said, where does one go to find vegan goods? It is pretty unreasonable to buy shoes on the internet if you have no opportunity to try them on, then you have to send them back if they do not fit, or turned out to be the wrong color, design, what ever the case, it is inconvenient. It seems to me, that with a movement that is becoming the logical choice to feed the world, there should be a brick and mortar vegan store. Shoe stores should start carrying vegan lines. Sephora carries make-up that are cruelty free, but Revlon, which used to be my staple for just-in-time needs, has begun to test on animals their products. Out they go, too. Shampoo, boxed goods, egg replacer, watch bands and belts. I know there are some nice ones out there, but why, oh why, can't their labels reflect and display that they are vegan? Why do I have to bring my magnifying glass to the store, just to buy something? And why do we have to announce our diet in order to find goods in a store that may carry SOME vegan goods, but does not display them prominently for easy location? It is a lot of work.

Being vegan will get easier, I'm convinced of it. In the meantime, we search for everything, we read everything, and we are careful not to hurt anything. It takes work, and diligence, but at the end of the day, we didn't have to kill anything to get our stuff. After all, we are the van guard of the next big thing. Where are my glasses...?

The Animals, Oh, the Animals!

It is one thing to have a dog. We all know a dog's life in our families changes in every way, the prospects for just getting up and going to spend a weekend in the city for a romantic getaway, just the two of you. It doesn't take much to ask a friend to watch 'the dog' for a couple of days. It is another thing to have two or five, or six.


We decided to go to Europe during the summer of 2012, because Chuck could take advantage of flights from Kandahar to Paris, while I would only have to find flights for myself to and from the Continent. This is where having six dogs becomes tricky. Who do you call? I called a friend whose son might be able to do it. I spoke to a company where they would give them 15 minutes of time per day outside of the kennel. And I spoke to my neighbor, who knows my dogs quite well. Of course, the choice was my neighbor. The boy was not ready to be on his own for what turned out to be a month long trip. So my neighbor came, four times per day to make sure they were watered, fed, and that Luka had not fallen, and been unable to raise herself again. Thanks to Mary Starry, my trip was the most comfortable I could have taken, being in the knowledge that everything would be done according to our routines. It was a perfect match.


When I married my husband Chuck, I married a man committed to animal rescue, more precisely, dog rescue. We came into this marriage with his three dogs, my two, and another we rescued from a busy corner chained to a tree in Texas. But we managed! He spent 18 months in Afghanistan, while I worked to figure out the best way to keep my sanity with six very different personalities, while I continued to explore my love of writing and painting.


Over the 18 months that Chuck was overseas, we managed to find our groove. I figured out the best method to feed them, where who would potentially sleep, who would always get what spot, and what to put on the furniture to keep them off. And to let you know? I bought furniture, all but one chair and ottoman, made of dog friendly material, easily cleaned, that with 'dog' use would look 'distressed', and believe it or not, is pretty durable and not excessively ugly!


All six dogs became adjusted to each ones personality. I stopped taking them for walks once the eldest one, Luka, became heartbroken over the others walking, and her being left at home. I vowed not to put her through that emotion ever again, and I never did.


The hardest thing to do is to put a loved animal down. Anyone who has pets, or that has loved an animal knows what it is to take the dog to the vet, and weep your last goodbyes into the neck of your beloved. We had to put down our old girl Luka last week, and though it was very tough, she let us know it was time.


There is a temptation to keep her/him by your side no matter what. The best excuse is that they are having good days, why take that away from them? But when the good days are followed by bad nights, and painful mornings, their life has no more quality, and is a series of painful moments. It is a hard struggle to know when that time is. We become wrapped up in "but she..." fill in the blank. Luka let us know, and our respect and love for her would not allow us to ignore the signals.

Yes, having six dogs put a crimp in my life. But for the life of me, I cannot tell you what that crimp actually is. I get more in return from these six dogs, than I could have imagined. It is not a glamorous life, by any stretch of the word, to be sure. I clean poo two to three times per day. I feed twice per day, and medicate once in the morning; I have to change the water in the pool often, tie up plants that they have taken a liking to, sweep constantly, vacuum almost daily, and try to wipe the nose prints off of all windows they can reach every other day. Oh, and forget about having people 'stop by', no one drops in unannounced, ever! That is just not done, unless they are very familiar with our dogs, paws, licking, jumping, and flying shedding, dog hair.


So, to take a trip? It is most likely going to be a day trip. Feed before leaving, feed when return. But love, and love by six, or five, or more, or less, always.