I am sure everyone knows the fashionable thing to do now is "detox".
Not the rehab version of detox where the celebrities end up when their career needs a boost.
I am talking the detox thing where you don't eat certain things for days on end, do some fasting, drink some fresh vegetable juice with wheat grass juice and then add some selenium powder in it for full impact. You only do this twice a year apparently.
Almost as bad as my gall bladder flush episode from hell.
You can buy all sorts of packets of products from health food stores that supposedly outline the full procedure. In fact, one Christmas K gave me one such packet to try. What sort of present is that I ask you? I have a book on drinks to make whilst you detox. The drinks are essentially non alcoholic cocktails full of lemon, lime and ginger. So very refined.
Yesterday I noticed an advert in a women's magazine that had the headline "Why detox twice a year, when you can do it every day". Now that seemed interesting. So I read on for full details.
It was advocating the partaking of Metamucil each morning after breakfast. Metamucil is basically a fibre mix that you drink with a glass of water.
So, it appears that a detox is actually all about having a CRAP each day.
Then, a few pages later there was an advert with the headline "Send your children off to school each day with a glass of Metamucil".
Hold on here. This is wrong, wrong, wrong.
What is going on here. It is bad enough that companies add things to food, even milk, to encourage action stations in the dunny department, but would it not be better to encourage healthy eating habits from the word go?
There is something strange about getting people, children especially, to take a product to have a crap without first investigating their diet.
By the way, have you ever taken any of those fibre gel drinks? You want to be very, very careful about when you take it, how much you put in the glass and how long you wish to sit on the toilet. If you don't drink four glasses of water with it, you end up with a 1kg moving mass of fibre trying to make it's way through 80 feet of intestinal tract. Very, very unpleasant for yourself and those close to you, if you get my drift. And, if you are prepared to drink four glasses of water anyway, you would not need to drink fibre gel in the first place.
Personally, I would rather send my child to school with a multi-grain sandwich, piece of fruit and a cup cake. Because I can tell you right now, there is no way that he would drink something like Metamucil after his breakfast. I mean, it is hardly as appealing as an orange juice is it?
No matter how nicely they package the container, no matter how many yummy and tangy flavours it comes in, if you have ever tried one you would have realised that no child is going to be fooled into thinking that is a treat of sorts.
My advice is, before you go "detoxing" at breakfast each day, have a look at what you are eating for breakfast. In fact, have a look at your whole food intake for the day. Extra fibre may be needed for some, however, let us not make it a first choice and certainly not try to make it fashionable by calling it a "detox".
Detox? Yeah right.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
When I was ten my father had a notion to go up to Queensland to make his fortune. He had hoped to buy a caravan park in a tourist filled place. When we got to Queensland we initially lived in the caravan park that he was hoping to buy. If you ever want to put your children in danger, go and live in such a place. It was full of the most unsavoury and creepy people who were always on the look out for young children to entertain. But that is not what this is about.
The deal to buy the park fell through and we ended up buying a milk bar opposite a high school in a place called Caboolture. The building was fibro cement and terribly depressing for my mother. My dad had to go and get a job as a builder locally and my mum had to work in the milk bar making lunches for surly faced teenagers from the school.
Initially I hated being in that place. This was my third primary school and I really did struggle making friends as I was very shy. That slowly changed as I managed to establish some sort of relationship with a couple of other girls. The school was structurally a beautiful old building with wide verandah's and the classrooms had louvre windows to let fresh air into the rooms. Giant Moreton Bay Fig trees adorned different parts of the school, a welcome haven from the sun and a place to climb for the boys. Girls were not allowed to climb trees if they were wearing dresses.
I was forever getting headlice and ringworms as were the rest of my class mates. Children did not have to wear shoes to school. Perhaps the humid environment lent itself to all sorts of skin eruptions and other creepy crawly things. Not that it bothered me but I am sure that my mother was not too impressed.
There was so much freedom for me up there. When I think about what I did after school and on weekends it makes me sick to the stomach now that I am a mother. Running wild, riding my bike, out of the house in the morning and back just before dusk. I used to go down to the local river and swing out on a rope to the middle and let go. We would play around on the railway tracks leaping off when the goods train with its long and never ending cargo would make its way through the town. Not far from our house was a pine plantation in which my friends and I would disappear for hours on end. The silence of that plantation has always stuck in my mind. The only sign of life in it were the ants that crawled on the pine needles and tree trunks.
Cane toads were a common problem in Queensland and still are. We would catch them, wrap them in a plastic bag and put them in the freezer to die before throwing them into the rubbish bin on collection day. It may sound quite mean and I an not sure would not allow my son to do it these days, but really, they were a pest to the natural environment.
When we moved there we had very little money to spend on furniture and my dad managed to get some hospital beds for us to sleep in. The house had lino floors and was cold and quite ugly inside. I remember finding some streamers in a neighbours rubbish bin and taking them out and decorating my room. At times I would look for interesting stones to put on the windowsill or cut out pictures from magazines and pin them to the side of my wardrobe.
When I was about 20 I went up there with a boyfriend and took a photo of my old home. It had not really changed.
Earlier this year when I went up to Noosa we decided to go back and see my house. It was almost significant for me as S was the same age that I had been when I moved up there. When we got there I could not believe the changes to the town. It was totally unrecogniseable. The house had been pulled down, the trees that once graced the school had were long gone. There was nothing there that I could pin to my childhood.
My family and I only lived there for a year or so. My father blamed my mother for his lack of personal success and failure to obtain his dream. It never occured to him that he may have been at fault.
I have a vision of my mother in that fibro house we lived in. She was leaning over the washing machine putting the wet clothes through the mangle. Her hair was in curlers and covered in a scarf. I think I asked her a question and she just said to "go on and get outside". The back door was off the laundry and I recall the skip off the back step I did before I raced off the through the backyard and slipped through a gap in the rear fence and darted off for the day.
She was still doing housework when I came home that evening.