An old Cherokee told his grand-son, “My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all. One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, and truth.”
The boy thought about it, and asked, “Grandfather, which wolf wins?”
The old man quietly replied, “The one you feed.”
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| The Shrimp Dock at Independent Seafood in Georgetown, SC |
This past week, I went home and fed the old black southern woman that lives deep inside my soul. I have evidence that this woman exist based on the simple fact that my back-side is revered by many to actually be that of a black woman’s. Well, let’s just be honest here.
Some people should―and probably do―(...but hopefully not) hate me. My Attention Deficit Disorder medication has sped up my metabolism and curbed my appetite to the point of assisting me to “high school skinny.” I am not hungry very often. And when I do eat, I get away with consumption in the fashion of the skinny-fat-people that everyone hates. It’s not fair...I know it.
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| Gathering some of life's treasures |
I think food is the best of all of the treasures on the earth. I love that God speaks of heaven in terms of a “feast” and that Jesus was often found feeding the masses. In fact, His last evening on this earth was spent feasting. It must be important to eat.
It is our fuel.
I loved when reading the book ‘The Shack” that as the Trinity was represented God, the Father, was a black woman who loved to cook.
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| Shrimp Creole! |
I was reminded of this most recently when an old friend was wearing a t-shirt on a Facebook picture post that said, “I met God, she’s black.” For some reason this made sense to me. How could God be more loving than this image? The kind soul that would feed you with all the knowledge you could ever possibly need...and at the same time―smack your behind when you needed a good waking up via whipping?!? Yes, I believe God may in-fact be a black woman. The humble, caring, calloused-handed black woman who always loved me in the best of ways.
Where does the love come from? If loving people is expressed by feeding them (as I have written about before), my actions this past week suggest love at least starts in the farm fields of South Carolina.
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| Peaches from MacBee, SC |
This is what I brought home in several coolers from South Carolina (most of it from the Kudzu Bakery...the rest from farm fields...ocean included):
1 Keylime pie
3 containers of shrimp dip
1 container of crab dip
1 container of pimento cheese
2 boxes of Mepkin Abbey Oyster Mushroom Ravioli
1 box of “select peaches” from the loading dock at MacBee
6 pounds of medium fresh shrimp from Independent Seafood in Georgetown
2 pints of shrimp creole base―home cooked from my mother
2 pints of fresh strawberries from MacBee
and a few ears of South Carolina Sweet corn
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| Crabs from the creek at Pawley's Island |
This seems a bit ridiculous―if you’re ignoring your inner southern black woman. Why would one
single person return to Northern Virginia with such a bounty?
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| The "sliver" I got up to get... |
Well, first of all, the inner black woman likes to share. And since I choose to embrace her―since she is my best friend―I brought back a ton of food. This voice of reason is the one who says, “Honey-child...you goin’ ahead and eat dat shrimp dip!” and “Don’t you mind that third slice of pie...it's just a sliver!” I think I’ll break from writing and go get a slice now actually...
Not kidding...I really just did.
If you are what you eat, I am a key-lime shrimp slathered with mayonnaise (from all the shrimp/crab dip) and topped with fresh corn, strawberries, and pimento cheese this week. I wonder how my food coma will effect my ability to give a good PT treatments this week?
So if I may, I propose a toast...to the inner black woman in us all.
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