Cheese

I am of Midwestern blood. My father was born in Wisconsin, my mother, in Iowa. It's no wonder then that I love cheese. I try to avoid it -- fat and cholesterol -- but I can't. I once even tried giving it up, but I felt a great spiritual void in my life and quickly realized it was the absence of cheese in my diet. Even today, when I am suffering from a mild intestinal distress, I feel compelled to eat cheese. "Protein," I tell myself, "I need protein."

Recently, my cheese desires have fallen prey to mini Babybel cheeses -- round disks of white cheese sealed in wax and then wrapped in red cellophane. I love the ritual of unfurling the red and pulling the waxy tab to pop open the velvety chunk. I have to temper myself though, limiting my intake to just three a day otherwise the mesh bag in which they come would be empty within the week and I'd be taking Crestor to curtail my cholesterol for the rest of my life.

Not much has settled in my stomach these days. I'm eating toast and applesauce and occasionally a slice of fresh apple or some chicken broth warmed on the stove. I'm not sure if I've caught a bug or am just experiencing the release of months and months of worry about this presidential campaign. My ritual of Babybel has replaced my addiction of scanning the internet news for polls and predictions. There are no longer any electoral maps to analyze, nothing scandolous or informative on television news programs. I now watch Rachel Maddow because she's thoughtful and not because she reflected my own doubt and skeptism about the election.

Of course, Babybel might be replaced by my curiosity of what's happened to Hillary and what might be her future in the political arena...

...but I doubt it. Babybel is a strong vice and with a bit of rustic apple juice it appears to be the ticket to what ails me be it election withdrawals or the flu.