Of me I sing. 4 things you really wanted to know about the Baby Boomers…. but were too polite to ask!

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Peggy Lee sang an insinuating song in Disney’s “Lady and
the tramp” that pretty much summarizes how we Baby
Boomers feel about ourselves  — and those who are
not ourselves. (Released in June, 1955, the film was one
of the first that cashed in on my always media driven generation.)

“We are Siamese if you please.
We are Siamese if you don’t please.”

Face it, we (and I must include myself, riding
hard towards 65) are the Most Important Generation
in the History of the World. Of this there is not nor
will there ever be a whiff of disagreement, capiche?

Today, as we  massively approach 65 (at the
rate of 8000 per day), one truth about the Baby
Boomers remains consistent: everything we touch
is transformed forever and stamped with our irresistible
brand.

That’s why you must know about us… and why we don’t
need to know nearly as much about — you! Let us begin…

Baby Boomers are smarter than you are.

We are the first generation that transformed collegiate
instruction from the preserve of the well-to-do and privileged
into a de rigueur Rite of Passage, mandatory for anyone with
pretensions to professional standing and deference. As a result, higher 
education is now ineffably part of the American Experience, something
that we mortar boarded Boomers have now bequeathed to future generations.

They should be grateful.

Without us , they would have found it more difficult to party hardy at 
Alma Mater, at inexhaustible 18. You owe us…. and we shall surely collect from you…
as we draw our senior serenity from your Social Security fund.

Thanks.

We are not organization people.

If the prototype of our parents’ famously regimented generation was
“The man in the gray flannel suit” by  Sloan Wilson (published 1955), 
we want it to be clear: we own no flannel, gray or otherwise… and
wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this mantel of corporate thraldom.

Jimmy Buffet and margarita soaked parrot heads are more our style; 
we have set the pace for casual apparel, worldwide travel and insipid
ditties like Buffet’s, the anthem of a generation that wishes to get
wasted more often with better company.

Let me be very, very clear: we hate regimentation. We don’t take
orders well. We cannot abide and will not do the mundane, prosaic
tasks that keep organizations ticking along. Whereas my mother
worked hard (for free) doing things like writing and printing (with a hard-to-
jiggle gelatin press) “The Percolator” newsletter for Puffer School,
Downers Grove, Illinois, my generation has No Time for such lowly
(much needed) tasks. We have Better Things To Do. 

As a result, organizations of every kind, in these Boomer dominated
times, are hard hit by a degree of indifference, apathy, disdain that would
have horrified community-spirited mum and her “he’s a good provider”
hubby, your dad.

We do have better sex, and oftener.

Okay, you’re wondering, whether ye be of pre- or post-Boomer vintage,
you’re wondering, I say, whether all the scuttlebutt and (sometimes)
scurrilous tales of lubricity and  pagan Woodstock love-in-the-mud stories
could possibly be true.

They are.

And even more so.

We discovered, early on, that we liked our bodies tremendously…
and that others, gay and straight, liked them, too. It was all “if it
feels good, do it.” And it still is. The fact that our parents Strongly Disapproved
of such glorious,  indiscriminate minglings made it inevitable that we should
have and enjoy them the more.

After all, for the first time in human history, we, the bona fide possessors,  
owned our bodies, not the state, the church, or even our “forsaking all 
others” spouse. “Till death do us part,” indeed; quaint, antediluvian
idea that.

Divorces skyrocketed, so did couples counseling… but  sex gave us something
other  than Scrabble to pass away a few hours, as pleasantly (and freely) as
possible. We took to it with avidity, enthusiasm, and (too often) boredom and
bruised feelings. Perfection, in anything, is difficult to find… but we keep the
search going.

So there.

We aim to live forever, and remain forever young.

Now to the crux of the matter, the focus of fervid Boomer interest
and actions. Since we as a generation either already own or will own
shortly own (at the demise of our careful Great Depression touched parents),
every single thing on earth worth having… we are now engaged in the
hot pursuit of eternal youth, being the first generation to secure
forever for itself.

Oh, yes, make no mistake about it. Having gathered the lot, we
want to keep it “forever and ever, hallelujah.”

This means obsessive focus on the foods we ingest (and avoid), 
the pounds we put on(or take off), gym bodies and sweat inducing
exercises. It’s all part of our massive assault on Eternity; for let’s be clear:
whatever we have wanted, we have secured. With only this, the biggest,
the Big Prize to go.

We regard eternity not as a miracle, but as a problem, greater perhaps
than any other problem we have assayed and solved… but still nothing
that we can’t handle in the hard-headed, inexorable fashion we have
made our own and which has affronted, aggravated, and threatened
other, lesser folk. We care nothing for that. After all the stakes are
enormous this time. So far, we have challenged and rebuilt ideas,
cultures, even an entire civilization, now we want more, the whole
enchilada.

Now, indeed, is our past our prologue, for we are determined not
to go gentle into that good night. (Dylan Thomas, 1951) Absolutely
not.

We know what we want.

We are at work on its achievement.

And in due course, if not sooner, we shall seize Eternity and
savour it. This is our destiny., and yours. Truly it’s better than
any science fiction book ever written.

In all previous generations, for every person in them, eternity
was unimaginable, stuff for philosophers and theologians.
Now, each us of us, in the most pivotal of generations, can
not merely dream, but (soon?) own this, too. After all, millions of us are now
at work on thousands of pathways to eternity. One of us Boomers
will find the way, you betcha. With consequences to fall out later…
when we, massively, have gone on to Something Else.

Biking is a Great Way to Get Your Fitness in High Gear

With the increased drive you’ve gathered from altering your eating behavior, are you now deliberating about adding an activity routine to your calendar? You may have been reluctant about joining a health club or purchasing that fitness DVD on TV, but it’s crucial to understand that the best exercise routine is the one you enjoy.

If you prefer the outdoors or need a breather from an air conditioned office, getting that bicycle in your garage and hitting the road is an great way to better your overall fitness. Whether it’s a mountain bike or an ordinary 10-speed (new bikes have 20-speeds), cycling provides many perks to your body and mind.

Here are a few to consider:

1. Cycling will diminish your risk of coronary heart disease

2. Following a biking routine two to three days per week will trim and tone your leg muscles

3. Biking on a regular basis will raise your stamina and better your capability to carry out your day-to-day activities more efficiently

4. If you are interested in weight loss, biking will curtail those unwanted pounds while building up the strength in your legs

5. Biking will cause you to perspire, which will help expel the toxins in your body

6. Working out on your mountain bike will curtail your blood pressure, and reduce your stress and anxiety levels.

7. Biking will enhance your “good” cholesterol (HDL), and decrease your overall cholesterol score

But before you make a run at a new training routine, make sure you receive clearance from your doctor if you haven’t exercised in over a year.

A mountain bike and helmet are the only equipment items you’ll need. There are plenty more add-ons you can get but we’ll stick to the nuts and bolts here. If you don’t have a bike, then consider ordering one from your local mountain bike shop.

Always pay for a mountain bike that meets your goals. If you want a mountain bike for riding around the block for exercise, all you need is a regular mountain bike. If you have plans to race in triathlons, road races, or mountain bike races, think about doing some legwork online or asking around before stepping into the bicycle shop.

Whatever bicycle you choose, the crucial thing to remember is to get a mtb that fits your body. We all have different size arms, legs and torso so make sure the bike shop fits you to the bicycle. Ask to check out a few different models and drive them around the parking lot to find that correct match.

Once you have your bicycle and are prepared to go, the next step is to…pedal! Many people accept that exercising is painful, but it doesn’t have to be.

The first two weeks of any training program should be well below your pain threshold. Your mind and body require time to adjust to your muscles firing so give them some time to do that. You’ll feel much better the next day and should have little to no muscle soreness.

After two weeks, consider applying more energy to your biking to attain greater health benefits. It’s crucial to remember that your body and mind will acclimate to stress so the longer you cycle, the more you’ll home in on the experience – scenery, fresh air etc. The finale result is that you’ll find more enjoyment with cycling over time.

I like peanut butter, creamy peanut butter, crunchy peanut butter, too.’ Doesn’t everyone?

By Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. The other day when my helper Mr. Aime Joseph and I were at the Shaw’s Market in Cambridge, you know the one up Massachusetts Avenue at Porter Square, I felt a thought being implanted in my head, or rather it was more like some kind of brain wave zapped one of the thousands and thousands of subjects I have in my brain’s computer. All of a sudden I had a sharp pang that leads to something that one hadn’t planned to buy being put in my shopping cart, to swell the profits of Shaw’s… and the company producing the product in question. This time the wave zapping me said, “Skippy Peanut Butter…. Crunchy.”

It was the work of a moment to change my direction and return to the aisle where lived Skippy and its dogged competitors Jiff, Peter Pan, and nowadays some examples of what I call “designer foods,” in this case expensive peanut butters made to cater to the tastes of a few people with capacious pocketbooks.

I had the craving. I did what the craving told me to do (“Buy Skippy’s.”), and I had Mr. Joseph take me straight home where, in a minute or two, I was doing something else that craving phenomenon ordered me to do: “Eat some. At once. Be happy.” I did as I was bid.

“Peanut Butter” by The Marathons.

In 1961, the group called The Vibrations was in the curious position of having two concurrent hits under different names . As The Vibrations (Afircan-American soul vocal group) from Los :Angeles) they released “The Watusi.” I remember it well…

Then with a few lineup changes the group hit again, this time under the name of The Marathons with their catchy little number “Peanut Butter”. It’s this song I’m using as the background sound for today’s article. Start by going to any search engine. Then go find your blue suede shoes and that absolutely necessary hair oil for that essential young punk “do” that says, “I’m hot… and so cool. Eat your heart out.”

Here’s a sampling of the lyrics:

“Well there’s a food goin round that’s a sticky sticky goo (Peanut, Peanut Butter) Oh well it tastes so good but it’s so hard to chew (Peanut, Peanut Butter.)

Believe me, it’s lots better when you hear it, though it is a song that when played in the soda shoppe after school produces wry looks and consternation. You see, it’s too slow… and you can’t dance to. it But it’s just right to eat peanut butter by… but secretly. Cool kids ate peanut butter… but never at school and never from a lunch box. I, of course, didn’t know this until long after high school. Typical! Life is much simpler now… when all I have to do is buy it… and eat it. I think you’d agree.

What is peanut butter?

Peanut butter is a food paste primarily made from ground dry roasted peanuts. It’s popular in North America, Netherlands, United Kingdom, and parts of Asia particularly The Philippines. It is mainly used as a sandwich spread, sometimes in combination as in the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The United States and China are the leading exporters of peanut butter.

History of peanut butter.

Peanuts are native to the tropics of the Americas and natives have been mashing them into a pasty substance for hundreds of years. The Aztecs, people of discernment, fancied peanut butter’s first versions. Purists will argue that there is a difference between peanut paste and peanut butter… but the people waiting for one or the other will not stand silently by until learned folk resolve the matter. When they want their peanut butter, they want it now. Still what are experts for if not to quibble?… Eat your peanut butter first; when you’ve had your fill there will be time enough to hear what they’ve discovered.

Food historians (yes, there are such people graced by the mandatory Ph.D.) believe peoples like the Aztecs did not have smooth peanut butter; they had not yet so advanced (another good reason for their eradication by Spain); instead they had the precursor, peanut paste. The difference? Peanut paste is pure roasted peanuts. It is is harder to work with than regular peanut butter and had more of an unadulterated, somewhat bitter taste. People still ate it up… no doubt enjoying every bit.

Fast forward to George Washington Carver (1864-1943) and the many folks who learned so much from this great, great man. Now people began to experiment with their peanut concoctions… purists were not happy (purists never are)… but with additives like sugar and molasses there was no telling where these new flavors would take the humble peanut. And as Professor Carver rose, so did these peanut fanciers. One man even took his love affair with the peanut and what you could do with it as far as the White House where as President Jimmy Carter he presided from1980-1984.

As soon as scientists like Carver had their say, canny entrepreneurs entered the scene to have theirs. What they liked was not so much the sweetness of the peanut butter… but the even sweeter sound of money.

Evidence of peanut butter as it is known today came in U.S. Patent 306,727 issued in 1884 to Marcellus Gilmore Edson of Montreal, Quebec. It covered the finished product in the process of milling roasted peanuts between heated surfaces until the peanuts entered “a fluid or semi-fluid” state. As the peanut butter cooled, it set into what Edson explained as being “a consistency like that of butter, lard, or ointment.” Edson’s patent is based on the preparation of a peanut paste as an intermediate to the production of peanut candies. While Edson’s patent does not describe the modern confection we know as peanut butter, it does show the initial steps necessary for the production of peanut butter.

More importantly the celebrated J.H. Kellogg, of breakfast cereal fame, and his brother W.K. Kellogg invented their own early version of peanut butter in 1895 and 1897 with U.S. Patent 580,787 for their “Process of Preparing Nutmeal,” which produced a “pasty adhesive substance” they called “nut-butter”.

Bit by bit the peanut-butter business was growing… so that by 1914 there were several dozen brands of peanut butter on the market. One, with the invention of a process to prevent oil separation in peanut butter, was about to break out of the pack. It was the Rosenfelt Packing Company, which in 1933 began the process of obtaining trademark registration in the then 48 states and Hawaii. It took 11 years to complete this proceess. The result was Skippy peanut butter, made into an instantly known brand name thanks to the power of American advertising, including sponsorship of the Skippy Hollywood (radio) Theatre, from 1938 and “You Asked For It”, from 1951.

Skippy sales soared because the folks at Rosenfeld Packing Company had a very clear idea what they wanted: a brand that was as American, as clean cut, as tasty, as fun as the nation itself. And so Skippy grew. This is why I didn’t reach for Jiff or Peter Pan or the designer brands, wonderful though may be… I reached instead, as if by instinct, for Skippy, as I have done for a lifetime. It is always Skippy for me, chunky at that.

Thus, although I go for long stretches without any peanut butter at all, my lifelong loyalty and (a lifetime of buying) is what made conglomerate Best Foods acquire Skippy in 1955. After all, as The Marathons sang,

“All my friends tell me that they dig it the most…Peanut, Peanut Butter.”

Berries are nice’. The lush ripeness of strawberries and their sweet red allure.

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
Author’s program note. This is a story about a fruit so rich that once you start thinking about it you cannot rest until you are eating some… popping them into your mouth as fast as you can, crushing them… letting the richness of its sweet, sweet juice drip down your chin… glad to have all you can eat… joyfully careless about what you waste… for there will always be strawberries enough for you… you are absolutely sure of that!
But as Deana Carter knows, the lush abundance of strawberries is not unlimited… and so she twangs her tale of high summer, desire, a taste so sweet it maddens you and never satiates… producing a wine you can never get enough of… a strawberry wine… a wine that you can never forget… though sometimes you wish you’d never come to know.
And so, I have selected for today’s occasional music “Strawberry Wine” by Matraca Berg and Gary Harrison, released in August, 1996. Nashville record companies found the song overly long, controversial, and not memorable enough. But when Carter sang her heart out about the summer, the boy… the strawberries and their wine… the record won Song of the Year at the Country Music Association Awards. Go now to any search engine and listen to it. You’ll find yourself remembering… you’ll find yourself craving… you’ll want their taste again… the berries always see to that…. for they are an imperious fruit.
Her Majesty’s strawberry. On a picture perfect summer day one August I was in Scotland, in the Highlands, at Balmoral… a country castle conceived by Prince Albert, the beautiful German prince loved obsessively by Queen Victoria. For an American used to the White House with its layer after layer of security, Balmoral comes as a rather unnerving shock. “Security” consisted of a single guard, unobtrusive, reading a newspaper. There might be, there must be more… but that’s all I ever saw. He barely looked at us.. smiled… and waved. Thus does Her Britannic Majesty tell you she is beloved of the people and doesn’t need a legion of centurions to protect her… unlike the president of the Great Republic who always needs more… and more.
And so in due course, my friend and I found ourselves in the magnificent park, expansive, serene, as lovely a place as Earth provides. And in the park I found a kitchen garden… the Queen’s garden… and in this garden I saw a strawberry, huge, perfectly ripe, ready to be eaten. And so I reached down to pluck it and enjoy… whereupon I felt a strong hand pulling me up and heard my friend’s voice, no longer amiable, but commanding, imperative, stentorian: “Do not touch that strawberry…. that is the Queen’s berry!” And I realized what being a subject of the Windsors meant, whilst I was the child of revolution and lese majeste/. And so the uneaten berry remained… for the delectation of the Queen.
Even dukes get only leaves.
I was crushed but as my friend was driving I had to give way, and gracefully, too — or else.
Then I had a thought that cheered me up. Even the grandest members of the nobility couldn’t eat of the Royal fruit with impunity. They had to make do with the strawberries’ leaves. And no, I am not making this up. A duke’s coronet proves my point. When a man becomes a duke (and there are only 24 such people in the entire realm of Great Britain) he is entitled to a silver-gilt circlet called a coronet. It features eight strawberry leaves — not one more and never a single one less. Thus does the sovereign elevate ambitious members of the aristocracy… and keep her strawberries for herself.
Other gentlemen of high rank and title are also entitled to strawberry leaves on their coronets. And here there is a most curious conundrum: marquesses who rank just below dukes in the peerage of the realm are entitled to four strawberry leaves… but earls, who rank below marquesses, get eight. What can this mean? For peers, as you may imagine, are protocol mad… and scrutinize their inferiors for any indication that they are claiming rank and privilege to which they are not strictly entitled. You can be sure there’s some fiddle going on here… but if the marquesses are in a pet of high indignation, they have but to look far down at the viscounts and barons who have not a single strawberry leaf between them… and that’s just the way these marquesses mean to keep it — “Honi soit qui mal y pense.”. Strawberry leaves mean strawberry tea.
Fortunately, there is more you can do with your strawberry leaves than wait for the Queen to make you a duke. That, after all, could be a long time coming since the last non-royal duke was his grace of Westminster, in 1874. It’s true that her present majesty when a young woman offered to make Sir Winston Churchill duke of London… but he declined and there the matter rests, perhaps forever.
And you’ll agree, this situation could be more than irritating for those who every morning see in their looking glasses, not milord this or the right honorable that but… His Grace the Duke of… resplendent in ermine and strawberry leaves.
These men, well bred for hundreds of years, offer the correct aquiline features, the correct pedigree, with generations of the right fathers and acquiescing mothers, masters of every arcane procedure, the right words and impeccable cravat, these men I tell you are smoldering with rage, aggravation, frustration, worthies all marooned in the wrong time. For them, each of them only the calming propensities of strawberry leaf tea will do… poured in a fragile cup of Minton, delivered by Nannie who always knows just what to do. “Have some more sugar, ducks. There, there, it’ll be all right.”
And so does Nanny, who loves you best, goes out with wicker basket on her arm, to the places she knows well, where the fresh wild strawberries grow or the sweet woodland berries. Take 1 tablespoon of dried rose petals, 1/2 teaspoon of yarrow, 1 teaspoon of strawberry leaves, a pinch of mint or blackberry leaves. Add 1 cup of boiling water and allow to steep. Choler cannot long exist in the presence of such determined coziness.
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886).
It was perhaps in pursuit of these ingredients that Emily Dickinson, mistress of opaque language, stepped out, “Over the fence” …
“Over the fence — Strawberries — grow — Over the fence — I could climb — if I tried, I know — Berries are nice. But — if I strained my Apron — God, would certainly scold! Oh, dear, — I guess if He were a Boy — he’d — climb — if He could!”
So, let’s leave it like that, for as Deana Carter sang, “It’s funny how those memories they last. Like strawberry wine… (when) The hot July moon saw everything” and the strawberries were there, bright and beckoning, just over the fence.