Something happened at our house during Christmas that was sneakily mysterious. In a single afternoon our kitchen was transformed into a health food mecca.

Our two 30-something daughters and their families were in town, and on this one particular day in question, when the men were doing men things, there was a silent bustling in the kitchen.

Anything close to out of date, or anything that wasn’t organic, was basically shown the back door.

It was, of course, replaced with the more expensive and much more healthy organic or natural stuff.

Now, I’ve witnessed this phenomenon in the past when we visit their homes.

“How can they raise their children without feeding them chicken fried steak and Kraft macaroni and cheese?” I often wondered.

The food they eat is not the food we raised them on. I know times have changed, and everything that’s not organic these days is going to kill you – almost immediately - but I had to put my foot down (sounds tough doesn’t it) on a couple of things.

I realize I have a very high metabolism (even though the gut is starting to show a bit more since turning the big 6-0) and most people don’t burn fat and calories like I do, but nobody – wife, daughter(s), or even my doctor (yet) – is going to tell me I can’t have my Pringles, sugary cereal, and Blue Bell ice cream!

I was told I could still have those things, but in moderation.

I figured I had an out somewhere. I looked up the word moderation; just to see what sentence I had just received.

Moderation means “the avoidance of excess or extremes, especially in one’s behavior or political opinions.”

Well, it doesn’t say anything about eating!

All joking aside, I started drinking “special” milk a long time ago, back when the grandkids started showing up, and I don’t mind it at all. In fact I can’t remember the last time I bought a carton of the old dreaded regular milk.

It does sadden me somewhat that milk companies are filing bankruptcy because the younger generations, if they drink milk at all, are drinking alternative milks (whatever that means).

I still subscribe to the belief that God made cows, cows provide milk, I like milk, and so I drink cow milk.

I think what I’m drinking is cow milk, but the cows weren’t dusted with DDT or something similar, which makes my new milk better for me.

The girls helping their mother organize her kitchen “the new way” was a very nice gesture. And, I have to admit, it sort of makes me feel guilty if I cause any clutter whatsoever in the food prep area.

I guess it rubbed off on me somehow because this past weekend I went through my home office, or what I call my man cave (aka – guest bedroom with my desk and one “approved” picture) and cleaned it up with a fine-toothed comb.

Actually, I did find several dog grooming combs that had mysteriously disappeared.

As I watch my girls, their families, and grandchildren, I’m beginning to understand how my parents felt when we started “sharing” with them new ways of doing things.

My dad would just look at me.

Today, I fully understand that look.

I can’t wait to finish this edition of the paper. When I get home I’m drinking 1-1/2 ounces of milk, eating a half-tablespoon of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate ice cream, and devouring a mandarin orange that I don’t understand how it made it this far without preservatives.

See, this massive change in eating habits is “effecting” my “righting.”

Until next week, have a good week.

Mike Probst can be reached at publisher@rockportpilot.com.

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