Why even diets that work, don't work

An untitled spring painting by Joe Brainard

from Writer's Almanac this morning:
There's a diet named after Nobel laureate economist George Stigler. The Stigler Diet is actually a mathematical model for the cost of subsistence eating — a linear programming problem on how to get the most nutritional bang for your buck. Specifically, Stigler's math problem was this: Say you have a man who weighs 154 pounds. Out of 77 foods commonly available, how much of each one should be eaten daily so that the man gets the right amount of nine essential nutrients — at the cheapest cost? The nutrients Stigler took into consideration: calories, protein, iron, and some vitamins.

The solution to the optimization problem: In one year, that man should consume 370 pounds of wheat flour, 57 cans of evaporated milk, 285 pounds of dried navy beans, 23 pounds of spinach, and 111 pounds of cabbage. In 1939, dollars, this would cost about 11 cents a day. Today, it'd be close to $1.75 per day. Stigler was subjected to a barrage of ridicule for suggesting this dull and bland diet, and he tried to remind people that it was just a mathematical model. He issued a statement: "No one recommends these diets for anyone, let alone everyone."

Last week Tom's sister Diane visited for a couple of days.  One night for dinner we went to a German restaurant/social club for which I had recklessly bought a coupon months ago - a coupon about to run out.  This turned out very well.  We liked the place, one of those last-century phenomena about to disappear, its decor untouched since the fifties.  And we loved the food, starting with sauerkraut balls. I went on have bratwurst, hot German potato salad, and sauerkraut.

Midway through this journey, I realized that before the transplant I could not have eaten a thing on my plate.  Bratwurst and sauerkraut, way too salty.  Potatoes, too high in potassium.  But now I was taking it for granted, eating what I liked, as much as I liked. 

Here's the little insight there:  for years, as I struggled to stay alive and off dialysis, I had to think about everything I ate, including a few cashews (nuts are high in phosphates).  And I had this lingering almost unconscious desire.  Now the desire was being fulfilled, and guess what - it didn't much matter. Not being able to eat what I liked, that gave rise to this craving.  I take it from this that getting what you want is not the answer.

Tapping desire

Today is another day, and I am waiting for a phone call from the transplant center - two days ago Laurie had her last tests.  Someone should know whether she passed or failed.  Aieee.

Appropriately, I began my day with a dharma reading about desire - how we can simply own our desire and not rush to fulfill it or to deny it.  Just being with it, you know.  Well, offhand that did not seem to help me, for I felt all my desire to have more energy, more lively creativity, and not have to go on dialysis.  (Don't believe the stories about someone living a wonderful life on dialysis for 35 years - that person is one in a million. Dialysis is dangerous and uncomfortable and time-consuming.)  My desire seemed much stronger; I had tapped it.

After breakfast and a pureeing Sheba's catfood, I called Tara and left a message.  Well, it is 12:41.  She hasn't gotten back to me.  We are supposed to go to the health club today, but I don't want to leave the house and miss a call.  Didn't leave my cellphone number.  Could call back and do that, but you have to go through this long menu and wait even to leave a "voicemail" (useless synonym for "message" designed to make the recipient sound businesslike and important.)

I set myself some time for lively creativity.  Read a short article in Writer's Chronicle about how poets should be willing to use the internet to get our poetry out there.  Went to Blogger to examine the possibility of adding a page to this blog for poetry.  Or putting it on the unused domain I own, zencat.com.  The directions were so confusing.  It bends my particular brain to think about new technology - I'm just not made for that.  I realized it was time for a music break.  Went to YouTube trying to find a Chopin etude played by someone older than 10 years old.  And somehow from there got onto Fail Blog which made me laugh, and that made my stomach feel better. (Yes, stomach reflecting anxiety.)  As for music, I found myself listening to a song by Morphine.  Didn't need Chopin after all.  Didn't need much Morphine, just a little.

I had strayed into scrolling around on a favorite blog, The Book of Joe, where Zappo's ran a tantalizing custom-made video-ad, showing every fall purse and fringed boot I had considered buying.  It brought up my previous desire, which had begun with a picture of a knee-high boot with three layers of fringe.  Very hippie seventies. I had modulated that to a slip-on mocassin type thing with one layer of fringe and what looks like some wooden beads.  But hadn't ordered anything.  Zappo's knows all about it.

So I was distracting myself as best I can.  This is another way, writing - a better way, uses more of my frontal cortex and puts the desire for a transplant to simmer on a back burner.  Seems to me part of that is the desire to know my immediate future, which will become busy if the answer is yes.  Well, back to not-knowing.  Even if you think you know the future, you never do.  It is always a surprise.  Haven't you found that to be true?

[unrelated image:  titled "Spring Advances," so what I was looking for was that tint of green on the trees reflected in the side mirror.  I am aware that most people would snort at this - the kind of picture you take accidentally.  But I know how contemporary art works - if I say it's art, it is.]