I believe in a smoothie. Not only the finished masterpiece (bubbling with strawberry dew) but the noisy scratching of a blender mixing all the organic elements that create happiness in a cup. Add a bendy straw and you can feel the bridge building to heaven.
My mother has always given me smoothies as gifts, draped in love. She is an artiste in the kitchen. Some of her greatest inventions have been composed in the blender. Our blender has broken a multitude of times, but that hasn’t stopped us from seizing the day with a noisy beginning.
My mother not only takes the time to make me smoothies, she spends the extra money to buy organic fruits and berries. She doesn’t want me to be poisoned by pesticides. Or burdened by the guilt that a shackled and abused animal produced the dairy. She wants the pure sweet natural fruit untouched by chemicals, and the products of humanely treated animals. The Organic fruit in my smoothie is an alarm clock to awareness, a way to know how the things sliding down my esophagus were grown and raised. It’s not just bad for us to consume pesticides, but unfair to the workers picking and growing the contaminated products, and the animals suffering through such harsh situations.
We have taken the organic principle beyond produce and made our lives as respectful as possible. A cow that has been sung to on an extensive field fills our freezer. The cow was killed humanely and respectfully. The man who raised it from a calf is a local farmer who doesn’t believe in pesticides or makings cows subject to bovine growth hormone (BGH). The cow was loved and recognized as a living being that could feel. We love the cows that we eat and they deserve every ounce of happiness they can get.
When I was about six my mom started trying to feed me gross green grayish smoothies. She called the extra ingredient that made the smoothies look and taste bad “Super Food”. All I could think of at the time was how this nasty slime wasn’t at all super and how much I didn’t care if it would turn me into a fancy, prancy unicorn I wasn’t going to consume it. So after too many attempts to get me to gulp down the appalling goop destroying my smoothie she gave up. Now I’m fourteen and I can actually say that I like it. I can drink the whole glass without complaining myself out of my shoes, and I appreciate how my mom only wants me to be healthy and wants me to want to be healthy.
I do want to be healthy. I want to be able to make choices that reflect my true feelings. I believe in an organic smoothie, a cow that has been sung to, happiness in a cup, and even “Super Food”.
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