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The Buddha counseled acceptance. Resistance, he said, only makes things worse.
Jesus pleaded for us to love our enemies, human and edible.
No is a form of resistance to what and who we dislike. Occasionally, our human enemies feed off our hatred. It makes them stronger.
My mother, God love her, eventually accepted the eatables that each of her sons would not touch, without gagging. For Peter, it was applesauce. For Pat, nuts. For her eldest, me, it was a triumvirate of solids: peas, mushrooms, and eggs. And milk, oh Lord, how I hated milk.
Two days ago, Bruce and Michelle served Rebecca and me a phenomenal home-cooked meal of 24-hour-brined, grilled pork chops cooked to 144 °, thick, tangy-sauced baked beans, crunchy, golden-browned roasted potatoes, and, according to Rebecca, the tenderest sauteed mushrooms she has ever had, followed by just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies.
Whenever serving plates were passed, I took more of everything but the fungi to hide my NON-ACCEPTANCE.
Yesterday, at a kettlebell workout to drop the two pounds I gained, the sign on the counter read,
Say Yes To Today.
So I will.
Selectively.
Pass the milk, Don.
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