Commoratio (kom-mor-a’-ti-o): Dwelling on or returning to one’s strongest argument. Latin equivalent for epimone.
This is it—all that we have been waiting for since we turned vegetarian, rebuffing family and friends and living on whole grains, green leaves and supplements. Although our book “Meat Me in Hell” was a total failure, it got us a lot of attention. Soon, we’re going to give our cookbook a shot—“Leaf Me”—it has ten good recipes for ten good dishes. Spaghetti with applesauce sauce is a favorite in our home, as is grapefruit and eggplant wedges on tofu, with a ramekin of pearl onions blended with lotus seeds and sprinkled with crushed peppercorns on the side.
We’ve been vegetarians since we were in high school, where we were shunned and subjected to harsh ridicule— like “Moo Moo“ and “Have you found your roots yet?” That was fifty years ago—and it bears witness to longevity as the key benefit of being a vegetarian—that, and not committing murder for a meal. Our consciences and our colons are clear.
What about our classmates from high school who didn’t hoe same the row that we did? Class reunion was bleak. They’re nearly all dead or in nursing homes, while we continue to plow into the future with our rutabegas held high, while the non-vegheads limp, push walkers and roll in electric wheelchairs with bleary eyes and gravy stains on their clothing.
Somehow, animal organ eating, pot-smoking, acid dropping, beer guzzling Billy Gote went all these years unscathed. Go figure! By all rights he should be dead or bedridden. But, he had his fifth set of triplets with his new wife Velda just last week. So what! Who cares! Look at us! We can still stand! We can still feed ourselves! We can use a remote control. And best of all, we still drive, albeit 10 miles per hour under the speed limit— to the great chagrin of the young hooligans who try to run us off the road, or blow their horns and give us the finger.
Longevity is the aim and a meatless menu will get you there. The five of us haven’t sucked blood from char-broiled cows, boiled chickens in oil, or had ground-up pig leg on a bun for so long I can’t remember, and we look and we feel great. In fact, Raymond has started growing roots from the soles of his feet. They look somewhat like carrots without the orange glow. Raymond will be checking into the “Center for Mutant Studies” on Monday where he will become a subject in a scientific study.
So Raymond, this one’s for you, “May your roots take hold in the soil of life, and keep you steady in the years to come.”
I have prepared a celebratory lunch for us according to a recipe from our (hopefully) forthcoming cookbook. it’s called “Ants and Uncles.” It consists of batter-dipped ants, lightly seasoned with sea salt and garnished with chopped clover. The batter-dipped ants are “sequestered” on a “hill” of stir-fried brown rice “punctuated” with diced durian.
The next time you see one of our former classmates wobbling along behind their walker, give them a shove to help move them along their way. If you see Billy Gote, ask him what he’s doing Friday night.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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