Since I don’t twitter, does that make me less of a twit? Not necessarily. Since I don’t use a cell phone while driving, does that make me less of a danger to others on the road? You can bet everyone’s life on it.
When people talk of traffic most often it’s about tailgaters, speeders and drivers whose sense of maintaining a constant speed is elusive, including those traveling too far below the posted limit.
Since my radio antennae is out of commission, cds are played on repeat or, as backup, the tape player is primed to waft some illegally copied tunes to provide a preferred variety of favorites. There’s over two hours of listening pleasure that keep me entertained as I sing out of harmony with talented artists.
To some, just listening to music while driving might be considered a distraction of sorts but, believe me, contemplating my next column would pose more of a hazard. I know my priorities behind the wheel.
A group of roadies that deserve extra caution from operators of a machine that poses a death threat to anyone meandering residential streets are pedestrians and bike riders.
Many residential areas are void of sidewalks so when I see an adult pushing a baby stroller, or walking with children tagging alongside and taking up a full lane of the road, it’s extremely disturbing. I don’t just slow down, I come to a complete stop until I feel assured a little tyke won’t jut out from the side of the road. There must be no regrets.
My next-door neighbor’s 16-year old son, Randy, with a future career in engineering, frequently skateboards with his friends with a makeshift ramp. In my opinion, they’re not very good but at least they keep a watchful eye out for traffic and immediately moves to the side. Not all kids are as respectful as some do a stare-dare out of insolence to the driver. An alternate route is safest.
The neighbor on the other side has three young children, the oldest of which is 7 years old, who also play in street. I was really impressed when little David demonstrated the creative maneuvers he can make with his skateboard that swivels in the middle, called The Wave. He’s pretty cool squatting down on it as he shows off, but I make sure to mention the precautions he must take to keep him and his siblings from getting hurt. Fortunately, I’ve seen him looking out for cars, always moving out of danger.
Recently, I remained motionless at a stop sign. The erratic behavior of a Jeep with emergency lights flashing was a concern, but the bike rider going around it was altogether too scary. The rider looked me straight in the eyes, for what was an assumed precaution to make sure I wouldn’t send him sprawling on the pavement.
Later, I realized the look was of recognition from when the young man had stopped at the house to sell enhanced educational services for kids. He probably thought me rude for not waving as he had requested since he’d be pedal-pushing his wares in Spring Hill the summer to assist mom with college tuition.
Imagine the determination of the young man to pump those pedals all day long, for what must have been days on end with the sun beating down on him in this land of heat and humidity?
Although a truly needed service, with high unemployment in Hernando County the rationale of sending someone to this deprived area fails my understanding. I doubt he achieved his goals. If only he had taken the initiative to offer a greeting of some nature, it may have led to an exchange of words between us that would have told me tales of his travels. For sure, he deserves no blame.
Alas, being from Estonia, a unique opportunity was missed for a conversation that would surely have provided myself, thus the reader, a unique perspective of a foreigner in this land of strange Americans. Hopefully, he had no ‘incidents’.
Still, an experienced bike rider such as he is no less subject to the failings of a driver. When I see anyone on a bike, of which there appear to be few, I fear for their safety. Untrusting of all drivers, I haven’t ridden a bike on a road in decades.
I’m also oblivious to recognize or even acknowledge a friend who later wonders why I didn’t wave as we traveled along the same street. Keeping my eyes on traffic doesn’t allow for socializing while driving.
Two happy-go-lucky amputees who traverse neighborhood streets brighten the road with a hearty wave and an exchange of smiles. Having had conversations with each while exercise-walking, their joy of having motorized mobility enhances their lives immeasurably. I worry for their safety, too.
Cautious me, when I turn off Mariner onto the street where I live, on more than one occasion there may have been a fender bender because the corner house is ‘right there’ and the poor souls who have lived there (it’s changed owners at least three times in the past three years) have no choice but brave backing out of the driveway
My scariest road encounter was when, after using the turn signal, I rounded the curb off Mariner onto the street where I live at 10 mph, an action that kept two young girls walking on the side of the road from being sent to an emergency room with broken bones, or worse. At fault or not, guilt would have been at my side. For life.
Vehicle-to-vehicle fender benders are less apt to cause serious injury. Vehicle-to-person encounters can be killers.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Paying Out Cash For My Clunker
A month ago, when entering the TIA short-term parking garage my truck stalled. It restarted okay but the temperature gauge was pinned. Two weeks later at a cost of over $5,000 it was back on the road.
Never having required anything other than regular maintenance, without hesitation I authorized my trusted mechanic to begin work immediately. After 14 years of being a reliable source of transportation, it remains the most trusted of the five vehicles I’ve owned over the past four decades.
The goal of a vehicle taking me over 100K miles through life has finally been met. The ’69 Gremlin didn’t make it. Neither did the ’76 Mustang, my favorite. Each had less than 90K miles. The interior of the Gremlin was simply worn out and didn’t have air. The Mustang had transmission and cooling system problems.
I really liked the dealer-used ’81 Mazda 626 but the manual shift was too annoying in the stop-n-go traffic in Los Angeles. Still, I would have kept it indefinitely but for an accident that totaled the car. The other driver went through a stop sign, barely hit the rear passenger side of my car and put me in a slow motion rollover that ended with the car upside down and sliding into two parked cars before coming to a halt.
I was out of work for a few months, an unpleasant healthcare fiasco.
I then bought a fully automatic ’86 Mazda 626, U-Hauled it cross-country to Florida on a flat-bed trailer in ’88 and kept it until ’95 when electrical problems at 98K miles led to the purchase of the Toyota 4Runner.
So, on July 1, AAA towing service delivered the truck to Brooksville to be rehabilitated by the masterful mechanics at ToyoDoc.
A Toyota Camry is the traveling car so the truck has never been outside Florida, primarily used to get to and from work and numerous jaunts to Daytona Beach when I lived in Orlando. A minor rear-end nudge pinned the bumper to the back tires. No other accidents.
As a homeowner, it’s been indispensable not only to myself but also to friends when needed. Only two other people have driven it, when I was a little tipsy. I’ve taken very good care of it. Some exterior scratches and dings, barely noticeable, and a few interior scrapes and digs, most of which I caused while hauling things. It’s a truck. The antenna remains broken. The speakers need replacing. Other minor concerns, all cosmetic. My faith in the quality of Toyota products assures me it’ll see me through another decade or more, if I should live that long. Que sera, sera.
Actually, my disinterest in new cars might appear insulting to others but I’m not a car person. It might look nice and pretty but how much per month?, for how many years? and at what increase in auto insurance? are thoughts not actually verbalized. People have different values.
I cringe when a new car owner starts talking about dealer problems. Or when they say there are so many fancy options that it would take a year to read the manual (respectful laughter, please, for the bland sense of humor), and the inevitable whining about parking lot door dings and bumper scratches. It happens and other car owners don’t care.
Then there’s the “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.” “Wows!” and “That’s unbelievable!” are said out of obligation. Consumer driven technology is truly amazing – can’t live without it, right? Just get me from point A to point B with air or heat as needed. Most everything else is fluff and something else that can go wrong. Okay, I like electric windows and door locks.
The ‘cash for clunkers’ scheme was never an option for me. Before the July 24 kick-off, my truck had already been resurrected. It’s not a ‘junker’. It had a boo-boo that may have been avoided if it had been checked out when I first noticed an odd noise. I still saved thousands of dollars and years of car payments that wouldn’t fit into my budget anyway. When The Big One hits, it’ll safely transport my cats, a few emergency essentials and myself to Tennessee, if not for some other life-changing mission.
The 250,000 new cars sold under the plan are mainly foreign made, replacing American brands. They get an average increase of nearly 10 mpg, reducing nationwide gasoline use, thus greenhouse gas emissions, by a paltry .04 percent. Annual savings are about $600 at $2.70/gallon if driven the same number of miles. The debt to trade-in ratio isn’t an enticement.
The plan may temporarily keep a number of employees from becoming the latest victims of the recession but six months down the road the streamers and balloons will be gone as will many of the dealerships.
Never having required anything other than regular maintenance, without hesitation I authorized my trusted mechanic to begin work immediately. After 14 years of being a reliable source of transportation, it remains the most trusted of the five vehicles I’ve owned over the past four decades.
The goal of a vehicle taking me over 100K miles through life has finally been met. The ’69 Gremlin didn’t make it. Neither did the ’76 Mustang, my favorite. Each had less than 90K miles. The interior of the Gremlin was simply worn out and didn’t have air. The Mustang had transmission and cooling system problems.
I really liked the dealer-used ’81 Mazda 626 but the manual shift was too annoying in the stop-n-go traffic in Los Angeles. Still, I would have kept it indefinitely but for an accident that totaled the car. The other driver went through a stop sign, barely hit the rear passenger side of my car and put me in a slow motion rollover that ended with the car upside down and sliding into two parked cars before coming to a halt.
I was out of work for a few months, an unpleasant healthcare fiasco.
I then bought a fully automatic ’86 Mazda 626, U-Hauled it cross-country to Florida on a flat-bed trailer in ’88 and kept it until ’95 when electrical problems at 98K miles led to the purchase of the Toyota 4Runner.
So, on July 1, AAA towing service delivered the truck to Brooksville to be rehabilitated by the masterful mechanics at ToyoDoc.
A Toyota Camry is the traveling car so the truck has never been outside Florida, primarily used to get to and from work and numerous jaunts to Daytona Beach when I lived in Orlando. A minor rear-end nudge pinned the bumper to the back tires. No other accidents.
As a homeowner, it’s been indispensable not only to myself but also to friends when needed. Only two other people have driven it, when I was a little tipsy. I’ve taken very good care of it. Some exterior scratches and dings, barely noticeable, and a few interior scrapes and digs, most of which I caused while hauling things. It’s a truck. The antenna remains broken. The speakers need replacing. Other minor concerns, all cosmetic. My faith in the quality of Toyota products assures me it’ll see me through another decade or more, if I should live that long. Que sera, sera.
Actually, my disinterest in new cars might appear insulting to others but I’m not a car person. It might look nice and pretty but how much per month?, for how many years? and at what increase in auto insurance? are thoughts not actually verbalized. People have different values.
I cringe when a new car owner starts talking about dealer problems. Or when they say there are so many fancy options that it would take a year to read the manual (respectful laughter, please, for the bland sense of humor), and the inevitable whining about parking lot door dings and bumper scratches. It happens and other car owners don’t care.
Then there’s the “Hop in, I’ll give you a ride.” “Wows!” and “That’s unbelievable!” are said out of obligation. Consumer driven technology is truly amazing – can’t live without it, right? Just get me from point A to point B with air or heat as needed. Most everything else is fluff and something else that can go wrong. Okay, I like electric windows and door locks.
The ‘cash for clunkers’ scheme was never an option for me. Before the July 24 kick-off, my truck had already been resurrected. It’s not a ‘junker’. It had a boo-boo that may have been avoided if it had been checked out when I first noticed an odd noise. I still saved thousands of dollars and years of car payments that wouldn’t fit into my budget anyway. When The Big One hits, it’ll safely transport my cats, a few emergency essentials and myself to Tennessee, if not for some other life-changing mission.
The 250,000 new cars sold under the plan are mainly foreign made, replacing American brands. They get an average increase of nearly 10 mpg, reducing nationwide gasoline use, thus greenhouse gas emissions, by a paltry .04 percent. Annual savings are about $600 at $2.70/gallon if driven the same number of miles. The debt to trade-in ratio isn’t an enticement.
The plan may temporarily keep a number of employees from becoming the latest victims of the recession but six months down the road the streamers and balloons will be gone as will many of the dealerships.
I Don't Go Out Much
I don’t go out much any more. Call it summertime hibernation. The blackout, block-out drapes are drawn to a close. The horizontal and vertical blinds too.
Candles lit at night aren’t for the esthetics. Night lights shed a soft glow so as not to step on Elvis, my Burmese buddy in black, or from tripping over Sassy, a Siamese pretty boy with the bluest of eyes reminiscent of those of Paul Newman.
The 82 degree thermostat setting suits a person with hypothyroidism. For the rest of us, a few moments in the blistering heat and stifling humidity makes the indoor temperature feel like a touch of cool springtime air.
Try as I may, for too long words have been ignored that the air movement from an overhead fan are only affective when you’re in the room, otherwise it’s wasteful electricity. As is too often the case, not until someone else makes the same claim that there’s a miraculous moment of understanding. Pointing out the fact that it’s been said many times before is as pointless as saying, I told you so. I empathize with Rodney Dangerfield.
There are no shade trees to shelter the house from the heat of the sun. The three trees that the builder is supposed to leave on the property were jokable. Two scrub bushes and a sickly, barely rooted sand hill pine tree didn’t make for an umbrella effect. The saplings from the Arbor Day Foundation for a token contribution may take years to grow hip-high, so rainy or cloudy days are needed to keep the electric bill down.
A moment of respite from this self-imposed isolation might come with dinner. A buy one, get the second half off is a good deal but the occasional two for the price of one is the best. Still, I’d rather cook the meal myself, preferably on the grill. No overhead costs, no head counts garnering wages or tips and no feeling of being short-changed in quality, freshness or service. The best experiences are at family-owned restaurants where faces, if not names, are always recognized.
These days of isolation aren’t to be considered antisocial. As I quizzed a friend, What do you do whenever you step out of the house? After a pause, I suggested he think about it a moment longer to which he responded, You spend money? Teacher turned carpenter, he nailed it.
From the moment the garage door opener does it’s thing to the ignition of the vehicle, and hence the trip from, to and back, there are costs incurred, however slight, that tally up and creep deep into the pocket book.
However un-American it sounds, if it can’t be paid in cash or by debit, spending is to be avoided at all cost. Is it a need or a want? Sometimes a good-feeling purchase brings a little joy but those little purchases add up and might be better put toward paying down debt or, more immediate, to pay a utility bill. No added debt, no regret.
Making the best of an outside venture is a priority. For instance, a cashier looked so grumpy I thought of seeking a different register but I stuck it out for the few items in the basket – only what was truly needed. Somewhat surprisingly, the lady greeted as she had been trained. I offered a conciliatory comment that she appeared to be having a very bad day. She admitted so. Days of sinus headaches make for a protracted period of discomfort, thus the look of despair. But she perked up a bit, saying she had but a few minutes before her shift was to end. It was fifteen minutes before the hour so relief was indeed on its way. Pleasantries ended our meeting with the feeling that a simple exchange of words was of some value to both of us.
A trip to the airport and the ensuing wait was annoying. The plane was delayed a few times until two hours had passed. Regrets for failing to bring the newspaper or a couple of magazines to which I still subscribe were momentarily forgotten when a mother was heard telling her daughter, about four years old, that a sign on the wall read ‘No crying allowed’ and if the little darling couldn’t hold back the tears, she’d have to ‘go over there’ and wait. There was no such sign! It was a glass-encased fire extinguisher! Not a peep from the girl but chuckles came and went a number of times – from me. I was in awe of a mother’s creative, if not wise, means of parenting. Cheap and priceless entertainment, thank you so very much.
Hopefully these days of penny-pinching will become addictive. I don’t want to become a hermit, but for now I don’t get out much anymore.
Candles lit at night aren’t for the esthetics. Night lights shed a soft glow so as not to step on Elvis, my Burmese buddy in black, or from tripping over Sassy, a Siamese pretty boy with the bluest of eyes reminiscent of those of Paul Newman.
The 82 degree thermostat setting suits a person with hypothyroidism. For the rest of us, a few moments in the blistering heat and stifling humidity makes the indoor temperature feel like a touch of cool springtime air.
Try as I may, for too long words have been ignored that the air movement from an overhead fan are only affective when you’re in the room, otherwise it’s wasteful electricity. As is too often the case, not until someone else makes the same claim that there’s a miraculous moment of understanding. Pointing out the fact that it’s been said many times before is as pointless as saying, I told you so. I empathize with Rodney Dangerfield.
There are no shade trees to shelter the house from the heat of the sun. The three trees that the builder is supposed to leave on the property were jokable. Two scrub bushes and a sickly, barely rooted sand hill pine tree didn’t make for an umbrella effect. The saplings from the Arbor Day Foundation for a token contribution may take years to grow hip-high, so rainy or cloudy days are needed to keep the electric bill down.
A moment of respite from this self-imposed isolation might come with dinner. A buy one, get the second half off is a good deal but the occasional two for the price of one is the best. Still, I’d rather cook the meal myself, preferably on the grill. No overhead costs, no head counts garnering wages or tips and no feeling of being short-changed in quality, freshness or service. The best experiences are at family-owned restaurants where faces, if not names, are always recognized.
These days of isolation aren’t to be considered antisocial. As I quizzed a friend, What do you do whenever you step out of the house? After a pause, I suggested he think about it a moment longer to which he responded, You spend money? Teacher turned carpenter, he nailed it.
From the moment the garage door opener does it’s thing to the ignition of the vehicle, and hence the trip from, to and back, there are costs incurred, however slight, that tally up and creep deep into the pocket book.
However un-American it sounds, if it can’t be paid in cash or by debit, spending is to be avoided at all cost. Is it a need or a want? Sometimes a good-feeling purchase brings a little joy but those little purchases add up and might be better put toward paying down debt or, more immediate, to pay a utility bill. No added debt, no regret.
Making the best of an outside venture is a priority. For instance, a cashier looked so grumpy I thought of seeking a different register but I stuck it out for the few items in the basket – only what was truly needed. Somewhat surprisingly, the lady greeted as she had been trained. I offered a conciliatory comment that she appeared to be having a very bad day. She admitted so. Days of sinus headaches make for a protracted period of discomfort, thus the look of despair. But she perked up a bit, saying she had but a few minutes before her shift was to end. It was fifteen minutes before the hour so relief was indeed on its way. Pleasantries ended our meeting with the feeling that a simple exchange of words was of some value to both of us.
A trip to the airport and the ensuing wait was annoying. The plane was delayed a few times until two hours had passed. Regrets for failing to bring the newspaper or a couple of magazines to which I still subscribe were momentarily forgotten when a mother was heard telling her daughter, about four years old, that a sign on the wall read ‘No crying allowed’ and if the little darling couldn’t hold back the tears, she’d have to ‘go over there’ and wait. There was no such sign! It was a glass-encased fire extinguisher! Not a peep from the girl but chuckles came and went a number of times – from me. I was in awe of a mother’s creative, if not wise, means of parenting. Cheap and priceless entertainment, thank you so very much.
Hopefully these days of penny-pinching will become addictive. I don’t want to become a hermit, but for now I don’t get out much anymore.
Salt Licks and Me, Too
“But I’m not old”, said the young man in his mid-twenties when I suggested he was loading his food with too much salt. I didn’t bother to argue but I assure you, not out of retribution for the inconsiderate comment about age. Most young people remain fearless in all aspects of life, especially health concerns, until bad habits result in threats upon their lives. Sorry guy, but you are what you eat. Even though salt is a preservative in processed foods, it doesn’t extend the life of humans.
Call it atheroslerosis or arteriosclerosis, excess amounts of salt damage the elasticity of and contributes to the hardening of the arteries as does smoking cigarettes, high blood pressure, diabetes and a diet high in saturated fats. Leading to increased levels of cholesterol under the inner lining of artery walls adds to the risks of strokes and heart attacks.
True, as a kid one I did my fair share of salting everything from gravy and mashed potatoes to vegetables I might not have otherwise eaten except for the strict rules set at the dinner table. Salt made the food more palatable.
Instead of French fries, we had oven-baked crinkly cut potatoes and I rationalized that, since I didn’t use ketchup, the volume of granules streaming from the saltshaker was no worse.
It would have been blasphemy to salt my favorite meal of made-from-scratch Spanish rise with mom’s special ingredient (yellow mustard). It was befitting that this was the last meal she fixed for me before she passed away. Just about everything else was subject to a good sprinkling. Buttered popcorn. Goulash. Apples. Thinking back those fifty years, people even salted watermelon, including myself. .
Even though I grew up on a farm with all kinds of fresh veggies, I wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless cooked in one of the many dishes that graced the dinner table. Others did and if they didn’t cover tomato slices with sugar, salt was used as a flavor enhancer.
Potato chips, peanuts, pretzels and many other packaged foods that are still salt-ready were real treats because they were rationed, as was pop. As sure as my parents would head out to play euchre on Saturday nights, it was Nehi and chips for us kids. Thursdays were pop and popcorn night, and an apple afterward, because Friday was vacuum day.
‘Salt licks’ were placed in pasture fields for cattle in the spring and summer. No, I didn’t get down on my hands and knees and partake with the cows but, before being placed on the ground, a chip off the salt block provided for an exotic taste with a variety of added minerals! Calcium, iron, phosphorous and zinc.
My first pizza was Chef-Boy-R-Despicable in the box. Only the provided ingredients - dough and some abomination of tomato sauce and grated cheese. No added toppings. Everybody agreed, just the one time was once too many.
My first real pizza was at Pizza Hut, 1970. Working odd hours, from sunrise to mid-afternoon at a radio station, I braved it on my own. It was delicious! Small, hand-tossed with a ham topping, I relished it all to myself. No salt then but somewhere along the way it too became a habit. Talk about a constriction of the arteries! I gave it up years ago – the salt, not pizza.
Over the past five decades advancements in medical research have proven excess salt also increases the risk of stomach cancer, kidney stones, eye problems and bone loss, thus osteoporosis, later in life.
The 1990 Nutrition Labeling and Education Act required food companies to begin what we have become accustomed to see on over 6.5 million packaged products. Inclusive of the ‘Natural Facts’ are Recommended Daily Allowance figures for diets consisting of 2,000 calories.
Serving size, calorie count, calories from fat, saturated fat, dietary fiber, and sodium levels have all become attention getters. I now balance my diet with fruits and vegetables, which I prefer raw with no side dips. Salads go without dressings. A few olives (calories and salt content noted) and slices of cucumber marinated in diluted white vinegar suits me just fine. Kind of odd to some but who should judge my culinary delights?
One wonderful discovery has been ‘no salt added’ products, particularly stewed tomatoes which I use a lot. I kid you not, there’s a difference of 1% versus 13% RDA. The Great Value deal is a generic brand that costs half the price of name-brand packaging. Frozen dinners are laced with two to three times as much salt.
Successfully reducing my salt intake, I can still satisfy the craving by continuing to follow instructions given by my periodontist to swish a warm, mild saltwater solution that helps to heal mouth sores and strengthen gums. I just don’t swallow.
Call it atheroslerosis or arteriosclerosis, excess amounts of salt damage the elasticity of and contributes to the hardening of the arteries as does smoking cigarettes, high blood pressure, diabetes and a diet high in saturated fats. Leading to increased levels of cholesterol under the inner lining of artery walls adds to the risks of strokes and heart attacks.
True, as a kid one I did my fair share of salting everything from gravy and mashed potatoes to vegetables I might not have otherwise eaten except for the strict rules set at the dinner table. Salt made the food more palatable.
Instead of French fries, we had oven-baked crinkly cut potatoes and I rationalized that, since I didn’t use ketchup, the volume of granules streaming from the saltshaker was no worse.
It would have been blasphemy to salt my favorite meal of made-from-scratch Spanish rise with mom’s special ingredient (yellow mustard). It was befitting that this was the last meal she fixed for me before she passed away. Just about everything else was subject to a good sprinkling. Buttered popcorn. Goulash. Apples. Thinking back those fifty years, people even salted watermelon, including myself. .
Even though I grew up on a farm with all kinds of fresh veggies, I wouldn’t eat tomatoes unless cooked in one of the many dishes that graced the dinner table. Others did and if they didn’t cover tomato slices with sugar, salt was used as a flavor enhancer.
Potato chips, peanuts, pretzels and many other packaged foods that are still salt-ready were real treats because they were rationed, as was pop. As sure as my parents would head out to play euchre on Saturday nights, it was Nehi and chips for us kids. Thursdays were pop and popcorn night, and an apple afterward, because Friday was vacuum day.
‘Salt licks’ were placed in pasture fields for cattle in the spring and summer. No, I didn’t get down on my hands and knees and partake with the cows but, before being placed on the ground, a chip off the salt block provided for an exotic taste with a variety of added minerals! Calcium, iron, phosphorous and zinc.
My first pizza was Chef-Boy-R-Despicable in the box. Only the provided ingredients - dough and some abomination of tomato sauce and grated cheese. No added toppings. Everybody agreed, just the one time was once too many.
My first real pizza was at Pizza Hut, 1970. Working odd hours, from sunrise to mid-afternoon at a radio station, I braved it on my own. It was delicious! Small, hand-tossed with a ham topping, I relished it all to myself. No salt then but somewhere along the way it too became a habit. Talk about a constriction of the arteries! I gave it up years ago – the salt, not pizza.
Over the past five decades advancements in medical research have proven excess salt also increases the risk of stomach cancer, kidney stones, eye problems and bone loss, thus osteoporosis, later in life.
The 1990 Nutrition Labeling and Education Act required food companies to begin what we have become accustomed to see on over 6.5 million packaged products. Inclusive of the ‘Natural Facts’ are Recommended Daily Allowance figures for diets consisting of 2,000 calories.
Serving size, calorie count, calories from fat, saturated fat, dietary fiber, and sodium levels have all become attention getters. I now balance my diet with fruits and vegetables, which I prefer raw with no side dips. Salads go without dressings. A few olives (calories and salt content noted) and slices of cucumber marinated in diluted white vinegar suits me just fine. Kind of odd to some but who should judge my culinary delights?
One wonderful discovery has been ‘no salt added’ products, particularly stewed tomatoes which I use a lot. I kid you not, there’s a difference of 1% versus 13% RDA. The Great Value deal is a generic brand that costs half the price of name-brand packaging. Frozen dinners are laced with two to three times as much salt.
Successfully reducing my salt intake, I can still satisfy the craving by continuing to follow instructions given by my periodontist to swish a warm, mild saltwater solution that helps to heal mouth sores and strengthen gums. I just don’t swallow.
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