Perhaps we felt sorry for Rhonda, or maybe we were impossibly devious children. All of us were expected to eat what was placed in front of us. We had no choice over the lunch menu or the amounts served. Poor Rhonda remained at the table more often than not, rarely eating more than a few bites of lunch. But salvation was at hand in the four-legged furry floor mop under the table.

FooLing was my dad’s Pekingese. He was short, stout, and very slow. He waddled side to side and was easy to step or trip over. FooLing usually remained out of sight until evening, except for lunch. FooLing loved to eat.

He especially loved spaghetti with sauce. And while mom was in the living room watching a favored soap opera, we were feeding FooLing spaghetti. Lots of it. We started with Rhonda’s plate; then, after we had finished and licked all visible remnants of buttery saucy goodness from our own, we laid each plate on the floor for FooLing’s final tongue washing.

Then, we picked the plates up, wiped any remnants off with a napkin, and put them back in the cupboard.

Mom was delighted. “Such good children,” she said. “Cleaned your plates and washed the dishes, too.”

“Yes, ma’am,” we said in chorus.

Mom always wondered why FooLing was constantly sick.

Mom never caught on, and on days when spaghetti was on the lunch menu, FooLing was our faithful honored guest. All plates were cleaned, and Rhonda enjoyed the afternoon in the pool. All was well, and life was good.

Many years later, when my mother was too old and frail to catch me, I told her about our lunchtime antics. “I served Thanksgiving dinner on those plates,” she yelped. “What were you thinking? You girls could have made everyone sick.”

Maybe, but it never happened, and what are friends for anyway if not to salvage the childhood of one of our own?

So what is the point of today’s post? Is it that dogs are truly man’s, or in this case, a child’s best friend? Perhaps friendship (and relationships) are more important than the substance of our food. Maybe that is part of why we might eat food in larger quantities at family gatherings and church potlucks. Maybe we even enjoy food that we normally wouldn’t eat. Such is the substance of memories.

I have never forgotten Rhonda, and I smile every time I remember our days at that lunch table. She taught me a lot those many years ago, especially about personal choice and perseverance. Sometimes I indulge in the favorite foods of my youth, and sometimes, I don’t, but I do know the reasons behind my choices. Food choices are not always about health, and occasional indulgences should never dictate guilt. Understanding what motivates us to make certain choices is foundational to any journey forward. The key is in understanding oneself, honoring one’s life, and the quest for health within the context of the larger journey.

If one studies the Blue Zone data, areas of the world where people live the longest, one can’t help but note the emphasis on relationships and community. Yes, food choice is important; so is activity. But there are more precepts related to meaning and purpose than any other longevity driver.

The best doctor in this life is yourself. How do you feel? What are your heart, mind, and physical body saying to you? The body is more than a sum of components and dealing with an intricate system is not always easy. And if you have health challenges, the task is made more difficult; be sure to factor health data into the equation. Regardless, listen carefully. There is a road to be found, one that is uniquely your own.

Image by Kati at Spaghetti Pasta Noodles – Free photo on Pixabay