Remember?

Remember the time in school when we were kids and a bird flew through the open window and couldn't find it's way? Remember how the lesson was stopped and we all opened our mouths at the ceiling as it flew from the rafters to the book case? Remember how it perched on your science model -- paper mache Jupiter? The scratchy sound it made as it tried to cling on?
Remember when the teacher called the office and then told everyone to "settle down," insisting on finishing the lesson? Remember how we never once lost track of the bird and followed it from the corners of our eyes and even behind our heads and didn't listen to one word teacher said that day?
I liked that. I liked the moment we all shared. Problem is, I liked that moment so much I never stopped. I never listened to the teacher again and kept looking for birds in rare and inappropriate places. Except it isn't even the birds anymore - it's the mysteries - the wonderful sudden things in the corners of my eyes.
Remember the girl who lived in a tree fort with her dog? Or the sisters who laid on the sidewalk along the busy four-lane bridge after their mother died? The mailman who whistled in the morning times? Or the mother and daughter who stole cookies at Safeway when an electrical storm shut the power off?
I can't stop...

Olestra and bleeding butts

When I was about ten the mail lady dropped off this package that was a sample of these fat-free chips they were testing on consumers before hitting the shelves. The chips were potato I believe and they were a totally weird new thing where the brand (Lays?) used some fat substitute agent lacking in actual fat. What the package asked myself, ten-year-old Rachel Lee-Carman, to do was try the chips, report back and tell said company whether the chips were good or not or whatever.
One stipend in regards to these new chips warned anal bleeding, stomach cramping, etc. were some possible outcomes of eating these chips.
I remember biting carefully into the chips - really chewing them up and rolling the mash in my mouth for probably a full minute, eating one chip at a time conceding that the moment my butt began to bleed I would hasten my guilt-free snacking. Being the snack happy child I was this product was a manifestation of my loftiest fantasies.
However, the chips never made my butt bleed and I never saw the chips at the grocery store...

For those dealing with Olestra addiction please read:
http://www.salon.com/health/feature/1999/08/16/olestra/