Of Addictions

I'll just say it: My name is Angela and I am addicted to honey.  Now, please don't misunderstand, it's not just any honey that will give me my fix.  As a matter of fact, until about two or three months ago, I would have told you I didn't even care much for the dripping amber-colored substance (unless, of course, it was adorning the wonders of blini, the Russian crepe, but that's another story).  But one fateful day changed me forever.

On that beautiful spring Saturday, I was running around town on Mommy errands (the kind that get me out of the house all by myself) when I spotted a red truck on the side of one of the main thorough-ways of our thriving metropolis.  The truck bore a simple yellow sign proclaiming its wares: "Honey."  Now, only a few weeks before, I had silently vowed to myself to take advantage of road-side stands this season.  In years past, I had seen farmers selling corn, melons and other wonderful produce from their own vehicles parked on the shoulder of any given street.  Always tempted, I had never stopped.  This year, I had decided would be different.

And what kind of change could I hope to effect if I reneged on my personal vows now?  Besides, though I didn't care much for honey, I thought my husband might enjoy it.  And, so, I turned my little car around (the one I drive when I'm on my Mommy errands - without carseats!) and headed back to the large three-quarters-aged man (what do you call them when they're beyond "middle-aged" but not quite octogenerian?  When you have an answer, you let me know) and his red truck.  Pulling in, I decided I would simply ask the price of his product.

I chided myself - who was I kidding?  As if it's not awkward enough to be the only consumer at the vendor's vehicular stand, to get out of my car, ask a simple price and then get in and drive off would just feel ludicrous.  I was going to be buying honey, like it or not.

Still, looking for an opener, I questioned the going rate.  As he told me his not-unreasonable asking price, he inquired as to whether or not I'd like a sample.  Not wanting to be rude, I acquiesced.  And thus was the moment.  The moment this honey took over my life.  Okay, maybe I'm being melodramatic, but that home-grown honey, produced by bees cared for by this very man before me, was the most amazing tasting-honey I could have ever imagined.  I quickly purchased a bottle - still not knowing for what we would use it, but proud of my "support local growers" purchase and my great-tasting sticky goo.

I should mention, that for argument's sake, I re-tested my former bear-shaped bottle of store-bought honey almost the moment I returned home and knew I was not wrong.  I would never be able to have any other than 100% pure raw honey again.

And so it sat in our cupboard for weeks.  We pulled it out once or twice, but it rarely saw action.  Until I started eating better.  Recognizing honey's status as lower on the glycemic index than actual sugar, and not being able to tolerate plain oatmeal, I decided to give this new-found friend a shot - and I fell in love all over again.  Now, my bowl of oatmeal with milk and honey (along with a couple boiled eggs) is the meal I most look forward to every day.  I've also begun experimenting by adding it to bread or pancakes in place of plain white sugar.

And now we're running out!

I made a special trip this last weekend, to his trusty spot and found my honey-provider in order to re-stock and invested in a bottle twice the size as the previous, but I find I am still concerned as to whether or not this bottle will last through the winter.  And what if he's not there next summer?  How will I get my fix?  I am now nearly dependent and I'm almost going through shakes thinking about not being able to find what I need when I next run out.

I need help.  There, I've done the first step myself.