Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition

by Jack Canfield

  ~George Bernard Shaw

  My friend Dominique and I are innkeepers at Channel Road Inn. Working at a bed and breakfast hotel is fun! We take reservations, help guests with their dinner plans and we bake homemade cookies, breakfast cakes and goodies from scratch every day for our guests.

  Dominique and I have been friends for a while now. We’ve shared secrets, lots of laughs and even a few tears, but lately something has come between us . . . it’s her granola recipe. She won’t tell me (or anyone!) how it’s made.

  Dominique’s granola is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Sure I love the homemade banana bread and blueberry cakes we bake at the Inn. Our scones, egg soufflés and French toast are amazing and our homemade chocolate chip cookies are to die for but nothing — NOTHING! — can top Dominique’s granola.

  When you ask Dominique what’s in the granola she pretends to tell you. “Oh, it’s simple — just your basic granola but I add in some fruit and I sweeten it with coconut and honey,” she says (while not looking you in the eye). But she must be leaving something out of her description because I have never tasted granola (or anything) that tastes as good as this. I cannot even hear, much less talk, when I’m eating this granola. The whole world stops moving and all I can hear is the crunching of the granola in my mouth. I can’t hear the phones or the doorbell ring and even when people talk to me, I can see their lips moving but their voices sound like they are in slow motion. In that sense, Dominique’s granola is an occupational hazard for me, so I try to eat it only after my shift has ended.

  I am known to get overly exuberant about certain things, so I took a sample of Dominique’s granola to one of my girlfriends at Curves so she could tell me if she found it as amazing as I do. By the time I drove home, there was already an e-mail from my girlfriend saying, “Wow, you were not kidding! That stuff is addictive! Yum, yum, yum! I’m thinking Dominique should start small and go to farmers’ markets, fairs, etc . . . and just sell locally . . . word will spread!”

  And word has spread! Though Dominique has not had time to go to farmers’ markets or fairs yet, we do have guests e-mailing and calling to ask for the recipe for Dominique’s homemade granola. Over the past twenty-three years all of the innkeepers at Channel Road Inn have been open and generous with our recipes. We freely and willingly give them to our guests and we’ll even let them watch us bake the cakes or prepare the egg soufflés and French toast so they can replicate them at home. Dominique’s granola is the only recipe they cannot have. Their response is always the same. They laugh and say, “I always knew you innkeepers had a few tricks up your sleeves,” and then they add, “No problem. But can I buy some of that granola? Could you mail it to me? I keep thinking about it.”

  I like these phone calls and e-mails because they reassure me that I have not lost my mind. This granola is that good! I think about it every day and always hope Dominique has had a chance to make it when I come into work. I’ve even been known to call down to the Inn on my days off just to see if, by chance, Domi has made any granola. I scour the freezer at the Inn looking for leftovers and hidden stashes, but I rarely find any because the guests eat it by the heaping spoonfuls. On the days Dominique’s granola gets served, our homemade cakes are barely touched. People are nuts for this stuff.

  My girlfriend from Curves asks me on a weekly basis how she can get more of Dominique’s granola. Though she has an apartment nearby, she’s considering booking a room at Channel Road Inn just so she can come to breakfast and eat granola. It’s that bad — this granola is ruining the lives of everyone who eats it. We all become addicts and start devoting our lives to finding out how and when we can get more granola.

  And all the while, Dominique sits in the kitchen feigning surprise that everyone is rabidly searching for more granola. She’s like the Master of the Universe — the one who holds the key to our happiness. When she knows I’m having a hard week, she definitely makes granola. One time she even went out and bought coconut herself because the Inn was out of it and she knew I wanted and needed (yes, actually needed) her homemade granola that day.

  We have a repeat guest at Channel Road Inn who has stayed at the Inn several times a year for the past ten years. She’s crazy about Dominique’s granola too! Like me, she has begged for the recipe and then finally settled for just eating a bowl of granola once she realized that Dominique’s vague description of “fruit, coconut and honey” is just a dodge. We all adore this guest — from her Missouri drawl to her darling grandchildren and impeccable manners, she is the most charming woman in the world.

  Under normal circumstances, there’s nothing I would deny this guest, but when she checked in last week and immediately asked if “Dominique had made any granola” I had to think fast. The technical answer was, “No, Domi has not had time to make granola today.” But the underlying truth, the one that troubled my heart, was: “Domi has not had time to make granola today . . . but she did give me a small bag of it last week. I have it hidden in the back of the freezer with my name on it and I have been rationing it out to myself half a cup at a time.”

  I stared at our loyal guest, wondering if I should share my secret stash with her. I love this guest . . . but I also love Dominique’s granola. I adore this guest . . . but I also adore Dominique’s granola. I should have shared my granola with this guest . . . but I didn’t. I tried to ease my conscience by offering her a cup of tea and a slice of hot vanilla streusel cake, fresh out of the oven. She politely said, “No thank you” and as I watched her walk down the hall to her room, I felt slightly bad — but not as bad as I would have felt had I given her the last of my granola.

  Dominique shows her love for Channel Road Inn’s guests — and employees — through her baking. She works on her recipes for weeks to perfect them and is truly delighted when the guests “ooh and ah” over her creations. She is generous with most of her recipes, except for one. And that’s okay, because this granola is so good, I’m betting one day it will be available in stores, and then our charming guest from Missouri, my girlfriend from Curves, and I can all eat Domi’s granola to our heart’s content!

  ~Rebecca Hill

  Good Enough to Eat

  Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.

  ~Hippocrates

  The fast food wrapper crinkled as I freed my roast beef sandwich from its folds. Smoothing the wrapper flat, I placed the curly fry container upon it.

  The mixed aroma of fried foods and juicy beef had garnered the attention of my brown tabby. She waddled into the kitchen and climbed onto the empty chair, nearly filling its space.

  As I lifted my sandwich for a bite she meowed.

  “No, MaMa. You can’t eat people food.”

  She looked from my eyes to my curly fries and back to my eyes.

  “No fries. This stuff isn’t good for kitties to eat.”

  I pondered that statement as I shoved a seasoned fry into my mouth and chewed under MaMa’s watchful gaze. It had been a long time since I had eaten fast food.

  As I had been meandering through life checking off big moments like college graduation and getting married, a multiple sclerosis diagnosis had put a hitch in my plans. It was during those years of uncertainty about the future and experimenting with medicines to find the combination that would keep me active and working, when Ginny Dent Brant’s story titled, “It’s a Dog’s Life,” from Chicken Soup for the Soul: Shaping the New You landed in my inbox.

  The story was about Ginny adopting a dog and the breeder making a specific request that she not feed it table scraps. The breeder explained that they are high in fat, calories, and processed foods, and low in nutritional value. Ginny scrutinized her eating habits and decided if they weren’t good enough for the dog then they weren’t good enough for her family either.

  That story made me take a hard look at my diet. It was full of processed, packaged food. Was I really doing all that I could to be healthy with MS? No. I was poisoning the body I was trying to save.

  There
are no conclusive studies that show eating a diet rich in fruits, vegetables, complex carbs and lean protein will slow or halt the progression of MS. There are, however, hundreds of case studies that show people with MS who have changed their diets for the better and went from being disabled to enabled and ready to lead full, active lives.

  I needed to get my life back on track so I started doing my research. I learned to ask questions about what was in my food, where it came from and how it was grown.

  The first time my husband and I went on our bi-weekly grocery trip after we changed our strategy was our longest ever. We pushed the cart along our usual aisles perusing item after item and turning our nose up at high fructose corn syrup, red dye #40 and partially hydrogenated vegetable oils, among others. I felt empowered, like I knew a secret that the woman ahead of me didn’t know as she tossed sugary breakfast treats into her cart. If we couldn’t pronounce an ingredient, we didn’t buy the item.

  By the last aisle the bottom of our cart was still visible. We had successfully avoided the bad food, but we didn’t really have anything in our cart other than frozen vegetables, a few whole grain cereals, and yogurt. Then we turned the corner and the vegetable and fruit aisle shone like a gift from heaven. We loaded up on leafy greens, potatoes, cruciferous vegetables, onions, garlic and tomatoes, and then decided that apples, kiwis, bananas and pineapple needed to go in too. We added nuts for good measure and grabbed a loaf of fresh baked bread that was preservative free.

  In addition to shopping at our usual grocery store we started making regular visits to our local farmers market. There we purchased local produce that didn’t travel hundreds of miles in a truck.

  Our effort worked. I changed the direction my life was going and got back on track by changing careers from one where I felt imprisoned to one where the creative juices could flow. As a bonus, I was doing well with my MS and I was down six pounds.

  And then I had an off day and went and bought a curly fry that MaMa couldn’t eat because it was bad for kitties. I scooped up the remaining fries and tossed them into the garbage can. And then I drove to the farmers market.

  ~Valerie D. Benko

  It’s a Dog’s Life

  If we’re not willing to settle for junk living, we certainly shouldn’t settle for junk food.

  ~Sally Edwards

  We got our precious Corgi, Reggie, when he was just a pup. The breeder made an important request of us before signing the papers.

  “If I let you have this dog,” he said, “I want you to promise you won’t feed him table scraps.”

  “What’s wrong with the scraps from my table?” I replied.

  “They are high in fat, calories, and processed foods, and low in nutritional value.”

  His response puzzled me. If my scraps were good enough for my family, they must be good enough for my pet. This made me start thinking about the quality of the food I was eating. I must admit as a teenager I easily captured the title of “Junk Food Queen.” I had to change my diet at age seventeen when my doctor warned me I was headed towards Type II diabetes.

  This incident with my dog made me again examine my diet. I was better than the average American — wasn’t I? After all, I did not smoke, drink alcohol, or chew. Added to that, I did not eat many carbs or drink caffeine. I was looking more like a health nut every day. Upon further investigation, I realized much of what Americans consume daily is exactly what this vet challenged me to avoid for my dog. If these foods were not good enough for my dog, then they were not good enough for my family.

  I was beginning to see that we have inverted the food pyramid. This contributes to our problems with heart disease, blood pressure, cancer, etc. I decided to change my diet by drinking more water, eating more fresh fruits and vegetables, eating lean meats, and further limiting fast foods. It did not take me long to feel and see the difference. My blood work was looking better with every checkup. I admit it was hard to give up the desserts and fried foods that had snuck back into my lifestyle — but what a difference it made in my health. As age creeps up on me, my health means everything. And yes, I can still occasionally eat one of those savory desserts.

  I was beginning to discipline my diet when my dog taught me another lesson. At age three, my dog began to have seizures. The vet said Reggie needed medication. We increased his water intake, but never gave him the medication. We had moved to an apartment while building a new home. Our dog was cooped up all day until we got home from work, so we decided to walk him several miles daily. Several months later, I took him to the vet for his checkup.

  “How are Reggie’s seizures?” he asked.

  “Well,” I pondered, “he has not had a seizure in about . . . five to six months.” We were so busy moving and building, I neglected to notice they had stopped.

  “What has changed?” he inquired.

  After thinking, I responded, “We have been exercising him each day after work, and we have been giving him more water.”

  “Exercise and hydration have great benefits,” he explained. “Dehydration can be a cause of seizures and exercise helps to regulate chemicals in the brain. It appears this new exercise and increased water may have cured Reggie’s seizures.”

  I began to think — if all this exercise and hydration is good enough for my dog — then surely, it is good enough for me. I researched the benefits of hydration and found this body of mine must have the right amount of water for thousands of chemical reactions to take place daily, which ensure my good health. My brain and body are comprised of 70 to 75 percent water. I was astonished to find dehydration of cells is a major cause of cancer, kidney stones, and can be a cause of seizures. Exercise also benefits the body by strengthening the heart, lungs and bones, and keeping our brains alert and healthy. We now exercise vigorously 30 to 60 minutes four to five times each week.

  Reggie went to the vet for his fifteen-year checkup recently. The vet was amazed at how well he has done.

  “He’s almost ninety-nine years old in dog years,” he marveled. “The average Corgi lives about twelve years. He’s beating the averages.”

  Reggie can no longer walk several miles with us. In his older years, he can only walk about one mile without becoming exhausted. I am thankful Reggie has made it this long and retained his health. Exercise, water, and diet are clearly the reasons why. We have benefited, too. Our diets are filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, lean meats and seafood, and healthy omegas and oils. We count those glasses of water and squeeze a lemon or lime to add a little taste. We have even bought an elliptical machine so we can exercise when it is cold or raining.

  My dog Reggie was actually not my first lesson in taking care of my body. My first lesson came in my childhood years when my dad worked for U.S. Senator Strom Thurmond. The Senator treated me as one of his own and constantly gave me lectures about food, diet and exercise. My third grade health book was also filled with this same information. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen.

  “Don’t eat too much junk food,” Senator Thurmond would always say. “Fruits and vegetables are God’s way of keeping you healthy.”

  At age eighty, the Senator jogged five miles each day, worked sixty- to eighty-hour weeks, and kept up with his four young children. When Strom Thurmond died at age 100, the doctor signed his death certificate with these words, “Cause of Death: old age.” Rarely does anyone’s death certificate say that these days.

  The Bible commands us to take care of our bodies. The discipline we have developed in this area has helped us to grow in mind, body, and spirit. We now look at our health in a new light. If it’s good enough for my dog, it’s good enough for me. Better said, I should take care of myself as least as well as I care for my dog.

  ~Ginny Dent Brant

  The Happiness Committee

  The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up.

  ~Mark Twain

  I was happy to get out of the office. I, along with a co-worker, was taking a management course that would requi
re us to be out of town for two days a week for a month. Our office consisted of about sixty people, many of whom had known one another for more than fifteen years. We shared one another’s triumphs and sorrows. This had been a particularly difficult year. We had suffered through regulatory changes and personal challenges. The morale at work was at an all-time low.

  One of the homework assignments from our class was to conduct a study, following specific guidelines, to assess the level of workplace satisfaction. I didn’t need a process for that. All I had to do was spend some time in the office to see that satisfaction was low. People were unhappy and it seemed like we could not recover from one blow before another one hit.

  I recalled a story that I had read in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive by Mandie Maass titled “First Class Attitude.” It was about two women who found themselves stranded at an airport, for hours, with a gate full of tired, disgruntled people. Determined to keep a positive attitude, they did everything they could to make the other passengers feel happier. They had no power to change the situation with the planes, but they could help change attitudes. I convinced my co-worker that we should assess the happiness of our workplace, and if possible, make it a more positive place to work.

  We had to finish our project in two weeks so we moved quickly. The first thing I did was get permission from one of the vice presidents to move forward. Securing that, I sent an e-mail letting everyone know what we were doing and asking them to think about what could be done to make our office a happier place to work. I gave them the parameters we had to work with so that they would understand the scope of this endeavor. These suggestions would be voiced during a series of Happiness Meetings.

  We recruited people for the Happiness Committee. This committee was a small group of supervisors who understood our limitations, had authority to make decisions, and would advise on which suggestions could be executed. We also enlisted a trio of scribes to write down the suggestions during the Happiness Meetings.