On New Year’s Day, the inquisitive one sat down with a brand new pad of paper and brand new pen, both received as gifts the previous month.

The inquisitive one thought very seriously for a few minutes, biting softly on a thumb. Then suddenly, the inquisitive one removed the thumb from the mouth, picked up the pen, and wrote a string of words on the pad, reciting them aloud while writing:

“This year, I resolve to GROW more VEGETABLES, RUN more MILES, READ more BOOKS, and COOK more HEALTHY MEALS than I EVER have in ANY YEAR before!”

The inquisitive one underlined the key words several times and then drew little illustrations of veggies, running shoes, books, and cooking utensils all around the sentence on the pad. Happily, the inquisitive one tore the top sheet off the pad and taped it to the fridge.

But a week or so later—alas!—things were not going well as regards the resolution. You see, the inquisitive one had had some pretty impressive years in the past, in the realms of vegetable growing, mile running, book reading, and healthy meal cooking. This year so far, the inquisitive one had been sadly neglecting those activities, in favor of relative entertaining, light bulb replacing, nose blowing, highway driving, obscure fact Googling, schmancy gala attending, and frantic HVAC guy calling.

To make up for lost time, the inquisitive one tossed some dry beans, frozen kale, and stock in a crock pot, drove to the gym, got on a treadmill, and attempted to run while alternating between reading a novel and browsing a seed catalogue.

By the end of that day, the inquisitive one had decided to grow tomatoes, variety TBD; run half a mile; read half a page; and cooked a healthy meal that tasted like pebbles in a polluted stream.

Angrily, the inquisitive one snatched the resolution off the fridge, crumpled it up, and threw it away. The inquisitive one got out the special pad and pen and wrote a sentence on the topmost sheet, reciting the words while writing:

“This year, I resolve to make NO New Year’s resolution!!”

The inquisitive one, having neglected to draw anything around the sentence, proudly ripped off the sheet and taped it to the fridge.

The next day, however, the revised resolution did not sit well with the inquisitive one. Every time the inquisitive one went to get some string cheese, hummus, broccoli, butter, or whatever, the sentence seemed to stare outwards with menace.

After a couple of days of repeated, unsettling intimations from the fridge door, the inquisitive one tore down the paper, crumpled it up, and threw it away.

Once again, the inquisitive one got out the deliciously beautiful, and amazingly functional, pad and pen. Once again, the inquisitive one chewed softly on a thumb. And once again, suddenly the inquisitive one wrote and recited a sentence:

“This year, I resolve to make a New Year’s resolution.”

The inquisitive one decorated the page with illustrations of flowers, birds, clouds, and special pads and pens; boogie danced on over to the fridge; and taped it up.

The next day, the inquisitive one spent a lot of time working on a project for the boss, shopping for clothes, and talking on the phone.

The day after that, the inquisitive one went on a long run, finished reading the novel, and baked a big batch of granola.

And the day after that, the inquisitive one, with great excitement, decided to plant a variety of sweet pepper that was, according to the seed catalogue, “very productive,” “early maturing,” and “displease resistant.”

I was stumped by yet another medical mystery.

I have been plagued by migraine headaches for my whole life. My triggers include too much sunlight or sunlight from certain angles; overheating; too much alcohol; dehydration; not enough sleep; too much jostling while traveling by car, bus, train, plane, boat, roller coaster, horse and buggy, etc.; jostling from too much coughing; and vomiting for any reason. (Apologies if that was too graphic for you. . . . If it was, you may wish to stop reading.)

These migraines are no small deal. They leave me moaning in bed in severe pain. And they last ten days: exactly ten days, no matter what I do, diminishing in severity during that time. Luckily, I get them only a few times per year. Unluckily, they are debilitating, causing me to miss work, social engagements, and regular life activities; and they are extremely unpleasant.

(And people wonder why I don’t like to travel! Have you ever been stuck in a New York City hotel with a ten-day migraine?)

My usual medicine for migraines is ibuprofen. Lots of ibuprofen. 800 mg, 4 times a day, for 10 days. This allows me to return to work within a day or two, though at that point I still have frequent intervals during which I need to lie down.

Having heard about other medicines on the market, I asked my doctor about my options. Over a period of a year or two, she recommended a series of drugs, all in the triptan family: rizatriptan, sumatriptan, etc. I must have tried them all. But I could not keep a single one of them down. Within half an hour to an hour of taking a pill, I would acquire a level 10—maximum strength!!—headache, vomit the pill up, and stagger off to bed for the next several days.

Finally, after completing the brutal rounds of the triptans, my doctor recommended magnesium supplements. In previous months, I had taken a daily magnesium pill, but it did not seem to have any effect. However, my doctor explained that magnesium is not always absorbed well by the body, and some supplement formulations work significantly better than others.

Upon hearing this, I scampered off to the Internet. There, I read that, indeed, some magnesium pills are nearly useless because the body does not absorb the mineral. Yikes! I decided to try, instead of a pill, a powder that I mix with water. The manufacturer claims that the magnesium in this powder is in an easily digestible form.

Well, and guess what? I have not suffered from a ten-day migraine attack—knock on wood!—since beginning this daily powder supplement regimen, which was many months ago. (When I feel a headache coming on, I still reach for my ibuprofen standby and pop those pills as soon as possible, along with half a slice of bread so they are absorbed. This has happened several times in the past few months, but none of these twinges have developed into a full-blown attack—knock on more wood!)

This solution may not work for everyone. Everybody’s body is different. But perhaps it will help someone out there; and so I share my story.*

But anyway, here’s the main medical mystery here: why on earth didn’t my doctor share the magnesium idea first, before hitting me up with the hard stuff?

(I have some guesses as to the answer, and none of them are pretty. Fortunately, though, you stopped reading back at the second paragraph, so you will not be filled with desperation at the suggestion of pharmaceutical companies’ mighty, and powerfully complex, hold over physicians (see, for example, this article about human tendencies toward reciprocal gift giving); or patients who insist on the hard stuff, and as much of it as possible, and are offended by attempts to seek more natural solutions. . . .)

*Please be so good as to refer to the footnote in my original Medical Mysteries post.

I was stumped by yet another medical mystery.

(This has happened with great frequency in my life, for some reason.)

My trouble this time around was a big and nasty plantar wart on the bottom of my right foot. Luckily, it did not bother me as I walked or ran. Unluckily, it was hideous. It was also contagious—this type of wart spreads in places like showers—and I certainly didn’t want to introduce the virus to someone else’s poor foot.

First, I tried an over-the-counter wart remover. I diligently applied the stuff every day for twelve weeks. However, while the wart did peel off layer by layer and diminish in size, the medicine failed to remove its deepest roots. When I stopped daily application, it grew back.

I visited my doctor and asked for advice. She recommended cryotherapy, a.k.a. freezing the wart off with liquid nitrogen. I gave the OK, and she administered weekly treatments for five weeks. But this was also ineffective. She then recommended surgery.

Surgery?! Though it would have been extremely minor surgery, the word sent me scampering off to the Internet. There, I learned about a state-of-the-art medicine that was ultimately successful in removing my plantar wart: apple cider vinegar. The folk tales about the stuff are, apparently, true!

All I had to do was soak a tiny piece of cotton in apple cider vinegar, squeeze out most of the excess liquid, place it on my wart, and cover and seal it with clear packaging tape. I wore this apple cider vinegar “band-aid” until it became too painful or fell off, perhaps 12 hours or so. I made myself another band-aid the next day, and the next. My wart turned black and peeled off in just three days—and it did not grow back.

(Note: the seal must completely block the cotton from the outside air. You will know the seal is good if the tape fogs up. Masking tape does not work, as I discovered. The websites I found recommended duct tape, but I didn’t have any around the house, so I used packaging tape, which worked swimmingly for me.)

So what is this medical story doing on a blog about wisdom and books? Well, it’s illustrative of how important storytelling is. The best answer to a given problem does not always emerge from the most obvious or authoritative place. Sometimes it does, of course. But at other times, it can be beneficial to seek out stories that others have told, whether on the Internet or in print, that may be applicable to your situation.

And maybe, just maybe, my story in this blog post will help someone else out there one day.*

Pass it on, friends: what medical mysteries have you solved recently?

*I am not a doctor. Nothing in this blog should be construed as medical advice. I have never set foot in a medical school. Honestly, people, the sight of blood makes me nauseous. The reader follows any advice herein at the reader's own peril and blah blah ditty blah as heretofore stated, ditty-duh blah blah bleh, and shall as per due process be assumed, to wit, construed, without bail, under the full persecution and disestablishment and distention and confection of the due ditty blah law, consequent to henceforward.

When I think of wisdom,* I think of Henry David Thoreau and his 1854 book Walden; or, Life in the Woods. In Walden, Thoreau urges the reader, through both theoretical arguments and reflections on the two years he lived alone in the woods near Walden Pond, to simplify life and focus on what is really important—like health and wellness, quiet time alone, quiet conversations with friends, and an appreciation of nature and art.

What does this have to do with cooking? Well, everything. Some people are passionate about cooking and spend endless joyful hours reading recipes, shopping for ingredients, and working in the kitchen. If that’s you, that’s fabulous; and when can I come over? If that’s not you, or if you’re busy with other commitments that take precedence, one of life’s dilemmas is how to simplify the task of preparing meals while neglecting neither health and wellness, nor one’s appreciation of delicious food.

Of course, there is no lack of recipes intended to assist the reluctant or busy cook, the cook who is concerned about health, the cook who wishes to prepare delicious food, and even the cook who embodies all of these types. But while recipes are wonderful and useful, the reluctant or busy, health-conscious, epicurean cook may find that they often have drawbacks in these areas:

• Simplicity. Scanning through recipes and selecting one; buying ingredients, sometimes hunting through multiple aisles or stores to find them; rounding up utensils and appliances, sometimes not owning an item and having to buy it, borrow it, or figure out how to do without; and following elaborate instructions—all of this takes time and energy. If you don’t enjoy these tasks, or if you enjoy them but are too busy to do them often, it is helpful to simplify the process by cutting out unnecessary steps.
• Random leftover ingredients. Almost inevitably, you will have random leftover ingredients after following a recipe. This obligates you to find a new recipe that incorporates these random items. The new recipe, though, often leaves you with a different set of random leftover ingredients—and sometimes you still haven’t used up the items from the first recipe. So you fall into a vicious circle of always having to hunt for new recipes to use up random ingredients—or, alternatively, let these ingredients go to waste.
• Local food sourcing. If you have a garden or buy locally grown veggies, it can be tricky to find recipes that use the particular ingredients you happen to have on hand. Also, many recipes are impossible to make with locally grown vegetables, either because a particular veggie doesn’t grow in your area, or because the recipe uses two or more veggies that are harvested at different times of year—i.e., fresh asparagus (early spring) and fresh tomatoes (mid to late summer).
• Healthy eating and food requirements and preferences. Finding the perfect recipe, one that has just the ingredients you wish it to have, and not any ingredients you don’t wish it to have, can be frustrating and time consuming.

It can be exciting, instructive, and fun to follow a recipe. To assist with the times when it is not, I have written what I like to call my “Recipe to End All Recipes.” (See part 2 of this two-part series.) The “Recipe to End &c.” is flexible enough to work with whatever ingredients you happen to have on hand, and it results in meals that are simple, tasty, healthy—and dare I say wise?

*In case I have not made it sufficiently clear up until now, I would like to express that this blog is about seeking wisdom through books and elsewhere. For more information, visit my new About page.