By Harold Mounce
In Walnut Springs Texas, my hometown, there resides a fearless group of mature citizens, some of whom have matured all the way into their 90s.
I say they are fearless because they have no regard for, respect for or even notice of their cholesterol intake. In fact, they bite the heads off the little boogers and swallow them whole, yet they seem to age in relatively good health.
My wife, the former Lois Jean Callaway and one-time Walnut Springs High School Halloween Queen, and I both have relatives who are living long, healthy lives without fear of a cholesterol getting loose in their bodies.
It's a mystery to me that suddenly redeye gravy and cat-head biscuits made with pure hog lard are going to kill us all. Are these mouth-watering, cholesterol-laden morsels really threats to our health?
It doesn't seem fair that the people born in the early 1900s weren't plagued with the threat of fat . . . were they? If they could eat all that fatty stuff why can't we'?
Lois' father is 90. Her mother is 84. I dearly love to visit them because I know I am going to be served a meal of which not one consideration will be made as to how much fat, grease, sugar, white flour or anything else is present in any of the various courses.
Ha! Various courses, indeed. What an understatement. There are usually nine courses or more, which include potatoes fixed three different ways, green beans fixed two different ways, sweet potatoes candied and baked straight up in their skins, and two, maybe three, meats. Then comes the dessert.
Two, maybe three pies; one, maybe two, four-layer cakes with a choice of or combination of whip cream, ice cream, peaches or pears. One more thing (problem?). I am badgered until I load my plate and scolded until I empty it. I have literally hurt getting up from the table as an attempt was made to refill my iced-tea glass and bring me a cup of coffee at the same time.
Cholesterol, somebody said? Yes, we had a dump-truck-load of cholesterol. I thought I saw cholesterol swimming in the gravy doing the backstroke. I had to be careful not to squash it as I dunked my yeast roll in the greasy puddles that formed in lowlands of the huge chunks of fat that bordered the roast. Cholesterol played and frolicked in the 100-percent, double throw-down, genuine real, whipped cream.
It was a Cholesterol community at work: and play. I saw Clyde and Cleo Cholesterol and their twin boys, Cletus and Clayton. I imagined that they were waiting, bags packed and standing at the ready. They' were all holding hands so as not to become separated when I swallowed that big hunk of fatty roast on which they stood. 1 then suspected that after changing trains several times, they would end up attached to a vital artery wall, where they would desperately hang on and become firmly attached. And from there, as their friends came swimming by, they would reach out and grab them and thereby populate their little colony.
Suspecting all of this, I still could not stop eating. Well, I did stop; but only to order my first course of dessert.
The problem has to be something more than the fat we eat. I think it may be that something from outer space is coming in through all of those holes our rockets have punched in the atmosphere.
Well, if it is the fat, how do you explain my long-living kinfolk who will probably carry my casket?
On top of all that fat intake those old people work like mules.
Work? Could it be work that keeps them healthy? Naw! Never. I'm going with the "alien invasion" theory. Work? No way. Couldn't be. If work is the answer, then the question is ' "how long have I got?"