Some of us are more fortunate than others, and are able to string together five-minute sets of bliss in rapid-fire succession, with only brief pauses in between to allow reality to sneak in. Others may spend weeks being beaten down by their circumstances, only to discover their perfect five minutes in the dreams that finally come at night and allow them to escape.

We spend our entire lives in pursuit of these five minutes. Once we’ve found them we remember them forever, and in our memories they are drenched with sunshine – a soft-focus lens snapshot of one brief, perfect moment that we will never stop chasing as long as we live.

We cling to our five minutes by refusing to sell the house we grew up in, by saving that pair of jeans we haven’t been able to squeeze into in fourteen years, and by turning a blind eye to evidence that the person we married so long ago has changed into someone we no longer recognize.

Once upon a time, there was a fairytale cottage where we spent hours baking cookies with our mom, while our dad painstakingly superglued all of our broken toys back together again. In a magical, faraway land, we spent the summer exercising and eating right, and we were able to lose those last ten pounds. Our perfect prince finally did come for us, but in the end he was just like all the other princes in the land, and not so special after all.

So there was no happily ever after for us; only the happily ever now that had been ours for just a little while.

This past weekend, according to some, was to be the End of the World. God was going to snatch away His chosen ones just in time to spare them from the fires of hell and the total destruction of the world – or perhaps a less literal interpretation of the Bible, but something horrific all the same. Those not so fortunate as to be saved in the Rapture were to be plunged into eternal darkness, where they would never escape their misery. The lucky few who were to be saved would be granted instant access to Heaven, where they would bask eternally in God’s light – a never ending succession of uninterrupted five-minute cycles filled with everything they could possibly wish for.

Pure happiness, without the annoying interruption of imperfections.

Is Hell truly an eternity of torment, or is it just waking up from your five minutes to the reality that there is still something missing? Perhaps Hell is never being able to attain that one goal, that one person, that one revelation, that will help you reach your own Nirvana.

How many of us think that if we only had enough money, we would be able to buy our way to our personal Heaven on Earth?

To the rest of the world, the very richest among us must spend their lives perpetually, deliriously happy. Isn’t that how millionaires are portrayed, against a spinning backdrop of sandy Tahitian beaches and creamy Swiss villas, with a pinch of American Dream thrown in for the sake of patriotism? With the right amount of money in our bank, we would certainly never worry about the cost of health care, or whether we would be able to afford to keep our parents in comfort when they began to decline. We would never again lose sleep over the rising cost of a college education for our children, and we would barely lift an eyebrow when we signed the check that would keep our grandfather’s home from going into foreclosure.

There would be nothing in our lives that we could not fix by throwing money at it, with a smile on our face and a song in our heart.

And throw money we do; we buy and buy and buy, spend and spend and spend, surrounding ourselves with glitter and luxury and high-tech and new. We’re consumed by the frenzied hunt for new things. Bigger, better, brighter things that will finally make us forget that we are still empty inside, because we just want our brother to come home from Afghanistan, or we just want our spouse to look at us the way they used to, or we just want our grandmother back.

The emptier we feel, the more we buy, and the more we buy, the harder we chase, after those five perfect minutes that are still just out of reach.

We keep spending until we are almost able to make ourselves forget that we would give it all back, burn it all to ashes in a big bonfire in front of our house, if we could just have one more day with the person we loved so much.

Five million dollars in the bank is an unimaginable sum of money to 99.99% of the world. It is a life-changing sum that can raise an entire village out of poverty, granting educations to a hundred little girls who would otherwise never have learned to read. Five million dollars can create a lifetime of miracles. But while five million dollars can keep our mother in comfort, it will not cure her of the Alzheimers that has stolen her from us. It will not regrow a limb for the soldier who lost his leg to an IED, and it will not justify to a five year old girl why her father thinks working late is more important than being home in time to kiss her goodnight.

Five million dollars can buy peace of mind, but it does not guarantee we will remain untouched.

Heaven has nothing to do with the beauty of our homes, or the glamour of our personal style, or the number of carats that make our jewelry boxes sparkle. Heaven is being surrounded by the people who make our lives complete, and Paradise is knowing that they are safe and happy.

And so we continue on with our imperfect lives, haunted by five-minute fragments of time.

~KV

In my last article I left you with promises of a cruise extravaganza… page after page of delicious details on everything from the dessert menu to the evening entertainment, and almost assuredly with tangents on excursion quality; perhaps even a sentence or two waxing eloquent on the beauty of the fresh flowers that regularly appeared in our room. And, of course, the ocean always just a few feet away.

But instead of reliving the absolute perfection of my long-awaited winter vacation, the consumer in me has been breathlessly distracted by all of the changes in fashion that have exploded forth from our turbulent economy.

Who could have ever predicted that the boot-cut jean, that universally flattering, decade-long trend would gracefully succumb to the youthful vivacity of the stovepipe, to the point that even the most ‘bootcut’ of bootcuts is now significantly narrower than its ca. 2001 counterpart?

Not only has our silhouette changed drastically, but we simply cannot be tied down to a single fashion era, no matter how hard our designers may try to find one that will stick. This is a season for 1980s headbands, chunky jewelry, and cropped pant hems, and yet we will happily toss over our drapey vests a powdery green, peter pan-collared jacket that Gidget herself would have died for. Throw in Kate Middleton’s fairytale wedding just around the corner, and we suddenly can’t get enough midnight blue in our lives.

We crave Molly Ringwald’s quirky statement pieces, while still admiring Audrey Hepburn for her enduring sophistication. Was it really only three years ago that Ed Westwick not only scandalized us with his portrayal of a bored teenage womanizer, but also shocked us by making us wish we were just a bit more dandy?

Just a few short years ago, our style boundaries were clear… but today the world is changing so fast that even fashion can barely keep up.

~KV

The average person considers themselves lucky if they live near a lake or river, much less an actual ocean. The ocean is the epitome of mystery and glamor- larger than we can possibly imagine, and filled with creatures so exotic that they might as well be aliens. For hundreds of years, fishermen and explorers bravely ventured out into the horizon, risking encounters with anything from giant monsters to malicious sirens. For as long as man has roamed the earth, the ocean has beckoned.

We swim in it, boat on it, fish from it, often depending on its depths for more than we are even aware of until it is suddenly miles away from us. Countless of us long for it when we are parted. Our dreams of vacation getaways more often than not center around a tropical island surrounded by deep, azure waves that sparkle like a bed of diamonds in the bright sun. Some of the world’s most picturesque hotspots would barely be worth the ink used to describe them, if not for their beaches.

What is the beach, if not a prologue to the ocean?

The ocean draws us; calling us to come back soon for another visit when we reluctantly drag ourselves away. We might spend our day at the beach battling the waves on surfboards or doing as little as dipping our big toe in the cold tide, but we always leave feeling calmer and refreshed. As we drive back to our crowded city streets and high rise office buildings, we often cast a quick glance in our rearview mirror at the endless waves, silently promising ourselves that we’ll be back much sooner the next time.

Does it come as any surprise that millionaires just can’t get enough of their beachfront villas, their private yachts, and their tropical getaways? The world’s richest jetsetters can be counted on to spend their winters someplace balmy, with the guarantee of bathwater-warm waves and maybe even a sandcastle or two. They live from beach escape to beach escape, drawn back to the water just as the rest of us are – but these fortunate few are able to pay homage far more frequently than others. If given a choice, wouldn’t the majority of us choose to spend our lives as close to the water as possible?

This month, I had the pleasure of enjoying a Caribbean cruise that was everything my last cruise should have been. Some of you will recall my appalled, enraged reviews of the cruise to the Bahamas that my husband and I suffered through last year – this year, we were more particular with the cruise line and ship that we chose, and I am happy to report that our voyage on board the Celebrity Equinox lived up to our expectations in every way possible.

Lucky you, dear readers – I’m about to spill every single glorious detail, and this time without the cloud of protecting-the-guilty that I felt obliged to use in the articles I wrote about my last cruise.  All aboard!

Celebrity Equinox

~KV

Not the cheesy, unrealistic ones with titles like “The Highlander’s Feisty Wench” and “A Pirate’s Ransomed Duchess”. The covers of my favorites are not decorated with swooning women and bare-chested, long-haired men. There are no handsome vampires claiming to have personally modeled for Da Vinci, no witches with supernatural powers being hunted by rival clans… no improbably factual liberties that twist what actually happened to suit the author’s purposes.

I do, after all, have some standards.

The historical romance novels I prefer must be historically accurate, beautifully written, and guaranteed to have a happy ending. There is little or no hint of anything supernatural, and there is certainly no violence. Neither is there contrived bickering between the hero and heroine – a ploy used by far too many authors to create ‘romantic tension’, but which I find tedious, and a sure indicator that our happy couple will start throwing dishes at each other as soon as the last page has been read. There is too much stress in real life for us to seek it out in our spare time. My mental escape must be a comforting visual treat, filled with images of mansions, gorgeous ball gowns, and gentlemen who open doors for ladies while offering them their coats in the cold.

Lisa Kleypas is my current favourite, if that provides any context.

In reading these novels, I realized that the dietary mainstays once considered affordable only to the upper classes – meats, highly sweetened drinks and desserts, etc. – are now, thanks to the fast food industry, a staple in many low-income diets. Ailments such as gout, diabetes, and heart disease were once ‘Rich Man’s Diseases’, afflicting only those able to buy the foods that frequently trigger these problems in the first place. Who hasn’t heard the story of one baron or another who succumbed to diabetes and went blind, ultimately dying of heart failure?

As so often happens, the tables have now been turned. Rich, fatty foods are now recognized not just for their flavourful decadence, but for the damage they wreak upon the human body. Simpler foods like whole grains, vegetables, and fruits are the modern status symbol, and the more organic they are, the wealthier their connoisseur must surely be. Several acquaintances of mine are actually embarrassed to be seen in fast food restaurants, much less consuming a single crumb of food from such a “dirty” (direct quote) place. This is, of course, a reflection of American fast food, and not necessarily of its overseas counterparts, where food safety standards are generally higher.

The problem we are now faced with is that the minority has become the majority. A hundred and fifty years ago, only a small minority of elite aristocrats could indulge themselves in the rich foods that we all adore. Now, it is only the upper class that can afford not to. As I’ve more or less tiraded in past articles, certain financial circumstances can unfairly force families to choose between a fast food meal, or not eating at all. As a result, our upper classes are more easily able to maintain their health and their weight, splurging on special diets and exclusive gym memberships instead of on an extra-large value meal and an instant dessert. They sniff in disdain at the overweight woman quietly restocking the shelves at their imported foods grocery store.

Is it any wonder so much of the world views America as vulgarly wealthy?

~KV

A century ago, a bit of extra wiggle in the walk signified wealth. If a woman’s family could afford enough food for her to be plump, then marrying her was less of an investment risk. She was most likely not suffering the ravages of malnourishment, and her dowry could be counted upon to be fairly substantial. Similarly, a more robust gentleman was viewed as one who could afford to put food on the table; certainly a desirable quality. Before the advent of fast food, only the wealthy could afford the rich foods that make us fat.

From all that I’ve been reading, the opposite is now true. The upper-middle and upper classes can afford the gym memberships, personal trainers, and organic foods required to maintain optimal health. They tend to enjoy the luxury of only needing to work one job to maintain their lifestyles, and therefore have the time required for an exercise program. If an individual starts to gain weight, an intervention starring nutritionists, dieticians, and personal chefs is immediately staged, since there is nothing worse than a perfect family portrait marred by one chunky person.

Unfortunately, that family portrait tends to be quite different from class to class. If several reputable news sources are to be believed, the majority of Americans are now overweight or obese. The majority of American money is made by a small percentage of the population. That small percentage now appears to be the same percent that are managing to avoid falling into the overweight/obese categories.

Why?

It costs anywhere from $10-$15 to feed a family of four a dinner of fast food which, as we are all aware, contains little more than sodium, fat, and empty calories. Many, many empty calories (all scientifically engineered to be delicious). Dinner at a mid-range restaurant for that same family is normally anywhere from $60-$100, depending on how old family members are, and on whether alcohol is ordered. The food quality may not be as high as something made fresh at home, but at a minimum restaurants can normally be counted on to use relatively ‘normal’ ingredients (dare I mention that addictive sugar-salt concoction certain fast food chains sprinkle on their french fries?), and special requests for dressing on the side and a lighter hand with the olive oil are happily honoured. A person could maintain a healthy weight fairly easily even if they were limited to nothing but traditional restaurant foods.

I can’t personally speak to the specific grocery costs for a family of four, but I do know this: depending on what state you are in, a single box of Shredded Wheat can cost more than a fast food combo meal. I can easily see the quandary shoppers find themselves in, when forced to choose between spending hundreds of dollars they may not have on grocery foods, or budgeting for about five dollars a person for a complete drive-through meal.

Consequently, it is becoming easier and easier to judge books by their covers. A person’s financial status is frequently written in the girth of their waists; it shouts their tax bracket through their inability to fit into traditional airplane seats. Television shows such as The Biggest Loser glamourize the burden of overweight, filling the screen with images of hardship, tragedy, and ‘putting others first’. Those so nobly fighting the battle of the bulge are heroes. In the confines of primetime, they are treated to personalized exercise regimes and closely controlled diets that normally only the wealthy can afford. For these lucky contestants, thanks to follow-ups and lifetime gym memberships, their battles might be over. What about those who can’t even afford the gym membership in the first place?

Some would argue that this is a poor excuse. Are there no sidewalks to be run on, no parks to stroll through a few times a week? Is anyone really being forced to drive down the street to the bookstore, when they could just as easily bike?

Studies are showing us with increasing reliability that, in terms of weight maintenance, diet is far more important than exercise. An intense cardiovascular workout will strengthen the heart and physical endurance, but cannot come close to burning off the calories consumed in one meal at a Mexican fast food restaurant, for example. To be specific, queso, chips, and a burrito exceed 2,000 calories and 150 grams of fat. 2,000 calories. To undo this with exercise would require a minimum of 3 hours of running, and that’s at a solid 10-minute mile pace. How many of those hardworking individuals holding down two jobs to support their families have the time or energy to do this, after getting home from two back-to-back 8-hour shifts? Who wouldn’t prefer the easy comfort of a cheesy burrito on the couch to the cold, dark drive to the gym?

My conclusion is that, as more individuals become financially unstable, the overall size of the average population will increase even further. The upper classes will push themselves harder to maintain their fitness and physiques, as a means of differentiating themselves from the lower classes. Millionaires will become more devoted to their organic foods, their exclusive fitness club memberships, and their coordinated workout wear; seeing them as confirmation of their own financial stability. They will view themselves as simply more disciplined, more dedicated, than those who are not able to control their weight. They will uneasily turn a blind eye to the lack of affordable nutritious foods; they will deny the government subsidies that keep fast food prices down, and fresh produce costs on a defensive rise. There will naturally be exceptions in each class, but I maintain that in general the decline of affordable, accessible nutrition will bring about a visible increase in obesity.

You're welcome, ladies

~KV