Selasa, 30 Desember 2008
New Year's Resolutions
Year after year people make commitments on New Year's to lose weight, but very few people actually reach their goals.It starts with unrealistic beliefs about exercise and weight loss. Then when they don't meet those ideals - they quit completely.They take the "ALL or NOTHING" approach to weight loss. They either workout everyday and eat from a restricted menu, or they are back to their old
Killing a Proverbial Possum
Last night, when my husband Larry took the dogs outside for their last romp of the day, big, hairy, passive, lovable Cooper - our flat-coated retriever - brought along his little stuffed hedgehog squeaky toy. Larry was feeling better (he caught the bug shortly after me) so he was happy to throw a few rounds with his favorite dog.
There are no lights that shine in our backyard at night. The back porch light only goes as far as the edge of the deck. Larry threw the hedgehog into the dark backyard and our black dog went chasing after it. A few seconds later, Cooper returned with what Larry thought was the hedgehog, and they began to play tug of war, as they always do.
Before long, Larry thought, Gee, this is much bigger than his hedgehog. Warmer, too. That's when he realized Cooper had brought him a dead possum! Not only a dead possum, but a possum Cooper killed with one bite to the neck, all within a few moments in the dark. Cooper made no sounds and the possum probably didn't know what hit him.
Larry wrapped the body in bags and put it out with the garbage and tried to wash the ooginess off his hands when he came in. But all the while he kept shaking his head and saying, "I can't believe Cooper did that!"
We nicknamed Cooper "Killer."
I don't believe Cooper killed the possum for the thrill of killing something. Perhaps he was following some latent instinct, but my guess is he confused the possum for his hedgehog and grabbed it before he realized it wasn't his squeaky toy. Either way, Cooper did something he'd never done before. And unlike the other two dogs who got spooked and ran away into the house, Cooper didn't drop the possum and run away. He brought it to Larry in hopes they'd continue their game.
In hopes that I'm not stretching the analogy too far, successful weight loss is like accidentally killing a possum. You run into the darkness to retrieve what you think is your goal only to come back with something unexpected.
I am a product of New Year's Resolution 2005: sh*t or get off the pot. I decided Jan. 1 I was going to lose weight and weigh 190 pounds again. 190 was a weight that felt familiar, a weight that made me feel less insecure and more emotionally available to the outside world. To go any lower would be futile since all the other times I'd gone below 190 before I just bounced right back up in a matter of months, so it was (emotionally) safer to settle for 190.
But a funny thing happened when I ran into that weight-loss darkness (for the gabillionth time). Somewhere between 300 and 190, I learned to *gasp* trust myself and trust in time. I developed *double gasp* instincts. I *in a near faint* began to love the person losing weight and committed to doing everything I could to protect her.
I surprised a lot of people when I kept going down the scale, past the familiar 190 pounds when people started saying, "You're not going to lose any MORE are you?" And I've surprised a lot of people now that two years later, I haven't gained anything back. I surprised a lot of people, namely me, when I killed that proverbial possum of a goal and came back with so much more. Something more than settling for the same old familiar fears and insecurities.
If you're making a resolution to lose weight in 2009, be bold, be fearless. Run into that darkness and find what you're really made of. Resolve NOT to revert back to old thinking and old strategies. Resolve to trust yourself. Resolve to trust time. (Newsflash: weight loss doesn't happen overnight. One pound lost in two weeks is one less pound you have to lose the rest of your life. Or, to put it another way, you can't lose ten., twenty or a hundred pounds unless you lose the first one.)
Resolve to do something you've never done before.
There are no lights that shine in our backyard at night. The back porch light only goes as far as the edge of the deck. Larry threw the hedgehog into the dark backyard and our black dog went chasing after it. A few seconds later, Cooper returned with what Larry thought was the hedgehog, and they began to play tug of war, as they always do.
Before long, Larry thought, Gee, this is much bigger than his hedgehog. Warmer, too. That's when he realized Cooper had brought him a dead possum! Not only a dead possum, but a possum Cooper killed with one bite to the neck, all within a few moments in the dark. Cooper made no sounds and the possum probably didn't know what hit him.
Larry wrapped the body in bags and put it out with the garbage and tried to wash the ooginess off his hands when he came in. But all the while he kept shaking his head and saying, "I can't believe Cooper did that!"
We nicknamed Cooper "Killer."
I don't believe Cooper killed the possum for the thrill of killing something. Perhaps he was following some latent instinct, but my guess is he confused the possum for his hedgehog and grabbed it before he realized it wasn't his squeaky toy. Either way, Cooper did something he'd never done before. And unlike the other two dogs who got spooked and ran away into the house, Cooper didn't drop the possum and run away. He brought it to Larry in hopes they'd continue their game.
In hopes that I'm not stretching the analogy too far, successful weight loss is like accidentally killing a possum. You run into the darkness to retrieve what you think is your goal only to come back with something unexpected.
I am a product of New Year's Resolution 2005: sh*t or get off the pot. I decided Jan. 1 I was going to lose weight and weigh 190 pounds again. 190 was a weight that felt familiar, a weight that made me feel less insecure and more emotionally available to the outside world. To go any lower would be futile since all the other times I'd gone below 190 before I just bounced right back up in a matter of months, so it was (emotionally) safer to settle for 190.
But a funny thing happened when I ran into that weight-loss darkness (for the gabillionth time). Somewhere between 300 and 190, I learned to *gasp* trust myself and trust in time. I developed *double gasp* instincts. I *in a near faint* began to love the person losing weight and committed to doing everything I could to protect her.
I surprised a lot of people when I kept going down the scale, past the familiar 190 pounds when people started saying, "You're not going to lose any MORE are you?" And I've surprised a lot of people now that two years later, I haven't gained anything back. I surprised a lot of people, namely me, when I killed that proverbial possum of a goal and came back with so much more. Something more than settling for the same old familiar fears and insecurities.
If you're making a resolution to lose weight in 2009, be bold, be fearless. Run into that darkness and find what you're really made of. Resolve NOT to revert back to old thinking and old strategies. Resolve to trust yourself. Resolve to trust time. (Newsflash: weight loss doesn't happen overnight. One pound lost in two weeks is one less pound you have to lose the rest of your life. Or, to put it another way, you can't lose ten., twenty or a hundred pounds unless you lose the first one.)
Resolve to do something you've never done before.
Minggu, 28 Desember 2008
If Only I'd Listened...
I wasn’t hungry on Friday. Not one bit. I had five Points leftover for the day, and it would have been more if I’d not forced myself to eat some popcorn before going to bed so I wouldn’t wake up hungry in the middle of the night. God forbid.
But wake up I did, only not because I was hungry. Let’s just say I’ll be buying new bathroom rugs and a few new pairs of pajamas after the mess I created with the “stomach bug.”
Not only did I spend 18 hours getting intimately acquainted with my bathroom (and the path from the couch to said bathroom), I had time to think about how my body talks to me about food and how much of it I actually hear.
If I’d done what I was “supposed” to do, which is to eat all my daily Points allowance, if I’d stuck five more Points of food in my piehole before going to bed, forget new bathroom rugs and pajamas. I’d be on the phone with the EPA.
I was busy on Friday (see last blog entry), but nothing sounded good. I ate because, well, that’s what I do. Never mind that my stomach wasn’t feeling quite right or that I felt full all day and didn’t really feel like eating. I stuffed (good) stuff in my mouth, like I do every day.
Somewhere between the chills and the fever yesterday I wondered, When did eating become so rote, so predictable? The answer is, when I stopped really tuning in to what my body wants and needs. I’ve learned how to eat healthy and exercise to the point that I tell my body what it needs. I no longer ask it what it needs.
Of course the exception to that rule is when you don’t want to drink water because it will make your stomach hurt, but if you don’t, you’ll dehydrate and have to go to the emergency room. I got all tough love on my body about that yesterday. But aside from that, there won’t be many occasions when I need to force anything down the esophagus.
Whether I ate anything Friday or not wouldn’t have stopped the stomach bug. But it might have made the experience a little less harsh and I might have salvaged that second pair of pajamas.
This morning, as I laid awake in bed, I asked my body what it wanted to eat. My head was saying, “Eggs and toast! Eggs and toast!” But the rest of me was saying “Bland vegetable soup.” So I got up, took a shower (it was imperative that I scrub the plague off my body before I did anything else), and made a very mild soup with vegetable broth, celery, carrots, a small potato, green beans, zucchini, spinach, onions, garlic, and a pinch of barley, pepper, thyme, oregano, sage, rosemary and marjoram. So far so good. Except for my head, nothing else hurts. Looks like I’ll live.
You know I’m a crusader for mindful eating, but as I discovered yesterday, mindful eating goes beyond just being aware of the food you put in your mouth. It also means being mindful of what your body (not your head or eyes) needs. If your body begs you to not eat, don’t eat! You just might save yourself a visit from men in hazardous waste suits.
But wake up I did, only not because I was hungry. Let’s just say I’ll be buying new bathroom rugs and a few new pairs of pajamas after the mess I created with the “stomach bug.”
Not only did I spend 18 hours getting intimately acquainted with my bathroom (and the path from the couch to said bathroom), I had time to think about how my body talks to me about food and how much of it I actually hear.
If I’d done what I was “supposed” to do, which is to eat all my daily Points allowance, if I’d stuck five more Points of food in my piehole before going to bed, forget new bathroom rugs and pajamas. I’d be on the phone with the EPA.
I was busy on Friday (see last blog entry), but nothing sounded good. I ate because, well, that’s what I do. Never mind that my stomach wasn’t feeling quite right or that I felt full all day and didn’t really feel like eating. I stuffed (good) stuff in my mouth, like I do every day.
Somewhere between the chills and the fever yesterday I wondered, When did eating become so rote, so predictable? The answer is, when I stopped really tuning in to what my body wants and needs. I’ve learned how to eat healthy and exercise to the point that I tell my body what it needs. I no longer ask it what it needs.
Of course the exception to that rule is when you don’t want to drink water because it will make your stomach hurt, but if you don’t, you’ll dehydrate and have to go to the emergency room. I got all tough love on my body about that yesterday. But aside from that, there won’t be many occasions when I need to force anything down the esophagus.
Whether I ate anything Friday or not wouldn’t have stopped the stomach bug. But it might have made the experience a little less harsh and I might have salvaged that second pair of pajamas.
This morning, as I laid awake in bed, I asked my body what it wanted to eat. My head was saying, “Eggs and toast! Eggs and toast!” But the rest of me was saying “Bland vegetable soup.” So I got up, took a shower (it was imperative that I scrub the plague off my body before I did anything else), and made a very mild soup with vegetable broth, celery, carrots, a small potato, green beans, zucchini, spinach, onions, garlic, and a pinch of barley, pepper, thyme, oregano, sage, rosemary and marjoram. So far so good. Except for my head, nothing else hurts. Looks like I’ll live.
You know I’m a crusader for mindful eating, but as I discovered yesterday, mindful eating goes beyond just being aware of the food you put in your mouth. It also means being mindful of what your body (not your head or eyes) needs. If your body begs you to not eat, don’t eat! You just might save yourself a visit from men in hazardous waste suits.
Jumat, 26 Desember 2008
Organization Is My Middle Name (and the stick up my bum)
My husband calls our house an RV because I utilize every square inch of storage space our little house offers. Organized to the nines, I store stuff up, under, behind and overhead.
When my house is organized, I am organized. My life can be in total chaos, but when I can find a hammer or batteries or the remote to the CD player without any thought simply because it’s where it should be, I can handle anything.
Being organized helped me lose weight. Being organized keeps me between 128-130 pounds. Organization is my emotional compass. If my house is a wreck, my desk strewn with papers, I guarantee you won’t want to engage me in conversation.
The antithesis of organization is clutter. I hate clutter**** (please read the **** footnote clarification at the end of this blog). I hate clutter more than trans fats, fake maple syrup, and Culture Club. Clutter makes my right eye twitch. And man, was it twitching this morning when I came downstairs and saw my new food processor, hand mixer and box of eco-friendly food storage containers waiting for me on the dining room table. I was fully aware they were there when I went to bed last night, but my mind was still processing the day of family, presents, too many carbs (damn you puppy chow!) and the Mel Brooks movie “To Be Or Not To Be.”
But in the light of dawn, nothing wakes me up quite like clutter.
By 7:30 a.m., I’d mapped out a strategy. The new food processor would go where the old one was and the hand mixer would fit nicely in the third drawer next to the stove. The new storage containers posed a bit of a problem since I have no extra space in my kitchen. Something had to go, either moved to the basement, the garage or Goodwill. I wasn’t sure what.
So, I started at the most logical place. The dogs’ water dish.
Our dogs’ water dish sits between the microwave cart and the long counter that accommodates our sink. It’s always in the way and is 7 feet away from their food bowls in the dining room. I can’t remember why we put it there, but it obviously made sense at the time. In order to find space for the new storage containers, the dish would have to move. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever in anyone else’s mind, but in mine, it’s pure genius.
So, after completely changing our dogs’ eating and watering ensemble (they are now using different bowls in a different location – don’t ask), my next step(s) in finding room for the eco-friendly food storage containers was to:
· Take everything out from lower cupboards and microwave cart
· Vacuum cupboards and microwave cart
· Reorganize every fry pan, baking dish, roaster, casserole and cookie sheet by order of frequency of use
· Put everything back in different places
· Bring unused pots to basement
· Notice cobwebs in stairwell
· Move mixer to where the old food processor used to be
· Move new food processor where the mixer used to be
· Move old food processor to basement
· Notice more cobwebs
· Vacuum basement stairs and rearrange items on stairway shelves
· Vacuum rest of kitchen
· Notice grime on the bottom vent of the refrigerator
· Clean out entire refrigerator
· Notice mold growing on block of cheddar cheese in crisper
· Cut off mold; shred cheese with new food processor
· Wash food processor
Finally, at 11:00 a.m., I opened the box of new containers and put them in their new home on the microwave cart. (Peter Walsh, if you’re reading this, you are my hero and I’m pretty sure we could be BFF.)
I now have cheese slices organized in a small plastic container in the crisper (no more slippy sliding all over the cheddar and Laughing Cow), all the Jello-O puddings neatly arranged in a long plastic container (no more toppling over and making Lynn curse), and I can retrieve a cookie sheet without breaking a wrist bone.
Now it’s time to listen to the Cowboy Junkies. I’m feeling organized and can now listen to the music without thinking I have to rearrange a pot or appliance. In addition to the aforementioned items, I also got fun stuff for Christmas, Trinity Revisited among them. It’s a seriously good CD/DVD combo. Trust me.
I hope you are enjoying some R&R, that you’re eating well and working out, and finding peace in the ways that are unique to you. Here are a few photos from my holiday. Talk to you all again real soon.
I'm so proud :)
Claire helps Grammy Lynn cook brunch (as long as I've got bony hips and a free hand, I can whip up anything)
Claire and Grammy eat an English muffin (she pretty much ate my entire egg-white omelet, too, but she did NOT get my mimosa)
Without daughter Cassie and SIL Matt, Claire and new baby in May wouldn't be here. Thanks guys!
**** I am clutter blind outside my own house and vehicle. I only hate my own clutter. I seriously, honest-to-god don’t notice or care about anyone else’s clutter.
When my house is organized, I am organized. My life can be in total chaos, but when I can find a hammer or batteries or the remote to the CD player without any thought simply because it’s where it should be, I can handle anything.
Being organized helped me lose weight. Being organized keeps me between 128-130 pounds. Organization is my emotional compass. If my house is a wreck, my desk strewn with papers, I guarantee you won’t want to engage me in conversation.
The antithesis of organization is clutter. I hate clutter**** (please read the **** footnote clarification at the end of this blog). I hate clutter more than trans fats, fake maple syrup, and Culture Club. Clutter makes my right eye twitch. And man, was it twitching this morning when I came downstairs and saw my new food processor, hand mixer and box of eco-friendly food storage containers waiting for me on the dining room table. I was fully aware they were there when I went to bed last night, but my mind was still processing the day of family, presents, too many carbs (damn you puppy chow!) and the Mel Brooks movie “To Be Or Not To Be.”
But in the light of dawn, nothing wakes me up quite like clutter.
By 7:30 a.m., I’d mapped out a strategy. The new food processor would go where the old one was and the hand mixer would fit nicely in the third drawer next to the stove. The new storage containers posed a bit of a problem since I have no extra space in my kitchen. Something had to go, either moved to the basement, the garage or Goodwill. I wasn’t sure what.
So, I started at the most logical place. The dogs’ water dish.
Our dogs’ water dish sits between the microwave cart and the long counter that accommodates our sink. It’s always in the way and is 7 feet away from their food bowls in the dining room. I can’t remember why we put it there, but it obviously made sense at the time. In order to find space for the new storage containers, the dish would have to move. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever in anyone else’s mind, but in mine, it’s pure genius.
So, after completely changing our dogs’ eating and watering ensemble (they are now using different bowls in a different location – don’t ask), my next step(s) in finding room for the eco-friendly food storage containers was to:
· Take everything out from lower cupboards and microwave cart
· Vacuum cupboards and microwave cart
· Reorganize every fry pan, baking dish, roaster, casserole and cookie sheet by order of frequency of use
· Put everything back in different places
· Bring unused pots to basement
· Notice cobwebs in stairwell
· Move mixer to where the old food processor used to be
· Move new food processor where the mixer used to be
· Move old food processor to basement
· Notice more cobwebs
· Vacuum basement stairs and rearrange items on stairway shelves
· Vacuum rest of kitchen
· Notice grime on the bottom vent of the refrigerator
· Clean out entire refrigerator
· Notice mold growing on block of cheddar cheese in crisper
· Cut off mold; shred cheese with new food processor
· Wash food processor
Finally, at 11:00 a.m., I opened the box of new containers and put them in their new home on the microwave cart. (Peter Walsh, if you’re reading this, you are my hero and I’m pretty sure we could be BFF.)
I now have cheese slices organized in a small plastic container in the crisper (no more slippy sliding all over the cheddar and Laughing Cow), all the Jello-O puddings neatly arranged in a long plastic container (no more toppling over and making Lynn curse), and I can retrieve a cookie sheet without breaking a wrist bone.
Now it’s time to listen to the Cowboy Junkies. I’m feeling organized and can now listen to the music without thinking I have to rearrange a pot or appliance. In addition to the aforementioned items, I also got fun stuff for Christmas, Trinity Revisited among them. It’s a seriously good CD/DVD combo. Trust me.
I hope you are enjoying some R&R, that you’re eating well and working out, and finding peace in the ways that are unique to you. Here are a few photos from my holiday. Talk to you all again real soon.
I'm so proud :)
Claire helps Grammy Lynn cook brunch (as long as I've got bony hips and a free hand, I can whip up anything)
Claire and Grammy eat an English muffin (she pretty much ate my entire egg-white omelet, too, but she did NOT get my mimosa)
Without daughter Cassie and SIL Matt, Claire and new baby in May wouldn't be here. Thanks guys!
**** I am clutter blind outside my own house and vehicle. I only hate my own clutter. I seriously, honest-to-god don’t notice or care about anyone else’s clutter.
Rabu, 24 Desember 2008
Food Interruptus
A funny thing happened on my finger’s third adventure around the edge of the bowl of soon-to-be-truffles goo yesterday: I couldn’t lick. My head was saying, “You reserved the Points! Eat it!” But my stomach was saying, “Put that sugar crap in me and I promise you’ll be seeing it again real soon.” So I rinsed my finger(s) and made the truffles and washed the bowl without another taste.
It’s 9:15 and I’m still in my pjs. I plan to still be in my pjs when I head to the kitchen in a minute and make a batch of Peanut Blossom Cookies and Puppy Chow, both laden with chocolate and peanut butter, but both way too sweet (like the truffles) to really tempt me. I do plan to have for dessert later a piece of Hungry Girl’s 1-Point fudge with a scoop of Breyer’s double-churn fat-free vanilla ice cream.
Also on the menu tonight: ham and scalloped potatoes. My food strategy this year seems to be to mostly make stuff I don’t like or no longer eat. It was not something I did intentionally, but it’s working like a charm. Besides, there will be enough cheese, almonds and homemade bread to make me squirm in my seat later. Ya’ll know how I love me some cheese, almonds and bread more than chocolate and peanut butter (except PB2) any day.
While making the truffles yesterday, I had a moment where I really missed the days of mindless eating. When eating a truffle or two was nothing more than a precursor to the real dessert. When unwrapping Hershey Kisses for the cookies was a “one for the bowl, two for me” game. When cheese, crackers, nuts, and bread would just “hold me over” until dinner. I was lost in these thoughts when the UPS man delivered the sweater I ordered from Macy’s, a very clingy cardigan that I thought would look nice with my gray leggings and black boots. I took it out of the package and tried it on. Yup. It was clingy alright. Hugged, and I mean hugged, every inch of my mid section and butt.
As I looked at my body in the mirror, I realized I could miss the days of mindless eating all I wanted, but I was never going back there. I’d rather eat light and look like I look now than eat whatever I want and hide under layers and layers of clothing. Food doesn’t make me happy. A strong healthy body that accommodates a clingy cardigan does. (Just so we're clear, I really am wearing a camisole under the sweater. I'm not THAT daring :))
It’s 9:15 and I’m still in my pjs. I plan to still be in my pjs when I head to the kitchen in a minute and make a batch of Peanut Blossom Cookies and Puppy Chow, both laden with chocolate and peanut butter, but both way too sweet (like the truffles) to really tempt me. I do plan to have for dessert later a piece of Hungry Girl’s 1-Point fudge with a scoop of Breyer’s double-churn fat-free vanilla ice cream.
Also on the menu tonight: ham and scalloped potatoes. My food strategy this year seems to be to mostly make stuff I don’t like or no longer eat. It was not something I did intentionally, but it’s working like a charm. Besides, there will be enough cheese, almonds and homemade bread to make me squirm in my seat later. Ya’ll know how I love me some cheese, almonds and bread more than chocolate and peanut butter (except PB2) any day.
While making the truffles yesterday, I had a moment where I really missed the days of mindless eating. When eating a truffle or two was nothing more than a precursor to the real dessert. When unwrapping Hershey Kisses for the cookies was a “one for the bowl, two for me” game. When cheese, crackers, nuts, and bread would just “hold me over” until dinner. I was lost in these thoughts when the UPS man delivered the sweater I ordered from Macy’s, a very clingy cardigan that I thought would look nice with my gray leggings and black boots. I took it out of the package and tried it on. Yup. It was clingy alright. Hugged, and I mean hugged, every inch of my mid section and butt.
As I looked at my body in the mirror, I realized I could miss the days of mindless eating all I wanted, but I was never going back there. I’d rather eat light and look like I look now than eat whatever I want and hide under layers and layers of clothing. Food doesn’t make me happy. A strong healthy body that accommodates a clingy cardigan does. (Just so we're clear, I really am wearing a camisole under the sweater. I'm not THAT daring :))
So take that cheese and almonds and bread and truffles! I’ll try you, taste you, enjoy you in small bits for short moments, but I’ll enjoy my sweater for a long, long time.Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Joyous Kwanzaa everyone! Eat smart. Be well. May you be surrounded by peace and love this evening and always.
Selasa, 23 Desember 2008
Temporomandibular Disorder
My jaw has not been able to close for over a week. The right side very painful. I can't chew. So I finally went to the doctor yesterday, and was diagnosed with Temporomandibular Joint (TMJ) Disorder.Basically the little disc between my jawbone to my skull is inflamed.I have to take 600 mg of ibuprofen with every meal. (1800 mg a day!) for the next 2 weeks and eat only "soft foods." Then I go
Warning: Sappy Sentimentalism Inside
I hope you don’t mind a little extra stevia with your blog reading today. Christmas brings out my schmaltzy sentimental side, at least more than other times of the year.
Every year at this time, I exchange the gift of a hug with a particular friend and it makes me all warm inside, warmer than a cup of Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride tea.
We don’t see each other much anymore; our parallel and busy lives keep us apart. Email is good, but seeing each other in person is a rare treat, a delicious gift of catching up and thinking back. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to about snow-packed mountains, distractions and turkeys, the decadence of eating strawberries in March, and which I-80 truck stop makes the best shoo fly pie. There are some things no one else would get and I couldn’t possibly explain.
He was never my boyfriend, my husband, or my boss. We simply met in a windowless room in a building on the campus of our local university and found each other interesting enough to become very good friends. I’ve known him longer than my husband, who isn’t jealous of our relationship so I make no apologies for it. I stopped trying to understand what it was we felt about each other years ago. It is what it is and whatever that is makes me happy.
I know he loves chocolate and lemon poppy seed muffins. If he doesn’t agree with me he says so. If I ask for his advice, he gives it without prejudice, bias or fear of saying something I don’t want to hear. His honesty is refreshing, as is his laugh and beautiful smile. I would be content to just sit near him, not saying a word. Of course if we were to try this we’d probably bust out laughing. We do that well.
I can’t compare our hugs goodbye to any other embrace I’ve known. It’s not fatherly or brotherly; it’s not that of a lover or gay friend. He’s a man I’ve thought about on so many levels that there’s no way to nail down one precise familiar relationship everyone would understand. And so I just call it unique. We had two very long, very loving unique embraces yesterday and his warmth and kindness will keep me smiling into the new year.
Now if I could just get my friends from Minnesota, California, Texas, England, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, Florida, Oregon, New York, Connecticut, Wisconsin, Canada, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Arkansas, Colorado, New Mexico and I know I’m missing a state together for a big old hug like that…
Every year at this time, I exchange the gift of a hug with a particular friend and it makes me all warm inside, warmer than a cup of Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride tea.
We don’t see each other much anymore; our parallel and busy lives keep us apart. Email is good, but seeing each other in person is a rare treat, a delicious gift of catching up and thinking back. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to about snow-packed mountains, distractions and turkeys, the decadence of eating strawberries in March, and which I-80 truck stop makes the best shoo fly pie. There are some things no one else would get and I couldn’t possibly explain.
He was never my boyfriend, my husband, or my boss. We simply met in a windowless room in a building on the campus of our local university and found each other interesting enough to become very good friends. I’ve known him longer than my husband, who isn’t jealous of our relationship so I make no apologies for it. I stopped trying to understand what it was we felt about each other years ago. It is what it is and whatever that is makes me happy.
I know he loves chocolate and lemon poppy seed muffins. If he doesn’t agree with me he says so. If I ask for his advice, he gives it without prejudice, bias or fear of saying something I don’t want to hear. His honesty is refreshing, as is his laugh and beautiful smile. I would be content to just sit near him, not saying a word. Of course if we were to try this we’d probably bust out laughing. We do that well.
I can’t compare our hugs goodbye to any other embrace I’ve known. It’s not fatherly or brotherly; it’s not that of a lover or gay friend. He’s a man I’ve thought about on so many levels that there’s no way to nail down one precise familiar relationship everyone would understand. And so I just call it unique. We had two very long, very loving unique embraces yesterday and his warmth and kindness will keep me smiling into the new year.
Now if I could just get my friends from Minnesota, California, Texas, England, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, Florida, Oregon, New York, Connecticut, Wisconsin, Canada, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Arkansas, Colorado, New Mexico and I know I’m missing a state together for a big old hug like that…
Minggu, 21 Desember 2008
Where Does Your Food Come From?
Just a quickie this morning as I digest some yogurt and strawberries before hitting the workout.
I got to thinking about this blog entry after reading the label on my strawberries. By now we’re all good at reading food labels for nutritional information and ingredients (You DO read labels before buying and/or eating, right?), but do you ever read where the product comes from? The label from the strawberries I bought yesterday is marked “Product of Mexico.” Seems reasonable. We can’t grow strawberries in the snow so of course we’d import them from Mexico or other Central and South American countries. Ditto on bananas, coffee, sugar and other food items.
The tea I drink is “blended” by Celestial Seasonings in Boulder, but the ingredients come from all over the world. Curious about their importing philosophy, I did a quick Internet search and was heartened to read the company’s ethical trade statement online: “We’ve had relationships with many growers around the world for more than 30 years, and it’s very important to us that workers are treated fairly and with respect, and that farming techniques support environmental health and economic growth. The growers are our partners, and together, we ensure the botanicals Celestial Seasonings purchases are collected or harvested with minimal impact on the environment, while local jobs and businesses are nurtured.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not a policy readily embraced by Chinese (or even some U.S.) manufacturers. Given the propensity for profits over the health of pets and babies, I am extremely wary of goods imported from China.
Take garlic powder. The McCormick brand is almost $2 more than the Wal-Mart house brand. The McCormick company has a commitment to sustainability and social responsibility and their product is clearly marked “Product of USA.” The Wal-Mart brand is marked “Product of China.” I pony up the $2 in hopes that McCormick truly is committed to the health of its consumers over profit.
I realize it’s nearly impossible to avoid food products made in China, particularly the frozen and processed varieties. But by staying informed (read the Washington Post story “Tainted Chinese imports Common”, for instance), I’m trying to be more aware of where my food comes from. Labels aren’t always marked, and in the case of food made with several ingredients, it’s impossible to know where each of those ingredients came from.
Think about it: we put a lot of trust in the people who grow, manufacture, import, and inspect our food. Aside from the produce and meat I buy from local and regional farmers, I don’t know the people who grow and pick and make my food. Kind of creeps me out a little.
Nothing like a little paranoia on an early Sunday morning. Sorry about that. I’m curious, though: Do you read labels? Do you know where your food comes from? Any strategies for learning more?
I got to thinking about this blog entry after reading the label on my strawberries. By now we’re all good at reading food labels for nutritional information and ingredients (You DO read labels before buying and/or eating, right?), but do you ever read where the product comes from? The label from the strawberries I bought yesterday is marked “Product of Mexico.” Seems reasonable. We can’t grow strawberries in the snow so of course we’d import them from Mexico or other Central and South American countries. Ditto on bananas, coffee, sugar and other food items.
The tea I drink is “blended” by Celestial Seasonings in Boulder, but the ingredients come from all over the world. Curious about their importing philosophy, I did a quick Internet search and was heartened to read the company’s ethical trade statement online: “We’ve had relationships with many growers around the world for more than 30 years, and it’s very important to us that workers are treated fairly and with respect, and that farming techniques support environmental health and economic growth. The growers are our partners, and together, we ensure the botanicals Celestial Seasonings purchases are collected or harvested with minimal impact on the environment, while local jobs and businesses are nurtured.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not a policy readily embraced by Chinese (or even some U.S.) manufacturers. Given the propensity for profits over the health of pets and babies, I am extremely wary of goods imported from China.
Take garlic powder. The McCormick brand is almost $2 more than the Wal-Mart house brand. The McCormick company has a commitment to sustainability and social responsibility and their product is clearly marked “Product of USA.” The Wal-Mart brand is marked “Product of China.” I pony up the $2 in hopes that McCormick truly is committed to the health of its consumers over profit.
I realize it’s nearly impossible to avoid food products made in China, particularly the frozen and processed varieties. But by staying informed (read the Washington Post story “Tainted Chinese imports Common”, for instance), I’m trying to be more aware of where my food comes from. Labels aren’t always marked, and in the case of food made with several ingredients, it’s impossible to know where each of those ingredients came from.
Think about it: we put a lot of trust in the people who grow, manufacture, import, and inspect our food. Aside from the produce and meat I buy from local and regional farmers, I don’t know the people who grow and pick and make my food. Kind of creeps me out a little.
Nothing like a little paranoia on an early Sunday morning. Sorry about that. I’m curious, though: Do you read labels? Do you know where your food comes from? Any strategies for learning more?
Jumat, 19 Desember 2008
Your Thoughts Really ARE Worth a Dime! Give One Now (a thought, that is)
If you’re not already a fan of MizFit (and if you don’t know who I’m talking about, you’re new to my blog, aren’t you? Welcome!), get on over to her site today and post a comment on the blog entry “MizFit’s Halfassed Friday Rhyme. (subtitle: Im emptying the wallet, People, & need your help.).” Miz is donating a dime to Safeplace, a domestic violence shelter in Austin, Texas, for every comment posted to that entry from now through Christmas Eve. The only thing it costs you is a few minutes. Besides, isn’t it fun to spend someone else’s money, especially when it’s going to a good cause?
Domestic violence was a part of my life back in the mid 1980s. Still is to some degree since fear never really goes away. It lingers in the back of my mind sometimes as a “what if…”
Anyone who’s experienced violence in their life knows it’s not the actual violence that’s the worst part. It’s the anticipation and the not knowing when it will happen next that is the hardest to live with because it’s all consuming. Fear changes how we do things and how we structure our days and even our sentences. God forbid you say the wrong thing, or anything at all.
By donating to a domestic violence prevention agency, any DV agency anywhere in the country, you’re helping people like me who learned through the kindness and patience of shelter staff and volunteers how to live within and eventually leave a violent relationship. DV knows no socio-economic barrier and it doesn’t belong to one race or creed. I’m sure many of you reading this are nodding your heads because you’ve been there or you know someone who has.
So click on over to MizFitOnline and give a little comment. I personally appreciate it very much.
Domestic violence was a part of my life back in the mid 1980s. Still is to some degree since fear never really goes away. It lingers in the back of my mind sometimes as a “what if…”
Anyone who’s experienced violence in their life knows it’s not the actual violence that’s the worst part. It’s the anticipation and the not knowing when it will happen next that is the hardest to live with because it’s all consuming. Fear changes how we do things and how we structure our days and even our sentences. God forbid you say the wrong thing, or anything at all.
By donating to a domestic violence prevention agency, any DV agency anywhere in the country, you’re helping people like me who learned through the kindness and patience of shelter staff and volunteers how to live within and eventually leave a violent relationship. DV knows no socio-economic barrier and it doesn’t belong to one race or creed. I’m sure many of you reading this are nodding your heads because you’ve been there or you know someone who has.
So click on over to MizFitOnline and give a little comment. I personally appreciate it very much.
Rabu, 17 Desember 2008
I Simply Remember My Favorite Things, And Then I Don't Feel So Bad
I heard “My Favorite Things” while shopping for Christmas cards at Hallmark the other day and thought, When did that become part of the Christmas carol canon? I looked it up on Wikipedia, which offered this: “The wintertime imagery of some of the lyrics has made ‘My Favorite Things’ a popular song during the Christmas season, and it often appears on holiday-themed albums and compilations, although in the show and movie it is sung during a summer thunderstorm.”
Snowflakes and mittens make me think of winter, not Christmas, but whatever. I know, bah-humbug, right? Wrong. I’m in a good mood, actually. Stress levels have come down to manageable levels and my elliptical repair man will be here tomorrow. What more could a girl want?
Stress can be a teacher and fortunately I allowed it to help me to look inside and not away from the stressors. In doing so, I realized there were many favorite moments and discoveries this year, old and new, frivolous and serious. My list is nothing like Oprah’s favorite things, and there are no freebies hidden under your seat as you read this, although if I could, I’d give you all, dear readers, a jar of hearts of palm and an ionized hair dryer. You’ll understand further down the page.
So, in no particular order, here are my Favorite Things of 2008:
1. Fennel. I was introduced to fennel at The Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles when I was in California in March. My friend Michael took me there for lunch, and while we didn’t see any celebrities (at least none that we recognized), we did see a LOT of silicone. Oh my. Anyway, fennel. It was tossed into my $28 Ivy salad and I fell in love at first bite. I’m not a black licorice fan, but I do like anise and fennel has a hint of anise. It reminds me of the anise candy we got for Christmas every year when I was a kid. Fennel is a little sweet and very crunchy, and the best part is that I think of Michael every time I eat it. Love that guy.
2. Hearts of Palm. I was technically introduced to hearts of palm two summers ago while visiting my friend Heather in Chicago. She put some in our dinner salads. I didn’t buy my first jar until last week, so I’m counting it among this year’s favorites. The canned palms are in brine so they’re tangy and a little on the high sodium side, but I found a jar of palms with lower sodium at Trader Joe’s. Slice them up and put them in your salad for a nice little bite. Like the fennel, I have happy friend memories when I eat them. Which reminds me, I really need to get back to Chicago to see her.
3. My new haircut. All my life I’ve tried to find the right haircut. I had short wavy hair in the 70s, curling iron-hairspray bangs in the 80s and early 90s, and crazy out-of-control curly hair until this past March. Ashley, the most fabulous hairstylist ever, thought maybe I ought to try an Annette Bening style. Sure, why not, I said. And it worked! Finally, I have a hairstyle that in 20 years I won’t look back on and cringe.
4. My ionized hair dryer. When my old dinosaur of a hairdryer finally died last month, I bought an ionized one. I have no idea the technical details of ionization and I don’t care. All I care about is that my hair is not frizzy and it dries faster. I like this thing a LOT.
5. Mary Kay Time Wise products. The woman who helps me clean my house, Tammy, is also a Mary Kay consultant. Having been a Clinique girl since WAY back, I’d never tried MK before. When my skin starting breaking out last winter and nothing Clinique offered helped, Tammy suggested I try the Time Wise line of cleansers and moisturizers. Within two weeks my skin was clear. Since then, I’ve fallen in love with Mary Kay mascara and gotten my husband hooked on the men’s line. Given me some time and I will be the reason Tammy earns a pink Cadillac.
6. Blackberry Pearl. For a woman who just learned how to old school text message last year, the Blackberry was quite a step up with it’s fancy QWERTY keyboard. My Blackberry is pimped out with modem capabilities and with it I took photos in the balloon room at the Andy Warhol Museum. I can check my email, the weather AND the news in bed, and can call all my siblings for free. Of course, this requires me to turn it on, something I forget to do most of the time.
7. My Pampered Chef chopper. Makes my cooking life much easier. It can also take quite a beating. Seriously…when I chop, I REALLY chop.
8. NPR. I’ve dabbled in National Public Radio here and there. I’m a huge fan of “Prairie Home Companion” and “Wait, Wait! Don’t Tell Me!” but I’ve never ventured beyond that. Thanks to many trips to Pittsburgh this past year (a 70-minute drive each way), I’ve become an NPR junkie. “News and Notes,” “Radio Times,” “Talk of the Nation,” “The Diane Rehm Show,” “Forum,” “Tell Me More”…my heart is all a flutter. I recognize every news anchor’s voice, and I think Carl Kasell and Peter Sagal are sexy.
9. The gift of old friends. Visiting Minnesota this past summer, I saw people I haven’t seen in 20 and 30 years. What a treat to ride in a parade on the back of a wagon with my fifth- AND sixth-grade boyfriends. I cried as I watched my former choir director (now in his mid-80s) direct the choir in my old church. Such beauty that. I got to hug the parents of my friend Tammy who was murdered in Lubbock in 1986. We’ve stayed in touch every Christmas but I’d not seen them since the funeral. I saw every member of my wedding party (the first wedding), and I got to introduce my late husband’s beautiful daughter to many of his friends, including the woman she is named after. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
10. This blog. While I’d kept an online journal of my weight loss, I’d not blogged about weight issues on a regular basis until I started this blog in March and launched Refuse to Regain with another “favorite thing,” my blogging partner Barbara Berkeley, in May. The best part about this blog is you. I have learned more, laughed more, and grown more as a person because of getting to know so many of you through your comments and your own blogs.
And so with that, I offer you my most sincere thank you and my warmest wishes for a health-filled holiday and 2009. I leave you with my favortist thing of all, my granddaughter Claire, dancing so happy she had to get naked:
Snowflakes and mittens make me think of winter, not Christmas, but whatever. I know, bah-humbug, right? Wrong. I’m in a good mood, actually. Stress levels have come down to manageable levels and my elliptical repair man will be here tomorrow. What more could a girl want?
Stress can be a teacher and fortunately I allowed it to help me to look inside and not away from the stressors. In doing so, I realized there were many favorite moments and discoveries this year, old and new, frivolous and serious. My list is nothing like Oprah’s favorite things, and there are no freebies hidden under your seat as you read this, although if I could, I’d give you all, dear readers, a jar of hearts of palm and an ionized hair dryer. You’ll understand further down the page.
So, in no particular order, here are my Favorite Things of 2008:
1. Fennel. I was introduced to fennel at The Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles when I was in California in March. My friend Michael took me there for lunch, and while we didn’t see any celebrities (at least none that we recognized), we did see a LOT of silicone. Oh my. Anyway, fennel. It was tossed into my $28 Ivy salad and I fell in love at first bite. I’m not a black licorice fan, but I do like anise and fennel has a hint of anise. It reminds me of the anise candy we got for Christmas every year when I was a kid. Fennel is a little sweet and very crunchy, and the best part is that I think of Michael every time I eat it. Love that guy.
2. Hearts of Palm. I was technically introduced to hearts of palm two summers ago while visiting my friend Heather in Chicago. She put some in our dinner salads. I didn’t buy my first jar until last week, so I’m counting it among this year’s favorites. The canned palms are in brine so they’re tangy and a little on the high sodium side, but I found a jar of palms with lower sodium at Trader Joe’s. Slice them up and put them in your salad for a nice little bite. Like the fennel, I have happy friend memories when I eat them. Which reminds me, I really need to get back to Chicago to see her.
3. My new haircut. All my life I’ve tried to find the right haircut. I had short wavy hair in the 70s, curling iron-hairspray bangs in the 80s and early 90s, and crazy out-of-control curly hair until this past March. Ashley, the most fabulous hairstylist ever, thought maybe I ought to try an Annette Bening style. Sure, why not, I said. And it worked! Finally, I have a hairstyle that in 20 years I won’t look back on and cringe.4. My ionized hair dryer. When my old dinosaur of a hairdryer finally died last month, I bought an ionized one. I have no idea the technical details of ionization and I don’t care. All I care about is that my hair is not frizzy and it dries faster. I like this thing a LOT.
5. Mary Kay Time Wise products. The woman who helps me clean my house, Tammy, is also a Mary Kay consultant. Having been a Clinique girl since WAY back, I’d never tried MK before. When my skin starting breaking out last winter and nothing Clinique offered helped, Tammy suggested I try the Time Wise line of cleansers and moisturizers. Within two weeks my skin was clear. Since then, I’ve fallen in love with Mary Kay mascara and gotten my husband hooked on the men’s line. Given me some time and I will be the reason Tammy earns a pink Cadillac.
6. Blackberry Pearl. For a woman who just learned how to old school text message last year, the Blackberry was quite a step up with it’s fancy QWERTY keyboard. My Blackberry is pimped out with modem capabilities and with it I took photos in the balloon room at the Andy Warhol Museum. I can check my email, the weather AND the news in bed, and can call all my siblings for free. Of course, this requires me to turn it on, something I forget to do most of the time.
7. My Pampered Chef chopper. Makes my cooking life much easier. It can also take quite a beating. Seriously…when I chop, I REALLY chop.
8. NPR. I’ve dabbled in National Public Radio here and there. I’m a huge fan of “Prairie Home Companion” and “Wait, Wait! Don’t Tell Me!” but I’ve never ventured beyond that. Thanks to many trips to Pittsburgh this past year (a 70-minute drive each way), I’ve become an NPR junkie. “News and Notes,” “Radio Times,” “Talk of the Nation,” “The Diane Rehm Show,” “Forum,” “Tell Me More”…my heart is all a flutter. I recognize every news anchor’s voice, and I think Carl Kasell and Peter Sagal are sexy.9. The gift of old friends. Visiting Minnesota this past summer, I saw people I haven’t seen in 20 and 30 years. What a treat to ride in a parade on the back of a wagon with my fifth- AND sixth-grade boyfriends. I cried as I watched my former choir director (now in his mid-80s) direct the choir in my old church. Such beauty that. I got to hug the parents of my friend Tammy who was murdered in Lubbock in 1986. We’ve stayed in touch every Christmas but I’d not seen them since the funeral. I saw every member of my wedding party (the first wedding), and I got to introduce my late husband’s beautiful daughter to many of his friends, including the woman she is named after. Life doesn’t get much better than that.
10. This blog. While I’d kept an online journal of my weight loss, I’d not blogged about weight issues on a regular basis until I started this blog in March and launched Refuse to Regain with another “favorite thing,” my blogging partner Barbara Berkeley, in May. The best part about this blog is you. I have learned more, laughed more, and grown more as a person because of getting to know so many of you through your comments and your own blogs.
And so with that, I offer you my most sincere thank you and my warmest wishes for a health-filled holiday and 2009. I leave you with my favortist thing of all, my granddaughter Claire, dancing so happy she had to get naked:
Senin, 15 Desember 2008
Stress Sucks
Stress is the sneakiest thing, isn’t it? It disguises itself in all kinds of ways – pain, doubt, hunger, lack of hunger, the shakes, the sweats, the mood swings. I know we can’t escape it, but damn, doesn’t it knock you for a loop sometimes?
I think what makes stress so sneaky is that the cause isn’t always apparent. It’s usually not one big thing but a million little things. Here’s what I mean. Christmas shopping? Not a problem. Write a blog? Not a problem. Write another blog? Fine. Write a book? Sure. Cook, clean, take dogs to the vet, prepare for a visit by the stepsons, balance food and exercise, and keep up with emails, research, friends, my kids and extended family? I can do those things with my eyes shut. But this past week, when everything needed (and still needs) my attention, I feel like I’m cooking pudding with avocados and bran muffins. I like pudding, avocados and bran muffins, but separately. Together, they’re disastrous.
Unfortunately, stress welcomes my old nemesis: anxiety disorder. I’ve been prone to it since my first anxiety attack in 1986. And while I’ve learned a lot about it over the years and have learned ways to manage this disorder, when it plops itself in the middle of my busy life, it seems to take over everything and I forget how to say, “No! I’m in charge, not you!”
Thus, I’m not feeling real in charge right now. I have to remind myself to breathe, to not run away from the feelings, to prioritize and do what I can, all the while not beating myself up for this “flaw.” Everyone gets stressed out, I tell myself. Why can’t you handle it? Then, for the millionth time in 22 years, I remind myself that I’m not “everybody” and that I am merely a person who has issues with anxiety disorder. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t do anything to cause it. It’s just a part of who I am.
99 percent of the time, anxiety doesn’t control my life. I control it. But when I’m smack dab in the middle of huge stressors that trigger the heart skips, the shallow breathing, the anticipation of dread and fear, it’s not easy to just drop to the mat and start meditating. I have to slowly wade through my thought processes, decide what’s important and what’s not, and to remember that I can’t do everything and that it’s OK to say no or ask for help. This takes the kind of patience isn’t readily available in the middle of the shakes and what feels like knives in my stomach. I have to step outside the physical sensations and realize they are manifestations of too much work and too much emphasis on perfection (like you didn’t know I’m an anal retentive perfectionist who posts to-do lists in my office, kitchen and bedroom).
I’d like to wish it all away, but wishing isn’t action. And sometimes taking action is the most painful part of reducing stress. One thing that helps me to step outside and think is, as I mentioned, meditation, but also writing. Just in the time it’s taken to write this blog my head has calmed a bit. I’ve cleared some space in there so I can actually work through the list of things and people who “need” me. Hmmm…there seems to be one less knife in my gut right now. One less twitch in my eye. I’m not shaking. I’ll take it.
Stress is sneaky. It’s a pain in the ass. Stress is knocking me for a loop right now and I’m not going to feel completely on my game for awhile. However….and I say this taking a deep breath…. that’s OK. I don’t have to be.
I think what makes stress so sneaky is that the cause isn’t always apparent. It’s usually not one big thing but a million little things. Here’s what I mean. Christmas shopping? Not a problem. Write a blog? Not a problem. Write another blog? Fine. Write a book? Sure. Cook, clean, take dogs to the vet, prepare for a visit by the stepsons, balance food and exercise, and keep up with emails, research, friends, my kids and extended family? I can do those things with my eyes shut. But this past week, when everything needed (and still needs) my attention, I feel like I’m cooking pudding with avocados and bran muffins. I like pudding, avocados and bran muffins, but separately. Together, they’re disastrous.
Unfortunately, stress welcomes my old nemesis: anxiety disorder. I’ve been prone to it since my first anxiety attack in 1986. And while I’ve learned a lot about it over the years and have learned ways to manage this disorder, when it plops itself in the middle of my busy life, it seems to take over everything and I forget how to say, “No! I’m in charge, not you!”
Thus, I’m not feeling real in charge right now. I have to remind myself to breathe, to not run away from the feelings, to prioritize and do what I can, all the while not beating myself up for this “flaw.” Everyone gets stressed out, I tell myself. Why can’t you handle it? Then, for the millionth time in 22 years, I remind myself that I’m not “everybody” and that I am merely a person who has issues with anxiety disorder. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t do anything to cause it. It’s just a part of who I am.
99 percent of the time, anxiety doesn’t control my life. I control it. But when I’m smack dab in the middle of huge stressors that trigger the heart skips, the shallow breathing, the anticipation of dread and fear, it’s not easy to just drop to the mat and start meditating. I have to slowly wade through my thought processes, decide what’s important and what’s not, and to remember that I can’t do everything and that it’s OK to say no or ask for help. This takes the kind of patience isn’t readily available in the middle of the shakes and what feels like knives in my stomach. I have to step outside the physical sensations and realize they are manifestations of too much work and too much emphasis on perfection (like you didn’t know I’m an anal retentive perfectionist who posts to-do lists in my office, kitchen and bedroom).
I’d like to wish it all away, but wishing isn’t action. And sometimes taking action is the most painful part of reducing stress. One thing that helps me to step outside and think is, as I mentioned, meditation, but also writing. Just in the time it’s taken to write this blog my head has calmed a bit. I’ve cleared some space in there so I can actually work through the list of things and people who “need” me. Hmmm…there seems to be one less knife in my gut right now. One less twitch in my eye. I’m not shaking. I’ll take it.
Stress is sneaky. It’s a pain in the ass. Stress is knocking me for a loop right now and I’m not going to feel completely on my game for awhile. However….and I say this taking a deep breath…. that’s OK. I don’t have to be.
Jumat, 12 Desember 2008
Mary Lou's Weigh Product Review AND A Lefse Update
I want to send a big thank you out to the folks at Mary Lou’s Weigh for asking me to try out their new “weigh platform” scale. Actually, it’s not really a scale. It’s a kind of motivating keeper of secrets.
First, you step on the platform and it records your starting weight, only it doesn’t tell you what it is. Then you step on it again in a day or two and it will tell you if you are higher or lower than you’re starting weight. If you’re lower, music starts playing and the blue and green colored buttons light up. I admit I was a little startled the first day that happened. I mean, I’m half awake, naked and cold in my bathroom at 6 a.m. – hardly the moment I’m expecting to hear Mary Lou Retton’s voice congratulating me on losing a half a pound! It made me laugh, though, and even happier to know that I’d lost a half pound. If you gain weight, it will tell you how much and Mary Lou offers you some helpful tips in her trademark peppy voice.
The platform is spot-on accurate because I’d weigh myself on my actual scale before getting on Mary Lou’s Weigh. I’d gained a few pounds during November (a tale I’ll tell after the holidays) and so I’d been working to lose that weight. Lose them I did and I was glad to have Mary Lou cheering me on.
I admit, though, that I’m a numbers girl. Have been for nearly four years. Having said that, I would probably have opted for this platform type of weighing in when I started losing weight because seeing numbers on a regular basis kind of messed with my head after awhile. The platform is in keeping with my philosophy of “10 pounds at a a time,” meaning I concentrated on losing 10 pounds and then the next 10 pounds and so on.
For anyone who wants to get out of the “numbers game,” I highly recommend this product. It comes with a good “how-to” book packed with solid nutritional advice. The Mary Lou’s Weigh website is very helpful, too. Check it out if you’re in the market for a new “scale.”
Roni over at Roni’s Weigh also received a Mary Lou platform and thought it was “GENIUS!” Roni is in maintenance and isn’t looking to lose 10 pounds, so she decided to give hers away to someone who’d benefit more from the “scale’s” approach to weight loss than she would. I agreed and offered mine for giveaway, too. Congrats to Deidre from Clever, Missouri (what a great name for a town!) for winning my platform! I hope it reflects great success for you.
***********
Well, my girls and I made lefse yesterday. And what a day it was! Carlene and Cassie had never made lefse before so watching them perfect their rolling skills was quite amusing.
Here’s Cassie’s first attempt:
And Carlene rolled a round that looked like Jay Leno. We thought about selling it on eBay.
Here’s a comparison shot from the first time I made lefse (nearly 300 pounds) and yesterday (128.3 pounds). I think I notice a bit of difference in the face, don’t you? LOL Actually, the biggest difference for me personally was that I stood for nearly three hours without back pain. The first time I made lefse, I had to sit frequently.
And of course, the highlight of my day was seeing g-baby Claire. Here we are, with my hands covered in flour and getting it all over Claire, but she doesn’t care. She kept Carlene, Cassie and me amused all afternoon. Amazing the fun she has with Tupperware and wooden spoons.
Happy 24th birthday to my own baby girl (and mother of Claire and g-baby #2 on the way), Cassie! You make me so happy, honey. You were, and remain, the best surprise ever.
First, you step on the platform and it records your starting weight, only it doesn’t tell you what it is. Then you step on it again in a day or two and it will tell you if you are higher or lower than you’re starting weight. If you’re lower, music starts playing and the blue and green colored buttons light up. I admit I was a little startled the first day that happened. I mean, I’m half awake, naked and cold in my bathroom at 6 a.m. – hardly the moment I’m expecting to hear Mary Lou Retton’s voice congratulating me on losing a half a pound! It made me laugh, though, and even happier to know that I’d lost a half pound. If you gain weight, it will tell you how much and Mary Lou offers you some helpful tips in her trademark peppy voice.
The platform is spot-on accurate because I’d weigh myself on my actual scale before getting on Mary Lou’s Weigh. I’d gained a few pounds during November (a tale I’ll tell after the holidays) and so I’d been working to lose that weight. Lose them I did and I was glad to have Mary Lou cheering me on.
I admit, though, that I’m a numbers girl. Have been for nearly four years. Having said that, I would probably have opted for this platform type of weighing in when I started losing weight because seeing numbers on a regular basis kind of messed with my head after awhile. The platform is in keeping with my philosophy of “10 pounds at a a time,” meaning I concentrated on losing 10 pounds and then the next 10 pounds and so on.
For anyone who wants to get out of the “numbers game,” I highly recommend this product. It comes with a good “how-to” book packed with solid nutritional advice. The Mary Lou’s Weigh website is very helpful, too. Check it out if you’re in the market for a new “scale.”
Roni over at Roni’s Weigh also received a Mary Lou platform and thought it was “GENIUS!” Roni is in maintenance and isn’t looking to lose 10 pounds, so she decided to give hers away to someone who’d benefit more from the “scale’s” approach to weight loss than she would. I agreed and offered mine for giveaway, too. Congrats to Deidre from Clever, Missouri (what a great name for a town!) for winning my platform! I hope it reflects great success for you.
***********
Well, my girls and I made lefse yesterday. And what a day it was! Carlene and Cassie had never made lefse before so watching them perfect their rolling skills was quite amusing.
Here’s Cassie’s first attempt:
And Carlene rolled a round that looked like Jay Leno. We thought about selling it on eBay.
Here’s a comparison shot from the first time I made lefse (nearly 300 pounds) and yesterday (128.3 pounds). I think I notice a bit of difference in the face, don’t you? LOL Actually, the biggest difference for me personally was that I stood for nearly three hours without back pain. The first time I made lefse, I had to sit frequently.
And of course, the highlight of my day was seeing g-baby Claire. Here we are, with my hands covered in flour and getting it all over Claire, but she doesn’t care. She kept Carlene, Cassie and me amused all afternoon. Amazing the fun she has with Tupperware and wooden spoons.
Happy 24th birthday to my own baby girl (and mother of Claire and g-baby #2 on the way), Cassie! You make me so happy, honey. You were, and remain, the best surprise ever.
Rabu, 10 Desember 2008
Sometimes Food = Love
Food gets a bad wrap this time of year. While we worry about how we’ll say no to or refrain from eating too much dessert and stuffing and duck and turkey and potatoes and everything else that’s put out, served, given, and offered us between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, it’s easy to forget the rich traditions engrained in many of the holiday foods we make and offer others. I’d hate to see us lose perspective.
Yes, food can be a head game, but food can also be a manifestation of love and tradition. It can bring stories to the table of, “I remember Grandma always making…” or “Tasting that reminds me of…”
For Christmas, my Grandma Signe always made Aunt Sally cookies (with an empty Spam can, just like this recipe link calls for) and Norwegian flatbread, which never came out flat. My mom made date nut squares and Russian teacakes. And Grandma Katinka made the goddess of all holiday food: lefse.
At holiday family dinners, lefse was the main course, or at least it was to me. Lefse is rolled out very thinly and put on a griddle to produce large rounds. My mother always cut the rounds in half before serving and we kids were only allowed to take a half and no more until everyone at the table got some. There was usually enough for seconds, but rarely ever thirds. I would spread a thin layer of butter and sprinkle a little sugar on it before rolling it into a tube. The small dark bubbles formed by the griddle opened up under my tongue, the sugar ground softly then dissolved between my teeth, and the taste of potatoes and butter and sugar brought me to what I can only describe as a food orgasm.
Lefse was our ambrosia, a family tradition brought here from Norway. The women in our church (which was known as the Norwegian Lutheran Church even though it wasn’t formally called that, but it made the distinction between us and the German Lutheran Church, which wasn’t really named that either) used to spend an entire day making hundreds of lefse to sell at the annual church bazaar. Like customers camping outside Best Buy to purchase the latest Wii, people lined up outside our church well before the bazaar started just to buy lefse. It always sold out within minutes.
While my mother never learned to make it, I never worried about having lefse at Thanksgiving and Christmas because Grandma always came through. But when grandma got too old to make lefse, we had to rely on the generosity of one of my aunts to provide our fix. We were often reduced to buying lefse at the store, which, no matter how “hand-rolled” it was, tasted only faintly of the potatoey goodness my grandma produced. It was never “Plenty good” as my great-uncle George would say.
This went on for years. After I moved to Pennsylvania in the early 90s, Dad would ship me lutefisk from from Minnesota and I’d order lefse from a bakery in Wisconsin. (Lutefisk is one food that didn’t take a back seat to lefse, but is one that, alas, I won’t be consuming this year due to my vegetarianism; for more info, read last year’s blog, “The Lutefisk is Here! The Lutefisk is Here!”) The lutefisk was good, but it would have been better with Grandma’s lefse. Then in 2004, Aunt Shirley came to the rescue. No, she didn’t give me lefse. She taught me how to make it.
Give a woman lefse and she eats for a day. Teach her how to make lefse, and she’s the most popular member of her immediate family.
I remember that day well, particularly since I use the photo of me making lefse as my representative “before” photo on my original website, Lynn’s Journey. I had to stand to roll out the dough and I remember my back hurting me so much that I had to take frequent breaks. I denied that it hurt because I was morbidly obese. I blamed it on heredity – Dad has a bad back so naturally I did, too.
Anyway, I can stand for what feels like forever now which is good because tomorrow, my daughters and granddaughter are coming to Clarion and we’re making 100 lefse which will be distributed to my four siblings, my parents and kids.
I make lefse with pride and love. I am happiest when I can give my family the gift of memories of our holiday dinners, and if its via food, so be it. While we’re all scattered across the country and often see things from varying points of view, lefse is one of our familial binders, that something we all have stories about, a common denominator, so to speak.
To me, lefse embodies love. Most foods don’t. But at this time of year, I hope you’ll think about how food and love intersect in your life. Yes, there’s a lot of food out there right now, but which ones mean more to you than empty calories and heartburn?
Yes, food can be a head game, but food can also be a manifestation of love and tradition. It can bring stories to the table of, “I remember Grandma always making…” or “Tasting that reminds me of…”
For Christmas, my Grandma Signe always made Aunt Sally cookies (with an empty Spam can, just like this recipe link calls for) and Norwegian flatbread, which never came out flat. My mom made date nut squares and Russian teacakes. And Grandma Katinka made the goddess of all holiday food: lefse.
At holiday family dinners, lefse was the main course, or at least it was to me. Lefse is rolled out very thinly and put on a griddle to produce large rounds. My mother always cut the rounds in half before serving and we kids were only allowed to take a half and no more until everyone at the table got some. There was usually enough for seconds, but rarely ever thirds. I would spread a thin layer of butter and sprinkle a little sugar on it before rolling it into a tube. The small dark bubbles formed by the griddle opened up under my tongue, the sugar ground softly then dissolved between my teeth, and the taste of potatoes and butter and sugar brought me to what I can only describe as a food orgasm.
Lefse was our ambrosia, a family tradition brought here from Norway. The women in our church (which was known as the Norwegian Lutheran Church even though it wasn’t formally called that, but it made the distinction between us and the German Lutheran Church, which wasn’t really named that either) used to spend an entire day making hundreds of lefse to sell at the annual church bazaar. Like customers camping outside Best Buy to purchase the latest Wii, people lined up outside our church well before the bazaar started just to buy lefse. It always sold out within minutes.
While my mother never learned to make it, I never worried about having lefse at Thanksgiving and Christmas because Grandma always came through. But when grandma got too old to make lefse, we had to rely on the generosity of one of my aunts to provide our fix. We were often reduced to buying lefse at the store, which, no matter how “hand-rolled” it was, tasted only faintly of the potatoey goodness my grandma produced. It was never “Plenty good” as my great-uncle George would say.
This went on for years. After I moved to Pennsylvania in the early 90s, Dad would ship me lutefisk from from Minnesota and I’d order lefse from a bakery in Wisconsin. (Lutefisk is one food that didn’t take a back seat to lefse, but is one that, alas, I won’t be consuming this year due to my vegetarianism; for more info, read last year’s blog, “The Lutefisk is Here! The Lutefisk is Here!”) The lutefisk was good, but it would have been better with Grandma’s lefse. Then in 2004, Aunt Shirley came to the rescue. No, she didn’t give me lefse. She taught me how to make it.
Give a woman lefse and she eats for a day. Teach her how to make lefse, and she’s the most popular member of her immediate family.
I remember that day well, particularly since I use the photo of me making lefse as my representative “before” photo on my original website, Lynn’s Journey. I had to stand to roll out the dough and I remember my back hurting me so much that I had to take frequent breaks. I denied that it hurt because I was morbidly obese. I blamed it on heredity – Dad has a bad back so naturally I did, too.
Anyway, I can stand for what feels like forever now which is good because tomorrow, my daughters and granddaughter are coming to Clarion and we’re making 100 lefse which will be distributed to my four siblings, my parents and kids.
I make lefse with pride and love. I am happiest when I can give my family the gift of memories of our holiday dinners, and if its via food, so be it. While we’re all scattered across the country and often see things from varying points of view, lefse is one of our familial binders, that something we all have stories about, a common denominator, so to speak.
To me, lefse embodies love. Most foods don’t. But at this time of year, I hope you’ll think about how food and love intersect in your life. Yes, there’s a lot of food out there right now, but which ones mean more to you than empty calories and heartburn?
I told you this years ago!
Yesterday an article was published to WebMD about "Cash Diets." And that is Cash - as in money - not "crash diets" which are unhealthy.Basically the article was about researchers who bribed people with money to lose weight and the surprising success rate they had.This was no surprise to me since I have used bribery for years to reach my weight loss goals!Here is the link to the full article
Senin, 08 Desember 2008
November Success
November was another successful month for my weight loss! I started the month at 196, and finished at 194. Two pounds gone! This is really amazing considering I went on Vacation to San Francisco for Thanksgiving. (Sorry for the long break) My knees are doing well. However the last day we were in San Francisco they started to bother me. My host then drew me a hot bath with salts to soak in.
A Little of a Lot Goes a Long Way
Which do you prefer: eating a full portion of one thing or eating small portions of several things? Or are you like me and it depends on what day it is, how creative you’re feeling, and what foods you must use up in the fridge before they grow legs and walk away?
This morning for breakfast, in keeping with my “veggies for breakfast” pledge, I “fried” up the last of my shredded butternut squash (ala Hungry Girl’s recipe, sans the cumin and with minced garlic and a side of ketchup and mustard – you know me and my condiment love), threw the remaining half-cup of strawberries with the remaining half a small container of Greek yogurt, and sliced half a small banana into ¼ cup light vanilla soy milk and 20 grams of Shredded Wheat n’ Bran.
Looking back at my food journals, I see this as a growing pattern. Except for my big salad, I eat several little things all day. (And really, isn’t a salad just a conglomeration of a bunch of little things?) When I learn a serving of something has in excess of three Points, I get a little nervous. Four or more Points is a lot to spend on one thing. I mean, I like spinach manicotti very much, but one tube is four Points. One little tube! And it’s made with fat-free ricotta and everything! It’s not much food for the Points.
When I think of food I think of time. I like to eat slowly and in volume. How long will it take me to eat that soup or salad or to drink that latte? It takes me two minutes at most to eat a tube of manicotti, and that’s savoring it. It takes me 15 to 20 minutes to eat my big salad. Same number of Points and much more time playing Scrabble with the computer (I confess, I like to play when I eat).
When people ask why I became a vegetarian, I tell them it’s because I get to eat more. I’ve also cut way back on my starch consumption lately, which I did for several reasons. But near the top of the reasons list is because I don’t get as much food/Points time with an English muffin as I do with a big ass bowl of fruit and yogurt and a side of zucchini. And at the end of the day, by eating more I’ve eaten less and I feel better.
After four years of weight loss and maintenance, you’d think I’d have this food thing down to a science. But yet, I’m still a newbie, still learning, still messing around to see what works. It sometimes depends on what’s in the fridge, but if it doesn’t have staying power, it’s not making its way on to my plate these days. I prefer a little of a lot to a lot of a little. Say that three times real fast.
This morning for breakfast, in keeping with my “veggies for breakfast” pledge, I “fried” up the last of my shredded butternut squash (ala Hungry Girl’s recipe, sans the cumin and with minced garlic and a side of ketchup and mustard – you know me and my condiment love), threw the remaining half-cup of strawberries with the remaining half a small container of Greek yogurt, and sliced half a small banana into ¼ cup light vanilla soy milk and 20 grams of Shredded Wheat n’ Bran.
Looking back at my food journals, I see this as a growing pattern. Except for my big salad, I eat several little things all day. (And really, isn’t a salad just a conglomeration of a bunch of little things?) When I learn a serving of something has in excess of three Points, I get a little nervous. Four or more Points is a lot to spend on one thing. I mean, I like spinach manicotti very much, but one tube is four Points. One little tube! And it’s made with fat-free ricotta and everything! It’s not much food for the Points.
When I think of food I think of time. I like to eat slowly and in volume. How long will it take me to eat that soup or salad or to drink that latte? It takes me two minutes at most to eat a tube of manicotti, and that’s savoring it. It takes me 15 to 20 minutes to eat my big salad. Same number of Points and much more time playing Scrabble with the computer (I confess, I like to play when I eat).
When people ask why I became a vegetarian, I tell them it’s because I get to eat more. I’ve also cut way back on my starch consumption lately, which I did for several reasons. But near the top of the reasons list is because I don’t get as much food/Points time with an English muffin as I do with a big ass bowl of fruit and yogurt and a side of zucchini. And at the end of the day, by eating more I’ve eaten less and I feel better.
After four years of weight loss and maintenance, you’d think I’d have this food thing down to a science. But yet, I’m still a newbie, still learning, still messing around to see what works. It sometimes depends on what’s in the fridge, but if it doesn’t have staying power, it’s not making its way on to my plate these days. I prefer a little of a lot to a lot of a little. Say that three times real fast.
Sabtu, 06 Desember 2008
Just a Steel Town Girl on a Saturday Night
Oh yes, oh yes, it’s the return of the leg warmers. Wind-chill factors in the single digits returned to western PA in earnest this weekend and I’m bundling up. I’m 45 and I don’t care what I look like. Well, at least when it comes to staying warm.
When I bought my leg warmers last year (I found them in Macy’s of all places), I was teased mercilessly last year by a certain Californian as well as a hearty Minnesotan, who I thought would understand. But I stood my ground and wore my leg warmers on every frigid day and my body thanked me.
And it’s thanking me again right now as I sit typing in my living room, just as it thanked me this morning on a quick trip to the post office when I wore a hat, a fleece, a coat, a big white scarf, sweat pants over workout pants, and thick gloves. I looked a fright, but I was warm.
I’m hate being cold. It makes me cranky. But I’m thankful I have a coat and a scarf and gloves and leg warmers. So many people don’t, or what they have is inadequate. I’m sure as you’ve lost weight or once you got to goal, you had lots of clothes you donated to charity or gifted to someone in your family who needed them. But it’s easy to forget the seasonal clothes that you store in other closets, those places you don’t into very often. I forgot about a coat I had in the back of my closet last year. I saw it by chance and dug it out to give to our local coat drive. Do you maybe have an extra coat you forgot you had lurking in the back of your closet? An extra pair of mittens, perhaps? Just wondering. There are a lot of folks out there who’d be happy to take it off your hands.
Just a little PSA from your humble Steel Town Girl. Hope you are all warm and happy this Saturday night. Or maybe you’re out dancing in your leg warmers. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.
“She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor…” That song’s been in my head all day. Did I successfully lodge it into your head, too? hehe Sorry about that.
When I bought my leg warmers last year (I found them in Macy’s of all places), I was teased mercilessly last year by a certain Californian as well as a hearty Minnesotan, who I thought would understand. But I stood my ground and wore my leg warmers on every frigid day and my body thanked me.
And it’s thanking me again right now as I sit typing in my living room, just as it thanked me this morning on a quick trip to the post office when I wore a hat, a fleece, a coat, a big white scarf, sweat pants over workout pants, and thick gloves. I looked a fright, but I was warm.
I’m hate being cold. It makes me cranky. But I’m thankful I have a coat and a scarf and gloves and leg warmers. So many people don’t, or what they have is inadequate. I’m sure as you’ve lost weight or once you got to goal, you had lots of clothes you donated to charity or gifted to someone in your family who needed them. But it’s easy to forget the seasonal clothes that you store in other closets, those places you don’t into very often. I forgot about a coat I had in the back of my closet last year. I saw it by chance and dug it out to give to our local coat drive. Do you maybe have an extra coat you forgot you had lurking in the back of your closet? An extra pair of mittens, perhaps? Just wondering. There are a lot of folks out there who’d be happy to take it off your hands.
Just a little PSA from your humble Steel Town Girl. Hope you are all warm and happy this Saturday night. Or maybe you’re out dancing in your leg warmers. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.
“She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor…” That song’s been in my head all day. Did I successfully lodge it into your head, too? hehe Sorry about that.
Jumat, 05 Desember 2008
Stuff That Won't Be In The Book - Part 7
OK, this is it, the last of the Stuff That Won’t…posts. Thanks for reading them and sharing your own stories of grief and loss. While we process it in our own unique ways, grief is a universal feeling. A woman mourning the death of her child or husband is not very different than a grieving woman in Ethiopia or Canada or Costa Rica. In coming to terms with my own grief, I realized how much more difficult it was for me to lose weight, let alone maintain what weight I had lost. I’d like to think that if, god forbid, I’m faced with another difficult loss that I would maintain the weight I’ve lost, but I don’t know that for sure. I hope I never have to know.
Part 7:
Along with prescribing Paxil, my doctor insisted I see a therapist and I didn’t resist. Slowly, as the medication took hold and I was able to think without smacking my head into a brick wall, I accepted grief for what it is: a malleable presence that never goes away, but can become a teacher. I was able to work through my feelings rather than dance around them, to stop demanding I “get over it.” Everything I knew about Bruce – his life and his death – would forever be a part of my life.
True to my life pattern, I was still unable to work on tough emotional issues and my weight issues at the same time. In the last few months of Carlene’s project, I’d put my body on the back burner as the antidepressant made me numb to the scale. Food became a comfort, both eating it and cooking it. I still bought water-packed tuna, but I ate the whole can with mayonnaise, dill pickles and hearty bread. Macaroni and cheese and au gratin potatoes found their way back into my diet. I scoured cookbooks and learned to make pot pie and homemade bread and my own chicken and turkey broth. I became a very good cook.
By April 2000, I was back over 200 and stayed there through June, when the world lost another Bruce.
Cassie was in California visiting my sister Emily and Carlene was sleeping in her room in the basement on that sunny June morning. The phone rang. It was Carlene’s friend Cheryl.
Without saying hello, she asked if she could talk to Carlene.
“She’s sleeping,” I said. “Can I have her call you back when she wakes up?”
“It’s really important, Lynn,” Cheryl pleaded. “Can you wake her up?”
Important to a 17-year-old girl is different than important to a 36-year-old woman, but I figured I’d let Carlene chew out Cheryl for waking her up. I went downstairs, woke up Carlene and handed her the phone.
A few minutes later, Carlene came upstairs, pale as a sheet, and asked if I’d heard the sirens earlier that morning. I had, but that wasn’t anything new in our town. We were immune to the sirens. They wailed for the volunteer fire department any time a traveler on I-80 went off the road or there was a fender bender along the curve on 5th Avenue by the grocery store.
“Cheryl heard Tony was in an accident and was killed,” she said.
My heart sank. Rumors like this were almost always true, especially in small towns.
Tony was Cassie’s and Carlene’s and everyone’s best friend. He graduated from high school a few weeks earlier and had been accepted to Penn State for the fall. He’d been in my kitchen a few days earlier, eating my food and calling me “Mom,” like he always did.
“I’ll call the paper and see what they know,” I said. My hands shook as I dialed the phone.
“Hey, Tom, it’s Lynn. I heard there was an accident this morning. Do you know anything?”
Carlene watched me nod my head.
“So it was Tony.”
More nodding.
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Oh my God,” said Carlene. “Mommy…”
After learning more details of the accident over the next few hours, my next step was to call California. Just as my mother had to tell me my husband was dead, I had to tell my 15-year-old daughter, on the phone and 2,000 miles away, that her best friend was dead. If there’s a feeling more helpless or more heart-wrenching than hearing your daughter sob on the phone and there’s not a damn thing you can do to comfort her, I don’t ever want to know it.
In the days and months that followed, Carlene realized she was no longer on the outside looking in at her senior project. She understood first hand what James, Darcy, Mary, Rick, David, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Anderson and everyone else tried to tell her in their letters and emails and pieces of Bruce. When someone you love dies, you feel unimaginable things and you can never be the same person you were the minute before.
“When my father died, the whole town went into mourning,” Carlene wrote in her project essay. “That wasn’t hard for me to imagine, because the day Tony died, I fully understood the devastation of losing someone close to you. Something clicked in my head and it all made sense. Tony was so dear to me. He knew everything about me, inside and out. Tony was a friend to everyone. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t love him. His accident shook the whole community and his memory still makes me cry. I get so sad some days and wonder why something so horrible had to happen. In so many ways, Tony’s death was like my father’s.”
Life at 200 pounds turned into the same turbulent place it had been all the times before, and I did nothing to stop the numbers rising on the scale. Not a damn thing.
Part 7:
Along with prescribing Paxil, my doctor insisted I see a therapist and I didn’t resist. Slowly, as the medication took hold and I was able to think without smacking my head into a brick wall, I accepted grief for what it is: a malleable presence that never goes away, but can become a teacher. I was able to work through my feelings rather than dance around them, to stop demanding I “get over it.” Everything I knew about Bruce – his life and his death – would forever be a part of my life.
True to my life pattern, I was still unable to work on tough emotional issues and my weight issues at the same time. In the last few months of Carlene’s project, I’d put my body on the back burner as the antidepressant made me numb to the scale. Food became a comfort, both eating it and cooking it. I still bought water-packed tuna, but I ate the whole can with mayonnaise, dill pickles and hearty bread. Macaroni and cheese and au gratin potatoes found their way back into my diet. I scoured cookbooks and learned to make pot pie and homemade bread and my own chicken and turkey broth. I became a very good cook.
By April 2000, I was back over 200 and stayed there through June, when the world lost another Bruce.
Cassie was in California visiting my sister Emily and Carlene was sleeping in her room in the basement on that sunny June morning. The phone rang. It was Carlene’s friend Cheryl.
Without saying hello, she asked if she could talk to Carlene.
“She’s sleeping,” I said. “Can I have her call you back when she wakes up?”
“It’s really important, Lynn,” Cheryl pleaded. “Can you wake her up?”
Important to a 17-year-old girl is different than important to a 36-year-old woman, but I figured I’d let Carlene chew out Cheryl for waking her up. I went downstairs, woke up Carlene and handed her the phone.
A few minutes later, Carlene came upstairs, pale as a sheet, and asked if I’d heard the sirens earlier that morning. I had, but that wasn’t anything new in our town. We were immune to the sirens. They wailed for the volunteer fire department any time a traveler on I-80 went off the road or there was a fender bender along the curve on 5th Avenue by the grocery store.
“Cheryl heard Tony was in an accident and was killed,” she said.
My heart sank. Rumors like this were almost always true, especially in small towns.
Tony was Cassie’s and Carlene’s and everyone’s best friend. He graduated from high school a few weeks earlier and had been accepted to Penn State for the fall. He’d been in my kitchen a few days earlier, eating my food and calling me “Mom,” like he always did.
“I’ll call the paper and see what they know,” I said. My hands shook as I dialed the phone.
“Hey, Tom, it’s Lynn. I heard there was an accident this morning. Do you know anything?”
Carlene watched me nod my head.
“So it was Tony.”
More nodding.
“Thanks, Tom.”
“Oh my God,” said Carlene. “Mommy…”
After learning more details of the accident over the next few hours, my next step was to call California. Just as my mother had to tell me my husband was dead, I had to tell my 15-year-old daughter, on the phone and 2,000 miles away, that her best friend was dead. If there’s a feeling more helpless or more heart-wrenching than hearing your daughter sob on the phone and there’s not a damn thing you can do to comfort her, I don’t ever want to know it.
In the days and months that followed, Carlene realized she was no longer on the outside looking in at her senior project. She understood first hand what James, Darcy, Mary, Rick, David, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Anderson and everyone else tried to tell her in their letters and emails and pieces of Bruce. When someone you love dies, you feel unimaginable things and you can never be the same person you were the minute before.
“When my father died, the whole town went into mourning,” Carlene wrote in her project essay. “That wasn’t hard for me to imagine, because the day Tony died, I fully understood the devastation of losing someone close to you. Something clicked in my head and it all made sense. Tony was so dear to me. He knew everything about me, inside and out. Tony was a friend to everyone. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t love him. His accident shook the whole community and his memory still makes me cry. I get so sad some days and wonder why something so horrible had to happen. In so many ways, Tony’s death was like my father’s.”
Life at 200 pounds turned into the same turbulent place it had been all the times before, and I did nothing to stop the numbers rising on the scale. Not a damn thing.
Rabu, 03 Desember 2008
Poverty and Exercise
I watched an eye-opening segment on NBC Nightly News about Latino women in Phoenix who joined a local fitness program. It covered, briefly, several aspects of why Latino women have a higher-than-average obesity rate in this country, including their traditional roles as caregivers and their traditional diets. But what struck me most was the part about exercise. The women interviewed lived in poor neighborhoods and didn’t feel safe walking for exercise. Instead, they went to places like Big Lots or WalMart and walked around the store’s parking lots.
Wow. Slap me in the face.
I didn’t realize until that moment how much I take exercise for granted. And shame on me. Shame, shame on me. I pissed and moaned this morning – in my office which doubles as my exercise room – that I didn’t have the energy to work out. I was “tired.” I didn’t “feel like it.” I was behaving like a spoiled brat. My desk sits next to an elliptical machine and stationary bike. My hand weights are stacked against the wall, as is my barbell. But still….wahhh! Big baby me didn’t “feel” like exercising.
Poverty and obesity are separate subjects and yet interconnected. Obesity rates among the those living in poverty is substantially higher than middle- and upper-class families. Eating right and exercise is the least of their concerns, and yet the women in Phoenix were changing their way of thinking and behaving. It’s just that the odds were stacked against them. The things I take for granted are beyond their reach and yet, they persevere.
I found Poverty News Blog tonight as I searched for more information on this phenomenon. The statistics regarding statewide childhood obesity rates was particularly alarming in the blog entry “Poverty Fuels Obesity Rates.” Children and adults need access to affordable and safe exercise opportunities. We can’t solve our country’s obesity problem, particularly in light of this economic crisis, if the poorest among us don’t have the opportunity to move, to feel not only the physical but the psychological affects of exercise.
As more fast food restaurants and fewer grocery stores invade the poorest of neighborhoods, how do we stem the tide of obesity? This is all off the top of my head, a reaction to a news story, so I don’t have any answers, only questions, and I’m asking you for your input. In this season of giving, we might not have a lot to give, but where can our resources best be utilized, those of us who believe fitness should be accessible to everyone? I’d appreciate any feedback you have.
As for me and my whining about exercising…I’m still ashamed, but I’ll use the energy of it to spur me into action and a new way of thinking.
Your thoughts?
Wow. Slap me in the face.
I didn’t realize until that moment how much I take exercise for granted. And shame on me. Shame, shame on me. I pissed and moaned this morning – in my office which doubles as my exercise room – that I didn’t have the energy to work out. I was “tired.” I didn’t “feel like it.” I was behaving like a spoiled brat. My desk sits next to an elliptical machine and stationary bike. My hand weights are stacked against the wall, as is my barbell. But still….wahhh! Big baby me didn’t “feel” like exercising.
Poverty and obesity are separate subjects and yet interconnected. Obesity rates among the those living in poverty is substantially higher than middle- and upper-class families. Eating right and exercise is the least of their concerns, and yet the women in Phoenix were changing their way of thinking and behaving. It’s just that the odds were stacked against them. The things I take for granted are beyond their reach and yet, they persevere.
I found Poverty News Blog tonight as I searched for more information on this phenomenon. The statistics regarding statewide childhood obesity rates was particularly alarming in the blog entry “Poverty Fuels Obesity Rates.” Children and adults need access to affordable and safe exercise opportunities. We can’t solve our country’s obesity problem, particularly in light of this economic crisis, if the poorest among us don’t have the opportunity to move, to feel not only the physical but the psychological affects of exercise.
As more fast food restaurants and fewer grocery stores invade the poorest of neighborhoods, how do we stem the tide of obesity? This is all off the top of my head, a reaction to a news story, so I don’t have any answers, only questions, and I’m asking you for your input. In this season of giving, we might not have a lot to give, but where can our resources best be utilized, those of us who believe fitness should be accessible to everyone? I’d appreciate any feedback you have.
As for me and my whining about exercising…I’m still ashamed, but I’ll use the energy of it to spur me into action and a new way of thinking.
Your thoughts?
Senin, 01 Desember 2008
B is For Beets…and Breakfast
I had strawberries and Greek yogurt and beets for breakfast this morning. Don’t worry, they weren’t all in one bowl.
I woke up this morning thinking about the beets I made last night. I had every intention of eating them for dinner, but after my soy crumbles/pasta sauce/sautéed mushrooms/butternut squashgasm, I was satisfied and didn’t want to eat any more. OK, maybe “didn’t want to eat” isn’t true, but I chose not to eat them because my stomach said I didn’t need to. And my stomach is much smarter than my brain.
I think I’ll start more mornings with beets. I was awake at 4:15 for no reason and finally dragged my butt out of bed at 6:15. I thought for sure I’d be dragging by 8 and want to take a quick nap, but no. My body was full of energy and I completed a full workout. Could it have been the beets? Hmmm…
I went in search of information about this yummy root vegetable and found The World’s Healthiest Foods website. What a gem! It features a food of the week, cooking tips, in-depth nutritional information and even healthy menus. I also signed up for their free newsletter. By the way, today’s food of the week is crimini mushrooms. Where has this website been all my life?
Anyway, back to beets. According to WHF, “Beets are an excellent source of the B vitamin, folate, and a very good source of manganese and potassium. Beets are a good source of dietary fiber, vitamin C, magnesium, iron, copper and phosphorus.” Eating them can help prevent colon cancer, birth defects and inflammation. One cup of beets is only 74 calories. I never thought to grate raw beets into salads before or to roast them. So many options! I’ve also never eaten beet greens before, but I will try them now that I know what to do with them.
Tonight I’m cooking up Brussels sprouts and will make enough to have for breakfast tomorrow. I’ve decided to incorporate a veggie into every breakfast, even on non-omelet days. I know it wasn’t simply eating beets that kept my energy level high this morning (although I know beets have a high sugar content, I’m pretty sure my energy came from my scale number which was down and that made me very happy and when I’m happy, I’m energized), but eating veggies at every meal is my new goal. I’ll just have to be very careful not to confuse them for the fruit I put in my yogurt or on oatmeal or Shredded Wheat ‘n Bran. I’m pretty sure asparagus in light vanilla soy milk wouldn’t be very appetizing. Although, green beans in warm milk was a staple while I was growing up. Mmmmm…now I want green beans.
My mind is a scary place sometimes.
I woke up this morning thinking about the beets I made last night. I had every intention of eating them for dinner, but after my soy crumbles/pasta sauce/sautéed mushrooms/butternut squashgasm, I was satisfied and didn’t want to eat any more. OK, maybe “didn’t want to eat” isn’t true, but I chose not to eat them because my stomach said I didn’t need to. And my stomach is much smarter than my brain.
I think I’ll start more mornings with beets. I was awake at 4:15 for no reason and finally dragged my butt out of bed at 6:15. I thought for sure I’d be dragging by 8 and want to take a quick nap, but no. My body was full of energy and I completed a full workout. Could it have been the beets? Hmmm…
I went in search of information about this yummy root vegetable and found The World’s Healthiest Foods website. What a gem! It features a food of the week, cooking tips, in-depth nutritional information and even healthy menus. I also signed up for their free newsletter. By the way, today’s food of the week is crimini mushrooms. Where has this website been all my life?
Anyway, back to beets. According to WHF, “Beets are an excellent source of the B vitamin, folate, and a very good source of manganese and potassium. Beets are a good source of dietary fiber, vitamin C, magnesium, iron, copper and phosphorus.” Eating them can help prevent colon cancer, birth defects and inflammation. One cup of beets is only 74 calories. I never thought to grate raw beets into salads before or to roast them. So many options! I’ve also never eaten beet greens before, but I will try them now that I know what to do with them.
Tonight I’m cooking up Brussels sprouts and will make enough to have for breakfast tomorrow. I’ve decided to incorporate a veggie into every breakfast, even on non-omelet days. I know it wasn’t simply eating beets that kept my energy level high this morning (although I know beets have a high sugar content, I’m pretty sure my energy came from my scale number which was down and that made me very happy and when I’m happy, I’m energized), but eating veggies at every meal is my new goal. I’ll just have to be very careful not to confuse them for the fruit I put in my yogurt or on oatmeal or Shredded Wheat ‘n Bran. I’m pretty sure asparagus in light vanilla soy milk wouldn’t be very appetizing. Although, green beans in warm milk was a staple while I was growing up. Mmmmm…now I want green beans.
My mind is a scary place sometimes.
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