#77 Can You See the Potential?

In 1995 Marc and I bought, what is now, our 257 year old labor of love.

On a cold December Sunday, we went house hunting. We had been doing this for almost a year without success, but on that morning, we saw an ad in the paper for an old farm house. Since this was just the sort of thing we were looking for, we bundled up our 2 year old son, and off we went. The minute Marc saw the house, he fell immediately in love. He had told me that if we were ever going to move out of the city [we had only ever lived in cities - DC, St. Louis and Philadelphia] that he wanted an old house with land and lots of nooks and crannies. When we called our agent Monday morning to tell her we wanted to see this house, she told Marc that what he had fallen in love with was an 8 acre estate undergoing zoning hearings to be sub-divided, and that the house was being sold - "as is". He was still in love, and without my knowing, he and the agent went to look at it during his lunch hour. He called me at work later that day and told me that he had just left the property, and that if I could sneak out of the hospital [where I was working at the time], the caretaker would be there for another hour.

So, I snuck out. I drove up the creepy, overgrown, snow-covered drive and rang the doorbell. The caretaker opened the door and invited me in. All I remember thinking was that it was colder in the house than it was outside, and that this was one SPOOKY old house. I was also thinking that perhaps I should come back with Marc, however when I turned around to tell the caretaker just that, he was gone.

I could give you a room by room walking tour, but let's leave it at this. There was mold growing up the wall in the parlor, the wallpaper in the library was brown at the seams, the rose-colored carpet in the master bedroom had nail clippings large enough for me to see without having to bend down, all the bathrooms were circa 1950's, and there were some rooms that had such a slant from settlement that I felt dizzy and off balance. The basement [which I still don't like to visit alone] was unfinished - literally. The floor was perhaps cement, but it had layers of dirt on it. There was a really old wine cellar with wood shelves filled with bottles of wine. It was dark, long, narrow, and damp. There was a well [as in water well] built into the wall at the end of the cellar, which led to underground tunnels, which led to somewhere outside my house. I later learned that Quakers owned our home and were part of the underground railroad during the Civil War. Of course, at that moment, alone in this dark basement, listening to all sorts of creaks, moans and scurryings, all I could think about was the possibility of spirits, not of the alcoholic kind, left over from the past 200 odd years. Last, but not least, the kitchen. The kitchen had a yellow linoleum floor, a sink, a fridge, an oven and a pantry. OMG, no dishwasher? There was no cabinetry and there were long fluorescent lights on the ceiling. There was a room to the left of the kitchen that was probably the servant's "hang-out". It had a toilet, the washer and dryer and an industrial sink. No dishwasher. I walked back into the kitchen and through a swinging door into what was the butler's pantry. Praise the lord, a dishwasher... and some cabinetry.

When I got back to the hospital, I called Marc, and told him I had been to the house. He asked me, "Can you see the potential?", "Did you love it?". NO! I told him. Are you crazy? Do you realize how much money we need to put into this house? Just to live in it? Not even to decorate it? Do you realize there is no central air conditioning to cool 7000 square feet and 3 stories? Do you realize that there is lead paint in almost every room? Did you see the mold? Did you see the wisteria pulling the pebble dash stucco with horse hair off the house? [which I learned is very, very, very expensive to fix and/or replace]? Did you hear the ghosts [I didn't actually ask him this one because I was too embarrassed]?

Well, guess who gave in. It's the end of 2009, and we've been living in our money pit [she came by the name honestly] for 13 years. A lot of work and love have gone into this house. Our carpenter became husband number 2 and our painter became husband #3 since they both pretty much lived here for the first 8 years. Sadly, I had to divorce our landscaper and electrician, but am now dating a new landscaper, and thinking of just having flings with an electrician. We're on very good terms with our plumbers because truthfully, they're the only ones who know how the plumbing, heating and AC systems are rigged in this place. Finally, as I sit here in the butler's pantry, now my office, I am so glad that Marc saw this home's potential. This house has allowed me to discover many things about myself that, had we not taken this chance, I may never have known. Do I have the home I dreamed of? No. Unlike Marc, I didn't have a picture of the house I wanted, but if I had been able to imagine one, my dream house wouldn't even have come close to the one we live in.

As for the ghost[s] -- after a number of nocturnal and one afternoon visit, I decided to have a little chat with him/her/them. I went into the basement [Zoe, our doberman was coaxed down with me] and told him/her/them that we loved the house, that we were going to take good care of it, that we were more than happy to share this space with them, but they had to stop their visits because it was scaring me and the kids. I also promised not to remove anything that was left in a particular place in the house. That means that the 100 year old riding boots are still sitting on the same shelf in the library as when we moved in [they do get dusted]. It's been 8 years, and so far....... I dare not say anymore in case he/she/they are reading over my shoulder.

photos:
house - 1995 - see the wisteria?
library - picture given to us by the owners who lived here from 1938 - 1995
music room - taken the day we signed all the papers - moldy and damp walls
bathroom - salmon-pink walls
wine cellar - self explanatory
butler's hang-out - we gutted and then insulated, became the playroom when the kids were little, knocked out back wall to put in french doors.
master bath - updated from original in 2004
main hall - updated from original 2006

Quote of the Day: "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."- Dr. Seuss

#76 Party Crasher - Who Me?

Lots of news and drama surrounding the Salahis. What a couple!! Do you think crashing parties is his thing or her's? From watching the news, it appears that Michaele is the one to stop, yank Tareq's arm, and vogue pose for the cameras. I saw her do this twice, and yet, she could have just jumped onto his wagon for the ride and got hooked. Who's ever thing this is though, it seems Tareq may be the brains of this operation. During the news clips, more times than not, his entrance is made in a straight line with head down. He seems to know that no photos should be taken until one is safely through the doors, drink in hand, laughing with the host and hostess. At this point, either way, they're both screwed.

Interestingly, I have something in common with these two Reality-TV-Star-Wanna Bees. I like to party. Well, I still like A party, but I wouldn't call myself a party girl... anymore. However, in my college and grad school days, I loved to go to parties. I also loved getting a group together to go out dancing.

More important than having my fake driver's license allowing me entrance to all drinking establishements, I had something even better. Something that a lot of other party hoppers-crashers didn't have. I had my finger on the pulse of Washington DC. Not literally, but pretty close. Back in the 80s [not sure if they still do this today] whenever the president left the White House, a secret service agent would sit in the Emergency Room. Where did I work? In the Emergency Room. If we weren't crazy busy and we had a few minutes to sit, a chit chat with the agent du jour was always interesting. Now, don't go and start getting all mad at the agent, no major secrets were divulged, but as far as what was happening in the DC, Maryland and Virginia area in terms of parties and happenings, the agent was a great source of info.

Which brings me to what I really have in common with the Salahis. I had no problem crashing parties. Of course, looking back from where I sit now, I'm appalled at my chutzpah, but back then, it was just kids being kids. Also, being in a city, surrounded by hotels, party halls, and clubs, parties were a dime a dozen. Unlike the Salahis though, my buds and I waited until the party was in full swing before smoothly moving our way in. We never stopped to get our photos taken. Actually, there was no way we wanted our photos taken... as we snuck in the back or side door.

We did this all in fun and meant no harm. I can't remember one time being found out or kicked out. It's like wearing fake jewelry. If you wear it with attitude, no one will be the wiser. And believe me, we had attitude. The only time I personally had a problem with our venue was when we snuck into a party where I was surrounded by gay men [it was for a calendar shoot]. I felt totally left out. No one asked me to dance and no one offered to buy me a drink. To make matters worse, these beautiful boys were all around me laughing and drinking and shirt-less, AND IGNORING ME.

Lesson learned: When you've been asked out by the secret service agent twice, and have said no to him on both occasions, it probably isn't a great idea to ask him where the best party in town is.

Quote of the Day: "Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself." Harvey Fierstein

#75 Never get TOO Anything

A few days ago, a number of events happened that made me sad and angry. While I was answering emails, I decided to share with a friend how I was feeling. I told her how by 9:30 a.m, my day, which had started out fine at 7:30, had quickly begun to go downhill. And, on top of being sad and angry, my body was asking for its "medicine" to try to make me feel better... which only made me more angry. Why? Because I believe I've changed and matured, but when push comes to shove, I still run back to my old way of dealing with my feelings; I push them down with food.

Well, her email response told me to HALT. Huh? Then I read on...."never get two of anything". Good advice for certain situations in the life of a foodie, but I didn't understand the context as it related to my email. However, when I re-read that sentence, what it actually said was, "never get too anything"!! Never get too Hungry, too Angry, too Lonely or too Tired -- HALT.

Of course, this saying is just one of the myriad of sayings that dieters and maintainers learn. There are, not surprisingly, an infinite number of helpful "hints". Some are trite, but more often than not, most are beneficial. For example, "eat to live, not live to eat". This one is actually from Cicero, but truthfully, there are a plethora of expressions bestowed upon us from the unknown to the famous. One that I like a lot, and that works for me is - "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels". Being able to throw on a pair of jeans and walk out of the house feeling good in them is sooooo much better than any ice cream cone or chocolate bar. Honest! It's just that I have to keep reminding myself of this.

Another favorite one of mine is, "To fail to plan is to plan to fail". So true. It's a safe bet that if you go to the supermarket with a thought-out list, it won't be so easy for your shopping cart to drive off course. Also, knowing the menu ahead of time, and deciding on what to order before you get to the restaurant, is a good plan. For certain restaurants, it's sometimes smarter for me to decide beforehand so that it won't be necessary to open the menu and be tempted by all the goodies inside. This saying also works for vacations. I learned the hard way when one year I packed everyone's bathing suits and flip flops, but not mine, and I had to wear a pair of my husbands blue jeans, cinched at the waist and cuffed, until we found a store that sold clothing. Now, I start making a list a few days before packing so that I don't forget anything.

One last saying that I follow is, "If you always do what you always did you’ll always get what you always got". So true! If you want to be thinner, healthier, faster, stronger, smarter... then you need to change, add or delete. There is no other way. I once tried listening to a tape while I slept to help me learn Spanish. As you probably figured out, WASTE of TIME and MONEY!! Osmosis may work in the field of biology, but in other parts of life, nah.

I'll leave you with a few of my other favorites. I sometimes use these to pull me out of the food doldrums and help me climb back onto that damn wagon.

"It’s about progress, not perfection" ---

"A weight gain is not failure, it's feedback" ---

"What you eat in private, you wear in public" ---

Last, but one of my most favorite sayings... "If hunger ain't the problem, food ain't the answer"

Quote of the day: "Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome" Booker T. Washington

#74 Thanksgiving Dinner

This year, we are going to be a relatively [no pun intended] small group for Thanksgiving. Besides my candy corn fix at Halloween, my next favorite food fix is stuffing and cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving.
This year, I am having my folks, my sister, her husband, my niece and nephew, an aunt and an uncle and my cousin [Annie, the famous author of OBSOLETE]. That makes for 13 of us, which is a nice number, and one that my round dining room table can hold comfortably.

In this babble, I'm going to share my Thanksgiving menu. After my last posting, Passionless in the Kitchen, I received a number of emails, phone calls, and comments about my cooking. Thank goodness, I continue to be my worst critic. So then, below you will find what I plan to serve [with my mom's help] for our holiday meal.

Pumpkin Soup [but of course!!!]
this recipe feeds 20

2 large onions halved
1/2 cup margarine
1 tsp curry powder [spicy and more if you prefer]
4 cups canned pumpkin [not pumpkin pie filling]
3 tsp salt [start with 1 tsp and work your way up as needed for taste]
4 cups of 2% milk (can use cream, half and half ) [My lactose-intolerant friend recommends soy milk. Since I've never used soy milk, I can't guarantee the outcome)
5 cups chicken broth

Saute onion in butter or margarine until limp
Sprinkle with curry powder
Process pumpkin, onions and salt [don't make it too fine]
Pour into pot
Cook very slowly for 1 hour
Serve hot

Parmesan-Butternut Squash Gratin
this recipe feeds 6

1 butternut squash [2 1/2 lbs]
1/4 cup of butter or margarine
2 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/4 cup panko bread crumbs
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley

Heat oven to 375F. Spray 13x9 inch glass baking dish with cooking spray. Peel, halve lengthwise and seed squash; cut into 1/2 inch thick slices. Arrange with slices overlapping slightly in baking dish.

In 2-quart saucepan, melt butter over medium heat. Reduce heat to low. Add garlic; cook 2-3 minutes, stirring frequently until garlic is soft and butter is infused with garlic flavor. Do not let butter brown.

In small bowl, mix bread crumbs, cheese and 1 tablespoon of the butter-garlic mixture. Brush squash slices with remaining butter-garlic mixture. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and bread crumb mixture.

Bake uncovered 30 to 40 minutes or until squash is tender when pierced with fork. Increase oven temperature to 425F, bake 5-10 minutes longer or until lightly browned. Before serving, sprinkle parsley over top.

Garlic Sauteed String beans [I grew up with, and love, the string bean casserole with cream of mushroom soup and fried onions, but it's not as healthy as this, and truthfully, my kids prefer this to that].

Fresh string beans
Boil until al dente
Throw into wok with olive oil and minced garlic Wok for about 10 minutes stirring quickly [do this close to serving time]
Let sit for a few before serving

Sweet Potato Marshmallow Casserole [not so healthy, but yummy]
this recipe feeds 6

5 med. sweet potatoes (peeled, cooked and mashed)
1/3 c. milk
3 tbsp. brown sugar
2 tbsp. sugar
2 tbsp. melted butter
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
1 c. miniature marshmallows

Combine all ingredients except marshmallows, mixing well. Spoon into a lightly greased 1 1/2 quart casserole.
Cover and bake at 375°F. for 30 minutes. Uncover, sprinkle with marshmallows and bake another 5 minutes.

Turkey with Stuffing

I am very traditional about my turkey and stuffing. I add mushrooms, celery, salt and pepper to Pepperidge Farm stuffing, and follow the directions on the bag. That's it. Once everything is mixed together, inside the bird it goes. Of course, all of it can't go into the bird, so after the turkey is cooked, the stuffing is removed and placed on top of the non-bird cooked stuffing and into the oven it goes to steal some of the juices and flavor from the stuffed stuffing. About gravy... I've never made it. My mom always does that part, but I know it involves taking the innards of the turkey [neck and other parts], cooking them on the stove top for awhile in water, cutting and mixing them with left over cooked turkey juices, adding some flour and maybe some water and heating and stirring so the gravy isn't lumpy. Not sure about the rest - she hasn't answered my email [she's probably playing mahjong] and I want to post this evening.

Cranberry sauce

From the can. My favorite part of the whole dinner. Just kidding, but I love this stuff and pretty much only eat it on this holiday.

Desserts
My wonderful sister, who is a very good and talented baker, will be bringing desserts this year. She did tell me that one of the desserts she's making are sugar cookies in the shape of a triangle, with the cookie batter dyed to orange and the tip dipped in vanilla frosting. Can anyone guess what these look like? I'll give you a hint.... it's my Halloween candy nemesis!

HAPPPY THANKSGIVING

Quote of the Day: As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them." John F. Kennedy

#73 I'm Passionless... in the Kitchen

I think I'll write a book; The Passionless Cook.

On October 31st, we had our quasi annual Halloween party, and I decided to serve pumpkin soup as one of the hors d'oeuvres. It's my father-in-law's recipe, and I'll be honest, I've made this soup a number of times, and it never tastes as good as his.

Most people don't know this about me, but I have little confidence in the kitchen. I'll admit, I make some pretty yummy challah french toast, and I'm amazing on the grill with salmon and steak, but besides those two endeavors, I'm a hit-or-miss kind of cook. Anyway, during the party, I did receive a number of compliments on the pumpkin soup, but the most special compliment came from a neighbor down the street. He emailed to say thanks, and mentioned that he enjoyed my pumpkin soup. I was very flattered since I consider him a very talented cook, and a compliment from him was, well, better than nice. A few days later we bumped into each other at a neighborhood store. We chatted, and I mentioned that I aspire to his prowess in the kitchen. He shrugged his shoulders and said something like, I'm not sure that I'm that great, I just really love to cook. I realized then [well, I probably verbalized an old realization]... that I really don't like to cook. If money were no object, I'd hire a personal chef before hiring someone to do the laundry and bathrooms... that's how much I don't enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate to cook, I just don't like to cook.

Perfect example -- I have another neighbor whose dishes and desserts are delish, and needless to say, she also loves to cook. My husband has told me on a number of occasions that their house is "one of his favorite restaurants". One evening, my neighbor served a wonderful chicken dish with a side of Moroccan rice. I ate with an almost spiritual devotion, enjoying the flavors and textures, until I was so stuffed I thought my pants were going to lacerate my belly roll. It's not hard to guess on which side of a meal my passions lie.

A day or two later when I called to thank her for dinner, I also asked for the chicken and rice recipes. I had decided that I would make this meal for an extended family dinner later that month. Let's just say that when I cut into my piece of chicken and started to chew, I knew that my lack of loving to cook was right there in my mouth. I almost gave myself masseter-itis [masseter - def: thick muscle in the cheek that assists in chewing; itis - def: suffix denoting inflammation] trying to break down that little piece of chicken so that I could swallow it. I had to chew... and chew... and chew...

And, as I sat there exercising my masseter muscles, it dawned on me that if you do something without having or feeling a passion for it, then that lack of passion can definitely be "tasted", if not by others, then definitely by you.

Quote of the Day: "Everything I eat has been proved by some doctor or other to be a deadly poison, and everything I don't eat has been proved to be indispensable for life. Yet, I go marching on." George Bernard Shaw

#72 The Rabbi Says....

While I was reading the Rabbi's monthly chat in the synagogue newsletter, I got inspired for this week's babble. I'm borrowing the Rabbi's pre-story used for his chat as my pre-story to my babble.

A rabbi once asked the members of his congregation, "What is the holiest day of the Jewish calendar?" "That's easy", one woman responded. "The holiest day is the Sabbath". "No," said another. "The holiest day is Yom Kippur when God grants us atonement for our sins." Other days were discussed and debated, but the rabbi finally put a stop to this exercise by sharing what he thought the holiest day should be. He chose the 11th of Tishrei as the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. "What holy day falls on the 11th of Tishrei?" the congregants all asked. "The 11th of Tishrei is the day after Yom Kippur. And this is the holiest day of the year because it is the day that we begin to see if we really intended to keep any of the promises we made."

For those of you who aren't Jewish and/or who don't know about Yom Kippur, it is a very holy day for the Jewish people. It comes 10 days after the Jewish New Year, and it is on this day that the Jews ask God for forgiveness for any and all sins committed. The 25-hour period that is spent worshipping, fasting, and reflecting on the past year is intended to encourage an inner change, a "return to living life as God expects of us". The disciplines of the day [fasting and worshipping] are intended to encourage us to restrain ourselves from our "drives," such as hunger, sex or anger - so that through the Rabbi's sermon and reading scripture, we can be guided toward a more meaningful way of life.

What caught my attention and inspired this babble is the idea of intention. Did I follow through on my promise?

What do I promise myself and fail at consistently? To eat healthy. How many times have I promised myself that "today's the day I'm going to start my diet", or in the past 10 years, to eat healthier, and cut out processed foods? I have said this sentence [or something like it] so many times in my life, and so many times, I have let myself down. When I started working on this babble, I thought about gluttony compared to other sins - like disrespect to one's elders, arrogance, envy, wantonness, greed, disregard for other's property, and so on. I don't mean to belittle the day of Yom Kippur by raising gluttony to the most sinful. I am just sharing how the Rabbi's pre story about "following through" made me think of my past [and sometimes present] failures with dieting.

During the service on the evening before Yom Kippur, we say something like this.... Look at us G-d, see what miserable sinners we are. We make promises to live better each year and yet we always seem to fall far short of keeping those promises. We ask you G-d to pardon us for our shortcomings.

Well, when it comes to dieting and eating healthy, we don't need to ask G-d for forgiveness. We don't need to ask for forgiveness from anyone but ourselves. We need to accept that we are weak in the arms of a canoli, and move on. We need to accept that the aroma of cookies baking in the oven make our hearts go pitter patter, and move on. It's all about our INTENTION. If our intentions are good and true, then we can start again to honor our bodies by feeding them in a healthy way.

So this is what I've learned, and this is how I try to treat myself. I don't harp on my weakness for sweets. I make mistakes. I eat unhealthy foods. Instead of insulting my inability to stay in control, I am instead, kind and understanding. This is how I would treat another person who has "slipped". The 11th of Tishrei can be every day in the life of a "dieter". Yom Kippur is a day to reflect on the values and responsibilities to yourself, as well as to the world. As my rabbi says in his chat, you aren't a hypocrite if you truly believe and intend to change. He says, "...that we need to realize the divine potential that we each possess, and to take the steps needed to make our good intentions come to fruition."

Quote of the Day: "Your life is not meant to get easier, it is meant to take on new and greater responsibilities. This is the pathway to self-fulfillment and self-worth." Dr. John Demartini - healer, trainer, writer

#71 Eating Like a Bear, Literally

World's Fattest Man Eats 20,000 Calories a Day [printed in Martha Edwards posts Oct 21st 2009 9:00AM]

Worlds fastest swimmer eats 12,000 calories a day while training.

Average sized bear eats 20,000 calories
a day.

Sumo wrestlers eat between 18,000 and 20,000 calories/daily

When I saw that headline, Man Eats 20,000 calories, well, I just couldn't resist clicking on the link to see what 20,000 calories a day looks like, or perhaps what I really wanted to see was what a person who eats 20,000 calories a day looks like. Put it down to morbid curiosity.

Mr. Paul Mason has the dubious distinction of being the heaviest man on earth, weighing in at 976 pounds. It seems that Mr. M., aged 48, had to eat 2,000 (oops, I forgot a zero), I mean 20,000 calories daily to gain back the weight (250 lbs) he had lost while in the hospital recuperating from "a life-saving operation". For those of you who don't understand calories or count calories, that number, 20,000, is about 10 times more then the amount a 48-ish year old active man should be eating to maintain his weight. I need to share -- I'm actually a little jealous; not of stuffing my pie hole with 20,000 calories/daily, but a 2,000 calorie day does sound like a nice change from my 1,300 calorie day.

Of course, the honor of being Mr Biggest doesn't come without its problems. Mr. M rarely leaves his bed, and has 7 around the clock care-givers taking care of his daily needs. Let's stop here for a sec. Mr. Biggest and I are the same age [give or take a year], and having 7 people take care of my daily [and probably pretty intimate] needs because I was too fat to do it myself, would be humiliating and horrifying. (NOTE: I know there are people living this way due to debilitating diseases that necessitate the use of round the clock caregivers. I believe Mr. M is in a different category.) In the on-line article, the author, pretty much said that she really couldn't feel sorry for Mr. M since his goal was to become this way.

Mr. Mason can't travel in a car or on an airplane, and when he had to be rushed to the hospital for the above life-saving surgery, the British Air Force had to airlift him there. As to his clothing needs, I'm guessing that they're custom made. Truthfully, though, why bother getting dressed at all, as in underclothing, shirt and pants? If my "job" was eating 20,000 calories a day, and not moving from one spot, I think a mu mu would do just fine; it would definitely make it easier for my 7 caregivers. Actually, before husband and kids, there were probably a couple of days a year where I would plant my tush on the sofa, watch movies, catch up on missed TV shows, nap, read, eat all my meals in front of the TV, and never get out of my PJs. I looked at these days as a bonus day, not a lifestyle.

I'm not trying to sound nasty here, nor insensitive to the plight of the obese, and unlike Ms. Edwards the author of the article, I do feel a little sad and sorry for Mr. M. However, as we know, there are thousands of people living with body weights of 300 pounds and up. I TRULY BELIEVE that the last thing any of them would want is to add a few more pounds -- let alone another 200 or 300.

Oh, and just in case you're interested, it costs the British government $164,000 U.S. dollars a year to keep Mr. Mason alive. As of 2009, the cost of his care reached the $1 million mark

Quote of the Day: "I realized that I'm more important than food. I love a big slice of pizza, but I love myself more." Valerie Bertinelli

#70 When Your Body Knocks, Do You Answer?

When it comes to your health, the worst thing a person can have is a high tolerance for pain, a non-pushy temperament, an "I don't want to rock the boat" personality, and a life that is so busy and hectic, that there is no time to "take off". Since this is breast cancer awareness month, I thought I would write a babble that stresses how important it is for us to know our bodies intimately, and not to be put off when a doctor doesn't have all the answers. This babble isn't meant to scare anyone, but rather to remind us all not to ignore that little voice that tells us that something "just ain't right". Honor your body. And for my male readers, share this with the women in your life so that they know you care about their bodies IN EVERY WAY.

I was waiting for my daughter and leafing through an old People Magazine, when I came across an article that was titled, "Fighting to Stay Alive". It is the story about a member of the rap group TLC, Tionne Watkin, and her life before and just after the discovery of a brain tumor. The debilitating headaches that she experienced for nearly 6 years, ones that would have sent the most stoic person to the doctor, were, she thought, due to stress, her disease and the demands of her career. Tionne has sickle-cell anemia, and because of this disease, her pain tolerance is extremely high. Only when she started experiencing blurry vision did she go see a doctor, and it was after her MRI, that a brain tumor the size of a grapefruit was discovered.

Wow, I thought, as I replayed in my head a conversation I had earlier in the day. That morning, my friend "Cleopatra" called to cancel an upcoming date . She didn't sound very good, so I asked if she was ill. Her response was not what I expected. She told me that she had just returned home from the hospital, where her left ovary and fallopian tube were removed. Cleo has spent the last 5 years explaining to any doctor who would listen, that something just wasn't right with her left side.... especially during ovulation. She visited many different specialists, but to no avail. She was told that her pain could possibly be due to some adhesions that she may have developed from her 2 C-sections, but nobody was ever sure. During the past five years, the pain has increased and decreased, but has never gone away. This last time though, was so painful, that she had to walk doubled over, and after 2 days of intense pain, she took herself to the emergency room. Long story short, she had a raging infection that, she was told, had been brewing for a very long time. On numerous occasions she remembers asking her doctor, "Is this pain normal?", and on her last visit, the doctor told her that she had probably pulled a muscle. My very smart friend sat there nodding her head trying to think when, in the last five years, she may have pulled "this muscle". I know you must be wondering why nobody found this problem earlier. It seems, there are 2 reasons. First, the infection was what the doctors [suspected was] encapsulated or walled off; it never spread. Second, poor Cleo has had at least 2-3 bouts of sinusitis a year for the past couple of years, plus she had bronchitis, pneumonia and meningitis during this 5 year period. With each infection and illness, she was given antibiotics. And, if you've ever had a sinus infection [which I have], you are sometimes put on antibiotics for a month, or more, to kill whatever disgusting stuff is living in your sinus'. Ironically, because Cleo had been healthy for the past 5-6 months and not on any antibiotics, the infection was able to intensify enough so that when the ultrasound was taken [for the 3rd time], something finally showed up.

I have worked in the healthcare field as both a clinician and as an administrator, and yet, when I am a patient, I wait my turn patiently, spend my rushed 10 minutes with the doctor, and then sit there nodding my head in response to what the doctor is saying, when what I really should be doing, is asking more questions and/or giving more symptoms. In today's healthcare atmosphere, we need to be our own advocates. We no longer have a doctor that follows us from childhood to adulthood, and knows all our family members and their medical histories. Both Cleo and Tionne lived with "their problem" because they were able to... up to a point. Thank goodness, the outcome for both, was a good one.

Quote of the Day: "Once you choose hope, anything's possible" Christopher Reeve

#69 Body Dysmorphia

Joan Rivers on Aging: "Once I thought some guy pinched my nipple and it turns out he accidentally stepped on it."

Bette Midler on Aging: "After thirty, a body has a mind of its own."

Lucille Ball on Aging: "As a woman 'matures' it's best to use a make-up table with everything close at hand - and don't rush; otherwise you'll look like a patchwork quilt."

Bobbie on Aging: If one must adjust to growing older, and age is an issue of mind over matter, then how I mind my matter needs some adjusting.

A couple of years ago, I went to the salon for the usual - a trim, highlights, and some low lights. After sitting there for 2 hours and shelling out a ridiculous sum of money, I came home and thought, not for the first time, that I didn't really like my new haircut. However, this is pretty typical for me since it usually takes about two or three days before I figure out how to style my new cut, and for the products they used to be washed out. This time, though, was different. Nothing I did worked. That's when I decided that this "do" wouldn't do. I told a friend how I was feeling. She said something like -- I should go back because my hair happiness is an advertisement for my salon and stylist. Four days post haircut, I returned to the salon and told "Spartacus" how I was feeling. He was very nice and told me to sit in his chair and he would "fix" it.

As the minutes ticked by, I sat there staring at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out what it was I didn't like. I lifted my hair off my neck, I made make-believe bangs, and so on. It was when I pulled part of my hair back into an Alice in Wonderland style [that's what my mom always called it when we were little] that the light bulb went off. I pulled tighter. OMG, it wasn't my hair I didn't like, it was my face!! Something, it seemed, had happened since my last visit!!! My eye lids looked heavy, my cheeks were, well, not where they were supposed to be, and I saw lines around my mouth that I didn't remember seeing last time. Now don't start with, "oh Bobbie, you're so hard on yourself" thoughts; I wasn't seeing an "old lady" sitting in the chair, but I wasn't seeing the "young" lady that I picture in my head.

Fifteen minutes later when Spartacus walked over to discuss what we should do, I told him that my hair was fine and that it was my face I needed to deal with. Of course, he told me I was foolish and silly [which I'm not sure was true, but especially liked hearing with his accent]. Although I do think I have a slight problem with body dysmorphia, I am able to step back and perform an honest critique of my body parts. While Spartacus droned on, I sat in his chair wondering if 42 was too young for a face/cheek/eye lift, and would my husband be willing to shell out $10,000 for a "birthday gift". I walked out of the salon wondering what other 42 year old women do when they feel this way....

I changed my hair dresser....

photo - me at 31
photo - me at 40
2 photos - me at 47, the no make-up, no hair done Bobbie, and the public Bobbie

Quote of the Day: "Start slowly because direction is so much more important than speed" author unknown

#68 How NOT to Stop a Crying Baby

Last Saturday, with a couple of hours to spare, I went shopping at my favorite chic boutique, TJ Max. Since the cold weather season is approaching, and also at my daughter's request, I went in search of some winter duds for her. I was zen shopping, oblivious to everything but the sweaters in front of me, when the sound of a crying baby interrupted my trance. I tried to ignore it, but then I heard the mother, in a loud voice, say NO! The baby [more than 1 less than 2, I later saw] stopped crying, but I could still hear his/her hiccupping boo hoos.

As I continued sweater seeking, humming along with Cheryl Crow and Elton John, I was once more jerked out of my trance. This time it wasn't by a loud voice, but the sound of a slap. I looked up, and in slow-mo, watched this little girl work herself up for an all-out howl. I looked around to see if anyone else was as upset as I felt. Oh Yes!! There were a number of women, moms and daughters all looking at each other and at me. I saw the baby's mom look at us looking at her. "Dare me" her eyes said. With just a twinge of fear, I took on her dare. I very nicely and calmly told this young mother that baby's are programmed to cry when they feel pain and that hitting a baby is not the way to get them to stop crying. That's all I said. I walked to the next rack where I was able to hear a woman say to the mom, "it's 4:00 in the afternoon, baby witching hour. It's just not a good time for babies and mommies. We're all tired. Be patient". Then, another woman told the mom that hitting is never the answer and that she should try a different method. Everyone was quiet and polite, but I know, in my heart, that we were just talking into the wind.

I decided to leave -- my heart just wasn't into shopping anymore. I kept replaying that mother's look and what I had said. As I walked over to the check out line, heart still racing, I hoped that I hadn't done the wrong thing. I was standing in line, waiting to pay for my few things, when a women came over to me and said that I was very brave for having said something. A few more in line nodded along with her. Brave? I wasn't brave. I have no armor to protect me from watching a child, or for that matter, an animal, unjustly hurt. They are, in different ways, defenseless... I HAD to say something.

As I reached my car, I once again realized the power of one voice. If one person speaks up, others will follow. Had I not told the young mother that hitting wasn't the way to stop a baby from crying, perhaps those other ladies might not have had the courage to speak up. Who knows if my saying anything, or those other women saying their piece, had an impact on that mother, but perhaps it had an impact on someone else in that store... someone who has been too scared to speak up, but may now take that chance.

Quote of the Day: "The good life is inspired by love and guided by knowledge" Bertrand Russell (English philosopher, logician, mathematician and, historian)

#67 Should There Be an Extra Tax on Soft Drinks?

We know there's an obesity epidemic in the United States. We also know Americans make poor food choices and have begun to think that super sized meals are the norm. Recently, in The New England Journal of Medicine, an article was written where the authors recommended a way to help with obesity as well as a way to help with the cost of healthcare. They say: tax soft drinks and sugary drinks. As I see it, this "argument" could go three ways. First, the tax may deter people if the cost of soda truly becomes unaffordable. Second, the billions of dollars raised by this tax could help offset the burden obesity puts on the healthcare system. And third, it could totally backfire. Truthfully though, I'm not sure how I feel about this. It's the old punish bad behavior vs promoting good behavior. How about helping to reduce obesity while promoting wellness? Instead of taxing "bad", why not subsidize good - like fruits and veggies?

Is too much intervention good? I mean, of the government kind. Once upon a time there was prohibition -- Bad. Next came the cigarette tax -- Good. Ironically, just a few weeks ago, I had a mini debate where I argued on the side of government intervention. My "opponent" was saying that we [the US] are so 1984 -- you know, big brotherish. I told him that I was ok with public space spying [cameras on the interior and exterior of buildings, etc], especially if it deterred and/or solved crimes. Lets just say that he let me know, in not such a nice way, that he didn't agree with me. Well, now here I am thinking that maybe taxing soft drinks has gone just a little too far. Could we possibly next see an increased tax on items with hydrogenated oils? Trans fat? Too much sugar? Of course, the piggy-who-can't-control-herself-part-of-me sort of wishes that this would happen [with chocolate products only], but the grown-up who should be in control of her food and life thinks, WE the consumer, must take responsibility. Plus, I think the tax would have to be very, very, very high to make the price of soft drinks exorbitant to its "users". If caffeine is as addictive as nicotine, and people are willing to pay $5.00+ per pack of cigarettes, well even I can do that kind of of math...

Quote of the Day: "There is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip" Richard Harris

#66 Body Protuberances

While perusing the Internet for my daily dose of news the other day, an article's title caught my attention. It said, "Young Designer Uses 'Normal-Sized' Models at London Fashion Week - Casting Director and Stylist Walk Out". It seems that this young Canadian designer, Marc Fast, mixed in normal sized models [US sizes 8-10] with his toothpick strutters against the wishes of the casting director and stylist. When asked why he did this, he explained that he was trying to show that his form-fitting knit wear looks good not only on the slim and slender, but can also be worn by the "everyday" gal.

Well, Marc honey, I am that everyday gal. I wear a size [US] 6 or 8 depending on the designer and the style, and I can tell you, Sweetie, that when it comes to clingy knitwear, the "normal" body with its curves and protuberances just doesn't look as good as the slim and bulge-less. I'm not talking skeletal, as in [US] negative zero, nor am I saying that we [the collective we] look bad. I'm just saying that we don't look "as good", like we forgot to put on our full-body spanks or something.

What can I say? It's just my opinion. When I look in magazines and see plus size or normal size females modeling dresses, slacks, skirts and jeans, I honestly don't like the outfit as much as when I see a "model" wearing them. And, the answer is so simple: Fantasy!! Along with a little Desire and Hope thrown in. I want to believe that when I put on those slacks, silk blouse, suede boots, and chunky funky belt, that I will look [exactly] like Jessica Alba or Cindy Crawford or Halle Berry. I mean for crying out loud, I have brown hair and brown eyes too, ya know!

Which brings me to my next rant. I love reading medical studies. Especially the ones now reporting that a little extra fat is not such a bad thing. For example, in August, the Canadian Obesity Journal reported that a little extra weight can protect one against mortality, and that being too thin may be associated with a higher risk of death. Hmmm. Haven't we also read that people who reduce their calories to the point of starvation [while getting all their needed vitamins and nutrients of course] have a better chance of longevity, and with fewer instances of disease?

Are we confused? Baffled? Well, sure we are. How about a little red wine? Nope. Some studies believe that 'a glass a day keeps the doctor at bay' is false, and that no alcohol is best. How about some caffeine. Nope. This too is under question. It seems that one cup of Joe is just one too many, and I read a BLOG a few weeks ago that reminded me of the "no fat" diet craze that was later proven to be way off base. These studies that make our brains ping pong back and forth make me nuts. Nu?

What I've decided is that moderation has to be the answer. Too much, or too little for that matter, are just not specific enough. I'm waiting for the study that says, 3 scoops of ice cream are better for you than 2 scoops because after 3 scoops you are full and satisfied, but after 2 scoops, "studies show" that the average person is still unsatisfied -- which may lead them back to the freezer for additional scoopage. Best to play it safe with 3 scoops... don't you think?

Quote of the Day: "There's no telling how many miles you will have to run while chasing a dream" -Author unknown