Monday, May 13, 2013

Back on the Wagon...

OK, confession time...I fell off the wagon about 6 months ago. It is way past time for me to put my "big-girl-panties" back on and climb back on board. But...I HATE THE DIET WAGON!!! What I LOVE are breads, desserts, wine (but not whining), and chocolate. Wait, were you thinking I was talking about that other wagon...the one where you have to go to meetings? Oh good-grief, you know I'm not going to go to meetings, besides, vodka has no carbs...lucky me! Anyway, its time to get back to the planned "weight-loss-lifestyle-change."

Have you noticed that the number of commercials for various weight-loss solutions is growing more quickly than the American butt and belly? Another confession, I've tried some of these programs at one time or another over the past several decades and I can tell you that they all work...for the short term. But, since I'm an expert weight gain/loss boomeranger...as soon as I/you stop eating only their food, you get everything back that you lost and the lost pounds bring friends. Its like those people who claim to be "social drinkers." The pounds like being around other pounds so they just create huge "pound parties" where they encourage bringing "pound friends."

So, I'm putting myself back on the wagon. I have found, after a lifetime of battling this weight-war, that I have the most consistent, (though slower with each passing year), weight loss success by drastically reducing the carbs from my diet, drinking lots of water, and exercising. Now, go back to the top of this post, see the part about my love for breads and desserts...guess what they have in common...yep, carbs. So, they are out. The good news, for me, is that if I can get through the next three weeks without "cheating," I've learned that the battle will be won. The war is ongoing and will be until I take my last breath so I have to be content to take the battles as they come.

As I reread this post, I realize it is devoid of my usual "pithy remarks and quirky commentary" but, THIS IS WAR and I'm getting my war-painted face on...

Wish me luck!
TTFN

Lois   


Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Facing Fears...OK, maybe more like a NEUROSIS!

I belong to a women's group at church. St. Ann's Circle has been a part of our church since about 1923. My grandmother was a member, probably since the beginning and my mother has been a member for greater than fifty years. One of the things that I looked forward to in my retirement was to join St. Ann's, thereby continuing our family tradition. One of the "regular projects" that the club is involved in is a monthly bingo at various nursing homes in our community. Once a month, a different group of women from the club goes to one of the "retirement centers" and provides refreshments and monetary prize money to residents who win bingo games. (I should probably tell you that several years ago, I had a part-time job as a bingo-caller...funny how some things go full circle.) Anyway, the fear that I'm referring to in this post has nothing to do with BINGO, directly. It is rather about ending up in a "nursing home."

So, as I made my way up to the door of the building, I said a silent prayer that it would not have that "old-person-house-cooked-cabbage" smell that I remember from some of the visits we made as children to nursing homes, either in girl-scouts, or elementary school choir etc. Fortunately, the facility was odorless. One thing that remained the same, however was the pity I felt for so many of the residents. Wheelchairs outnumbered "walkers" and too many of the residents seemed to have been "placed" in areas with no active engagement to their surroundings nor to their plight. My heart ached to see some of the elderly women carrying and holding onto dolls and I wondered if these were their surrogate "children" from their youth.

Conversely, once we started with the bingo games, there are many residents who seem to be quite alert, and enjoyed our visit and enjoyed the camaraderie and change-of-pace our presence brought. I just keep thinking how horrible it must have been for them and for their family's to make the decision to move to this place. I actually pictured myself crying non-stop, curled in a fetal position in the corner of a room, so overcome with fright and loss that I just couldn't imagine the pain and strength and "no other choice" that the families must feel.

I know and understand that my own neurosis is probably a gross exaggeration of the realities of life in a nursing home but I guess that's what makes it a neurosis. I just hope that when and if I am no longer able to care for myself, that I will have the where-with-all to buy a one-way ticket to a stretch of beach in the Caribbean with instructions for a porter to take me to a beach chair, under an umbrella and surround me with cases of Gentleman Jack and let me spend my final days in a self-inflicted stupor. Is that selfish?

TTFN,

Lois