Jane

I need to rant today!  All four of our kids are home this summer.  All four of our kids are teenagers–or close enough for government work!  The youngest is 14, the oldest 23.  Here’s the deal:  they are all in transitional stages.  One is finishing up college by going to summer school.  One is doing a gap year from college and getting ready to embark on an adventure in Mexico.  One is starting college in the fall.  One is starting high school in the fall.  So all 4 of them are in an antsy, restless stage, wondering if their new life will be ok, wondering if they’ll be content and happy, wondering, off and on,  how they can stand to live with their parents without shooting them in their sleep!  It’s a lot of fun.  They go back and forth between unbelievable sweetness–the kind that brings tears to your eyes–and complete irritability with everything parental. 

Mostly, since they all 4 see their freedom coming to an end in the fall, they are determined to take full advantage of it now–and I mean full advantage, in the way that only teenagers can.  They want every hour of every day to be filled with interesting activity.  So they stay up as long as possible every night and sleep all hours of the day, while working whenever they can fit it in (my son, for instance, has a job that starts at 9 p.m. and goes until 4 a.m.!) and trying to see all their friends as often as possible (when they are not facebooking them or texting them). 

One of the results of this restless, live-for-today behavior is that we never know ahead of time  1) how many mouths will need to be fed at the dinner table 2) where each of them will be spending the night (except for our 14-year-old, thank goodness!) 3) when/if they will get their respective forms filled out for their respective financial aid, job applications, applications to programs, etc. and 4) if we can survive on sleep deprivation caused by loud, raucous laughter at 4 a.m. in the downstairs guest bedroom (on the good nights, when they bring their friends to sleep at our house).   Mostly, I’m turning into a crazy woman who thinks it’s 6 a.m. when it’s 2 and yells down the stairs at a room full of kids:  “Everyone go to bed NOW!” Don’t get me wrong.  I wouldn’t change a thing about my 4 kids.  They are loving, open, generous, funny, smart, hardworking (when they have to be) people, and we’re very proud of them.  And part of the problem is that I am a crazy, neurotic mother who cannot sleep without knowing that each one of them is safe in his/her respective location.  I don’t have this problem when they are away at college.  I sleep like a baby (that is, until the phone rings at 2 a.m. because one of them has had some kind of crisis).  I don’t know why it is that when they are home with us for the summer, I have to know they are safe inside a house somewhere before I can drift off.  I guess it all boils down to this: I wish that I had started having kids when I was 10, so that I would be 33 now instead of 56 and could handle this phase of my life with more energy and a better sense of humor!  I think the answer is clear:  

Here’s what my husband and I decided last night (after five interruptions of our sleep that created a situation where we were wide awake at 4 a.m.): if there is a God, he/she must have created teenager behavior in order to make the empty nest syndrome easier to bear.

Annice

When Charlie Rose interviews someone, I watch and listen.  I guess that makes me a Charlie Rose groupie (I rely on Tivo to get my fill).  So, when he interviews Joan Rivers about the documentary, “A Piece of Work,” I go see it.  The film, by Ricki Stern and Annie Sundberg, spans the 40 year career of Ms. Rivers.  At 77 (she’s actually 75 in the film), we see a tough broad who is not afraid to bare all.  In fact, she thrives on it, needs it, like an addict.
Watch this great trailer:

I’m not exactly sure when I stopped liking Joan Rivers, but I’m guessing it was back in the late 80s with everyone else.  Falling from grace due to a series of professional and personal blows such as being blacklisted by Johnny Carson/NBC, and the 1987 suicide of her husband/manager, she struggled to find work in her beloved show biz.

The Young Joan Rivers

Circumstances and age seemed to have turned Ms. Rivers into a comic whose jokes seemed more like cruel jabs aimed to hurt the likes of  Liz Taylor and her battle with weight.  I find it very ironic for Joan to be hassling Liz when she was perpetually under the knife of her plastic surgeon re-figuring her face, and who knows what else.  I know it’s none of my business how many face lifts this Grande Dame of comedy endures but frankly, I think her face lifts turned me off when she started to look like a caricature of herself standing in Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum.

Now, here’s the big BUT – after seeing this film, and her journey back to glitz and glamour, I actually like Joan Rivers again!  She’s one smart woman who climbed her way back to legendary status selling her jewelry on QVC, and her red carpet attacks (with her daughter) on celebrity T.V.  And don’t forget her latest gig on Donald Trump’s reality show “The Celebrity Apprentice.”  No, I didn’t watch it but I was not surprised to learn that Ms. Rivers won the competition, which by the way, meant she had to beat out her own daughter, also on the show.  Needless to say, the mother and daughter relationship is strained.  Nothing new here abut mothers and daughters.

The many faces of the Queen of Comedy

In spite of her obsession to be a star and stay on top of her game, I couldn’t help but admire Joan Rivers.  Like I said before, she is one tough broad, and she’s not afraid to fight tooth and nail to keep her dream alive.  Aging gracefully?  Not her.  Aging any way she can is more like it.

Sadhvi

I am about to go on a road trip to visit my family in Cleveland, Ohio.  I am really looking forward to it because I like driving and I get to spend some real time with my husband.   And, I find it so relaxing driving through parts of this beautiful country that are not considered tourist areas…like West Virginia!  I also like to get those tin cans or glass jars of Starbucks coffee and drink them along the way. 

They taste good, and they give me a buzz, and hey, they can’t be that bad for you since it’s just coffee and water and some sugar, right? 

Well, I guess I was wrong, because it turns out that drinking one of those Starbucks Frappaccino’s is like eating a bunch of Nabisco’s Nilla Wafers.  Now I know why I am obese!!!  Seriously, click on the link below and take a look at this article from  Men’s Health that shows what the sugar equivalent is on mine and your favorite cold drinks: I am still in shock!

http://eatthis.menshealth.com/slide/worst-water?slideshow=184612#title

What USED to be my favorite coffee drink!

Janet lives in upstate New York with her husband, Jerry.  Together, they created The Valley Table, a wonderful monthly food magazine for the Hudson Valley. 

On June 26 & 27,  I walked 39 miles from Keystone to Breckenridge Colorado as part of the Rocky Mountain Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I walked alongside my 27-year-old niece, Claire.  On our backs, we wore a small walker’s flag declaring, “I’m walking for….”

My flag read: “my sister, Nancy (a three-year survivor), Jane N, Ruth N” (my husband’s mother and stepmother, both of whom lost their lives to breast cancer) “and Grandma P” (my mother’s mother, who lost her breast to cancer). My niece walked for her Aunt Nancy and her friend’s mother Jeanne Fame.  We walked with 1100 others—mostly women and a number of men–each donning a flag celebrating loved ones who had survived the beast or remembering those who hadn’t. The slogan for the walk was “In it to End it.”   I confess, when I first committed to do the walk with my niece in February, I was getting in it to keep in shape, to force activity during New York’s long, cold winter. My niece had just had a break-up with her boyfriend, and she was getting in it to get over it. It took months of training—incrementally adding miles to weekly walks, meeting up (Claire from Manhattan, me from the Hudson Valley) to walk together, gearing up (running shoes, really good socks, shorts, tanks—we were walking advertisements for the Under Armour brand),  shouting out to friends, family, workmates and anyone else  for fundraising (the entry was a commitment to raise $1,800 for the Avon Foundation), fretting over whether I was really in shape to complete the walk, whether the altitude would affect me, whether I could keep up with my fit and athletic niece. And then there we were at the beautiful Keystone Resort along the Snake River, with snow-capped mountains surrounding us–all assembled at 7 a.m. in the brisk mountain air. Ready.  

 I came to the walk prepared. But there was nothing that could quite prepare me for the raw emotion of the gathering of people standing for a common cause. At the opening ceremony, we learned we had collectively raised $2.6 million that would be distributed to local organizations; we heard from fellow walkers—a young woman “walking for her mom,” a husband “walking for his wife,” a survivor walking “because she could.”  And then we were off, walking. I noticed the woman in front of me: “I’m walking for my mother, 1957-2003,” the same birth year as my sister, just two years older than myself. The tears flowed forth. Thank goodness I had 39 miles ahead and scenery to distract.  

As we walked, we created a stream of people and a stream of energy. We made our way past beautiful lakeside resorts, western villages, over canyon streams, along highways and well-traveled bike paths. All along the way, cars honked, motor cyclists played music, people cheered, volunteers gave support–replenished water, offered food, checked on everyone’s status—were we OK? Thumbs up. The first 15 miles were a breeze; we’d done as many miles in NY.  My oxygen level was a little low, but it recovered with a short stop at mile 13. Having the company of my athletic trainer niece as a walking buddy certainly helped, especially as we passed the 20-mile mark in the high canyon outside Frisco and every muscle ached. She kept our pace.

Claire at the tent campsite, end of first day

Some favorite memories: the two little girls who gave us high 5 at every cheer station (as they waited to cheer their Mom on); the dedicated husband who also made every station w/ pup at foot and video camera in hand to cheer his wife on; the woman who cheered us at mile 14, saying we looked like we were ready to break into a jog, and cheered us again at mile 22, saying we still looked strong. The last 4 miles of Day One were the toughest, but my sister surprised us and jumped in to walk a few miles with us. We did it, and after a delicious hot shower (in a souped up 18-wheeler), a satisfying plate of pasta and meatballs (everything tastes good after 26 miles at high altitude), and a refreshing night’s sleep (in a tent), we woke to a brisk beautiful morning, and, with just 13 miles to go, we felt strong.

Janet and Claire with sister Mary (Claire's mom) at end

We did, in fact, finish strong–among the first 50. We walked through the village of Breckenridge, ordered a local brew and steak lunch, and, as we toasted our survival, we started planning for another walk, a bigger team, another destination–next year. For whatever your reason–whether it’s to keep in shape, work through a life change, celebrate a loved one, the Avon walk (and it’s held throughout the country) is a great thing to do. Anyone in it to end it?  

Some facts about breast cancer I learned along the way:

* Approximately 178,480 women and 2,030 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year     * 40,460 women and 450 men in the U.S. will die from the disease annually.     * There are over 2 million breast cancer survivors in the U.S. who have been treated for breast cancer     * Every 3 minutes, there is a new diagnosis of invasive breast cancer     * There are more than 250,000 women under the age of 40 in the U.S living with breast cancer, and over 11,000 will be diagnosed this year     * A woman has a 1 in 8 chance of developing breast cancer in her lifetime     * Every 13 minutes, a life is lost to breast cancer     * White, non-Hispanic women are more likely to develop breast cancer, but African-American women are more likely to die from it.     * Breast cancer is the most commonly diagnosed cancer among Hispanic women and is the leading cause of cancer deaths among this group.
For more info on breast cancer, the cause and the Avon walk, visit http://www.avonwalk.org/cause/breast-cancer-information.html

Sadhvi

I need to share this.  A good friend of mine sent it to me, and asked if I could post it.  I just got done watching this YouTube video and it gave me goosebumps.  That always happens to me when I hear the Truth.  Take a look, and see how it affects you.  It is time to end the war.  It is time to wake up!

Jane

My daughter, Becky, turned 18 a couple months ago, and we surprised her with a paintball party with her girlfriends.  When 2 of the girls didn’t show up, my husband and I, being cheap and insane, decided to play.  This was our reasoning:  how bad could it be?  It’s a game that millions of people in America play every year and seem to enjoy!  It would be a bonding experience with our daughter, who is leaving for college soon!!

We should have known we were in trouble when they outfitted us in protective gear for our heads and chests and handed us our lethal-looking weapons.  Here we are, ready to go:

As soon as we were suited up, they told us about all the things that could go wrong–and all the various ways that we could get hurt–and made us sign a waiver.  Then they introduced us  to our “enemies”:  a team of six very muscular people in camoflage gear and make-up, with their own private paintball guns.  I should have backed off then–but, no.  I wanted to feel young and energetic in my new thinner state!  I wanted to show my daughter what a cool mom I could be!

They led us to the woods, where we were supposed to spread out, hide, and wait for the enemies to come after us.  They told us an important rule:  if we got hit by someone, we were to hold up our gun to show that we were dead, so that people would stop shooting at us.  My heart raced with excitement.  I felt the way I used to feel at the beginning of a good game of “Kick the Can.” 

That was the last moment of enjoyment for me.  I am here to report that I have never done anything quite so terrifying.  I have always been anti-war, in a vague, hippyish sort of easy-thinking way.  But after being stalked and shot at from point-blank range, I am now against war in a gut-level, fear/hatred/revulsion kind of way.  What do you know?  It turns out I don’t enjoy crawling and hiding behind trees and under bushes, in fear that someone is going to jump out from behind their own bush and shoot me.  And I really don’t like wandering by  mistake into a creek that is mostly mud and getting my feet stuck, with the sound of footsteps approaching, so that my heart starts racing, as I’m drenched in sweat, and the only thought I have is:  “Get me out of this creek and away from here NOW!”

Standing there in that creek, I forgot all the rules, so, I guess I really got into the game!  I saw an enemy approaching, and I knew I had to kill or be killed.  I simply failed to notice that he had his gun held up in surrender.  Charging up out of that creek, gun blazing, mud and sweat dripping, I fired and fired and fired at him, and every paint ball hit him square in the chest. I felt victorious!  I had hit someone before they hit me!  I was good at this game!  Then, through the rush of blood in my brain, I heard–and understood–the words he was screaming:  “Hey, whacko!  Stop shooting!  I was dead already, for God’s sake!” 

I played one more game after that.  And then I got shot in the head (by accident)–because I came out from my cover too soon, and one of my daughter’s friends shot me in the only place where I had no protective gear.  It hurt like hell.  That sent me right off the playing field, sobbing like a baby.  I was done! 

I don’t think I’ll ever play Paintball again, but it was definitely a good experience.  It gave me all kinds of insights into war–and myself–some of which I could do without!  In any case, here’s the group of girls, right in the thick of things:

And here I am, after leaving the field of battle, sitting happily on a bench with my other, saner daughter, who decided before the game started that she would rather sit it out in the heat and wait for us, no matter how long it took, than play any kind of game that involved idiots in camoflage, protective gear, and guns!

Sadhvi

I remember reading the book, Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert when it first came out in February 2007.  It was so good that I didn’t stop until I was done, and I continued talking like Ms. Gilbert for a few weeks after.  Then again, I also dressed and talked like Diane Keaton’s character in the Woody Allen movie,  ”Annie Hall” for a long time after seeing it.  I guess I’m just a wee bit impressionable, no?!   

I knew when I finished the book that it would be made into a Hollywood movie at some point, and sure enough, Julia Roberts bought the rights shortly after it came out.  She stars in the movie that is coming to the screens next month.  So if you have NOT read the book, DO!  The book is gonna be hard to beat.   

Here’s the trailer, take a look, and hopefully, we will all enjoy a good film this summer taken from a great book!

Sadhvi

It’s the 4th of July tomorrow, so before the summer is over, I want to share some pictures of the poppies that came up this spring in my garden.  I think I might have one or two that are blooming right now, but most are gone.  I’ve seen a couple of birds eating the seeds out of the pods, which helps the seeds to spread.   I always save some seeds to give to others…there is always more than enough poppy seeds to go around!

I picked my favorite pictures so I hope you enjoy them.  For me, having some joy in my life is important.  I don’t think I would be still around at 52 if I didn’t!  So I have planted my garden only with the flowers that make me happy.  It’s one of the main reasons that I love living in Western North Carolina.  It has such a long growing season.  Oh, one of the best sources of poppy seeds to plant is the online store onestoppoppyshoppe.  Seriously, this is the place to go and get you some poppy seeds!  They have an amazing selection…just looking through their online store is a simple delight!

So, on with the show…it really was a spectacular season of poppies! 

Pink Poppy

Purple Poppy

Watermelon Poppy

  

White Mauve Poppy

Red Orange Oriental Poppy

Double Red Poppies

 

 

Poppy close up

Oriental Poppies Group Shot

Poppy and Calendula

Sadhvi

Every 4^thof July we have to be aware of making plans so that we are home by dark.  Our dog, Bello, is so sensitive to the sounds of fireworks going off, that if we don’t come home by the time the fireworks start, then he will suffer.  We didn’t know this when got him, and so we put Bello outside on his leash when we went to celebrate with some friends that first year.  We came home with our front door bent, the screen ripped, and poor Bello’s paws all bloodied!  I am sure everyone who owns a dog or puppy will take care of their beloved pet, but when I saw this article on the Humane Society of the United State’s website, I thought I would pass it along.  Oh, and here is a picture of a very happy Bello!

Bello at the Beach

Annice

My Gazpacho is better than yours.  Okay, I said it, and it’s true.  I’ve been serving and enjoying this wonderful gazpacho for a very long time.  I wish I could say it’s my creation but in fact, it comes from the cookbook, GOOD FOOD from FAR & WIDE : Favourite family recipes from the United Nations International School 1975.  And of course there is a story there.

In 1975, I visited New York with college friends, and took a tour of the U.N. because I knew one day I would work there.  I was young, ambitious, and wanted an international career.  On my way out of the gift shop, I purchased the cookbook.  I’m not sure why I did, because I was living in a dorm and never cooked.  I’m guessing it was the cheapest thing I could find.  Well, I never did work for the U.N. (although I did work for the World Bank and had many colleagues at the U.N.) but I am grateful for their cookbook.  I must’ve used it hundreds of time over the last 35 years (OMG!  Has it really been that long?) and one of my favorite summer recipes is the Gazpacho on page 22.

I’m sharing it now because it’s been unusually hot here for the mountains (90 degrees plus!), and it’s simply the best meal on a hot summer day.  Just serve it with corn on the cob and you’re done.  Oh, a blueberry cobbler would be the perfect dessert and with all those anti-oxidants, it’s just got to be healthy.

It seems appropriate that I credit Mrs. Henry Kent (whoever she is) for submitting the recipe. While she doesn’t appear to be from Spain judging by the name, she sure knows how to make a Gazpacho, so here goes:

Serves 6

5 or 6 ripe tomatoes, chopped (or 2 cups tomato puree) – I use real tomatoes
1 onion chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
1 cucumber, chopped
2 cups tomato juice
1/3 cup olive oil
3 tablespoons vinegar
1 – 2 cloves garlic (finely minced)
1 teaspoon salt
Tabasco or other hot sauce to taste (my addition)

Blend tomatoes, onion, green pepper and cucumber at high speed for 30 seconds.  (I pulse it in my blender but don’t overdo it). Pour into large bowl.  Combine tomato juice, olive oil, vinegar, garlic, and salt (add hot sauce here if you like) and add to soup.  Refrigerate overnight.  Serve with croutons on top, and an ultra thin slice of green pepper for color.

Prep time: roughly 15 minutes.

That’s the recipe in the book – follow it closely – you can add more garlic if you like, and if you like hot like I do, add some Tabasco.  Also, I don’t like it pureed completely (like pea soup) – I leave some pieces in it, NOT chunks, but very fine pieces of vegetables.  Lastly, if you make it early in the morning, it will be ready in the evening, but if you leave in the fridge overnight it will be perfect.

So when you’re enjoying your Gazpacho this summer, don’t think of me, but Mrs. Henry Kent (probably the wife of some diplomat) whoever and wherever she may be!

Jane

Folks, please take a moment to forward the message below to your friends and family, and, after you forward the message, please help spread the word on Facebook and Twitter.

Dear friend,
Did you know that Washington is considering unfairly targeting Social Security benefits for cuts?  Social Security didn’t cause the budget deficit, so our retirement shouldn’t be put at risk to fix it!  I just signed AARP’s petition to protect Social Security and keep it strong for generations to come. Please click on the link below to join me – it will only take a minute.

http://action.aarp.org/site/Advocacy?pagename=homepage&id=779
 
Thanks for standing with me to keep Social Security strong.
Sincerely,
Jane

Sadhvi

I know this one has been around for a while, but, I love to watch this ad for Evian. And since it is so damned hot where I live, I can’t help but think this is going to be how I dress when I have to go out. I think diapers with a little t-shirt might be the only way I can survive this heat wave if it continues!

Annice

For Father’s Day, I asked my friend, Judy King-Calnek to share some of her memories about her father, who was one of the few African Americans to go to Harvard University in 1941.  Toward the end of her piece, you will find a link detailing his experience at Harvard told by the Boston Globe entitled, Southern Discomfort: With quiet grace, two black men change the heart of Harvard in 1941.   

While driving down the FDR Drive in Manhattan, I was still savoring the excitement of Brazil’s first victory in the World Cup, which I had watched and celebrated with friends in a cute little Brazilian bistro in Brooklyn that could’ve easily been in Copacabana.  I was on my way to work that morning, and even though it was only 7:45 a.m., the sun was shining brightly and it was so warm that I drove with my car windows and sunroof wide open, not to mention the radio cranked up.  

Dr. Judith King-Calnek

As I surfed the pre-selected buttons to find some music, preferably something I could sing along to as it was one of those kind of days, I was grabbed by a voice I had known since my childhood growing up in Cleveland.  It was Louis Armstrong on his tribute album to Fats Waller, singing “All That Meat and No Potatoes” – one of my father’s favorites.  I sang along at the top of my lungs, not like the 50 year old teacher getting ready to talk to her anthropology students as they prepare for a summer of fieldwork, but like the little girl who used to dance frenetically about the living room, with no clue of the double entendre of the lyrics, laughing as my father laughed at my glee and excitement when Satchmo wailed, and Daddy and I both sang out, “Give that food to the alligators!”.

That song and my experience to it, made me think about how much I missed my father, but it also made me happy because for that moment I really was four years old again and my father was about to pick me up and tickle me.  Immediately, I’d laugh and laugh some more and he’d call me his “little sugar-pie” just as Louis Armstrong began to blow his trumpet. 

As a little girl, I felt safe and protected by my father.  He’d always tell me that he was going to bring the sunshine to me when he’d join my mother and me vacationing on Nantucket.  I knew he wasn’t magic, but the strange thing was, we could be having cloudy, foggy weather, and as soon as he’d get to the island, usually in August, our birthday month, the sky would clear up and the sun would come out – just like he promised.                                        

Family House on Nantucket

As I moved into adolescence, my relationship with my father became strained by typical things like teenage rebelliousness.  Soon, I was no longer his cute “little sugar-pie”.  Then, one summer, as a teenager, I began to see a different side of my father.  Being the youngest of four children, I was the last to go through the family rite of passage - working in my father’s office for a few weeks every summer, I found it  hard to call him “Dr. King.”  I remember being surprised when his secretary told me how proud he was of my siblings and me and how much he talked about us.  We had no idea!  In those days he was very stern with us.  That summer, I was not only able to see just my father at work in his medical practice, but a man of great compassion who was profoundly respected by his patients and so many others.   

Okay, it sounds like I’m idolizing my father, and I suppose that many daughters feel that way.  It’s not that I didn’t see his warts and character flaws.  I did.  In fact, that’s what I focused on for many years, but now that I’m a parent of two boys, who will someday become fathers, I’m revisiting my memories of my father.  You see, after becoming a parent, I thought of him differently, and realized that not only did I love my father deeply, but I really liked him as a person.  

Dr. Drue King

  Unfortunately, it was not until his last few months, when my father was retired and in his 80s and had lost his physical mobility due to diabetic neuropathy, that I discovered yet another side of him.  I knew he had gone to the prestigious Boys Latin School in Boston and on to Harvard before World War II, at a time when the term “affirmative action” wasn’t even a twinkle in the eye of a legislator or admissions officer.  In fact, it would be more apt to describe that era as one of “negative action”.  Yet, he had leapt and labored over many of the racially defined hurdles of the era as did countless nameless African American men and women of the first half of the twentieth century.  But because it was Harvard, my father’s story carried certain connotations, or at least more attention than perhaps some others.  

Now, as an adult and as a parent, I realize we are usually hesitant to share certain stories with our children.  Obviously, we don’t readily tell them about the partying, exploits and abuses of young adulthood.  But there are other stories, too, the kind that our children (and other people) often consider remarkable.  It’s just that when we were living them, we didn’t see them as important.  I now understand why part of my father’s story remained with him for so long.  Firstly, he didn’t consider his actions remarkable or noteworthy; he felt he was doing what should be done.  Secondly, there was an element of shame or humiliation attached to efforts he made to move forward in his life. 

But thanks to one curious journalist, Ted Gup, who is now the Chair of the Department of Journalism at Emerson College, my father’s story came to be known through this article in the Boston Globe.  Apparently it moved the 21^st Century student body of Harvard as well as some staff and faculty members who saw fit to bestow on him the Harvard Foundation’s Humanitarian Award.  The University planned a celebration in his honor at which he was to receive the award, but he passed away just three short weeks prior to the date.  

My father died on April 1^st, 2004.  He was 84 years old.  The day he died the film “Big Fish”, a surrealistic story about a son trying to reconcile the truth about his father’s life before his death, was playing on TV.  I watched it over and over again and cried all day long thinking about my dad.  His was a very good life.  He did the things he wanted to, he achieved what he wanted to achieve; he had the family he wanted to have; enjoyed his grandchildren and even some great-grands.  The day before he died he told my sister he was tired, and then we knew we could let him go. 

My father and grandchildren

So today is Father’s Day and it’s okay that I can’t call him and tell him “Happy Father’s Day” because he is still so big and so present in my life.  But, I can reach for any one of those thousands of vivid memories and relive those My wish on Father’s Day is that my sons feel the same way about their parents as I feel about mine, and that their children feel the same.  I think my father gave me a wonderful gift, which I have a hard time naming, but I can certainly feel it when I recall so many of the lessons he bestowed on me.  So today on Father’s Day, I say “Thank you” to my father.  I think I’ll light a candle for him, download some Louis  Armstrong and sing and dance around my living room.

Sadhvi

OK, I do have a Twitter account.  I think I have like 12 followers, all men in India who want to “connect”.  Awesome, huh.  Thankfully, one of my favorite people on the planet “tweets” on a regular basis.  This is a good thing because he is not only funny, but what he has to say is so damn interesting.  B.E. (before email), we used to correspond a lot by writing letters.  Getting a letter in the mail from him was a delight that is hard to top these days with so many ways to communicate.  He “tweeted” something today that I want to share.  So I guess that means I am “retweeting” it?  Frankly, couldn’t they have picked a different phrase?  Anyways, all week long I have been kind of bothered by the lack of news coverage and the fact that no one seems to be seriously dealing with this catastrophic disaster.  Oh, I forgot:  it’s the 2010 World Cup of Soccer!  Even Huffington Post replaced it’s  ”The Gulf Oil Disaster” link with the World Cup link.  Awesome, huh?   While talking on the phone with my friend, he said that, “Sadhvi, it could be that there IS no solution.”  OMG.  LOL.  HELP.  My  friend figured out what the amount of oil might look like on his website.  Take a look.  Goooooaaaaaalllll!

Let the Oil Hit BP as Well

Jane

 Jean Boone Benfield decided in her early seventies to do something she had never done before:  to write a book.  Jean was born in Buncombe County, NC, and the book, Mountain Born, tells about her life growing up on a farm.  Her first inspiration for writing the book was noticing that a lot of the “mountain” expressions she’d heard during her growing-up years were disappearing before her eyes.  So, she decided to write them down.  She started taking notes on little pieces of paper and then in notebooks.  And then one day, her sister-in-law suggested that she put them in a book:  phrases like “soft as a pocket full of mice” or “pee out the fire and call the dogs”. 

 Jean’s first plan was to just make a permanent record of all that wonderful language, but one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, she was writing about her childhood and her parents and growing up poor in Western North Carolina and Asheville during World War II, and on and on.

Jean Boone Benfield

Jean’s book, which is self-published, is worth a read, not only if you have an interest in what it was like to grow up in the southern Appalachians of the forties and fifties but also if you like etymology or are interested in the history of Western North Carolina—or if you just like to add interesting phrases to your vocabulary, especially ones with homespun wisdom, such as “Flit like a butterfly from flower to flower and land on a pile of cow crap.”

I had lunch recently with Jean, and she told me about how she’s descended from Daniel Boone’s brother, Israel.  She also told me that another of her motivations for writing the book was being fed up with all the “silliness” that is in books about mountain ways or mountain language, such as the “hillbilly books” that you can buy at tourist stops on the highway.  She wanted to, whenever she could, show the history and derivation of the words or phrases she was quoting.  This adds another interesting layer to the book for students of language.  As Jean said, she had to do “a lot of old-fashioned research” for parts of the book.

The book is written in a homey style, as if someone is sitting in a rocking chair and talking to you.  And that’s just how Jean intended it.  She said she just “listened to a voice in (her) head” and wrote it down.  She finished the book when she got “good and tired of fiddin’ with it” and was “ready to let it go.”  Good advice for any writer!

One of the questions I asked Jean was to name one thing that her parents gave her that ended up being important to her.  She said they encouraged her to think for herself and not go with the herd.  As she said, they didn’t worry about giving her a “sense of self-worth” the way that parents focus on nowadays.  They just gave her the “sure knowledge that they were behind her,” no matter what. 

I’d say they succeeded.  Jean is definitely an independent thinker.  When she finished her book and realized she was going to have to do some work publicizing it, she joined Toastmasters, to get herself ready for the ordeal of public speaking.  Before she went to Toastmasters, she called up a speech professor at AB-Tech and asked for help in getting ready.  Jean takes life by the horns!

I encourage our readers to check out her book! You can purchase her book by writing to the author at mountainborn@bellsouth.net.

If you are in the Western North Carolina area, you can also meet her in person:   at Accent on Books in Asheville, on June 18^th, at 6 p.m. or at the Carolina Mountains Literary Festival in Burnsville on September 10 and 11, with info at www.cmlitfest.org.

The “release from liability” form required by the Asheville Hot Air Balloon company specifically asked if I was in good health and did not have any condition that could be affected by the balloon ride. Of course I said I was (in good health) and did not (have a condition), which, ahem, was a serious stretch of the truth. But hey, riding in a hot air balloon has always been on my “bucket list”—maybe not number one or number two, but on there just the same. And when a dear friend offered to treat me (as in, pay) for me to go along with her, what could I do? No was not an option.

Another dear friend, dearest Jane of Oops50, volunteered to come and take pictures. Äs it turns out, she also brought along her youngest, Josie, who turned out to be a great camera guru and shutterbug.

So, there we are at sun-up (the moon was still bright in the sky on the drive to the meeting place), a gaggle of grumpy, un-breakfasted balloon riders and followers, waiting for our pilot(s). Actually, there were two pilots as one couple was taking a romantic two-person flight and the other eight of us surmised that an engagement was about to take place aloft.

Here comes the pilot in a big van, followed by two trucks towing wicker baskets. Yes, wicker. Although on closer inspection, there was more steel, upholstery, rope, and fire-proof padding on the inside than there was wicker on the outside. But still, very picturesque.

After a thorough (and amusing) pre-flight briefing, during which the pilot did mention that there was no graceful way for a “lady” to get into or out of the basket—boy, was he right about that—we loaded into the van to drive to the lift-off field.

We wound up after many twists and turns on narrow curvy mountain roads at a level grassy field, probably the size of two football fields. The crew was already getting the balloons spread out ready to inflate. I’d have been happy enough just to see this part—the giant fans, the billowing multi-hued balloons, the large propane burners. It was awe-inspiring. But the best was yet to come.

After a very cumbersome and ungainly climb up and into our basket (which held 8 passengers plus pilot)—enough said about that, the pictures tell it all, we watched the smaller balloon lift off and then, whoosh, with hardly a sound and no sense of motion at all, we were off!

Oh, what a sight. What a feeling. Calm, serene, cool, except when the pilot lit the burner to take us higher. It was like floating in the air, exactly like it, I guess. The closest experience I’d ever had before similar to this was on a small sailboat on a calm lake with just enough breeze to move us along slowly. But what a different perspective—to look DOWN on the earth like a bird, and moving sideways at a slow enough rate to see the lay of the land, the cars and trucks on the roads, the hayfields, the pastures, the houses and outbuildings. It was gorgeous. And looking out, there were the mountain tops, and fog, and clouds, and the other balloon. (We soon got word over the two-way radio that the guy had proposed in the other balloon, and she accepted. We yelled congratulations at them but probably they were to busy to hear us.) We could hear dogs barking, but little else except our own voices. And then we noticed the shadow of our balloon on the ground, and then in the fog, and then, somehow the light and the fog combined to make a rainbow all around our shadow. Miraculous! Even the pilot was taking pictures of this.

We had one little thrill, when the pilot (deliberately) flew us through some treetops—the basket was covered in limbs and leaves, but the balloon was still higher above. Pretty exciting. It turns out they often use trees to slow the balloon/basket down on landing, so the pilot wanted us to have the experience before he HAD to do it.

Well, even bucket list experiences don’t last forever, and we did come down, in a different field several miles from where we took off, and although we did scrape the trees coming in, the bump was minimal. And then the chase crew members were holding onto ropes and the basket and we were climbing out—just about as ungracefully as we entered, speaking for myself, of course.

Our faithful Jane and Josie were there to meet us, having taken hundreds of photos, many of them spectacular, and our little group went off to breakfast and ooohs and ahhhhs at the photos of our trip.

A once-in-a-lifetime experience for me, I’m sure. I’m old enough and infirm enough and poor enough that there probably won’t be another balloon ride for me. But once is wonderful. Believe me.

Oh, this YouTube clip expains everything.

Take a look at how this horrible ecological disaster is being handled by BP executives, and the big chief, Kevin Costner.  I wonder if Obama finds any humor in that?!

Annette Dunlap is an independent scholar and author.  Her book,  Frank: The Story of Frances Folsom Cleveland, America’s Youngest First Lady, was published by SUNY Press in 2009.  She lives in North Carolina and is hard at work on her next book (because she’s not getting any younger).  She and her husband have four children, one grandchild and another one on the way.

My 50^th birthday occurred 10 months after my father died.  Those two milestone events – passing the half-century mark and losing a parent – starkly reminded me of my own mortality.  My new mantra was, “I’m not getting any younger.”  Writing a biography had been a dream ever since I was in elementary school, and it was now time to move from ‘dream deferred’ to ‘dream realized.’ My new mantra became, “I’m not getting any younger; so, if I’m serious about writing a book, I’d better get with it.”

The book I planned to get serious about was a biography of the nation’s youngest first lady, Frances Folsom Cleveland. I had begun researching Frances’ life in 1994-95, when I was a marketing professor at a small liberal arts college.  The school laid off all of its non-tenured faculty in 1995, and I went on to run a consulting business for the next six years and dabble in a career change or two. My 50^th birthday occurred at a time when I was in the throes of deciding what I was going to be “when I grow up” (read: I was unemployed).  For once, issues of impending mortality took precedence over how much money was in the bank account.

Two months after my 50^th birthday, (which, for the record, was five years ago), I attended a women’s writers’ conference at Salem College.  One of the break-out sessions I went to was entitled, “How to write a Book Proposal.”  An hour later, I had my game plan.  For over 10 years, I had written strategic plans for businesses as my business, and that, I had just learned, was all a book proposal was: define your target audience, describe how the book meets the demands of the target, tell how you’ll market the book, and show why you’re qualified to write it.

I dug out my research on Frances (there are certain benefits to being a pack rat), drafted my three sample chapters, wrote the book proposal, and sent the material to one of the agents who had been at the conference.  She contacted me within the week and suggested I consider a university press.  I took her advice, selected three possibilities, and had the proposal accepted by SUNY Press.

In retrospect, I think I did a better job of writing biography at the age of 50+ than I would have done had I written it in my 40s.  Being older gives me more perspective and a better framework within which to examine and handle the experiences of someone else’s life.  For example, Grover Cleveland, who was 27 years older than Frances, died when she was 39.  He left her with four children to rear on her own, and the youngest was only five years old.  At 40, I certainly could have understood the challenge of rearing children alone, having four of my own.  At 50, however, I could sense, even more, how demanding it had been, and I could also understand Frances’ line to a friend upon her re-marriage (at age 50), which went something like this: “I feel like an entirely new person.”

When we are fortunate enough to be healthy, there is a mental sharpness about being 50 that only comes with age and experience.  As I like to put it, we have somewhere to “hang our hat.”  In other words, our half-century’s worth of life experiences has given us a way to view and understand this crazy and unpredictable world we live in.  In writing biography, 50 years of living gave me an invaluable tool for developing insight into, and compassion for, another’s life experience.

Annette Dunlap and Lucinda Frailly, re-enacting Frances Folsom Cleveland at her wedding, at the National First Ladies Library, Canton, OH

The other day, I took time off from work to go to Chapel Hill to do some research at the Davis Library at UNC.  Jane had already asked me to write something for this blog, and I was thinking about it as I walked, lugging the stack of library books I needed to return, from the parking lot to the library – a distance of just under a mile.  I thought about the physical side of my research life.  To research Frances, I drove from central North Carolina to New Jersey in one day.  From there I drove to upstate New York.  To research my current book, a memoir, I’ve been on research trips to New York City and Washington, DC, walking to subway stations, catching trains, walking to libraries and archives, spending time in research.  My innumerable trips to Davis Library (both for the Frances book and my current research) inevitably mean borrowing books and carrying them between the library and the parking lot.  As I walked the campus on the lovely, sunny Thursday we just had, I marveled at my physical stamina, the ability to stroll at a rapid pace, the strength to carry a load of books.  I did not feel 55, and that is, in itself, a gift.

If there were one central observation I would want to make in this blogpost, it would be this: if you are fortunate enough to have the resources and the energy to pursue your dreams, do so.  Turning 50 was one of the most liberating events in my life.  The fulfillment of a life-long dream, publishing a biography, has been intensely gratifying.  If there’s a brass ring you’ve been eyeing, reach for it, because, as I am now very fond of saying, we are not getting any younger.

Readers:check out Annette’s blog at http://annettesobservations.blogspot.com/.

Annette Dunlap at Wells College, Frances Folsom Cleveland's alma mater, in Aurora, NY, with College President, Lisa Marsh Ryerson, and Karla Leybold-Taylor (in hat), dressed as Cleveland, next to a wedding portrait of the nation's youngest first lady.

Sadhvi

You know, I tried the Twitter thing.  I just couldn’t get into it posting “tweets” myself, but I do have some very intelligent and very interesting friends who do.  Here is one that is worth sharing: 

The “tweet” reads:

BP CEO Tony Hayward: “I’d like my life back.” http://goo.gl/SLOA  World’s most clueless CEO?

After reading this I had to conclude that this BP CEO Tony Hayward is kind of pathetic.  But not as pathetic as how the BP Oil Catastrophe is being handled.  Or the loss of wildlife and animals and dolpins and human lives and the livlihood of millions of people or the beauty of the Gulf.  Tony Hayward, why don’t you go down to the Gulf and the oil that is starting to hit the shores and the beaches and help clean up this horrendous mess.  You could get back to your villa in France quicker, instead of just wishing it were all over!

Sadhvi

BP disaster hits home.  Center this map on your home town to better understand the terrifying scope.

http://www.beowulfe.com/oil/

Annice

Read The Wall Street Journal.  I’m not kidding.  I found the most fascinating article on bras there.  Don’t know how many of you beautiful women over 50 read the WSJ, but I get it daily, and Christina Binkley’s May 13^th article, “Bra Building: New Engineering for Bigger Curves”  is a gem.  Why would the WSJ feature almost a whole page on bras?  Well, bras are big business–and getting bigger.  It seems that bra sizes have gone up in the last decade, and D or DD sizes are not uncommon.  In fact, manufacturers have been cranking up cup sizes to KK.   

The article says baby boomers need a lift to support their sagging breasts–thus the need for the “engineered” bra.  But I, for one, have been observing the young girls with bovine breasts who feel the need to bare beaucoup cleavage instead of hooking up a little more engineering than their mothers or grandmothers.  I’m convinced it’s all the hormones in their burgers and chicken nuggets, not to mention the milk they drink that’s injected with rBGH to speed up production.  

But never mind them, it’s all about me, and I’ve been looking for that perfect bra where the underwire doesn’t gouge my chest after two hours and doesn’t cost a week’s earnings.  And bras aren’t cheap.  It seems a good bra can cost up to $100.  And why is that, you might ask?  Because, what do you know, good bras have over 24 working parts, and all that engineering costs money!  So if you have good information on a great bra at a great price, please come forward and share that information with us women over 50. 

In the meantime, visit the WSJ video, where the journalist interviews a bra maker and seller – there’s a 12-second ad you’ll have to sit through first, but it’s worth it.   And here’s the link for the article:http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703339304575240382280390218.html

Sadhvi

I just read Arianna Huffington’s Sunday Roundup.  It’s always interesting what this woman has to say.  She let’s me know things that I might otherwise have missed.  Like Obama is having a concert for Sir Paul McCartney next week.  Hmmm… The “Top Kill” solution of putting a ton of concrete on top of the leak is a huge failure.  The oil is now leaking into the marshes.  The Florida Keys are the 3rd largest coral reef on the planet and is now a dead zone.  There are many who have good solutions to try, but they are being ignored, while the leak still continues.  I guess since Obama said the whole BP Oil Disaster is now being handled by the Federal Government, it is time to celebrate?  Hey man, what’s up with that?

I voted for Obama.  Not because I thought he was the answer to all the problems of this country.  No, I have been over that kind of thinking for many years.  

BP's Top Kill Fails

He just seemed the more intelligent pick, compared to Palin and McCain, and he spoke the words that we all needed to hear after two terms with a president that was not really elected and was such a big disappointment.  Heck I didn’t even think of him as black – I just thought he was the change that was needed.  Now, I no longer care who is “in charge”.   Because frankly, there isn’t anyone.  I really don’t know what else to say, except, Obama, you are a disappointment, or as Arianna Huffington puts it, “This is not the time for a White House sing-along.  It’s time to set up a temporary White House in New Orleans until the well is capped.  And if there is a concert to be held, why not make it a fundraiser for all those whose lives are being destroyed by the oilpocalypse?  We need less of the president’s anger-with-no-follow-through and more “hands-on”  leadership.  Without it, Obama risks turning into a real Nowhere Man.”

Ok, I am now going into the garden to find peace and happiness, and continue to spread that to everyone I meet, because while I won’t ignore what is going on, I cannot dwell on it.  It is simply heartbreaking.

Sadhvi

When I was growing up in the 60′s and 70′s, music was so much a part of my life.  I think this was true for us all.  There was the weekly countdown to the #1 song.  And everyone in our house listened to it.  There were weeks when The Beatles had a number one hit.  Then The Rolling Stones would take over.   Then The Beatles again.  There also seemed to be those that liked one group over the other.  Not me.  I loved them both.  The unusual  harmonies and lyrics of The Beatles made me feel good and slightly out-of-my-mind.  But then I got excited and turned on with the drum beat and guitar and the image of The Rolling Stones.  There was something so sexy about Mick Jagger; the way he moved and his clothes and his voice!

Here’s a new release (for me!), along with Lenny Kravitz. As I watched it I found myself asking, “Is Mick Jagger still Rockin’?”  I think the answer is yes.

Sadhvi

There are times when I feel helpless.  There are times when I feel like I have to go inside and find some sense of serenity.  I think today is one of those times.  A friend sent me some pictures of the BP Oil Disaster.  My heart feels like it is breaking.  Another friend who lives down by the Florida Panhandle told me that hundreds of people, strangers and friends alike, walk down to the beach every morning at sunrise.  To say good-bye to the beach.  There is not much talking.  It feels like a funeral.  I have seen posts on YouTube from people who have some very good ideas on how to help clean up the oil spill.  And put some hard-working American people to work.  Which would also be a good thing.  I don’t think anyone in the government is too interested.  I could be wrong.  I hope so.

A group of  40-year-old girlfriends discussed
where they should meet for dinner.  Finally,
they agreed to meet at the Ocean View
Restaurant, because the waiters  there were good
looking and had buff bodies.

10 years  later at 50-years-of-age, the group
once again discussed where they  should meet for
dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the
Ocean View  Restaurant, because the food there
was very good and the wine selection was  good
also.

10 years  later at 60-years-of-age, the group
once again discussed where they  should meet for
dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the
Ocean View  Restaurant, because they could eat
there in peace and quiet, and the  restaurant
had a beautiful view.

10 years  later at 70-years-of-age, the group
once again discussed where they  should meet for
dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the
Ocean View  Restaurant, because the restaurant
was wheel chair accessible and had an  ”early
bird special.”

10 years  later, at 80-years-of-age, the group
once again discussed where they  should meet for
dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the
Ocean View  Restaurant, because they had never
been there before

It’s felt like a slippery slope lately.  One bite of chocolate chip cookie here.  Two tastes of bacon there.  I see how easily I could just slip right back into bad eating habits, no matter how much soul-searching I’ve done over the past few months.  Old, lifelong habits die hard.

I know 2 things now:  1) I will always have to think about my eating and keep it under control because I love food and am addicted to food (so there really is no finish line in this race) and 2) it will probably never get easier. 

 It helps to know that. 

 It also helps to stress, once again, to myself that there is no room in this battle for black-and-white thinking or acting. So, no matter how I might slip up and eat a chocolate sundae one night, that will never again be an excuse to blow everything I’ve worked so hard for over the past seven months.  And, also, just because I might give into temptation, it doesn’t mean I’m a failure at the whole program.  It just means I have to “reset” my thinking, as they say in the program, get back on track, have a shake for dinner, exercise for 30 minutes more.

Before I go on, I just have to do a “Before” and “After” of me in my office. 

So, to answer one specific request, here is what I’m eating now: 

Breakfast:  1/2 cup of Greek yoghurt (low-fat) with 6 almonds, a cut-up medium-sized apple, and 1/4 cup of Fiber One or, every now and then, an omelette made of 1 egg and 2 egg whites and veggies and low-fat cheese

9:30 a.m.:  one high-protein, low-calorie Optifast bar

(8 glasses of water throughout the day)

Lunch:  6 oz of fish or chicken on a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, peppers, onions, etc.

2:30-3:00 p.m.:  1 piece of fruit and 2 low-fat Mozarella cheesesticks

Dinner (as early as possible):  4-6 oz of fish/chicken/other lean meat  and lots of vegetables or salad (1/2 of the plate) with a teaspoon of dressing, so I make sure I have a little fat

That’s it.  It’s simple.  So, when I go out to dinner or lunch, I have to choose the meal that is closest to this regimen.  No fried fish.  No mashed potatoes and gravy.  Just whatever delicious vegetables they are offering, with whatever delicious broiled fish or chicken they happen to have.  And, when I can’t stand it and need more variety, then I have some red meat or some pork–and just adjust the rest of my day accordingly.  I’m working up to carbs.  When I add them back in, it will be 1/4 cup or brown rice.

Sadhvi

Everyone I know is either taking yoga, doing yoga, training to become a yoga instuctor, or thinking about all of the above. Growing up there was only Jack Lalanne, so I think the trend is a good sign that we all want to feel good as we get older!
Here is a clip I found that shows my own personal workout that I do right along with the Ross Sisters. It looks a lot harder than it is. Try it yourself and see if you don’t start feeling a lot more flexible in no time!

Sadhvi

I went to visit my friend Judi last week.  After a hello and a hug, she started to tell me about this pair of shoes that she just bought.  The way she was acting, it was as if she had fallen in love with someone.  Great I said.  After years of seeing cute shoes that only go up to size 10 or 11 and that I will never be able to wear because I am a size 11.5 – 12, I no longer feel any jealousy.   Judi kept going on and on about these shoes that she just had to show me.  Hmmm, I was having a litte deja-vu experience.  Her excitement was the same as what Jane had when she wrote about falling in love with a pair of red Jambu shoes.  It turns out that Judi’s shoes were the exact same ones!  I must admit, my breath quickened a bit when I held these shoes in my own two hands.  They had flowers embedded in lucite in the arch and they looked so good.!

Jane and Judi's Jambu Red Shoes!

Judi’s friend was there, and said she had just walked 14 miles in San Fransciso in hers, another model, the Jambu Planet  and couldn’t believe how comfortable they were. 

Judi's friend's Jambu Planet Shoes

I started to walk out of the room slowly, which is my way of leaving a situation that I find uncomfortable.  Judi said that I could get them in a men’s style…surely.  Well, after googling them online, it turns out that they do not.  

I guess I will always long to have a pair of beautiful comfortable shoes.  So please, check these shoes out on my behalf.  Really, go ahead.  Get a pair and feel like you are in love.  It will make me happy that you are happy with your cool and very comfortable shoes!

Farmer Nancy

Nancy, a gentlewoman farmer, beloved friend of Jane, and amazing animal rescuer/healer who has turned her farm into a haven for lost and unwanted dogs, cats, and horses, splits her time between her husband’s Republican farm in Rocky Mount, NC and her Democratic one in Hillsborough, NC.  She routinely hustles 6 dogs and 4 cats back and forth with her and has been known to include a chicken in the front seat.

 First of all, I’ve been chasing rabbits.  No, I’m not speaking in the voice of my awesome rabbit dog Loretta (that’s another story!).  I’ve been cutting hay, and although it has been years since I read Watership Down, I think I’ve become the villain.  These are baby rabbits, three of them.  They always want to run into the grass, the grass that will get cut on the next pass, so I get off the tractor to shoo them across the windrows, preferably into the woods.  Two cooperate, but the third runs under the tractor, right up against the tire, waiting to be flattened.  When I try to get him from the outside of the tractor, he scurries up even closer to the tire.  I have to grab him and then quickly release him, into the direction I want.

The front of the Hay Baler

 Baby rabbits are fragile, and any handling can kill them.  As I get back on the tractor, I think of the large copperhead I hit a couple of years ago.  After that I wore boots to mow in for a while, but I’d forgotten about that this day.  So I have tennis shoes on.  The next time I see movement in the grass, I think I’ll just leave that row and go to another part of the field.

Nancy with the Hay Baler

 Whenever I start to mow, I say a little prayer of sorts–for all the mammals, reptiles, and other living things to leave the field.  Like that’s going to happen!   But when I can, I try to avoid those little creatures.  It helps only a little to think about the food chain–and that what I hit will feed the red tail hawk who sometimes shadows me or the turkey vultures or the fox–or the coyote.  Yes, coyote.  I’ve only seen them once.  I was absolutely stunned when two nonchalantly trotted across the field in front of me.  Once, late at night, I heard what could only be a pack singing hauntingly.  It was thrilling. 

Back to cutting hay… we’re not bona fide farmers.  My husband is a radiologist, and this is his “hobby.”   The trouble with hay is that it is always on its own schedule, which usually doesn’t fit my husband’s vacation schedule.   Every year, I point out to him how much we spend on fertilizer and how we could buy hay to feed our animals,  but I also know he’s right when he says that, when  you grow it yourself, you know the quality both in the grass and in the process. 

 Here’s the thing:  you don’t just decide to cut hay.  You wait for it to seed up, as most of the protein is in the seed head, and you also have to catch a moment of opportunity in the weather, at least 4 clear days, to do it.  Some springs, that moment only comes once.  If you miss it, the hay keeps on growing, getting stem-ier and eventually dropping the seed.  I usually check 4 or 5 weather sites before deciding when to cut.  And on those 4 days, it helps if there is a little wind–and heat, too.

 This year, my husband was on vacation for hay cutting time, and I thought, boy, this is going to be great (He was upset because he wanted to go to the beach.)!  We cut on a Wednesday.  The weather was supposed to be clear through the weekend.  I cut 4 of 6 fields while he teddered, which means flipping the hay over and spreading it out to dry faster.  The next day, “they” changed the forecast, so I couldn’t cut anymore.  The hay looked dry on Friday, so we raked it, and I started baling.  I’d done one field when I noticed that the first bale in the second field, when observed closely, had way too much green in it.  Anyone who has watched “The Amazing Race,” will know what we did had to do next:  cut the strings and roll out all the bales.  The tractor helped, but it was still a pain, and once it was rolled out, it had to be teddered again. 

 The next day, we got 3 fields baled, and my husband proudly raked the 4^th field to leave it overnight–which turned out to be a bad idea, since the weather forecast changed again, too late to cut the remaining fields.  The next day, we beat the hell out of that last field.  He teddered it twice, raked it again.  My old Ford  tractor started giving me trouble, but somehow we got through it and got 39 round bales total.  His vacation was over;  we were worn out and sore.  (The jarring does a number on your body.)   He was too tired to drive the trailer back to our other farm in Rocky Mount that night, so he left on Sunday, and I stayed behind to make sure the bales weren’t heating up on Monday.  That’s important because we shelter the hay so that it will be horse quality.  We’ve got 28 horses (another story),  so we need a lot of hay.  I got back to Rocky Mount on Monday, and the weather changed, so Tuesday, I drove back here and cut the last two fields today.  Hopefully I can get it dry by Friday.  If not, I’ll be baling by myself on Saturday because my husband’s on call.   Just hope the weather doesn’t change again.

Fresh cut hay

My husband says next year, no matter what, we’re taking a real vacation and going to the beach.

By the way, here’s a picture of me, relaxing in the tub after a long day.

Sadhvi

These are certainly interesting times we are living in, don’t you think?  I mean, with so many ways to connect, everyone I talk to is simply overwhelmed with “life”?   If the call is not lost, or they are in the middle of doing something, or their computer is down, or there is another call coming in, or I have to run, god forbid any daytime conversation can go a little deeper than actually hearing stress.  It is very apparent that everyone, even retired people I know, are about at their limit of what they can handle!  Oh, I forgot to mention the pressure to get the latest, or to upgrade.  My husband thinks that I should soon get the iPad, because it would be so good to be able to have it with me when I have clients with me while driving – geez louise!

Therefore, I think it is more important than ever to have something that makes one very happy, that is thrilling even, and does not cost a lot of money.  For me baking something from my garden satisfies that need.  And in the moment it is rhubarb time!

Sadhvi's Swiss Rhubarb Tart

I didn’t grow up eating rhubarb, but being with my Swiss husband has made me very aware that there are some people who consider it a divine comfort food.  Actually, my mom, who grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania, also swoons with the mere mention of the word too.  She told me that there was a patch of rhubarb growing in their yard, and they used to eat it raw with a bit of salt on it.  Well, it IS a vegetable she told me!  So when we moved into our home some 8 years ago, I made a point to plant some in our garden.

Sadhvi's Rhubarb Plant

They say that for the first year or so, you shouldn’t pick too much because the plant is getting established.  I went out a few days ago to pick, or rather, “twist”  the first batch, and I made a simple Swiss tart.  It was so delicious that I ate some and decided that I now love rhubarb!  My friend who is German told me that the first rhubarb, called  ”May Rhubarb”,  is the most tender and delicious, and he got weak in the knees just hearing me describe the tart!

Here is the recipe.  It’s easy.  Take a break from FaceBook, from email, from the routine of your day, and try it.  You’ll like it!

Sadhvi’s Swiss Rhubarb Tart

So many people have their own pie crust recipe that I say to go ahead and use it!  I have my own recipe that I use all the time, for savory and for sweet tarts and it is good, but so is yours.  I would say to make it yourself and not buy one pre-made though, because there is such a big difference!  And honestly, it takes just about the same amount of time  to make your own that it does to take one that is made with bad ingredients out of the freezer. I like to chop hazelnuts pretty fine and put them on the bottom.   Then take a fork and poke the crust.

At this point preheat the oven to 425 F and position the rack the second from the bottom.

Then wash and cut up the freshest rhubarb you can find, which is hopefully right out of your garden!  I spread the cut pieces over the crust.  Then sprinkle 3 T. of sugar or so over the rhubarb.  Now mix 1 cup of organic half-and-half with 2 fresh eggs, and  1 T. of pure vanilla extract, a pinch of salt.  Pour it over the tart.  Slide it into the oven and bake for about 20 minutes.  Take it out of the oven and sprinkle another couple of tablespoons of sugar over the top, and return it to the oven, but now on the second down from the top rack, and broil it for a few minutes.

Whip up some fresh organic cream, put it on top, and enjoy!

 http://www.matteroftrust.org/programs/hairmatsinfo.html. 

Apparently, Phil McCrory, a stylist from Alabama, came up with the idea of turning hair into hairmats and hairbooms!

Gwendie

Gwendie is well into her 7^th or 8^thlife, this one in Asheville, NC as a late-to-the-pen writer. In past lives she has been a daughter, a wife, a mother, a Professional Woman. Now she is exploring the vast universes of past and present into which she delves for stories.   

I’m an old grandmother.  Well, I’m not so very old, just 68 years young, as my cancer doctor says, but old to be just now having a grandchild.  Actually that’s not even quite true.  I have three step-grandchildren from a previous marriage, but I’ve seldom seen them, and they don’t really consider me their grandmother.

But this one, this precious little angel girl who was born last Thanksgiving Day to my son Jonathan and his beloved Irena (no, they’re not married—does anyone do that anymore?), is one of the great gifts of my life.

You see, three short years ago, I was diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer (the incurable kind).  At that time, my son was adrift in life—a college graduate with no permanent job, no “significant other,” no idea what he should do with his life.  He lived with me for the first year after the diagnosis, being there for me during the mastectomy and the first harsh chemo.  But as I grew stronger, so did he, and he left to find his way in life, several states away.  I was glad for him.  Even gladder when he found a job, an apartment, and some months later, a ladyfriend.  But when they got pregnant and were thrilled at the prospect of a baby, I was more than glad for them.  And then, when adorable Daisy was born, I was so happy for them and so grateful for me. 

Gwendie's Daisy

Grateful because I’ve been given this time, even with cancer, or maybe especially with cancer, to see my own progeny grow and mature and begin to experience the wondrous gifts of life—love of a spouse or partner and love of a child.  And such a child—the most beautiful, sweet precious little creature on earth—something most grandmothers say, but in my case, it’s true. (Smile.)

Although I would love to be here to see little Daisy birth her own little daughter, my age and my health give me next-to-no chance of that.  But for me, the very fact that she exists, that she’s so loved by her parents and her grandparents and the rest of her family, gives me great satisfaction and a belief that “my work here is done.”   The continuation of the species, of MY family, of my genes, has been accomplished.  It seems to tidy up the package of my life nicely. 

As it does for mothers and grandmothers everywhere, my heart melts when I see Daisy, whether in person or in photos, or on Skype video, smiling and bubbling and looking right at me.  At the same time, my spine stiffens and my resolve hardens to continue to contest this chronic cancer as long as I can.  For Daisy, but mostly for me.  It’s the Grandmother Treatment for cancer.   And so far, it’s working.

Annice

Last week, I went to Cleveland to spend time with my aging dad.  There was concern–because he fell a few times and could not get up.   While I was visiting, various family members made comments such as, “he’s frail, he needs a walker; he might be depressed; he shouldn’t be driving,” etc.  And what did I find?   Some of the above, but not all.  It’s just not that simple.

To know what’s going on, I decided not to depend on the observations of others.   When I got the chance to talk to my dad alone (about driving, falling, not wanting to use the walker, etc.), he sat back in his big leather chair, looked me right in the eye, and said, “I wasn’t prepared. I just wasn’t prepared to get old like this and not be able to do the things I want and need to do.  I can’t believe it.” 

My heart ached for my dad, yet, at the same time, I turned selfishly to my own needs.  I immediately started thinking about what I can do to prepare myself so I won’t end up like him at 84. I started to make a list in my head of things I need to do to be more vigilant about my life, like walking, more yoga, better diet, more sleep, and on and on.  No time to lose. But then I realized the physical is just one aspect of our life, and, no matter how critical it is,  there is more, so much more, that it is hard to talk about. So, while it was a little uncomfortable to talk about such intimate issues with my dad, I knew that I could.  We have that history. 

 I began with the driving:  I reminded him thatabout 6 months ago he made the decision NOT to drive at night.  I told him I believed he would use the same good sense to decide when he couldn’t drive any more – period. I drove quite a bit with him while I was home, and in fact, let him drive me to the airport on the highway.  No problem.   And yes, he is frail.  He’s 84, with a lot of arthritis, so when he fell, he didn’t have the strength to lift himself up.  Solution, we got him the life alert.  

Of course he’s not happy about it, but because his children spent their money on it, he feels compelled to use it.  He wouldn’t want to waste our money.   As for the walker, he says he will use it more.  We shall see.    

And now for the depression.  Well, he wasn’t prepared for his decline.   And neither was Philip Roth’s anti-hero in Everyman, published in 2006.  Quoting Roth to my dad actually made him laugh.  Roth says “getting old is not a battle, it’s a massacre.”   My dad was not prepared for said massacre, so he’s a little depressed.  Then, there’s the fact that he lost his sister barely a month ago, leaving him without any siblings; not to mention that most of his friends are dying off.  Isn’t he allowed to grieve?  Can’t he be sad for a while?  Oh, did I mention he’s just getting over shingles, and his wife will be on dialysis soon?  Can’t he be sad about that?   And for the record, my dad lives in Cleveland.  Have you ever spent a winter there?  Brutal.    

Leave the man alone, I say.   

To purchase Everyman by Phillip Roth, check out this website of an independent bookseller:   http://www.malaprops.com/book/9780618735167.

Content coming soon.

Kippy Bracke, lives in  Minnesota, where she was born and has family.  She has a love of travel, something which was developed in her at an early age as an army brat.  She recently left corporate America and has a part time job as a Tour Director with a travel agency. 

 It came as a surprise; it usually does.  I am a Tour Director, and I was scheduled to take a group to California when I started experiencing discomfort—which I thought was indigestion.  My mother, a retired nurse, suggested that I see a doctor before I leave and follow up with further treatment, if necessary, when I come home. No problem getting in to see the doctor on Thursday afternoon.  He started with the usual questions and poking and prodding.  He finished all of this with the suggestion that I get a Cat Scan.  And so it began……

 The doctor called me at home that night (yes, you read that correctly, at night and at home) – results of the Cat Scan indicated a large mass on my ovary;  he recommended that I cancel my trip and come in the next morning for additional consultation with an oncology gynecologist.  I saw the oncologist the next day, and a whirlwind of appointments, surgery and acute anxiety started in rapid succession.

 I was in a state of shock.  Cancer.  It brings all kinds of terrible thoughts.  It can be a death sentence.   How could this happen?  I am in good physical shape; I have watched my diet; I exercise; I don’t smoke.  Why was this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?  I cried.  Self pity had set in. Friends and family surrounded me with love and support.  If I have learned one thing from this ordeal, it is that the only things that really matter in this world are faith, family and friends.  As I struggled to understand and deal with all that was happening, it was the conversations and tears  that we shared that kept me going.

My surgery occurred within a week of the diagnosis.  I had what I describe as a hysterectomy on steroids – all things that are removed during a normal hysterectomy plus a few other organs due to the cancer.   After surgery, the oncologist said I had Stage 2 cancer and that the cancer appeared to be contained within the tumor.   I was not completely awake and out of the anesthesia, but this registered with me –- I remember smiling (don’t know if I actually did, but it felt like I did)  My husband and parents were at my bedside;  we were all relieved that the cancer had not spread.

Our happiness, however, was short lived.  The doctor had said that they always biopsy surrounding tissue, in the event that there are any microscopic cancer cells.  So, when the doctor came back the next day with the news that 3 small cells had been found on my lymph nodes, the nightmare began anew.  Thoughts of death and chemotherapy started to consume me.   I cried again.                          

 The proscribed chemotherapy protocol was a newer one, one that they have had good success with.  I was told that there was a 75-80% chance of getting into remission with completion of all sessions.  I was also told that approximately 40% of patients who start this protocol are unable to complete it because it is so aggressive  – 6 sessions consisting of 3 treatments each (one intravenous injection and 2 injections directly into the stomach cavity).   Preparation for treatment—implanting the ports for administration of the drugs—started  after I left the hospital, and my first treatment occurred within two weeks of the surgery

 Somewhere between my first and second treatment, self pity was replaced with self preservation and determination.  It quickly became clear that this ordeal was going to be very difficult and take all that I had.   I was determined to complete all sessions.  I jokingly told my husband that the next 6 months were going to be all about me.

And they were.   I forced myself to eat when I had no appetite and food tasted terrible. I sucked on mints and lemon drop candy to suppress the metallic taste in my mouth. I walked and exercised when I had the energy but no inclination. I focused on my body to understand reactions to the many medications. I concentrated on my medications, in order to take them at the right time to ward off nausea and pain. I ate bran flakes to fight off constipation.  And the list goes on.  And so my life progressed – day by day, week by week, month by month, always focused on getting to the other side.  The other side meant an end to the chemotherapy, the return of my appetite, and most off all, spring and all that spring brings:  new beginnings.

 It was also between my first and second treatments that I started losing my hair.    Hair loss is the most obvious sign of cancer and a constant reminder that it is a life-threatening disease.   I thought I was prepared, having purchased several scarves and a wig.  But like so many other things, preparation doesn’t always allow one to deal with reality when it arrives.

It started slowly.  A few strands in my brush soon became handfuls of hair.   And although the hair loss started slowly, the decision to shave my head came quickly.  I couldn’t handle the slow, tortuous process of watching it fall out.  It was time.  I made an appointment, and, later that same morning, went into the salon, my scarf in my purse.   The stylist, recommended to me by the woman who sold me the wig and scarves, had a private work area, a good sense of humor, and a box of Kleenex.  I couldn’t watch, so I kept my eyes looking downward.  When he finished, I looked up and stared into the mirror, not knowing whether to laugh or cry—so I did both.    I felt a terrible loss but was relieved that this step was over.    As I put on my pink scarf, I remembered what a good had friend told me – “It’s your badge of courage, wear it with honor”.   So I held my head high as I left.  I knew that I was going to earn this badge of courage.    

 That night, I took off my scarf and got into bed to watch the news before turning out the light.  Mozart ,our yellow lab, loves to sleep in our bed.   I heard her coming upstairs, and, as she jumped onto the bed, she immediately froze, staring at me.  Her body tensed, the fur on her back rose, and she slowly leaned forward.  She didn’t recognize me!  I laughed and called her name, coaxing her to come.  She slowly approached: what stranger was in her master’s bed?  As she came near, she put her nose to my head and sniffed from one end to the other.  I’m not sure what was going on in that little brain of hers, but she finally did process that it was me.  And then she proceeded to lick my head!  Ah Mozart – just thinking about her brings a smile to my face.   We call her our “therapy” dog because she’s been such a great support through this whole affair. 

Kippy with Mozart

The last two sessions were tough.  I was anxious to complete my treatment and move on to whatever lay ahead.  When friends or family members asked how I was doing, I replied that I was going to finish, that it wouldn’t be pretty, and I’d crawl to the finish if necessary.  Well, I was right.  It wasn’t pretty, and I limped over the finish line. I finally completed the regimen on February 3.  I had made it to the other side. 

I am now in a state of remission and relieved that the treatments are over.  I know that I reacted quickly and well to the chemotherapy, but have asked very few questions about the prognosis.   I have no control over what might happen and have, therefore, chosen to live each day to the fullest.  Besides, I didn’t go through the hell of chemotherapy to waste my future away! 

When this ordeal started, I kept my focus on the other side and the new beginning I hoped it would bring.  How fortunate I am to have this opportunity now in front of me.  It is spring here in Minnesota, and when I look outside, there is renewal all around – grass and flower sprouts and buds on the trees.  When I look in the mirror, I see my own spring and renewal – hair growth on my head, my eyebrows and my eyelashes, and hope for the future.  It is a new me. 

My story ends with my reintroduction to God.  Most people diagnosed with cancer turn to their religion for support, and I am no different. I was raised in the Catholic Church, but have not attended church regularly as an adult.   During my chemotherapy “recovery” weeks, I started attending the very short 8:15 am mass at the nearby Catholic Church where I was married.  The people at this early service are elderly and are regular attendees.  When I started going to mass, it was difficult, and I cried through the service, not knowing how to pray or what to pray for. 

 It was after mass in late October when I experienced a life-changing event, one that helped me cope with this new challenge I’d been given.  As I was leaving church, tears still falling onto my cheeks, I heard a voice behind me:  “I’m a cancer survivor.”  I turned around, and an older woman approached me, and said:  “You have to believe, and you have to pray”.  As I nodded, unable to speak, she again said :  “You have to believe and you have to pray”.   She then asked me my name and said “Kippy, I will pray for you.”  I remember thanking her; l didn’t even ask her name; I have never seen her since. 

 As I continue to re-establish myself with God and my religion, I often think of her message.  I have found peace within and now understand what to pray for – not a healing but the strength to handle whatever is given to me and a reminder that there is life after death.

Looking back,  I now know why, throughout this whole process, I was so focused on getting through the treatments to the other side – it would be a time of new beginnings, both inside and out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8dVgrd6NM0

The First Annual “Sing to the Trees”

April 22, 2010: Earth Day

It is quite remarkable what one person with a vision can do.  Susan Hale used Facebook to call people together from all over the planet to sing to the trees.  She has heard from over 2400 people in 33 countries and 27 states.

So today try to participate in a global perpetual choir to thank the trees, give them our prayers, and listen to their response and to their wisdom about living on the earth in sacred harmony.

Just sing to the trees wherever you are at 12 noon and join the global choir!

Sadhvi

It is important for me to know when the planet of communication, which includes computers, emailing, telephone messages, and just your basic “please pass the salt”,  is retrograde.

Why?  Just because.  I mean, if Mercury is retrograde, then I know it’s not just me.

It’s going back to whatever “normal” means on May 11th.  Good luck and good night.

Mercury Retrograde
Saturday, April 17 – May 11, 2010

The messenger planet’s backward turn marks a three-week period when double-checking data, maintaining equipment and communicating carefully are recommended. A tendency to make more errors than usual is common during this cycle. Yet the gift of Mercury retrograde is that it provides a second chance to reconnect with people and to tie up loose ends. Completing unfinished business and reviewing systems to make them more efficient are constructive uses of this transit.

Months went by.  I watched them from a distance, but I knew they could never be mine.  I was content.

Then, in a horrible, depressing stroke of fate, Patricia left our office to take a new job elsewhere.  I was devestated.  I missed her wonderful presence.   And, I missed  her shoes!  Weeks went by, and I resigned myself to my new, empty life.  Then, the weekend came when my husband suggested I reward myself for losing so much weight by buying a new pair of shoes.  We went to the store, and I tried on pair after pair after pair.  Then, the sales lady said the fateful words:  “I think I have the perfect pair for you,” and brought out the red shoes, in size 10 or 11–I could try both!  And, unlike every other shoe that looks great in miniature but turns into a gun boat in my size, they looked great.  And they made my feet look smaller!  I was in love, truly in love, with a pair of shoes, for the first time in my life. 

I have to say:  I’ve never understood, until now, my women friends (and some men) who love shoes and notice each other’s shoes and talk about shoes.  I didn’t get it.  But that was then, when I was a shoe virgin!  Here they are, from both angles. 

Take a look and see if you don’t agree that they are the most magnificent shoes you’ve ever seen.  Best of all, they feel good on your feet.  All this and heaven, too! 

And, best of all, Patricia forgives me when we wear them to the same event, which happens occasionally–although she does get a certain look in her eye.  I can almost hear her saying the words:  “You little slut shoe stealer!”

1)    What was the first record/album you ever received/bought for yourself?

“Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.  It was a 45 and I bought it at Woolworth’s.  It probably cost 89 cents.  At the age of 8, I experienced the word “psychedelic” when I listened to that song.  It literally put my mind into another place.  I loved it and played it over and over and over again.

2)    What is one of your most vivid childhood memories?

The first thing that pops into my head is “falling in love” with Elvis when I was very young.  I had a dream of him and felt that physical sensation that one gets when one is “in love”!

3)    What lesson would you like to pass on to younger women, now that you are a woman over 50?

Hmmmm… what have I  learned to be able to pass along?  Well, I don’t know if I have completely got it yet, but maybe the most important thing is to try to be OK with how you are, how you look, how you react…everything.  Why?  Because everything changes so quickly, that to try to hold onto ideas of how to “be”, how to “look”, etc. are so irrelevant and a complete waste of time.

4)    What turns you on, as a woman over 50?

That’s a good question…not much!  Since I don’t have good sex any more, I would have to say my garden, painting, and being with friends.

Yum!

Oh, and a good bottle of wine actually turns me on too…  I can always count on La Crema’s Pinot Noir to make me feel something divine.

5)    What is one of your dreams for the future?

To be able to get away with my husband and dog more often, instead of working all the time.

6)    What is one product you can’t live without that other women over 50 might enjoy/benefit from?

I cannot go out without having my favorite lipstick on, and that is one by Chanel.  I have tried all sorts of different brands over the years, and this one puts me into a sensual frame of mind that I can say I enjoy…I think they use roses and raspberry and vanilla and I really like that smell.  Plus, the texture is perfect.

Thanks Sadhvi…that was fun!

Annice

Buying a new laptop should be easy, right? After all, I’ve been using computers for thirty years now. But I don’t trust myself to buy a new one. The husband says to buy a MAC, but then, not only do I have to drop $1500, I have to learn a whole new system – Ugh!
So off I went to Best Buy (with the husband) to shop.  My inclination was to buy another Toshiba (I never actually bought one before – it was a hand-me-down) because it served me well for 6 years.  However, once inside the store, surrounded by so many laptops, I almost started hyperventilating from all the different choices and prices.

There they were, all lined up in several rows, tagged by brand: Toshiba; Dell; Gateway, Sony; MAC; ASUS; ACER; and of course each brand had several lines to choose from, depending on price, gigs, operating systems, CPUs, etc.

I stopped a geek to ask for help.  His first question was, “What do you want to do with it?”  I hadn’t pondered that question, although it was completely reasonable.  “I’m writing a novel,” I said.  “I have a blog, I answer e-mails, I have some photos stored, I have i-tunes, I Skype and sometimes I bring work home.”

“That’s it?”  He looked stunned.  “No games, no streaming live videos, no Photoshop, no graphics, no…”

I interrupted:  “Well, I suppose I could do more if I knew all it could do, if I had a laptop coach.   You see, I’m over 50 and…”

The husband walked away.

Andrew, my geek salesman, walked me over to an Asus laptop.  “I like these.  In fact, a lot of us guys here like ‘em.  They’re well-made, and priced to sell.”

“I never heard of Asus.  Why is that?”

“They’ve been around for years.  They make hardware.  In fact, they created the Notebook.  Lots of companies use their hardware; their motherboards are great.  I don’t get any commission, so it doesn’t matter to me which one you buy, but I own one of these, and I’m telling you, it’s a good computer.”

The husband returns.  “Buy it.  If these guys like it, it must be good, and you’re not going to find anything better at that price.”

My head was spinning under the fluorescent lights at Best Buy.  Should I buy an Asus because Andrew likes it, and the husband is fed up and wants to go home?  No.  I decided to go home and Google “laptop” for advice.”

First hit was: http://reviews.cnet.com/laptop-buying-guide/ giving the Asus 4.5 stars out of 5, saying it is a well-built budget laptop with enough power for most mainstream users. It has a decent battery life, a huge hard drive, and roomy 16-inch display. You get a lot for your money, etc. They listed the specs: Intel Pentium T4400 / 2.2 GHz(Dual-Core ), 4 GB / 8 GB (max), 500 GB – Serial ATA-150 – 5400 rpm, Microsoft Windows 7 Home Premium 64-bit Edition, Intel GMA 4500M, 16 in TFT active matrix, 5.7 lbs. If only I could re-wire my brain to understand geek speak.

Next, I went to my trusted tech guru from the Wall Street Journal, Walter Mossberg, whose column I read from time to time when I want to pretend I can understand tech talk.

He gave it a good rating.  He also recommended buyers assess their needs before shopping,  For example, are you a student, a business traveler, a videographer, photographer, gamer, home user  etc.  Made sense to me.

Next site: www.electronista.com gadgets for geeks – not a bad site at all.  But I particularly liked  www.rescuecom.com (oh, yes, please rescue me!) –a global computer support company, including: hardware repair, software support, data recovery, virus removal, laptop repair, network service, and business support available wherever and whenever you need them, especially if you need help RIGHT NOW!
1-800-RESCUE-PC  (1-800-737-2837)

(I’m sure I’ll use their number at some point.)

They reported that Apple has lost some status as one of the most reliable major computer builders, based on the number of cases taken at its call centers compared to the number of computers shipped by a given manufacturer. RESCUECOM notes that, while Apple ended 2008 as the most reliable computer builder, the first quarter of 2009 saw it fall to second place behind, much to my surprise, the new leader – ASUS.

Then, I hit www.laptopadvisor.com,  a site that promises to provide you with the best information so you can make an informed, educated decision about buying laptops, whether you’re someone looking for a top-of-the-line laptop or a novice.  They will help you find the “perfect computing companion.”  In the end, they too liked Asus.

And, last but not least, my new best friend is Kim Komando – America’s Digital goddess.

You can listen to her amazing weekly three-hour call-in talk radio show answering questions about computers.  I tuned into her radio show and even called in to ask a question (but didn’t have 2 hours to wait to get it answered).  She is full of good information, and her site is a MUST:  www.Komando.com

On Sunday, I went back to Best Buy, searching for Andrew to tell him I’m looking for the “perfect computing companion”.

“Okay,” he said enthusiastically.  “And which one might that be?”

“I’ll take the Asus.”

Now, how to transfer all my data smoothly from my old laptop to my new Asus without disturbing my Outlook account and other stuff?  Rescue me!

Annice

I was going to write about my experience buying a new laptop at Best Buy, but given the historic vote on Health Care Reform, that will have to wait.  Saturday night, I had some of my husband’s friends and their wives over for dinner.  Several of the couples are retired, and while I don’t know them well, they seem to be very nice people.     

 So there we were at the dinner table, eating our dessert of mango sorbet with fresh slices of ripe mango, and someone steered the conversation toward the health care bill.   

Suddenly, I found myself sitting in the middle of a group of people (in my own home) complaining about this country’s turn toward socialism.  One guest was even furious that she would be forced to pay for all those “illegal immigrants and unemployed” who were now entitled to health insurance:  “I can’t pay more taxes.  I have nothing left to give.  And now, people will get it for free!  Where’s the incentive to work?” she asked. 

 “Besides,” someone else added, “the Democrats rammed the bill down our throat, when the majority of Americans don’t want it.  The government is getting too big.  I don’t want the government telling me how to run my business.”  One example of unwelcome government intervention was that the government can shut down a restaurant in NC if it allows smoking: “If people don’t want to frequent a smoking restaurant, they don’t have to.”  Well, I can see their point on that one, but what has that got to do with health care reform?  

Okay, I thought.  Time to fight back.  

 I interrupted the flow of the conversation by telling them I had no problem with a socialist government, considering that capitalism got us into this financial crisis to begin with, but that ours is not one.  Nor is it a totalitarian one:  there was a vote on the issue, and Obama won.  There was another vote Sunday night for health care reform, and the vote passed.  If Americans don’t like the results, they can caste their ballots in November and vote out their Congressmen and -women.  That is a democracy.      

I asked them about the 32 million Americans, many of whom have two jobs to support their family and still can’t afford insurance.  What about the working poor?  As for me, I’m happy to pay more taxes so that everyone can have health insurance.  Better yet, get the government to re-allocate our resources and spend less on defense and more on health care.  In fact, if we hadn’t gotten into the Iraq War in the first place, we would’ve had more money to pay for healthcare, education, day care, elder care, etc.  And by the way, this bill will benefit small business owners who really can’t afford insurance by providing access to a huge pool of insurance options for them to purchase health care at a competitive rate.  What’s so bad about that?   

One gentleman said many governors were ready to start suing the government over state’s rights and that he was pleased about that.   I replied sarcastically: “Oh, that’s really productive and a good use of resources.”   

I’ll sum up my feelings on the issue this way:  while I have been very fortunate to have health insurance, I am celebrating this week along with the 32 million Americans who have waited a very long time.

Sadhvi

It feels like ages since I’ve posted something.  I had a really bad cold, and I didn’t feel like doing anything for a couple of weeks.  I also turned 52.

I had this urge to bake a chocolate cake with white, fluffy icing just like my grandma, Mabel Carter, used to make.  I never made her “7 minute frosting” before, but I thought it was high time now that I am starting to look like her!

After looking hard and not being able to find her recipe in my collection, I decided to make one that sounded just like hers, called “Wonderful Marshmallow-Like Frosting” by Susan Branch that is in her Sweets to the Sweet book.  She has a cult following, and I am one of her groupies.  Here’s what she says, followed by the recipe:

“The classic boiled frosting, pure white, shiny and fluffy.  You’ll need a candy thermometer.

1/3 c. water                                        a pinch of salt

1 c. sugar                                           2 egg whites

1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar           1 tsp. vanilla

Stir the water, sugar, cream of tartar & salt together in a small, heavy-bottomed pan.  Hook a candy thermometer to the edge of the pan & boil without stirring until mixture reaches 240 F.  In the meantime, beat egg whites until stiff.  Pour the 240F syrup over the whites in a thin stream, beating constantly until thick & glossy.  Stir in the vanilla.  Now frost the cake!

I found a simple chocolate cake recipe called “Gateau Therese” in David Lebovitz’s The Sweet Life in Paris.  This is a must read book, by the way.  The following is what he has to say about it…

“Every Frenchwoman I know loves chocolate so much she has a chocolate cake in her repertoire that she’s committed to memory, one she can make on a moment’s notice.  This one comes from Therese Pella, who lives across the boulevard from me; when I first tasted the cake, I swooned from the rich, dark chocolate flavor and insisted on the recipe.

Madame Pellas is fanatical about making the cake 2 days in advance and storing it in her kitchen cabinet before serving, which she says improves the chocolate flavor.  And the Brie she keeps in there as well doesn’t seem to mind the company…”

I actually use just one stick of butter, which is probably a few grams less than what is called for, and, since most of my friends are into gluten-free eating, I use ground almonds instead of flour.

9 ounces (250g) bittersweet chocolate or semisweet chocolate, chopped

8 T. (120 g) butter

1/3 cp. (65 g) sugar

4 eggs, at room temperature, separated

2 T. ground almonds

A pinch of salt

Try this recipe…it’s really really good.

And, oh, thankfully, it’s Spring!

The FDA has been looking for a generic name for Viagra. After careful consideration by a team of government experts, it recently announced that it has settled on the generic name of Mycoxafloppin. Also considered were Mycoxafailin, Mydixadrupin, Mydixarizin, Dixafix, and of course, Ibepokin.

Pfizer Corp. announced today that Viagra will soon be available in liquid form, and will be marketed by Pepsi Cola as a power beverage suitable for use as a mixer. It will now be possible for a man to literally pour himself a stiff one. Obviously we can no longer call this a soft drink, and it gives new meaning to the names of “cocktails”, “highballs” and just a good old-fashioned “stiff drink”. Pepsi will market the new concoction by the name of: MOUNT & DO.

Thought for the day: There is more money being spent on breast implants and Viagra today than on Alzheimer’s research. This means that by 2020, there should be a large elderly population with perky boobs and huge erections and absolutely no recollection of what to do with them.

As part of a plan to get order in my life, I did something I never thought I’d do: I hired an organizer. I’ve been thinking about this move for a long time, starting probably 9 years ago, when my sisters and I had to clean out my parents’ house so that they could move from North Carolina to Alabama. My parents were in their late eighties at the time, and they were Depression-era folks, so they still had everything they had ever accumulated themselves or received: every bill, Christmas card, magazine, item of clothing, even every rubber band. My favorite was the closet full of dead Christmas wreaths under the stairs: just waiting to ignite. And, to top things off, you couldn’t throw out boxes en masse—because in the same box as the copy of the bill from McDonald’s for breakfast in 1976 might be a savings bond or Amelia Earhardt’s autograph.

I decided recently that, no matter what, I was not going to do that to my children. To be fair: my husband, Tom, played a large role in my coming to this decision. He bet me that, of the 20 or so boxes of old papers that might be in our attic, he could claim direct responsibility for, at the most, 2; furthermore, he bet me that I could not throw any of mine out. I bet him there were no more than 10 boxes up there, of which 3 were mine. We both got the numbers wrong, but he won the first part of the bet: we carried down 45 boxes and only 5 of them were Tom’s.

But he didn’t win the second part. I took my 40 boxes of old letters,“scrapbook” stuff waiting to be put in an album, and children’s drawings and reduced them to 6: 1 for each child, 1 for photos and 1 for stuff that I was too burned out to throw out. In the process, which took “weeks of my life” (to quote Tom), I realized I have a problem in holding onto things. The weird thing is that, although this fact might have been obvious to anyone else, it was never obvious to me, I guess if you just keep piling clutter into boxes, which you then hide in the attic, it’s hard to realize that you’re a hoarder. (I’m not sure what I was keeping all that stuff for, except perhaps a museum of our life. I can just imagine the crowds lining up for these exhibits: here, for your amusement, is every notebook that Jane kept in college, full of illegible notes; and, on your right, a selection of restaurant menus from Jane and Tom’s trip to New York in 1983.)

So I’ve been throwing things out, whenever I have the nerve to do it, which has fit well with my campaign to get in shape: lose the weight, lose the clutter. Move forward, into the future: lean and clean! But my house has remained a chaotic mess, despite my best efforts. I realize that this is partly inevitable. After all, there are 6 of us in this family, plus 3 dogs and 2 cats. But I could see that I needed professional help. So I hired Kathy Jackson.

I liked the sound of her company name: “Better World Organizing.” I was certainly looking for a better world! Kathy came and looked at our house and, I’m happy to say, was not daunted. She saw it as a fun challenge, something she could sink her teeth into, but not all at once. She recommended that we move slowly, starting with the kitchen, the hub of activity.

I’m here to say that you get what you pay for, and sometimes you need to pay for help. Starting with that first Saturday morning, where we piled everything from the kitchen into the dining room (organized by category) and then ruthlessly eliminated duplicate items (to the Goodwill or the trash bin, depending on their condition) and moving on from there into all the other areas of my house, Kathy has worked a magic that reminds me of Mary Poppins and her carpet bag. 2 rooms down, 5 or 6 (the major offenders) to go, and she is turning my house from a place that feels out-of-control and messy into a well-run ship. She is even having an effect on my children’s habits. Not only that, but the process is fun. You can feel your stress level decrease as you see your spices line up on a rack or your phone chargers get put into boxes with labels. And the kitchen no longer feels like a job that never gets completed. It gets dirty for a while now, but then everything goes back into its place, as if Mary Poppins had snapped her fingers.

The process has made me realize, once again, that the world is full of different kinds of people, and one of the biggest favors we can do ourselves is to realize our own limitations and reach out for help from someone else who is gifted in something we lack. I can tell you: it can change your life.

While I’m at it: Here is Kathy’s company information: Better World Organizing at www.betterworldorganizing.com. Here are some blogs dealing with this subject, in depth: www.orgjunkie.com, www.unclutterer.com, www.clutterdietblog. Check them out and let us know what you think! Or tell us about other ones. Thanks.

Gloria

Regina

Perhaps you have received the e-mail message below. I (Regina) received it about a year ago.  After initial concern for the supposed sender, I realized no one I knew would ever e-mail me with such financial demands.  The message below was sent to everyone in mine and Gloria’s email contact list one (from us) one morning in February. 

Unfortunately, some recipients believed it and followed through on the hacker’s demands.

 Here is the beginning of that letter:

Subject: I need your help as soon as possible 

The letter goes on to ask for financial help, with instructions on how to wire money directly through Western Union. Obviously the grammar is incorrect, the typing is horrible and the demands outrageous.  Financing emergency health care is not a problem in England, a country with socialized medicine.  In spite of the poor composition, the email message caused problems and financial loss. 

Here are our thoughts on the hacking experience:

Regina:

How many times have you thought?   “It won’t happen to me, I don’t have anything anyone would want”?   That was certainly my attitude.  I don’t do on-line banking, I shred my mail, I don’t have loans, and only two credit cards.  I keep virus control and firewall up to date, and the only place my social security number is written is in my head.  It   never occurred to me that hackers would be interested in online e-mail and I falsely believed the AT&T server was secure (Not to mention the Hotmail server used by Gloria and her Facebook account.)

 All wrong!  We suspect the hackers chose our online address books because we had so many entries. I used the opportunity to clean out my address book and email inbox—a long overdue task – and change my passwords. Passwords should be changed regularly. The hackers could also have gotten into my inbox, but it appears they didn’t.  Now I keep contacts and incoming emails deleted online and use Outlook for email. 

I was lucky; I didn’t have my hard drive hacked, as Gloria did.  I could concentrate on notifying contacts, although I really didn’t think that anyone would believe such a poorly written message.  Wrong again..  Right after I sent the apology message to my spiritual practice group, I got two calls from friends.  One had sent $500 dollars and the other $400.  The hackers had played on their emotions during email exchange.  My friends were so worried about me and my false situation that they didn’t think rationally.  Luckily, most friends called before wiring money.  My phone was ringing constantly for the first three days. For a week, I had a sense of dread every time the phone rang or an e-mail was delivered, fearing that someone else had wired money.

 I feel blessed to have so many people in my life who care about me.  I’m thankful for that and for the fact that the two friends who wired money were able to retract it from Western Union before the hackers picked it up.  Besides realizing gratitude and appreciation for friends and family, I learned a lot about hacking and have since taken security measures; they are included in our email message below.  It could have been much worse.  This was a warning and an opportunity to clean up my act before I got hacked for a lot of money.  This is your chance to clean up your act, so that it won’t happen to you.  Knowing that makes the experience worthwhile.

 Gloria:

Being a victim of the hacking was a frustrating, yet valuable, experience. On the day I heard of the scam email, I spent 15 hours (7 1/2 hours straight) answering phone calls and chatting on Skype, trying to regain control of the stolen accounts, and then emailing retractions. Altogether, I spent about 22 hours resolving the hacking. I got emotional when friends said they were about to send money, especially when I found out that someone actually did.  I’ve made up my mind to repay that person.  Soon I realized that God was helping me. I only needed to stay in my heart, not in the emotion, following God’s guidance.  When I did this, I was able to be much more efficient in resolving the hacking.  Another good thing happened: I connected with many people I hadn’t connected with in a very long time. Plus, we’ve documented what we learned from this experience so that others may be better prepared.  Everything happens for a reason…everything is a blessing…an opportunity to trust in God.

 Here is the message we sent to our contacts sharing precautionary measures to prevent hacking and what to do if you are a victim:

 Hello Everyone…

We were both victims of hackers one morning.  Gloria’s hacker seemed more aggressive (or at least caused more trouble) than Regina’s hacker.  Both hackers sent similar emails to all our contacts giving the stranded in England with no money’ story.  Gloria had her Hotmail, then Facebook passwords, changed, with the hacker working directly out of those accounts.  Regina had her address book in AT&T taken, with the hacker working out of his account. What follows is what we learned from this experience.

•  Verify suspicious emails/chats immediately. The sooner you call or e-mail the victim, the faster others can be notified of the scam and money recovered. Be wary of all e-mail and chat solicitations. Don’t wire money without first talking it over with someone.  
• It’s not easy to reset passwords for stolen accounts. You can’t call Hotmail or Facebook to report the theft and regain control of your account. To change passwords set by the hacker, you must complete a form for Hotmail  at  https://support.live.com/eform.aspx?productKey=wlidvalidation   and  a form for Facebook at  https://ssl.facebook.com/help/contact.php?show_form=419_scam2
• Have two or more email accounts with different passwords. You’ll need a second secure email address to receive a Password Reset email for the stolen account. Don’t use the same password for all accounts…this makes it too easy for hackers.  
• Empty your cache (temporary internet files, cookies, forms, etc.) BEFORE you reset your password. Go to Internet Options in Control Panel. In the General tab, select “delete” under Browsing History. When this wasn’t done, the hacker hacked into Hotmail again.  
• Use another computer to complete the forms. When the form was completed on the infected computer, the information was deleted instead of submitted. The typed information was picked up by the hacker.  
• Check the reply email address to make sure it isn’t a phony account. The hackers are very tricky and relentless. A contact who sent money received additional emails soliciting more money, even after Hotmail was recovered. Scam email from the “Facebook Team” was sent to the secure email address requesting credit and electronic copies of government issued identification.  A while after regaining control of Hotmail, it was discovered that all its emails were being forwarded to a phony account. Scam emails keep coming to the Hotmail account.   
• Remove the hacker’s email address on the server if you are a victim of hacking and the hacker uses a reply email address other than your own.  It is usually under Email/Options/Accounts/”reply to.”  
• If possible, store your address book on Outlook or another email program on hard drive and back up regularly.  That way you will still have your addresses if they are hacked online. Keep your online address book, inbox, etc as empty as possible so that the hackers won’t have anything online to hack.  We suspect that we were selected for hacking because our online address books contained many entries.  
• Send out warnings to everyone as soon as possible. Without access to contact email addresses, a quick retraction to everyone was impossible. Phone calls were made. Contacts online were warned through Skype. Friends were asked to send emails warning mutual friends, warning posts were placed in Skype chats and in the victim’s message box. Skype enabled those chatting with the hacker on Facebook to verify the solicitation with the victim. Once Hotmail was recovered, retraction emails couldn’t be sent because the hacker had reached the maximum number of sent emails per day. Contacts had to be cut and pasted into the secure email account and retractions sent from there.    
• Those who wire money should contact Western Union as soon as possible to cancel the wire. 1-800-325-6000  Two people who sent money successfully canceled the order because it was sent in the middle of the night in England. Unfortunately, one person wasn’t able to cancel before the hacker picked up the money. More information on scams using Western Union can be found at http://www.westernunion.com/info/fraudIndex.asp?country=global  
• Contact the Federal Trade Commission to report the identity theft.  Their phone # is 877-382-4357 and their website is  http://www.ftc.gov/opa/2004/07/newspamemail.shtm  Consumers may forward unwanted or deceptive spam to the FTC at the spam@uce.gov  address.  
• Contact one of the nationwide credit reporting agencies to place a fraud alert on your credit file. This will make it difficult for hackers to open new credit accounts. Contact Experian at 888.397.3742 (www.experian.com) or. Equifax at 800.525.6285 (www.equifax.com) or TransUnion at 800-680.7289 (www.transunion.com). You can also receive a free copy of your credit report.  
• Contact your local police department to file an incident report. .This will be needed if you choose to apply for an extended fraud alert. Unfortunately, because of the international nature of the theft, the likelihood of the crime being solved is nil. 
• Stay in your heart and not the emotion. Everything happens for a reason. Staying calm within your heart, instead of emotions like anger and grief will enable you to work more efficiently on resolving the identity theft. Realize that God is always helping. 

Know that if either of us were ever in a situation needing funds, we would talk to you personally. Thanks for being understanding and compassionate. We hope that this information is useful…and that you never have to use it.

With our gratitude and love,
Gloria and Regina

20th floor of a building.  They were eating lunch, and the Irishman said, “Corned beef and

cabbage!  If I get corned beef and cabbage one more time for lunch, I’m going to jump off this

building!”

The Mexican opened his lunch box and exclaimed, “Burritos again!  If I get burritos one

more time, I’m going to jump off, too.”

The blond opened his lunch and said, “Bologna again!  If I get a bologna sandwich one more time, I’m jumping too.”

The next day, the Irishman opened his lunch box, saw corned beef and cabbage, and jumped to his death.

The Mexican opened his lunch, saw a burrito, and jumped too.

The blond guy opened his lunch, saw the bologna sandwich, and jumped to his death as well.

At the funeral, the Irishman’s wife was weeping.  She said, “If I’d known how really tired he was of corned beef and cabbage, I never would have given it to him again!”

The Mexican’s wife also wept and said, “I could have given him tacos or enchiladas!  I didn’t realize he hated burritos so much.”

Everyone turned and stared at the blonde’s wife.  The blonde’s wife said, “Don’t look at me! He makes his own lunch!”

First of all, it’s a lot harder to stay on track when you don’t have someone laying out exactly what you get to eat and when–and you have to make your own choices.  Secondly, it’s also a lot easier, in some ways, than I feared.  I’m not, for example, real eager to give up the past four months of work in favor of a chocolate sundae, so temptation is not the problem. What’s hard is the amount of careful planning that is required in order to stay on program. 

Thirdly, I feel as if, at 70 pounds down, I am gradually emerging from a cocoon that I’ve had around me for the past several years–a protective layer of fat that I didn’t even know I had.  A friend said she noticed that even my hand gestures are different now–that I’m more openly expressive.  I don’t know how true that is–or if I was just strutting my stuff in front of her because she hadn’t seen me since the beginning of the program–but I do know that I was shy in certain circumstances before, such as trying on clothes, being in a bathing suit, wearing pants–where I’m less shy now. 

I’ve had a lot of positive reinforcement lately, and that’s wonderful–but also disconcerting, since I feel like the same old me inside this 50- something body, just with a different presentation to the outside world.

 All this has made me realize how much people notice our outside appearance, on the one hand, but also, on the other, how little they really notice it.  What I have found, even if I didn’t really need confirmation, is that the people who truly love you, love you through thick and thin (literally).  It’s good to know that.  It sure does help to keep me from putting the weight back on! Why would you when there is nothing to prove and no one to rebel against?  That’s a good feeling.

Sadhvi

I tried to fax one piece of paper to a client of mine today.  It didn’t go through.  Hmmm, I called her to tell her that there seemed to be a problem.  I asked her if she had gotten any faxes recently?  She said no, that actually, she had never received one; she just sends faxes on occasion.  Well, she tried to find out if she could get it working, and couldn’t.  Too bad, right?

Then I emailed a terrific coupon to a friend of mine  from the local health food store: a pound of organic coffee and a big package of granola for free, with any purchase – wow!  My friend wrote me back saying thanks, but her printer wasn’t working today.  Darn!

iPhone

My husband rarely gets any bars around where we live with his iPhone because the service is so bad with AT&T.  But it’s supposed to be so great now that our area has finally got 3G service, and now I see they even offer 4G service – oh boy!  It never makes any sense to me as to why someone would want a cell phone with little or no coverage, unless it was really just a toy, which it is.  I had one for about 3 days, which was the limit of my patience with no coverage.  Strange enough though, the comments I got from people just seeing me holding that worthless phone were kind of funny…they all thought I looked cool holding it!

Then I get an email from a friend saying I should check out this system called EVERNOTE that says it will help me  ”Remember everything”.  Now that is a tempting proposal, but really, just looking at their web site just made my migraine worse (click on the big bold EVERNOTE link above and see if you don’t get an immediate reaction to run away.  I double dare you.)

I cannot handle another thing to make my life simpler, and that includes hearing about it either…including, but not limited to: Kindle, the latest Smart Phone, the new GPS device, getting more business using Twitter, or any of the  other new and wonderful Social Media that keeps making me feel like I have to keep up…that’s it, I think I have reached my limit!

Instead of trying to keep up with the latest s0-called technology, I am going to go back to what I enjoy the most: recipes and gardening.  And being curious about other people…maybe I will start to interview my interesting friends and family for a while.

Now excuse me, I have to go through the emails that came in while I was writing this post before they build up to the point where it becomes my new part-time job.

then click your mouse and  move it over the page.

It’s almost Spring!

Annice

On Feb. 17^th, my dear Aunt Frances died at the age of 82.  She was the last aunt of the Brown sisters, leaving my father with no remaining siblings, and he is sad.  I understand that sadness because I know how sad I would be without my sisters and my brother.  When my dad called last week to tell me the news, he ended the conversation by saying, “Enjoy your life because it doesn’t last long enough.” And while my dad is more than 25 years older than I am, I feel the force of that statement.

For me, Aunt France’s death feels like the end of an era, an era of women who were “ladies,” and naturally so.  It’s not that ladies don’t exist today, but that term is almost never used to define anyone of our generation.  (I felt the same way when Jackie Kennedy died.)  An era has passed, and our generation is now the generation of mothers and aunts that will be defined by our daughters and nieces.  What will they say about us?

My Aunt Frances always took great care to look her best.  She was witty and knew what to say and when to say it.  She never wore white after Labor Day and was never without lipstick.  She always sent a card for significant birthdays, 18, 21, 30, 40, and 50.  Most importantly, my aunt was forever doing for others.  Her obituary said it right:  “She was passionate about contributing to the community, and rarely, if ever, said ‘no’ when asked to help individuals and organizations.  Hadassah, a women’s Jewish organization, was the one closest to her heart.”

In fact, when I got my first job in Washington, D.C., Aunt Frances paid for my membership in Hadassah for many years, which included a monthly magazine.  I was never interested in Hadassah and finally cancelled the subscription.  Aunt Frances accepted my decision without asking why.  As for me, I’m sure I would have pressured my niece to explain. 

What I liked most about my aunt is that she was a good listener.  Unlike my mother, who yelled first and then asked questions, Aunt Frances did the opposite.  Something else that endeared me to her was that she liked to talk about books.  Like my dad, and like me, she was particularly fond of historical novels, and if they had a Jewish theme, plot, or central character, all the better.  I remember the very last book we discussed, Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, the French novelist.  I was reading it on that particular visit to Cleveland but hadn’t finished it in time to leave it with her. I told her about the author and how she sent her two daughters to the South of France to hide them from the Nazis during the occupation of Paris—daughters who survived while Nemirovsky perished in Auschwitz.  The book is incredible because it is written during the actual time.  Nemirovsky’s oldest daughter found the manuscript but could not bring herself to read it until 50 years later.  When she did, she sent it to a publisher, and in 2004 it became am international bestseller, selling over 2.5 million copies. Later that evening, I shared that conversation with my dad, and he went out the very next day and bought three copies, one for Aunt Frances, one for him, and one to pass around to other family members.

My dad and his siblings were first- generation Americans, and after the war, their family home was a pied a terre for family members from Hungary and Czechoslovakia who had survived the concentration camps.  Both my dad and my aunt became close friends with their cousins whom they met for the first time after the war.  They were greatly moved by that experience, which, I believe, inspired them to always help others.  Even though they grew up poor during the Depression, they saw their lives as privileged when compared to the survivors of Auschwitz.

My Aunt Frances lived a life full of meaning and purpose, and she will always be remembered by me.

1) I remember when you could go in a store, and the clerk actually cared if you were happy with what the store had to offer you.  Compare that with the attitude exhibited by store clerks too often  in most stores now (even in this Recession), which could be summed up as, “No, we don’t have that item, and we really don’t care if we ever have that item.  You gotta problem with that?”

2) I remember a time, when I was in college, when young women actually had a voice in relationships with men.  So, for instance, a woman who was uncomfortable with the pace of things, might say so, right out loud, instead of feeling tremendous pressure to comply with a guy’s wishes, just to keep the guy!  In fact, I remember a time when women were actually asked out on dates to movies or  to dinner, instead of being invited to “hook up.”  (I’m ranting on this subject because I have two teenage daughters.)

3) I remember when kids had to look up topics in libraries and actual books for their school assignments, instead of hitting Wikipedia!  They actually had to go to the library and search the stacks, move their little arms and legs.  Now, they stay at home and push buttons.

Clearly I am over 50!  That’s it for now.  I’m sure other things will come up tomorrow!

Sadhvi

Where I live in Western North Carolina, this past winter has been unbearable in that there has not been a lot of sun, something I really need.  Some might say that the snow has been too much, but I happen to like snow.  There is a certain stillness and quiet that comes with snow that I find calming and nurturing.  I don’t really mind the cold either, because as a gardener, I know that it’s good for a lot of things, like killing off bad bugs and poison ivy.  And besides, the old farmers that I sometimes run into driving their tractors with their well-worn overalls on say so!

I also like being in a place that has winter because I can rest from the garden fever that I get during the growing season.  Every year, without fail, I have to fight the urge to start growing everything right about now.  Magically, just a few days ago, I woke up to birds singing and I knew that the green has been awakened from its winter sleep.  Everything feels different now.  I always act calm and disinterested when the seed catalogs start coming, which this year was not too hard because they started coming around Christmas!  But just a few sunny days with temperatures in the 50’s like it’s been, and I find myself drawing on a piece of scrap paper what I imagine the garden to be this year.

As she turns around, her worst nightmare materializes in the form of a salesman standing right behind her and he’s good looking as well.

Cool as a cucumber, he displays all of the qualities one would expect of a professional in a store like Tiffany’s.  He politely greets the lady with, “Good day, Madam.  How may we help you today?”

Blushing and uncomfortable, but still hoping that the salesman somehow missed her little ‘incident’, she asks, “Sir, what is the price of this lovely bracelet?”

He answers, “Madam, if you farted just looking at it – you’re going to sh-t when I tell you the price.”

Sadhvi

This past weekend we were snowed in.  Last Tuesday and Wednesday we had a blizzard with constant winds of about 50 mph, night and day.  The weekend before we had 3 solid days of non-stop rain, with a little mud slide thrown in nearby.  Now I know, I could be 6 feet under rubble in Haiti, so believe me, I am not complaining:  I am just noticing things!

So if I could get away, it wouldn’t be to the Caribbean, it wouldn’t be to Mexico, it would be to one of my favorite thermal baths in Switzerland.

When I lived in Switzerland http://www.myswitzerland.com, I got such a thrill out of taking the train and going to one of the many beautiful, clean, and affordable hot springs.  I liked to visit and experience the different minerals that made up each of the hot springs.

It was very interesting to find that the salt-based hot springs made me feel like I had just been disinfected; very clean, and all cuts were healed.  The baking soda mineral bath was a true delight!  It made my skin feel like silk, and it was the most relaxing.  In the little town of Vals was a smallish pool that had mountain meadow herbs like fresh-cut hay and lavender flowers that was very nice.

But maybe my most favorite was the one in a little village called Scuol in an area that speaks a language that is a mixture of German, French, and Italian, and that language is called Romansch.  It is supposedly a dying language, which makes it intriguing right there.  Listening to people speak Romansch, which is Latin-based like English, made me feel as if I was not on the planet Earth, and I like that feeling -  a lot.

I wish I could take a few weeks off and go to Switzerland, where they are also having record amounts of snow and cold.

But at least they have these incredible mineral baths that you can escape to!  Where dipping  your toe  into 38 degree Celsius water (that’s 100.4 °F) and feeling the body turn into liquid relaxation as you slink into the waters that make you feel like you have gone back to a primodial place called  “Aahhhhhh” … yes, I’ll take one of those right now, please.

“The big banks on Wall Street, propped up by taxpayer money and government guarantees, have had a record year, making record profits while returning to the highly leveraged activities that brought our economy to the brink of disaster. In a slap in the face to taxpayers, they have also cut back on the money they are lending, even though the need to get credit flowing again was one of the main points used in selling the public the bank bailout. But since April, JP Morgan/Chase, Citibank, Bank of America, and Wells Fargo — all of which took billions in taxpayer money — have cut lending to businesses by $100 billion. Meanwhile, America’s Main Street community banks — the vast majority of which avoided the banquet of greed and corruption that created the toxic economic swamp we are still fighting to get ourselves out of — are struggling.”

And she goes on:

“The idea is simple: If enough people who have money in one of the Big Six banks… move it into smaller, more local, more traditional community banks, then collectively we, the people, will have taken a big step toward re-rigging the financial system so it becomes again the productive, stable engine for growth it’s meant to be. It’s neither Left nor Right — it’s populism at its best. …. And you don’t have to worry, there is zero risk: deposit insurance is just as good at small banks — and unlike the big banks they don’t provide the toxic dividend of derivatives trading in a heads-they-win, tails-we-lose fashion.”

You can read the whole article there called “Arianna Huffington’s New Year Resolution” at her blog at 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/arianna-huffington/move-your-money-a-new-yea_b_406022.html.

There are also whole websites devoted to this subject, such as:  http://moveyourmoney.info/ 

Apparently, Catherine Austin Fitts, president of Solari, Inc. and the managing member of Solari Investment Advisory Services, LLC, (and a powerful woman over 50!!!) encouraged people to move their money back in 2004 at her website, the Solari Report: http://solari.com/archive/banks/. This website has all kinds of useful articles on subjects like 

How to Find a Local Bank : a step-by-step guide to switching to a well-managed local bank or credit union   The U.S. Banking Tapeworm 20 –  top picks for big banks whose impact has been parasitic   Why Did I Wait So Long? – One woman’s candid story of selecting a local bank and making the switch   Where Would Jesus Bank? by Catherine Austin Fitts – a manifesto on how we can start today to align our banking transactions with our intentions to create a better world.

(Admittedly, there are a few strange things in Catherine’s bio, such as her support of the whole idea that the 9/11 attacks were part of a larger government conspiracy, but if you can get past that, she has a lot of useful information, and she did turn out to be right on this subject.  Maybe working at a high level in finance as a woman made her a little paranoid!  I can’t imagine why!)

I work for a community lender, one that has had its cutbacks during this Recession, so I’ll admit I’m not entirely objective on this subject, but what I see every day is people coming to us to get loans for their small, local projects that are actually creating jobs and helping to build back communities–projects that the big banks in their towns won’t touch with a ten-foot pole.  And the more deposits that community lenders like mine get, the more lending we can do.  So, the whole idea of moving your money just makes sense to me.  I hope you readers will investigage it and see if it makes sense for you!  Look at it this way:  you’ve got 3 women over 50 telling you to do it!!

1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10   11   12   13   14   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   and 30

Good! 

Now aren’t you glad to know that you accomplished something today?

Tomorrow we’ll post the ABC’s.

Annice

I just got back from the blue skies and white sandy beaches of Florida.  I didn’t want to come home, but I have to get back to work, unless, of course, I am snowed in AGAIN tomorrow morning.  While I have no intention of moving to Florida, the long car ride home played havoc on my imagination–with too much time to ponder old age–and not old age in a generic sense, but my own.  I mean, just sitting in a restaurant in Florida can sometimes feel like being in one great big waiting room.  Sure, there’s the beach with the young and skinny bikini bunch, but my focus was elsewhere.

In Florida, I met up with a dear friend for brunch, and one of the first things she asked me was, “Do you have long-term care insurance?”  Childless, like her, I wondered if she had seen the same old woman with oxygen tubes up her nose being helped into the restaurant. 

Of course, when I talk to my friends with children, they always say kids are no guarantee.  I disagree.  Over and over again, I see children (my age) caring for their aging parents in one way or another.  So, do I need long- term care insurance?  Does it  really work?  At what age should I get it?  Isn’t it too risky and too expensive?  Over an Everything Bagel, cream cheese and lox, my friend told me her insurance broker quoted her a price of $1000 a month, and she’s only 53.  Ouch!  He also told her that by the time today’s 60-year-old’s need such care, the average cost for nursing homes will be $175,200 annually. Ouch again!  Oh, I also heard that policy benefits only cover a portion of the total expense. And many policies are packed with catches that can keep you from collecting.  Finally, there is no guarantee that long-term-care insurers, some of which have weak balance sheets, will even be around when you need them.  So, unless  you’re rich and have enough money to purchase the private care you need, it seems there is just one more thing to worry about.  Do you have long-term care insurance? Let me know!

Sadhvi

I have never been a big fan of February.  If February was at the beginning of winter, I think I would choose to live closer to the equator and put up with scorpions and cockroaches and hurricanes.  In Cleveland where I grew up, I don’t remember having any conversations with anyone in February simply because the only thing that was on anyone’s mind was another month of winter, and to talk about it only made it worse.  One thing that makes these cold months bearable for me is cooking and baking.  I am no David Lebovitz although I feel closer and closer to him now that I have read several of his books, and get his blog regularly.  In fact, I even had a wonderful dream about him, which as I remember, made my day.  Among other things, David has made me aware that there is a difference in chocolate!  My favorite in the moment is Callebaut’s, which is available from two of the health food store in town, and not so expensive – lucky me.

So here’s the recipe for one of my favorite’s, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.  It’s so easy and so much more delicious than the traditional ones, that if you make it once, I have a very clear psychic message from another dimension that this recipe will become one of your favorites.  It is adapted from Alicia Silverstone’s vegan recipe, and it is as follows:

Sadhvi’s Peanut Butter Cups

½  cup Earth Balance Butter, or some regular organic Butter

¾  cup of your favorite organic peanut butter

¾  cups of your favorite organic graham crackers, ground up in the Cuisinart

¼  cup organic sugar

1 cup of the best chocolate you have, like Callebaut’s

¼  cup or so of organic half and half

¼  cup of chopped smoked almonds, peanuts, whatever you like or have around!

Line a 12 muffin tin with paper liners.

Put the butter and the peanut butter in a small saucepan, and over low to medium heat, whisk and stir until it’s combined.

Add the sugar and combine.

Add the crushed graham crackers and mix.

Now pour this mixture evenly into the muffin tins.  Or spoon it.  Whatever is easier!

In another small saucepan, combine the chocolate and half and half over very low heat.  Whisk it.  Smell it.  Love it.  Just don’t cook it too much!

Pour over the peanut butter mixture in the muffin tins.  Put some chopped nuts on top.  Refrigerate overnight.

Then, before you let anyone try one of these the next day, sample one yourself.

And be transported to another time, another place…maybe another month!

Giuseppe replied to the assembled husbands,  “Wella, I’ve a-tried to treat-a her nicea, spenda da money on her, but besta of alla is, I tooka her to Italy for the 25th anniversary!”

The priest responded, “Giuseppe, you are an amazing inspiration to all the husbands here!  Please tell us what you are planning for your wife for your 50th anniversary?”

Giuseppe proudly replied, “I’m a gonna go get her.”

Secondly, and this is the part I like the best, you approach each meal  (and each snack) with the 1-2-3 system, checking off three things to make sure you’re getting the balanced nutrition you need:  1) protein 2) carbs and 3) fat.  If you start by asking yourself, “Where in this meal/snack will I get my 4 ounces of protein, 1-2 cups of good, unstarchy carbs, and 1 serving of fat?”, you’ll be able to handle whatever comes at you.  I like the approach:  it simplifies my life.  It also keeps food solidly in its place as balanced nutrition instead of all the other dangerous things it can turn into, such as romance, fun, glamour, comfort, therapy, etc.  It’s also beautifully uncomplicated, so I don’t have to be carrying around a calorie counter everywhere I go.  The final part of the plan:  remember portion control!  I just need to remember to use a small plate and make sure that 2/3 of that plate is made up of fruits/veggies/whole grains and 1/3 is lean protein.  I like it! 

We also talked about low-calorie alternatives for delicious treats, such as mashed cauliflower with garlic and Greek yoghurt in place of mashed potatoes–but that’s a whole other subject.

He said, “It is between two wolves.

The one wolf is evil:  Anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance,
self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

The other is good:  Joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one I feed.”

“How much do you weigh?” she asked.
“135,” I said.
The nurse put me on the scale.

It turns out my weight is 180.

The nurse asked, “Your height?”
“5 foot 4,” I said.
The nurse checked and saw that I only measure 5′ 2″.

She then took my blood pressure and told me that it is very high.

“Of course it’s high!” I screamed, ‘When I came in here I was tall and slender!  Now I’m short and fat!”

She put me on Prozac.

What a bitch!

We got through the process, staying up late, and ended up with about 10 boxes each, with the remaining 200 to be sold.  But it was hard.  It was harder, in a way, than dividing up the furniture–because the books were such a critical part of who my parents were.  (One of my fondest memories is of Daddy reading out loud to Mama in bed at night.) It was hard seeing those books scattered into the 4 winds.  It was even harder seeing the house start to empty out of any evidence of their lives.  And we were on such a tight schedule that we didn’t really have much time to talk much about the experience—or, for that matter, about our parents—with each other.  We had to keep going, dividing up stuff, getting through. One redeeming factor was that we also had fun together and couldn’t help but feel our parents’ presence in the room .

When I got back home after the trip, I walked in the kitchen and started crying.  I had held together until then, but I couldn’t any longer.  It’s been a long road.  First, my parents moved to Alabama in 2002, and we divided most of the furniture.  Then, my mother died in 2004, and we divided up personal items, such as her jewelry.  Then, my father moved into the retirement center last year, and we at least thought about dividing a few more things, but then he died. We sorted out a huge amount right after he died, but it takes a long time to divide up the evidence of 62 years of marriage (and, for my parents, of 94 and 89 years of life). I’m glad we’re near the end of this road, but it’s also hard to see that end come.  And there’s something awfully depressing—and terribly final—about  watching the last remnants of people’s lives get separated into piles for the Goodwill, the library, and the trash.

It helped, that night we got back, to see on the window sill, waiting, in full bloom, the amaryllis that we received for Christmas this year.  My father loved amaryllis flowers, and he often gave us one for Christmas.  It was comforting, in a totally illogical and yet absolutely convincing way, to see that it had bloomed out in two, count them two, red flowers while we were away in Huntsville.  I couldn’t help but see it as a message from two people in particular that I love and miss:  hold on–this is also part of life.

Or that my brain is too full, trying to remember who only gets email at their home address, or who only answers text messages, or who doesn’t get cell phone coverage on their iPhone to even get their emails or messages? Or even, who doesn’t respond to anything any more! It’s funny, in this age where the whole hype of social media, and how to be connected is all that people talk about–as if it’s a game to see who has the “latest” gadget–I am becoming more and more disinterested in staying in touch with “friends”.

The truth is, FaceBook was ok when I had a hundred or so friends, but now that I have almost 300, I cannot keep up with what is happening with them all. And frankly, I don’t even care.

I don’t think I will be getting a smart phone any time soon. I really don’t want to take pictures with my phone: I have a really good digital camera that works fine. And I don’t want to type emails to anyone with that ridiculously small keypad. I have a computer with a keyboard the size that I have been typing my whole life on and feel comfortable with. Why change if I am fine with what I have? And why would I want to send and receive text messages? If I want to chat with someone, I can email, pick up the phone, or if I really want to take a little vacation from my day, I can actually sitdown and write a letter or send one of the many beautiful cards I have collected over the years, or even one of my own hand-painted cards.

Here is a little clip for those that dare see where we are going, or should I say, where some people are going – because I may just stay where I am, with the technology that I have.

P.S. Oh, if you feel like it, I would really like to know where YOU are with all that is available to us and costs a small fortune, I might add! Are you trying to keep up? Have you decided that you are ok with just a computer and a cell phone too?

After a week of this, she can’t stand it anymore, takes her complaint
to a supervisor in the Human Resources department and asks to file a sexual harassment grievance against him.

The Human Resources supervisor is puzzled and asks,  ”What’s sexually
threatening about a co-worker telling you that your hair smells nice?” 

The woman replies, “It’s Keith, the midget.”

Annice

Please see the message below and pass this on to friends or click on where it says, “Help us stand up for Haiti Now” in order to go directly to a site where you can make a donation.  This letter comes from my best friend Guitele.  She is Haitian-born, educated and raised in the U.S.  We met when we were students in Paris and have been friends ever since.  I have visited Haiti with her and met her family.  Luckily, all her family there is safe.  Here is what she says:

“Partners in Health is an organization with which I worked for over 12 years and am on the board of advisors. I can vouch for their effectiveness, efficiency, honesty, and integrity. Paul Farmer, the founder, is the UN deputy envoy to Haiti, second to Bill Clinton. Your support will be well spent and organized. They have provided top notch medical care to the very poor in Haiti and know and understand the needs of the population. In addition, they are in a unique position to support the organization of a coherent response to this crisis. Please give generously. Thank you.”
Guitele

A Preacher was explaining that he must move on to a larger congregation that will pay him more.

There is a hush within the congregation.

No one wanted him to leave.

Joe Smith, who owns several car dealerships in the City stands up and proclaims,

“If the Preacher stays, I will provide him with a new Cadillac every year, and his wife with a Honda mini-van to transport their children!”.

The congregation sighs in relief and applauds.

Sam Brown, a successful entrepreneur and investor, stands and says,

“If the Preacher will stay on here, I’ll personally double his salary, and also establish a foundation to guarantee the college education of all his children!”.

More sighs and loud applause.

Sadie Jones, age 88, stands and announces with a smile,

“If the Preacher stays, I will give him sex!”.

There is total silence.

The Preacher, blushing, asks her, “Mrs. Jones, whatever possessed you to say that?”.

Sadie’s 90 year-old husband Jake is now trying to hide, holding his forehead with the palm of his hand, and shaking his head from side to side, while his wife replies,

“Well , I just asked my husband how we could help, and he said,  ”Screw him”!

This was the first week with food in my mealplan, and I got to eat dinner each day!  I have to say that my first dinner of four ounces of broiled chicken and 1/2 cup steamed kale was one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had in my entire life.  My husband served it to me on china,  so that made it even better.  I never realized that my teeth actually missed the sensation of chewing.  It had been a while.  How glorious to sink my teeth into chicken and chew and chew and chew!

This week, in my program,  we talked about some of the problems people have once they start eating again after being on liquids for so long.  Believe it or not, it’s actually easier being on liquids, since you don’t have to think about food at all, meaning – you don’t have to make any choices.  To me, the transition felt a little like opening Pandora’s Box.  Some of my old, bad habits reappeared this week.  For example, I went out to eat with some friends–at a restaurant–where they ordered some great-looking hors d’oeuvres, and I slipped off the plan, almost without thinking.  Here’s how it happened:  after I finished eating my little 4 ounces of chicken, I found myself obsessing on their food covered in delicious-looking sauces.  I finally tried a bite, and it made me want to jump across the table and eat their entire plate of fried tofu.  No kidding.  So, I had another little bite. 

Suddenly, things felt out of control and scary.  The experience made me realize that, no matter how succcessful I’ve been on this program and no matter how much I think I’ve changed, I am going to have to work at this my whole life. I can’t ever return to unconscious eating.  There’s a monster in me–an overeater– a social monster at that.  When I’m with friends and laughing and having a good time, the monster  joins me at the table.  So, unlike people who don’t  have what I would consider my “eating disorder,” I have to be doubly conscious all the time about what I’m putting in my body, and I really can’t ever relax and just go with the flow, at least not now.  And the good news is that I am mindful of all that.

The worst I did this week was eat two or three pieces of fried tofu when I shouldn’t have, so I can forgive myself for that.  But there was a chasm there, and it was frightening to discover how easily fI could fall right back into it.  In fact, there are all sorts of sirens sitting on the rocks, calling me in!  It was  worth it to eat the tofu because it helped me figure out some important things about myself.  It’s like being a member of AA.  The first step, after all, is admitting you’re an alcoholic.  I am here to admit to the world that I am an overeater.  No more joking about it.  No more going on diets on and off – up and down -  rollercoastering my way through life.  This is it.  From here on out, I am determined to be a conscious, careful eater, no matter what.  After all, it’s my life – my choice.

Annice

You’ve all heard, read, and seen the story of the “Underwear Bomber,” or “Christmas Day Bomber,” if you prefer.  To recap: the alleged bomber, 23-year-old Nigerian Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, sewed a pack of explosive powder in his briefs on a flight from Amsterdam, on Christmas Day, to Detroit, with the goal of blowing up a plane full of people.

I know the big story here is the failure of airport security and U.S. intelligence, but, to be honest, I couldn’t stop looking at his photo.  I mean, strapping an explosive in your underwear?  Only to have the bomb fail and burn your crotch?  It’s very hard to comprehend the mind of such a young man, willing to die for a cause.  We can call him a terrorist-it’s a convenient word everyone understands-but what I don’t understand is how broken a human spirit can be to drive a young man to try to kill a plane full of innocent people.

The bigger question for me is, what kind of airport security can ever hope to tackle that?  The boy’s own father was so concerned about his son’s behavior and involvement in extreme Islamist activities that he alerted U.S. and Nigerian authorities.  Those cries for help were ignored.  The boy was granted a visa; he bought a one-way ticket to Detroit, and paid for it with $3000 in cash.  Were authorities just too lazy to follow through, or just too dependent on airport security and their fancy technology?

Now, because of the Underwear Bomber, there is talk about a digital strip-search, using x-rays designed to capture, record, and store images of us naked.  Add that to the hassle of removing our shoes prior to boarding a plane.  And don’t forget the threat of liquid bombs that require us to put all our toiletries into 3.4 oz bottles and shove them into a quart-sized, clear, plastic, zip-top bag.

Even with all that airport security, some experts have warned that they will never be able to  eliminate all risk, especially if someone is determined to strap a plastic explosive to his body.  And while I’m grateful for the technology being used to save my life, wouldn’t it serve us better to pay attention to the simple things, like a father’s warning?

Jane

This has been my last week on only liquids, and I have to admit I’m scared of adding food back into my life.  I’m scared of losing the simplicity, the order, and the no-thinking-about-food state I’ve been living in. I’m going to have to actually put all this good knowledge, and therapy into practice and see if  I can stay strong.  People have told me they could never stick to a liquids-only diet, but it’s easy compared to living in foodland!  Not having to make choices about what to eat was blissful.  I’ll take my box of envelopes of protein drink and my little portable shaker any day!  Now I have to start thinking again about things like portion control, calorie allotment, nutrition, etc.   Oh yeah – and it’s the pyramid.

Scariest of all:  my fear of slipping back into binge eating?!  I can’t let that happen again. In my program, we talked this week about body image–and where our own images come from: from fellow nervous adolescents in our teenage years, from our parents, from the media.  It’s interesting to ponder how we see ourselves and why.  We also talked about the purposes weight can serve for people or the things that it says for us, such as “Stay away from me” or “I’m afraid to be myself” or “I have to do everything,  “I’m mad” or “You can’t control me.”  I know, in my case, at least part of it started out as a control game with my mother, who always liked to encourage us to diet with her, but things got more complicated along the way. I’m sure part of it was also feeling out of control with life, overwhelmed, so my weight was saying, “I give up.  I’m powerless.”  Worth pondering.

But what about this guy?  I guess his weight says the opposite:  “I’m powerful!”

I’m feeling powerful this week, since my BMI is down from 37 to 30, so I’m moving out of the “obese” category and into “overweight.”   My goals for the next 6 weeks, while in “transition” back to a normal life are to 1) get on a more regular exercise program 2) remember that this has been a life change and not a diet and 3) to stay strong and mindful.

Wish me luck!

I am glad the holidays are over.  I tend to bake a lot, which is a thinly-disguised excuse for me to eat a lot of my favorite cookies, tarts, and desserts.  I have to taste what I make, just in case it’s got some off-taste, or it’s really horrible.  I know I’m definitely addicted to sugar, thanks no doubt to the  Karo syrup given to me in my baby bottle to calm me down.  To this day, simple syrup is my comfort food of choice.

I don’t judge myself too much; I just am kind of surprised how quickly I can put on weight.  So when a friend sent me the latest workout regimen last week, I was curious…Poo Chi?  I hadn’t heard of that before.  I mean, there are just so many things one can do to look and feel great these days, right?  I am always curious what the latest thing is.  Take a look, and let me know if this isn’t a routine that might just be the thing to get back into shape at the first of the year.  I know I am going to try it!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2a2DQC-ghio

May the Being of the Universe

breathe into you the light of blessing and ripeness,

the fulfillment of health and balance.

May it protect you from

distractions brittle and bent

with a sphere of lucid fire.

May it enlighten

the heart of your passion

with the contemplation of living energy.

May it uncover the

hidden strength within you,

insight gathered from the eternal now.

And may it show you its face

of secret grace and silent refuge

in a communion of deep peace.

(Translated from Hebrew by A.M. Habermann

 from the Qumran (Dead Sea) Community around 100 B.C.E)

Jane

Well, the holidays have come and gone, filled with presents and joy, and little devils called roast beef, spaghetti with meatballs, roast turkey and stuffing, cheese straws, Christmas cookies, shrimp pate, and, in my case, birthday cake.  I managed to avoid it all, with only one slip:   a bite of my birthday cake provided by my mother-in-law.  It was delicious, chocolate cake with chocolate icing and chocolate shavings on top. 

 Funny though, after the last bite, I realized it wasn’t sweets that I was craving.  I long for roast chicken with kale and rice and beans.  What a strange, new world this is.

Despite the holidays, my group still met and this past week we talked about stress, since the holidays were at everyone’s throat.  I learned the importance of separating my stress factors into three categories:  1) things you cannot do anything about 2) small things you can do something about  and 3) big things you can do something about.  Once you’ve separated them out, you have to let go of the stress caused by item #1, since there is nothing you can do about it.   So just blow them away with the wind, they are completely out of your hands.

For items under category #2, make a list of the things you can take care of quickly and work your way down the list, getting rid of the little things that are nagging you.  Don’t let them pile up.  Then, plan the attack for #3.  Make an action plan to get rid of those stressors.  Think about what the roadblocks are to getting rid of those stressors, and then move around those roadblocks.  Write it all down.  Then start checking off the steps you’re able to take.

It’s a very practical approach to stress, and I like it.  Wish I’d known about it before, especially since the alternative in my case, has always been stress eating.  The other thing I am supposed to do is is become more conscious/mindful  of when I have the urge to reach for food and analyze what is making me do it.  Is it because I am hungry or stressed or bored?  One more list for me – of alternatives for satisfying those urges.  So, when I get a powerful urge to reach for a Snickers bar, I could, instead, take a walk, breathe deeply, meditate, do a crossword puzzle, call a friend, or pedal away under my desk.   The “3 A’s of Stress Management” are worth remembering:  avoid,alter, and/or adapt.   So, for me, that means not taking on too many new commitments, altering some of the situations I can’t avoid and basically slowing down. 

My mother knew how to do this last one well.  I remember crying about some situation in high school that made me feel my world had ended (can’t even remember what the situation was), and my mother said, “Does this really matter in the big scheme of things?”   She really knew best. 

50 pounds and counting!

Happy Holidays from all of us at Oops50!

Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, our best wishes for
an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress,
non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday,
practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion
of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the
religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice
not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

We also would like to wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2010, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. 

Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere.  Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

To Our Conservative Friends:

 Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah and a Happy New Year!

Jane

This week we talked about setting goals – SMART goals – specific, measurable, attainable, realistic, and tied to a deadline.  It’s important to set a specific goal we can reach, within a specified time frame, such as “I want to start going to Pilates class on a regular basis.”  So my goal for this next week is to:  a) find a class I can attend that works within my schedule; b) sign up with the instructor; and c) attend the first class.  Specific.  Measurable. Attainable.  Realistic.  …And, within a time frame! 

For some of you,  this system might be obvious,  but until now, I was oblivious.  Now, to tie this into weight loss, I see how I have always set unrealistic goals that set me up for failure.  I was just not  specific enough (i.e. “I plan to start exercising this year.”)

My program emphasized the danger of setting unrealistic goals, such as hoping to lose all the weight I have put on over the past 20 years in one month. Or I might have the wrong goals, such as losing weight for my class reunion or a summer beach trip.  Those goals are bound to end up kicking me in the rear because goals should be “long-term personal wellness” rather than weight loss.  I no longer have the goal of “losing 30 pounds by Christmas,” since it’s too short-term to have a lasting effect. Instead, I’m creating the goal of establishing an exercise routine by Christmas that will work for the rest of my life.

The other point that was raised by a fellow traveler in the class was that PEOPLE ARE NOT THIN BY ACCIDENT!  That’s sometimes hard to remember or even believe. When I think about the the thin people I know, a light bulb goes off!  My friend Patricia eats healthy food all the time. Her standard lunch is salmon, celery, and carrots, with a little bit of dressing, usually lemon juice. My friend Tracy always leaves part of her meal on her plate. That used to drive me crazy. Now I’m starting to get it!  My tiny little sister always splits a meal when she eats out with her husband or daughter. DUH!!!

And finally, it’s important to remember that some thin people are not always healthy (they’ve been living off Weight Watchers fudgecicles for a month, as I did during one period of my life!).  It’s important to remember the 3 areas of health: metabolic, mental, and physical—and not neglect any one of them.

It’s an exciting and difficult challenge to change your entire life.  And it doesn’t happen overnight.  It’s a matter of setting small SMART goals and then chugging along, clicking them off, with good, healthy rewards for each success!  A day at the spa, anyone?

After being snowed in for the last three days, and reading that Tiger Woods was voted Athlete of the Decade, my brain got to thinking. And, let me just say right off the bat, I do not care about Tiger’s fall from grace or the secret sex lives of the rich and famous.  They are abundant and do not surprise – think Bill Clinton, Governor Mark Sanford, Former Governor Elliot Spitzer, David Letterman, etc. 

However, what I find fascinating in this story is how much money he has allegedly been spending every month on approximatley 16 mistresses to keep their traps shut: $20,000 to $240,000 a year!  So here is what I’d like to say to Tiger Woods: “Cheating is not cheap.  And here are some other ways to spend your money!”
1. For a little as $10/month with www.savethechildren.org you can provide help for millions of children worldwide with emergency food and safe places to play in times of crisis.  Or what about $100 worth of brand-new books to stock a library?  And, by the way, did you know that 1 in 6 children in the U.S. lives in poverty?
2. Tiger, if you didn’t pay those mistresses for one year, you could help almost 1000 families in Afghanistan. 

In fact, for only $58,500, you could provide tents for 300 families, or for $39,000 you could provide firewood for 300 families this winter.  I’ve provided the website, Tiger, for your convenience.  www.afghanwomensmission.org/help_us/donate.php
3. In case you want more options, The United Nations World Food Program http://wfp.org/1billion will help you out.

Just $5 provides supplementary food for a baby for one full year, while just $50 provides a meal every day for a school child for one full year, and $170 feeds a person for one full year.

So Tiger, every time you cheat on your wife and have to pay a mistress to shut up, would you mind at least matching those funds with donations to needy children or families?  It won’t change the facts but at least you will be doing some good.

I like to make cookies to give to family and friends around this time of the year.   They must be easy, delicious, and wildly appreciated as well!  So here is probably my favorite cookie recipe that comes from my husband’s hometown of Basel, Switzerland.  There are so many different recipes for the “Basler Brunsli’s,” but this one is the one I like because it is so simple to make, and everyone just loves to get it, including those people who cannot eat gluten. 

There is a bakery in Basel that sells them the whole year, and when I lived there, I would often pop into the shop during the dreary months of February and get a small bag. 

One thing that thrilled me and I found so special about the Swiss is that no matter how much or how little one buys, they will always ask if you want it gift wrapped, and they will do it so beautifully for you.   

A Christmas Market in Switzerland

The translation of “Brunsli” is “little brownie”, but really this cookie tastes nothing like your typical American brownie…it is made with ground almonds (which, if you are lucky, can be bought in bulk at your local grocery store, or online  at Bob’s Mill (www.bobsredmill.com) ), or you can just grind your own almonds.  Oh, and make sure that you put lots of good wishes and love into them when you make them…I always like to say, “Anyone who eats these will have a good life feel loved!”, or something like that.  It can’t hurt, and I do believe those wishes get transmitted through the cookies to those that eat them.  Happy Holidays!

SADHVI’S FAVORITE “BASLER BRUNSLI” RECIPE 

1 cup (225 g) finely ground almonds (with the shell)

1 cup (225 g) powdered sugar 

3.5 T. (50 g) unsweetened Dutch-processed cocoa powder

2 vanilla beans 

2 egg whites 

1 pinch salt 

2 T. Kirsch 

1. Put the ground almonds in a big bowl.

2. Get a big sieve and measure out the powdered sugar & cocoa and press it through the sieve with a spoon into the bowl w/the ground almonds, or use a sifter, if you have one!

&

mix it with a wooden spoon.

 3. Split the vanilla beans and put the seeds into the big bowl w/ everything.

(You can substitute some good quality vanilla extract or a pack of vanilla sugar as well) 

4. Put the egg whites with the pinch of salt in a little mixing bowl….whip up so it is starting to get foamy, but not stiff! 

5. Add the Kirsch to the egg white mixture, and then add it to the almond mix. Quickly make a dough, imagining that everyone who eats one of these will have a wonderful life.

 6. Put the whole bowl in the refrigerator, covered, for an hour or so.

7. Roll out dough, kind of thick (½ inch) and make into shapes and forms.

My favorite is heart-shaped, and this is the traditional way. 

8. Place onto baking sheet lined with parchment paper

8. Let them sit over night at room temperature, to dry out, covered, with a dish drying towel.

9. Preheat oven to 480 F on the next day and bake for 4-5 min.

That’s it.  Enjoy!

Happy Holidays!!!

Annice

I must confess:  I’m a little pathetic.  The only time I listen to “my music” is when I’m in the car, or on the treadmill listening to my Ipod.  It seems that the husband has not only commandeered the t.v. with “his” remote but has also confiscated the entire sound system that plays music in our house.  Before marriage, I had a very simple stereo and was always listening to music – Joni Mitchell, Aretha Franklin, Jefferson Airplane, Ricki Lee Jones, Edith Piaf, and opera.  Yes, I love opera.    After marriage, something happened, and that something rendered music inoperable for me, due to the husband’s state-of-the-art home audio system.  Yes – it’s a system attached to the t.v. and the radio, with a top-loading DVD/CD player, surround-sound processor with AM/FM tuner, center channel amplifier, satellite speakers, dual subwoofer in bandpass enclosures…need I say more?

It seems that listening to “my music” has never been so friggin’ complicated before.  It’s true that I enjoy the husband’s music choices at times, especially when he plays the Beatles or Bob Dylan, but sometimes, just sometimes, I want to hear what I want to hear and I want to hear it so loud it’s vibrating all over the house.

 As I write this blog, it makes me think about my mom.  As kids, we never let her listen to her music either.  At home, we always played our music;  in the car, we played our music.  We controlled all the sound in our house.  Poor mom.  The only time I remember her listening to her music was when we got home from school and found her listening to Mario Lanza or opera. 

She loved opera, and guess what?  I made fun of it back then.  So, on this anniversary of my mom’s death, I’m playing some of her music, and believe me, it wasn’t easy getting the system to work.  For her, I figured it out.  So, I hope she’s enjoying “La Boheme” (I’m listening to it now).  If I owned a Mario Lanza cd, I would be playing that for her, but somehow I know she’s enjoying Luciano Pavarotti.

I did this without thinking I had gone insane, knowing that more than likely I would be sending all but one back.  When the mail lady came and dropped off the package, I got excited just at the thought that I had finally found THE bra that is supportive, comfortable, and makes me feel good in my clothes.  Well, all of them were uncomfortable.  The lace on those French bras was scratchy as hell…damn!  The one that Oprah recommended made me feel like a walrus (there are many that she recommends, so I have not given up yet!).  The Minimizer that guaranteed I would look one whole cup smaller made my breasts feel as if they were being squeezed by a vice.  I learned 3 big lessons here: 1) I am not going to order any more bras online (unless it has the free shipping and free return policy like www.zappos.com (which is my favorite shoe store),  2) I won’t be fooled into thinking that I, too, could look just like those sexy girls if I wore one of those bras; and 3) even if Oprah likes a bra, it doesn’t mean that it’s the perfect bra for me!

I am determined to find a comfortable bra, and I will.  I’ll continue to ask friends what their favorite non-underwire bra is, and I may spend time trying them on in department stores to find it.  Have YOU found a bra that you like enough to recommend!  Could you let me know?

Jane

Our focus this week was on activity–and not just exercise but all kinds of activity.  The instructor talked about how important it is to move as much as we can, every day.  The lesson was filled with such interesting facts as “…riding in an elevator is only slightly more vigorous than reading.”  The important thing to remember is that any kind of activity you can add to your day makes a difference.   The pyramid below shows how your activity should break down into, from top to bottom, Sedentary Activity, Exercise and Non-Exercise Activity.  That bottom one is the shocker, since it’s the biggest part of the pyramid! 

So, walk down the hall to talk to someone, instead of sending an e-mail.  Sit up, or even better, run in place, while watching tv (at least on commercials).  Never use drive-up windows (park and walk inside).  Best of all, wear a pedometer and aim for 10,000 steps minimum each day (preferably 12,000 to 15,000).  In my case, I need to walk upstairs to wake up my kids in the morning, instead of standing at the bottom, frustrated because they can’t hear me yelling!  I’m also thinking I should get back to dancing to music, no matter how much that embarasses my teenagers! 

When I heard that the latest Coen Brothers movie, “A Serious Man,” was playing, I knew I would have to see it.  While my husband has thousands of DVD’s in his collection and watches great movies all the time, I like to be picky about what I see, and I like to go to my favorite theatre downtown to see them on the big screen.  Ever since their first film, “Raising Arizona” (1987), I have been intrigued and hooked by the Coen Brothers’ films.  I have seen most of them, and even though I can’t say that I have “loved” all of them, I can say that I have enjoyed all of them. Here’s a link to the trailer for you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcUTv3LH3ss

I heard that “A Serious Man” was a comedy.  Hmmm, I wondered, what sort of comedy might it be?  Well, there was a lot of laughter going on around me in the full theatre, but I do not remember laughing once during the entire movie, so that classifies it right there as a “very dark comedy”.  Or really not a comedy at all!  I was very glad when it was over, but I would definitely recommend it.  I don’t want to give too much of it away, but the Coen Brothers have such a talent for making movies that I found my mind going back to different cuts, the choice of actors, the music, etc., and marveling at their choices, almost as if they were something delicious and savory.  Will it be your favorite film of the year?  No, I doubt it.  But it might be one that you ultimately enjoy very much, as I did.

Annice

 There I was in NYC, the week-end before Thanksgiving, getting ready for the wedding – her first, at 53 – of one of my oldest and best friends.  Esther had never wanted to get married before, and, believe me, it’s not because no one ever asked her, but she finally met a man who changed her mind.  And what a wedding it was, on top of the Gramercy Park Hotel, overlooking NYC night life! 

I’ve known Esther since grad school, where we were both working on a Masters in French Literature.  That makes us friends for 33 years.   (Esther, by the way, has agreed to blog about getting married as soon as she gets back from her honeymoon in Japan.  So stay tuned for her story!) 

I unpacked my suitcase and almost panicked when I realized that I had left my magnifying mirror at home – quelle horreur.  I cannot put my makeup on any more without a magnifying mirror. Reading glasses don’t help because they obstruct the eyes.   Without that mirror, I cannot properly cover up the dark circles under my eyes, which are not from lack of sleep or poor adrenal glands but, regrettably, passed down to me by my mother and her Italian ancestry.  Luckily, I have the perfect dark-circle cover-up, thanks to my niece who took me to Sephora in Cleveland on one of my visits.  The salesman, perfectly made up and coiffed, assured me he had the solution, Amazing Concealer in tan.  Indeed he had, but if you don’t blend it just right, it becomes thick, like stage make-up.  Then, there is the blush, and without that mirror, I could end up looking like a clown with too-rosy cheeks, not to mention the lipstick that could wind up above my upper lip, and my ever-so-thin eyeliner (for fancy occasions) which could look as if railroad tracks covered my lids.  I knew I had to try to find a magnifying mirror in NYC several hours before a Saturday night wedding! Needless to say, I freaked out.  I started imagining myself in the wedding photos, with poor Esther having to explain to her friends that before I moved to the mountains, my make-up was impeccable. 

Panicked, I called downstairs to the front desk of the hotel and asked if they knew where I could find a magnifying mirror.  The desk clerk laughed, “Oh, there is one right behind the large mirror over the bathroom sink.  Just pull it out, it’s attached to the wall.”

 I love New York!

Ok, it’s Thanksgving week, and lots of people have asked my husband, the Chestnut Roaster of Asheville, for a good stuffing recipe using chestnuts.

Well, here’s one that I like.   It’s easy, as all stuffing recipes are, really, and it is very tasty.

Chestnut & Bacon Stuffing

• ¼ pound Bacon, chopped
• 3 Celery Stalks, finely chopped
• 1 Onion, finely chopped
• 1 ¼ cup cooked & peeled Chestnuts, coarsely chopped
• 4 cups fresh Breadcrumbs
• The juice and finely grated zest of 1 Lemon
• The juice and finely grated zest of 1 Orange
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1 T. chopped fresh Sage
• salt and pepper to taste

1.  Fry the bacon until browned.  Add the celery & onion, and fry for around 5 minutes more, stirring occasionally.

2.  In a large bowl, combine all ingredients, along with the cooked bacon, celery & onion mixture, and combine thoroughly.

3.  Pack the stuffing loosely in the neck and body cavity of the bird.

(Or, alternatively, preheat oven to 325F and bake stuffing in a greased and covered casserole dish for around 30 min.)

If you do bake this stuffing on its own, serve with gravy because the flavors blend nicely and will temper the sharpness of the citrus.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Jane

I realized today that I am halfway through the liquid portion of this program, so I’m feeling pretty amazed and proud of myself.  I made my first goal of 10% of my initial weight, so now I start working on the second 10%.  (The program guarantees that you’ll lose at least 20% of your initial weight during the 12 weeks of liquid, or “active weight loss.”  What you do after that depends on how well you stick to the “transition” program.) 

Our topic this past week was “Appropriate and Inappropriate Eating.”  We learned the 5 P’s of Appropriate Eating, i.e. Planned, Portion Controlled, Proportionate, Proper Place and Peaceful (apparently they’re not English majors concerned about parallel structure!).  A critical thing in being a successful “weight manager” is always to plan out, ahead of time, what, where and how you’re going to eat.  So, instead of going out to dinner and deciding to eat whatever happens to strike your fancy, in whatever portion happens to come on the plate, you would decide that you are going to make sure you get the different food groups, in the portions you need.  If the plate has huge portions, you will immediately ask for a doggy bag, reduce your servings to the size that fit your caloric needs, and take the abundance home with you for another meal–or, if all else fails, send food back to the kitchen.   

This all makes so much sense to me that I find it startling that I’ve gone through so much of my life being an unaware, almost unconscious eater.  I’ve been led by my eyes, nose, even my imagination, to overeat, over and over again–simply because my plate had too much food on it–or the wrong kind of food–never realizing that I could be in so much better control of what goes onto my fork and into my mouth.  I have confused planning and thoughtful eating with being a “picky” or “overly fussy” eater. 

That touches on the first 3 P’s, but I’d like to talk also about the last two:  Proper Place and Peaceful.  Proper Place means you don’t eat in front of the tv set or, worst of all, standing up in the kitchen, ”grazing,” or at your desk, in front of your computer.  You are supposed to make rules about where you eat, preferably one specified place, and then stick to those rules.  I get pangs of guilt when I think of the meals my children have eaten in the car on the way to a soccer game, band concert, whatever.  The final one, “peaceful,” is one that also comes hard to me at times.  Meals in our house are often rushed, with people wolfing down food before running out the door.   An important quote from this week’s material:  “it takes about 20 minutes for your brain to get the message you have eaten and turn off your food seeking drive.”  You are supposed to sit and enjoy your food, savoring each bite.  It’s hard, but I’m working on it!   They have an exercise for this one:  make yourself put down your fork in between bites!  Try it!  It’s hard!

It’s no surprise, given all of this, that the Five G’s of Inappropriate Eating are Grazing (eating all day, whenever you walk by food), Grabbing and Going, Gulping, Gorging, and Goodies.   They’re pretty self-evident!

The last part of the class was identifying our own eating styles:  emotional eaters, social eaters, restrained eaters (who always think about limiting their food, so they tend to swing back and forth between overeating and limiting themselves), and, my type, unskilled eaters, i.e. eaters who eat too fast, who nibble while cooking and cleaning up, who always go back for seconds and take oversized portions, and (less true for me) who eat in inappropriate places.  The main clues that this is my type were these two descriptive statements: “I tend to clear my entire plate, even when I’m full” and “When eating with others, I’m the first to finish my meal.”  I can tell you that these are hard, hard habits to break.  I”m always the fastest eater at the table, and when I don’t clear my plate, I worry about being wasteful.  That’s why I love the doggy bag trick!  It’s going to take some re-training to get me to change, but I have hope that being conscious is one of the first steps toward improvement.

The more I hear and learn, the more I realize that it all boils down to being more conscious, more responsible for our own actions.  Isn’t it funny how so much in life seems to boil down to that same thing?  Onward and upward! Wish me luck with Thanksgiving dinner!  My plan is to allow myself two servings of soup that day and serve it in a fancy dish!

For my 60th birthday, my husband decided to gift me with a new laptop.  Now, keep in mind that I have a lovely laptop that he gave me 3 years ago (with no consultation) that weighs 18 POUNDS–which may not sound like much but is too heavy for me to lug around because of my knee problems.  I have often complained about its weight and even left it behind when I would have liked to have it with me–but he has been happy to use it.  Anyway, guess what my husband got me this time!:  ANOTHER 18 POUNDER!  I asked him to return it for one that I could carry more easily, but, instead, he kept it for himself BECAUSE, in fact, his is not working right, so HE GOT IT FOR HIMSELF and got mad at me for complaining, with the old “I can never do anything right.”  I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but last Christmas, he got me a camera that I didn’t really want or need and said “well, if you don’t like it, I”ll use it.”  Any suggestions?

Heated in Hillsborough

Dear Heated,

My one suggestion to you is, don’t worry, you just figure out exactly what you want for your birthday–what you would have liked to have received–and give it to him for his birthday! That way, you’re both happy!

Johanna

Farmer John lived on a quiet rural highway, but as the years went by, traffic
slowly built up to an alarming rate.
The traffic was so heavy and so fast that his
chickens were being run over at a rate of three to six a day.
Farmer John called the sheriff’s office and said,

“You’ve got to do something about all
of these people driving so fast and killing all of my chickens!”

Shortly, a sign was put up that said:

SLOW: SCHOOL CROSSING

Three days later Farmer John called the sheriff
and said, “The sign seems to make them go even faster.”

A new sign was put up the next day that said:

SLOW: CHILDREN AT PLAY

Farmer John called again and said, “Your signs are doing no good!  Can I put up my own sign?”
The sheriff told him, “Sure thing, put up your own sign.”
The sheriff got no more calls from Farmer John.
Three weeks later, curiosity got the best of the Sheriff and he decided to give Farmer John a call.
“Did you put up your sign?”
“Oh, I sure did.  And not one chicken has been killed since then.”

The sign read:

NUDIST COLONY
Go slow and watch out for chicks!

Sadhvi’s Swiss Chestnut Soup!

What you will need: 

A pressure cooker, or pan with a tight fitting lid

A pound or so of peeled roasted chestnuts

Some oil, ghee or butter

An onion, chopped

Some water and some white wine

Some salt

What you do with these things:

 Sauté & brown the onion in the bottom of the pan or pressure cooker

(which I like to use)

Splash with white wine or water.

Add quartered chestnuts. Stir.

Cook with lid tight. Bring to boil.

(if you use a pressure cooker, you know what to do!)

Cool it down and puree with hand blender.

Add a bit of cream or half and half, without any growth hormones, of course!.

Add homemade croutons and some grated Swiss cheese.

Open a bottle of nice red wine.

Serve with good salami, salad, some nice music.

Seriously, you will feel soooo good after this simple meal…try it!

Jane

I’m not writing about weight loss this week because, even though our upcoming holiday happens to be the one day of the year devoted almost entirely to food, I want to take just a minute to ponder the “thanks” part of “thanksgiving.”  What I realized recently is, although I’m thankful for world peace and all, when it comes right down to it, I’m most grateful for those everyday things that shape my life–even mundane things, such as the fact that I’ve been able to stay on this weight loss program!

As to the big, important things that I’m most thankful for right now, I would put at the top of my list the fact that those of my friends who are suffering with terrible illness are feeling strong and positive and able to cope with things like chemotherapy and one more visit to the doctor’s office.

I’m also thankful that my husband and I are still slogging it out after 26 years and both willing to try to create something together that, while imperfect, is good and true.  (On a more mundane level,  I’m thankful that he is finally getting paid for the project he’s been working on for the past six months, so that money will, at least temporarily, stop being the focus of our lives – and we might even be able to afford Christmas!)

I’m thankful that my oldest daughter, who has had a hell of a two years, is, day by day, remembering her strong backbone, while not hardening her heart.  I’m thankful that my teenage son, who called me recently at 2 a.m. from the emergency room near his college, was not calling to tell me that the pericarditis which wrecked the end of his freshman year had come back – but only that he had a broken nose from a fist fight where he was – bless his little heart – defending a friend!  I’m thankful that my high school daughter – despite all pressures to the contrary – still talks to us like a fellow human being and still has her feet on the ground and her sense of humor.  I’m thankful that my youngest daughter didn’t break her knee-bone in volleyball but only the cartilage.  I’m thankful that I have a  wonderful therapist who will listen to me and guide me.  I’m thankful that I have 3 sisters, all totally different in personality, each of whom has a heart that extends love to me.

I’m thankful that the shoes our new puppy dog ate were ones that no one cared about.   The picture below is of Tater when he first came to our house.

I’m thankful that there have been the following people in my world over the past years:  great babysitters, good plumbers, tailors who were willing even to sew on buttons (no matter how ridiculous they thought that was), doctors who cared, carpenters, and teachers who put up with tardy children, over and over again.  I’m thankful, most of all, for the people in my life that love me – and that I love back – and not just the obvious people, such as my husband, Tom,  and our kids–and all my family–but also my wonderful friends, both ones nearby and the ones I never get to see but love to think about and have imaginary conversations with in my mind (featuring lots of laughter).

So, here’s to giving thanks on this Thanksgiving for the ordinary, wonderful things in front of our eyes.  Life is good!

 

Annice

Adele in Asheville, age 87

One of Adele’s favorite quotes – posted on her fridge: “Birth is not one act ; it is a process.  The aim of life is to be fully born, though its tragedy is that most of us die before we are thus born.  To live is to be born every minute.  Death occurs when birth stops.  Physiologically our cellular system is in a process of continual birth; psychologically, however, most of us cease to be born at a certain point.” Erich Fromm

If you recall from Part I, Adele arrived in Asheville in 1992, 70 years old. She loved New York, but something greater was pushing her to become totally independent.  Leaving family and friends, she knew it was time to cut the umbilical chord that had tied her to Brooklyn all those years.

Annice: So tell me, how did you stumble upon Asheville, NC?

Adele: I began reading books and investigating retirement communities in warm climates.  I knew one thing: I didn’t want to end up in Florida.  I visited Chapel Hill and their Jewish community, even interviewed the rabbi, but it didn’t appeal to me.  I looked at Durham, too, but as soon as I spotted a group of garden club ladies in high heels, I knew that wasn’t for me.  I was about to go home, when I remembered that one of my sons had mentioned Asheville.  Even though I was 4 hours away and didn’t like to drive long distances, I said, what the hell, I’m so close, let me rent a car, and drive to Asheville.  It wasn’t until I stopped at a Huddle House for pecan waffles along Rt. 40 that I suddenly realized I was driving up mountains.  That, alone, was a defining experience for me.

Annice: So did you find a house right away?

Adele: I spent 4 days in Asheville using a real estate agent from the Yellow Pages that proved to be disappointing.  There was something about Asheville that made me want to come back.  I wrote to the Asheville Chamber of Commerce, and a few days later I got a call from a real estate agent.  I returned to Asheville, and as soon as I met the agent and his wife, they insisted I leave my hotel and move into a cottage over their garage.  My new friends took excellent care of me and found me the perfect condo.  It wasn’t finished yet, but I put money down anyway.

Annice: That was fast.  So you moved to Asehville 17 years ago?

Adele: Yes, May of 1992, I took the next step of my journey, and I had no qualms about it.  Remember my quote on the fridge, it’s like a re-birth and I was ready.  And you know what?  I recognized it was going to be the last step of my journey.  I felt a little like a college kid who moves away from home for the first time, not knowing what to expect but determined to make it on her own.

Annice: So how did you make friends?  You seem to have so many.

Adele: I knew I wanted to get involved in the Jewish community.  There are two synagogues in Asheville, so I auditioned both rabbis.  I started with the conservative synagogue and stayed 9 years.  Then I decided the reformed synagogue was better for me.  As a result, I made many friends in the Jewish community.

Annice:  What about friends outside the Jewish community?

Adele: Of course, that too.  I made friends with my condo neighbors.  Many were like me, transplants from other areas.  The first thing I did when I got my patio furniture was invite all my neighbors for cheese and wine.   That was the beginning of making this block a family.  I started the invitations back and forth, and soon they became birthday parties, holiday parties and any excuse to get together.

Annice: It seems like yoga is a big part of your life, and you have many yogi friends.  When did you develop an interest in yoga?

Adele: I had done some yoga in NY, but believe me, it was nothing like what I’m doing now with the Iyengar yoga and Cindy Dollar, my teacher and dearest friend.  Let me say that in NY, I always exercised.  I was going to Jack LaLaine every day after school: that’s what all the teachers did back then.   And, don’t forget, in NY, people walk a lot.

Annice: So why is yoga so important to you?  What do you get from it?

Adele: From a physical point of view, it makes me more limber, gives me better balance.  It seems like I’m more flexible now than I ever was.  But, it goes beyond that.  I’ve learned to focus and understand life better.  I’ve learned that all the monkey stuff is not important.  I also like the people whom I’ve met in yoga class.  I find there is a softness and kindness about them, and they have a depth of understanding and realization that everyone is important.  And now, I’m doing private sessions with Cindy:  3 half-hours a week.  It’s intense, and I love it.  My teacher and I have an agreement that when I’m 100, all my classes will be free – 7 days a week.  Isn’t that great?

Annice: Can you tell us why you wanted to have a Bat Mitzvah at age 84?  I mean, traditionally, girls have it at age 13.

Adele: Well, you know, a Bat Mitzvah is like a Jewish coming of age ceremony where the child reads from the Torah.  I wanted to do that.   In my day, girls didn’t have a Bat Mitzvah – only boys.  In 1994, I participated in a communal Bat Mitzvah with nine other adult women and two men, and somehow, I didn’t feel satisfied.  I continued to study Hebrew and the liturgy and finally had my own Bat Mitzvah in 2007.

Annice: So what did it all mean to you?

Adele: I’m not sure I even discovered the real meaning yet, but it will come to me.  I can tell you this:  I studied hard and planned my event for a whole year.  It was a huge achievement for me.  I have to confess, I made it bigger than it had to be, and it caused a lot of stress.  I worked on the centerpieces, made the invitations (of course friends helped), planned the menu with the caterer, and arranged for guests to bring canned goods for Manna Food Bank instead of gifts.  Maybe I overdid it, but that’s my character.  And, to top it off, I broke my wrist 3 weeks before my Bat Mitzvah.  I tripped over my dog, Missy, who was almost 15 years old and blind.  I didn’t know she was so close to me and to avoid stepping on her, I fell.  I should have put her down earlier, but I was greedy, and didn’t want to lose her.  It was very stressful time.  But in the end, it was worth it.

Annice: I remember running into you one night on your evening walk, and when I asked you what you were going to do now that your Bat Mitzvah was over, you said, “Take piano lessons.”  How is that going?

Adele: Well, to tell you the truth, it wasn’t easy finding a teacher at my age.  What’s the point for them?  As a child during the depression, I was very lucky because someone in my family paid $1 a week for lessons.  I suspect it was one of my uncles.  We all lived together in those days, my parents, siblings, grandparents, and three uncles- 11 total in our apartment.  My uncle treated me very well.  He encouraged me to play piano, and he used to take me to eat Chinese food for 25 cents.

Annice: Tell me about your days, how do you spend them?

Adele: You want my schedule?  It looks like this:

Monday: I play Bridge.  I learned in NY.  Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays: I do yoga.   Thursday:  Piano.  Friday nights: I go to the Synagogue.  Saturdays and Sundays: Garden, theater, movies, opera.  And I volunteer.

Annice: So what’s next?

Adele: (laughing).  The next stage?  The End, I guess.  I’ve already made plans for that.  It’s all written out:  who will sell my condo, my furniture, my funeral arrangements.  I tried to cover as many things as possible, so my boys won’t have much to do.  Even my memorial is planned, with some money for a party.  I try not to think about what if’s.  Thinking too far ahead isn’t good.  I enjoy what I can do, like playing the piano, and most of the time, I am right there – living in the present.  For the things I can’t do anymore, I find substitutes.  For example, I can’t travel like I used to, it’s too difficult.  But, I can still take walks, I can do yoga, I can eat properly, and be with people I enjoy.  I basically live each day as best I can.  In the end, we’re like a machine.  No matter how much we take care of ourselves, we break down.  I live in a time when life is being prolonged.  I used to talk about never seeing 2000, now it’s 2009.  What more can I ask?  I’m constantly adjusting my life, just like I adjust my body in yoga.  That was an important lesson for me.

These three old ladies and their dogs were sitting on a park bench having a quiet conversation when a flasher approached from across the park.

The flasher came up to the ladies, stood right in front of them and opened his trench coat.

Gertrude immediately had a stroke.

Then Maude also had a stroke.

But Tillie, being older and more feeble, couldn’t reach that far.

Jane

I’ve been hanging back, avoiding writing,  because I was afraid that people might be getting bored with my progress, so I was completely encouraged again by the wonderful comments after my last posting.  Thank you, all of you!  I really appreciate it.

So, here’s the deal:  I had my weigh-in last night, after four full weeks of liquids, and I’m down a total of 25 pounds!  How incredible is that?  And the time has flown by, with minor, occasional moments of total obsession over a piece of shrimp with a chili cream sauce.  I confess, I’ve decided that it’s better for me to have one bite of something that is driving me nuts than to sit and lust over it all night!  That’s worked well so far anyway.

 I highly recommend this program to anyone who needs a jump start back into a reasonable body, so that they can face the long, hard work of losing a significant number of pounds.  My total goal is 80 pounds, so I still have a long way to go, but I can already feel the difference.  I have energy.  I feel light on my feet.  (I can see my feet!)  Life is good. And, thrill of thrills, I got to add energy bars to my program this week–one a day!  You never tasted anything quite so good as a peanut butter protein bar after a long day of shakes.

Last night’s group discussion was about balance, which seems to be the theme for my life this year.  We were told to take a circle and think of it as a typical 24-hour day.  Then, we were to divide it into 2-hour sections and write in our typical daily activities, separated into 3 categories:  productivity (work, errands, volunteer work, housework, etc.), self-care (hygiene, pampering, spirtuality, reading, sleep, etc.) and relationships (family, spouse, kids, friends)–using a different color for each group. It was pretty shocking to me to see my wheel, which I have tried to recreate below.  Blue is my color for productivity; red is my color for self-care; and yellow is my color for relationships.  It depressed me to see how much time each day I’m spending on work and on ‘being productive’.  I felt ok about the hours I’m spending on “self-care,” especially since the majority of them are in sleeping, with a little exercise starting to creep in now.  But it did me in to see how little time I”m spending on the relationships that matter to me in my life.  There is hardly any yellow on the chart!  It really made me decide to try to step back, take notice, breathe, and change things.   I recommend trying out this chart for yourselves!  It’s amazing what you’ll learn.

Betty

The following cautionary report comes from my good friend Welthy Soni-Myers who lives in semi-retirement in Vermont with her husband and continues to travel the country working and the world visiting.  I always pay heed to her advice and wanted to share it with other women.

If you are like me, you have received emails from time to time talking about the symptoms women experience for heart problems as opposed to men.  They can be quite different and I am here to give a first hand testimonial as to how different they can be.

About two weeks ago, I was climbing a short but steep hill with a cousin and discovered I was out of breath halfway up the hill.  That was a huge surprise because I have climbed the hill often.  The next day, with my niece, I went for a walk up a long hill of moderate grade.  I found again that I was out of breath when no more than halfway up the hill, and I became aware of a slight discomfort between my shoulder blades.  I continued the walk but had to stop fairly often, and every time I felt out of breath, I also experienced this slight feeling of discomfort.  On a scale of 1-10, I would put the discomfort somewhere in the 2-3 range.  Thinking I was just terribly out of condition, I continued to go for walks every day and continued to have the shortness-of-breath sensation, with increasing discomfort in my back.  At no time was the pain sharp or crushing.

Finally, feeling somewhat foolish, I called my GP, described my symptoms and asked if I could come in for an evaluation.  The office worked me in right away and did an ECG as well as blood work.  The ECG looked normal to my doctor, although he did see what he described as rather routine abnormalities.  The blood work was also negative except for a slightly elevated D-dimer marker which could indicate a pulmonary embolism.  He sent me to the hospital the next day for a CT Scan of my chest, but that also was negative.  That was on a Saturday.

On Monday, I called his office and asked whether there was any other follow up needed, but the nurse said she didn’t think that further investigation was warranted.

The following day, in the course of a conversation about his recent trip to Italy, I mentioned my rather bland symptoms to my brother, an internist.  He said they could possibly be more serious than I thought, and the next day he serendipitously had a rather casual meeting with his cardiologist.  Upon hearing my symptoms, the cardiologist, an older DR. with 40+ years of practice and a Johns Hopkins pedigree, recommended I go immediately to the emergency room.  He said my symptoms were classic for ‘unstable angina.’  My brother immediately called me – at least five times, since I was running errands and getting a hair cut – and said that I was in an emergency situation and should get to the hospital asap.

Still, thinking this was a lot of ado about nothing, I told him we would go to the Dartmouth emergency room – mostly to ease his worries.  Thus, when I presented myself at the emergency room, I felt somewhat foolish.  Here I was, symptom-free with traditionally low blood pressure, cholesterol within normal range, feeling fine.  Luckily the emergency room personnel took me more seriously than I took myself, and I found myself staying overnight in the hospital and undergoing a cardiac catheterization the next morning, which led to a much longer stay on the operating table to put three stents into seriously clogged arteries – one that was 90% clogged.

This story has a happy ending.  I did not suffer a heart attack and therefore have no heart damage whatsoever.

This story also carries with it a warning.  Small changes in breathing, slight discomfort (not in the chest but in the back) may indeed mean something – especially for us gals – more than just being tired or feeling overworked.

I was extremely lucky to have a brother who just happened to talk to the right person at the right time and who then nagged me (mercilessly) about seeking additional help.  Most people probably wouldn’t be that lucky, so it is really important to stay tuned to even small changes in your body and if they seem to stick around, to push hard for the right amount of testing and a definitive diagnosis.  Even with a good doc like mine, it is critical to push hard for a thorough investigation of even small symptoms.

Heissi Marroni!

When we moved here from Switzerland, I set up our chestnut stand outside the local health food store.  In Switzerland, there was a very regular sort of exchange when someone came to buy chestnuts, and it was short, predictable, pleasant, singsong-ish & fun : “Greetings! What would you like?”  “I would like a medium bag, please.”  “It would be my pleasure.”  I would give out the chestnuts, the customer would pay, I would say thank you, and I would wish them a nice day.  The end.  So when my first customer came to the stand here in Asheville, her question of “How much fat is in them, and how many calories do they contain?” really threw me…I didn’t know what to say!  I mean, everyone in Switzerland knew what chestnuts were, no one cared how many grams of fat they had, and you either liked them or didn’t.  But when you smelled them in the air, you knew that Fall was here, and Winter was on its way!

I like using chestnuts in a lot of my recipes, from maroni crème, to soups, to stir frying them with rice and veggies, to layering them between flourless chocolate tortes.

So here is how to roast them in case you don’t have the chance to buy some from your local and handsome chestnut vendor roasting them just for you.

You already know that you have to buy them NOW.  Most grocers think that chestnuts are nuts, and they don’t refrigerate them.  Too bad because they are NOT nuts and they are perishable.  They need to be refrigerated right away, in the lowest part of the fridge.

Actually the best way to store them is to score them (a box cutter works fine), and then freeze them in a ziplock bag.  Now if you read Italian cookbooks or even beloved Julia Childs, they will tell you to score them on the flat side.  Wrong!  Score them on the rounded side.

Then simply follow these instructions and you will be be happy to make…

Roasted Chestnuts the Right Way!

• Preheat oven to highest temperature on bake
• Put baking sheet/cast iron pan in oven for 5 min. or so to get it hot
• Take chestnuts from freezer and place them on baking sheet one layer thick
• In about 5 minutes or so, use a wooden spoon (or your hands in an oven mitt) to stir, and cut back temperature to about 475
• Keep moving them around every 5 minutes until done, which might be around 25 min.  They are done when the chestnut is no longer glossy, but matte, and when you take your thumb nail and press into it and it gives a little (like a done boiled potato).
• Wait a few minutes until you can pick them up without burning your fingers. Open them like a snapdragon to get the outside shell off.  Store them in the fridge for a couple of days if you need to.  Enjoy!

My granddaughter is a teenager, who seems interested in nothing but her boyfriend.  She wants to go to college some day, but she doesn’t seem to see the connection between doing well in school and getting into college.  Her parents, my daughter and son-in-law, say not to worry, she’ll be fine, but I think she needs a kick in the pants!  What should I do?

Grimacing Grandmother in Georgia

Dear Grimacing,

I say you invite that girl over for tea, set her down, and give her a grandmotherly talk!  She may even listen to you, and she certainly won’t listen to her parents.  Of course they say she’ll be fine.  They’re worn out from the whole battle!  You could even resort to bribing her for good grades.  I’ve seen it work before.  And only a grandmother can get away with that!