I Want To Be Smoochy

“We’ll get you off that smack, oh yes we will.”

I know the science, I know the psychology and STILL carbs are an evil temptress.

“We’re givin’ up that smack, oh yes we are.”

We watched “Death to Smoochy” Saturday night. Loved it! Smoochy is good and pure and walks his walk. If he was a person who’d lost a lot of weight, he’d be the kind of maintainer I’d emulate.


And so I aspire to be Smoochy.

We celebrated Thanksgiving on Friday because Daughter #2 worked on Thursday. Daughter #1 and I cooked all the trimmings on Thursday and we packed it all up (along with a husband, boyfriend and stepsons) and headed down to Pittsburgh the next day.

I had a plan. I was going to: eat a lot of squash; have a little artichoke dip and 4 pita chips; measure out ¼ cup of cranberry-orange sauce; and load up on steamed green beans and asparagus. When I planned this out the day before, it made perfect sense.

Here’s what I ate: twice the alloted amount of artichoke dip; some – as in I can’t remember how many – pita chips; a few bites of mashed potatoes (no ordinary mashed potatoes…these suckers included full-fat sour cream and cream cheese); a few bites of stuffing (that I’d made with real butter AND chicken broth which disqualified my vegetarianism for a few seconds); fewer green beans and asparagus spears than I’d planned; 2 cups of squash; two bites of pumpkin pie; and one or two (OK, four, maybe five) GENEROUS bites of apple cake. It was all so damn good that I…and I hate to admit this…couldn’t help myself.

Couldn’t help myself. How sad is that after five years?

Deep breath. Even Smoochy’s emotions overwhelmed him and he almost used a gun to kill his nemesis.

What kept going through my head on the way home was, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” But I know that’s not true in my weight-loss journey. Once I had a day to digest (figuratively, not literally), I realized the T-day food destruction wasn’t as bad as my head made it out to be. The empty-calorie hangover only lasted a day. I’ve not been on the scale yet, and I probably won’t weigh in until Friday, but I’m pretty sure things will be fine. Right now, I just need some distance.

I’m not kicking myself or demeaning myself because I swayed from my plan. I just temporarily forgot my mantra while picking at the T-day food – “How will I feel five minutes after eating this?” – and I didn’t place that thought-out portion on my plate. I just sat at the table and yakked with my family and stuck my fork in this bowl and that bowl and got completely at ease in the moment, forgetting my plan.

But it turned out to be a gift, an eye-opening experience! I was reintroduced to the person I was before – the one who randomly ate whatever. She still lives inside me. She hasn’t visited in awhile, but she lives nearby. OK. I can deal with that. It’s always good to know where your enemy lives.

The best news is that I couldn’t WAIT to eat a smoothie Saturday morning and broccoli for breakfast on Sunday. Just one day and I missed my food routine. So did my body. I felt sluggish and overall yuck when I woke up Saturday. Even though I didn’t eat “that much,” my body said, “WTF?”

Carbs are my nemesis, no doubt. But I’ll continue to aspire to be own superhero. My own Smoochy.

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Me and my family of man:

My children:

And, of course, Claire:

My Thanksgiving

I’m not going to yammer on in this post about all the things I’m thankful for. Instead, I’m going to let Don Henley, Luca, and Claire do my talking for me.

First, Don Henley’s “My Thanksgiving.” It opened my eyes when it came out several years ago. Helped push me over the edge and lose weight for good. I listen to it when I forget my place in this world, forget what I’m thankful for. Below are some of the lyrics and the video. (For some reason, the video starts playing right away. You can stop it.)

Now the trouble with you and me, my friend
Is the trouble with this nation
Too many blessings, too little appreciation
And I know that kind of notion, well, it just ain't cool
So send me back to Sunday school
Because I'm tired of waiting for reason to arrive
It's too long we've been living
These unexamined lives

I've got great expectations
I've got family and friends
I've got satisfying work
I've got a back that bends
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving

Have you noticed that an angry man
Can only get so far
Until he reconciles the way he thinks things ought to be
With the way things are

Here in this fragmented world, I still believe
In learning how to give love, and how to receive it
And I would not be among those who abuse this privilege
Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge
And I don't mind saying that I still love it all
I wallowed in the springtime
Now I'm welcoming the fall

For every moment of joy
Every hour of fear
For every winding road that brought me here
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving
For everyone who helped me start
And for everything that broke my heart
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving

Watching a child’s life unfold and witness their personality emerge is one of the most precious gifts we get. Seeing the world through Claire’s and Luca’s eyes is a sort of redemption because it teaches me that I, too, was once innocent and full of wonder. They soften my edges and ease my remorse and regrets.

This is Luca. He’s only six months, but he’s already pulling himself to standing. He thinks this is hilarious, apparently, as you’ll see in this video. I hope his laughter brings you joy, too.



This is Claire playing recently at my house. You’ll hear her say, “Hey Mum!” when she’s standing on the top of the cellar door.



I am ever so grateful to all of you for reading my blog and for inspiring me with your thoughts, experiences, and stories (and recipes!). I’ll be in back on the blog on Sunday. Until then, I wish you all a happy and peaceful Thanksgiving.

Collarbones and Veins. Weight and Marriage. It’s All About Perception.

Grandbaby Claire was here last week for an overnight. Just before bed, we snuggled on the couch, ate a dish of ice cream, and talked about our day.

“Jake is happy, Mum,” she said, referring to our Golden Retriever panting next to her, hoping to lick the ice cream bowl. She calls me “mum,” I suspect, because that’s what my daughters call me. Every day she’s more aware of the world and people around her.

Wrapped in her blanket with her head resting against my arm, Claire rubbed her fingers along the veins in my hands. Then she climbed on my lap and rolled her fingers over my collarbones. She was mesmerized by these protrusions. I didn’t stop her, even though I was embarrassed. After all, I did the same thing to my mother and grandmother, and they didn’t stop me.

When I lived in younger skin, and later an obese body, my veins and collarbones were hidden. I didn’t realize I had them or pay attention that they were there. Now that I’m older and have lost a few pounds, my veins protrude like a blue river under my pale skin and my collarbones are a tempting teething ring for grandbaby Luca.

My grandkids aren’t the only ones who notice. Several people have written to me over the last few years (a few more recently) and told me I’m too thin, otherwise my bones wouldn’t stick out like they do. Reading this, I feel exposed, and I almost (almost) feel like I should apologize for getting older or losing weight (that’s Old Me thinking, I know, but it’s still so strong). My genetics are what they are and I can’t change the way my body has evolved. So like I’ve done with excess skin and wrinkles, I can either learn to accept what is or appease the perceptions of other people and gain weight/apologize/live in aversion.

I choose to accept.

Public perception’s a bitch, and I’m as guilty as the next person of jumping to conclusions. For instance, I watched an interview with James Cameron tonight on “60 Minutes.” Morley Safer mentioned Cameron had been married five times. Five times? What a flake, right? Only losers get married that many times!

But wait. I’ve been married four times. Four. Times. One less than Cameron’s five. How does that make me, in the public eye, any different? Most people when they hear I’ve been married four times conclude I have commitment issues. While that is (was) part of the story, it’s by no means the entire truth. Knowing that about myself, I should also know there’s more truth behind Cameron’s five marriages, too. And yet I make snap conclusions.

Then there’s morbid obesity. When I was 300 pounds, how many people probably thought I was that way simply because I ate too much? Again, that’s part of the story, but hardly the entire truth. Yet when I see morbidly obese people, my first thought is they eat too much, too. Geez oh man. I don’t want that conclusion dumped on my plate and yet I dish it out to others! How perverted is that?

To fill people in on our entire truths 24/7 would be exhausting if not impossible. People are going to think what they will. But my terse conclusions of others is needs to change based mostly on my finally confessed fear of being misunderstood.

I’m a bony, middle-aged woman who formerly weighed 300 pounds and has been married four times. If that’s all you knew about me, what would you conclude?

I know what I’d think, and it’s narrow-minded and wrong. But I know that this jump-to-conclusions mindset is something I can change, unlike my collarbones and veins, fat history and four marriages. There’s always more to our stories and the entire truth is probably way more interesting than the story based on our initial conclusions.

Here’s to no more false perceptions! *clinkingglasses*

A New Tea Day and T-Day

As I wrote last March, I’m a tea freak (see Tea Time) and from that, learned many of you are, too. Thanks to Lori and Kimberly, I have both SensibiliTeas and Teavana in my Favorites file and will try both companies this winter as soon as I’m off my holiday high from Celestial Seasonings Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride and Candy Cane Lane.

While I normally wouldn’t buy more tea until the SCSR and CCL were gone, Joy Bauer mentioned on her Facebook page that her office had received a sample of Double Dark Chocolate Mate tea from The Republic of Tea. Chocolate tea? I had to check that out.

My order arrived yesterday and I made a pot this morning with which to experiment. Here’s my review:

By itself: Eh…it’s OK. Smells divine, though.

With stevia: Very good. The sweetener brought out the chocolate flavor.

With ½ cup plain soy milk and stevia: Very good, however I suspect it would be even better with vanilla soy.

With 2 T fat-free half-and-half and stevia: A little better than plain, but a little on the funky tasting side.

I’ll have another cup tomorrow with just stevia and see if it grows on me. Chocolate tea is different; not at all like my usual teas. Plus this one has caffeine – not much, but some. I didn’t feel any effect, though.

The Republic of Tea catalog lists 17 “Be Well Red Teas.” I know many tea companies blend teas for specific ailments or to enhance wellbeing, but I’ve never tried them. Have you? Do they work? I’m particularly curious about the blends that promise a “sensual nudge” (their words, not mine), a healthy heart, more energy, better skin and a good nights sleep. Let me know your experiences.

I roasted a pumpkin the other day just to test its consistency. I was also curious what it tasted like and discovered it’s MUCH better than canned. More alive, less bland. Mix it with a little butter and maple syrup…heaven.

I’ve also clipped several roasted pumpkin recipes and thought I’d use roasted pumpkin in place of canned in soup recipes. I also want to make our T-day pumpkin pies just as my grandmother Katinka would have made them 100 years ago. Actually, I don’t make the pie. My daughter Carlene does. That’s her domain. However, she’s baking with au naturale pumpkin because I’m the one paying for the ingredients. I told her she can blame me if her pies turn out like crap. That’s only fair.

I’m pretty sure Katinka didn’t pick up a can of pumpkin at the grocery store or buy a pre-made crust in a tube. She cooked the pumpkins herself , and probably grew them, too. I had the good fortune to learn from her and my mother how to make a pie crust, so hopefully I can pass that on to my daughter. We tried an unusual recipe last year that turned out very well, but for the life of me I can’t find now. So much for being organized. Guess I’ll rely on the old Betty Crocker cookbook this year.

Pies are as far as I’ve gotten in my Thanksgiving preparation – although I do have a free-range turkey on order that I can pick up on Monday. $2.49 a pound was too good a price to pass up. While I don’t eat turkey anymore, when I did I was always disappointed in the sodium-laden Butterballs and other store-bought frozen turkeys. I’d love to cook a wild turkey for the crew. I’d even eat a bit of that.

I’m sure our menu will include the usual: sweet potatoes, party potatoes, stuffing, orange cranberry sauce, crescent rolls, and black olives. Oh, and green bean casserole. Why, I’m not sure since no one really eats it. It’s a carb-laden feast, yes, but if I broke with tradition, my family would disown me. It’s once a year. I love to cook for them. So there you go.

As for me, I’ll probably eat some sweet potatoes and cranberries. Maybe a sliver of pie. I know if I eat the stuffing I’ll feel like crap because my body’s not used to it, so I’ll avoid that. My joy truly is making the meal. I also cherish our “table time” before the meal. Everyone goes around and talks and/or prays about what they’re thankful for. And they all know they can’t just say, “Thank you for everyone” and pass it to the next person. Nope. They know to come prepared. Carlene even warned her new boyfriend who will be joining us. No one escapes the spotlight, she told him. If you can’t handle it, you don’t belong in our family. //word

This food attitude is a complete reversal from last year. I’m not approaching the holiday with the same angst I wrote about in 2008 (see Because I Said So). Another year of maintenance, another year of learning, I guess. Life’s too short for me to be pissed that I can’t eat potatoes in mass quantities! LOL

I hope your holiday plans are free from the stress of wondering what you “should” and “shouldn’t” eat. Remember your reasons for wanting to lose or maintain your weight and let those be your guide. Be good to yourself and have a sliver of pie if you want. Don’t let it derail you and send your head into a major self-persecuting meltdown. You’re worth WAY more than that.

Lynn “The Refrigerator” Bering

I spent a lot of time in the kitchen last night. One thing I did was make a fabulous new recipe I found on Veggie Venture . I made it while g-baby Claire sat on the counter playing with spoons and whisks and plastic bowls. Who knew kitchen utensils could be such good babysitters?

This Curried Squash recipe (if you love curry) is to die for. (It was so good I had leftovers for breakfast this morning.) Also, while the squash roasted in the oven, I made a fabulous veggie soup using my first-ever homemade vegetable broth. I have to say, it’s better than any boxed, canned or cubed veggie broth I’ve ever bought. I’m not sure I can go back to the store-bought. Dammmit. Now I’m destined to make veggie broth every other week.

All this time in the kitchen meant frequent trips to the refrigerator, which started me thinking, “If you want to get to know someone, look at their refrigerator.” A refrigerator speaks volumes about who a person is and what’s important to them. Besides, if you want to know a little something about someone, looking at their fridge is way less intrusive than looking in their medicine cabinet.

My refrigerator tells the ongoing story of my life. There are photos all over it that I rotate every few weeks depending on if there’s been a birthday, holiday, get-together, or just random silliness.

Holding the photos in place are magnets from businesses I use and places I’ve been. Included in my collection is a magnet photo of Socks the Cat I bought at the Clinton Library in Little Rock; one from Chincoteague Island I bought when I was married to someone else; random magnets from Minnesota, New York and California; and a few from the Andy Warhol Museum. There’s one from the salon I go to and one from the vet’s office. Calendar magnets from our insurance company come in handy when I hang paintings by Claire because they’re big.

As for the inside of my refrigerator, it’s a fairly healthy testimony to how I eat. You’ll see the random frozen yogurt container, perhaps scoff at the sticks of butter, maybe wonder what I’m doing with so many types of jam (I’ll never give up the jam), and think, “She drinks boxed wine?” (yup, I do). But my refrigerator is a picture of health compared to six years ago when my fridge was stuffed with fat-laden leftovers and condiments as well as take-out I forgot were there.

I’m amazed by how many people are like the old me, who have no idea what’s in their refrigerator. These days, I have the contents of mine memorized, including most sell-by and use-by dates. This doesn’t make me a saint or anything. I just have a good memory and the desire to keep tabs on all the food I consume. If I slice a tomato, wrap up the unused part and put it in the crisper, I remember it’s there and create a sandwich or omelet around it before it goes bad. At least I usually do.

There’s always the occasional food that I open or have made and not liked much, but I’ve kept it anyway “just in case.” I know it’s there, but it gets pushed further and further to the back. By the time I throw it away, it has died a natural death and I feel less guilty for letting it go. (It’s a mind game, I know. But I have to tell myself that two tablespoons of peanut sauce or the year-old jar of barbecue sauce won’t feed the world.)

In many ways, my refrigerator is a lot like me. After many soul-searching years, the person I am now on the outside reflects who I am on the inside. My outside shows happiness as well as age (i.e. refrigerator has photos and magnets, and I have grey hair and wrinkles, but a big old smile). On the inside is maturity (i.e. the refrigerator contains no more double cheese pizzas, and I’ve quit, for the most part, the negative self-talk).

I’m no longer embarrassed by my “refrigerator.” Anyone who visits or attends my parties is welcome to take a look. Just don’t look in the medicine cabinet. That might be a little harder to explain.

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P.S. Apologies for reverting back to the other way of leaving messages. I keep forgetting to click on that super secret button when I post. This will most likely happen again, so bear with me.

Also, thank you for your responses to my recipe post. Lori, the Brussels sprouts recipe sounds challenging, only in that while shredding those little buggers I know I’ll shred my knuckles, but I’m going to give it a try. Blood adds no calories, right? Debby, my husband (your kindred spirit) gauges his veggie taste on how “British” they are, as in boiled just right or boiled to death. Lynn, thanks for the sprouts recipe! McLauren, LOVE cauliflower that way! And Pat, your okra story…so sad. I would sit in a chair for days if it meant I didn’t have to eat it. It’s like snot on a fork.