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Weight, weight, no go ahead.
Tomorrow begins another attempt at weight loss. Having gained many pounds after giving up one of my last remaining vices, cigars, it’s time to pay attention to what I put in my mouth again. I am probably at my all time high weight, I’m uncomfortable, sluggish, and fatigued. I’m sure diabetes is around the corner as well if I don’t make major changes now. I’m really learning to enjoy life now and it would be much more enjoyable if I could put on my socks without huffing and puffing.
I have been short-term successful on every diet and/or weigh loss program I have used. My mom took me to the doctor at age 14 or so and he gave me the egg and grapefruit diet as well as some nifty little capsules that pepped me up and reduced my appetite in a wondrous manner. I was 178 1/2 lbs. and returned to school for my eighth grade year at 149. It was a heady time and began the lifelong post diet illusion that I was “cured” of obesity and could now relax and enjoy life as a person with a normal metabolism and immunity against weight gain. I resumed eating foods almost exclusively from the fried family with a daily complement of Cocoa Krispies, my favorite breakfast and between meal snack.
From that point Weight Watchers, Diet Center, cabbage soup, low fat, low carb, no carb, exercise/no exercise, South Beach, Atkins, etc. I did all of them and researched the rest. My present belief is that simple carbohydrates spike my insulin and make me hungry. A mostly protein diet with a limited amount of low glycemic index carbs works the best and appeals to me as far as satiety and psychological well being are concerned. I know this but I can still eat an entire sleeve of Ritz crackers and a big glass of milk at one sitting as a snack.
So, wish me well. My resolve is strong at this point fueled by my disgust for my present condition. As we say in a popular 12 step program that I belong to, I’m not a bad person trying to be good, I’m a sick person trying to get well. And stay well.
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- Weight loss is good for the kidneys (scienceblog.com)
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Read and Comply
Here’s something to ponder: why are big and tall sizes more expensive? If you are buying a man’s suit there is a great difference between a 36 short and a 44 tall, a lot more material, thread, shipping charges, etc. but the price is the same. But just eat or grow your way into a 48 or above and you must pay a penalty for your size. I guess the other penalties, health complications, social disapproval, discomfort in Pee Wee Herman size public accomodations, I guess these weren’t enough. What, are they selling clothing by the pound now? That actually would be OK, fair for the most part, and die-hard polyester wearers would have a reason for their synthetic affinity.
And that brings to mind another question, these misguided young men who buy the portly pants so that they may wear the waist at their knees, they are paying more as well. From a prison tradition that signified your amoral availability, these men have made this fashion trend a statement that states unequivocally that…that.. hey what the blazes does that mean? That showing your butt has a literal as well as a symbolic meaning? That, yes, you would jump off a cliff if your friends did? That your heroes and role models are criminals that weren’t even good enough at THAT to stay out of jail?
And another thing, I have some new terms that I want to implement as a part of our daily discourse. Husband-at-the-time is no longer acceptable, this relationship will now be referred to as HATT, a shorter and less awkward name for this growing population segment and for every one of those there may be a WATT, the obvious counterpart to HATT. Baby daddy is BD, if you can find him, baby momma is BM, not to be confused with the biological function of the same letters. In some cases, you may have to clarify this.
I have more of these changes to update you on but I see on the approach a PAK’er which is pants around kneeser and he has a strange look in his eye.
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Illness takes another life
A mother I know lost her 20 something only child, a son, to an act of desperation, despair and unknowable unhappiness. A life of physical difficulties necessitated surgery after surgery to only maintain a status he wasn’t happy with in the first place. Prescriptions that were meant to alleviate his emotional suffering became an avenue of escape as they do for many of us.
Even though I did not know this young man, I am not a stranger to deep despair and depression. In fact, I have a prescription for the same drug this young man took right in my kitchen, on the baker’s rack with some other drugs prescribed to alleviate the damage that genetics and poor choices have done to my body and my psyche. I remember just a few years back when I first got sober that many weeks went by, I was busy with meetings, reading, and prayer, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t remember my last conscious thought of killing myself. I had prayed for an end to the obsessions that were plaguing my mind and God had delivered me from them. Some will say that the choice I made to become sober caused me to improve emotionally. To them I pose this question: why did I lack the power to make that choice in the previous years, since adolescence really, when I knew I had a problem. If you have read my other posts or know me, you know my answer.
Why did this mother have to lose her child to this illness? Why do some of us resist the urge to give up, and live to recover? I don’t know and don’t pretend to know. I can only be there to console and help another mother’s child to recover as I was helped. That’s all any of us can do, and that’s a lot. To the one who suffers, that’s everything.
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Meat Loaf Reflections
I just had a slap your momma quality meat loaf sandwich for dinner courtesy of my good and loyal American friend “Downtown” Teddy Brown. Teddy is a veteran of the Vietnam conflict although he says when the guns are real and the enemy is trying to kill you, that’s a ways beyond a conflict. That’s a war by anyone’s definition. Cream gravy or brown on your chicken fried steak, I’m thinking that’s a conflict, that’s one I’ve faced many times although cream is a foregone conclusion in my case even though I always waver as the choice is offered.
Anyway, I was talking about this wonderful meat loaf made by my friend, delivered warm from the oven to my home at dinnertime with homemade cream corn made from fresh ears of corn, and homemade pickled beets which I am going to sample although I have not eaten them in many years. I like a lot of things I didn’t used to like and I can’t really remember ever trying pickled beets, having decided I didn’t like them at a very early time in my life when I ate foods only from a very limited color pallette. Brown and white, mostly as I recall.
And this meat loaf, as I was saying had a tomatoe-y topping, almost a crust so good that ketchup would have been an insult to this fine mound of ground round. Sliced thick, a little mayo and a thin onion slice on a bread bed of multi grain goodness, bread so good that when you are making toast the house smells like a cake is baking in the oven, so good that when you say ” our daily bread” in your prayers you should be extra grateful is this is the bread you’re praying about. And if that bread is holding Teddy’s meat loaf say that prayer twice.
Anyway, I was inspired to tell this little story about Teddy because he delivered this wonderful meal to me as a token of his gratitude for a kindness I did for him which was a token of my gratitude for his friendship and the service he gave for his country and in so doing, for me. Gratitude is an action word and any time we have a chance to bless others as God and our friends have blessed us, well, as Teddy would say in that Georgia by golly way he has, “Man, that’s just cool.” And your friend might make you a meat loaf.
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