Today is my last day at my job. I tried to quit before but it didn't take. I had to be firm about it so I sent my boss a text yesterday: Working tomorrow. My last day!!! What time do you want me? Am I training the new person? Just wanted to make it clear - again.
I'm grateful for the experience, but it was never a good fit: me, alone in a tiny office for 7 hours - not a match made in heaven. And eventually the work became the deadliest of duos - a combination of boring and stressful. I won't miss the extreme temperatures or the mushrooms growing in the bathroom. I won't miss my boss coming in from his other job to sleep at his desk - about 3 feet away from mine. That was awkward.
So what's the takeaway? I am now a wizard at Excel. This may seem like a small thing, but for the technology-impaired, this is a skill I am glad to have mastered. And because I agreed to stay on while my boss was out of the country for 3 weeks this summer, I completely kicked butt while he was gone. He was unreachable, so I could get things done like I knew I could without having to check in with him at every step of the way. I don't blame him, it's his business, but by not allowing me to talk to the customers my hands were always tied and the process was mind-numbingly slow. Once I could communicate directly with the customers, I doubled the amount of business we usually would have done in the same time period. Note to other managers out there: trust your employees, they might surprise you.
The biggest takeaway is finding my peeps at the yarn store around the corner. Being the extreme extrovert of all extroverts, I was a bit stir crazy after about 3 hours on my own. After chatting up the mailman everyday, the Post Office issued a teeny restraining order and I had to let him carry on. Never one to give in so easily, I ventured out at lunchtime to make new friends. I discovered the yarn store and became a fixture, completely falling in love with the owners Barb and Karen, now my lifelong friends. The name of the store is The Red Thread, after the Chinese proverb: An invisible red thread connects all those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread my stretch or tangle, but it will never break. This is always how things happen for me - some good comes out of every situation, no matter what the struggle.
So today I'll say goodbye to my little office and embrace the next adventure. I'm grateful for my friend who recommended me to the job. I'm grateful to my boss for teaching me the ropes. I'm happy for the chance to learn some new skills and wear some cute outfits (well hidden under my coat and down vest but still). And I'll still be a fixture at the yarn store, without the limitations of my lunch hour (and they can always contact the Post Office about how to get the restraining order if it becomes too much). But on my next job interview, do you think it would be awkward to ask about any mushrooms growing in the bathroom? I'm not sure everyone would understand my concern.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Cooking Up Some Memories
My friend and three of her adorable daughters came over yesterday to borrow things for the 4th daughter's bridal shower. We had the best time "shopping" in my caterer's stash of equipment. We gathered 30 cobalt blue plates purchased at the 100 yen store in Tokyo (no kidding, like the Dollar Store here!), 30 blue and white patterned teacups, tart pans in every size and shape, white and blue tablecloths, sugar cubes decorated with flowers, tiny teapot shaped place card holders, glass pitchers, and ornate silver serving pieces. There was much oohing and aahhing and a little squealing (that might have been me.)
When one of the girls mentioned that she was making little tarts, I dug deep into the cabinet and pulled out an oblong metal box labeled Teeny Tiny Tart Pans. When I opened the lid and displayed the contents, there was a hush. Inside were indeed "teeny tiny tart pans" - some with fluted edges, some square, some long pointy miniature boat shaped, all neatly stacked and waiting for filling. There were also wax paper liners, all purchased from the cookware section of Tokyo known as Asakusabashi. I was instantly transported back to Japan: remembering nervously clutching the English subway map, trying to match up stops; getting off the subway and wandering around, poking into each little shop, filled with every gadget and cooking utensil you could imagine, and lots more that you hadn't thought of; agonizing as to how much I could spend and what I had room to store.
I didn't make the teeny tarts that often - they are wicked time consuming and fiddly - but I love those little pans. I loved displaying the finished product filled with berries or lemon curd at a tea I did at the US Ambassador's house for the Japan America Women's League. I loved the feeling of potential and accomplishment in knowing I could crank them out if I had to. I loved the absence of fear and doubt which seems to hover over me these days - I want to brave again! I want to navigate foreign subways and respond to a request for tea for 150 with an, "Absolutely. What date?"
I don't want to cater again, however. I didn't get to be 90 pounds overweight swallowing an excess of air. Being around food 24/7 when I'm stressed or tired is not a good life plan. I'm grateful that I got to have my booming business here and in Tokyo but I don't wish I had it again.
Opening up that tin of tart pans reconnected me to a younger, braver, more confident version of myself. I'd like to find her again: Maria5.0, slimmed down and decidedly more mobile. And while I'm waiting for the Next Big Thing, I'm happy to share my tablecloths, my tart pans and my history - one recipe at a time.
When one of the girls mentioned that she was making little tarts, I dug deep into the cabinet and pulled out an oblong metal box labeled Teeny Tiny Tart Pans. When I opened the lid and displayed the contents, there was a hush. Inside were indeed "teeny tiny tart pans" - some with fluted edges, some square, some long pointy miniature boat shaped, all neatly stacked and waiting for filling. There were also wax paper liners, all purchased from the cookware section of Tokyo known as Asakusabashi. I was instantly transported back to Japan: remembering nervously clutching the English subway map, trying to match up stops; getting off the subway and wandering around, poking into each little shop, filled with every gadget and cooking utensil you could imagine, and lots more that you hadn't thought of; agonizing as to how much I could spend and what I had room to store.
I didn't make the teeny tarts that often - they are wicked time consuming and fiddly - but I love those little pans. I loved displaying the finished product filled with berries or lemon curd at a tea I did at the US Ambassador's house for the Japan America Women's League. I loved the feeling of potential and accomplishment in knowing I could crank them out if I had to. I loved the absence of fear and doubt which seems to hover over me these days - I want to brave again! I want to navigate foreign subways and respond to a request for tea for 150 with an, "Absolutely. What date?"
I don't want to cater again, however. I didn't get to be 90 pounds overweight swallowing an excess of air. Being around food 24/7 when I'm stressed or tired is not a good life plan. I'm grateful that I got to have my booming business here and in Tokyo but I don't wish I had it again.
Opening up that tin of tart pans reconnected me to a younger, braver, more confident version of myself. I'd like to find her again: Maria5.0, slimmed down and decidedly more mobile. And while I'm waiting for the Next Big Thing, I'm happy to share my tablecloths, my tart pans and my history - one recipe at a time.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
The Black Bra Theory
I've had a lot of company in the past month: brunch for college classmates, Book Club, Easter dinner and an overnight stay for a college chum and her daughter. In the old days, an announcement of "Company is coming!" would cause my family to start rocking and keening, like mourners brought in for an Irish wake. I don't really blame them - I used to get a little hyper before guests would arrive. Um, in the same way that NASA gets a little focused on the details before a lunar landing. Just a teeny bit over the top....
I come by this honestly. My mother would be so stressed before entertaining, all six children would simultaneously find activities far from home. Once, in an effort to keep the kids from using the hand towels in the guest bathroom before company came, she left a scathing post-it note on them which read, Don't even THINK of using these towels! Unfortunately, she neglected to take the post-it down before company came. We watched, puzzled, as guest came out of the bathroom looking dazed and wiping their hands on their pants. Whoopsie!
Part of the problem is that I am, I was, a caterer. So I want the food to be amazing. This has led to unrealistic expectations of what I can actually accomplish, given the restraints of gravity, time travel not being invented yet, the need for sleep. Years ago when I had 2 kids under the age of 4, I was prepping for lunch my sister in law and her new boyfriend and was lamenting to my friend that I wasn't going to have time to make my own croissants (!), to which she replied, What would a mortal do? She had a point.
Ah, the quest for perfection, my long time enemy. I'm not sure when I took on this yoke but we were tight for a long time, and everyone around me paid. Somewhere on the way to 50, I let it go. I'm thinking that my years of catering showed me that, despite hours of planning and organizing, someone is going to be wearing a black bra. Let me explain: I was catering a party in rural Virginia. When it came time to change into our catering uniforms, one of my wait staff discovered that she was wearing a black bra - not the look I was going for under our white tuxedo blouses. Since I didn't know the hostess well enough to ask to borrow one of hers, I quickly decided we'd be wearing our catering aprons that day. Hence, the Black Bra theory was born. You can plan, make lists, double check everything, but someone is wearing a black bra and you need to roll with that.
So now, while I do wish the front stoop sat a wee bit closer to the house (you don't actually have to jump the gap to the front door but it's close) or that I had recently replaced like, all the carpet in the house, I don't fuss. My focus now is on making sure my guests have a good time. They are more likely to remember the Peeps centerpiece than the perfectly organized pantry. I like the house to be clean and the food to be good and, if I have time, I like to make favors - just a little something to bring home. But I no longer wish my house were bigger or that I had a new kitchen floor (well, I actually do wish I could replace the floor...). I count my blessings and in being grateful for what I do have, I don't need to focus on what I don't.
And what I do have are amazing friends who love to come and eat my food, a nice small house which could always use some tweaking, and a family that no longer lines up for a dose of anti-anxiety meds when I tell them we are having company. It's not perfect by any means, but it's perfectly wonderful all the same. So please come visit....I love to have you - and I mean that!
Ah, the quest for perfection, my long time enemy. I'm not sure when I took on this yoke but we were tight for a long time, and everyone around me paid. Somewhere on the way to 50, I let it go. I'm thinking that my years of catering showed me that, despite hours of planning and organizing, someone is going to be wearing a black bra. Let me explain: I was catering a party in rural Virginia. When it came time to change into our catering uniforms, one of my wait staff discovered that she was wearing a black bra - not the look I was going for under our white tuxedo blouses. Since I didn't know the hostess well enough to ask to borrow one of hers, I quickly decided we'd be wearing our catering aprons that day. Hence, the Black Bra theory was born. You can plan, make lists, double check everything, but someone is wearing a black bra and you need to roll with that.
So now, while I do wish the front stoop sat a wee bit closer to the house (you don't actually have to jump the gap to the front door but it's close) or that I had recently replaced like, all the carpet in the house, I don't fuss. My focus now is on making sure my guests have a good time. They are more likely to remember the Peeps centerpiece than the perfectly organized pantry. I like the house to be clean and the food to be good and, if I have time, I like to make favors - just a little something to bring home. But I no longer wish my house were bigger or that I had a new kitchen floor (well, I actually do wish I could replace the floor...). I count my blessings and in being grateful for what I do have, I don't need to focus on what I don't.
And what I do have are amazing friends who love to come and eat my food, a nice small house which could always use some tweaking, and a family that no longer lines up for a dose of anti-anxiety meds when I tell them we are having company. It's not perfect by any means, but it's perfectly wonderful all the same. So please come visit....I love to have you - and I mean that!
Monday, April 1, 2013
De-tox Monday - a recipe
For those of you reading this in a Peeps-induced coma, fingers swelled up like sausages from the sodium in yesterday's ham, there is hope. Sure, we all went a little wild with the Easter candy. I have learned that jelly beans are a gateway drug: 10 of them are 1 point on WW, but how about 1,000? And like every well meaning drinker (I'll just have one glass of wine; I have to get up early in the morning), the next thing you know you are in the pantry trying to silently get the foil off a Cadbury egg. Oh, maybe that was just me.....
So I'm claiming De-Tox Monday and starting off my day with these Banana Oatmeal Muffins. For one thing, it's a great way to use up those bananas you left rotting in the fruit bowl as you reached for yet another Reese's egg. Ditto with the greek yogurt in the refrig and boca burgers in the freezer. Welcome back into my life, healthy foods. I had a brief fling, it meant nothing, and I know you will see me to bathing suit season, just a few short weeks away.....
These muffins are from a new favorite blog Chocolate Covered Katie, a great source of healthy desserts. We love to make a batch and freeze some. I pack them in my lunch for a healthy snack or for a post work out nosh. I cut the oil in half to make them lower fat and substituted applesauce. You can also add coconut, almonds - whatever strikes your fancy.
I always do favors when I entertain - the caterer in me won't go away - so for Easter I made a batch of these muffins in adorable baking cups and wrapped up pretty so we could all start off the week right.
And I promise over the next few weeks, you won't hear a Peep out of me about Easter candy....
So I'm claiming De-Tox Monday and starting off my day with these Banana Oatmeal Muffins. For one thing, it's a great way to use up those bananas you left rotting in the fruit bowl as you reached for yet another Reese's egg. Ditto with the greek yogurt in the refrig and boca burgers in the freezer. Welcome back into my life, healthy foods. I had a brief fling, it meant nothing, and I know you will see me to bathing suit season, just a few short weeks away.....
These muffins are from a new favorite blog Chocolate Covered Katie, a great source of healthy desserts. We love to make a batch and freeze some. I pack them in my lunch for a healthy snack or for a post work out nosh. I cut the oil in half to make them lower fat and substituted applesauce. You can also add coconut, almonds - whatever strikes your fancy.
I always do favors when I entertain - the caterer in me won't go away - so for Easter I made a batch of these muffins in adorable baking cups and wrapped up pretty so we could all start off the week right.
And I promise over the next few weeks, you won't hear a Peep out of me about Easter candy....
from Chocolate Covered Katie
Oatmeal Cupcakes To Go
(makes 24-25 cupcakes)
Adapted from: Cookie Dough Baked Oatmeal.
- 5 cups rolled oats (400g)
- 2 1/2 cups over-ripe mashed banana, measured after mashing (For all substitution notes on this recipe, see nutrition link below.) (600g)
- 1 tsp salt
- 5 NuNaturals stevia packets (or omit and use 5 tbsp liquid sweetener of choice–such as pure maple syrup or agave–instead)
- optional: 2/3 cup mini chocolate chips
- 2 2/3 cups water (640g) (If using the liquid-sweetener option, scale water back by 1/3 cup.)
- 1/4 cup plus 1 tbsp oil (45g) (I really like coconut, but veg oil will also work. For lower-fat substitution notes, see nutrition link below.)
- 2 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
- optional add-ins: cinnamon, shredded coconut, chopped walnuts, ground flax or wheat germ, raisins or other dried fruit, etc.
Preheat oven to 380 F, and line 24-25 cupcake tins. In a large mixing bowl, combine all dry ingredients and stir very well. In a separate bowl, combine and stir all wet ingredients (including banana). Mix wet into dry, then pour into the cupcake liners and bake 21 minutes. I also like to then broil for 1-2 minutes, but it’s optional. These oatmeal cakes can be eaten right away, or they can be frozen and reheated for an instant breakfast on a busy day.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Conquering Fear....of the Wedgie....
I signed up to do a "mini" triathlon. It seemed like a good idea at the time - you know, the next challenge and all that. A teacher friend of mine asked me to do it with her, so I said yes. This was back in December when March 24th seemed like a lifetime away. Now it's next weekend....as in 6 days from now. Now the thought of it - not so much.
Yup, I'm in great shape. Not as in Sports Illustrated bathing suit edition thong bikini type shape, just like a regular person - still a little flabby, size 14; I just work out a lot. So in theory, I can probably run 1.5 miles, bike 4 miles and swim 10 laps without the paramedics being called in with paddles and loud, "Clear!" needed to call me back from the bright light.
But I'm a little petrified. For starters, I really hate to run. Really. Hate. Like when I watch movies when someone is being chased by the bad guys, I know if it were me I would just stop running, bend over with my hands on my knees, and wheezily tell them anything they wanted to know, just so I could stop running. It's not a pretty truth about me but it is true.
And I guess I'm a little fearful of the unknown....and the annoying wedgie. I mean, I'm not really sure what to wear. Can you run in a bathing suit? I'd still have to wear one of my industrial strength jogging bras so what's the benefit of a swim suit? And don't tell me about the triathlon store in the next town. Given that I'll probably never do another one of these, I'm not planking down $68 for one of those weird singlet thingies. I'm just not. So I'm still trying to configure something I can run, bike and swim that won't give me the mother of all wedgies. I do not want to be that 53 year old yanking on her Fruit of the Looms while the groovy youngsters flash by - probably wearing the weird singlet things.
It's not just the running I worry about: where do you keep your bike while you run? Will people notice I'm wearing my son's helmet from 6th grade? Which side is the front? I may hate biking, too - who knows? Before yesterday, I hadn't ridden one in over 15 years. Why? you ask, especially if you know I used to love biking. That would be because I stopped riding bikes when the thought of how my size 22 butt looked from the back kept me from getting on a bike. I know....blah, blah, blah - let's just say that's all "behind" me now. So if I decide that I like biking, I'll get my own helmet. Promise. Something sassy - probably pink.
But I've done fear. And now I'm done with fear. So yesterday morning, unable to procrastinate any longer, I suited up, ran 1.8 miles, hopped on the newly tuned up biked the same route. And guess what? No paramedics, no wedgies. And it was okay.
And next Sunday, I'll do the triathlon. And I'll worry all week that I won't have the same outfit as the popular girls....or that I'll forget to take my sneakers off before I get in the pool....or....or maybe I'll just do it. It wasn't like losing 92 pounds was a piece of cake (it was the opposite of cake. More like celery), but I did that. So, hah! Take that, world. If I knew now what the weather, wind or wedgie conditions were going to be, I'd know exactly how to plan. But that's not really how life happens, is it? I just have to do it. And I hope the realization that I pushed myself to do something way out of my comfort zone, both physically and emotionally will make it all wedgie-worthy. Don't you agree?
Yup, I'm in great shape. Not as in Sports Illustrated bathing suit edition thong bikini type shape, just like a regular person - still a little flabby, size 14; I just work out a lot. So in theory, I can probably run 1.5 miles, bike 4 miles and swim 10 laps without the paramedics being called in with paddles and loud, "Clear!" needed to call me back from the bright light.
But I'm a little petrified. For starters, I really hate to run. Really. Hate. Like when I watch movies when someone is being chased by the bad guys, I know if it were me I would just stop running, bend over with my hands on my knees, and wheezily tell them anything they wanted to know, just so I could stop running. It's not a pretty truth about me but it is true.
And I guess I'm a little fearful of the unknown....and the annoying wedgie. I mean, I'm not really sure what to wear. Can you run in a bathing suit? I'd still have to wear one of my industrial strength jogging bras so what's the benefit of a swim suit? And don't tell me about the triathlon store in the next town. Given that I'll probably never do another one of these, I'm not planking down $68 for one of those weird singlet thingies. I'm just not. So I'm still trying to configure something I can run, bike and swim that won't give me the mother of all wedgies. I do not want to be that 53 year old yanking on her Fruit of the Looms while the groovy youngsters flash by - probably wearing the weird singlet things.
It's not just the running I worry about: where do you keep your bike while you run? Will people notice I'm wearing my son's helmet from 6th grade? Which side is the front? I may hate biking, too - who knows? Before yesterday, I hadn't ridden one in over 15 years. Why? you ask, especially if you know I used to love biking. That would be because I stopped riding bikes when the thought of how my size 22 butt looked from the back kept me from getting on a bike. I know....blah, blah, blah - let's just say that's all "behind" me now. So if I decide that I like biking, I'll get my own helmet. Promise. Something sassy - probably pink.
But I've done fear. And now I'm done with fear. So yesterday morning, unable to procrastinate any longer, I suited up, ran 1.8 miles, hopped on the newly tuned up biked the same route. And guess what? No paramedics, no wedgies. And it was okay.
And next Sunday, I'll do the triathlon. And I'll worry all week that I won't have the same outfit as the popular girls....or that I'll forget to take my sneakers off before I get in the pool....or....or maybe I'll just do it. It wasn't like losing 92 pounds was a piece of cake (it was the opposite of cake. More like celery), but I did that. So, hah! Take that, world. If I knew now what the weather, wind or wedgie conditions were going to be, I'd know exactly how to plan. But that's not really how life happens, is it? I just have to do it. And I hope the realization that I pushed myself to do something way out of my comfort zone, both physically and emotionally will make it all wedgie-worthy. Don't you agree?
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Stupid Easy Recipe
I promised you recipes, didn't I? I tried this one yesterday, along with 2 others which will not see the light of day. One was downright awful and the other just so so and since it required an expensive cut of beef, see ya! But this one, as an old friend used to say, is "Stupid Easy." You have to say this with the most extreme of southern accents and repeat it several times in the sentence, as in: "I made this pie? With canned milk? And it was stupid easy, I tell you. You just opened a can. I mean it - stupid easy!" Are you reading this with a southern accent? If not, try again. You must say pie like this: Peye. Think The Help. This friend was not a great cook and lots of her stuff which was "Stupid Easy" was also "Really Gross" but I love the expression and it's outlasted her friendship.
All you food snobs, you can stop reading now. This recipe requires some really processed ingredients like Cool Whip. YUM. I know, I know - I usually eat "clean," as the weight lifters say, but I also have a balanced approach to eating/ cooking and need to bust out once in a while. Plus this was kind of fun to make and fun is good, don't you think? So is this peye.
Stupid Easy Caramel Pie
1 (14-ounce) can fat-free sweetened condensed milk
1 (6-ounce) package reduced fat graham cracker crust
1 (8-ounce) container frozen reduced-calorie whipped topping, thawed
1 (1.4-ounce) Skor or Heath bar, coarsely chopped
Equipment: 2 cup glass measure, 3-4 quart slow cooker
1) Pour milk into 2-cup glass measure, cover with foil. Place in a 3-4 quart slow cooker. Add very hot water to slow cooker to reach level of milk in measure. Cover slow cooker with lid; cook on low heat setting 9 hours (milk should be the color of caramel).
2) Pour caramelized milk into crust; let cool. Spread whipped topping over pie, and sprinkle with chopped candy. Yield: 8 servings
Per serving: CAL 327, PRO 5.6g, FAT 8.8g, CARB 53.9g, FIB 0.1g.
All you food snobs, you can stop reading now. This recipe requires some really processed ingredients like Cool Whip. YUM. I know, I know - I usually eat "clean," as the weight lifters say, but I also have a balanced approach to eating/ cooking and need to bust out once in a while. Plus this was kind of fun to make and fun is good, don't you think? So is this peye.
Stupid Easy Caramel Pie
1 (14-ounce) can fat-free sweetened condensed milk
1 (6-ounce) package reduced fat graham cracker crust
1 (8-ounce) container frozen reduced-calorie whipped topping, thawed
1 (1.4-ounce) Skor or Heath bar, coarsely chopped
Equipment: 2 cup glass measure, 3-4 quart slow cooker
1) Pour milk into 2-cup glass measure, cover with foil. Place in a 3-4 quart slow cooker. Add very hot water to slow cooker to reach level of milk in measure. Cover slow cooker with lid; cook on low heat setting 9 hours (milk should be the color of caramel).
2) Pour caramelized milk into crust; let cool. Spread whipped topping over pie, and sprinkle with chopped candy. Yield: 8 servings
Per serving: CAL 327, PRO 5.6g, FAT 8.8g, CARB 53.9g, FIB 0.1g.
Friday, February 8, 2013
It's Just A Number
Yesterday, Weight Watchers told me I was too fat to work for them. This hurt my feelings a little, then I got kinda mad. Since reaching my goal of losing 90 pounds, I had entertained the idea of working for WW as a leader for a while. It's how I lost my weight, I believe in the program, and I thought I'd be good at it. My favorite thing in the world is a room full of people who can't leave until I stop talking. I knew there was a problem though: I weigh 15 pounds more than the top of the range they have for women my height.
They're having a job fair this weekend, so I filled out the online application and sent an email to the lady in charge. I explained my situation, that although I was over the desired weight, I was extremely fit. I went on to say that, while I could lose 5-6 pounds, I couldn't get to weight required or if I did, could not maintain it. I'm a big person. I'm a 12. And I'm wicked muscle-y. But I could get a doctor's note because my doctor and I picked this weight as a healthy one for me.
The woman called back with a few questions and was very nice but told me that I'd have to get to lose 15 pounds in order to lead a group. End of story. This hit me harder than I would have thought: for one thing, I was in Walmart, which makes me feel sad that I'm there anyway. But for a brief moment, I went to the Bad Place and heard: You're still too fat. And this made me a little weepy. I got over that quickly because you know what? I'm not fat. At all. But when you've been fighting your weight pretty much your entire life and you lose 90 pounds and are very healthy, you don't want to hear that you're still too fat, especially from someone who has never met you and is making a decision based on a number.
Because that's all it is: just a number on a scale. It doesn't define who I am. And while it looks like it's going to prohibit this opportunity, it's way too arbitrary a thing to make a decision about someone.
So you lose, Weight Watchers. Pun intended.
Big picture? It's never easy when the universe tells you no. Since I am a person of Faith, I believe that God has a different plan for me and it will be much better than the one I chose for myself. But I'm one of God's most difficult children and I always think he needs my input. Being a WW leader seems like such a good fit: I've been successful on the program, I love to help and inspire people, and I'd be wicked funny as a leader.
So I'll try and be patient and be receptive for the next opportunity. I love my part time job and plan to keep on working there but I do feel a desire to be out in front of people, hopefully being funny but also being inspirational. I don't mean this to sound like I think I'm all that and a bag of (low fat) chips, as a friend used to say. I'm all about taking those first important steps to health. If I can't do that as a WW leader, there's another plan in place. I just don't know what it is yet.
Today I'll celebrate feeling fit and healthy and rockin' another cute outfit. And I'll find joy in knowing I'm not in charge of the Big Plan but am an active participant in the Next Big Adventure.
They're having a job fair this weekend, so I filled out the online application and sent an email to the lady in charge. I explained my situation, that although I was over the desired weight, I was extremely fit. I went on to say that, while I could lose 5-6 pounds, I couldn't get to weight required or if I did, could not maintain it. I'm a big person. I'm a 12. And I'm wicked muscle-y. But I could get a doctor's note because my doctor and I picked this weight as a healthy one for me.
The woman called back with a few questions and was very nice but told me that I'd have to get to lose 15 pounds in order to lead a group. End of story. This hit me harder than I would have thought: for one thing, I was in Walmart, which makes me feel sad that I'm there anyway. But for a brief moment, I went to the Bad Place and heard: You're still too fat. And this made me a little weepy. I got over that quickly because you know what? I'm not fat. At all. But when you've been fighting your weight pretty much your entire life and you lose 90 pounds and are very healthy, you don't want to hear that you're still too fat, especially from someone who has never met you and is making a decision based on a number.
Because that's all it is: just a number on a scale. It doesn't define who I am. And while it looks like it's going to prohibit this opportunity, it's way too arbitrary a thing to make a decision about someone.
So you lose, Weight Watchers. Pun intended.
Big picture? It's never easy when the universe tells you no. Since I am a person of Faith, I believe that God has a different plan for me and it will be much better than the one I chose for myself. But I'm one of God's most difficult children and I always think he needs my input. Being a WW leader seems like such a good fit: I've been successful on the program, I love to help and inspire people, and I'd be wicked funny as a leader.
So I'll try and be patient and be receptive for the next opportunity. I love my part time job and plan to keep on working there but I do feel a desire to be out in front of people, hopefully being funny but also being inspirational. I don't mean this to sound like I think I'm all that and a bag of (low fat) chips, as a friend used to say. I'm all about taking those first important steps to health. If I can't do that as a WW leader, there's another plan in place. I just don't know what it is yet.
Today I'll celebrate feeling fit and healthy and rockin' another cute outfit. And I'll find joy in knowing I'm not in charge of the Big Plan but am an active participant in the Next Big Adventure.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
The Journey to A Healthier Me and Cuter Clothes
The Freedom Center, where I work out, asked to feature me on their new Success Board. I'd have to submit a before and after picture and a testimonial. I agreed because I really do think If I can do it, anyone can. I thought I'd share the story of my journey.
I never set out to lose 92 pounds. Who thinks they have
90 pounds to lose? But the summer after I turned 50, I had a hard time making
the case for staying fat. I felt good? No. I looked hot? Nope. I had really
cute clothes? Kinda, but they were really, really big cute clothes. And my
knees were killing me! At the same time, a friend had mentioned that a number
of women our age were having heart attacks and strokes. I decided to make a
change for a healthier lifestyle and a healthier me. And I wanted to look
better in the photos of my daughter’s high school graduation the following
June.
That fall, my pals were starting the Attack the Fat program
at the Freedom Center in my town. In the program, you work out with a trainer
three times a week for an hour in a group of 3 – 6. You are encouraged to eat
healthily and work out on your own a few days as well. I debated whether or not
to join them but had a conflict with work. In the end, I opted to not to join but vowed to
start on the same day they did. I started Weight Watchers on my own and walked
every other day, come hell or high water. When my friends completed the program, I joined one of
the Ongoing Personal Training groups. At
the first session I told the trainer, I don’t run. She disagreed. I ran – a
little and very slowly.
By the time I joined the Attack the Fat program in spring
of ’11, I had lost 45 pounds. In those 8 weeks, I lost another 20 pounds and a
whopping 37 inches. I was hooked. I started taking classes and kept up with the
Ongoing Personal Training sessions. By this point, my knees no longer hurt. I
had stopped taking heartburn medicine. And I could run! Still slowly though….
The biggest transformation I made was with my
relationship with food. I read Food, God and Love by Geneen Roth (which I
highly recommend). My AHA! moment was when we were going through a
particularly stressful time with my daughter’s college search. I was sitting at
the kitchen table and thought; I just want to eat chocolate until the stress
goes away. My next thought was, Sure,
you can eat chocolate, but what about the situation will change if you eat it? And
I realized nothing would change. I’d feel good for a second, bad the next
morning and the situation would be exactly the same. That was big for me.
My journey of eating healthily and exercising continued
on. Almost 2 years after I started, I reached my goal of losing 90 pounds.
Technically, I could lose more but really, I’m happy in my size 12s and never
set out to be skinny. I now use my love of cooking for Good instead of Evil and
can’t imagine going back to my former sedentary lifestyle. I did have to buy a
whole new wardrobe but it’s been worth every penny! Cute clothes rule! It’s been an incredible journey. I feel like myself
again. Only with better knees.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Disaster Dressing....Just Say No!
So I'm packing for a weekend in New England to visit my sisters - Newburyport, MA and Stratham, NH to be exact. I was talking to one of them about whether or not we would work out. I can't imagine going three days without doing something but it was -3 degrees at her house this morning, so I'm wondering about an inside session. I was saying that I hate how much room my sneakers and workout stuff take up when you are trying to do carry-on only when she said, Oh, I always wear my sneakers. And then she launched into her Oprah-inspired bit about how tie shoes are the best shoes to wear if the plane crashes because they don't come off your feet, and how she wears 100% cotton because it won't adhere to your skin in case of fire.....I had to interrupt. Girl? I said. I'm sure you have some good points, but I'm not dressing for disaster.
Nope, it's cute outfits all the way. And if I go down in fiery crash and they are trying to identify me, I want the conversation to go something like this:
Jet Blue Employee #1 -That body is missing its head.
Jet Blue Employee #2 - I see that. But look at the cute outfit. Do you think she got it at Marshals?
Not only am I celebrating not having the flight attendant ask me if I want the seat belt extender, but I intend to sport a cute outfit, complete with boots guaranteed to go flying off on impact. I did not work my butt off for the last 2 years to be rocking sneakers and a sensible natural fiber ensemble. No ma'am.
Which brings me to my point: it's really more of a philosophy than a clothing choice, isn't it? You're either dressing for disaster or you're not. Don't dress for disaster. You never know...life is short....grab the bull....choose your pithy one liner and insert it here. But think about it: you absolutely never know who you are going to meet when you are traveling, so why not bring it, outfit-wise? If you are single, like my sister, you could be sitting next to your future life partner. If you aren't looking for love, you could be sitting next to the casting director for the upcoming Real Housewives of Manassas show. Or the person who vets interviewees for "O" magazine (well, not the one who did the What to Wear When Traveling piece...). The possibilities are endless!
I get dressing for comfort - long lines, big crowds, small seats - none of these situations are made any more enjoyable with the addition of control top pantyhose, back-fat grabbing strapless bras, wedgie-inducing slacks or hemlines that require constant tugging. But you don't need to dress like you've just lost your life savings and are going to live with your ex brother in law in exchange for helping him with the pigs, either.
Not me. I'm dressing like I'm off to close The Big Deal. And the Big Deal is? Getting to spend the weekend with family I adore. Getting to celebrate a weekend that is sure to be filled with laughter, good food and lots of love. So there's no way I'm dressing for disaster en route. Because whether I get there or not, I headed for a really good time.
Nope, it's cute outfits all the way. And if I go down in fiery crash and they are trying to identify me, I want the conversation to go something like this:
Jet Blue Employee #1 -That body is missing its head.
Jet Blue Employee #2 - I see that. But look at the cute outfit. Do you think she got it at Marshals?
Not only am I celebrating not having the flight attendant ask me if I want the seat belt extender, but I intend to sport a cute outfit, complete with boots guaranteed to go flying off on impact. I did not work my butt off for the last 2 years to be rocking sneakers and a sensible natural fiber ensemble. No ma'am.
Which brings me to my point: it's really more of a philosophy than a clothing choice, isn't it? You're either dressing for disaster or you're not. Don't dress for disaster. You never know...life is short....grab the bull....choose your pithy one liner and insert it here. But think about it: you absolutely never know who you are going to meet when you are traveling, so why not bring it, outfit-wise? If you are single, like my sister, you could be sitting next to your future life partner. If you aren't looking for love, you could be sitting next to the casting director for the upcoming Real Housewives of Manassas show. Or the person who vets interviewees for "O" magazine (well, not the one who did the What to Wear When Traveling piece...). The possibilities are endless!
I get dressing for comfort - long lines, big crowds, small seats - none of these situations are made any more enjoyable with the addition of control top pantyhose, back-fat grabbing strapless bras, wedgie-inducing slacks or hemlines that require constant tugging. But you don't need to dress like you've just lost your life savings and are going to live with your ex brother in law in exchange for helping him with the pigs, either.
Not me. I'm dressing like I'm off to close The Big Deal. And the Big Deal is? Getting to spend the weekend with family I adore. Getting to celebrate a weekend that is sure to be filled with laughter, good food and lots of love. So there's no way I'm dressing for disaster en route. Because whether I get there or not, I headed for a really good time.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Recipe: 7-Can Soup
So how are you all doing with Detox January? Yeah, me, too. Once you get used to having cookies for breakfast or eating entire batches of homemade Chex Mix before going to the party, it's hard to stop. And c'mon! Superbowl Sunday is just weeks away! And it's in the Constitution of the United States that you have to eat the amount of cheese equal to your birth weight that day - so why bother getting on board now?
Because you have to, that's why. Wake up, America. And put down the cookies.
So here's a "recipe" to get through hump January, called 7-Can Soup. It's an old Weight Watchers favorite and people are always texting me (usually from the grocery store!) because they can't remember the 7th can. It's a great, easy soup to make on a Sunday and take for lunch throughout the week. The downside is that it makes a ton, so if you are the only one eating it, it become the winter equivalent of zucchini from your garden - you're leaving some on neighbor's doorsteps in the middle of the night, or asking perfect strangers on the elevator at work if they've brought their lunch, then shoving plastic containers of it into their unwilling hands. But you can also use it to make new friends and that's nice.
I don't have the WW points for it because I follow Old School Weight Watchers and never transitioned to the new system. I don't trust it: if I had eaten all the fruit and vegetables I wanted, I wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place. So some person less lazy and more driven can figure out the points. And for everyone, it's just yummy.
7- Can Soup
One can (regular size - 14 oz-ish) of the following:
-low sodium beef broth
-fat-free refried beans
-diced tomatoes (any)
-black beans or kidney beans, your choice
-can of chicken (I know, who knew chicken came in a can? Obviously, you can use the equivalent amount of cooked chicken but then I'd have to change the recipe name)
-corn
-salsa (about 1/2 a jar)
I also like to add a small can of chill es. Throw all ingredients into a big pot and stir. Let heat through, about 10 minutes, to let the flavors mingle. A friend omits the chicken as adds turkey kielbasa sliced. Go to town and make it your own.
And remember: The photo shoot for the Sports Illustrated Bathing Suit Edition is coming up and, if they have an Over 50 edition, I want in - don't you? I've already had an offer to be the centerfold in Shar pei Monthly and could so give those wrinkly dogs a run for their money! Meanwhile, eat some soup.....
Because you have to, that's why. Wake up, America. And put down the cookies.
So here's a "recipe" to get through hump January, called 7-Can Soup. It's an old Weight Watchers favorite and people are always texting me (usually from the grocery store!) because they can't remember the 7th can. It's a great, easy soup to make on a Sunday and take for lunch throughout the week. The downside is that it makes a ton, so if you are the only one eating it, it become the winter equivalent of zucchini from your garden - you're leaving some on neighbor's doorsteps in the middle of the night, or asking perfect strangers on the elevator at work if they've brought their lunch, then shoving plastic containers of it into their unwilling hands. But you can also use it to make new friends and that's nice.
I don't have the WW points for it because I follow Old School Weight Watchers and never transitioned to the new system. I don't trust it: if I had eaten all the fruit and vegetables I wanted, I wouldn't have gotten into this situation in the first place. So some person less lazy and more driven can figure out the points. And for everyone, it's just yummy.
7- Can Soup
One can (regular size - 14 oz-ish) of the following:
-low sodium beef broth
-fat-free refried beans
-diced tomatoes (any)
-black beans or kidney beans, your choice
-can of chicken (I know, who knew chicken came in a can? Obviously, you can use the equivalent amount of cooked chicken but then I'd have to change the recipe name)
-corn
-salsa (about 1/2 a jar)
I also like to add a small can of chill es. Throw all ingredients into a big pot and stir. Let heat through, about 10 minutes, to let the flavors mingle. A friend omits the chicken as adds turkey kielbasa sliced. Go to town and make it your own.
And remember: The photo shoot for the Sports Illustrated Bathing Suit Edition is coming up and, if they have an Over 50 edition, I want in - don't you? I've already had an offer to be the centerfold in Shar pei Monthly and could so give those wrinkly dogs a run for their money! Meanwhile, eat some soup.....
Saturday, January 12, 2013
In this outfit? Are kidding?
So the downside of losing 92 pounds is......just kidding, there is no downside! But one of the challenges is that you no longer have your slouchy outfits. Your "I've got the flu and am not leaving the house" outfits. The ones you wear when you are too lazy to put in your contacts. You know the ones: sweats you wore during pregnancy that still fit despite that fact that your youngest is 15; your college sweatshirt which now reads "Mo t oly ke;" your once sassy jeans which rest just an inch or two below your bra band. My entire wardrobe used to consist of those outfits, plus a pair of black pants, several "nice tops," and a cocktail dress for weddings that, by the end, required the rental of heavy equipment, ropes and pulleys to get in to. And Spanx. Don't forget the Spanx.
So then, when you lose 90+ pounds, you don't have those outfits. You can only take stuff in so much before the side seams are inches from the zipper and you look like one giant pocket from the back. And no, I don't have any clothes from 15 years ago that were "classic" enough to resurect. So you have new clothes. From this decade only. We have a pal who recently lost 30 pounds and has been modeling her her clothes from the 80s and 90s on FaceBook with an enthusiastic, "Look what I can fit in to!" caption. These outfits look like they came from Melanie Griffith's wardrobe in Working Girl and only need the Really Big Hair to complete the look. We have emplored her to buy some thing from this century to wear in her new/old size. Remember the adage, Just because you can, doesn't mean you should? This applies to clothes from the disco era.
And therefore, I don't want to do any of the chores usually associated with those outfits. Ergo, my house is a mess. But I look really, really cute. On Sundays, I usually workout in the morning, then come home and shower and put on whatever I'm going to wear to church that evening. A few weeks ago on a Sunday afternoon, I said to my husband that I was antsy and he suggested that I read. To which I replied, Are you crazy? In this outfit? I don't know, I just don't feel like cleaning the bathrooms once I've put on my latest find from Marshall's. I feel like going out to lunch. This is getting to be a problem. Things are not getting done.
Take today, for example. I did a 4-mile walk run outside, came home and showered and put on a white t-shirt, skinny jeans, a striped cardigan and cowbow boots. Adorable! So I should spend the afternoon in the basement finally organizing the Christmas decorations? Nope. Don't wanna. Ditto with changing the sheets, sorting the laundry or any of the other mind-numbing tasks that occupy much of my time. Now cooking, I will do in a cute outfit. So my family will not starve. Especially since I discovered ...wait for it....cute aprons! And, because of the cooking shows: Giada is never whipping up homemade ravioli in her husband's fraternity t-shirt.
Eventually, all my new clothes will become my old clothes and I'll have something to put on a "no make up Saturday." I'll have splashed enough grease on my white T to make it Scrubbing Bubbles ready. But until that time.......anyone up for lunch?!
So then, when you lose 90+ pounds, you don't have those outfits. You can only take stuff in so much before the side seams are inches from the zipper and you look like one giant pocket from the back. And no, I don't have any clothes from 15 years ago that were "classic" enough to resurect. So you have new clothes. From this decade only. We have a pal who recently lost 30 pounds and has been modeling her her clothes from the 80s and 90s on FaceBook with an enthusiastic, "Look what I can fit in to!" caption. These outfits look like they came from Melanie Griffith's wardrobe in Working Girl and only need the Really Big Hair to complete the look. We have emplored her to buy some thing from this century to wear in her new/old size. Remember the adage, Just because you can, doesn't mean you should? This applies to clothes from the disco era.
And therefore, I don't want to do any of the chores usually associated with those outfits. Ergo, my house is a mess. But I look really, really cute. On Sundays, I usually workout in the morning, then come home and shower and put on whatever I'm going to wear to church that evening. A few weeks ago on a Sunday afternoon, I said to my husband that I was antsy and he suggested that I read. To which I replied, Are you crazy? In this outfit? I don't know, I just don't feel like cleaning the bathrooms once I've put on my latest find from Marshall's. I feel like going out to lunch. This is getting to be a problem. Things are not getting done.
Take today, for example. I did a 4-mile walk run outside, came home and showered and put on a white t-shirt, skinny jeans, a striped cardigan and cowbow boots. Adorable! So I should spend the afternoon in the basement finally organizing the Christmas decorations? Nope. Don't wanna. Ditto with changing the sheets, sorting the laundry or any of the other mind-numbing tasks that occupy much of my time. Now cooking, I will do in a cute outfit. So my family will not starve. Especially since I discovered ...wait for it....cute aprons! And, because of the cooking shows: Giada is never whipping up homemade ravioli in her husband's fraternity t-shirt.
Eventually, all my new clothes will become my old clothes and I'll have something to put on a "no make up Saturday." I'll have splashed enough grease on my white T to make it Scrubbing Bubbles ready. But until that time.......anyone up for lunch?!
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Day #3 of my New Job....
I want to explain to you how small my office it. Think Tom Hanks in Apollo 13. Think lunar module. Now reduce that a bit and add in 2 desks. The office has 5 things in it: 2 desks, one computer, a printer and a chair. Oh, make that 6 because it also has a space heater. While not quite as cold as the unheated bathroom in the hallway, you can see your breath in the office and could use the closet to chill a bottle of wine. I will look into this and report back.
Yesterday I expected to go to work and sell some stuff for my boss on Ebay. I was going to be selling stethoscopes because really? Who needs five? Instead, after I chipped the ice formation off the lock and entered, one hip at a time, I found that my boss was away and had left me actual work to do. Since this was my third day on the job, I felt a little proud that he thought I actually knew what I was doing. I plugged away at the inquiries he had left me (that's what he calls them) but even with the space heater turned up to broil, I found myself dozing off, like the heriones in Lifetime movies where they are so cold they have lost their will to live and you are yelling at them from the couch, Don't go to sleep! Shawn isn't really your brother! You can marry him after all without having to move to West Virginia! Like that.
I ungarled my tortured hands and went across the street to buy coffee. This isn't something I can do everyday: a cup of coffee is a huge percentage of my hourly wage, and since I was looking for an alternative to volunteering, I will need to break myself of this habit. But like the skier rescued from the avalanche, I needed to get some hot liquid into my body before my tracheal tube froze solid. Did I mention that my office is cold?!
Back in the office, I attemped to jog in place to keep warm but kept bumping into things. I finally put on my coat, wrapped my hands around my coffee to thaw, and worked away. I wonder if the AC works any better than the heat does.....
Stay tuned for day #4.....
I want to explain to you how small my office it. Think Tom Hanks in Apollo 13. Think lunar module. Now reduce that a bit and add in 2 desks. The office has 5 things in it: 2 desks, one computer, a printer and a chair. Oh, make that 6 because it also has a space heater. While not quite as cold as the unheated bathroom in the hallway, you can see your breath in the office and could use the closet to chill a bottle of wine. I will look into this and report back.
Yesterday I expected to go to work and sell some stuff for my boss on Ebay. I was going to be selling stethoscopes because really? Who needs five? Instead, after I chipped the ice formation off the lock and entered, one hip at a time, I found that my boss was away and had left me actual work to do. Since this was my third day on the job, I felt a little proud that he thought I actually knew what I was doing. I plugged away at the inquiries he had left me (that's what he calls them) but even with the space heater turned up to broil, I found myself dozing off, like the heriones in Lifetime movies where they are so cold they have lost their will to live and you are yelling at them from the couch, Don't go to sleep! Shawn isn't really your brother! You can marry him after all without having to move to West Virginia! Like that.
I ungarled my tortured hands and went across the street to buy coffee. This isn't something I can do everyday: a cup of coffee is a huge percentage of my hourly wage, and since I was looking for an alternative to volunteering, I will need to break myself of this habit. But like the skier rescued from the avalanche, I needed to get some hot liquid into my body before my tracheal tube froze solid. Did I mention that my office is cold?!
Back in the office, I attemped to jog in place to keep warm but kept bumping into things. I finally put on my coat, wrapped my hands around my coffee to thaw, and worked away. I wonder if the AC works any better than the heat does.....
Stay tuned for day #4.....
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