Stella! and I had hit a rough patch recently. Quite frankly, she’d been putting on airs, acting more like Blanche than her namesake.
From A Streetcar Named Desire.
Blanche DuBois: I can’t stand a naked light bulb, any more than I can a rude remark or a vulgar action.
It started on a beautiful spring day. We were riding along the Minnehaha Creek toward Lake Nokomis.
As you know by this point, my grandmother turned 100 last week. When I went to visit her before her birthday, she mentioned that her “big” chocolate bar was missing.
(I am fairly certain that my grandmother and I have very different definitions for “big” when it comes to candy bars. When she gets a box of Russell Stover chocolates – one of her favorites, she’s satisfied eating one piece a day. I, on the other hand, consider a box of chocolates a type of comparison shopping.)
She had been saving that chocolate bar for a “special occasion.” (I could see where one might consider a 100th birthday to be a special occasion.) As she said that though, she kind of chuckled, “Nearly 100, what was I waiting for?”
I would say that the universe is always sending us messages, some more obvious than others. It’s up to us to listen to them. In my grandmother’s case, she could have dwelled on the “missing” part of the chocolate bar, but instead she decided to focus on savoring the moment. Continue reading
(For non-regular readers of PFM Reports, OFG is Operation Feel Good, a plan my siblings and I have to get fit.)
Last Tuesday wasn’t just any old Tuesday. It was Mardi Gras. I may not have been in New Orleans celebrating (one of my long standing wishes), but I think I did the day proud. I celebrated in the evening with my sisters eating fried ice cream. A second round for everyone. (I’m a firm believer that “a second round” isn’t just for drinks.)
Last Tuesday wasn’t just Mardi Gras. It was Fat Tuesday. I’m not simply translating the French, Mardi Gras meaning Fat Tuesday in English. Nor am I referring to the fried ice cream. Nor the second round of fried ice cream. It takes more than that to make a Tuesday fat.
I had gone to the gym.
Let me explain. Continue reading
I own “eatin’ pants.”
Yet I’ve never been to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
Sure, I’ve been to New Orleans – one of my favorite cities – many times, but never for Mardi Gras. Just seems kind of odd for a man with eatin’ pants. Mardi Gras, after all, marks the end of the Carnival season with its parties, parades and balls that began with the Feast of the Epiphany. As Midnight strikes, the gluttony of Mardi Gras gives way to Ash Wednesday and the far more abstinent Lenten season.
St. Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, New Orleans, Louisiana
In secular terms, one week into our New Year’s resolutions, we break them. (Yes, that was me eating the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup behind the bus shelter last night.) We go on a bit of a bender for a few weeks or more depending on the year. Technically, it’s determined by the spring equinox and a full moon, but I say the finite quality of elastic has something to say about it, at which point we decide to be good for 40 days.
New Orleans can be decadent any time of year, but to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans must be incredible. I’m not suggesting I deserve to see New Orleans during Mardi Gras just because I own eatin’ pants. No, I’m not the only one to belly up to a buffet in Vegas with a little comfort stretch in my waistband.
What I am saying is that I deserve to see New Orleans during Mardi Gras because I once bought a suit just to go out to dinner. Continue reading
Janebruary: the dreaded months of January and February, when winter’s grip seems eternal. 
And to twist the knife, your friends and family who have kept to their resolutions will insist on pointing out how much longer the days already are. [Insert cuss of your choice.] Eating their salads, they will go on about how much more energy they have. [I just used a string of cuss words.] Continue reading
I was rather pleased with myself – a bit prematurely – last Friday; I began Operation Feel Good (OFG).
Despite the perennial vogue to say we don’t like making resolutions, I think most of us naturally think about setting new goals for the coming year. For myself, I decided to get a jumpstart on the New Year and start OFG early – mainly because of a few too many trips to the buffet to snatch the last of the Christmas cookies. Not all of my goals are related to diet and exercise, but this winter also marks the 20th anniversary of the founding of OFG.
My brothers, sisters and I were sitting around a table at Matt’s Bar in Minneapolis, having our second round of Jucy Lucys (a full description of a Jucy Lucy is available in my first OFG post). In 1992, we decided this was going to be the year; we were going to get fit. We each had different goals and mine have even changed over the years – lose weight and I don’t care how (my 20s), fit back into my jeans and eat vegetables (my 30s), let’s keep that heart healthy (my 40s). Continue reading
Bringing Thanksgiving dinner to a close last week, I valiantly devoured a second “smidgen” of pumpkin pie, despite the protests from my waistband. Normally, Thanksgiving is the kickoff for holiday eating – straight through Christmas until New Year’s Day. The damage I can do on the scale during this short period can take me months to undo. From Thanksgiving to New Year’s, I forgive myself for each meal, each treat, each errant cookie with “it’s the holidays!”
As I put the fork down (and stopped using my finger to mop up every last crumb of pie), I realized with dawning horror that Thanksgiving was so early this year in the U.S., that there’d be an extra week of potential Christmas-forgiven eating. Unless measures are taken I could discover, as a friend once warned me, that elastic is finite. Continue reading
Now that I’ve moved to Minneapolis, I have the task of finding a new office. I loved my office in Portland, so I am trying to keep an open mind as I undertake the search in Minnesota.
Before I continue, I should probably mention that as an editor and writer, I can pretty much work wherever I please. My “offices” tend to be cafés.
My requirements for an office are, in my opinion, simple. The café must have good coffee and the baristas need to be able to make a proper cappuccino (the foam must be velvety, not bubbly like a bubble bath). I also like enough activity in the café to create white noise – too loud or too quiet and I’ll keep looking up. Despite the never ending Operation Feel Good (my plan to get fit), the café needs to have a decent pastry selection. Continue reading
In case you couldn’t tell from my last post in which I ate two ice cream cones before lunch, Operation Feel Good (OFG), the plan my siblings and I have to get fit, has run into some trouble. Not for my older brother and sister, who are both succeeding, but for me.
I’m trying not to blame them for my failing, because I determine whether I succeed or not. I determine my success. I determine my success.
Honestly, I am trying to believe that and that’s why I keep trying to break old habits and create new behaviors. For instance, I know chocolate chip cookies are too great a temptation for me, so I don’t keep chocolate chips in the house. The idea is that the craving will pass by the time I get to the store or laziness will keep me from going to the store in the first place.
The flaw in that plan was counting on laziness. Last week I made chocolate chip-less chocolate chip cookies.
Having used the last of the brown sugar, I decided to ban brown sugar from the house. I thought I was safe.
It’s one thing to make chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips. Without brown sugar you can’t make chocolate chip cookies.
You can, however, make shortbread.
And then you can drape that shortbread in apricot jam.
So it should seem obvious that if OFG isn’t working for me, it’s my fault.
That would be true if it weren’t for the Unified Theory of Fat. My theory is that fat can always be created, but once created it can’t be destroyed. Therefore, if someone loses weight, someone else must gain weight.
Based on the empty jar of apricot jam in my kitchen and universal laws, I think my brother just dropped another pant size.
So I’m finally ready to tell the tale of stepping on the scale for my six-week challenge.
Rather than lead you through the streets of New Orleans, perhaps it would have been easier if I simply stepped on the scale. But I got where I am because I am the kind of person who shows up for breakfast with powdered sugar on his sleeve from a beignet appetizer. I’m weak when it comes to food, but throw in any connection to New Orleans and I’m nearly defenseless. This you needed to know as I step on the scale for my OFG weigh-in.
The plan is to lose one pound every week for six weeks.
A little more than two weeks ago was the baseline weigh-in. From that weight, one pound would have to come off every week.
In a game with just one person, cheating isn’t very effective, and that’s why a friend has suggested Operation Feel Good had become Operation Fat Guy. Over the years, I’ve developed a lot of bad habits that are hard to break, but I keep trying, sometimes with success. For example, since my 20s exercise has been a part of my daily routine. However, when it comes to food – oh, the mind games. Continue reading