Tag Archives: diet

Random things.

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I don’t drink coffee, never have. But if any brand were ever to tempt me to start? This might be it.

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As previously noted, we had an electrician in to put some electrical outlets under our bar. And because we’re either cursed or the unluckiest people on earth, things did not go well. I won’t bore you with details but after 3 hours of trying… ka-Ching! …. the only option was this.

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Ugly ass exterior junction boxes… that because I let the husband supervise? Were mounted too high and now leave me unable to run the three foot long shelf I’d purchased for that spot.

Two foot long shelves it is. Grrr.

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A recent trip to our local pub found the owner munching on these. And while I utterly despise all sugar free, fake ass, wannabe chocolate? These weren’t half bad. Of course I was a few Cosmos in by then, so they may have actually tasted like cardboard. For $15 a bag, I don’t think I’m willing to check.

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Yes.

Yes they are, and bless their little souls for the good cheer they spread.

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Sad, but true.

 

While I’m sure there are thousands of people using their forced quarantine time at home to be useful and productive….

I can honestly say I’m not one of them.

 

 

I’m not learning a new language, sewing masks for the homeless or even organizing my shoe closet.

What… you don’t have a closet solely devoted to shoes?

 

 

What I am doing is cooking.

And eating.

Trying new recipes.

And eating.

Resurrecting old recipes.

And eating.

Making up recipes.

And eating.

Are you noticing the trend here?

 

 

 

That sounds about right.

And while I had been dieting and exercising and lost 20 odd pounds before the virus locked me inside with the refrigerator?

 

 

Yeah.

That’s pretty much where I am now.

 

 

And that’s probably where I’ll be when this whole mess is over.

 

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some double fudge caramel brownies in the kitchen that look lonely.

We can’t have that.

Cape Cod Day 3, Wicked, Plimoth Plantation and some Indians.

 

(And before you laugh at my incorrect title spelling, it happens to be the old fashioned way Gov. William Bradford referred to the original colony and in order to differentiate it from the town of Plymouth, the museum chose the alternate version for it’s name. So there spelling Nazi’s!)

(And before you food picture screamers start screaming for food, here are the pics from the previous night’s dinner that I forgot to include in the last post.)

Wicked.

A restaurant and wine bar in Mashpee famous for their wood fired pizza.

 

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The first thing I thought of when we walked in was why do they have candy corn lights hanging over the bar?

 

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But then I tasted their fabulous Basil Lemon Fizz…

 

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And couldn’t have cared less.

Since they’re famous for pizza, we had pizza.

 

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Though the menu made me apprehensive about choosing the wrong combination. Who needs that kind of ridicule at the dinner table?

 

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We went with the grilled portabella with spinach, roasted red peppers, caramelized onions, mozzarella, roasted garlic and truffle combo… and in a word? Yum!

The morning of vacation day 3 dawned bright and sunny although cold, so we actually left the Cape Cod proper and headed north to Plymouth.

 

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Yes, that Plymouth. Home of the Rock, the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving. We were going to get our history geek on.

 

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And just like Hyannis builds an economy around the Kennedys? Plymouth builds it’s entire town on the Pilgrims landing there first. ( The question is… did they? More on that later.)

 

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Entering through the visitors center, we began our journey back in time to the 17th century. This is a living museum and replicates what life would have been like through interaction with Native American and Colonists. It was a blast!

First up… the Indian Village, where we saw a dug out canoe.

 

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And a live demonstration of how they’re made.

 

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By Native American twins.

 

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No, they weren’t actors. Though their tribe was actually from New York state and not local to Plymouth. They patiently explained the process involved in crafting this sea going canoe and believe me when I tell you it was cold that day. All the tourists were bundled up and these guys were half naked. Which, to be honest…. wasn’t a hardship for me.

😈

 

 

This area is right on the water and there was a pretty stiff breeze. Yes, there was a little heat from the fire but not enough to make me strip… nope. Uh uh!

The fascinating part was, when I asked him why he wasn’t cold like the rest of us…. his answer astounded me. Diet, and conditioning. He told us that Indians traditionally pay close attention to nutrition, eating a mostly plant based diet supplemented by light fish and chicken in the summer and red meat only in the winter, when the body requires more fuel to maintain it’s internal temperature. He said the white man’s habit of covering himself in heavy clothing when it’s cold tricks the body to believing it’s summer all year long, therefor not allowing it acclimate naturally.

Seriously, I was shivering in 19 degree wind chill …. and he was bare chested.

 

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Another interesting fact? They were getting ready to submerge all the canoes in the water for the winter so they would freeze and be preserved for next year.

Any guess what this is?

 

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People were guessing hunting blind or something to do with food storage but believe it or not… it’s a jungle gym for children.

 

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There were multiple structures to explore…

 

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And I seriously hoped the husband wasn’t getting any construction ideas.

 

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No, we don’t need one of these at home.

 

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Though the dolls with their own dug out canoe were sweet.

 

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It’s strange, you can read all the books you want…. but walking through the village and experiencing how the original Americans lived first hand? Gives you an entirely new understanding.

 

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This was the winter long house….

 

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Where multiple families spent the colder months.

 

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Traditionally 3 fires would be burning at all times, and yes. It was a wee bit smokey.

 

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The woman in the middle was our guide for this section…

 

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And though in Native dress…

 

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You can tell she didn’t subscribe to the bare chested boys diet regimen. Wool socks and furs for her, even inside.

 

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I can’t imagine 20-30 people living and sleeping in there together for months on end… no less your entire family.

I’d be suicidal in a week.

 

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We sat on these beds/benches and let me tell you….

 

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I don’t care how many animals skins you throw on them…. they were hard as a rock.

Privacy? What’s that. You’d literally be head to toe with Uncle Joe and cousin Sue all winter.

To which I have 3 words….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The D word.

 

It’s four evil letters…

And I dread it like the plague.

 

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But the time has come.

Entering my 50’s, a hysterectomy forced menopause and long Maine winters have taken their toll and I swear I don’t even recognize myself when I look in a full length mirror.

Alright, yes.

Bacon may have had a little something to do with it.

 

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So now I’m eating healthy.

I’ve given up bacon, and cheese, and gravy, and bread, and chocolate and all those other wonderful things that make life worth living.

 

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I’m back on the treadmill for 2 or 3 sessions a day…. panting, sweating and realizing how horribly out of shape I’ve become.

And believe me when I say I hate exercising.

Really f*ing  hate it.

 

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I’m not enjoying the process, but I’m down 14 lbs…. and that’s rewarding.

What’s not rewarding is that I can’t even tell the difference. And that, my friends…. is a sure sign you’re overweight.

I mean damn… shouldn’t my clothes be falling off me by now?

 

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It’s been 5 weeks of abstinence…

(No, not that kind. I’m overweight, not crazy.)

In a perfect world, I lose another 30lbs. But I’m not holding my breath for miracles. The older we get, the harder it is to lose and at this point I’d be happy to just fit into some of my old clothes again.

So, give a girl a hand. If you have any dieting tips or tricks? I’m all ears…

And hips.

And thighs.

And boobs…

 

 

actual footage of my treadmill motivation

 

 

 

 

 

Ding dong, the diet is dead.

 

Okay, so I wasn’t really on a diet.

(That’s a four letter word in our house…. and one I try to refrain from using. It’s vulgar and quite upsetting.)

But I was trying to watch what I ate lately so as not to frighten any holiday party goers I haven’t seen all year. Nothing like an abominable snowman waddling into your Christmas soiree to put the evening off kilter.

 

 

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The culprit?

These.

(…and let me preface it by saying I had never eaten a Ding Dong before in my life.)

(Stop snickering. You know what I mean.)

 

 

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But I skipped lunch and went grocery shopping hungry last week….

 

 

(Shut up Justin, I know that now.)

And grabbed the first high calorie, sugary sweet, instant gratification I could find.

OH. MY. GOD.

 

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I had one on the way home.

And one after dinner that night.

And yes, one for breakfast the next morning. Don’t judge.

At first I wanted to rail at all my friends for never telling me of it’s high fructose chemically enhanced goodness.

I was in a sugar induced haze.

 

 

Where had it been all my life?

But then, when I’d finished half the box and could hardly walk past the cabinet without salivating,  (I swear I heard them calling me by name)

I realized –

I was hooked by white crack!

I saw my future.  A 350lb addict walking the streets with a 3 a day habit, shaking from sugar withdrawal and Jonesing for a fix.  Accosting perfect strangers, begging for a taste. It wasn’t pretty.

So I heaved them in the trash then and there. And took the trash out to the garage before I changed my mind.

Heed my warning friends… don’t be tempted.

Run… don’t walk, past the White Fudge Ding Dongs on your grocer’s shelf.

 

 

Don’t be taken in by their siren song, wear ear plugs if you must.

Ignore my advice at your peril.

There’s only room for one abominable at every party, and it’s going to be me.

 

 

Diet is a four letter word.

 

I used to be one of those blissfully happy women who never worried about their weight.

I’ve never been rail thin mind you, but I was a fit child, a coltish pre teen, a slim teenager and a curves in the right places adult. I wore whatever was in fashion and if I don’t mind saying so…. rocked it.

Then I turned 30 and gained 10 pounds. No biggie, I’m short but I could carry it.

 

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I turned 40 and gained another 10 pounds.  Hmm… had to rethink those crop tops and short skirts, but okay.

 

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When I turned 50? Only 5 more pounds… I figured I’d reached my leveling off point.

 

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Then…. after a medical issue made a full abdominal hysterectomy necessary and I was thrown into menopause? I gained another 15 pounds. That put me in the “Hooray! Long loose tops are back in style and where do I find that Jane Russell 18 hour bra?” category.

WTF? My body was in revolt. Food was no longer my friend!

I dieted,  I cursed my womanly existence, I exercised, I swore like a longshoreman,  I drank the equivalent of friggin’ Lake Erie in water every day and nothing happened. I tried low fat, low carb, I gave up every delicious thing I could think of (except alcohol because… well, geesh. I had to have a reason to live.) But still the weight didn’t come off.

To be honest it drove me nearly crazy for 2 years until I said …..

 

 

Life is too short to never eat bread. And cheese. And every other wonderfully fatty high calorie thing I’d been denying myself. (Come to momma cappuccino mousse trifle… I’ve missed you!)  If my body wanted to be  round,  voluptuous,  larger than it was, then who was I to argue.

So I bought bigger pants. Hell, I have bunions and had to buy bigger shoes, so what…. it was another excuse to shop.

 

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Yes, I miss thin. Not everyday mind you  (thank you yoga pants!)  but when I have an event like a wedding, or funeral, or horror of horrors… a class reunion where there are people I haven’t seen in 20 years?  It drives me to drink.  No, I won’t be unrecognizable from my former self, but I’m always conscious of the difference. And women are famous for beating themselves up about that. Men embrace their beer bellies and proudly pat them. Women try and squeeze their muffin tops into torture devices called Spanx.

Oh, well… such is life.  It took me a while, but I’ve learned to embrace the larger version of myself. I may not always love her, but I’m healthy and happy…. and in the end, isn’t that much more important than squeezing into a smaller size?

 

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And exercise? Okay, you got me.

It was never my strong suit.

 

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