two friends and a diet

dinner at the water club (lyn)

2012-01-26T23:39:00.000-05:00

It’s amiserable, rainy night. Not conducive togetting dressed and going out. But Ihave a date with Gail, and she is picking me up in her car, a rare occurrencein New York, where most people don’t even own one. She is taking me out tocelebrate our anniversary (we re-connected a year ago, after not being in touchfor 27 years). But really, tonight isjust a great excuse to have an amazing dinner together.

We are goingto The Water Club. According to its own website, this restaurant “serveswonderful classic American cuisine in a beautiful waterside setting againstsweeping river views.” The last and only other time I wasthere was in May of 2004. I tookAlexander to celebrate his graduation from elementary school. It amazes me how recent that still feels.

Gailcommands attention wherever she goes. She’s almost six feet tall, has long, beautiful blond hair, and engageswith everyone. We are given our choiceof tables (we pick a booth with a beautiful view of the East River), and beforewe are even seated, Gail orders some champagne. Neither one of us is much of a drinker (she even less than I) and oneglass is enough to make her slightly tipsy (I need two). We toast our friendship and future businesshopes.

I never seea menu. Gail orders a dozen oysters,telling me that six are only two points. I slurp mine from the shell, having once read that this is totallyacceptable behavior (maybe even preferred) for eating oysters. They are perfect. Gaildoesn’t tell me how many points are in the Maine stuffed lobsters we ordernext, or the butter (so good I’m sure it must have cream or somethingelse in it). We consciously decide NOT to order any sides, but then therestaurant surprises us and brings a big bowl of mashed potatoes sprinkled withscallions. We can’t offend therestaurant’s generosity, so we eat these too.

Lobster ismy favorite food, and I have eaten a lot of it. But tonight’s lobster ranks up there as one of the best I’ve everhad. First, it’s shelled, which must affect the taste. It is perfectly cooked, succulent, andabsolutely delicious.

We finishthe meal with cappuccino and a banana-based dessert that is flamed and servedwith vanilla ice cream that tastes so much better than ordinary ice cream. The dessert alone is probably my full day’sallotment of 26 points (that is, if I were tracking, which thankfully I’m not).

But the bestpart of the night is the most expected…the great conversation. For over four hours, we talk about everything…sometimes funny, sometime serious. It is never boring,repetitive, or uninteresting. I alwayslearn something, whether it’s about myself (Gail thinks I have two conflictingtraits…being smart and being sensitive-each alone is fine but together can be tricky); her (Gail knows a lot about a lotof things, but it surprises me to learn tonight, for example, that she knows alot about big boats and airplanes); or the bigger picture of life.

It’s aperfect night.

signs of aging (lyn)

2012-01-26T17:22:00.000-05:00

I call afriend on her birthday the other day. She’s 61, and has Debbie Downer tendencies. “Lyn, we are old. If we were described in the paper, they woulddescribe us as elderly.”

A man disappearsin New York and he’s 61. I subscribe toa New York City email notification system that tells me about street closings,emergency detours, subway changes, and apparently missing people. Notification of a 61-year-old missing personcomes as a Silver Alert.

I have somethingin my left eye. I thought I was seeing asnarl in my hair until I realized that my hair was nowhere near my eyes. I go to my ophthalmologist whom I haven’tseen in two years. My eyes are healthyand yes, I do have a small floater. Hetells me not to worry, over time my brain will adjust to it and it’s likelythat it will be “pushed down” and I won’t see it anymore. “What causes floaters?” I ask. “They're mostly related to age,” I’m told, “ andabout 70% of people will, at some point in their lives, have them.” Now I’m one of them.

So, feeling old and blind (my pupils are dilatedand I can’t see), I leave the doctor’s and stop by Bloomingdales, which isnearby. It is the first day of their finalwinter sale-an additional 50% off. I can’t resist. The prices are ridiculous…over 90% off. I end up getting a gorgeous, form-fitting blackjersey dress by Donna Karan, marked down from $1,995 to $179.55.

Then I see aspectacular $798 taupe jersey ruched skirt reduced to $62.55. Here it is in red:

As I amdebating if yet another dress may be too tight, a customer passing by says,“You have an amazing body.” Still not sure, I ask a foreign man in his late 60’s or so, and he offers his opinion of the dress: “Youlook sex,” he says. I think he meanssexy, but I'll take either.

My eyes maybe old, newspapers may refer to me as elderly, the city may describe me as a“silver” person, but at least somewhere I feel young again. Another good reason to stay thin.

quick trip to weight watchers (lyn)

2012-01-26T11:19:00.000-05:00

As alifetime member I need to get weighed at least once every month. I am measured against the weight I was when Iearned the lifetime status. That was on May 19, 2010 and my weight was120.6. Today, I am 122.4. That’s not bad, as I’d be happy around 121,but still. This is the tough part. Staying the same.

to the hospital with a friend (lyn)

2012-01-25T21:50:00.000-05:00

It’s stilldark out when Gail picks me up. She ishaving out-patient surgery and is the first one on the doctor’s schedule. I pack up enough stuff to keep myselfoccupied for three days: the new bookI’m reading (The Accident by LinwoodBarclay), two newspapers (I never got to yesterday’s), my iPhone (with Scrabbleif I feel like playing), ear buds (in case I tire of reading), a large thermosof coffee, and a porcelain cup (coffee tastes so much better in porcelainthan paper). We're at the hospital by six.

Gail checksin and within minutes, we are whisked away to a small curtained off room. Three different sets of nurses come by to askthe exact same set of questions. They dothis as a precaution to insure they get the right patient. This proves to be a good idea since theymistake the dark-haired-Spanish-speaking woman in the cubicle next to Gail forGail (who is tall, blond, and Nordic-looking).

Gail is takenoff to surgery, and I go downstairs to get something to eat. While she is enjoying the benefits ofconscious sedation, I am paralyzed by the calories next to each bakery item atAu Bon Pain. Everything I want is440-660 calories. As I am developing arationale for why a 660-calorie croissant filled with raspberry may be okay, Ispot a plain croissant listed at 180 calories. I don’t know why a little jam would be 480 calories, but I don’t want toquestion it either. I imagine one of theworkers saying, “Oh gosh (though of course they’d never say oh gosh), thatcroissant is mis-marked; it should be 500 calories.” And then what would I do? A woman near me senses my anxiety, and aproposof nothing says, “Eat what you want. You’re probably stressed enough just being here.” I heed her advice and buy the plaincroissant.

I‘m barely throughtwo papers when I get a call that Gail is ready. I go upstairs to meet her. Her hair looksgreat, her skin is glowing, and she looks well rested. The last time Gail wasconsciously sedated, she came out of it all happy and giddy and repeating the words,“Whee. Whee.” This time she only smiles, but a smile isgood enough.

the party that isn't (lyn)

2012-01-25T15:02:00.000-05:00

Afterwatching the Patriots and Giants win in the thrilling final minutes of theirrespective games on Sunday, I decide to throw a small Super Bowl party. My two favorite teams will be playing, and I don’t want to be home alonewatching, especially if the Patriots are winning and I’m getting taunting callsfrom my large contingency of Boston-based friends and family.

I speak tomy sister Jean who throws parties of 50 or more all the time. She has abig, perfectly designed party-house, and she is a great cook. She offerssome suggestions for the food. “Why don’t you make chili and cornbread? I have some great, easy recipes. You can ask your guests to bringa dish, sort of like a pot luck dinner.” I like her idea, and it relievesme of the pressure of what to make. I will also bake a dessert of some kind. I go out and buy a tin baking dish in anticipation of needing one.

I invite 19people, and soon hear back from 12…all but two have been invited to otherparties. The two who have not been invited to other parties provideexcellent reasons for declining. This is from Gail (Max and Harry are herdogs, Greg is her husband):

Hi, Lyn--

TheSuper Bowl over here is a deeply spiritual holiday, spent with Greg cursing atthe TV, me feeding The Men’s Club (Greg, Max and Harry) and me taking a huge nap.

So,unfortunately, I already have “plans.”

And this,from my dear friend Zelia, who is a no-nonsense kinda girl:

sorry,no interest

In the end,I speak to Penny who gets me invited to the party she is going to (I know thehosts, but not well, and they are kind enough to invite me. Many of thepeople I included are already going to this party).

I send anemail out canceling my event. At least now I won't have to worry about all the fattening leftovers.

sort of like a blind date (lyn)

2012-01-24T21:36:00.001-05:00

Last week, Ihear of a play I want to see (The Fall ToEarth). I send an email to Robyn andPenny, asking them if they want to go, and to let me know if they hear of any$4 tickets (we all subscribe to different theater sites). Penny writes back and copies me and Robyn andsomeone else: just went ...it is assaultive &devastating....well acted...not fun.

Next, I getan email from the someone else saying she can get tickets and do I want togo. Thinking the someone else is anothersomeone else, I say yes. We make plansto meet at the theater.

I eat aquick, unhealthy dinner of mashed potatoes, chicken drumsticks, and a modifiedBrazilian chicken potpie followed by four cookies. The only other thing I eat today (aside fromcoffee) is a 16 Candles combo of three different sorbets with a few nutsprinkles.

I arrive atthe theater early, and I’m waiting for the person I think is coming, only to besurprised when the person who iscoming shows up. I know her, but barely. We’ve briefly met once or twice at one ofPenny’s many parties. We immediately connect and are quickly tradingstories. I wish I could meet men aseasily as I meet women.

And theplay? Just like Penny said...assaultive, devastating,well-acted, not fun...but definitely worth seeing.

question to our readers (lyn)

2012-01-24T13:57:00.000-05:00

A friend ofmine recently asked, “Why do you still write a blog? After all, you’re no longer doing what the blogname states…being on a diet.” It made methink. Why am I still writing, andshould I be?

I know thatmany of my posts stray far from topic. I’ve reached my goal, and now I’m not eventracking. But as I told my friend,maintenance is harder for me than losing, because there are no rewards. Congratulations; you’re the same, is the bestI can expect. But that’s what I want tobe---the same. And the same is hard towrite about.

I’mmaintaining not for accolades; I’m maintaining because I’ve always identifiedwith being thin, and thin is what I want to be. I like wearing small-sized clothes. I like not having a double chin. I like being healthier. I like making my mother happy. I like being near in size to my two sisters. And Ilike looking younger. There are manybenefits to being at the right weight.

I committedto being on a diet for a year and writing about it. I did that. But then I found I liked writing. It’s a discipline that keeps me focused and committed.

I’d love tohear from you all. Please leave commentson this question, and it’s a serious one:

Nowthat I have reached my goal, should I stop blogging?

I await yourresponses.

maintenance (lyn)

2012-01-23T10:14:00.000-05:00

123.2.

I knowthat’s not much, but that is still about two pounds higher than I’d like. This is what maintenance is about. It’s boring. But to keep the weight off, it’s important to stay vigilante. Especially since a ridiculously high numberof people who lose weight, gain it all back. I won’t be one of them.

on to california (m)

2012-01-22T15:12:00.001-05:00

Friday. Headed to California for the National Championships. After paying a small fortune for that trip to Romania back in October, I decide we can stick it out in economy. I spring for "economy plus" which means a little more legroom. Basically, what it really means is that you get to sit by the bulkhead where everyone stands to go to the bathroom. H and I are seated three across. I get the middle, H is in the aisle and the young Mr. Lane (as the attendant calls him) is seated by the window. We heard from several of our friends who took an earlier flight on Jet Blue that the weather on the West Coast is bad...rain, wind, fog. Three Jet Blue crafts made unscheduled stops to refuel. Since fuel is the most expensive line item for air travel, planes these days are economizing by carrying only what they think they need, not a drop more. Hence the need to drop down and fuel up when going against bad weather which burns more fuel. Net/net: air travel is getting worse and worse all the time.

Our United craft has seen better days. Everything about it is tired. The seats, the carpets, the body of the plane (lots of touch-up paint) and, the attendants themselves. Old, tired, cranky. We sit on the ground for an hour, strapped in our seat belts. I don't know what it is about flying but I always fall dead asleep before take-off, mouth open. It's a lovely sight, I'm sure.Just as we get the all clear to go, I spring to life. I'm bored already and we've got 6 hours and 41 minutes ahead of us. I'd take out a book to read, but as there is no overhead space, my Kindle is stowed away somewhere in First Class. I look around. 6 hours and 39 minutes to go.A video comes on. Why it's the CEO of United Airlines telling all of us about his vision for a bright future for United Airlines. He waxes enthusiastic about international flights and shows computer assisted designs of flat beds with goose down pillows. Meanwhile, I can't even get a glass of water from my grumpy attendant.I try to put myself in a positive frame of mind. I think back to the days when I couldn't even buckle my seat belt on the plane and had to carry a seat belt extender. I remember the humiliation of being on a private jet for my company and not being able to buckle up and not having had my extender with me. The steward came over with an extender and told me I had to buckle up.....in front of my new boss. Awful. Awful.

Within an hour, the carts come out and they begin serving food....in first class. They announce that they have some snacks available for sale in steerage. They direct us to the in-flight magazine to look at the "menu." I can't reach the magazine as it is on the cabin door in a pocket. I can't get my purse because it is in an overhead compartment in First Class, with my Kindle. I imagine my purse and my Kindle talking to each other.

Kindle-She's gonna have a fit! She can't read, she can't buy snacks.
Purse (my Baggalini, the one Lyn thinks is beneath me): Poor M! Can't we do something to help her? She's been so nice to me, rescuing me from that cheap store.
Kindle-Maybe I'll download another of her romance novels for when we land. That always makes her happy.

The cart of food bypasses us because I don't have money. I feel like Oliver begging for food (Please, sir, can you spare some porridge?).I try to think positive thoughts. Maybe I'll lose weight by not eating lunch or dinner today. That would be great.The cart comes back our way an hour later. I ask if there is anything left. One chicken teriyaki wrap. I grab it and give it to Harrison. He is starving. He splits it in half and offers me some. I'm famished and take a bite. It's great. I can't eat it while he's hungry so I give it back to him and tell him I'm fine.

Think positive thoughts. I am losing weight. I fit in my seat without spilling over onto the young Mr. Lane. My seatbelt fits with room to spare. I will survive this flight.I look at this as an opportunity to practice self-control. I don't eat. I watch A Dolphin's Tale, and I don't complain. I am a model of discipline.

After we arrive in San Francisco, we rent a car and drive to San Jose.We get to registration and the attendant announces that there are some packages awaiting our arrival.I look at the bags. My friend Abby left them for us. A bag full of healthy treats--fresh fruit, peppers and lemonhummus, clementines, apples, mixed berries, melon and pineapple. Some cookies for Harrison and Weight Watchers bars and low calorie jello for dessert.It was the most thoughtful welcome gift we ever got. Like finding a pot of gold at the end of a long journey.What a great welcome after the long flight. We had some fruit and slept like babies. Full, but on plan.

a bar mitzvah (lyn)

2012-01-21T23:15:00.001-05:00

Jill’s son is being Bar Mitvahed today. And it is snowing, for the first time this winter. I abandon myplans to wear little booties and a nice shearling coat in favor of snow boots(not as bad as Uggs) and a more practical winter coat with a hood.

The service is beautiful. It’s held in an intimate chapel, and the cantor and rabbi, both women, captivatethe audience with their beautiful voices. Jill’s son does a masterful job of reading his Haftorah, and then gives a personal interpretation of its meaning. His speech is laced with humor, and we are all impressed with thepresence this young man commands. Afterthe ceremony, we all head over to DUMBO (in Brooklyn) where the party is beingheld.

Jill has chosen a very cool, non-traditional place for thecelebration. The music, the food, and the company are all great. I don’t dance because everyone who is dancingis so good. Jill’s son is a professionaldancer and it shows. He dances like Idance in my best dreams. I eat too manyof the little hamburger sliders and fries, and can’t resist the shot-glass milkshake. Then there are the turkeymeatballs in some kind of exotic sauce, and shrimp. The only thing I say no to are the mini macand cheeses. And that’s all before themain course of salmon skewers, mashed potatoes, and vegetables.

There is entertainment, heartwarming speeches, more dancing andmore food. There is a montage of Jill’sson, showing him from birth until now. It’s maybe ten minutes long, and that’s about how fast it feels in realtime.

You take them home wrapped in their little blankets, and poof,they are being Bar Mitvahed, and the next minute they’re off to college. Hold onto them while you can.

a recent poll on body image (lyn)

2012-01-20T23:27:00.000-05:00

Fitness Magazine recentlyconducted a poll, and found that:

More than 50% of women think they look fat, and

The body part that women hate most is their thighs.

I don’t think I look fat any more; in fact, if I am wearing theright clothes I think I actually look thin. But my hips still overlap my jeans. Why is that?

I wear a size 27 jean, down from a 30 or 31 in 2009. But still, my hips don’t fit snuggly inside myjeans. Is this age? Lack of exercise? Or something else?

Tonight at book club I have a little bit of everything-vegetablesin dip, a mixture of crackers, cheese, saltines, and chocolate. I feel like the only one eating. And I know I’m eating just because it’sthere.

Maybe that’s the somethingelse. Since I’ve stopped tracking, I give myself more liberty to eat. When tracking, it’s easier to skip the snackingor the unfamiliar foods than to try and calculate their point values.

As for the body part I hate most…. I’m not thrilled with my thighs,but then again, I’m not too fond of my upper arms either. It’d be hard to decide which I hate more; I'm glad I wasn't polled.

a new food discovery (lyn)

2012-01-19T22:48:00.000-05:00

For a whilenow, Zelia has been telling me about the salad bar at Fairway, so thisafternoon I go there. For $7.99, this iswhat you can get:

A goodsize serving of greens (I choose romaine)
Six toppings(I struggle to find six I want, but eventually end up with beets, kidney beans, artichokes, peas, corn, and tomatoes)
Onecheese (I like goat)
Choppedor not chopped (I get a version in-between)

Then, for adollar more, you can add a protein (beef, shrimp, or chicken; I choosechicken).

As my saladis being semi-chopped, a Fairway employer returns two bins of cranberries and mushrooms. I get a little ofeach at no charge.

I ask for the dressing (balsamic) on the side, and have a $9 dinner for two nights. I doubt I could buy the ingredients for less.

I get homearound seven and feel like sushi. I’m sure the salad will be just as good thisweekend. At least I hope so. A $9 dinner is only a good value if I eat it.

an unexpected gift (lyn)

2012-01-19T19:29:00.000-05:00

The doormanhands me a package as I’m coming in the building. I’m not expecting anything. I open it and inside is a book, Food Rules, an Eater’s Manual, byMichale Pollan, with illustrations by Maira Kalman.

It’s themost adorable book, dropped off by Gail. In total-Gail fashion, it’s wrapped in a red ribbon and inscribed with atouching message. I start skimmingthrough it, and immediately am drawn in. It’s a nice respite from the harrowing and gruesome WWII survival story I am currentlyreading for book club (Unbroken byLaura Hillenbrand).

And, if Iwanted to put off reading it for a year (which I don’t), I could read theentire book while waiting for my gynecologist!

a class action suit waiting to happen (lyn)

2012-01-19T14:06:00.000-05:00

A month agoAlexander and I both get new iPhone 4S's. I settle on the 200MB monthly data plan of $15 per phone. I don’t know how to measure data usage (as itturns out, no one does). I use the onlytool available to me…my own history. Beforemy new iPhone, I had an iPhone 3G. Forthe past three years, I haven’t exceeded 90MB a month except for one monthwhen I was traveling. So purchasing a planthat offers 200MB feels right. I evencancel my unlimited data usage plan of $30/month that is no longer beingoffered.

Within 16days of having our new phones, Alexander has used 198MB and I have used almost100. Something is wrong. I call AT&T, and explain theproblem. Larry appears to understand andadvises me to go to the nearest AT&T store, bring my phone, and there, “Atechnician will be able to analyze your usage in detail and see if there is aproblem with the phone.” Sounds likereasonable advice to me, and so I follow it.

At thestore, Robert greets me with a big smile, and says, “How can I help?” I answer with, “Oh, Robert, you are probablygoing to regret getting me as your next customer.” Before I leave, I’m sure he does.

Robert helpsme as far as he can. He calls an iPhonespecialist; she’s not helpful. We speakto an escalation person. He is the leasthelpful, suggesting that maybe I just use more data than I think I do (even though my texts, internet and emails prove differently). Robert’s manager gets involved. She is nice but offers no answer (but doesgive me a $30 credit for my time). Afterninety frustrating minutes, this is what I learn: AT&T cannot verify usage data. If they say you use two billion GB of datain a month, there is no way to refuteit. And, you must pay for it.

Imagine ifthe food industry operated that way.

Me: How could I gain 10 pounds in a month from eating an entire Entenmann’sChocolate Fudge cake every day?

Entenmann’sRep: I’m not sure, ma’am. The nutritional labeling says it’s only 1calorie per slice, or 8 calories for the whole cake.

Me: But how can that be? I’ve gottenso fat from eating it!

Entenmann’s Rep: I’m sorry ma’am, but the label says its only 8 calories.

Me: But what if the label turns out to be wrong?

Entenmann’s Rep: The label is NOT wrong.

Me: How do you know it’s not wrong? How do you calculate the calories?

Entenmann’s Rep: I can’t tell you that. All I can say is that the label says its 8 calories, so that's what it is. Labels don't lie. You probably had a Big Mac and Large Fries for lunch every day and just forgot!

drop-in surprise (m)

2012-01-18T22:08:00.002-05:00

Years ago, a woman named S worked for me. Very smart, very ambitious. She met and fell in love with D. They were perfectly suited for each other. They both liked clothes and shopping. I think you catch my drift.

Their wedding was phenomenal. It was in New York and I stayed at my friend Susan's in Wesport, CT. for the weekend. I am in their wedding video, dancing up a storm.

Years later, they moved to a large house on my street where they began to raise their four beautiful, athletic children.

Then all hell broke loose. D left S for another man. They had to sell the house. We were so sad when they left our neighborhood.

Since then, S has opened a great store in a nearby town. Very hip, edgy clothes and accessories. It was written up in Daily Candy. I've bought a few things there, mostly scarves, bracelets and purses.

The other day, I had a meeting with someone who is starting a business and wants me to join her. She chose the restaurant. It was right across the street from S's shop. I was early, so I went in.

S was working that day and I was so happy to see her. Her jaw dropped. She hadn't seen me since I lost weight.

I wanted to give her some business, so I instinctly went to the scarves. She laughed and said, "I think you can look at the clothes now!"

Not quite. But it was nice that she thought so.

veggie egg white (m)

2012-01-18T21:40:00.002-05:00

On the go all day today. Getting ready for our trip to California on Friday. Hair cut, manicure/pedicure (mostly because I will have to take my shoes off at security in the airport and I don't wear socks-ever) and teeth cleaning at the dentist.

No time for breakfast. Between appointments and errands, I stop for something to eat at Dunkin' Donuts. I am so hungry, I want to order two orders of hash browns, a bagel with cream cheese and some chocolate munchkins for dessert. Instead, I order green tea--black--with lemon and I debate which protein option is the leanest. I decide on one of the egg wraps. The staff in this Dunkin' Donuts is all-Vietnamese. A family, I think.

Here goes:

Man: What else I get you?
Me: Ah, I'll have an egg and cheese breakfast wrap.
Man: Egg and cheese wrap?
Me: No...I changed my mind. I'll have an egg white veggie flatbread sandwich.
Man: No egg and cheese wrap?
Me: NO. AN EGG WHITE VEGGIE FLATBREAD SANDWICH.....NO BREAD.
Man: No bread?
Me: No bread. Oh, and no cheese, either.
Man: No bread no cheese?
Me: Yes, that's right.
Man: You change mind. Bread and cheese now?
Me: NO. I NO CHANGE MIND. JUST VEGGIE EGG WHITE. NO BREAD. NO CHEESE.
Man; (hollering to the "cook" at the microwave) (in Vietnamese). #$$#%^veggieeggwhitenobreadnocheese.
Cook: $%$#*&^&*%veggieeggwhitenobreadnocheeseHAHAHA!
Man:HAHAHAveggieeggwhitenobreadnocheeseHAHAHA

I get my order and look at it. Wrapped in paper is a saucer-shaped white thing with speckles of green and red --presumably the peppers. It looks like something the Jetsons would eat. I sit and eat it --with my hands. I feel eyes on me. I look up and the man and the cook are snickering behind the counter.

I suppose it is a pretty ridiculous sight.

paula dean (m)

2012-01-18T21:26:00.001-05:00

My Cousin Patty lives to eat. Everything she does or talks about involves food. She has Type II diabetes and her blood sugar level is in the stratosphere. We're talking mid-400s.

I'm not telling tales out of school here. She would tell you herself within five minutes of meeting you.

Patty is on vacation in Hilton Head this week. She is stunned to discover it's for golfers. She doesn't play golf. It's 59 degrees there and 50 degrees in Boston. A long way to go for a 9-degree difference, if you ask me.

Patty: Did you hear? Paula Dean has Type II diabetes! That's what I have.
Me: I know, I heard.
Patty: What do you think?
Me: About what? Paula Dean? I don't care about Paula Dean (honestly, I can't stand her and her chubby hands and her trailer park cuisine).
Patty: Well, it's too bad, don't you think?

No. I don't think. I have always believed you have to be prepared to take the consequences of your own actions. I have no sympathy for Paula Dean. I don't wish her ill but I'm not surprised that a lifetime around fats and sugars resulted in an unfortunate, but manageable condition.

No. What's too bad in my opinion is my friend, Anne, dying of liver cancer at the age of 48 after a lifetime of clean living.

the waiting game (lyn)

2012-01-18T14:15:00.003-05:00

I have anappointment this morning at my gynecologist. I’ve been seeing her for at least 13 years, probably longer. She can be prickly and narcissistic, but issmart and competent.

By the timeI shower and check emails, it’s time to leave, and I haven’t eaten breakfast.I’m at the bus stop by 8:30, and again marvel at all the people who routinelyare up and out and starting work at this time. I can’t believe I used to be one of them.

I stop at aDunkin’ Donuts near my doctor’s office for coffee, and see all the calorieslisted next to the menu items. I splurgeand have two donut holes for a combined caloric intake of 150 calories. I know these are empty calories, but I’mhungry.

I arrive atthe doctor’s office by 9:05, for my 9:15 appointment. First, I am handed an electronic note pad and askedto update all my information. Thishigh-tech approach is incongruous with the low-tech, slightly shabbyoffice. After checking-in, the waitingbegins. This three-pronged waitingprocess is the most annoying part of my visit. Here’s how it works.

PhaseOne: Wait upstairs with many patientsuntil you are called and handed your physical file (mine is huge as I have beencoming for many years; too bad this isn’t digitized like my much smallercontact info is).

PhaseTwo: Proceed to lower level, file in hand, where you wait with fewer patients.

PhaseThree: Enter exam room, strip naked, put on a paper dress (open in the front)and await the arrival of the doctor.

So, I’mstill upstairs waiting, when I decide this is ridiculous. 45 minutes and I haven’t even progressed to phasetwo yet. This happens every time I come. I think it’s insulting. Doesn’t my time count? What, are three patients all scheduled forthe same time slot? Why does this seem to only happen here? I even suggest to thebilling clerk that if I am charged $25 for cancelling, they should pay me $25for waiting. She probably thinks I’mabsurd; if she is, she would be right.

Finally, Iam led downstairs, and phases two and three pass quickly. But not before I mention to my doctor’s nursethat this will probably be my last time here, as I hate waiting an hour or moreevery time I come. She just shrugs and continueswith her paperwork. Someone probablysaid, “There’s this anxious b***ch upstairs, could someone PLEASE see her?!”

After 65minutes of waiting, I finally get to see my doctor. I notice right away that all the weight shelost last year appears to be back. Shedoesn’t comment that mine is still off. But she’s friendlier and chattier than usual. We talk about kids (mostly hers, but that’sokay), how expensive college is (she tells me that she only has $1,000 left insavings), and my health (which is fine). By the time my exam ends, I have forgotten the wait, and realize that I bothlike and trust my doctor.

Beforeleaving, I apologize to the billing clerk and the nurse. I mean really, what’s an hour of waiting oncea year? I just hope I remember this next time I'm here.

polish thinner (lyn)

2012-01-18T12:36:00.000-05:00

I get anemail from Gail. I’m her weightwatcher’s buddy and track her performance weekly. It begins,

Bwaaaaaaahhhh! I am UP 1.6 pounds. Hate that.

A fewminutes later I get another email from Gail.

Just opened a package fromSephora.

They send along “gifts.”

Today they sent me thesethree tiny bottles of nail polish: Sephora by OPI in a base, a color, and a topcoat.

The name of the polish(it’s a purple color)?

“Iris I Was Thinner”

Perfect.

lunch at dovetail (lyn)

2012-01-17T19:42:00.000-05:00

I moved to New York in January of 1985, and soon after meet Carol. She is my first friend here, and that summer, we share a house with 20 others in Westhampton.

Then I meet Abby; here we are in 1989.

And soon after, through Abby, I meet Alice (this was taken in 1992).

All three were-and are-accomplished, bright, interesting, and fun. By the early 90's, Abby and Carol had moved to Westchester, married, and had three children each. Alice and I stayed in the city, she living downtown and me living uptown; both of us had a child.

In March of 2009, we all gettogether for lunch, the first time in too many years to count. We have such a great time that we decide to make it a monthly thing. We set a date for our second lunch for sometimein April. Something comes up and we needto reschedule. Things happen and lifecontinues and now, here it is, almost three years later, and we are gettingtogether for our second lunch.

The next 20 days in NYCare restaurant week (it must have started as 7-days)….many of the bestrestaurants are offering 3-course lunch and dinner specials for $24.07 and $35respectively. It is a great deal, and anice opportunity to visit new restaurants. Carol chooses Dovetail on the west side, and we all eagerly agree.

I spend time on my hair,washing it and blowing it out. I wearone of my little black skirt outfits. Iget to the bus stop across the street and it is steadily raining, therebyerasing my hair effort.

The bus slowly meandersits way crosstown and I arrive late. Iam not exaggerating when I say that each of my friends looks prettier,healthier, thinner, and more vibrant than when I first met them in themid-80’s. As we are talking over eachother to catch up, Carol looks across the restaurant and sees, like us, a tableof four women. They may not be mucholder than we are, but they have that senior look….grey hair in a I'm-not-young-anymore style. Carol asks, “Do you think we will ever looklike them?” We look over and all agreethat no, never. Despite our ages, we will always be youthful, though our kids would probably disagree. I try to sneak a picture of this other table,but am unsuccessful at getting all four. One of the women looks at me with knowing eyes; I feel like a stalker. Thisis all I am able to get:

Meanwhile, Carol announcesher two goals for the new year.

To give up eating only kosher foods.
To learn how to drink a martini.

Her family is encouragingof the former (perhaps of the latter too), but she is finding it difficult. We assure her that someday, if she tries really really hard, she may be able to eat a non-kosher hot pastrami sandwich and enjoy it.

The food at Dovetail is amazing andinteresting. The braised lamb appetizer(in a puff pastry with beets and mint) is excellent, and beautifully presented.

The salmon (with brusselsprouts, parsnips, and grapefruit) is also good. I get lost in the conversation and forget tosnap a picture. Besides, the four womenat the other table are still glaring at ours, expecting me to try and grab anotherphoto of them.

Dessert is almost toopretty to eat. I get the “bittersweetchocolate cremeux tangerine, olive oil crumble, cinnamon ice cream.”

All the servings are smalland exquisitely plated. It is an elegantdining experience, except for all the laughter. Two hours sneak by, and too soon we have to leave. We still have many more stories to telland news to relate.

We schedule our nextlunch for March. Ihope nothing gets in the way, as today’s lunch was an astonishingly delicioustreat.

what I saw at the golden globes (m)

2012-01-17T08:52:00.002-05:00

Lyn asks me if I'm going to watch the Golden Globes. I have seen just two movies this year. I remark that it would be like dropping in on an AP Physics class, never having had the basic course. I'm afraid I won't understand what's going on.

Instead, I tune into the red carpet segment. I'm looking for ideas for formal wear for my niece's wedding in Newport. I can't find a "gown" to wear. I know the overweight actresses from The Help and Bridesmaids will be there. Wonder if I can catch some ideas from them.

Here they come...first Octavia Spencer from The Help. Oh, a lavender dress. The front part looks like something Kate Smith used to wear with its obvious panels to flatten her stomach. The fluttering sleeves mask, but do not hide, her big arms.

Wait...here comes Melissa McCarthy. Ugh. A tent dress a la Mama Cass or Totie Fields. In bile green, no less.

My takeaway from the scene?

There's no disguising heavy. No matter how much money you have. Not even if you have professional stylists.

Keep losing weight.

diana (m)

2012-01-17T08:38:00.002-05:00

I loved Princess Diana since she was first introduced to the world. We first bonded over our prominent noses. Imagine, a beauty icon who didn't have a button nose! I loved it.

My greatest compliment came in 1981 when Rusty, someone with whom I worked, stopped mid-conversation in the hallway of our office in Boston and said, "You remind me of an ethnic Lady Di." I was over the moon.

My wedding dress was reminscent of hers. We both gave birth to two boys. We were like twins.

Later on, my respect for her deepened as she dealt with her emotionally bankrupt husband. I was fascinated to see how she eclipsed him and moved on with her life.

And then, on that awful night in 1997, I was flipping through the channels of my television when I stumbled upon what appeared to be an accident scene somewhere in Europe. I watched in horror as the news unfolded. When they announced her death, I felt a piece of me die. No exaggeration.

For the next few days, I could not function. I wore my pajamas and took to my couch, box of Kleenex in hand.

On the day of her funeral, little Harrison came up to me as I was lying prone on the couch, eyes red and puffy, and asked, "Mommy, do you love me as much as you love Princess Diana?" Oh, Chr-st.

Only then did I rouse myself and move on with my life. But the world has been a less interesting place for me ever since.

So, imagine my unbridled enthusiasm to actually see the dresses she wore. To be that close to her.

My sister-in-law, godmother, cousin and godmother's husband came with us to the Princess Diana exhibit at Foxwoods. My husband got us all tickets for Christmas. We went through the different exhibits...the Spencer family historical section, the estate at Althorp, Diana's childhood, the wedding, the funeral, and then the dresses.

I had read every book on Diana and was giving my family a private tutorial. I knew about the family history. The Spencers were more British than the Royal Family. I pointed out the sister Charles dated before he dated Diana. I spared Charles no kindness, setting up this 19-year old ingenue Diana for an arranged marriage whilst he was keeping that horse-faced Camilla on the side. Before long, I had a whole entourage of people who wanted to be part of my tour.

When we got to the dresses, even I was rendered speechless. It was beyond my comprehension.

She was unimaginably tall....and impossibly thin.

That's where the similarities between us end.

a farewell breakfast (lyn)

2012-01-16T22:46:00.000-05:00

Alexander isreturning to school today. Last night hetells me that he’ll probably take an early bus, though I know this will neverhappen. It doesn’t.

Around noon, Alexander isready to go. “Bye, mom,” he announces ashe’s putting on his coat. He thinks he mightbe able to catch the 12:30 bus. He stillneeds to find where he’s going, buy a ticket, pick up lunch, and take a cabcrosstown in midday to Port Authority. Itell him he’ll never make it, and wonder aloud what would make him think he could. I convince him (through food, not logic) to take the 2:30 bus instead. "This will give us time to go out for breakfast," I say. He doesn't resist.

We choose a localdiner. It’s crowded, but we manage toget a table right away. Alexander orderssimply: an omelet, toast and orangejuice. I want the eggs benedict orpancakes, but because my son is showing restraint, I order two eggs overmedium, then cave and get bacon and an English muffin. At least I pass on the potatoes. I enjoy the company, but less so the food andsurly waiter. I feel greasy by the timewe leave.

Alexander is back atschool by six, and I am on my way to theater with Penny, having eaten only soupand yogurt with fruit for dinner. Therehas to be compromise somewhere.

I am home by ten, hungry anda little lonesome. The big bowl ofsorbet I eat helps only the former.

week in review (m)

2012-01-16T19:32:00.003-05:00

I'm up 0.4 lbs.

This, after a week of grilled foods, fruits, vegetables, no alcohol, no cookies, no candy and that vile Zero Point Soup with cabbage that makes me feel like a homeless person eating out of someone's garbage can in a back alley before trash pick-up.

This sucks.

bigger and older (lyn)

2012-01-15T16:47:00.000-05:00

Two stores; that istoday’s shopping limit. Two stores andno more than an hour. These are theinstructions Alexander gives me before leaving to walk a few blocks to 79^thand Madison. It is freezing out,finally. My kind of weather.

Our first stop is JoeFresh, a new pop-up store that has great styles, quality, and ridiculously lowprices. Alexander gets three cashmeresweaters marked down to $49 each. The18-year old salesgirl thinks Alexander is, “in his twenties.” While there, I decide to try on a pair of $19.95cream-colored cord jeans, except there are none on display. The salesgirl asks for my size, and saysshe’ll go in the back and check to see if there are any there.

Me: Ithink I’m a size 27.

Joe Fresh Salesgirl: Our clothes are marked, 0, 2, 4, etc.

Me: Oh,then I’d probably be a 6.

JFS: No way you’re a six. I’m a size zero, so you’d probably be about atwo.

Me: No, Iam definitely not a two. And not even afour. Really, I’m a six.

JFS: You are not a six. But let me check in back and see what wehave.

Fortunately, she has nopants in any size, so I am saved from the embarrassment of proving her wrong.

Our next and final stop isJ Crew to look for shirts. Another cuteyoung salesgirl helps us there. Alexander and I disagree over a shirt that Ilike but he doesn’t. The salesgirl says,“I can see where your mom might not like it.” And I calmly respond, “Oh, I’m not his mom; I’m his girlfriend.” Thesalesgirl laughs after a momentary flash of fluster.

Maybe, just maybe, a naïvesalesgirl can think I am smaller than a size six. But no degree of gullibility can reasonablyconvince anyone that I’m dating a 19-year-old.

perfect day with my son (lyn)

2012-01-14T23:55:00.000-05:00

So today is the day wedidn’t have on Friday.

After yesterday’s weightscare, Alexander wants to eat cautiously. Breakfast for the two of us is eggs (him two, me one), bagels (his real,mine the 100-calorie mini), lox, and cream cheese (his plain and manufactured,mine with scallions and homemade by Agata).

We watch anotherhalf-episode of Homeland and are onthe subway heading to Soho by 11:30, early for Alexander. He tries to negotiate the number of stores we should visit and he concludes that three is a good number. Shopping with Alexander is not a gee-that'll-be-fun activity; itis more, I-want-more-shirts-so-this-is what-I-have -to-do-to-get-them-because-mymom-won’t shop-without-me-and-return-the-ones-I-don’t-want-later.

Our first stop is a bigwarehouse sale for All Saints. We walkin and there are two big floors with racks and racks of coats, pants, shirts and sweaters marked70% off. There are also half-hung clotheseverywhere, hordes of pushy people, no dressing rooms, and just a couple ofmirrors. Within five minutes, Alexanderannounces, “I don’t see anything here, let’s go to J. Crew.” This is not a shopping environment for anovice.

At J. Crew, Alexandertries on a handful of things, and settles on a gorgeous, size small greenV-Neck cashmere sweater. We discover a well-keptsecret: if your child is in college,just mention it at check-out, show a college ID, and get 15% off everything youbuy. This must be a new concept in marketing:offer a great promotion but don’t tell anyone about it.

We next go to Uniqlo (notcivil enough), Bloomingdales for Calvin Klein T-shirts (they are out), and a trendy boutique (the colors of the sweaters on sale are too similar towhat Alexander already has). By now, we’veexceeded the number of stores Alexander has agreed to shop in by two so wehead home. On the way to the subway wepass a gourmet cupcake vendor. I askAlexander if he wants one. He passes;it’s amazing how much discipline he has when he’s trying.

We get home and I makesome squash-apple soup and have that for dinner with a salad and grilledchicken. Alexander skips the soup, has agigantic piece of grilled chicken, and about a pound of steamed broccoli. We watch the end of a playoff football game,and the last two episodes of Homeland.

Alexander has a sharpsense of humor, is quick-witted, and a master of accents. Many times tonightI crack up laughing. In two days he returnsto school. I will miss him allover again.

an indoor day (lyn)

2012-01-13T23:45:00.000-05:00

Afew days ago, I tell Alexander that Friday will be our day together. “And youget to choose what we do, where we go, and what we eat.” I make some suggestions:

“What about the Carsten Holler exhibit at The New Museum?”

“Or, would you rather go to The International Photography Center?”

“What about seeing the 911 Memorial?

“Do you still want some new shirts? We could go shopping.”

Idon’t bother mentioning a movie (which he’d rather see with friends, andbesides, I have every good movie at home) or a play (he views theater aspunishment).

Inmy fantasized view of the day, I picture an early start, maybe a museum in themorning, a nice lunch, and then some shopping and walking around Soho in theafternoon.

Ittakes hours to get Alexander out of bed, showered and moving. Finally, around 12:30, he decides on bagels,with lox and cream cheese, so we begin the day with a very late breakfast andepisode #8 of Homeland (our recentlydiscovered new favorite show; we want to finish all twelve episodes before Alexanderreturns to school on Monday).

Attwo pm, I finally convince Alexander that we should leave the house. He asks for ten minutes and then fallsasleep. Later he tells me he was upuntil five this morning; "I couldn't sleep."

Wenever leave the house. Instead, I bakesome lemon bars, we order in sushi, and together watch another episode of Homeland.

Later,Zelia, Robyn and her friend Arlen come over to watch Senna. Zelia, who hasn't seen Alexander since the summer, mentions that he looks heavier. "Your face looks fuller," is how she puts it. Alexander gets on the scale and sure enough, he's up ten pounds. But at 162 and 5'10", he still looks slim. He has more discipline than I do. He passes on the lemon bars and startsquizzing Zelia on a healthy snack list she recently sent to her son. I should tell him right now; my weightwatchers scale is not going to Cornell.

blogging readership (lyn)

2012-01-12T19:32:00.001-05:00

I’m reading the New York Times and see an article about male fashion bloggers. One guy, age 24, writes under the heading, HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS AT PARTIES. He also gets 100,000 monthly page views. I mention this to Alexander.

Alexander: Well that’s not surprising. A lot more people are interested in what he writes about than what you write about.

Me: That’s not true at all. Lots of people are interested in losing weight.

Alexander: Ya, but that’s not what you write about it. Your blog isn’t about HOW TO LOSE WEIGHT; it’s about HEY LOOK AT ME; I LOST A LOT OF WEIGHT! If his blog were about I KNOW HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS AT PARTIES, no one would read it.

Hmmmm, interesting point.

a very big lunch (lyn)

2012-01-12T18:07:00.002-05:00

Number one, I don’t like big lunches. And number two, I especially don’t like big lunches when I know I will choose poorly. Today, Shari and I are meeting for lunch at T-Bar with our 19 year old sons, Alexander and Sam. Before even stepping into the restaurant, Alexander and I both know that we will be ordering a burger and fries. Sam orders the same, but Shari chooses more judiciously and gets the tuna tartare. The lunch and laughter are great; the guilt after is not.

tale of a sofa (lyn)

2012-01-11T18:56:00.001-05:00

WARNING: This story has nothing to do with food or losing weight or gaining it. It is about a Customer Service supervisor in Bloomingdales Furniture Department. So, for those who care about this kind of a thing, here goes:

September 2007: I buy a new and very expensive Ralph Lauren sectional sofa at Bloomingdales.

October 20, 2011: A man comes to my house (on my request), expects the sofa, and agrees with me that all the cushions and pillows need be re-stuffed. He tells me that Bloomingdales will take care of it (at no cost) and it should take 4-6 weeks.

January 6, 2012: I call Bloomingdales as it’s now been way beyond 4-6 weeks. They’ve not heard from the vendor who is somewhere in Europe. Moritza tells me she will email the vendor and get back to me.

Today: I call Bloomingdales and ask about the status. I am speaking to Elise.

Me: (I give the background and ask if they have heard anything).

Elise: We are still waiting to hear back from the vendor.

Me: Well, how long do we wait before we you do something about it? And what are the next steps if you don’t hear anything?

Elise: Well, ma’am, it’s only been five days.

Me: I know, but how long does it take to answer an email? We should have heard by now.

Elise: Well, these things can take time. I’d say give it a few more weeks.

Me: I’ve already waited 12 weeks, and should have gotten the new stuffing in 4 to 6 weeks. I shouldn’t have to wait any more at all.

Elise: I’m sorry, but these things take time.

Me: May I speak to your supervisor please?

Elise: Hold on; I’ll get her.

(I’m on hold for about five minutes).

Elise: Hi, sorry for the wait. I spoke to my supervisor (Doris), and she says that if you like, we can arrange pick up of your sofa and you can replace it with a new one. If it costs less, we’ll credit you the difference.

UNBELIEVABLE!

I tell Zelia the story and she thinks I’m making it up. It even sounds made up to me. I do love my sofa; it just needs to be re-stuffed.

I‘m not sure what I’ll do, but I do know this: Bloomingdales is a great place to buy furniture.

bad choice (lyn)

2012-01-11T15:05:00.022-05:00

My weight is higher than I want it to be. 124.2. I go to Weight Watchers this morning and don’t weigh-in. Then I compound the problem when Gail suggests a quick breakfast after. I decide not to eat, but then, I’m hungry. So what do I get? Not the smart fruit platter like Gail orders. No, I get a cappuccino and toasted cranberry scone with butter. But the good conversation compensates for my poor choice. At least that's my rationale. Weak, I know. The conversation would have been no less good had I ordered an apple.

a big night (lyn)

2012-01-09T23:27:00.000-05:00

My brother-in-law is being honored tonight and Alexander and I are invited. I love being with my family, but I am not comfortable at these kinds of affairs. Except for my family, I don’t know anyone. There is a lot of standing around in uncomfortable shoes. But first and foremost is the question of what to wear. My sister will no doubt look stunning in a gorgeous and fashionable dress, with tasteful, understated jewelry. Everyone there will be dressed spectacularly. My sister says, “It’s cocktails, and we’ll be going out for dinner after. Just wear a little dress.” Problem is, I don’t have a little dress to wear. I only have great casual clothes. If my brother-in-law were being honored, in say the engineering or accounting fields, I wouldn’t worry so much. But he’s being recognized as a leader in the fashion industry.

I consult with Robyn in the weeks leading up to tonight. She, too, works in fashion and has a flair for what works and what doesn’t. She doesn’t love the slinky, black Rick Owens skirt I’ve chosen to wear, but does love the white, ruched Narciso Rodriguez top I bought at Bergdorf’s for 60% off. I’m wearing fishnet stockings and little black booties and will look more downtown than uptown. I spent the day prepping: eye wax, leg wax, manicure with dark ruby polish, and a hair blowout. Minutes before leaving, I ask my photographer (Alexander) to take some photos; he does.

As he is snapping away, I decide I don’t look right and the pictures confirm it. I feel too hippy (as in hips too big) and too mummy-ish (as in wrapped in white). I make a last minute switch to a charcoal grey top, and then forget to take a photo. As we are walking to the subway, I ask poor Alexander to take another picture for the blog. He thinks I’m being ridiculous; he's right. Despite the 30-degree temperature, I take off the cape I'm wearing and Alexander quickly takes a few pictures with my phone.

We get to the event right at 6, and already the place is packed. 500 people are expected. The venue is beautiful (the Morgan Library), and the dress code is all over the place-from chic black pants with very high heels and glittering tops, to one guy in a cotton hoodie. Appetizers are passed and drinks are served. I partake in everything. My brother-in-law is inducted into the Accessories Hall of Fame and the President of FIT makes a beautiful introductory speech about him.

After the event, 27 of us head over to a local midtown steakhouse, Keene’s. The private dining room upstairs is lovely, but the food inconsistent (the mashed potatoes are lukewarm and the aged steak is tasteless, though the shrimp cocktail and crème brulee are both excellent). But it’s not the food that will be remembered on this very special night.

bonding with a cat (m)

2012-01-09T16:29:00.001-05:00

Cat-sat for three days for my niece's cat. B is 9 years old. My niece says he loves me but I think otherwise. How else to explain getting batted by a cat when sitting watching The Today Show? He took a swipe at my arm with his paw. It hurt. It was like a human did it. Then he hissed.

Over the three days, he came to accept me as a port in a storm. He let me feed him, pet him and take pictures of him.

My niece came home and said his bowl was completely empty even though I put more in it than she directed (in case I couldn't make it over there the next day).

I confessed that I put more in than she said and couldn't imagine how a cat could eat that much.

She said he always overeats when he's depressed.

I didn't realize the cat and I had so much in common.

favorite breakfast (m)

2012-01-09T08:44:00.001-05:00

This is my new favorite breakfast. It's an omelette with egg, potato, cheese and chive and it's huge and only 6-7 points. It holds me for hours.

1. One teaspoon of oil (canola or olive) in the pan. Don't turn heat on yet.
2. Microwave a small Yukon gold potato until it's tender.
3. Slice potato in rounds (like thick chips) and place in pan on medium low heat
4. Add chopped chives
5. Mix one egg and 3/4 cup of egg whites. The mixture will still be yellowish in color so it's not all egg whites.
6.Add egg mixture to pan.
7. Cut up one piece of Weight Watchers string cheese and place in omelette mixture so it melts.

I grind up pepper and add to it. Add ketchup to taste.

I also have half a grapefruit and a cup of green tea. It's very satisfying.

impromptu gathering (m)

2012-01-08T22:16:00.001-05:00

Got an email invitation to an impromptu gathering of four families from Sam's grammar school. We were among the only normal people in that class.

Sunday night seemed to be the best time for everyone. We decide to make it easy. The host family will put out appetizers and paper goods. The L's will bring pizza. We will bring dessert and the fourth family was told to just show up in time....a struggle for them.

I have not seen these people in years. Ran into one of the women at the hair salon when Lyn was in town, but we air-kissed and blew past each other in five minutes.

I wear my new LL Bean pants with nice shoes and a black cashmere cardigan with a white tank top and dangly earrings and my leopard scarf. It is a very slenderizing outfit.

We arrive and hug and kiss and shriek at each other. No one says anything about my weight.

We go into the huge kitchen and every counter is filled with food. The husband, one of the world's foremost experts on terrorism, is cooking penne with vodka sauce and had just whipped up some pears baked with goat cheese and bacon. He also made a hot bean dip for the blue corn chips and a baked ham. He is very overweight and loves to eat and cook. If I had married him, we'd both be dead now.

An array of gourmet cheeses whose names I've never heard of are spread out with grapes, chicken liver pate and salmon mixed with cheese. Not the most kid-friendly array. Thankfully, we brought cupcakes and lemon squares and a huge bowl of fresh fruit.

The L's arrive with five huge pizzas from The Upper Crust. I am so happy because I hate their pizza. The crust is like pita bread and breaks like glass in your mouth. The cheese has a distinct vomit-like smell and the toppings are over the top. I won't even be tempted.

I have some penne with vodka sauce which is incredible. I drink about three cans of Diet Pepsi.

We go around the table catching up with the kids' lives, then the parents.

When it comes to my turn, I am asked what I've been doing with my time. I tell them about the kids, my board work and my other projects. I also mention that I've been working on my health. And then it comes:

Deb-You look AMAZING! How much weight have you lost?
Jean-I almost didn't recognize you because you look so different from when I last saw you four years ago.
Beth-Seriously, you look so much younger. I was shocked when I saw you at the hair salon. I didn't want to say anything because you were with your friend.

If we hadn't brought up the topic of my health, I wonder if I would have heard all these nice things.

Some advice to those of you reading this. If you see someone and notice they've lost weight, don't be afraid to tell them.

You'll make their day. I guarantee it.

good start (m)

2012-01-08T17:21:00.000-05:00

Week One weigh-in. Down 4.6 pounds.

Good start.

a fattening saturday night (lyn)

2012-01-07T23:49:00.009-05:00

Weigh myself this morning, and I'm 121. Celebrate by having Zelia and Robyn over to watch 50/50. It’s billed as a comedy but is really a sad movie with a sweet ending about a 27 year old with cancer. We drink red wine and eat chocolate chip cookies and candies. Just prior to the movie, I have two slices of pizza. Doubt I'll weigh myself tomorrow.

progress (m)

2012-01-07T22:26:00.001-05:00

Went to one of Sam's hockey games today. They were playing up in Maine. Some friends joined us so we could make a day of it.

T and the other guy with us stop at a tavern for lunch. They are at a table in front of the fireplace, watching the Bruins on the big screen. T is planning a salad and contemplating the Wild Maine Blueberry Pie listed on the chalkboard. I had to get out of there before I blew my point allocation.

My friend and I decide to go shopping. We split up and I head to LL Bean. The store is enormous and, actually, is a series of stores.

I walk in to the street level, past the coffee shop, past the doggie accessories area and up the stairs. I look for a sweater for T and some shirts for Sam. After I take care of them, I contemplate the stores in the area. J.Crew, Vineyard Vines, The North Face, etc. I am weary of shopping from Christmas.

Do I even need anything?

I look down at my baggy Eileen Fisher pants. I hate alot of material on my pants. I go upstairs to the women's department and try on six pairs of pants....all black. The boot legs made me look like one of those puzzles where you put people together in four segments and a segment between my hip and femur were missing. At first, I thought it was a trick mirror, but it wasn't.

I go for a more tapered leg. Better, but the pants are too big.

I go for a tapered leg and a smaller size. Bingo. We have a winner. $39.50. Not on sale. It occurs to me that Lyn wouldn't be caught dead in these.

I make my purchase and decide to kill some more time in LL Bean. Maybe I'll go look at the hunting gear just for fun. On my way to that section, I notice a sign that says, "Women's Plus Sizes.".] Wait a minute. Wasn't I just there?

I look in my bag at my purchase. It's a women's petite large.

I'm out of plus sizes on my pants!

This is a very big day.

a slow saturday start (lyn)

2012-01-07T13:02:00.006-05:00

My mom frequently calls early, so when the phone rings this morning, my first thought is, “Wow, doesn’t she know it’s Saturday?” (as if my Saturday is different from any other day of the week). “Hi, it’s me,” I hear her saying at the crack of dawn. I was reading this article in the paper about Natalie and Chet (as if I should know these people), and I was….,” I pick up. She’s out walking (she exercises more than I do and is 82). I look at my clock and am shocked to see it’s almost 11. Last night I took two Benadryl (for a new itchy something on my left thumb) and it totally knocked me out.

By the time I get Alexander up, make him eggs and hash browns (I only have a 100-calorie bagel, cream cheese and lox) the day is more than half over. I’m surprised and happy to see a weight of 121 this morning, and this after a night of eating too many chocolate chip cookies with Jill and Zelia as we watched The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

Alexander takes a handful of his shirts and pants to my favorite cleaners. While not cheap, Joseph works miracles on clothes. As Alexander is walking out the door, I shout, “Oh, say hi to Joseph for me,” and then quickly add, “On second thought, don’t bother. He might not know me by name.” Alexander responds as if he is Joseph, “Oh, you’re the skinny woman’s son.” Then, after thinking a moment, he says, “You love being skinny.” He’s right; I do, and I never tire of being told.

Addendum: I ask Alexander to read this post. He does and then says, "I don't like it. You sound pompous. Do you think anyone reading this blog doesn't already know that you like being called skinny? And by the way, those potatoes you re-heated were not hash browns!"

fat girls' fantasy (m)

2012-01-06T22:23:00.002-05:00

I am trying to be good this week. I'm determined to meet the goals on the grid Lyn made for me.

After a month of grabbing Hershey's Kisses whenever I passed the candy bowl (for the guests, of course), I am now in chocolate withdrawal.

Instead of the Kisses or a Lindt ball, I head to the refrigerator and take out a Jello chocolate pudding to try. Sugar free. Only 60 calories. I had previously tried the Jello Chocolate Mousse (vile) and the Fat Free Chocolate Pudding (nasty), so I am not optimistic.

I cautiously spoon a bite in my mouth. What a shock! Smooth as velvet. Rich, chocolate flavor. No aftertaste. In other words, perfect!

By instinct, I reach for the can of whipped cream just to put a dollop on the top. All of a sudden, I feel the hand of Harrison who grabs the can from me and admonishes, "You're like the fat girls who drink diet Coke and order a side of fries."

Then, to drill the point home, he shows me this clip from Family Guy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rnOU51nPUo4

"how's your health?" (m)

2012-01-06T16:09:00.001-05:00

To jump-start the new year and keep from eating, I booked a few appointments this week: facial, waxing (eyebrows, upper lip), hair color, hair cut, massage and, last but not least, a trip to the dentist to deal with a chipped crown.

I had last seen my dentist in the Fall of 2008 when I got five implants. I left with a new smile but my old body.

I walk into the office and sit in the chair. The chair fist me better than ever. Dr. D walks in and does a double-take but keeps his professional demeanor. He deals with the chipped crown (polishes it, takes five minutes).

I don't know about you, but I don't like to talk when I'm in the dentist's chair, having work done on my mouth. If ever there were a time to shut up, this is it.

Dr. D: How's your health?
Me: Fine...yours?
Dr. D: Fine, thank you. So what's new?
Me: (Does he seriously expect me to re-cap the past three and one half years?) Nothing.
Dr. D: Really? Nothing?
Me: Nope
Dr. D: So...your health is good?
Me: Yes...lost weight.
Dr. D: Yes!! I noticed! You've lost a lot of weight! I didn't want to say it, but that's what I was getting at!
Me: Thanks.

After I spit out the debris from my mouth and rinse with the mouthwash, I stand and face him.

He looks at me one more time and says: "You not only look much better, you also look much younger. Much younger."

And then it hits me. Losing weight is the best beauty treatment.

thank you, lyn (m)

2012-01-05T20:42:00.000-05:00

Lyn said it best...baby steps, done consistently, will yield big results. If I think about losing 42 pounds by my niece's wedding on July 13th, it seems like a mountain in front of me. Disaggregated into 1.5 pounds per week seems entirely achievable.

I love this chart, Lyn.

Thank you.

M

a goal for M (lyn)

2012-01-05T14:28:00.003-05:00

M asked me to create a weight loss chart for her, similar to the one I once did for myself and more recently did for Gail. It is highly motivating to project where you can be, by a specific date. Consistent baby steps WILL result in one giant leap. So here it is with a caveat: the real chart includes columns for actual performance and headings that align correctly. The highlighted events are key milestones for M, and the bold numbers show the projected cumulative loss, assuming a conservative weekly average loss of 1.5 pounds.

42 pounds gone by July 13; I know M can do it. And then she can move beyond gorgeous new scarves and handbags, and head straight for those skinnier pants and dresses!

Est. Jan 5, 2012	Cumulative Wt. Loss Goal (in bold)
Weeks Ending
w/e 1	8-Jan			(1.5)
w/e 2	15-Jan			(1.5)
w/e 3	22-Jan			(1.5)
w/e 4	29-Jan		(6.0)	(1.5)
w/e 5	5-Feb			(1.5)
w/e 6	12-Feb			(1.5)
w/e 7-50 DAYS	19-Feb	Skater's Ball-Feb. 18	(10.5)	(1.5)
w/e 8	26-Feb			(1.5)
w/e 9	4-Mar			(1.5)
w/e 10	11-Mar			(1.5)
w/e 11	18-Mar	B'day-Mar 14 FLA-Mar 21		(1.5)
w/e 12	25-Mar	B'day-Mar 14 FLA-Mar 21	(18.0)	(1.5)
w/e 13	1-Apr			(1.5)
w/e 14 -99 days	8-Apr			(1.5)
w/e 15	15-Apr			(1.5)
w/e 16	22-Apr			(1.5)
w/e 17	29-Apr		(25.5)	(1.5)
w/e 18	6-May	Lauren's Wedding-May 5	(27.0)	(1.5)
w/e 19	13-May			(1.5)
w/e 20	20-May	Sam's Grad.-May 18-20 College Reunion-May 23-27	(30.0)	(1.5)
w/e 21	27-May	Sam's Grad.-May 18-20 College Reunion-May 23-27	(31.5)	(1.5)
w/e 22	3-Jun			(1.5)
w/e 23	10-Jun	H's HS Grad.-June 8	(34.5)	(1.5)
w/e 24	17-Jun			(1.5)
w/e 25	24-Jun			(1.5)
w/e 26-6 months	1-Jul			(1.5)
w/e 27	8-Jul			(1.5)
w/e 28	15-Jul	Niece's Wedding, Jul 13	(42.0)	(1.5)

a new low (m)

2012-01-04T21:31:00.002-05:00

Not talking about my weight, though that would be nice.

Instead, my life has hit a new low point: cat sitting for my niece's cat. She's at the Four Seasons in Cancun. I am at her condo, feeding her cat and watching The Today Show.

The only saving grace is that there's nothing to eat in this apartment.

dinner for one (lyn)

2012-01-04T19:37:00.001-05:00

I get up and step on the scale. 122.6. There’s no way I lost 3.4 pounds since yesterday. This must be why you shouldn't weigh yourself every day.

By noon, I’ve re-done all I had to do on all my devices, and everything is working beautifully. It’s nice to be back in sync.

A few years ago I had the heaters removed from my apartment, which most days of the year is fine. If anything, my apartment is always hot. But today is one of those rare days I need to wear mittens and Uggs inside. My only venture outside is to buy vegetables for tonight’s wok dinner. It’s cold, even for me.

I buy pre-packaged vegetables for stir-fry, remove the green peppers, and add some portabella mushrooms. I add some shrimp, and know Alexander will love it. It even looks good.

Alexander comes home a little after six and says, “I’m going to a Knicks game with Daniel. I’m really sorry but I need to meet him at 6:30. Can I have money for pizza? I'll eat it on the way.”

I have my healthy meal alone, but then ruin it with a big slice of lemon-frosted angel food cake and three small chocolate chip cookies for dessert. I'll probably be up four pounds tomorrow.

Ginny (m)

2012-01-03T22:26:00.001-05:00

My Cousin Patty and Ginny became fast friends when their children were in grammar school. They ran the bake sales and bonded over food. The school didn't know what hit them given the Dynamic Duo's energy and enthusiasm. Everything they touched turned to gold--bake sales, parents' dinners, team dinners, snacks for the kids' events, school parties for holidays.

As an added element to the relationship, Ginny shared a name with Patty's late mother, my Aunt Virginia. Ginny even reminded Patty of her mother--they looked alike and were into hair, clothes and make-up. "You should have been my mother's daughter," Patty would tell Ginny.

Long after their kids had grown and moved on, Patty and Ginny remained as tight as sisters. Patty was right there with Ginny when she was planning her daughter's wedding which was an over the top event. Patty would regale us with details of the long list of appetizers for the wedding and the huge dessert buffet. Patty even lobbied for Ginny to skip the entree as there was enough food in the first and last courses. Imagine that. Patty crying "uncle" over too much food.

Whenever I needed a recipe, all I had to do was call Cousin Patty. If she didn't know, she'd ask Ginny and they'd get right back to me. The most recent call was a couple of weeks ago about Make Ahead Mashed Potatoes for Christmas. I drove V crazy asking her for recipes and then Ginny weighed in on the subject too.

Yesterday, Patty called Ginny at 9:45 a.m., just as she has been doing for years.

Ginny's husband answered the phone. He called for Ginny. She never came to the phone.

When he went to look for her, he found Ginny dead.

She was 58 years old. Same age as Patty's mother when she died unexpectedly.

Everyone who knew Ginny is in shock, especially her family and her best friend, my cousin, Patty.

A few hours ago, I got a call from Patty. She's planning the menu for the collation after the funeral.

Ginny would want it that way.

too stressed to even eat (lyn)

2012-01-03T19:36:00.002-05:00

I know that today is going to be a tough day. Computer problems, especially big ones, can upset the balance of one’s life. So I get up trying to mentally prepare myself for what lies ahead.

I step on the scale and am horrified. 126. That’s four pounds over my maximum desired weight. Time to say good-bye to chocolate croissant breakfasts, hamburger and fries for lunch, pasta dinners, and homemade cookies. I should be grateful that it’s only four pounds.

I skip the call from Robert and go directly to the Apple store. I grab some coffee and a Fiber One Bar and leave, carrying with me 16.6 pounds of equipment (my computer, iPhone, iPad, and Time Machine). I arrive at the Apple Store in time for my 10:20 appointment that I had booked last night, just in case.

A very nice guy helps me. At some point he suggests that I may have a problem with my account settings and I will have to call iTunes for them to help. I turn into a crazy person. I beg him not to make me call Apple again. My voice is literally breaking as I plead with him, “Please, please, can’t you fix it? Honestly, I don’t have it in me to do any more phone support. Really, I can’t.” I almost burst out crying, right there in the middle of the beautiful new Apple store. But just then, another Apple genius (this time, a real one) comes by and takes over.

For the next two and a half hours, James patiently works his magic, and by 2:40 we are done. That’s four and a half hours after I entered the store!!!

I call Meredith and we cancel our plans to see a play tonight…it’s cold and I am emotionally spent. I stop at Agata on the way home and bump into someone from my building. Judy wants to join Weight Watchers and come with me next week. She says, “You know, I have never been a believer in the program, but honestly, you are my inspiration. I look at you and see how fantastic you look, and it’s because of you that I am going to join.” I want to hug her, but one person thinking I'm crazy is enough for one day.

I pick up a pizza salad for dinner, come home and eat an apple for a very late lunch. I have so much more to do. I still need to re-set my preferences, re-type six pages of data that were lost in the migration to iCloud, re-add my phone favorites and ring tones, re-enter all the birthdays that disappeared from iCal, re-group my apps, and a cajillion other things, all to get back to where I was two days ago.

It’s great when everything works, but what a monumental mess when it doesn’t.

apple update only because I know you're wondering (lyn)

2012-01-02T23:13:00.003-05:00

No one from Apple calls me back, so around 5:30, I call them. I hang up at 8:15. I’m not joking. In the two hours and 45 minutes that I am on the phone:

Richard, the senior the tech with whom I am speaking, tells me to do something.

I question him. “Are you sure this won’t cause any data in my calendar to disappear?”

“No, it definitely won't," he authoritatively promises.

“Are you sure,” I persist.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he answers indignantly.

I think he’s wrong, but hey, he is the Apple senior tech.

More questioning on my part, more definitive answers oh his.

“Okay,” I finally say..”

I click on a button, and poof, 18,000 events (I’m later told the number) disappear from my calendar.

After two hours of trying to get it back, it eventually comes back. But in minutes it disappears again to iCloud. Then it comes back. And on and on.

Richard grows impatient and tells me he's been on the call for hours and can’t stay on with me much longer.

“Are you kidding?” I ask in astonishment. “We’ve been spending all this time trying to undo the problem that YOU CREATED!!!!!! We haven’t even begun to address the iCloud issues I originally called about. “ He hands me off to someone else. I'm glad to be done with Richard but I want to cry.

I next get Robert who is much nicer and more capable. He doesn’t have a solution but promises to call at 10 tomorrow morning, which is fine with me, as I have zero stamina left.

Meanwhile, my iCal program has been running in continuous update mode for hours now. A blue and white spiral keeps spinning within a pop-up window that reads, “Upgrading ICal calendars...,” whatever that means.

But the worst part? Alexander was going to cook dinner, but by the time I hang up it’s too late to start buying groceries and preparing a meal. Instead, it’s a quick trip to Agata, some salmon over rice, and fifty cookies.

Had computers been around when Sartre was writing, No Exit would have been a completely different hell.

new clothes for alexander (lyn)

2012-01-02T22:52:00.001-05:00

We are out of the house by noon, an early start for Alexander. Our first stop is the Apple store to return some covers I bought for our iPhones. The return and purchase line is enormous, but moves quickly. Alexander has no patience and tells me he’ll meet me next door at Bergdorf’s Men Store. By the time I arrive, he has his hands filled with jeans, none of which are on sale. His sleek, size 31 jean-body fits beautifully into everything he tries on. We consider a few things, but decide to try Bloomingdales before committing. We leave the store and Alexander says, “You know, shopping really isn’t so bad.”

We next stop briefly at Louis Vuitton’s. I look-and-try-on-but-don’t-buy a gorgeous silk and cashmere leopard scarf; I’ve been wanting it since I saw my sister wear it to a Bar Mitzvah last September. I’m tempted but resist. We leave the store and Alexander announces, “Now I remember why I don’t like shopping.” I don’t ask why.

On our way to Bloomingdales, Alexander says, “I’m hungry! Can I get a pretzel? Oh, maybe I’ll get a hot dog instead. Can I have that?” He’s like a three year old. Certainly we can do better than street food. We pass a sleek looking place called Pop Burger, and decide to have lunch. The inside looks less sleek…more like a souped up Burger King, but clean, and pricey. We each order a diet coke and two cheeseburger sliders (that’s how the order comes) and split an order of fries. $31, and that’s with no tip (there is no wait staff). Still, It’s a nice break after an hour of shopping, which is about the max that Alexander can go without wanting to do something-anything-else.

We finish lunch, and walk the two blocks to Bloomingdales. We go to the denim department and shop for jeans. We look at two different shades of grey jeans. I ask one of the sales clerks if they have any that are “darker.” He seems confused, and then directs me to Dockers. My Boston accent must be stronger than I think.

We leave the store with two pairs of jeans (one chocolate, one light grey), a beautiful blue and white shirt, and a big smile on Alexander's face. On our way home he says, “I’ll make dinner. I’m thinking fish.” I guess when you're a 19-year old boy, food will always trump shopping.

bad start (lyn)

2012-01-02T09:18:00.001-05:00

So I get up and call Apple, thinking, “Let’s just get this over with so I can get on with my life.” Right now my iPhone, computer, iPad, and iCloud all show slightly different data. I have my niece’s birthday appearing five times on my IPad and not once on iCloud. I have duplicates of all events on my iPhone, calendars I’ve erased on my computer still appearing on iCloud, and deleted emails popping back into my inbox.

I call Apple. After ten minutes I reach Alex. I explain the problem, and tell him (as nicely as I can) that I don’t want to repeat my saga again or try a million things that don’t work. “Can you please just put me through to an expert who has a lot of experience with this exact problem. I am too frustrated to do this twice.” Poor Alex; I think he’s happy to pass me on to someone else. “Let me get you through to someone who can help.” I’m on hold for 22 minutes, and the music that is playing is all staticky. Finally, Alex returns. “Hi Lyn, sorry for the wait. Let me put you through to John who will be able to help.” Pause. Pause. “John, hello, are you there?” John? Hello? John? I’m sorry, Lyn, I guess I’ve lost John. Let me see if I can get him back.” Another ten minutes of staticky music. Finally Alex returns. “Lyn, hi, I’m sorry. I got someone else but they were disconnected too. There’s something wrong with our switchboard. I’ll have to have someone call you back!”

Thirty minutes later and I am nowhere.

It’s been a half hour and no one has called me back yet. Ughhhhhh! Time for breakfast and shopping with Alexander.

first day of the year (lyn)

2012-01-01T23:52:00.001-05:00

Spend most of the day untangling the mess created when I try to migrate my contacts and calendars from mobile me to icloud. I’m missing information. I have duplicates everywhere. And worst of all, Apple support is closed for the holiday. I eat only a chocolate-filled croissant and potato latke and applesauce. I am too stressed to even think about a real meal.

I’m invited to Ellen and Peter’s house. They are having a few people over for dinner and to watch Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I arrive hungry and eat far too many chips before dinner is even served. Ellen’s made chili which I rarely eat. But it is so good, I end up having two servings, along with a perfectly seasoned salad, and rice. I have seconds of everything.

The movie is heavy-handed and sad. It conjures many memories of those horrid days surrounding 9-11. All the recent movies feel ponderous and full of darkness.

The apple pie for dessert lightens the mood. I come home and Alexander and a friend are watching the end of a football game.

I get in bed; happy that my son is home; frustrated thinking about still having to fix my computer stuff tomorrow; and resolved to start eating smartly.

what are you doing New Year's? (m)

2012-01-01T22:21:00.000-05:00

The aunts want to know what we are doing New Year's Day. My plan was to put appointments in my new calendar and do the few bills I have and just get ready for the new year. I make the mistake of asking them what they are doing and there is a dramatic pause....followed by a sigh....followed by a depressing sounding,"Nothing. We'll just be here."

My husband volunteers to take them for a drive into Boston to look at the ice sculptures from First Night. It's a fifty-degree day, sunny and gorgeous. Aunt X sleeps the whole ride. Next thing I know, they are at my house for lunch.

We grill steak and chicken and I made a large salad. My brother Phil and his wife and their dog, Charlie, drop in and join us for lunch.

The aunts announce they have a gift for my husband. They gave him a card which says, "For a special man." Tucked inside is a $100 bill and a note that says, "Thank you for all you do for us." He takes them for a drive 3 times per year and they think he's the best thing they've ever seen. Meanwhile, I get nothing from them for Christmas. Not that I'm complaining.... I just think it's amusing.

Aunt X is a little loopier than normal. She can't see well; she can't hear well. She has to go to the bathroom three times in two hours. She has to be guided the whole way as she keeps heading in the wrong direction. There are crumbs everwhere within a four-foot radius of where she sits.

By the time they leave, I'm exhausted from yelling to be heard, repeating to be understood, and sore from cleaning up the mess.

I raise a glass of ice water and salute Aunt Y, the caretaker. She has the hardest job of anyone I know.

I didn't get the memo (m)

2012-01-01T20:07:00.005-05:00

After a two-month bender, I resolve to go back to Weight Watchers in earnest. My husband goes on New Year's Eve morning. I wasn't in the mood on Saturday. I'll go first thing Monday morning, January 2nd. Really, I will.

T comes home all excited and informs me that there was a big sign at Weight Watchers: "They are open on New Year's Day! You can go tomorrow!"

Sh-t.

Harrison overhears this and approaches me. "You need to do this."

Okay, okay.

While up at 2 a.m. on New Year's Eve/day, I contemplated the upcoming year. Sam graduates from college in May; Harrison graduates from high school in June; a friend's daughter gets married in May; my 35th college reunion is in June; and my niece's wedding is on the beach in Newport in July. Any one of these events would be cause to get in shape. This is 5 major events. All in late spring/early summer. I have visions of me sweating in a dress with a long sweater or jacket to cover up. I'm already overheated just thinking about it.

I feel like I just woke up from one of those dreams where you walk into a final exam--late--and unprepared. How did I let this much time slide? I'll never be thin by June.

But I can make a big dent.

I get dressed for Weight Watchers. I'm guessing I'm up around 10 pounds.

I dress in a lightweight outfit. Technically, it's "loungewear" I bought at Nordstrom's. Thin black pants of lightweight wool/spandex/lycra, a light cotton spaghetti-strap shirt and a lightweight wool cardigan. I don't wear jewelry as I can't afford the extra weight. I void my bladder and go easy on the make-up, not that it weighs anything.

I pull up to Weight Watchers and feel like I'm going to the electric chair. Okay, let's just get this over with, I think.

I open the door and there, sitting in the chair in front of me is a tired-looking elderly woman in her bathrobe. I know I haven't been here in a while, but I think someone would have told me if WW had moved to a new location and this location became a homeless shelter. I approach the desk and see Elaine, my friend who has been weighing me since I began this journey. She's in pajamas.

Apparently, the leader sent out an email to the group who regularly come on Sunday mornings declaring today to be Pajama Day at Weight Watchers to encourage people to come no matter how they looked or felt after New Year's Eve. Brilliant. This is why I love Weight Watchers. They are always there for you, like your most loyal friend.

I got on the scale, tell Elaine not to tell me the number or the amount gained. She looks at me and says "No, you really should know this." Okay, I'll take my licks. Tell me, I say.

"You're up 4 pounds. Congratulations, that's awesome!"

Even I think it is awesome.

The beauty of Weight Watchers is that it really does change your behavior. What is a bender to me now is nothing compared to what I used to do. I'm much more mindful of my eating and, if I overeat one day, I balance it out the next.

Four pounds. Piece of cake.

new year's eve (m)

2012-01-01T18:39:00.001-05:00

The day begins like every other day. I'm behind schedule even before I get out of bed. I awaken and start a laundry so I can start the new year with a clean slate. I pop two dozen chocolate chip cookies in the oven to bake for Sam's hockey team and have a whole grapefruit for breakfast.

Harrison goes to get his haircut and comes home at 11 and says he's not going out with friends for breakfast as planned and could I make him pancakes? Please?

I look at the clock. By the time I am finished with the pancakes, I have just enough time to shower and change and make it to Sam's hockey game. The team is in town and my brothers and brother-in-law and three sets of friends and their families want to see him play. It's very nice of them especially considering it's New Year's Eve.

T and are are supposed to be hosting the team dinner after the game. The nearest restaurant to the rink is a 99 Restaurant and they don't do buffets. I email the menu to Sam and he has the team select their entrees, identifying themselves by name and jersey number as in "Sam-23-chicken, pasta and broccoli." We do this for 26 people.

The game goes into overtime (of course) and I leave 5 minutes before it's over to call the restaurant and head into the Frog Pond in Boston where H is a featured skater in the show. I drive to V's house to leave my car there and cab it in to Boston just in time.

We stay through the performances and the fireworks. H is on the ice when the fireworks erupt. It is quite a scene.

Afterwards, V and I hop in a cab to go to her house. We can't believe our luck finding a cab given the hordes of people milling about. Five minutes into the cab ride, I figure out why the cab was available....someone had thrown up in there before us. I have my head out the window like someone's golden retriever all the way to V's house.

Once there, we decide to eat dinner. V choses a Todd English restaurant within a short walk of her home. It is half empty. We are amazed to be seated right away.

I look at the salads and decide to throw caution to the wind and get one of their signature pizzas. V and I split a mixed pizza-1/2 mushroom and fontina cheese and 1/2 prosciutto and fig. We each have two glasses of proscecco and bread with olive oil and olives. I have the beet salad with spinach and creamy dressing. Nothing about this meal is Weight Watchers approved.

T comes up from the team dinner which he hosted himself and joins us for dessert. A warm pudding cake. Heaven.

My little oasis of fabulous food, cozy ambiance, great wine and intelligent conversation is interrupted by a phone call from Harrison who asks me to pick up Chinese food for him and his friends on my way home.

After the kids eat, they go out--at 11:15 p.m. I'm exhausted and want to go to bed but can't now that H is out.

I try to stay awake and watch television. I flip from channel to channel with depressing New Year's Eve shows. Can't read my book as my Kindle needs to be re-charged. I call Lyn. She's hosting another movie party and can't talk.

I start to read a new book--the old-fashioned format--and fall asleep. Next thing I know, Lyn calls to wish me a Happy New Year. I look at the clock: 11:57 p.m. I was dead asleep. I pop up and wait until midnight and wish T a Happy New Year and call Lyn back. Harrison texts me to do the same as does Sam.

I'm happy to be surrounded by family and friends.

I wait up for Harrison who arrives home at 1:45 a.m. with several friends who are sleeping over.

At 2 p.m., I am wide awake, contemplating life and the new year.

last day of the year (lyn)

2011-12-31T23:58:00.010-05:00

Alexander sleeps away the day, finally arising around 3. While he sleeps, I do a grocery run, stop by the cleaners and wait while the owner sews up a T shirt, activate and sync my new iPhone 4-S (not without a few minor glitches), put on its new screen protector (a Moshi iVisor, fantastic), make thousands of little chocolate chip cookies, re-discover the joys of a silpat, and have a tiny lunch of a small-100-calorie bagel and white fish. I have no doubt that however little I eat today will be made up for tonight.

Alexander arises and wants to know what we have to eat. I have ¾ pound of prepared vodka pasta that I bought at Agata and never ate. He has that and is still hungry. He goes out and comes back with a big slice of pizza, and then decides that he’d like to make dinner. I discourage him, as my kitchen is now clean, and a few friends are coming over to watch a movie. He goes back to Agata and returns with sushi for both of us.

A few people stop by to watch HUGO. We eat tons of junk: three varieties of candy, popcorn, homemade and store bought cookies, and brownies made by Robyn. The movie is sweet and everyone is gone before midnight.

I was never a big party-er, always preferring small groups to large ones. So ending the year by both going to, and hosting, tiny get togethers, is exactly my preference for entertainment. I am surrounded by good friends, and never take for granted how lucky I am to have so many people in my life that I genuinely adore.

I hope the new year is a happy one for everyone….with goals met, health maintained, passion found, and dreams realized. Just before the ball drops, M and I speak and together, welcome in 2012.

a squirrel to thank (m)

2011-12-31T22:04:00.001-05:00

Woke up and the lemon bars from Whole Foods were calling me. I thought I could just shave off a sliver and have it with my green tea for breakfast. I put the extra dessert in boxes and placed them on our screened in porch. When I got there, the box was ravaged. I thought my husband had gotten into the box and left it half opened.

Then, while I was standing in my porch, dressed only in a nightgown and down vest (such a vision), I hear this scrambling sound.

Yikes! I'm trapped on my porch with a live squirrel. I thought the thing would claw my eyes out. He was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. We both were panicked.

I ran in the house and slammed the door behind me. Went into the laundry room to get a broom to shush him away. Sam woke up and wanted to know what all the noise was about. We decided the best way to get rid of the squirrel was to open the door and put some bread by the steps to lead him down the stairs to the lawn outside.

After about an hour, the squirrel figured it out. They really are stupid.

I looked at the box of lemon squares and decided to chuck them. Rather be safe than get rabies.

While I was disappointed I didn't get to eat the lemon square, that little guy saved me a lot of points.

If I could, I'd thank him.

a son's view (lyn)

2011-12-31T19:39:00.004-05:00

I love having Alexander home. The adjustment, I think, is bigger for him. He thinks I nag him too much. Today he tells me that almost all my sentences to him begin with the words:

-I want you to...

-Don't forget...

-Did you...

-Are you...

-How do I look...

-Can you take a picture...get my whole body...

-Do I look fat...

-Alexander!...

-Let me see [anything I told him to do that he's told me he's done already]...

-Can you...

-When are you going to...

-Don't forget...

-Turn down the music...

-Get up! Do you know what time it is?

My list for him would be:

-Go in your room…

-Shut your door…

-What do we have to eat?

-Can I have some money for…
-In a sec (his answer to anything I ask him to do, which really means, maybe someday i'll get to it)

-Wake me at…

But however we start our sentences, we always end the day and every phone conversation with the same three words. That, I hope, never changes.

many happy returns (m)

2011-12-31T12:50:00.002-05:00

Spent an entire day returning things to stores. First stop: Nordstrom's where I returned a pair of white Ugg's slippers I bought myself when Lyn was in town before Thanksgiving. I don't really need them and they cost $110 so I got a full credit. Then, over to leather goods/handbags where I returned a Rebecca Minkoff wallet which I also didn't need ($135) and also bought in the presence of a friend when idly shopping. This was when my friend Betsy stayed with me during the storm and we were trolling for things to do. Feeling flush, I went to cosmetics and exchanged a Giorgio Armani lipstick in red for a more flattering pink shade. Easy. This store is the best. Just wished they had Bloomingdales' selections or that Bloomingdales had their customer service orientation.

On to Lululemon where I returned H's sweatshirt and got a full credit. Reimibursed $100. Next stop: City Sports for an exchange for workout wear for Harrison. Got a $4 credit net of the exchange.

And, finally, Staples. Returned the second Kindle booklight, the second iPad cover and some other things. Total reimbursement: $150.

Wouldn't it be nice, if, after a meal we could return the foods we ate and never gain weight?

dinner with "The Big E" (m)

2011-12-31T11:20:00.003-05:00

"E" could be the most colorful person I've ever met. I loved working with him. He was in charge of External Relations and was extremely competent at his job and fun to be around. Perfect combination. Larger than life in physical stature (topped out over 300 pounds) and personality.

Once our company was taken over, we all went in different directions. While I definitely miss the intellectual stimulation of the work itself, I miss the people more. E would be at the top of the list.

Each year, I hosted a gathering at my home of my favorite people from work. It was just a handful of people and we laughed and ate and gave each other presents for Christmas. We all agreed that this was the highlight of our holiday season....the people, the food, even the gifts.

Last year, we were to have gotten together on December 17th, a Friday night. I planned the menu carefully as E had gastric bypass surgery the year before. I planned lots of little things, easy to digest.

And then my mother died on December 12th.

Instead of gathering with my friends on the 17th at an intimate dinner party at my home, I was standing in line at my mother's wake, greeting visitors. I looked up at one point and saw E, in the middle of the line. He gave me a big bear hug and I cried and thanked him for coming. "How could I not?" he said. I understood then how much comfort a simple gesture like that can bring people at a moment when they need it most.

This year, I did not host the party. Instead, my husband (who also is a big fan of E's) decided to take E and his wife out to dinner at a nice restaurant. We went to Legal Harborside and ate a healthy, all-seafood dinner. Mussels, oysters, clams, baked scrod, crab legs. Steamed vegetables. No dessert.

I know E is doing well at his new job and just built a large home on the ocean. He drove up in his Mercedes and he has kept most of his weight off.

Still, he didn't look as happy to me as he used to be.

I asked him about this and he said, "I miss the people."

I do, too.

the other side of the family (m)

2011-12-31T10:57:00.001-05:00

My husband's family is small...and quiet. We see each other about twice per year. It's usually in a restaurant and linked to some occasion. Other than that, I think we've been to his older brother's house once in the past 5 years and his younger brother's house once in two years.

The family has a long lineage in New England. A famous ancestor who was best friends with Daniel Webster and served in the United States Senate. But all that is not visible to the eye. What I see is a small family that needs to work harder at staying together.

So, I invited them to dinner on Tuesday night. There was to have been 9 people, including the four of us. However, at the last minute, one sister-in-law cancelled because of the flu. The oldest brother's step-daughter couldn't make it, either, because of work. That left 7 of us.

We served three appetizers and grilled tenderloin and chicken breasts along with green beans, baked potatoes and spinach and salad. Everything in moderation, including the quantities.

I asked Harrison what he thought would be appropriate for dessert: "Apple pie and vanilla ice cream," he said.

I heated up the pie and went to get it with a potholder. The pan was so hot, I dropped the entire pie upside down all over the floor.

My brothers-in-law rushed in to help and said, "That's fine...we'll just think of it as apple crumbler."

They ate it.

Could this group be any lower maintenance?

end of year blowout (lyn)

2011-12-30T23:53:00.021-05:00

The stores are marking down everything. It’s hard to leave the house and not buy something. It must be at least 50% off to even be considered. If it’s not, go home and find it online somewhere for less. So in the spirit of trying not to buy, I’ve switched my year-end allegiance from buying to eating, consuming all edibles placed in front of me. At least that’s how it feels.

Tonight, my friends Andrea and Veej host a small dinner party at their apartment. Having come underdressed to last night's get-together, I wear a little black skirt, white top, and cashmere V-neck.

I open the door to the party and everyone there is in jeans with nice tops.

The evening starts with two big bowls of Andrea’s magnificent guacamole, chips, and some toasts with fig jam and cheese. I take a glass of red wine (one of many I’ll have) and sit down. Unfortunately, one of the bowls of guacamole is within easy reach, and I think I eat the entire bowl by myself. That alone could be dinner, but it’s just the beginning.

Veej has made short ribs that are so tender, knives are not needed. Andrea serves a green bean with tomatoes and almonds dish that is outstanding, and the mashed potatoes are more interesting and taste better than any mashed potatoes I’ve had before. Everyone eats everything. I’m relieved that dessert is strawberries and grapes. But then two boxes of chocolates are placed in front of me, so to be polite (yeah, right!) I sample a couple of these too.

As good as the food is, the company is even better. Aside from one couple, I know everyone fairly well, but tonight get to know them better. And the more I know them, the more I realize how lucky I am to have such smart, funny, and kind friends. It’s a truly lovely night.

partying with the neighbors (lyn)

2011-12-29T22:51:00.013-05:00

Ronnie, my next door neighbor, has a little cocktail party tonight. It takes me a while to pick out what to wear, eventually deciding on black pants, a white top, and a purple cashmere sweater. But it’s my three-inch heeled clogs that give the outfit style, and make me feel tall and thin. I go next door around 6:30 and the apartment is already bursting with people. Outside I see everyone’s shoes all lined up. Ronnie has white rugs. So much for the tall slim look. I deposit my shoes with the others and walk in.

Ronnie is much more formal than I am, and has catered the hors d’oeuvres. Although she is Jewish, she has a sophisticated wreath on her door, and an exquisitely decorated tree. She has plates of sushi, little potatoes with sour cream and caviar, prosciutto wrapped in cantaloupe, istara cheese (my favorite), crackers, dips, and champagne. She is dressed in a red silk kimono top and another of her friends is in sequins. I feel underdressed.

I know just about everyone, or at least by sight. It’s easy to feel comfortable. By the time I leave, I’ve tasted each hors d’oeuvres more than once, received a big compliment about my weight-loss and inspired a neighbor to come to a weight watchers meeting, become high from two glasses of champagne, and talked with people I see frequently but speak to rarely. In fact, three of us have decided to see a screening of a movie at my house sometime soon.

One woman temporarily breaks the holiday spirit. She dramatically and loudly announces, “I need to leave, I don’t like the smell in here,” and pushes her way through the guests to the front door and leaves. She apparently has been feuding with one of her neighbors (who is also at the party) over some apartment construction work that was done twenty years ago.

I feel like I’m back in a college dorm, but with champagne instead of pot and much better food.

some great news (lyn)

2011-12-28T17:46:00.001-05:00

I go to Weight Watchers with Gail, but skip the official weigh-in, knowing that I’m higher than I like (123.2, according to my scale). After class, I pick up some ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, using Alexander as my excuse (even though he’s told me he doesn’t want sweets in the house).

I get home and try to acclimate myself to the new Lion Operating system that I downloaded yesterday. I am still getting used to it. I love the changes in Mail, but am disappointed by the tacky new faux leather trim on iCal; this clearly is missing Mr. Job's aesthetic touch. I’m meeting Robyn this afternoon to see a Broadway matinee called Relatively Speaking. I’m running late when the phone rings. It’s my old-boss-now-friend Caroline (who is President of a web-based company). She has a new product and she wants me to develop it…determine its market potential, assess the competition, and see if it can be a viable business. I’d be excited about this prospect even if I weren’t desperate to work. We still need to work out details, but it looks like I could start sometime in January. I am nervous (what if I’m not successful?), thrilled (what if I am successful?), and very very happy.

I meet Robyn and tell her the good news; she seems as happy as I am. We are sitting in the worst possible seats, last row of the upper mezzanine in the far right corner. But for $4, it’s definitely worth it. And besides, I’m sitting on such nice news, my actual seat could be anywhere.

3 customer service stories, and 1 update (lyn)

2011-12-27T11:57:00.001-05:00

First the update. Gail sent me this article, from the front page of today’s New York Daily News. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a good time at Saks yesterday.

http://www.nydailynews.com/new-york/half-price-shoe-sale-leads-melee-saks-avenue-witnesses-article-1.997072

Now for my stories.

The Good One

I am making coffee and want to top it with some froth rather than my usual half and half. I take out my Nespresso Aeroccino Plus, pour in the skim milk, and press the start button. The milk doesn’t move and the button blinks red. A bad sign. I check the user manual, and though it’s in five languages, I can find nothing about a blinking light. I do see though that the product is under warrantee for one year from date of purchase. I bought mine in November of 2009. Another bad sign.

I call the 800 number. I speak to Charel; he’s originally from France but now works in Long Island City. I explain the problem.

Charel: When did you buy it?

Me: I don’t know exactly, but I’m sure it’s no longer under warrantee.

Charel: Okay, I’ll send a new one out to you tomorrow. I’m sure it’s close enough to the warrantee date. What’s your address?

Really! I think maybe I’ve reached the North Pole by mistake. Charel doesn’t even ask for proof of purchase. He doesn’t argue with me. He doesn’t ask me to troubleshoot ten million ways. Nope. He just says he’ll send me a new one tomorrow. I love Charel.

The Bad One

My new Lumix DMC-XS10 camera comes with only a basic start-up manual, and a pdf for a more detailed manual. I don’t want to print 150 pages, so I call Panasonic and ask to be send the detailed user’s manual. “That’ll be $16 plus shipping,” I’m told. I hang up and decide maybe I won’t learn the more advanced features of the camera.

The Worst One

The day starts as usual. I make a cup of coffee and sit down to read emails. But today there is no internet. I do the usual unplugging and re-plugging and still nothing. I wait and try again. Finally, I have no choice but to call Time Warner Cable (always my last resort). I finally get to a live Customer Service Rep (CSR), after thousands of prompts and a long wait on hold. I tell her the problem and she confirms there is no outage in the area. She then sends a signal to my house. Still nothing. She concludes there is a problem with my modem and she will have to schedule someone to come to my home.

Me: I really need someone today. I can’t have no internet.

CSR: Let me check. (After a few minutes)…I’m very sorry ma’am, but we have nothing for today.

I rant….what-do-you-mean-nothing-for -today? I need my internet…I can’t wait until tomorrow….blah blah blah. Finally, I regain my composure.

Me: Okay, so when can you send someone out?

CSR: Let’s see. Well, because of the holidays we have been very busy, and we were closed yesterday, so……the next available appointment is on January 3^rd.

I’m not kidding. That’s seven days from now. I’ll skip the rest of the conversation, but I end up with a supervisor who will try to see if they can squeeze me in tomorrow, promises to call-back later today, and a $50 credit. I hang up 30 minutes from beginning my call. My internet is suddenly working.

I wonder if I’ll still get the credit?

another bad movie (lyn)

2011-12-26T22:53:00.002-05:00

I have a big chicken potpie that needs to get eaten. Alexander will have none of it. I suggest dinner and a movie to Robyn; she suggests we do it at her friend Mark’s house. “He has a 60 inch TV and loves to entertain.” Perfect.

I haven’t seen Mark since Robyn brought him over about two years ago. He is a gracious host, and lives in Robyn’s building, next door to mine. I heat up the chicken potpie and bring it over. As soon as I take my coat off, Mark comments, “Wow. You’ve lost a lot of weight since I last saw you.” Hearing that never gets old.

Robyn has made a cabbage soup, as good as the one my mom makes. Mark has put out an eclectic spread of chips, something that looks like guacamole but is really mashed up broccoli (and tastes great), a sun-dried tomato dip, and some Chinese food (which I skip).

I bring over a screener for the movie, Resistance. Interest is lukewarm at best. About a half hour into the movie another friend of Mark’s comes over. Good excuse to pop out the DVD as Robyn and Mark are not liking the movie at all.

I come home thinking I’ll have dessert with Alexander and watch TV with him. Instead, he’s watching football and has no interest in anything else. I eat three mini-cupcakes and promise myself that tomorrow I will eat much less.

leftover hangover (m)

2011-12-26T19:03:00.002-05:00

December 26th....the day after. I awaken feeling hungover but consumed 4 oz. of alcohol all day on Christmas. Could've been the chocolate cake from Abe & Louis' restaurant that I bought. The sugar high made me feel like I was on acid.

I remember that I promised my cousin Patty that I would meet her at the aunties' house to deliver their gifts to them. I arrive with two large bags filled with wrapped presents (courtesy of my friend, V, who wrapped them). Patty arrived with two bags of leftovers.

I am a mess. I'm tired from hosting a group of 14 yesterday. I am tired of shopping for presents and wrapping and delivering and hunting down the UPS guy and grocery shopping. I want more than anything to check into a spa somewhere. My aunt X is staring at my hair which is sticking up in all directions. Patty says my eyes look swollen. Aunt Y can't see that well so she says nothing.

The aunties got dressed up for our "little Christmas." They are in nice sweaters and pants. They reek of Jean Nate cologne (is it even cologne? toilet water, perhaps?). I want to open a window to wake me up and breathe anything but Jean Nate.

Patty spreads the food out on the table. It is 11 a.m. and she lays out brownies, banana bread and 7-layer bars. She asks if I want anything. NO! I say, too quickly. I never want to see food again.

The aunts are talking but I can't hear because the television is on, set to QVC. Every now and then, I lose someone's concentration to some item being featured at a hot price. "Oh...you'd look good in that!" Patty tells me. I turn and look at the tv...they are showing a dropped shoulder kimono sweater. Really? I wouldn't wear that in my coffin. Patty cuts me off mid-sentence and starts dialing QVC on her cell phone to order one of those cross-body bags with the ten zippered compartments for travel. She's going on a big trip to South Carolina in January.

I pop a Sudafed and chase it down with green tea doused with some lemon juice from one of those plastic lemons. After I put it in the tea, Aunt X tells me she's had the lemon for years...but it's been in the fridge. Now I'm worried I'll get mold inside my nasal passages and end up like that guy I saw on Sally Jesse Raphael's show one time who lost part of his face to mold. That episode still haunts me.

I stay an hour and bid everyone goodbye.

I'm so over Christmas.

mission unaccomplished (lyn)

2011-12-26T12:01:00.003-05:00

A few days ago I get a flyer in the mail from Saks.

S@LE

8AM to Noon

Monday, December 26

65% to 70% OFF original prices

Perfect, I think. I just got a pair of booties and a Rick Owens skirt at 40% off. I bet I can take them back and get an even deeper discount.

Despite going to bed at 1:30 this morning, I drag myself out of bed, skip breakfast (which I can well afford to do after the past few days), and am out the door on my way to Saks by 8:30. The streets are empty. I can even cross Park against the light.

I get to Saks and the ground floor is empty. This is great. Maybe I’m the only one who got the flyer. I go to the 3^rd floor to see if I can get a better discount on the Rick Owens skirt. I’m told I can’t. I am not in an arguing mood. I take the elevator to the eighth floor shoe department, famously known for having its own zip code. The elevator is packed. We all stand shoulder to shoulder. The doors open on 8. Two guards are standing there. No one is allowed off the elevator. Apparently there are too many people in the shoe department and no more are allowed. I can see hordes of people. It’s a madhouse and I’m happy to skip the frenzy.

I am dizzy from not eating, but happy to leave with my hands empty of new purchases. I’m home by ten.

christmas with friends (lyn)

2011-12-25T23:57:00.014-05:00

I invite some friends over to watch movies, eat junk food, and hang around in comfortable clothes. It’s a nice way to spend Christmas among people who don’t celebrate it. It’s a small group—Ellen and her husband Peter along with Ellen’s 93-year old mother who looks and acts years younger, Robyn, Carol, and Jill. We watch Meryl Streep in Iron Lady, and as usual, she totally captures the essence of the character she is playing, in this case, Margaret Thatcher. We watch in silence, while mindlessly eating chocolate candy, cookies, peanuts, cupcakes and popcorn.

Around 7, we break for a dinner of salad and pizza. Ellen’s mom and Jill go home, and the remaining five of us meet back around nine for round two: Beginners. Halfway into the movie, Ellen sums it up this way, “I am so sick of Indy drek.” Robyn and Carol sum it up another way.

The movies we watch are dull, the food is unhealthy, and my truffles go uneaten. But still, it’s a lovely Christmas Day.

a magical christmas (m)

2011-12-25T22:52:00.000-05:00

We awaken at 8 a.m. Harrison is up and ready for action. Sam cannot be roused. I put the kids' gifts under the tree (usually do it the night before, but they stayed up later than we did last night).

I make myself a cup of green tea and eat half a grapefruit. All is calm.

T turns the lights on the tree and the garland on the stairs. He lights the fires in the fireplaces. All is bright.

We are blessed. I do not take this for granted.

At 10 a.m., my friend Mary calls. "Go to your tree and look behind it." I do. It's a gift from her. I open it up while she is on the phone and gasp: It's a Queen's Jubilee Cup and it's gorgeous! I thank her profusely and immediately put it in my display cabinet, along with my William and Kate cup and Sam's Faberge egg. I am addicted to British Royalty. I was a huge Diana fan (I did not blog about the party I threw at 4 a.m. for William and Kate's wedding but I have lots of pictures I could show you.) This is one of my top 3 gifts of all time.

The four of us exchange gifts. Everyone is pleased. The boys know I only want cards from them. Sam and Harrison each get me a sentimental card which brings me to tears. I burst out crying and they indulge me. I miss my own mother who normally would be here at this moment. Maybe she is.

Sam gets me a Kindle light. Harrison gets me a pearl drop necklace. I am expecting the Louis Vuitton scarf with the leopard print from my husband. I cut out the picture, called the store to make sure they had it and reserved one so that he would find it when he got there. He was having none of that.

Instead, I get a trip to Foxwoods to see the Princess Diana gown exhibit. I am thrilled. This is a wonderful surprise.

The guests arrive at 2 p.m. There are 14 of us. I serve shrimp cocktail, carrots and hummus, hot bourbon meatballs, spinach dip and pita and a platter of cheese and crackers and grapes. Not quite Patty's, but plentiful.

My sister-in-law's sister brings drink mixes and alcohol and mixes up cosmos and whiskey sours. My face is flushed from one drink as I pull the buffet together. T roasts tenderloin on the grill outside. I serve salad, squash, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy and some nice dinner rolls...and the traditional pasta course (gnocci this year). More than enough.

The best part of the day had nothing to do with food. We did a Yankee Swap this year which was very revealing. The gift limit was $10. It was interesting to see how people spent their $10. As predicted, most of the people in this crowd knew how to stretch a buck. Phillip bought silver-plated salad servers which retailed for $29 (sticker on the box). Some others bought joke gifts (my mother would have had a fit, squandering money that way). And then there's my husband. He bought a $50 gift certificate to Kohl's while doing his Christmas shopping at Staples. The room stopped when the person who got his gift opened it up. Why $50??? He'd forgotten what we said was the limit and didn't feel like calling to ask.

The dessert buffet was obscene. Homemade cookies and cupcakes and the world's biggest chocolate cake with ice cream. Blueberry pie and a large fruit bowl with lemon sorbet.

Everyone stayed until 9 p.m. and T and I cleaned up.

We looked at each other and said "Back to Weight Watchers....asap."

a christmas miracle (m)

2011-12-25T22:24:00.000-05:00

After all the stress, this turned out to be the best Christmas in a long time.

It starts on Christmas Eve with two parties. One at Cousin Patty's and one at my brother Phillip's.

Patty's house is packed with friends and relatives. It's a small house and yet she seems to have enough seating and table space for all 30 of us. Food is everywhere, all home-made by her. The buffet is bursting with a hodge-podge of selections, all steaming above the sterno: chicken pot pie, macaroni and cheese, stuffed peppers, sausage and peppers, meatballs, eggplant, lasagna. There are salads and a large tray of cut up cheese, crackers, grapes and pepperoni.

I bring a square of eggplant (my once per year treat) to the dining room table. Sam and Harrison bring their chicken pot pie. T settles for a cup of her special barley soup. I am seated across from her sister-in-law Kathy who used to scare me when we were kids. Kathy (the sister-in-law) hung out at Swan Street Park in a leather jacket, smoking cigarettes and calling people names. I had to cross the park to get to my friend Susan's house. I believe her nickname for me was "egghead" because of my large bookbag.

I'm still afraid of Kathy and wonder if the dish of Poppycock between us is enough of a defense. There is candy everywhere. There's even a display of 1960's era candy. Patty got it off the internet (You can get candy from the 60's, 70's, 80's...it's amazing! she tells me as if anyone else would use candy for their holiday decor).

Sam and Harrison look out of place with the crowd here. It's good for them, I think. This is where I come from. They are real people. After a few bites of the chicken pot pie, they start to relax and join in the conversation. Patty's nieces come by and sit with the boys. They start talking, united by food. The oreo truffles are a huge hit. These are the ones Lyn screwed up when she tried to make them. Trust me...they are fabulous.

For dessert, Patty made 7-layer bars which are better than the ones I buyt at Whole Foods, a banana chocolate chip loaf, cookies and pies. We don't get to sample everything as we are going to dinner at my brother Phil's.

We reluctantly leave Patty's.

Sam observes that Uncle Phillip's house is the polar opposite of Patty's. It is elegantly decorated and quite formal. Harrison is afraid to sit anywhere because the antiques are so precious. We are greeted by the ever-demented Charlie and sit down for a buffet dinner of beef burgundy, ham and assorted vegetables. I eat one bite of the squash. The eggplant is sitting in my stomach like one of those grenades they find in Normandy Beach, 60+ years after the Battle of the Bulge.

The candy dish is a silver 4-tiered tray and is draped with gold tinsel. It's like separating a grass skirt to get to a piece of candy. I lift the veil of tinsel and hunt for a little box of Torrone, a nougat candy, wrapped in tin foil inside the box. It is my favorite and an Italian tradition, especially at Christmas. As a kid, I remember searching for the orange-flavored ones and peeling off the wafer coating and putting it on my tongue, pretending it was the Communion host. Now, I just pop the whole piece in my mouth. Still tastes good to me.

Around 11 p.m., we head home. Sam got a white dinner jacket from Uncle Phillip's family as his Christmas gift. This is to wear to our niece's wedding in Newport next summer. Harrison got a blue cashmere sweater. Even the gifts from my brother are elegant. I got a large vase with sterling silver trim. Like a Minnie Pearl hat, he left the price tag on, $750....which he did not pay. Phil knows how to shop. I think he got it for 80% OFF.

The four of us head home and go to sleep, visions of Oreo truffles on our brains.

more complicated than it looks (lyn)

2011-12-25T15:30:00.002-05:00

M calls after midnight last night. She’s just come from a Christmas party where homemade Oreo truffles were served. “You wouldn’t believe how amazing these things are,” she tells me. I ask for the recipe and she sends it.

http://www.kraftrecipes.com/recipes/easy-oreo-truffles-95085.aspx

I’m having people over today to watch a couple of movies, and I decide to make the recipe. It looks easy. Plus, prep time is only 30 minutes.

I miraculously find a grocery store that is open, and buy all three of the required ingredients: cream cheese, package of Oreos, and Baker’s chocolate squares.

First, crumbling a 15.5-ounce package of Oreos is not as simple as it looks. I first try a rolling pin, but that’s too much work. I then get the brilliant idea of using my emulsifier—the one I’ve only used thus far for soup. It does a pretty decent job, but Oreo dust flies everywhere and covers my kitchen counters, floor, and me.

Next, I heat up the chocolate. It looks good. I ask Alexander to taste it. He does, and responds, “It tastes pasty.” I don’t know what that means so I try it and it’s bitter and disgusting. I check the recipe and see I’ve bought two boxes of unsweetened chocolate while the recipe calls for semi-sweetened. I leave the house and go back to the grocery store where I’m successful in returning both the unopened and open/ empty box of unsweetened chocolate. Must be because it’s Christmas and the manager doesn’t feel like arguing.

I come back home and reheat the new chocolate. The recipe calls for dipping the cream cheese/cookie crumb batter into the melted chocolate. This turns out to be an even bigger mess than the oreo dust. The batter is too soft and dissolves when it comes in contact with the warm melted chocolate.

By the time I’m done, it’s taken an hour of prep time, my kitchen is a disaster, my manicure is ruined, and my little truffle balls look nothing like the pretty picture.

I just hope they taste better than they look.