maintenance (lyn)

I haven’t been to a meeting in a couple of weeks, so I feel compelled to go this morning.  I wear a skimpy black skirt that I take off for weigh-in.  I’m standing in my black tights waiting my turn at the scale when Betsy (someone I like very much) comes up to me and whispers in my ear, “You know there are men in this class don’t you?  And the one over there seems to be eyeing your pink panties.” Of the few men attending, he’s the least attractive.  I’m embarrassed, but shameless.  I want to remove as much excess as I can before weigh-in, given last night’s dinner.  I step on the scale.  Not bad.  I’m only up .2 pounds (121.8), which is basically nothing. 

The next couple of weeks are going to be challenging.  Between now and the 23^rd I already have five big dinners planned:

• One with Meredith before theater (we speak every day and haven’t seen each other in ages)
•  A big steak dinner with Gail only two nights later
• A date at an Italian restaurant the next night
• Three nights after that, a dinner with Zelia and our kids to take advantage of restaurant week being extended and to celebrate the end of the trimester
• And then two nights after that, a big birthday celebration for Shari at Capital Grille

If in two weeks I am only up .2 pounds, it'll be a miracle.

9 more hours (m)

I haven't eaten since Monday night at 9 p.m. when I had a bowl of Frosted Flakes.  I dreamt last night that I cheated on my colonoscopy prep and they had to send me home and re-book it.  I woke up in a sweat.  Of all things, I "dream-cheated" on chicken nuggets.  Really?  I'm disappointed in myself for not aiming higher.

At 7 a.m. I counted the hours until the big event--9 more hours.  This is my punishment for moving the appointment from January.  They gave me an afternoon slot. 

I drank the last dosage of the magnesium citrate which went down my esophagus like carburetor fluid.  I washed that down with 24 oz of the yellow Gatorade (as directed).  Then, I drank a bottle of Poland Springs water.  Then, I got a headache. 

I am a hypochondriac.  That is a well-known fact.  When I got the headache, I had a flashback to the woman who died of water intoxication (there is such a thing) in the "Hold your wee for a Wii" contest.  I Googled the article about that event.  Very sad.  Now I'm worried I might be experiencing water intoxication. 

9 more hours.  I think I'll take a bath next and shave my legs even though the doctor is a Russian woman.

celebrating abbey's birthday (lyn)

When my sister Valerie was a freshman in college she met Abbey.  For them, there were no uncertainties. They just knew.  As soon as my sister graduated in 1975, they got married.  I’m sure no marriage is perfect, but theirs certainly seems it.

Abbey was named Abraham at birth, but his mother could not bring herself to call him that.  So for a while, he was a baby without a name.  But then someone came up with Abbey, and that’s how he’s been known ever since.  Like his three sons, he is about one of the most likeable and kind people I know.  He is ambitious, hard-working, smart, successful and generous.  He is also an incredible father and family man. 

When Adam and Jason were playing lacrosse for Johns Hopkins and Princeton during the same three years, my sister and Abbey attended every game, even if it meant splitting up and getting on two different planes. (Abbey's 87-year old very youthful mother is the same way.  Last week we were all supposed to celebrate Abbey's birthday but Valerie and Abbey were out of town.  They were pretty certain that bad weather might prevent them from returning, but Abbey's mom wanted to be in NY, "just in case."  Despite everyone begging her not to fly in from Florida, she did.  She arrived around 2:30, found out that Valerie and Abbey would not be making it back in town, and was on a plane back to Florida at 3:30).  When Michael won a chance to have an ad he created and starred in air on the Super Bowl this past weekend, Valerie and Abbey flew to Dallas to support him (unfortunately he was not one of the three finalists).  And when Alexander was applying to colleges this past fall, Abbey was always available to lead him and offer advice.  “What do you want your sweatshirt to say?” he’d often ask.  It helped eliminate quite a few schools.

This summer, we were having dinner one night with my other sister, Jean, and her family.  Jack, their 13 year old, was being questioned about his girlfriend, when it became apparent that his current girlfriend was not his first.  “How many girlfriends have you actually had?” someone asked.  When Jack answered, “Three,” (I think that was the number), Abbey quipped, “That’s more than I’ve had in my whole life.” 

Abbey has a good sense of humor but he’s often overshadowed by his three sons who are hilarious (and my sister who is very witty). So when Abbey does say something that causes everyone to laugh, he is so proud.  I think that’s when he’s at his most endearing.  

On February 2, Abbey turned 60.  I am glad that both he and Jim (Jean’s husband) precede me by a month (I am so not ready for my big b-day).  Tonight, 10 of us go out to celebrate.  We go to Park Avenue Winter (its menu changes with the seasons, along with its name, décor, and outdoor awning).  Unfortunately, Alexander cannot come as it is the end of the trimester, and he is trying hard to do very well, as his grades could influence the outcome of college decisions.

We are seated at a big round table in the main dining room, surrounded by winter white walls and big snowball light fixtures.  The food is amazing; from the salmon tartare appetizer to the huge veal chop (I take home half) to the incredible french fries to the multiple desserts we all share.  I eat with no regard for a Weight Watchers weigh-in tomorrow morning.  The real joy, of course, is being with everyone, sharing stories, and laughing. 

Abbey, at 60, is as handsome and winning as he was when I met him at 20.  But so much more impressive, now that I really know him.

what to do when you can't eat (m)

Take Harrison to school.  Come home, make beds, clean kitchen.  Iron 10 shirts.  Vacuum kitchen/back hall.   Call roofer to inspect ice dam.  Wait for roofer to show up.  Meet friend, Mary, who is coming to install Quicken so I can pay my bills online.  Input names of all vendors to whom I write checks on regular basis.  Realize I don't have checks so I can't do them online this month.  Write out 15 checks.  Open refrigerator "just to see;" close refrigerator door with a sigh.  Call Department of Public Works in my town to complain about snow bank blocking visibility from end of street onto main road.  Watch Ellen.  Watch cable tv local news.  Check out weather.com for Italy.  Open container of chocolate chip cookies "just to sniff."  Close same package with a sigh.

Look at clock.  11 a.m.  Only 29 more hours.

the haves and the have nots (m)

Dinner at my house tonight.  Harrison and T eat steak, salad, baked potatoes and green beans.

I eat: green Jello, chased down by 15 oz. of magnesium citrate. 

colonscopy prep (m)

Routine colonoscopy scheduled for tomorrow at 2 p.m.  Got a packet of literature a few weeks ago and, uncharacteristically, read it ahead of time.  I've had one prior colonscopy and thought I was familiar with the prep.  This time, however, is different. 

FIVE DAYS before the procedure, they want you to go on a "low fiber-low residue" diet.  What, you ask, is that?  Processed food, refined sugar, white on white.  No fruits, no vegetables, no nuts, no wheat products, no high fiber anything.  No popcorn, no corn, no seeds, no peas, no beans.  No salads, no rice.  No shellfish.  No "chewy" meats (steak, chicken).  No chips, no chocolate. No granola. No spices (hot, flavorful).

I can eat cottage cheese, eggs, bland cheeses, white bread, ice cream (not chocolate), yogurts (without the fruit mixed in).  Plain cereals (cornflakes) and milks.  Mayonnaise.  I can have mayonnaise.  Pasta.  Butter.

Maybe it's psychological, but all I've been craving is salad and shrimp.  I'd also love a high-fiber English muffin.  I had a piece of white toast and it was like biting into one of those UPS envelopes.  Pasta without sauce?  Un-Italian. 

I feel like I'm living in a parallel universe where Twinkies are good and Carrots are evil.

Bizarre.

this is what happens when I go out (m)

I haven't written because I have nothing to say that I think anyone would want to hear.  I don't want to depress you.  I am in a funk and I have periodic bouts of crying about my mother.  There's a hole in my life that not even food can fill.

Oh, don't get alarmed.  I do go about my days, doing projects, daily chores, etc. but I must admit that I am simply going through the motions.  I don't really even go out anymore, preferring instead to flop from my bed to the couch.

On Sunday, my sister-in-law was hosting a concert at her Church.  It was a music festival that featured all sorts of music including pop songs and classical songs (i.e. Andrew Lloyd Webber, Leonard Bernstein).  I agreed to go only to support my sister-in-law, Betsy, who is the Music Director for this program.  Aunt X wanted to come as did one of the tenants in my mother's house (my snowstorm partner in crime).

I spent Sunday morning cooking for my husband, Harrison and Aunt Y.  I made two large meatloaves, mashed potatoes, brown gravy, green beans almondine, peas (all stuff the aunts can eat with or without teeth), hot rolls, mixed salad and homemade chocolate chip cookies.    I had two yogurts as I am prepping for a colonscopy (separate subject). I packed up the car and delivered the food to Aunt Y, picked up Aunt X, then we got the tenant.

It's peaceful when you can just sit in a church and observe versus participate.  You get to look at beautiful stained glass windows.  You don't have to stand or, worse, kneel.  You just sit.  And so I did, listening to the wide variety of music, all done so well.  I loved the trumpets and the soprano who sang selections from West Side Story.  The kids did rock and roll from the 50s and the young adults sang beautifully with their guitars.  My sister-in-law sang a solo and dedicated it to my brother Phil to whom she will have been married 30 years.  She last sang that song to him at their wedding reception.  I was holding up well until that point.  I thought back to that day in 1981, full of promise, and had a flashback to those family members who were there celebrating their big day then but are no longer with us.

As that was the last song, my sister-in-law then announced to the entire throng that the day was dedicated to my mother whose 86th birthday was that same day!  Then, my sister-in-law asked ME to stand up and, all of a sudden, someone places a beautiful bouquet of flowers in Betsy's hands and she WALKS OVER TO PRESENT THEM TO ME.  If I weren't trapped between two old ladies I would have fled.  I burst into tears and, to make matters worse, the little Vietnamese priest suddenly materialized out of nowhere and came running over with his digital camera to commemorate my "moment."

I guess I was crying so hard that I made the Haitian family in the next pew cry.

Afterwards, there was a reception next door at the school.  I had a sugar cookie and then took my two passengers home.

I think I'll stay in a few more days before I venture out again.