25 lbs by june (m)

That's my new target.

Ready, set, go!

a credit for not being cool (lyn)

Fresh Direct is the Zappos of food delivery.  Great products, great variety, and great customer service.

Earlier this week I placed an order and scheduled a delivery for this morning, between 10 and noon.  Fresh Direct is one of the few companies that offer a two-hour window.  Imagine how much better life would be if cable companies would do that.

Around 12:30, I still haven’t heard from Fresh Direct, which is unusual.  They are pretty reliable. I call down to my doorman who greets me with, “Oh, we have some Fresh Direct boxes here for you.”  Huh?  I go downstairs to get them and of course ask why no one called to tell me.  “I did try calling but no one answered the buzzer,” says Aziz, our dependable doorman.  “You did?” I ask.  “But I was home all morning.  What time did they come?”  “Around seven.”  That means that my food was delivered three hours ahead of schedule, and worse, it’s been sitting in a closet for five and a half hours.  Can yogurt, fruit, Kansas City baby back ribs, and some other perishables even survive that long without refrigeration?

I call Fresh Direct and get a very-nice Stanley on the phone.  I tell him what happened and he says,  “I’m really sorry about that.  What I can do is either have all the items that needed refrigeration re-delivered to you tomorrow, or give you a credit toward your next order.”  I opt for the credit.

Stanley then totals all the items on my list that potentially could have been harmed, and even includes some things that I would not have counted (baby carrots and a French baguette).  The total comes to $63.91 plus another $5.79 for delivery.  Much better than I would have given me.  I was hoping for maybe a free delivery on my next order. 

I still plan to serve the $22 ribs for dinner tonight; I hope they’re as good as they look. 

humping the hand that feeds you (m)

I don't own a pet.  Have never owned a dog.  I have, however, heard that kids and dogs have good instincts about people.

For example, during the famous murder case in Boston of a pregnant woman, the Boston Police brought the husband home from the hospital.  The husband wasn't a suspect in the case, yet the police noticed that the dog growled at his owner when the man went into his home.  Come to find out, the man did kill his wife.

Dropped by Cousin Patty's to give her a belated birthday present.  Would have seen her on her birthday but she was stuck in Vegas because of snowstorms in Boston.  The Snap-Loc container set from Costco was a huge hit as she feeds an army of people and her containers are out on "permanent loan."   Also gave her a nice purse but I know it will get less use than the food containers.

Also visiting was a friend and the friend's dog.  A cute little shih tzu.  The dog had been well-trained, but 30 minutes at Patty's house undid years of table manners for little "Gizmo".  He was eating out of Patty's hand, literally. 

After the first few scraps, the dog licked Patty's hand.  "Aw, he's saying thank you Aunt Patty," said the owner.  More scraps, more licks.  After the roast beef slices (London Broil, no less) the dog paid Patty the ultimate compliment.

He humped her arm.

I think little Gizmo is in love.

dressing thin (lyn)

When I buy a new piece of clothing, I save it for some good reason to wear it.   Sometimes, the  savings goes on too long.  For example, right now, sitting in my drawers/closets, are:

• a Karla Colletto bathing suit I bought last spring and haven’t worn
• a Postcard winter coat that I bought last April
• a Prada trench coat I bought in November 2006 (and then gained weight quickly after)
• a Jil Sander navy skirt and pant suit that I bought in March of 2006, just before I lost my job

Alexander is the exact opposite.  As soon as he gets something new, he wears it immediately.  Even if all he’s doing is sitting around the house and reading.

This past August, I bought a pair of washed black, size 28, Current Elliott “leggings” at Maxwells.  They are tight with a low rise. Today I wear them for the first time, and wonder what has taken me so long.  They are surprisingly comfortable and look great.

I remember how painful it was to get dressed when I was heavy.  No pant looked good on, so I wore mostly skirts.  And if I did wear pants, as soon as I got home, I changed into more comfortable elastic-waisted sweats. I had no go-to jeans.  They all looked bad.  But the most discouraging thing was to go through several sweaters and t-shirts and find that none of them looked good on.  Even some coats were un-wearable.  I couldn’t even buy new boots as they wouldn’t go over my calves. It was all very distressing.

As silly as it sounds, I love getting dressed now.  Everything fits.  Everything looks good.  And I feel so much younger.

This morning I wake up and put on my Current Elliott pants, short Ugg boots, and a white T, then head over to the local farmer’s market.  At 9am, it’s already busy.  I buy eggs, but hesitate as they are $4/dozen.  “These are fresh from the farm.  Trust me, once you try them you will never go back to store-bought.”  I’m sold.  I next buy some granny smith apples,  and a big bottle of fresh apple cider for Alexander along with a loaf of peasant bread for his grilled mozzarella sandwiches.  But then, while I’m at the vendor who sells the fresh breads, I can’t resist also buying a cinnamon twirl and an apple tart (one each for both me and Alexander).   I would have bought an apple pie, too, were it not for this conversation.


“I wish you had the nutritional content on the packaging.” (Note: These are homemade pies.)

“Well we do have the ingredients.”

“No, I need the nutritional content.”

“Why, do you count calories?”

“Not exactly; I count the points.  I’m on Weight Watchers.”
“Oh, I see.  Well, in that case, this is what I think you should do.  Don’t buy it.”

As I'm sitting with my coffee and cinnamon pastry, I need to remember how much I like these Current Elliott pants.  Either that, or remember how good the cinnamon buns were on the Cape and how horrid I looked after a summer of eating them. Here's proof.

Me in December 2008:

And me a few minutes ago:

bad theater with a good friend (lyn)

Alexander was up most of last night finishing a Spanish paper.  He comes home from school exhausted, exhilarated and hungry.  Two slices of pizza later and he’s good for the night.  I quickly down ½ of a lobster pot pie that I had bought from Fresh Direct.  It was good, but not worth the $14 and 11 points a serving.

Meet Jill at an off- off-Broadway theater on a deserted westside street.  Two other theaters are in the same building, and as we watch the play, we are also entertained by the loud music from the theater on the floor above.  The play is sparsely attended, but even so, a tall couple sits directly in front of us.

When I was at Tufts, I remember one my favorite courses was on playwrights.  We probably read a play every two days or so.  That’s where I was introduced to Luigi Pirandello, an Italian dramatist.  I honestly don’t remember the content of his plays, but the name of one of his more famous works is Six Characters in Search of An Author.  I think of Pirandello’s play tonight as I watch The Director.   It’s a 6-person play about a Svengali-like director who pushes his actors to perform by playing questionable mind-games on them. Six Characters in Search of an Audience comes to mind as I look around and count 13 theatergoers along with Jill and me. 

Even at $3.50, bad theater isn’t worth it.  But spending time with a good friend is, at any price.

compliments (m)

Friday morning.  Meet a man for coffee who offered me a job back in 2007 when I first retired.  One of the reasons I gave for turning it down was that I wanted time for myself and planned to use the time to lose weight and get in shape.

He emailed the other day and said he wanted to touch base.  We meet for coffee at a Starbucks.  I walk in and he looks up and then looks back down at his newspaper.  Odd, I think.  Not very friendly.  I walk over to his table and he looks up again, does a double-take, and says, "It IS you!  I wasn't sure.  You look so different. Boy, when you say you're going to do something, you do it!"

You know, I'm so used to being at this weight (which is still not a good number) that I sometimes forget where I started (which was a hideous number).  His comments are both a nice reminder of how far I've come and good incentive to spur me the rest of the way.

I turn the job down again.  I want to finish what I started.

I'd rather have a colonscopy (m)

It's over.  They found 2 polyps which they sent to the lab for assessment.  This was my second colonoscopy; they found 1 polyp last time which was five years ago  Not a problem then.  Not anticipating one now but not taking anything for granted.

My husband drove me to the hospital for the procedure and left me off at the main entrance of Beth Israel Deaconess.  Got up to the third floor and checked in.  Got my yellow paper bracelet with my name on it.  Next stop: Waiting Room.  Full of people, waiting to be called.  An elderly woman with a shaky voice comes in and identifies herself as a volunteer and asks if we have any questions.  Some wise-ass asks if we can eat.  The Volunteer says, "Oh no, dear, not yet."  Obviously, they aren't trained to spot humor.

They call us in in batches...five at a time.  We each get taken back to an area that looks like the ER and get assigned a room and are told to get into the johnnies and put our belongings in a plastic bag.  You probably don't want to hear this but I had a flashback to the night I brought my mother into the Emergency Room.  My legs were shaking and I felt like crying (but didn't).  The nurse came in to take my vital signs, hook me up to an IV, stick an oxygen thing up my nose and ask a bunch of questions.  This exactly mirrored what my mother went through in the ER.  I started to lose it.  She reassured me that the procedure wasn't that bad.  I didn't get into the real reason for my distress.

Tried to take my mind off everything and opened my book: Cutting for Stone.  Wouldn't you know that the page I was reading was about a bowel obstruction?  Put the book down and tried to nap.  Thirty minutes later, I got wheeled into the procedure room.  I told the doctor and nurses that I didn't want anesthesia (I don't like meds; don't like feeling out of control). They started without and it felt like I sat on a garden hose so I begged for a hit of something.  Felt "tugging" but no pain.

Thirty minutes later, I was wheeled into the Recovery Room.  Still hooked up to blood pressure cuff, IV drip and oxygen nose thingie.  Called the nurse and told her to unhook me so I could get dressed to go home.  She said I had to pass gas first.  I'm sorry, but I would rather die than do that in front of someone.  She waited with her arms crossed.  I promised to tell her when I was "ready."  Is there anything more degrading?

Got unhooked and dressed.  T was there, behind my curtain waiting for me to come out.  He hates hospitals and had that "stricken" look on his face that he gets every time he's in a hospital.  He holds his breath and won't eat for a day and washes his hands over and over like Lady Macbeth.

He asked how it went but prefaced it with, "No details, please!"  I told him, "Fine."  You know more about it than he does now.

Got to the skating rink to pick up Harrison who said the battery died in the car.  I'm still loopy from the meds and I'm jumping a car in the parking lot.  Beautiful.

Get home and the boys want to know what's for dinner.  Made chicken stir fry and rice.

Reflecting upon the day, the colonscopy was the highlight for me.