Category: Blog

Dieting In Culinary Heaven

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

fatteningfoods1Houston is a foodie town. Our city ranks high in the culinary world with incredible choices of taste tempting dishes available in virtually every corner of our sprawling metropolis. Little wonder that H town is also home to the most overweight people in the country. Balancing Houstonians’ love of food with healthy lifestyles is no easy task. Keeping a slim waistline while still enjoying the cuisine that Houston chefs offer requires vigilance and dedication and sometimes time and money as well. With yummy treats tempting us everywhere that we turn, being on a diet can sometimes feel punishing.

Mike and I have both been consciously watching what we eat since January. When the new year came I quit purchasing any kind of bread products. We used to enjoy visiting the bakery at the HEB Central Market but now we rush through that section of the store lest we be tempted by the lovely creations tempting us to fall off of the wagon. So far we have managed to keep the offending products out of our home.

Our prohibition extends to rice, potatoes and all forms of pasta as well. We used to love having spaghetti with Italian sausage but now we have to be content with spiraled Italian squash instead. We frequent Sprouts and farmers markets in search of the fresh vegetables and fruits that have become our mainstay. We carefully measure calories and carbohydrates, reading nutrition labels before putting anything into our mouths. On those rare occasions when we decide to spend a night out at a restaurant we save up calories and opt for the least offensive menu items. Mostly though it’s easier to just stay home and enjoy the steamed broccoli and kale salad that we have taught ourselves to like.

I had been taking two or three mile long walks virtually everyday but the heat and the current monsoon season has kept me indoors of late. I’m back to using the treadmill which has to be the most boring form of exercise ever invented. I’ve tried listening to music, talking on the phone and reading to pass the time but I still find myself wondering how it is possible for a minute to feel like an hour. My treadmill sessions afford me proof of Einstein’s theory of relativity.  That moving sidewalk takes me nowhere but to the land of frustration. 

Parties are the hardest for me. People go to so much trouble to create such lovely dishes and desserts and I feel like Scrooge or the Grinch when I walk past the recipes that they have worked so hard to make. I fill my plate with the raw carrots and celery from the vegetable tray and eat hamburgers without the buns. I restrict myself to one slice of pizza knowing that even that tiny splurge is going to send my weight back up once again. It is a never ending battle to stay within the guidelines, especially since my results have been less than stellar.

I suppose that I am losing weight the way it is supposed to be done. I go down about half of a pound a week. If I eat at a restaurant or dine at someone’s home I tend to either gain a tiny bit or flatline. Still, overall I am moving in the right direction and find that I can wear clothing that is one size smaller than most of what is in my closet. I also admittedly feel much better but sometimes I long to give in to my cravings and scarf down a Snicker’s bar or a warm cinnamon roll.

I once took a creative movement class at the University of Houston to satisfy the physical education requirement. It proved to be one of my favorite classes. The professor who had a full bird PhD encouraged us to develop both our bodies and our minds. He pointed out that we humans tend to lean one way or another, with some of us emphasizing brainy activities and others favoring sports and exercise. He argued that to be well rounded humans need both.

The trouble that I find with his thinking is that there don’t seem to be enough hours in the day for all of the things that we should do. Eating healthy meals takes planning. Exercising involves more than just the thirty minutes or hour of actual involvement. Often it requires driving to a particular locale with showering and grooming in addition. Today’s jobs are more demanding than ever and few people actually spend only eight hours at work. Our families and friends need our attention as well. If we attempt to get the recommended amount of sleep on top of all of our other responsibilities we begin to realize that we are running out of time to accomplish all our goals.

I know people who do in fact get everything done. They are generally on a schedule that is so strict that they have little time for daydreaming or goofing off. Their lives are highly regimented. For a natural born gypsy like me being a slave to the clock and a routine is quite difficult. Sometimes I find myself wanting to call in sick to my self imposed schedule. I want to just wander wherever my instincts lead me even if that means driving through Shipley’s donuts and blowing the diet for the day.

I suppose that the whole idea of being careful with what I eat is especially hard for me because until I was almost fifty I was literally able to enjoy any kind of food without it negatively affecting me. I stayed slim and trim with no effort. I had little understanding of what it means to gain weight just by looking at photographs of food. I had the gift of a super metabolism that converted all of the bad things that I ate into energy rather than fat. The first time I saw a muffin top appear around my waist I was shocked. I fooled myself into thinking that my weight gain was temporary as I watched the scale register ever higher numbers. Now I am attempting to slowly eliminate the offending pounds and realizing the cost of all of that grazing that I did for most of my life.

I don’t want to go back to my bad habits because I have worked too hard for the last five months to just give up on my quest. I’m learning what works for me and what doesn’t. I’ve found that it is possible to enjoy myself when I go out with friends and family as long as I am careful. I share bread pudding rather than devouring the entire piece myself. I take home half of my order of chicken marsala. I order cups of gumbo rather than bowls. I don’t totally deny myself nor do I overindulge. I am gradually reeducating myself on the value of good nutrition. I have also developed a genuine sympathy for those who must carefully watch what they eat.

We are a land of culinary plenty and my city is at the center of the food universe. I have to admit to being envious of anyone who is capable of eating without boundaries just as I once was. It was nice to have no limits and still look and feel great. Now I am just like most people and I have belatedly had to learn how to curb my appetite. It’s a worthy cause. My health has already improved and so has Mike’s. We haven’t quite yet learned how to avoid the toxic foods but we are getting there. Wish us luck. Ours is a crusade that must be victorious.

The Right Person At the Right Time

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

cropped-human_development_timelineThere are countless books, magazines and articles devoted to parenting babies, toddlers and adolescents. We have become quite good at knowing how to best raise our children into adults. As humans we sometimes make mistakes along the way but in most cases our flubs are not fatal. Year after year the seeds of good parenting bloom into the men and women who accept the responsibility of being vanguards of the next generation. Those of us who have completed our work humbly step back and assume a new role in the never ending circle of life. At least that is how we assume that the pattern will go, but sadly reality is a great deal more messy than our idealized visions of the way things ought to be.

None of us live in isolation. The outside world impinges on the harmony of our nuclear families. There are demands and occurrences over which parents have no control. We have to learn how to juggle our own ideals with the conflicting beliefs that are all around us. Keeping our children within our sight may keep us in control for a time but ultimately our little ones become teenagers and push to gain a modicum of independence. They explore, sometimes in dangerous places. It is in their natures to take risks. Our influence on them appears to diminish. We feel as though we are walking on a tightrope as we struggle to find the perfect balance between reinforcing the lessons we have taught them while allowing them to find their own identities.

As parents we never stop thinking about our kids even when they have successfully navigated into a state of complete independence. We worry about their happiness and health just as much as we did when they were helpless babies. We have to learn how to  accept the decisions that they make even when they differ from our own philosophies. We have to be careful not to cross a line in our judgements and comments about the way they live. We are no longer in charge, a fact that is sometimes difficult for some of us to accept. Our relationship with an adult child must mature. We must grow just as they have.

As time goes by if we have done our jobs as parents properly we will be able to relax as we see our offspring navigating the treacherous waters of life with the kind of wisdom that we had always hoped to instill in them. They will not always approach particular situations the way we might have but they succeed nonetheless and that makes us proud. We tell ourselves to let go of the locus of control knowing full well that we will still wake up in the middle of the night wondering if everything is okay.

Eventually we ourselves may become a source of worry for those around us. We age and our bodies and minds begin to slow or even break down. We are unable to be the towers of strength and energy that we once were. Our kids become sandwiched between us and their own children. They have to learn how to deal with elderly parents who cling steadfastly to independence even when the evidence shows that they need assistance. Hopefully we will have enough wisdom to know when it is our time to surrender and allow them to help us. There is nothing quite as difficult as fighting with parents just to bring them the safe environment that they need.

I have seen wonderful examples of families that sailed through each and every season of life, somehow knowing exactly how to react to changes and challenges. All too often though I hear of the tension that stresses relationships as the parents of adults staunchly refuse to relax their domination over their children. They criticize and make demands instead of accepting that their time as guardian has ended. They want to maintain a firm grip on their adult children by being the center of the universe, the person in charge. Sadly they don’t seem to understand that love does not come from control.

I also hear of clashes with elderly parents who refuse to admit that they are no longer capable of being alone. When their children step forward to assume the responsibilities of caring for them they are met with resistance and insults. It becomes a battle for the younger generation to do the right thing. It takes a great deal of love to overlook the barbs. Those who refuse to be dissuaded are very special people whose love for their parents make them willing to turn the other cheek even when the arguments become ugly and personal. They are able to recognize that the venom that they encounter is sometimes the result of fear and often a failing mind. They rise above the ugliness but the fighting takes its toll.

My mother used to quote the Bible, insisting that we each reach a particular time when we must defer to the laws of nature. We have certain roles to play at different moments in life. When her mind was working well my mom was a delight. She enjoyed being a grandmother and a great grandmother and took full advantage of our desire to make her life easier. When her mind was clouded and confused by mental illness she was difficult. My brothers and I had to make decisions for her that she refused to accept. When she pushed back we had to tell ourselves that it was not her talking, but her illness. We endured bouts of guilt and anger even as we understood that we were doing what was best.

Not everyone is as easy going as my grandfather was as he entered his nineties and then his hundreds. He gave away his car as soon as he felt that he had become old enough to become a menace on the road. He understood his limitations and did not fight them. He accepted that he was no longer the tower of strength that he had once been. He enjoyed his twilight years as best he could even though he sometimes wondered when he would finally be allowed to rest for eternity. He was a model of common sense and acceptance of his station in life. He taught us much about how to grow old gracefully. He was loved beyond measure for his understanding.

I have made countless mistakes first as a child and then as a parent. We all have. I have had to learn to be forgiving of myself and willing to ask the forgiveness of others. We humans are filled with imperfections but we always have opportunities to correct our toxic behaviors. There will be many many times when we must begin again anew. Sometimes in order to be the adult in the room we have to set our personal feelings aside and display deep understanding and wisdom in analyzing a particular situation. Our challenge is to know when to stand back, when to walk away or when to take charge. If our motives are guided by love, we will generally know what to do. Living life is not easy but it can be wonderful so long as we are willing to work hard to be the right person in the right time.

Begin With the Little Ones

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

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Yesterday my niece posted a photo of her eight year old daughter lying in bed grieving over the death of a special little kitten. The image was heartbreaking because it illustrated the depth of the little girl’s feelings. She was so obviously bereft. Her mother sweetly acknowledge the youngster’s emotions, noting that the child was only eight but appeared to have the sensitivity of someone far older. Because my niece is a wise and excellent mother she was more than prepared to acknowledge and deal with her child’s sorrow. I have little doubt that the beautiful child will be able to work out her feelings under the loving guidance of her mom.

Sometimes we adults tend to believe that there is a sliding scale of human emotions running from one to ten with ten being the most powerful. We assume that children’s feelings lie somewhere along the lower end and that only adults are capable of feeling the full force of sorrow. The truth is that children are just as likely to endure the maximum impact of difficult situations as older individuals but they don’t always know how to understand or even express their pain. Quite often they either act out in ways that appear naughty or they withdraw into a world of confusion. Unless an adult recognizes that their behavior is a sign of inner turmoil, they may end up repressing thoughts and feelings that need to be expressed.

Like the my niece’s little girl I was only eight when I experienced a great loss, the death of my father. There was a swirl of activity around me as friends and family gathered to console my mother. She was, of course, quite bereft and almost incapable of functioning. She was in a state of shock for days and only managed to pull herself together because she was determined to care for me and my brothers. She was above all a loving mother. Unfortunately almost all of the well intentioned adults seemed to believe that I was far too young to even comprehend the magnitude of what had happened much less have strong feelings. When they came to help my mama they shooed me outside to play. They thought that I needed distractions from the whispering and crying that was unfolding inside the house. Their intentions were good. They truly believed that they were protecting me from the harsh realities. They did not realize how much I needed to be part of the grieving process.

I was feeling tortured and confused. I desperately wanted more than anything to talk about what had happened to our family. I spent my days barely holding together with an act that convinced everyone that I was totally oblivious. At night when I believed that nobody was listening I cried myself to sleep. My thoughts were so unresolved that for a time my personality changed. I became fearful and hyper-responsible. I somehow felt that it was up to me to be a very good girl for my mother’s sake, even as I wanted to scream and act out.

I suppose that it was natural for the grownups caring for me to think that my lack of response to my father’s death was proof that I was too young to have a concept of what was happening. They were probably even relieved that I appeared to be so passive and unconcerned. The reality was that I was in dire need of counseling but nobody ever picked up on that fact. I dealt with the terror inside my head on my own, sometimes convinced that something was wrong with me.

Over time I reflected on my situation and my personal feelings and I was able to self-heal. Reading and observing led me to understand and console myself. I eventually overcame the poisons that stayed so long in my mind but I suspect that I have a few more scars than I might have had I been given the opportunity to talk with a kind and caring adult who was willing to value my emotions and assure me that I was normal.

I suspect that my life-long love of working with troubled children has been a way of coping with my own inner demons. I have found that all that little lost souls sometimes need is someone willing to listen to them with respect. Our understanding of the human mind has evolved even in my lifetime. We now realize that children are as emotionally complex as adults and that in times of trauma they require the kind of gentle and loving care that my niece has afforded her little girl. We no longer underestimate the powerful emotions elicited by loss. We have come to realize that each of us no matter the age reacts to tragedy and trauma in ways that must be addressed and honored.

Most schools today are staffed with counselors and observant teachers who watch for signs from their students that something is amiss. Modern day parents talk openly with their little ones and have age appropriate discussions about the life and death situations that affect them. Children are generally allowed to express themselves in quiet and safe conversations.

We have come a very long way in understanding the human psyche but there are still terrible problems in our society. The young man who began a shooting spree here in Houston over the weekend had served in Afghanistan. Family members said that he had come to believe that society was about to collapse. I have little doubt that what he had done and seen in war had somehow broken him. There is no telling what was going through his mind. The sad truth is that our veterans are suffering in particular. Each day there are far too many of them committing suicide or considering acts of violence. We have let many of them down by neglecting to help them to deal with the stress and the terror that they have endured. All too often we send them back home to deal with the upheaval inside their minds without the assistance that they need.

There has been a worldwide argument over whether or not the gorilla at the Cincinnati zoo should have been killed but I haven’t heard anyone mention the needs of the young child who created the furor. He may not be able to express what this event did to him but I can almost guarantee that its impact will be dramatic. I have known children who were subjected to horrific abuse when they were infants and toddlers. They were unable to recall the details but somehow felt the enormity of the pain well into their teenage years. Their anger and confusion often expressed itself in outbursts, sexual promiscuity, depression and violence. They had been damaged and nobody had taken the time to help them properly heal simply because it was thought that they would not remember what had happened to them.

We must love, cherish and protect anyone who endures tragedy. Without the proper unpacking of the varied thoughts and emotions that result from harm or loss, repressed feelings may lead to horrible consequences. It is right and good to understand that even the smallest among us need understanding and the opportunity to express themselves. It is not up to us to judge the way that people react to life’s experiences but to allow them to honestly express the emotions filling their heads. Sometimes all we need do is acknowledge how beautiful and sensitive they are. We need to check on them as they progress through the stages of recovery. We must let them know that it is not just okay but quite normal to grieve or be angry. Mostly we need to love them.

Go Forth in Remembrance

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

k10304515Memorial Day on the last day in May has come to represent the beginning of summer even though the laws of astronomy give that designation to a different date. It is a three day weekend holiday designated by Congress. There are few better times to buy mattresses or large home appliances. People flock to the beach on this day and gather around swimming pools and barbecue pits. American flags fly from the porches of homes all across the land. For many the true intent of Memorial Day has become lost in a haze of celebration having little to do with what this national holiday was originally intended to be.

The Civil War left our nation broken and bereft. Over 600,000 Americans had lost their lives in the conflict. People in both the north and the south attempted to heal their wounds and sorrows with annual tributes to those who had fallen in battle. The homage sometimes included parades but the main focus was to be found at the grave sites of the soldiers who had been killed in those terrible battles. Family, friends, and sometimes even sympathetic strangers would bring flowers to the cemeteries. Some even carried food for picnics and held solemn vigils. These were days of remembrance and honor that went by different names and occurred in different times and places.

Three years after the conclusion of the Civil War an organization of Union soldiers, the Grand Army of the Republic, established Decoration Day to be held on May 30 to honor those who had died in the Civil War. It is believed that this date was chosen because it coincided with a season when there is always an abundance of flowers. After World War I President Woodrow Wilson declared that the day be forevermore known as Memorial Day and that it be a time of remembrance for all soldiers who have died in the service of our country. It was not until the nineteen sixties that Memorial Day was set to occur on the last Monday of May to create a three day weekend associated with the national holiday.

Over a million members of the military have died while engaged in active duty. It is a staggering number and yet the vast majority of Americans today have little or no experience with losing a loved one or a friend in a war. Talk with individuals in their sixties, seventies, eighties and nineties, however, and there will be more and more eyewitness stories of young soldiers lost in World War I, World War II, the Korean War and the War in Vietnam. While those conflicts seem to be almost ancient history now, for those who saw the blood being spilled, the memories are as vivid as the actual events.

I have watched my father-in-law cry when reluctantly relating stories of fallen comrades in the Korean War. I have friends who speak of relatives who came back home dramatically changed from the War in Vietnam. They tell of husbands and fathers who still have nightmares because of what they saw. My mother’s eyes used to fill with tears as she told of school chums who never returned from battlefields across Europe and the Pacific. I have run my fingers across the names of school buddies whose bravery is forever proclaimed on the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington D.C. My great grandfather did not die in the Civil War but he was charged with burying the dead after the Battle of Shiloh and official documents tell of the horrific nature of his duties.

Today our armies are staffed with volunteers many of whom continue to die in faraway places for a cause that we all too often don’t really understand. These young men and women are our first line of defense in an uncertain and often frightening world. Somehow they find the courage to carry out missions that most of us would be too frightened to do. When they die their families and friends suffer great loss. Many times those of us busy with our own lives are all too unaware of the great sacrifices that they have made.

War is hell and always has been. It would be so wonderful if we humans somehow managed to resolve our differences in peaceful diplomatic ways. For whatever reason, even our best efforts to avoid conflict are challenged again and again. We may want to isolate ourselves from the necessity to spill blood but history has shown us that we are sometimes given no other choice than to defend ourselves and lose our human treasure in the process.

I used to naively believe that one day mankind would evolve to a point at which the killing would forever stop. A lifetime of observing human nature has convinced me that there will always be some form of evil in the world and that sometimes we have to cut off the head of the serpent to save the innocent. Thank God for those with the courage and the willingness to do what must be done, even understanding that their efforts may result in death.

We must never forget the brave souls who gave their lives so that we might retain our freedoms. We may not know their names or be related to them in any significant way but we have benefited from their acts of courage nonetheless. There is no greater love than a man or woman laying down his/her life for another. It is incumbent on us to spend some time today reflecting on such sacrifices.

If you have children don’t fail to talk with them about why we have this holiday. Far too many of our youth are sadly ignorant of the real reason for our celebrations. It is up to us to teach them to remember and honor those who gave so much in the long arc of history. Simple gestures can be powerful reminders. Our children understand symbols and they like to hear stories.

My son-in-law and my grandchildren awoke early this morning to place American flags throughout their neighborhood. It is a ritual that they have repeated for many years now. I am proud of them for doing this in memory of our fallen heroes. It displays a special reverence that we as a nation are sometimes in jeopardy of losing. We must not equate respect for the dead with unbridled nationalism. It is the duty of present and future generations to never forget the true cost of war. Every life that is lost represents dreams that will never come true. If we honor those who gave everything, they will not have died in vain.

I have read that in our nation’s capitol the flag is raised on this day in the early morning and then lowered to half staff to remember all of the soldiers who have died for this country. At noon the flag is raised again to represent the glory of our nation that has resulted from their courageous deeds. I encourage you to both remember and celebrate. Go forth and enjoy the fruits of the sacrifices made for all of us.

One Picture, A Thousand Words

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

minnie bell85759993_133385194360A former colleague and friend has agreed to help me include photographs in the body of the book that I have written. I’ve spent a great deal of time  to that end sorting through boxes and albums containing images of family members that tell as powerful a story as the one that I have related with phrases, sentences and paragraphs. The old saying is that a picture is worth a thousand words and I have been reminded of the truth of that statement as I study each of the snapshots from my family’s history that have been forever captured in black and white, Kodachrome and pixels.

After my mother died my brothers and I spent many hours inside her home dividing up her few belongings. I was amazed at how many cards, drawings, letters, invitations, programs and photos she had saved. I found pictures that I had never before seen that had long languished inside boxes. It appeared that at some point my mom attempted to identify the people and the places so that we might one day have a clearer understanding of her personal history. The best of the lot were the black and white images from the nineteen forties when she was young and her whole adult life lay before her. Many of those images held commentaries such as “Those Happy Days” or “Such a nice person.” It was as though she wanted us to understand who she had been when the road before her was still based mostly on dreams.

I so enjoyed seeing my mother with her brothers and sisters, mugging for the camera, walking arm in arm down 1940’s Houston streets, and looking so incredibly young and beautiful. There were at least two quite handsome young men whose photos she kept, noting that they had purchased engagement rings for her before she had even met my father. One of them was killed during World War II and the other she turned down even as she noted that he was always a gentleman. I mostly loved seeing the pictures of my grandparents when they were younger than I remembered them, younger than I am now. I lingered over the postcards and panoramas from trips that Mama had taken. I laughed to learn that she traveled alone to San Diego when she was only seventeen to visit with a friend, demonstrating the daring spirit that would always define her.

My favorite photos were the ones that showed my mother and father flirting with one another during their courtship and early days of wedded bliss. It was almost shocking to see how young and in love they were. They mugged and teased in the style of the day. Mama vamped on top of automobiles and Daddy leaned on lamp posts gazing at my mother as though he had just won the lottery. Mama carefully recorded her feelings on so many of those pictures that show them in the first blush of their courtship.

Eventually the chronology of their life together led to photographs of me and my brothers. They took noticeably fewer snapshots of each other once we were born. Their lives appeared to shift focus. Their own visages became more serious. Instead of looking at each other they looked adoringly on us. Nonetheless, one image taken only months before my father’s shocking death shows them holding hands while walking down the streets of Hot Springs, Arkansas. It provides a testimonial of the depth of their feelings for one another. It shows one of those rare moments away from their children when they were relaxed and still so much in love.

The remainder of the memories are the story of our family life without our father. Somehow we managed to hit all of the milestones and find our own special kind of happiness. Of course that was mainly due to our mother’s determination to provide us with the safety and security that we needed at a time when our futures appeared to be so bleak. She did a yeoman’s job and somehow found the inner strength to provide us with a show of optimism in spite of our circumstances. I would find notations and writings that indicated the truth of the struggle that she silently and bravely endured.

My mother remained a pretty lady for all of her days. She possessed a radiance and unselfish spirit that drew people to her. Her albums are filled with memories of celebrations and parties and the people who meant so much to her. Eventually she grew tired and her friends became less energetic themselves. Many of them even died. She spent a great deal of her time alone. She collected readings from the Bible and verses that appealed to her. She wrote about the positive aspects of suffering and how enduring pain and loss had only made her feel closer to Jesus.

I discovered aspects of my mother’s personality and life story that I had never before known. I was able to gaze objectively into her world, not as her child but as a fellow human being. She had kept pieces of her heart hidden away and it felt amazing to get to know her in a whole new way. She became more real to me than she had ever been. I began to understand her on an almost spiritual level and I was awash with gratitude for all of the sacrifices that she had made for me and my brothers. It was a truly humbling experience to take a marathon tour of her memories.

We each travel through the modern world recording our own histories with selfies and images of the people that we know and the places to which we travel. Our faces and expressions tell stories of our passages through time. I wonder how many of our most special memories might one day be tossed away or deleted by distant descendants who don’t even know who we are. Will there be no one left to understand the meaning of our poses and our smiles? 

Whenever I eat at a Cracker Barrel restaurant I find myself looking at the old portraits lining the walls. I wonder who the people are and how their pictures ended up so impersonally decorating a place where nobody knows their names. There is a kind of sadness in knowing that their fate has become being a caricature of an era long past. It seems wrong that their lovely photographs have met such a lonely fate.

I now have a new goal. I plan to organize the thousands of photos that are in my possession. They will be far more meaningful for the next generation and those that come in the years long after I am gone if I take care in identifying their importance. My first step is going to be to include some of them inside the covers of my book so that my readers will have faces to put with the grand story of a little family that did its best to muddle its way through life. I hope that my words will equal the grandeur of how special they really were. Perhaps then the people that mean so much to me will find a way to live on forever.