Category: Health

Laughter: The Music of Angels

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

3891748_f520I like to watch the late news before going to bed each night. I mainly want to hear the weather forecast and know what has happened during the day while I was too busy to pay attention. Trying to fall asleep after hearing a depressing story is difficult. All too often my mind becomes fixated on a particular event that is covered in the thirty minute review of local and national happenings which is why I always follow up by watching The Tonight Show. Jimmy Fallon invariably makes me laugh. There is a contrived innocence in his brilliance that evokes a physical and emotional response in me that reveals itself in an audible chuckle and a release of all the stress that I have harbored in my soul during the day. For me laughter is indeed the very best medicine and I can’t imagine living in a world without it.

Luckily I’ve never been much of a clown fan because they are apparently on the outs these days. Red Skelton is the only comedian who ever made his rendition of a clown seem likable and the character he brought to life was so sensitive and humane that he was sad more often than not. There has always been something profoundly alarming about a court jester hiding behind a mask to ply his trade. Instead of being funny most clowns try a bit too hard and touch a part of our psyches where we’d rather not go. Clowns tend to annoy rather than amuse. They are akin to the kid in the class who believes that his antics are entertaining when they actually only demonstrate his emotional problems. We want to look away from clowns. There is something about them that is just not quite right.

A truly funny person, joke or situation tickles our funny bone and makes us smile. After watching or listening to a talented comedian we feel weightless, having lost some of the baggage that was bearing down on our souls. Society needs its jokesters. The best way to tackle our human problems is with a bit of mirth in our hearts. As Whoopi Goldberg mentioned to Jimmy Fallon last night there is more than enough anger in our world. We might all do with a bit more laughter. She understands that all work and no play makes us humans quite dull. With a slight change of expression and a twist of words she has a knack for transforming a normal situation into an hilarious romp. Put her with someone like Jimmy and the tears of joy flow along with the chortles.

One of the things that I love the most about my husband is that he is an aficionado of humor. He openly seeks and shares the funny aspects of life. Hardly a day goes by that the two of us don’t break out into uncontrollable giggles and guffaws. His analysis of the world is profoundly satirical. He gets the jokes of Pulp Fiction and roars with glee over the antics of Mel Brooks. Christmas wouldn’t be complete for him without once again watching the hapless adventures of the Griswold family in Christmas Vacation. He was a Monty Python fan from the get go. He and his father regularly trade jokes which he invariably passes on to me with glee. We have traveled through life in a mirthful state of mind and it has made all the difference in how we approach the problems that are part of the human experience.

We Americans tend to love politicians who have a twinkle in their eyes and a bit of mischief in their words. They are the ones who best understand that while our issues are serious we need to step back and have a bit of perspective. They demonstrate that we should be able to laugh not at those with whom we disagree but at ourselves. True humor isn’t ugly. It looks at our foibles and finds ways to poke at them a bit. It helps us understand rather than oppose each other. John Kennedy and Ronald Reagan were masterful at making us smile in spite of ourselves. We liked them because they were able to see joyfulness even as we were struggling. In many ways it seems that far too many of those who seek to lead us are all work and no play. These are serious times that require weighty discussions but we might all use a good laugh now and again. It would do our leaders well to understand that sometimes they just need to look honestly at the hilarity of a situation. It’s hard to keep calm and carry on if we are always morose.

I’m not particularly funny. I invariably forget the punchlines of jokes and my timing and delivery are way off. Somehow I didn’t inherit my father’s humor gene but my brother Pat did. He has been entertaining the family for decades and his knack for hilarity has fortunately been passed on to a few of our children and grandchildren insuring lots of fun for generations to come. Every family needs those fun siblings and relatives who lighten the mood of gatherings. The family that laughs together stays together.

Comedy has been part and parcel of history. I can almost imagine a group of our ancestors sitting beside a fire eons ago quipping about their day, finding the humor in their labors. I have read that many of the Holocaust survivors still managed to laugh even surrounded by horror. Soldiers ease the tension of their dangerous jobs by telling jokes. One of my uncles was part of a M.A.S.H. unit in the Korean War and he assures us that there were many Hawkeyes in the ranks keeping everyone sane with their antics. The average teachers’ lounge ripples with laughter at lunchtime. As humans we may endure tragedy but we always seem to have to balance it with comedy. Wearing a hair shirt and flogging ourselves twenty four seven rarely brings out the best in our personalities.

Babies spontaneously giggle with delight at the sight of a loved one. Children laugh continuously as they play. It is in our natures to balance our work with fun. Whoopi Goldberg is correct in her diagnosis of what we need, less bickering and much more chuckling. We would all do well to find and cultivate our national sense of humor. We work hard to strengthen our minds and to make our bodies healthy and strong. We too often neglect to cultivate the laughter that lies inside our souls. We need to enjoy it and release it for all the world to hear. It is the music of angels, the voice of happiness. Here’s hoping that each of us finds moments to chuckle a bit everyday.

Transformation

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

transformationsEllen was an exotic beauty with black hair and deep dark brown eyes that seemed to be flirtatious and mischievous even when she was engaged in a mundane conversation. In her younger days she boasted a perfect hour glass figure but even as she aged and carried extra weight she was still utterly attractive. Her mind was keen and few were ever able to outsmart her. When she smiled she warmed an entire room. People quite naturally loved her. She didn’t have to expend extra energy to entice them but she always did. She was known for her generous spirit and empathy, always the first not just to notice pain and suffering but to respond with kindness. She was a sprite, a free spirit undefined by societal norms. Her confidence was such that she would have treated a famous dignitary exactly the same way that she did a homeless soul. She was one of a kind, a rare individual so blessed with beauty and brains and a bold outlook on life that she stood out even in a crowded room.

Ellen was my mother and she was larger than life in every imaginable way. She was the rock on which the foundation of our family was built, particularly after our father died when she was only thirty years old and we were small children. The trauma of our daddy’s death marked the first time that I saw her flounder. It was frightening for me to watch her grief explode so publicly. For a time she appeared to be a stranger with a faraway look in her eyes. She was not present for anyone. We might have burned down the house and she would barely have noticed. A slow transformation was beginning inside her mind that would alter her. It was not of her own making. It was not who she really was. It was the product of a mental illness that would from time to time overtake her in ways that seemed to destroy her very essence.

At first we barely noticed what was happening. Somehow she willed herself to return to her normal state. She had important work to do. She was now the mother and the father in our family. She had to provide and nurture. She could ill afford to drown in her tears or spend much time in a sorrowful state. She donned a mask that announced to the world that she was back, her old self ready to tackle any challenges that came her way. For a time she did a remarkable job of convincing all of us that her heart was a bit dented but not badly damaged. Still there were signs of her slow deterioration that we did not see. We hardly noticed how easily her feelings were often hurt, something that had not been part of her personality in the past. She appeared to get sick more often, sometimes staying in bed for days. We would see signs that she had been crying but then she would smile to reassure us and we forgot to consider that she might still be in pain. She shouldered so much hurt and responsibility without ever speaking of it. Perhaps we all expected perfection when we should have known that she was only human.

Ellen attempted to be all things in all situations but the stress ate away at her. She was teaching school, attending college, paying bills, keeping the home in order, caring for her aging mother, and always being a kind of super mom. After ten years of courageous effort her facade cracked wide open and the bipolar disorder that had been smoldering inside her brain became full blown. Her transformation into the world of mental illness was complete and it was as frightening as anything she or we had ever experienced.

She closed the windows and the blinds and turned off the air conditioner even though it was the hottest part of the summer. She took to her bed and openly cried almost continuously. She whispered her fears which were paranoid to the extreme. She believed that our family was under attack from a nameless group bound to the idea of ruining us. She was certain that we would be put away into some jail without a trial. She worried that all of the food in her home had been poisoned. Her eyes were dull and darted around the room in fear. Her hands shook continuously and her breathing was labored. She would not eat and could not sleep. She was certain that she was going to die or that she may have already done so. Her dark and tiny world was filled with enemies and intrigue. She trusted no one. She was paralyzed in a state of panic from which she saw no escape. She had been transformed into a stranger who did not resemble my mother in any way.

I underwent my own transformation in that time. I had to vanquish my youth and accept responsibility for my mother and my younger brothers. I could no longer afford to be shy and backward. I had to quickly learn how to assert myself. I became a voice for our family. I assumed the mantle that had been thrust upon me. It felt uncomfortable and I disliked having to take control of the situation. It meant that I had to make difficult and sometimes unpopular decisions. I had no idea back then that this would become part of my destiny or that my mother would suffer from her disease for the rest of her life. Her illness would become the backdrop for our family for the next forty four years. It never went away and it was painful to watch.

There were moments when my charismatic mother reemerged in all of her glory and magnificence. Those were the best of times but they never lasted for long. Again and again the fearful broken woman would replace her and my brothers and I would battle to save her mind. We settled into a routine of vigilance that mostly worked but each time that we believed the impossible, namely that she was cured, we would be proven wrong. We learned that her illness was chronic and that it could be controlled but only so much. Medications would work for a time and then their effectiveness would lessen or they would produce serious side effects that precluded their use.

She gained weight from the chemicals coursing through her body. She felt fuzzy. It was not a state that she enjoyed. She would rebel from time to time, hiding her medications under sofas and beds, pretending to swallow them when they were tucked under her tongue. She argued that she did not need the treatments that we forced on her. Our relationship was often tense and confusing. She was supposed to be the beloved matriarch but she often felt like the child. None of us liked the situation but we understood what the consequences of ignoring our duties to her would be. We had seen what happened whenever we became complacent.

Somehow the transformation of my mother and our family had its positive effects as well. We became closer than we might have been. We celebrated and appreciated her moments of good health with more gusto than we might otherwise have done. We worked together and learned what is most important in life. We never took each other for granted. The curse of mental illness that had descended on our world turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It made us all better individuals. We learned to value people and to understand them. We became more observant and noticed when those around us were suffering. All in all we were much nicer than we had been before.

Mental illness stalks its victims with a vengeance but we learned that it need not win. Our mother’s life was more painful that it should have been but she managed to accomplish great things in spite of the disorder that lurked inside her brain. It slowed her down but it did not cripple her. It reshaped our family but not always in bad ways. Our transformation made us strong and resilient.

Ellen died at the age of eighty four. On her final days there was no sign of her mental illness. She was once again restored to the perfection of spirit that had so defined her. In her final transformation she was ready to meet God and reunite with our father. The circle was complete for her and for us.

Did They Know?

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

starchild-2001-space-odysseyOne of my all time favorite movies is 2001 A Space Odyssey. It is an enigmatic journey beginning with Neanderthal man realizing the destructive power of tools and ending with the rise of a fetus, a star child. It poses many questions about who we are as people and where we are going in the future. It is fitting that it proposes a child as our hope. Whenever I see a baby I find myself considering what magnificent gifts he/she might one day present to mankind. I wonder if some loving relatives saw the bright eyes of a Leonardo da Vinci in his innocent look when he was just a boy. Did they know that he was going to change the world?

There are many stories of omniscient mothers and grandmothers who predicted greatness in their young. Lyndon Johnson’s mother is supposed to have told everyone that he would one day be President of the United States. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s grandmother insisted that he had been saved from death after a treacherous fall from a second story window because he was destined to do important work. Are these self fulfilling prophecies or is it really possible to indeed see something in the faces of our young that tells us that they are somehow gifted in ways that will change the world? Do we subconsciously train our little ones to follow a certain path or does it just happen with or without our help? These are questions that I have often considered but I know for certain that the smallest among us represent our greatest hope for tomorrow. For that reason we must cherish and develop each tiny person in every possible way.

Sadly there are too many children who suffer and even die from neglect, lack of resources and abuse. If we spent even a third of the time and money that we expend on entertainment to help create better lives for children everywhere many of the problems that plague the world would be eliminated. A child who grows up in a healthy and safe atmosphere of love is far more likely to fulfill his/her potential than one who does not have such opportunities.

Most of us work hard to provide our children with lives conducive to full development. As I attend events with my grandchildren I witness the caring attitudes of men and women who understand the impact that their concern will have on raising happy and confident youngsters. Such care is not limited to those with high incomes. Even without money a loving parent makes a difference in a child’s life. My own mother struggled to provide my brothers and me with the basics but above all we understood without question that she was our protector, advocate and the person who encouraged us to fulfill our destinies. There was no better cheerleader in our lives. It did not take money for her to let us know that we were important members of the world and that our opinions and contributions mattered. This made us strong and able to navigate problems because we knew that we were never alone.

It is well documented that much of the testing that our children undergo is experience driven. A child who has read or been read to is more likely to do well than one who has not been exposed to print matter. Those who travel and see many different places and hear many ideas are more likely to achieve. A child who lives an isolated existence in a stimulus deprived environment is at a grave disadvantage. Luckily there are ways to counteract such problems.

The KIPP Charter Schools place a high priority on exposing students to a variety of experiences. They take children on field trips and introduce them to cultural events and opportunities. It is not uncommon to see entire classes traveling to Washington D.C. or New York City, thus giving them insight into the world at large. These adventures make a tremendous difference in the lives of kids who might otherwise never see such things but they cost a great deal of money and all too often the funds are simply not available. I often think of how wonderful it would be if each of us decided to forgo at least one luxury and instead donate that money to an educational cause. Perhaps we should have a tip jar in which we place the coins that we might have spent on a latte or another new pair of shoes. At the end of the year we would have more than enough to have an impact on somebody’s life.

When my mother died she had a small amount of money in her bank account. It was a rather insignificant amount but my brothers and I decided to use it to fund a charitable act. A teacher friend was in the process of building a library for her English class and we were able to purchase a number of books for her project. I knew that my mother would have been ecstatic to learn that her humble offering had made such a grand difference for children who might otherwise have limited exposure to literature.

When I was teaching I learned soon enough just how many of my students had no form of reading material in their homes. There were no newspapers, magazines or books of any variety. This was not because their parents did not appreciate reading but because they had to limit their spending to essentials. They had to choose between providing basic needs and filling their homes with the volumes that so many of us take for granted.

In my own experience in the classroom I learned that my students truly enjoyed the mini-libraries that I often created for them. I found myself wishing that I might simply give away my books but I never had enough income to be so generous. I realized that my own daughters had lives filled with resources, lessons and opportunities that would rarely be available for my pupils. I saw the effects of their paucity and it was heartbreaking.

I recall taking a group to participate in an Academic Pentathlon competition. They were already nervous but when they drove through the wealthy neighborhood where the games were being held they became silent and I saw the sense of deprivation that they were feeling. Finally one of them declared that she was afraid to go into the school because she was so unlike the people who lived in that area. I gave the group a pep talk. I told them to walk in with their heads held high because we had prepared them for the tests that were to come. We had purchased beautiful team shirts for them to wear. Each of them had copies of the books and questions that might be asked. I insisted that they had nothing less than their wealthier counterparts.

As they walked in with their confidence renewed there were whispers from the other teams who were wondering from whence my students had come. “They look as though they are from a prep school someone shouted.” Smiles appeared on my kids’ faces. Their confidence went up several notches. They were winners that day and I suspect that they later parlayed that victory into their lives. Sometimes all it takes are a few gentle reminders that genius is possible in anyone for it to take hold. They were able to find the talents inside their souls and bring them to the surface.

Our future begins with the tiniest among us. It starts with healthy habits and care for expectant mothers. It continues with opportunities to enrich the minds and bodies of all of our children. There is no greater contribution that we might make to society. It is an investment in what is most important and it doesn’t take that much to become involved. Even the tiniest bit of help has the potential to change a life. Instead of relying on the government to make a difference it’s time that we all found ways to support the youngest among us. We will all win.

October Is Pink

Published on by Sharron BurnettLeave a comment

downloadIt has become traditional to focus on breast cancer each October. We are showered in pink to remind us of an horrific disease that continues to strike women in spite of our best efforts to eradicate it. Virtually everyone has known someone who had to deal with the physical and emotional effects of breast cancer. Much of the time the debilitating treatments lead to remission but all too often some lose their battle.

We are taught as young girls how to give ourselves breast exams. It is every woman’s nightmare to find something suspicious. Some of us are perennially lumpy making it more difficult to notice slight changes but we try. Most women schedule regular visits to their doctors and endure painful mammograms just to be certain that nothing is amiss. When a doctor signals that there may be a problem with a concerned look and a battery of more extensive tests women find themselves in a state of quiet panic and worry. There is nothing quite like the not knowing, the possibility of a life changing diagnosis.

I have watched friends and family members get the words that nobody wants to hear. The diagnosis of breast cancer has been confirmed. That little lump that seemed somehow different from the rest was indeed cancerous. They embark on a journey filled with uncertainty and fear. In spite of their most valiant efforts their disease overtakes their lives. Even the most optimistic among them is never quite the same.

The treatments for breast cancer vary depending on the extent and type of cancer but all of them are invasive. They cause pain and suffering. They interrupt the normal flow of life. They debilitate and challenge. We all know exceptional women whose courage somehow makes dealing with breast cancer seem far less terrible than it really is. They keep the faith, trusting in their doctors, their families and their God. They smile through the times when they are exhausted. They wear hats or wrap their heads in colorful scarves when their lovely hair falls out in great handfuls. They do their best to keep up a good front and to continue with their routines even as they feel so very sick. They are warriors of the bravest kind but there is always the deep mostly unspoken fear that the treatments will not work or that the cancer will return even after remission.

We sometimes forget how devastating breast cancer may be. We hear success stories and believe that the fixes will be rather easy and certain. We watch women working in between therapies and imagine that the process of fighting the cancer must not be as terrible as we had imagined. We notice the dark circles around their eyes and the new wigs they are sporting but we don’t see them getting sick in the bathroom or crying from the assault on their bodies and minds. We put the onus on them to keep us feeling happy with their smiles. The truth of their situation is sometimes too hard for us to face.

Long illnesses like breast cancer test relationships. The women who are embroiled in a fight for their very lives all too often lose ground in their careers and sometimes even in their marriages. Their battlefield is littered with lost opportunities and misunderstandings. They all too often feel alone. People may rally around them in the beginning but when the going gets really tough only those who truly love and understand them remain. Everything and everyone is tested. It becomes more than just a matter of medical treatments. It is an altering experience in which only what is most important becomes obvious.

While devoting an entire month to a particular cause is laudable we have to be careful that it does not have the effect of making us lose interest. We humans are funny creatures and sometimes over stimulation causes us to lose focus. When we see football players wearing pink shoes and people running marathons in pink tutus there is a risk that we will take the situation more lightly than we should. We mistake the levity as an indication that maybe breast cancer is not as worrisome as we may have thought. We wonder if all of the attention has provided so much funding that our contributions aren’t really needed. We grow weary of the reminders that are so present for thirty one days.

We have certainly gone a long way toward eradicating breast cancer and we may even reach a day when we know how to eliminate it entirely. Until then we still have far too many women having to courageously fight for their very lives. Most of them happily make it thanks to the research and the medical advances that continue to be found. Sadly some women do in fact die. We have all known them, beautiful souls taken from us by a terrible disease. It is for them that we fight, not just in October but all year long, day in and day out. It is for the mothers, sisters, girlfriends, wives everywhere that we support the efforts to find treatments and cures and ways to eliminate this dreaded disease.

October is a reminder to all of us to embrace and support the women who are either presently dealing with breast cancer or who have had to deal with it in the past. Let them speak honestly of their ordeal. Allow them to cry or laugh or react however they wish. Let them know that we are thinking of them and that we love them. If you are a woman use this month to check on your own health. Take the time to schedule a mammogram or visit your doctor. Be proactive and sensitive.

I can see the beautiful faces of the women I have known who have grappled with the monster we call breast cancer. They are perhaps the bravest people that I have ever encountered. I salute them and the families who walked hand in hand with them. They have inspired all of us who watched them. This is their month. This is our month. It is October and we gird ourselves for battle. It matters little what color we wear as long as we are prepared to fight. We must never become complacent. The stakes are just too high.

Cancer of any kind is horrific. I lost both of my grandmothers to cancer. My beloved mother was a victim of cancer. A dear dear friend was taken by cancer. A beautiful cousin is undergoing treatments for cancer even as I write these words. A good friend is fighting cancer with all of his might. My hope is that they will be among the victors that I have also known, the people who made it through the dark hours and now bask in the sunlight of their personal miracles. Find those in your circle who are battling whether it be breast cancer or lymphoma or cancer of the lung. Embrace them. Remember them. Most of all love them.   

    

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.