move more, eat less . . .

it's becoming my sidekick mantra to JUST DO IT!

While scouring Karen's blog as I do every morning, I recently found a link to Cathy Zielske's year long adventure into "Move More, Eat Less". It's such a simple philosophy and one that has helped her lose 30 pounds. And Karen being no less a slouch, has lost 18 pounds on her version.

What I love about each of their concepts is that the word "diet" is missing. I don't know about you, but the minute the "D" word reaches my brain, thought waves of starvation are generated to every cell in my body and my immediate reaction is to head to the fridge and devour everything in sight. Thus every single time I go on a diet, I gain weight. Seriously.

But this 'moving more and eating less' concept it one I can deal with. I can still eat, just less of it and I can leave my slugdom long enough to walk a couple of miles a day. For example, when I eat breakfast, which isn't often I admit, I fill my cereal bowl with Wheaties, add a teaspoon of real sugar and add 2% milk. Color me happy. The problem is that whatever size bowl, I pick, I fill it to the brim and then one day, I looked at the side of the box and realized the nutritional facts are based on a one cup serving. EEK! That was an eyeopener. So now I fill the bowl 1/2 full and guess what. It is plenty and I feel full but not stuffed. I am, after all, not a Thanksgiving turkey.

I'm also eating more veggies. I started this after discovering roasting. My, my, my, what a difference that makes. No rich sauces, just a pop in flavor. And since we cut back our red meat consumption in favor of fish and chicken some eleven years ago, dinners are pretty darn healthy.

So why have a gained weight? I blame it on old age, being a slug and those days when cheesecake enters the cave and leaves on my thighs. This Christmas season was not kind to my thighs. Not one bit.

And will I still cheat occasionally. Yep. Life is meant to be enjoyed. I will not give up my Friday night dinners at Carrabba's, I will not give up my Tuesday lunches with the girls. I will not change what I eat at either restaurant. I won't give up my red wine. But I will be better the rest of the week. Because, I will just do it. Anyone care to join me?

another 9TS update . . .

Tuesday afternoon, the 9TS announced that he had found a lump on his right leg. Hum, his right leg is his good leg?? His left leg is the holy terror that keeps housing Mel and his cousin Anoma. Huh? So first thing Wednesday morning I called the amazing Dr. Z's nurse and when I mentioned that this was the leg they used for his last trial, she connected me to Dr. K's office. A couple of phone calls later and we had an appointment today at 3:00.

Another mad dash across the state and because we got there a tad early and because we deserved it, we tucked into a yummy, if not overly calorie ridden, lunch at Five Guys. Lord, how do they make those taters taste so fine?

3:00 p.m. found us with Dr. K's assistant poking and prodding the 9TS, like a stuffed pig on a spit. (Dr. K. was consulting in absentia being sidelined with a bad case of laryngitis.) And of course, word came down that they wanted to do another aspiration biopsy. The 9TS was overjoyed. Not. But they did it anyway and the results were inconclusive . . . and so we wait. And wait. And wait. And then we call next Wednesday and see if the dynamic duo are in residence again.

Thankfully, it doesn't appear that they are. Everyone from Dr. Z's nurse through Dr. K's assistant seem to think it is Gran and Uloma . . . who are in no way related to Mel and Anoma . . . but are instead in-laws of Scar-Tissue and his wife, Nodule, which is a good thing.

And to keep from being terribly bored on our travels, I bring you this tiny automobile:

this skinny sign:

this plane, who wants desperately to break free and run with the big boys:

And finally, heading home in the sunset.

Fingers crossed folks, fingers crossed.

why did I wait until i was 62 . . .

to have my first pedicure? And, no, for my feet phobic friends, there will be no tootsie shots. I promise. A couple of weeks ago, my friend Joanie mentioned she had just gone for a pedicure, herewith referred to as 'peddies' or maybe just plain "p" and so I blurt out that I had never had a 'p' and would like to go with, next time she went. This afternoon she called to ask if I was up for a trip to the nail salon.

First I needed to get the lay of the land. What do I wear? How much is it? How much do you tip? What do I expect? Patiently she answered my questions and off we went. I played my own game of Simon Says. Joanie sat, I sat. Joanie pulled up the side tray, I pulled up my side tray. Joanie picked up her chair remote, I picked up my chair remote. Yo! Wait! A remote? I could get to like this . . . there I am, relaxed in this big massaging chair, feet in warm swirling water . . . yummo!

Immediately, this fellow comes along and starts clipping, shaping, massaging, buffing and exfoliating my poor neglected toes and feet, followed by more massaging of lotions and potions on my calves and finally covering the entire area with a steamy hot towel. I may never move again. This is heaven. After applying bottom, top and color, he leads me, duck walking, over to the drying area. Unfortunately, I am finished before Joanie and have no idea I am supposed to stick my feet under the purple lights, dumb neophyte that I am. And, I immediately smudge both big toe nails . . . which he promptly fixes.

While Joanie brought her own polish, I chose an OPI copper shade called Ruble for Your Thoughts. Get it? Giggle.

Lunch with the girls and my first 'p'. It's been a good day in the cave. Next week maybe I'll try hair extensions or an eyelash perm . . .

Pippin's great escape and other bodacious happenings . . .

Pippin is an outgoing soul. While Bear and Ninja hide upstairs when we have visitors, Pippin dances right out and chirps hello. She is fearless . . . not necessarily a good thing. Lately, she has become curious about the garage and sits at the door from the garage into the laundry room as soon as she hears the garage door go up. Given the chance, she peeks her head out and finally a couple of days ago, she actually tap danced a yard or two into the garage itself until spotted and shooed back into the house. At least the other two have the sense to be scared of the great outdoors.

This morning however, as the 9TS headed out to chat with the lawn service guy, something caught his attention and he paused for a moment with both the front door and the screen door ajar. He had just closed the front door behind him when he heard Katie wail. Looking down, he realized that little Pippin had slipped though both doors and was now outside looking terribly perplexed and trying desperately to get back into the house. He scooped her up, tossed her inside and up the stairs she flew. She has spent the rest of the day studiously avoiding the front door, afraid no doubt, that it will once again swallow her up. Silly beastie.

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One of the 9TS's favorite meals is cod, baked in stewed herb tomatoes, served over mashed potatoes. I know, I know, it's not my idea of a culinary delight either and to avoid ingesting his masterpiece, I decided to make my own version. Enter two sheets of tinfoil, one tilapia, a thinly sliced potato, a couple of broccoli florets, three or four grape tomatoes, some slices of zucchini, seasonings and fresh lemon juice. Seal the packet, bake for 45 minutes, sprinkle with parmesan. At least now I have an alternative, and truthfully, it was quite yummy.

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Today the 9TS and I celebrated our 14th anniversary. It comes so close on the heels of Christmas that we rarely make a big deal of it. Besides, every day these days, is cause for celebration. But you better believe it, I love being married to the 9TS. It really is a big deal.

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Yoga classes started up again today. I was so happy to abuse my poor inflexible bones with full body twists, squats, balances and other oh so uncomfortable poses. Oh, yeah! If it weren't for the great company . . . yes Joanie and Lee, I am talking about you . . . I would have stayed warm and snug in my big old Tempur-pedic bed. Yes, I would.

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flu baby . . .

A plaintive phone call . . . I am sick, mom, can I come home?  But of course . . . you need ask? Several hours later, in comes a rather bedraggled, fevered, coughing, aching, and totally miserable college student who came home for some TLC before classes start on Wednesday.

Am I sympathetic? Do I smother her with her favorite foods? Do I pour medicine down her throat? Toss her in bed. Tuck her in? Yes, yes, yes and yes. But first . . . I take a picture of the poor child.

 I know,  totally mean mom, but I love her dearly and that counts for something.

doing a happy dance . . .

once in awhile something comes along that just knocks me off my feet, and Anna Aspnes' new photo Blenz is one of those goodies.  Squeal!!!

So you take two photos, add one of her brushes and look what happens.

OK, so this is my very first attempt but I am still excited and yes, thanks to Jessica Sprague, I do know how to do this the long way but why go to all that trouble when in one fell swoop . . . instant merging.  Just color me happy, happy, happy.  I am off to play some more.

what???

this goes way beyond disturbing but still, I had to share. Look what they have done to you, my beloved frog! GAH!!

Why, oh why, do I even log onto the net. I am blinded by the sight. Scarred for all ages. My world has been shaken. I mean seriously am I to wake up to this next???

Some things are sacred. Better left alone. Not to be messed with. If it ain't broken, don't fix it.

And just to help get things back to their righteous place in the galaxy, I offer you this.


"Who said that every wish would be heard
and answered when wished on the morning star?
Somebody thought of that and someone believed it.
Look what it's done so far."

And so my friends, on this very first day of two thousand and eleven, I wish you magical star gazing and wonderful wishes . . . and normal faces.