If you want to change the world, start by making your bed...

It's Wednesday. And, it's been forty days. Noah was in the rain for 40 days. Jesus was in the desert for that long. In the bible, the number forty is said to represent trial. I don't know. What I DO know is that I've consumed a LOT of water. A lot. Way more than I used to. I've added less sugar to my coffee and tea. Maybe 5 half-teaspoons over the last 40 days. Used WAY less olive oil, and MEASURED it (not the famous Rachel Ray "zhuzh" where a tablespoon becomes a pint.)

I used to be 'passionate' about cooking. Now, I'm getting...meticulous. Paying close attention to the additions of ingredients, and portions. Portion control: the bane of my existence, heretofore. "One cup of pasta? ONE CUP? Why dirty the plate? One cup of pasta is what I TASTE, when I'm cooking!" That was MY credo. Now...one cup of pasta looks pretty danged good. Pret-ty danged good. And ya know what? I'm vegan! I can eat...SALADS! Man alive, you can eat a wheelbarrow full of salad, before calories start piling up.Just watch your dressings.

So, last week, after a fashion, we decided to bite the bullet and get the medical forms completed. Yes, THOSE forms: for the YMCA fitness program. Our doctors filled out their forms, we filled out our forms, and we went for the training session. Then, we signed into ActivTrax, which guides us through an increasing-intensity workout, week after week. We just went for the first one, yesterday, and granted, it was a light-weight one. Low weights. Low reps. Don't kill y'self, you have time.

And, this is me on the fly machine, near the end of the workout.

No, I wasn't all sweaty. No, there weren't any gasps, and outbursts of breathlessness. And no, I didn't strut like a bantam rooster when I was finished. It was fun. It was exciting. I'm humbled. And we're ready, Dawn and I, to hit this thing, face on. As with the DAV 5K coming up, Saturday, we're quietly giddy. We've trained, we've walked, we've gotten our heads right with it. We're not sprinting for 5 clicks. We're not doing this "hell-for-leather." I have my phone loaded with "marching beat" rock music; it's a military thing. I love walking to that beat. Dawn just does it in her head. LOL, she's got a different drum she hears. We expect to take about 45 minutes to walk this thing. That's what my last 5k was, more or less. Six years ago. Those were the "No Butts About It" colon cancer 5K and the "Jingle Bell Run" arthritis 5K. 

Those events were before knee surgery. And then foot surgery/joint replacement. And then *more* knee surgery. And *another* foot surgery. And cervical spinal stenosis. And psoriatic arthritis. They were also before the 254 pound shocker which led to me taking the fat-(_)_) bull by the horns: self-injected methotrexate and doubling up my Celebrex, eating food as FUEL, not a drug. Taking better care of the body God blessed me with.

I'm going to die. It's a fact. But I needn't rush things. When I went vegan, I said it was for health: I'd married a lovely, incredible, wonderful and appreciably younger girl. I had said that I wanted to last at least as long as her, and my lab work didn't indicate that to be possible, if I kept on the way I was going. So, I went "plant-based." People look at me (and the BIG shadow I cast) and say, "Wow, you don't LOOK vegan! Vegans are supposed to be skinny....oops." Yeah, because somewhere along the way, pasta became the other food group. Fried stuff became another food group (but it's fried in OLIVE OIL!) "Excess" became the norm. Crap, Oreo's are vegan. Potato chips are vegan. I took a perverse pleasure in taking so-called "good for you"  foods and turning them into carnival fare. "But it's STILL VEGAN!" Big deal. When I ran these items through MyFitnessPal, I almost croaked. I heard a whisper: 

Time. To. Grow. Up. 

My cousin the Doctor will tell you. "Food is FUEL." And, we're top-fuel dragsters, brothers and sisters. We require the GOOD stuff to operate. The good stuff, not junk food, not fast food. Now, is ONE fuel the best for everyone? No, and again, NO. (And I'm going to catch hell from the anarchist vegans for this, but:) Find what works for you: animal-based, plant-based, keto, paleo...you decide. All I can tell you for sure is that, even doing it incorrectly, plant-based works for me. And...my family, without our browbeating them to death over eating meat vs eating plants, have slowly come to appreciate the taste, feel and benefits of some of my recipes. Our older boy LOVES my seitan nuggets, and ASKS for them on holidays, in lieu of animal parts. My MIL has gotten real schmaltzy with the plant-based chili, stews and soups.  When the newspaper comes out with recipes, or the food magazines arrive, she's all, "Help me make this vegan!" We're making inroads, good people. But again, that's just us. 

I've heard it said that if you want to change the world, start by making your bed. I do that. I make my bed, every day, and help our little boy, Aiden make his (okay, sometimes we forget his, for playing and getting off to school.) One thing has been accomplished, and no matter WHAT kind of day you've had, you have a nice, made bed to flop into. Little steps. Same with your food. Look at the makeup of it. Can you pronounce the ingredients? (Okay, let's remember that vitamin names are tongue-twisters, I'll grant you that.) Do you REALLY want to waste your (hypothetical) 2000 calories on Circus Peanuts? Red vine licorice? A bag of fries from that chicken place? I've learned how not to. And soda pop! Dayummmmm! There are a whole lot of empty calories in that stuff! Food is FUEL!! Do you put sawdust and water and questionable stuff into your gas tank? I didn't think so. Treat your living body the same way, if not better. 

I'm living proof that one needn't be a fitness guru, be in top form to get healthier. Trust me, if you saw my x-rays and CT scans and MRI's, and the attendant reports, you'd gasp. Hell, *I* do. But, I'm better off than a lot of folks I know. I can still get out there and walk. I can still lift and press and such. I can hang out in the therapy pool.  I won't back down, and neither should you. 

Take the step. Make your metaphorical bed. This week's official weigh-in was 238.4#; official weight loss is 16#. (Somewhere, I'd miscalculated. I'm thinking it's between "naked weight" and "clothed weight." I'll get it right, someday. LMAO!)

Be well; practice peace, and I'll see you at the next one.

By the way, please take a minute to consider donating to the DAV 5K; the money goes to support over one million disabled American veterans per year. And, this Saturday, I'm plant-strong for my disabled brothers and sisters.

Please support DAV

http://donate.dav.org/site/R?i=EgDR1McDUdA5jOX89BsKkw

I DON'T DO TRICKS FOR FOOD!

I took my wedding band off, the other day. Waved it in Dawn's face. "So? You're leaving me?" she asked. I replied, "You don't get it. Last time I had x-rays, they said to take it off. I couldn't."

I couldn't take my wedding band off. My gut is fat. My moobs are fat. My face is fat. My HANDS are fat. But...I was able to remove the most precious piece of jewelry I've ever owned, as a function of having taken the advice of the girl whose love it represents. (You KNOW that the roundness of the gold band describes the eternity of love, right?) Uncanny.

Another thing? I sleep better. I SLEEP! With small exception (nocturnal pit-stops, LOL!) I sleep all night long. My Garmin tracks that. Used to be, I'd go to bed (after playing online word games and card games and following stream-of-consciousness nonsense threads for a good portion of the night) and sleep for oh, maybe an hour. Then I'd go downstairs, open the dishwasher so the dishes would be dry, and start reading the paper. Of course, you can't READ without EATING, right? A bunch of grapes. Or an apple. Or a banana. Or some peanuts. Or a jelly sammich. Maybe (usually) all of them; it's only little taste. Putting the jelly back into the icebox, I notice there's some spaghetti in there, behind the pickles. Crap, no sauce. Well, there's olive oil and nootch (WHAT? I haven't mentioned nootch before? Later. Gimme a sec.) And, oh, yeah, PICKLES! And, an hour or two later, I waddle my overstuffed butt back upstairs. And sleep fitfully, on and off, until daybreak.

You think I'm kidding. Don't you? I'm not. I'll make this admission more than once, before I die. I need to, because...my name is Steve, and by the Grace of God, by the Power of the Holy Spirit, and the shed blood of the Lamb of God, I am a GRATEFUL recovering addict.

And all I've done is switch substances. And, what the heck, let's face it: food is a substance. Am I unhappy? Nah, I don't think so. Am I suicidal? Jeez-o-pete, no! Is there something missing in my life? Well...proximity to our kids, maybe. I love and miss them all. The ones in NY, CT, NC, and across town. But, that's all I REALLY 'want.'

I'm medicating with food as a nasty habit. Like I did with alcohol and other less savory things. Bad day? Tilt one back. Good day? Tilt one back. Mediocre day? Tilt one back. I only drank on days that ended in 'y.' I only used at times that ended in 'o'clock.' The same way I eat. Like an addict on the prowl for his next fix. Ask me some day about the wedding reception.

'Wants?' 'Needs?' I have none. Somewhere between "coming to believe in a Power greater than myself" that would restore me to sanity and actually WORKING a faith, not just following a religion, I've realized that I have exactly that which I need. I'm blessed beyond comprehension. I'm better off than I deserve. So...why stuff? I'm not a dog; I'm not Shamu the Killer Whale. I don't do tricks for food!

I DON'T DO TRICKS FOR FOOD!

So, why am I 'rewarding' myself like I do those things? Two words: bad habit.

When Dawn asked if I was ready to get serious about this thing called stewardship, 33 days ago, I didn't say "Oh, my gosh, I have to count calories FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE???" I approached it like I approached alcoholism: One day at a time. I set a goal: 2,000 calories. As I eat, I weigh the options of "this versus that" in MyFitnessPal. Do I REALLY want five Circus Peanuts, or do I want three apples? An order of fries, or a seitan sandwich. (Hey, I make my own seitan, with no added junk, and no fat-laden calories, that's loaded with protein and vitamin B12. Recipes upon request.) I make smarter choices, and fill myself with...goodness! I've eaten more grapes and apples and oranges and bananas and veggies as SNACKS than I ever have. I drink water! Robin and I just spent a weekend on that well out back, and it flows pretty heartily. Nice, double-filtered groundwater from a tested aquifer. And, at 2,000 calories per day, I'm pretty doggone full. Never 'hungry.' And, oh, yeah: I usually have 200-300 extra calories left over at the close of my daily diary.

And, all of this leaves me (unofficially, because TOMORROW is the clothes-on, VA Clinic weigh-in) at 233.4 pounds. Now, add about 4.2# to that, and you get a rough idea of my regular weigh-in. Doing the math, I've lost 16.4#.

Now, let's put that little bit of data into perspective. Doing what my wonderful, inspiring (and let's not forget pretty darned cute) wife has suggested/begged me to do for years, I've lost .49 pounds (translate: HALF A POUND!) per DAY, for the last 33 days. I look at MyFitnessPal and see where put in where I'd like to have lost half a pound a WEEK. And, in my head, and on the scale, and in my clothes fitting better, and being able to walk almost every day, and being able to tie my shoes without becoming short of breath, I'm seeing the big flash of Morse code: "See how EASY???" 

See how easy...?

Truth be told, I'm waiting. Waiting for the big, bright, pink cloud to pop like a cheap balloon. It's always that way. Pretty much everyone drops a mad ton of weight in the beginning, then plateaus off to a trickle. "That LAST ten pounds is on me like fur on a weasel." But you know what? That's tomorrow. Next week. Next month. If I work the steps, follow my program, and trust God, I can DO this. I can, because I KNOW I can do all things through He who is within me! 2 Corinthians 12:9 says so. I can slowly whittle myself down to where I'm supposed to be. I've already lost 6.4% of my body mass. My BMI HAD been 35.9. It's now 34.1. Big change? Not really. But, small bites eat the Tofurkey. The journeys of a thousand miles begin and continue with a series of single steps. I...WE...are a work in progress.

Oh; I'd mentioned "Nootch." If I haven't said it before, Red Star Vegetarian Support Nutritional Yeast (Nootch) is how we vegans get our B12, a necessary nutrient. It tastes pretty darned good, too.

That's the news from Carlisle: Persevere. Have patience. Have faith. Share love. Practice stewardship.

I am proof that pretty much anyone can beat what's holding them down, and do SOMETHING to enhance their existence. Eat a little better, do a little more...we are not helpless! Rise up, be strong, and share the joy we're destined to experience!

Be well; practice peace; see y'all at the next one.

Wow, I suck at this.

I started back in of September, and I've blogged twice...one of which went AWOL somewhere. And, to be honest, I have weights all over the target. Clothed weight, un-clothed (I know: now you need eye-bleach. TRUST me, I have mirrors, and *I* need eye-bleach.)

Short recap: I went to my VA doc, and she said  "254 pounds is...the heaviest I've seen you. And your triglycerides are a mess. Would you like to try the VA 'MOVE' Program? See the Nutritionist on TeleConference?"

Done them both, I have. "MOVE," TeleConference. I'm MARRIED to a Diet Tech (registered) and read her school books for fun, sometimes. I KNOW the rules. I KNOW the guidelines. I've watched Dr Phil's weight-management programs, Dr Oz's weight-management programs. "Less calories in than you burn, no eating after xx:00, more protein, more fiber, no inane snacking, no mindless, TV-watching meals, olive oil is a condiment, not a food group, no added sugar..."

Yada. Yada. Yada. All those bleedin' words meant NOTHING. Nothing. Bending over to tie my shoes and gasping for breath before I got one bunny-ear wrapped around t'other didn't do it. Looking up the few steps from the main floor to our upstairs as if it were Annapurna in a blistering snowstorm didn't do it.

I am the FATTEST I'VE EVER BEEN. EVER.

"254#" did it. Especially when the actuary charts say I'm supposed to weigh 170.

Now, in (vaguely) recent memory, I HAVE weighed as little as 185 pounds. Really; I was working at WENY Radio in Horseheads, NY. I was working nights, telemarketing. I was working nights and weekends as a clown (Yet another story, for another day.) I was living on cigarettes, coffee, happy meals and fruit. Do you see, in that list, anything that screams, shouts, states or even whimpers "I'm taking CARE of myself?" I don't. Oh...the fruit, sure, but not the fast food, not the smokes, not the gallons of coffee (or Mountain Dew)... Isaac Bashevis Singer once wrote "A man does himself more harm than ten of his enemies." In my case, make that "Twenty enemies."

So, I sat through Group that day, after Freesia (my VA physician) gave me that "LOOK" doctors have when the news isn't the best, and moped. I came home and got all weepy with Dawn, my wonderful, beautiful Princess. She asked (as a very good recovery friend once asked) "Are you ready to get serious?"

So, I downloaded MyFitnessPal. I bought a Garmin VivoSmart HR+tracker. And I tied into this thing. That afternoon I did a little walk. The next day I went farther. Then, I loaded a playlist of "Quickstep" songs. And went farther. And I tracked my food. And I modified my goals.

I stepped on the scale yesterday at the rheumatologist's office. I'd worn the same jeans, same shirt, same shoes, same suspenders (Red Green, "If the women don't find you handsome, at LEAST let them find you handy" suspenders.) Remember, I'd weighed 254. I looked at the scale, yesterday, and it read...

...240.
Which means I've lost fourteen pounds.
I've ditched almost three bags of flour.
Or three and a half bags of sugar.
Or 14 boxes of spaghetti.
Or 8 dozen large eggs.
Or 9.3 bags of Twizzler Twists.

I have to tell you, walking with both osteoarthritis and rheumatoid (psoriatic) arthritis, pain management is a bit of a job. One medication I can use (but shouldn't, because of the methotrexate injections) helps. Another I'd like to try (but can't) is illegal. WTH? Non-THC, hemp-based CBD shows promise, but is proscribed by law. So...I walk. Sometimes, almost "powerfully." Sometimes, "with vigor." But I need a serious recovery time, post-activity. Somewhere down the road, I'm looking at an inevitable surgery for the removal of an artificial joint, but we're not going to worry about that, are we? Because just the recovery/therapy time is like, six months. Bone grafts from one site to another, blah-blah-blah...I'm just a bit busy right now. And I can ignore all that. I have Gold Passes to Kings Island, and an eight year old little boy and beautiful wife to run with! PRIORITIES, man!

As a recap, let's just list the steps I've taken:

1: I track my food. I weigh the pro/con of "this" vs "that.

2: I have added, since September 28, 2018, ONE AND ONE THIRD TEASPOONS of sugar to my coffee. That's one half teaspoon to each of four cups of coffee. That, down from a HEAPING teaspoon (max angle of repose, BTW) per cup. Two to three cups per day. And they're saying "one teaspoon of sugar..." Mine? At least 2, bringing a 5-calorie cup to 32 calories. Let's do some math:

3 (assumed cups of coffee/day) x 32 x 7 days/week=672 calories. Per week.
672 calories/week x 52 weeks = 34,944 calories per year. Say 35,000.

It's hypothesized that one need burn (or omit) 3,500 calories to lose a pound of fat. Eliminating my ladle of sugar from my java is equivalent to a gradual ten-pound LOSS in fat per annum.

3: I (a) try to walk five times/week and (b) get 7,000 steps/day.

4: I assign it all to God. There's this thing called "stewardship." Not just money;
not just property; Stewardship of self is maybe the most important stewardship we can practice. I mean, if our bodies fail, we're not going to be able to take care of the stuff around us, eh? If we're healthy, we don't have illness/injury/infirmity to distract us from bill-paying, employment (unless you're retired, in which case you do what work you do around the house) home maintenance, getting the kids onto/off of the bus, etc. Every activity can be preceded with prayer. Every activity can be followed by prayer. We can pray while we're doing stuff.  As an aside, as you lift your heart to God, offering your energies and sweat and pain (weakness leaving the body) to Him, you stand taller. Stronger. Straighter.

I'm just saying what works for me. And, fourteen pounds in 26 days means I was one *fat* boy; I AM one fat boy. I have a way to go. I need not only cardio...and more OF it...but weight training and flexibility training. As I'd learned back when I started my AA journey: One day at a time. My wife inspires me. Our daughter Meghan inspires me. My niece Jennifer inspires me. And then there's always Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things, through Christ, who is in me." What CAN'T I do? HOO-ah!

Be well; practice peace; see y'all at the next one.

First full week, and...

Well, folks, I did it.

I dug in and actually TOOK the advice my wife proffered. No, I didn't just do the "guy thing" and nod my head half-heartedly. I downloaded MyFitnessPal. I bought a Garmin VivoSmart hr+. I STARTED.

We started, together, Dawn and me, by doing a measured mile at the park. Sunday. Sunny, humid. Thought I was gonna DIE!!! I'd pulled up my music and started out with what the Army used to call "Quick-time" pace. I was feeling pretty cocky, because I'd out-stepped my pretty Princess. Then I did extra steps while she played with Aiden. And more steps. I ended up with 8122 steps. At about 30 inches per step. We're talking almost 4 miles, with the day's total.

MEANWHILE, back at home, I'm using that MyFitnessPal tracker and LOOKING at what I'm putting in my mouth. You did know that three plain Twizzlers are 120 calories, right? And I'm a FOOL for Twizzlers. I can easily eat nine of them. Easily. Or...eat what I had for lunch today: Pasta, chick peas, mushrooms, onions, spinach, olive oil, nootch (Nootch: the OTHER food group!)

Nine pieces of candy? Or a bowl full of Italian-influenced food that even my Dad would have loved? I'm pretty sure it was worth not buying the Twizzlers, yesterday. Just as an example.

So, looking at the quantities and qualities of my calories, cramming water, walking (every day, each morning, except yesterday, when Dawn and I lapped Walmart a couple times at a very brisk pace) and not grazing at midnight and beyond, I'm officially (at least this week) a loser.

I'm a loser. Yessir-ee-Bob. I got dressed in the exact same clothes I wore LAST week to the VA (I DID get them washed, TYVM) and weighed myself. Remember last week? I weighed 254 pounds. This week? 247.

In one week of actually DOING the little things I've been hearing Dawn tell me for years,  I lost seven pounds.

I'm a little sore. I ache at night, but, hey! I ache EVERY night. That's the nature of the arthritis I have. The meds make the aching tolerable. Because, to paraphrase St Paul in 2 Corinthians 8-10, "all I need is Jesus; everything is gonna be alright."

And, it  is. Going to be alright, that is. Nothing pithy and insightful, this week; just a little 'share' to say that I'm less of a man than I was last week. Seven pounds less. Have you been thinking of doing something with your health? If I can, you can.

Below, my "game face." Working out won't kill me.

Here? The laziness leaking out.

God bless, encourage and protect you all.

Back, again.

At roughly 0625 hours, on 5 January, 2010,  I began an abortive attempt at blogging a "better way to live."

I admitted my disease, my powerlessness. I may even have broached that an "-ism" isn't necessarily defined as the addiction to the actual substance, but the mechanics of the things that happen when the drug-of-choice enters your system.

In case you've forgotten, let me remind you. I am an addict. And addicts do what they have always done: feed their addictions. Whether I'm clean or not is inconsequential. What matters is how I live my life. Yes, I'm in recovery. But I'll always have the disease.

So, I haven't 'used' since 1980. And? So what?

I haven't had a drink since 1990. Yeah? Big deal.

I've changed addictions. And, best beloved, there are several. The computer. The phone. Silly home projects into which I've poured my time and efforts...only to half-or partially-complete them. GOOD projects that I over-devote time and effort to, to the chagrin and annoyance of my family.

My current, and most consistently-present "drug" is eating. I eat like I used to drink. Happy? Eat. Sad? Eat. Pissed? Eat. Can't sleep? Eat. Just finished eating? Hell, why put those leftovers away? EAT 'em.

Mostly everyone has seen "WTF" online. Yeah, I bet I know what YOU think it stands for. For ME, it's "WHERE'S THE FOOD???"

And so, I now weigh 254 pounds. I am the most overweight I've ever been in my life. When I was 19, and just leaving Fort Dix, New Jersey (C-7-3 Basic Training Brigade, BOO-yah!) I was a lean, mean, 135-pound trainee. That means I weigh 119 pounds more than I did when I was 19. Like, TWO people walking around in one pair of bib overalls.

A lot has changed, since my last entry (and, to be honest, I'm not going to look back and see when that was.) I retired. Unwillingly. Too many surgeries, too much arthritis, and nobody wants the preexisting conditions with which I arrive. So: short-term disability turned into long-term disability, then that turned into social security disability because, for some reason, my cartilage is disappearing like the dew on this morning's grass. Pssssst! Gone. That condition doesn't keep me from doing a lot of fun things. Just work things. Traditional work things. So, I do a little work, I have a little fun, and get through the day. I get stuff done. But not enough.

Time to work the steps. Time to LIVE the steps. And the bible. And the radical acceptance and situational awareness my VA counselor has been teaching us these last years.

So, what's changed? Besides my body shape, BMI, weight? I'm diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. I self-inject Methotrexate once a week. Our little boy is growing up, and he's more of a handful to chase and entertain. We're still vegan. "Pasta is the other white meat." "Bread is the OTHER, other white meat." HUGE portions are the norm (and the bane of my health!) Sugar...oh, gratuitously added sugar! What the hell am I DOING to myself?

And, now: baby steps. I've not added any sugar to my coffee for three or four days. I'm taking ONE cup of coffee per day, with green or herbal teas (AND NO SUGAR) for the rest of the day, with no caffeine after midday. I'm eating slowly. Conscientiously. Maintaining portion awareness. I SIT after I eat; I don't automatically leap up for seconds...and discover I don't necessarily want seconds. If I do, veggies are plentiful in this house. The cheap, Dollar General cookies are tasty, and "just LITTLE cookies," but THREE are a serving, not seventeen. I can't seem to limit them, so...I don't buy them. I make a CONSCIENTIOUS EFFORT to stay the hell out of the icebox after dinner's over, the dishes washed, and the extras all put away.

Now, It's only been a couple of days since my VA doctor looked at me with that "LOOK" on her face. That look that says "Despite everything I've told you, despite everything you SAY you know, you're heavier now than the last time we had this little pow-wow." I know, I KNOW! I get short of breath, bending over to tie my shoes. I get winded, coming up the stairs. It's hard for me to get into rides at Kings Island. Some of the safety equipment SQUISHES me to bits. I'm heading toward "Sorry, you can't safely ride this attraction if the harness doesn't fit."

Screw that crap.

This morning, after a couple days of moderation, I weigh 251.6 pounds (-2.4#!) I'm using the MyFitnessPal app by Under Armour to log my caloric intake, and as soon as I get a Garmin tracker, I'll be linking that to the account. One day at a time, I'm going to be a living example of the stewardship of body God intended for us all. It helps that I have a SUPER accountability partner. She's also my diet tech (registered) and best friend, too. As another friend put it, "It's a sack race: we're in it together."

Hi; my name is Steve, and I'm powerless over my addiction to food. Today, it's been 72 hours since I took my life back, 72 hours since I took the fork out of my carotid artery, and decided to QUIT committing "suicide by the mouthful." Again.  I need to immerse myself in purpose, in work, in the service of the loving God Who relieved me of the obsession to use, to drink, and I trust will relieve me of the obsession  to overeat.

Second day of 2014, and I have a mission this year. 

Well...I did, LAST year, too. And, in 2012. Things got in the way.

2011 was surgery and job issues and job hunting. Bitterness along the way. Anger as a side dish.  Got a job, the promises made faded like last spring's clouds. But, it was work. Good work, because I got to share with and meet people of like mind. More tree-huggin' plant-eaters. 

Things went well until my joints began committing mutiny again. First my knee, then my foot...yes, THAT foot, the one I had repaired in 2011. Then the same knee. And, the same foot. In fact, I was in recovery from not one, not just two, nay even three, but four separate surgical procedures this year, between May and November.  And, three invasive treatments, to boot. 

And, I walk no better than I had. So, I had to retire.Now, retirement sounds like it'd be fun...and, it IS. Really. I am thrilled. Just...I kinda thought I had a few more years of clock-punching to do before this. It sorta slipped up behind me, and smacked me in the ass. Not that I'm complaining. Just wish it had given me a little more warning. God, however, is good ALL the time, and He has provided, in His infinite wisdom, a measure of financial security that seems pretty bullet-proof. All of which yields an incredibly intriguing way for me to occupy some time: School! 

Yessir-ee-Bob, I'm a college student! Not in the traditional manner: I'm a senior citizen level course auditor. I attend, cost-free. I don't get a grade, but what the hell, I've got a BS (and, THAT means what it sounds like: BS) in one discipline. Who needs another set of letters? It's not like I can throw out anymore resumes. No...I'm going to learn some formal manners by which to write; some actual rules to bend when I'm taking pictures. Next semester? ASL. I've been dawdling along, trying to learn at least a word or two per week, to share with my Little Buddy Sunshine, but have failed kinda miserably. He does know SOME words (signs) but I know he's the capacity for more, and I owe it to him to help him become all he can. Besides...communication is what this old bullshit-artist does best. More'n one girl has fallen in love with the way I turn a phrase. Now it's time to share that capacity with those that can't hear. To borrow a phrase from "Fifty Shades," my inner cheerleader secretly wishes to be the ASL interpreter at the next concert you attend.

Actually, my inner cheerleader is building quite the bucket list:
1) Children's book
2) Short story (non-fiction)
3) Romantic pap fiction that makes the girlies swoon
4) Cookbook (Veg*n, of course)
5) Year in pictures book
6) Short sci-fi
7)...and so forth.

You may hove noticed I mentioned Veg*nity. Yes, I quietly climbed over the fence to THAT school of thought. And, as you may also have noticed, three months into said animal-product-lessness, I'm not wasting away to naught. Nor falling away to a ton. Some weight loss has been achieved: From flirting with the 230's and above, to ringing in at under 225...sometimes close to 220 or lower (Oh, saints and hayrakes, the holidays rip EVERYBODY a new ass...or waistline...). I am proud to say that I neither consumed ANY cookies or snacks this season that contain butter, cream, cheese (THAT was a bitch...) and only VERY little of the famed and fabled Cranberry Mold my sister-in-law makes. Lemme 'splain:

For those of you who don't understand Veg*nism, there are some degrees and levels to which we all subscribe. Straight out Veg*nism means that we not only don't eat meat, nor do we eat any other animal products: Broths, bouillons, milks, cheeses, butters, fats...any food products associated with the slaughter or 'domination/enslavement' of animals. That's 'dietary Veg*nism.' 'Ethical Veg*nism' means not only eschewing the chewing, but the WEARING as well, of animal products: Leather, feathers, skin, fins, isinglass-fined beverages, gelatin-encapsulated drugs, calcium diet supplements, leather shoes, belts, etc...the list is a LONG one, and you'd be absolutely amazed at what it contains.  

Some of us are all IN...some of us cut our losses at a certain limit. Take me: I eat white sugar (Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dr. Oz and his carbohydrate police have a warrant out for my arrest) and honey. "WTF," you ask, "is wrong with white sugar and honey?" White sugar is made white by passing the syrup through activated charcoal. Bone char, in about 40% of the production in the US.(http://www.vegsource.com/jo/qa/qasugar.htm)

So, yeah, if you're really against animal cruelty, factory farming, etc, there's a good case for avoiding cane sugar. Beet sugar doesn't require the bone treatment, but as a caveat, it does NOT bake the same way as cane sugar. 

And, honey? Requires the captive presence of a queen bee (special hive structure KEEPS her there, so the workers and drones have something to do) and, thus is considered by some to be exploitation. Anybody that's seen "Bee Movie" (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0389790/fullcredits?ref_=tt_ov_st_sm) knows that bees are gonna make honey. Whether WE interfere or not, and whether we harvest it or not. As opposed to milk production, which requires the inhumanity of vacuum machines, rGBH, GMO god-playing and  the abject cruelty (in more cases than not) of brainless handlers, apiarists care deeply for their hives, and never use pitchforks, cattle prods, tire irons or gelding rings on bees.I also take pills. In or around every pill I take (arthritis, blood pressure, cholesterol, etc) is a certain amount of gelatin. Boiled animal bones and hooves. Yup. There's no way around it. "Oh," you chide, "yes there IS! Take your healthy diet and SUPPLEMENT it with supplements." I'd love to. But YOU don't have to crawl out of bed every morning in the agony to which I've been treated, since the first time I woke up with arthritis. I do. So...I'm gonna eat honey, bake with white sugar, and take my pills. It's a journey, not a rule-book. We all take different routes. 

Now, one might assume that I'm militant in my approach to Veg*nism. That every post is a PERSONAL ATTACK on YOU. Nope, nyet, nuh-uh, nein. I am as peace-loving as they come. Really. If you want to eat a sirloin burger with bacon, three kinds of cheese and pork cracklin' crudites, hunker in on it, man. It's ALL you.  Don't tell me what I'm missing, because I gotta tell you, if it's to be eaten, I've probably already EATEN it. I am almost fifty-seven. I'd been raised as a meat-eatin' FOOL. Daddy would lay a half pound of rare roast beef on a NYC hard roll with a load of Hellman's on it, salt and pepper and NO lettuce, TYVM, and the nuns would look at OUR lunch and say how SINFUL it was that WE ate as much on one sandwich as a 'poor African refugee ate in a month...' Va, fon tu culo. Daddy worked so we COULD eat well. So, yeah, I ate meat. And gave it up. Don't look at this as my attack on YOU. I hate factory farming and Big Ag, Monsanto and the science project that uses US as guinea pigs. I don't hate YOU. Gawd, I hate having to explain this as people's blood pressure rises. Only other leaf-chasers can understand the ecological impact of over-intensive farming, the waste of resources, the absolute insanity of the concept of 'more-more-more.' I have to come up with a way to say that this is my non-violent objection to exploitation.

This said, please feel free to follow me, comment, share your thoughts. If you really wanna lambaste me or embrace me, but feel somewhat timid about coming outta the closet  for activism, send me an email. I understand. We are ALL crewmates on Spaceship Earth.

Keep coming back; it DOES work, if you work it. So, work it, you're worth it. 

Wow. Nothing written in 2012. A whole year of nothing. 
And, zip-ah-dee-doo-dah in 2013. 
2014 is going to be different. DIFFERENT, I tell ya!