Organization Is My Middle Name (and the stick up my bum)

My husband calls our house an RV because I utilize every square inch of storage space our little house offers. Organized to the nines, I store stuff up, under, behind and overhead.

When my house is organized, I am organized. My life can be in total chaos, but when I can find a hammer or batteries or the remote to the CD player without any thought simply because it’s where it should be, I can handle anything.

Being organized helped me lose weight. Being organized keeps me between 128-130 pounds. Organization is my emotional compass. If my house is a wreck, my desk strewn with papers, I guarantee you won’t want to engage me in conversation.

The antithesis of organization is clutter. I hate clutter**** (please read the **** footnote clarification at the end of this blog). I hate clutter more than trans fats, fake maple syrup, and Culture Club. Clutter makes my right eye twitch. And man, was it twitching this morning when I came downstairs and saw my new food processor, hand mixer and box of eco-friendly food storage containers waiting for me on the dining room table. I was fully aware they were there when I went to bed last night, but my mind was still processing the day of family, presents, too many carbs (damn you puppy chow!) and the Mel Brooks movie “To Be Or Not To Be.”

But in the light of dawn, nothing wakes me up quite like clutter.

By 7:30 a.m., I’d mapped out a strategy. The new food processor would go where the old one was and the hand mixer would fit nicely in the third drawer next to the stove. The new storage containers posed a bit of a problem since I have no extra space in my kitchen. Something had to go, either moved to the basement, the garage or Goodwill. I wasn’t sure what.

So, I started at the most logical place. The dogs’ water dish.

Our dogs’ water dish sits between the microwave cart and the long counter that accommodates our sink. It’s always in the way and is 7 feet away from their food bowls in the dining room. I can’t remember why we put it there, but it obviously made sense at the time. In order to find space for the new storage containers, the dish would have to move. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever in anyone else’s mind, but in mine, it’s pure genius.

So, after completely changing our dogs’ eating and watering ensemble (they are now using different bowls in a different location – don’t ask), my next step(s) in finding room for the eco-friendly food storage containers was to:

· Take everything out from lower cupboards and microwave cart
· Vacuum cupboards and microwave cart
· Reorganize every fry pan, baking dish, roaster, casserole and cookie sheet by order of frequency of use
· Put everything back in different places
· Bring unused pots to basement
· Notice cobwebs in stairwell
· Move mixer to where the old food processor used to be
· Move new food processor where the mixer used to be
· Move old food processor to basement
· Notice more cobwebs
· Vacuum basement stairs and rearrange items on stairway shelves
· Vacuum rest of kitchen
· Notice grime on the bottom vent of the refrigerator
· Clean out entire refrigerator
· Notice mold growing on block of cheddar cheese in crisper
· Cut off mold; shred cheese with new food processor
· Wash food processor

Finally, at 11:00 a.m., I opened the box of new containers and put them in their new home on the microwave cart. (Peter Walsh, if you’re reading this, you are my hero and I’m pretty sure we could be BFF.)

I now have cheese slices organized in a small plastic container in the crisper (no more slippy sliding all over the cheddar and Laughing Cow), all the Jello-O puddings neatly arranged in a long plastic container (no more toppling over and making Lynn curse), and I can retrieve a cookie sheet without breaking a wrist bone.

Now it’s time to listen to the Cowboy Junkies. I’m feeling organized and can now listen to the music without thinking I have to rearrange a pot or appliance. In addition to the aforementioned items, I also got fun stuff for Christmas, Trinity Revisited among them. It’s a seriously good CD/DVD combo. Trust me.

I hope you are enjoying some R&R, that you’re eating well and working out, and finding peace in the ways that are unique to you. Here are a few photos from my holiday. Talk to you all again real soon.


I'm so proud :)


Claire helps Grammy Lynn cook brunch (as long as I've got bony hips and a free hand, I can whip up anything)


Claire and Grammy eat an English muffin (she pretty much ate my entire egg-white omelet, too, but she did NOT get my mimosa)



Without daughter Cassie and SIL Matt, Claire and new baby in May wouldn't be here. Thanks guys!

**** I am clutter blind outside my own house and vehicle. I only hate my own clutter. I seriously, honest-to-god don’t notice or care about anyone else’s clutter.

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Food Interruptus

A funny thing happened on my finger’s third adventure around the edge of the bowl of soon-to-be-truffles goo yesterday: I couldn’t lick. My head was saying, “You reserved the Points! Eat it!” But my stomach was saying, “Put that sugar crap in me and I promise you’ll be seeing it again real soon.” So I rinsed my finger(s) and made the truffles and washed the bowl without another taste.

It’s 9:15 and I’m still in my pjs. I plan to still be in my pjs when I head to the kitchen in a minute and make a batch of Peanut Blossom Cookies and Puppy Chow, both laden with chocolate and peanut butter, but both way too sweet (like the truffles) to really tempt me. I do plan to have for dessert later a piece of Hungry Girl’s 1-Point fudge with a scoop of Breyer’s double-churn fat-free vanilla ice cream.

Also on the menu tonight: ham and scalloped potatoes. My food strategy this year seems to be to mostly make stuff I don’t like or no longer eat. It was not something I did intentionally, but it’s working like a charm. Besides, there will be enough cheese, almonds and homemade bread to make me squirm in my seat later. Ya’ll know how I love me some cheese, almonds and bread more than chocolate and peanut butter (except PB2) any day.

While making the truffles yesterday, I had a moment where I really missed the days of mindless eating. When eating a truffle or two was nothing more than a precursor to the real dessert. When unwrapping Hershey Kisses for the cookies was a “one for the bowl, two for me” game. When cheese, crackers, nuts, and bread would just “hold me over” until dinner. I was lost in these thoughts when the UPS man delivered the sweater I ordered from Macy’s, a very clingy cardigan that I thought would look nice with my gray leggings and black boots. I took it out of the package and tried it on. Yup. It was clingy alright. Hugged, and I mean hugged, every inch of my mid section and butt.

As I looked at my body in the mirror, I realized I could miss the days of mindless eating all I wanted, but I was never going back there. I’d rather eat light and look like I look now than eat whatever I want and hide under layers and layers of clothing. Food doesn’t make me happy. A strong healthy body that accommodates a clingy cardigan does. (Just so we're clear, I really am wearing a camisole under the sweater. I'm not THAT daring :))

So take that cheese and almonds and bread and truffles! I’ll try you, taste you, enjoy you in small bits for short moments, but I’ll enjoy my sweater for a long, long time.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Joyous Kwanzaa everyone! Eat smart. Be well. May you be surrounded by peace and love this evening and always.

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Warning: Sappy Sentimentalism Inside

I hope you don’t mind a little extra stevia with your blog reading today. Christmas brings out my schmaltzy sentimental side, at least more than other times of the year.

Every year at this time, I exchange the gift of a hug with a particular friend and it makes me all warm inside, warmer than a cup of Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride tea.

We don’t see each other much anymore; our parallel and busy lives keep us apart. Email is good, but seeing each other in person is a rare treat, a delicious gift of catching up and thinking back. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to about snow-packed mountains, distractions and turkeys, the decadence of eating strawberries in March, and which I-80 truck stop makes the best shoo fly pie. There are some things no one else would get and I couldn’t possibly explain.

He was never my boyfriend, my husband, or my boss. We simply met in a windowless room in a building on the campus of our local university and found each other interesting enough to become very good friends. I’ve known him longer than my husband, who isn’t jealous of our relationship so I make no apologies for it. I stopped trying to understand what it was we felt about each other years ago. It is what it is and whatever that is makes me happy.

I know he loves chocolate and lemon poppy seed muffins. If he doesn’t agree with me he says so. If I ask for his advice, he gives it without prejudice, bias or fear of saying something I don’t want to hear. His honesty is refreshing, as is his laugh and beautiful smile. I would be content to just sit near him, not saying a word. Of course if we were to try this we’d probably bust out laughing. We do that well.

I can’t compare our hugs goodbye to any other embrace I’ve known. It’s not fatherly or brotherly; it’s not that of a lover or gay friend. He’s a man I’ve thought about on so many levels that there’s no way to nail down one precise familiar relationship everyone would understand. And so I just call it unique. We had two very long, very loving unique embraces yesterday and his warmth and kindness will keep me smiling into the new year.

Now if I could just get my friends from Minnesota, California, Texas, England, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, Florida, Oregon, New York, Connecticut, Wisconsin, Canada, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Arkansas, Colorado, New Mexico and I know I’m missing a state together for a big old hug like that…

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Where Does Your Food Come From?

Just a quickie this morning as I digest some yogurt and strawberries before hitting the workout.

I got to thinking about this blog entry after reading the label on my strawberries. By now we’re all good at reading food labels for nutritional information and ingredients (You DO read labels before buying and/or eating, right?), but do you ever read where the product comes from? The label from the strawberries I bought yesterday is marked “Product of Mexico.” Seems reasonable. We can’t grow strawberries in the snow so of course we’d import them from Mexico or other Central and South American countries. Ditto on bananas, coffee, sugar and other food items.

The tea I drink is “blended” by Celestial Seasonings in Boulder, but the ingredients come from all over the world. Curious about their importing philosophy, I did a quick Internet search and was heartened to read the company’s ethical trade statement online: “We’ve had relationships with many growers around the world for more than 30 years, and it’s very important to us that workers are treated fairly and with respect, and that farming techniques support environmental health and economic growth. The growers are our partners, and together, we ensure the botanicals Celestial Seasonings purchases are collected or harvested with minimal impact on the environment, while local jobs and businesses are nurtured.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not a policy readily embraced by Chinese (or even some U.S.) manufacturers. Given the propensity for profits over the health of pets and babies, I am extremely wary of goods imported from China.

Take garlic powder. The McCormick brand is almost $2 more than the Wal-Mart house brand. The McCormick company has a commitment to sustainability and social responsibility and their product is clearly marked “Product of USA.” The Wal-Mart brand is marked “Product of China.” I pony up the $2 in hopes that McCormick truly is committed to the health of its consumers over profit.

I realize it’s nearly impossible to avoid food products made in China, particularly the frozen and processed varieties. But by staying informed (read the Washington Post story “Tainted Chinese imports Common”, for instance), I’m trying to be more aware of where my food comes from. Labels aren’t always marked, and in the case of food made with several ingredients, it’s impossible to know where each of those ingredients came from.

Think about it: we put a lot of trust in the people who grow, manufacture, import, and inspect our food. Aside from the produce and meat I buy from local and regional farmers, I don’t know the people who grow and pick and make my food. Kind of creeps me out a little.

Nothing like a little paranoia on an early Sunday morning. Sorry about that. I’m curious, though: Do you read labels? Do you know where your food comes from? Any strategies for learning more?

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Your Thoughts Really ARE Worth a Dime! Give One Now (a thought, that is)

If you’re not already a fan of MizFit (and if you don’t know who I’m talking about, you’re new to my blog, aren’t you? Welcome!), get on over to her site today and post a comment on the blog entry “MizFit’s Halfassed Friday Rhyme. (subtitle: Im emptying the wallet, People, & need your help.).” Miz is donating a dime to Safeplace, a domestic violence shelter in Austin, Texas, for every comment posted to that entry from now through Christmas Eve. The only thing it costs you is a few minutes. Besides, isn’t it fun to spend someone else’s money, especially when it’s going to a good cause?

Domestic violence was a part of my life back in the mid 1980s. Still is to some degree since fear never really goes away. It lingers in the back of my mind sometimes as a “what if…”

Anyone who’s experienced violence in their life knows it’s not the actual violence that’s the worst part. It’s the anticipation and the not knowing when it will happen next that is the hardest to live with because it’s all consuming. Fear changes how we do things and how we structure our days and even our sentences. God forbid you say the wrong thing, or anything at all.

By donating to a domestic violence prevention agency, any DV agency anywhere in the country, you’re helping people like me who learned through the kindness and patience of shelter staff and volunteers how to live within and eventually leave a violent relationship. DV knows no socio-economic barrier and it doesn’t belong to one race or creed. I’m sure many of you reading this are nodding your heads because you’ve been there or you know someone who has.

So click on over to MizFitOnline and give a little comment. I personally appreciate it very much.

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I Simply Remember My Favorite Things, And Then I Don't Feel So Bad

I heard “My Favorite Things” while shopping for Christmas cards at Hallmark the other day and thought, When did that become part of the Christmas carol canon? I looked it up on Wikipedia, which offered this: “The wintertime imagery of some of the lyrics has made ‘My Favorite Things’ a popular song during the Christmas season, and it often appears on holiday-themed albums and compilations, although in the show and movie it is sung during a summer thunderstorm.”

Snowflakes and mittens make me think of winter, not Christmas, but whatever. I know, bah-humbug, right? Wrong. I’m in a good mood, actually. Stress levels have come down to manageable levels and my elliptical repair man will be here tomorrow. What more could a girl want?

Stress can be a teacher and fortunately I allowed it to help me to look inside and not away from the stressors. In doing so, I realized there were many favorite moments and discoveries this year, old and new, frivolous and serious. My list is nothing like Oprah’s favorite things, and there are no freebies hidden under your seat as you read this, although if I could, I’d give you all, dear readers, a jar of hearts of palm and an ionized hair dryer. You’ll understand further down the page.

So, in no particular order, here are my Favorite Things of 2008:

1. Fennel. I was introduced to fennel at The Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles when I was in California in March. My friend Michael took me there for lunch, and while we didn’t see any celebrities (at least none that we recognized), we did see a LOT of silicone. Oh my. Anyway, fennel. It was tossed into my $28 Ivy salad and I fell in love at first bite. I’m not a black licorice fan, but I do like anise and fennel has a hint of anise. It reminds me of the anise candy we got for Christmas every year when I was a kid. Fennel is a little sweet and very crunchy, and the best part is that I think of Michael every time I eat it. Love that guy.

2. Hearts of Palm. I was technically introduced to hearts of palm two summers ago while visiting my friend Heather in Chicago. She put some in our dinner salads. I didn’t buy my first jar until last week, so I’m counting it among this year’s favorites. The canned palms are in brine so they’re tangy and a little on the high sodium side, but I found a jar of palms with lower sodium at Trader Joe’s. Slice them up and put them in your salad for a nice little bite. Like the fennel, I have happy friend memories when I eat them. Which reminds me, I really need to get back to Chicago to see her.

3. My new haircut. All my life I’ve tried to find the right haircut. I had short wavy hair in the 70s, curling iron-hairspray bangs in the 80s and early 90s, and crazy out-of-control curly hair until this past March. Ashley, the most fabulous hairstylist ever, thought maybe I ought to try an Annette Bening style. Sure, why not, I said. And it worked! Finally, I have a hairstyle that in 20 years I won’t look back on and cringe.

4. My ionized hair dryer. When my old dinosaur of a hairdryer finally died last month, I bought an ionized one. I have no idea the technical details of ionization and I don’t care. All I care about is that my hair is not frizzy and it dries faster. I like this thing a LOT.

5. Mary Kay Time Wise products. The woman who helps me clean my house, Tammy, is also a Mary Kay consultant. Having been a Clinique girl since WAY back, I’d never tried MK before. When my skin starting breaking out last winter and nothing Clinique offered helped, Tammy suggested I try the Time Wise line of cleansers and moisturizers. Within two weeks my skin was clear. Since then, I’ve fallen in love with Mary Kay mascara and gotten my husband hooked on the men’s line. Given me some time and I will be the reason Tammy earns a pink Cadillac.

6. Blackberry Pearl. For a woman who just learned how to old school text message last year, the Blackberry was quite a step up with it’s fancy QWERTY keyboard. My Blackberry is pimped out with modem capabilities and with it I took photos in the balloon room at the Andy Warhol Museum. I can check my email, the weather AND the news in bed, and can call all my siblings for free. Of course, this requires me to turn it on, something I forget to do most of the time.

7. My Pampered Chef chopper. Makes my cooking life much easier. It can also take quite a beating. Seriously…when I chop, I REALLY chop.

8. NPR. I’ve dabbled in National Public Radio here and there. I’m a huge fan of “Prairie Home Companion” and “Wait, Wait! Don’t Tell Me!” but I’ve never ventured beyond that. Thanks to many trips to Pittsburgh this past year (a 70-minute drive each way), I’ve become an NPR junkie. “News and Notes,” “Radio Times,” “Talk of the Nation,” “The Diane Rehm Show,” “Forum,” “Tell Me More”…my heart is all a flutter. I recognize every news anchor’s voice, and I think Carl Kasell and Peter Sagal are sexy.

9. The gift of old friends. Visiting Minnesota this past summer, I saw people I haven’t seen in 20 and 30 years. What a treat to ride in a parade on the back of a wagon with my fifth- AND sixth-grade boyfriends. I cried as I watched my former choir director (now in his mid-80s) direct the choir in my old church. Such beauty that. I got to hug the parents of my friend Tammy who was murdered in Lubbock in 1986. We’ve stayed in touch every Christmas but I’d not seen them since the funeral. I saw every member of my wedding party (the first wedding), and I got to introduce my late husband’s beautiful daughter to many of his friends, including the woman she is named after. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

10. This blog. While I’d kept an online journal of my weight loss, I’d not blogged about weight issues on a regular basis until I started this blog in March and launched Refuse to Regain with another “favorite thing,” my blogging partner Barbara Berkeley, in May. The best part about this blog is you. I have learned more, laughed more, and grown more as a person because of getting to know so many of you through your comments and your own blogs.

And so with that, I offer you my most sincere thank you and my warmest wishes for a health-filled holiday and 2009. I leave you with my favortist thing of all, my granddaughter Claire, dancing so happy she had to get naked:

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Stress Sucks

Stress is the sneakiest thing, isn’t it? It disguises itself in all kinds of ways – pain, doubt, hunger, lack of hunger, the shakes, the sweats, the mood swings. I know we can’t escape it, but damn, doesn’t it knock you for a loop sometimes?

I think what makes stress so sneaky is that the cause isn’t always apparent. It’s usually not one big thing but a million little things. Here’s what I mean. Christmas shopping? Not a problem. Write a blog? Not a problem. Write another blog? Fine. Write a book? Sure. Cook, clean, take dogs to the vet, prepare for a visit by the stepsons, balance food and exercise, and keep up with emails, research, friends, my kids and extended family? I can do those things with my eyes shut. But this past week, when everything needed (and still needs) my attention, I feel like I’m cooking pudding with avocados and bran muffins. I like pudding, avocados and bran muffins, but separately. Together, they’re disastrous.

Unfortunately, stress welcomes my old nemesis: anxiety disorder. I’ve been prone to it since my first anxiety attack in 1986. And while I’ve learned a lot about it over the years and have learned ways to manage this disorder, when it plops itself in the middle of my busy life, it seems to take over everything and I forget how to say, “No! I’m in charge, not you!”

Thus, I’m not feeling real in charge right now. I have to remind myself to breathe, to not run away from the feelings, to prioritize and do what I can, all the while not beating myself up for this “flaw.” Everyone gets stressed out, I tell myself. Why can’t you handle it? Then, for the millionth time in 22 years, I remind myself that I’m not “everybody” and that I am merely a person who has issues with anxiety disorder. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t do anything to cause it. It’s just a part of who I am.

99 percent of the time, anxiety doesn’t control my life. I control it. But when I’m smack dab in the middle of huge stressors that trigger the heart skips, the shallow breathing, the anticipation of dread and fear, it’s not easy to just drop to the mat and start meditating. I have to slowly wade through my thought processes, decide what’s important and what’s not, and to remember that I can’t do everything and that it’s OK to say no or ask for help. This takes the kind of patience isn’t readily available in the middle of the shakes and what feels like knives in my stomach. I have to step outside the physical sensations and realize they are manifestations of too much work and too much emphasis on perfection (like you didn’t know I’m an anal retentive perfectionist who posts to-do lists in my office, kitchen and bedroom).

I’d like to wish it all away, but wishing isn’t action. And sometimes taking action is the most painful part of reducing stress. One thing that helps me to step outside and think is, as I mentioned, meditation, but also writing. Just in the time it’s taken to write this blog my head has calmed a bit. I’ve cleared some space in there so I can actually work through the list of things and people who “need” me. Hmmm…there seems to be one less knife in my gut right now. One less twitch in my eye. I’m not shaking. I’ll take it.

Stress is sneaky. It’s a pain in the ass. Stress is knocking me for a loop right now and I’m not going to feel completely on my game for awhile. However….and I say this taking a deep breath…. that’s OK. I don’t have to be.

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