REALLY GOING GREEN

Broccoli Rob and I finally got around to having our bedroom painted.  We wanted a nice, soothing color and researched some feng shui-ey websites to get the right shade of calmness and serenity, appropriate for sleep.  Normally, I'm pretty color-challenged.  I like bold, bright colors, whether they're in fashion or not.  Give me primary colors and keep the pastels.  My kitchen is orange.  My dining room is red (already red when we bought the place, and I think the red walls solidified the deal).  My kids may say the colors I like can even be obnoxiously loud, but I like 'em.  Even my personal trainer had to look me up and down in disbelief because I matched my hot pink workout gloves with the same color sneakers.

But trying to bring in a well-liked color into a peaceable-to-be bedroom can be a challenge, especially because Broccoli Rob and I have very different tastes.  Add to that, Broccoli Rob's devotion to spirituality and I was afraid I was going to say "just make the walls white" to the painter if I got frustrated if we couldn’t agree on a color.  So we go to youtube to check out bedroom feng shui colors and find that yellows are too bright and energizing, oranges and reds almost illegal in the bedroom with suggestions toward earth tones of greens, browns and beige the most promising of boudoir colors.   But beige walls are like white walls.  BORING.  And of course an interior brown color is only good if you're a hibernating bear.

So it comes down to green.  But my den is a beautiful sage green and I don't want to rival that color.  Bright greens are, well, too bright for sleeping, but we couldn’t agree on the gazillion of other greens on the large color wheel.  We finally pick a green color, probably because we both loved the name...'feel the energy'...and the painter, who has obviously not had work recently said he will come to paint the next morning.  Didn't give us much chance to stew about this. 

The painter and his assistant come in the morning and I run off to work with the promise that the bedroom will be finished at the end of the day.  My younger daughter (I'm now going to call her Broccoli Bubelah) is the first one home.  She sends me a text that reads "saw the room--it's bright."  I start to get a little nervous since this sounds like it’s not the pretty green I selected.  Did I make a color mistake?  Should I have gone to Home Depot and bought a pint of the "feel the energy" green paint and slapped a little on the wall in advance so we could have contemplated it?  Should I not have been so eager to help the painter’s finances by agreeing to the quick booking?    Should I not insist that everything in my life has to somehow be related to green vegetables?   I then call the painter and ask him how it looks.  He said "it's neon."  When he hears the hesitation in my voice, he becomes sympathic and says that he can paint it another color 'at cost' on another day.  Okay, now I'm plotzing.  I wait 3 years to finally call the painter and I schedule everything right away and then question my color choice?  Was I going to come home to a bedroom the shade of a sharpie green highlighter?

But when I get home, I walk into the bedroom and immediately love the color.  Yes, a little bright, but just that kind of bold color that I love.  Broccoli Rob likes it too, so it stays.  And I’m sleeping so well in this room, so I’d like to attribute this to the new color.  Broccoli Baby was consulted for accents and accessories as this is her specialty and she’s under orders not to make any comment about the new green color.  She agrees and all is well.  Broccoli Rob thought the red curtains and red linens that were in the room previously could stay, so now I see he’s much more color challenged than I am.  I’ll be taking Broccoli Baby’s advice and getting beige and brown items to go in our new room!

What's in your closet?

This isn't going to be a post on gay rights.  I'm all for that now, after a few decades of being confused about it all.  Hey, growing up in a very conservative, very traditional mid-century household will make you confused.  But, I've come to embrace equality in marriage.  No, this blog is really about the stuff in my closet.

Broccoli Rob and I recently got back from a trip to Florida, home of the 55-and-over active retirement communities.  Though we're not ready to make any decisions about moving yet, I have in my mind that I'D LIKE TO RETIRE at a relatively early age--62.  Though when we 'crunch the numbers," it really seems unlikely that I can manage this financially, unless I'd like to consider a used trailer home to live out my retirement years.  

But the trip got Broccoli Rob and I thinking.  Of course, he's thinking that the trailer from "Deliverance" is just fine and I'm thinking of a cutely decorated new condo and planning each retirement day with fun things to do.  So we start to think if we should downsize now.  Right now, we're in an adorable condo with lots of stuff in it.  And I'm the type of person who always gets rid of 'stuff.'  Just ask my kids.  "Hey mom, where's my so-and-so?"  "Went to the thrift shop a while ago."  "Figures."  So despite all my round-ups for the thrift shop, there's still a lot of stuff.  

But this morning, I open my big basement closet to start considering clearing out the clutter, and I glance at the packed shelves and racks, and then close the door.  I just wouldn't know where to start.  There's stuff there that I've saved forever and it's starting to hit me, what am I saving this for?  And the next question is, "do I cart this unpacked stuff to the next house, I mean trailer."

I have EVERY Playbill from all the Broadway shows I've ever seen, going back to my first show in 1960-ish.  ("My Fair Lady").  Loads of boxes with Playbills.  I once tried selling some on EBay, but there's really not a market for these.  It's just personal ephemera, useless to anyone else and thrown away by most.  (Sidebar:  I once sold a program on EBay from an early 1970's performance by Bette Midler at the Capitol Theater in Passaic, NJ, and got 20 bucks!)  But I can't- no make that don't- want to get rid of my Playbills.  I've thought of using the covers to wallpaper a basement wall, but then my 50 years of Broadway memories will be in someone else's home if we move.  If they were easily available and organized, I'd love to peruse through them, reminding myself that I saw Bette Midler before she was famous, as one of Tevya's daughters in "Fiddler on the Roof."  But they're not organized and not perused.

Other stuff in that closet too--loads of extra yarn, thousands of family photos, several photo albums I made before I became a wife/mother/dietitian, the kids school supplies (they're now all grown up), prom dresses (kids, not mine, I wasn't asked to the prom, fodder for another blogpost), my mother-in-law's old kitchen stuff and a HUGE piece of framed artwork that my mother-in-law gave to my husband when she downsized and moved to a nursing home.  The picture is a big triangular splash of different colors and I never liked it when it hung in her immaculately decorated condo when she lived there.  I remember one of her friends and I were studying that particular piece of artwork in her apartment and he said that it looked like a vagina to him.  Since that day, I can't look at the picture without wincing.  So that's in my closet too, big and vagina-ey, reminding me that my mother-in-law and I never really had a relationship anyway so why would I want to feature this framed monstrosity in my cute red living room?

So, the closet door is closed for the time being.  Stuff in there I just can't part with and a big picture that Broccoli Rob hopes I'll change my opinion of and hang up in our home.  And it all gets me to think about this possible move to warmer climate.  

                                        

Though warmer is better to these aging bones, especially on this cloudy, chilly day, moving out of this area will take me far from The Great White Way, and now I'm thinking I don't want to be so far.  And mazel tov to the state of NJ for allowing marriage to those whom you love.  Oy, what my grandparents would be thinking.

Having my frozen cake and eating it too. Big time.

I will always have a food obsession.  Weight Watchers notwithstanding, I still have problems with overeating sometimes, and out of the blue, can give in to my addiction for sweets.  Actually, it’s more than just ‘giving in’—it’s an all-out matter of can’t stopping.  My years as a dietitian and my years (decades actually) as a Weight Watcher member have not cured me.  I used to think I had this problem solved, but I have discovered that it will never truly go away. 

Backtrack a few weeks ago.  Our 2 daughters gave Broccoli Bob and me a surprise 30^th wedding anniversary party.  We had friends and family there, grey and pink personalized M&M favors, and lots of especially-ordered-for-me healthy food for the luncheon.  And the requisite wedding cake, complete with the original bride and groom topper that my mother had saved all these years for just an occasion like this.  Let me elaborate on this cake.  Bottom layer is chocolate cake with a mousse filling.  Top layer is vanilla cake with pudding.  All wrapped in an immaculate white frosting with a pink and grey ribbon around each circumference.  Gorgeous.

The cake was big!  Hey, cake leftovers are always welcome.  As this “bride” was cutting the cake for the party guests, I made the serving sizes Jewish-style generous.  Not only did I wish to share my joy, but I wanted as much of this cake to disappear so I wouldn’t have to think about it later.  Even while slicing the cake, I knew I was going to have a problem with the leftovers.

Party over.  Cleaned up and packed up all the remaining sandwiches, salads…and a lot of cake.  Broccoli Bob divided the cake into 3 large, lidded Tupperware containers and put them in our freezer.  And later that night, he takes out the cake from the freezer and leaves it on the counter for a truly unnecessary snack.  But who can wait until it defrosts?  Notthebroccolimama (younger daughter) and I start to eat the cake frozen and Broccoli Bob joins in.  OMG.  Frosting is now crunchy.  Cake is roll-and-then-melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness.  And those mousse and pudding fillings?  Fuhgettaboutit.  Forkful after forkful, 3 of us work on this cake proclaiming our pleasure.  But the problem isn’t in the eating of the frozen cake.  The problem, like with many foods, good or bad, is in not stopping.  And here’s where my addiction, which I had so had hoped to have conquered by now, bubbles up like champagne for the anonymous alcoholic.

So here I am, dietitian-not-so-extraordinaire, Weight Watcher-with-some-success, reader of loads of books about our relationships with food, and I can’t stop eating the frozen cake.  The addiction comes back with a vengeance to fill my mouth and soul with sugar.  Mentally and physically incapable of stopping that sweetness insanity.  Eating until I feel sick.  Bringing me back 40 years and 40 pounds. 

And the next day, there is still more cake left in the freezer.  I toss out the rest of the vanilla cake into the trash in one solid heap.  Happy it’s gone and is no longer a burden for me to deal with.  But Broccoli Bob and Notthebroccolimama are angry that I threw it out.  They just don’t understand.  They don’t feel out of control in the cake’s presence.  But I remind them that there’s still the round chocolate cake in another square Tupperware in the freezer.  A puzzle in itself.  It comes out again a few nights later when I’m no longer feeling sick from the previous sugar overdose.  The 3 of us sit at the kitchen table again and tackle that frozen cake enthusiastically, and fortunately, less guiltily.  Reassembling the cake in my mind, I fit the calories into my points system, into my diet, into my life.  The cake is here and I need to be comfortable with letting it live in my home.  It was bought for a celebration and will get the respect it deserves.  At the age of nearly 60, it’s time to admit the sugar/cake addiction will always be here.  I’ll just eat more of the good stuff on all the other days.  And those wonderful daughters of mine who gave us this beautiful celebration, well, that is what life is truly about.

Snail Mail Woes

Some people are clutterers.  I’m a de-clutterer.

Every day, I walk down to my mailbox and bring in a pack of letters and catalogs.  Just about everything is nonsense since Broccoli Rob and I pay most of our bills online.  I’d estimate 90-95% of my mail is junk mail.  I open all the envelopes and toss out anything with my name on it.  I also toss the back pages of the catalogs that has my name on it.  The rest of the catalog and all the envelopes and papers without names gets put into the paper recycling bin in the garage.  Hauled out to the curb every other Monday for the recycling delivery.  Isn’t this a waste of time for the US mail service, me and the recycling workers?  Why do I get more mail than is necessary?  I seldom buy anything from a catalog and I don't trust the scruples of companies that do direct mailings, but I seem to be on more mailing lists than I should.

But I've found that I can very easily cancel these unwanted mailings and you can all do the same.  (Maybe the postal service will take notice!)  I did it for my mother as she once sent a check to an animal rescue charity and then started getting dozens of similar requests.  Look at the mailing—you’ll find a toll-free phone number on there somewhere.  Call them during regular business hours.  You may have to go thru a prompt, but not for long, as ‘customer service’ is typically high up on the prompt-ladder.  Someone always answers the phone--it’s not done by messaging.  Just tell them you want to remove your name from the mailing list.  That's it.  They're very happy to help you.  I’ve done’ this at least 30 times and every discussion is quick and polite.  No one asks why you want to remove yourself from the list.  They may say it takes 30 days as they may be ahead with their next mailing, but you’ll stop getting their mailings.

Just today, on my lunch hour, I called:

Full Beauty- They sent me a catalog for bras for full size women.  I never bought anything from them before but they obviously got my contact info when I purchased a plus size bathing suit online.  Big mistake-pun intended.  And BTW, I'm no longer a plus-size.

NY Philharmonic-  Never went there, but maybe one day I’d like to be supportive of this.  They probably got my contact info when I was a subscriber to the Roundabout Theater Company a few years ago.

Essex County College Continuing Education- Never went there and have no plans to.  Years ago, I took a few courses at another local adult ed school and recently took a meditation class under the auspices of the Montclair Adult School, so either of those places gave out my name.  (It's like Six Degrees of Separation).

Pottery Barn Kids- My kids are grown and I don’t yet have grandkids.  Why did this company send me a catalog?  I'll tell ya'.  I recently bought a gift for my college roommate’s new grandson, getting the gift through the Pottery Barn Kids registry online.  A one-time purchase and they put me on their mailing list.  What nerve.  But I'm off the mailing list now.

Moving Comfort- they make great sports apparel and I bought something years ago and then returned it.  But they kept me on their mailing list.  Until today!  hah!

So, take the time to call these places and get off the mailing list.  Stop wasting paper, stop tossing these papers in the trash and then bulking up the trash.  Stop the excess from the recycling bin.  And certainly stop paying those extraordinarily high wages of the US Postal Workers who are very happy to brings these catalogs and mailers to your mailbox.  Take a look at your incoming snail mail.  Can't we get by with less?

Alcohol. Feh.

Who here knows that alcohol is not good for you?  Raise your hands.  Right.  All of you.  And if anyone out there doesn’t raise their hand, you’re in denial.

Alcohol is a known bad boy (and I use that gender intentionally).  It’s a drug, though legal IF you’re over 21, IF you’re responsible, IF you maintain control.  But the problem with alcoholic beverages are the IFs.  Those under (and over) 21 want to indulge.  Too many people drink and then drive, putting themselves, and innocent people in danger.  And what I see is that people want more than one serving of the elixir.  What’s the big kick in alcohol anyway?  Relaxation?  Take a nap or meditate instead.  It lowers your inhibitions?  Yup.  Who needs that?  It tastes good?  Not to me.  Tell me what else you think alcohol is so good for.  You can’t.

Alcohol is addictive, wreaks havoc with your liver, and is known to be a risk factor for developing certain cancers, including breast cancer.  I have seen head and neck cancers attributed to alcohol (and smoking) abuse and they're not pretty.  Actually, they’re quite ugly and debilitating.   Think facial surgery and swallowing impairments.  I have seen alcohol-induced pancreatitis and  cirrhosis.  And remember, I’m just the dietitian.  A doctor could tell you much more—car accidents, alcohol intoxication in teenagers, injury from falls from alcoholic stupor.   But I've also listened to sick patients tell me they don't get help at home because someone in their family is too focused on their own drinking.  This is an especially sad predicament.  I admit that these are the extreme cases of alcohol abuse.  But I ask again, why do you want to even drink the stuff?

Alcohol has  no nutritional benefit--no vitamins, no minerals, no protein.  you can check this out on this  government website.  As a matter of fact, use the site to look up the nutritional data of just about any food and fluid.

So alcohol has no good stuff in it.  Even a whopper has protein and some iron.  As they say, pick your poison.

I’m going to get a little personal here.  Do I drink?  Hardly.  I have never liked the taste of alcohol, finding it bitter and offensive.  I will occasionally have a sweet drink that doesn't taste like alcohol, like a cosmo (mainly because it’s pink) or a margarita (on the off chance that I’m not counting calories that day).  I will have a drink at a wedding, bar mitzvah, something like that.  Will stop at one.  I absolutely hate the taste of wine or beer, can’t even stand the smell.  The only alcohol I have in the house is Broccoli Rob’s cheap wine which he mixes with (get this!) diet sierra mist and diet iced tea nightly for his ‘cocktail.’  I won’t buy the wine—he has to do that himself as he knows I’m against him even drinking this small amount.  I haven’t kept hard liquor in the house in at least 10 years as I didn’t want the stuff in the house to entice the kids and their friends.  

But have I abused alcohol? (Here’s the personal part).  Yes.  When I was in college, the legal age to drink alcohol then was 18, and we had a pub on campus.  My roommate was the bartender, her boyfriend was the pub manager.  I could drink for free!  And I did, even though I didn’t like the taste of the beer or the smell of the pub itself.  And I got smashing drunk to fit in or to flirt, or both.  The last time I got drunk was right after college, New Years Eve, turning into 1976.  A boy I liked came to the party with his (previously unbeknownst to me) girlfriend.  I felt so sorry for myself, drank to excess and at midnight, was barfing into the toilet.  I have proudly never repeated this incident as that night was enough embarrassment for my lifetime.  

I know some of you will say "but there's nothing wrong with having one drink to socialize."  You'll have a hard time to convince me of such, since I consider alcohol a controlled dangerous substance!   Why bother with something that isnt nutritious?  Maybe you think I live in the Prohibition Days.  Heck, there's a reason why alcohol was outlawed.  Call me the president of the sobriety club, but this is my blog and my goal is to say what I want to say.  Especially with our health in mind.  You can always say your part as well.  But I'm forever staying on this side of caution.

Next time you want to meet a friend or a new date, go for a scenic walk.  A cafe for appetizers.  A roller coaster ride.  Think of something else than "let's meet at a bar."  Re-think your reasons for drinking alcohol and try to find safer venues.  And for that matter, also stay away from Burger King.

I Yam Who I Yam

At age 59, I've been questioning my career choice.  Granted, I've been questioning my role as a dietitian for about 20 years.  I gave it up for 7 months back in 2005 to pursue a stay-at-home role as an eBay seller, but the lack of a steady paycheck plus the lack of health insurance brought me back to my senses.  I had also gotten friendly with another eBay seller whom I chatted with often on the post office line.  I remember telling him that I had been a dietitian before the eBay thing and he told me to stop reinventing myself and go back to the field that I was trained.  I think I did that the following day because he made so much sense at the time.

But, here I am again, trying to decide if becoming a dietitian was right for me.  When I applied to college back in 1970, I wasn't a free spirit or an out-of-the-box thinker.  Women, for the most part in those days, went to school to be a teacher or a nurse.  No blame on anyone but myself, but I didn't have any guidance when it came to considering career choices, so I applied for a major in elementary education.  Ah, if I had truly pursued that career in education, I could have been retired by now, with a pension and health benefits to boot.  Instead, after working in healthcare on and off for the past 32 years, I won't retire with those great benefits.  Of course, I'll have my 401K but I will need to pay for my own medical coverage.  (A little ironic for working in a hospital all these years).  Maybe that's what has gotten me to think about this profession.

And when I reflect about my career in this field (which admittedly, is not a smart thing to do in the first place), I get a little sour about the benefits I am receiving right now.  Back in 1981, when I got my first job in the field (yes, if you do the math, it shows that I took an extraordinary amount of time to get my credentials), I received 20 days vacation, 12 sick days, 2 personal days and 9 holidays.  Admittedly, I earned $6.01/hour and had to work alternate weekends, but the hospital sweetened the pot by giving us full medical coverage for our family with no out-of-pocket cost to us.  And we were allowed to utilize the hospital pharmacy to fill prescriptions for no cost as well.  Boy, have times changed.  I know that times are tough, and yes, yes, yes, I've been reminded that I should be grateful to have a job, BUT today I am earning exactly what I earned in 2008.  No increases.  And I have much less paid time off.  Bummer.  So I've gone backward.  Now you understand why I've been reflective.  Oh, and the days are gone when there would be money toward continuing education and conferences.  It's zero now.  At one time, many moons ago, the hospital paid for the entire nutrition staff to go to the dietetics convention in New Orleans!

I made sure my children didn't become dietitians.  And I now tell people who are considering that career to hop onto a different train.  The best (non-doctor) careers in healthcare nowadays are speech pathology, physical therapy or occupational therapy.  Those positions pay good money and have some clout.  Granted, getting into a PT program is not easy, but once you're qualified, you can get third-party reimbursement for your services and you can even write physical therapy orders.  Many hospital dietitians can't even write an order for Ensure, and that's an over-the-counter supplement intended for weight gain.  And to be a speech therapist or occupational therapist requires a Masters degree, so be prepared to put in your time.  But you'll get a payback.

I do want to make it clear that the job I have now is a good one.  I enjoy working in the outpatient setting and especially enjoy working with cancer patients.  I find them to be pleasant and hopeful, which creates a nice atmosphere.  Plus, I have a beautiful office and work with a fine, compassionate group of people.  It's just the money thing.  I sometimes just feel like I should have done something else.  But hey, it's too late to make any changes.

My kids have good jobs and I'm thankful.  One has a degree in theater management and one has a degree in education.  One of them makes more money than I do.  The other is pretty close.  So I guess I should stop the bitchin' and remember that my assorted jobs as a dietitian has helped pay for our children to go to college.  And working as a dietitian "afforded" me the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom for a while (insert my kids groaning right here).  So, I'm feeling better now and want to thank you for letting me write down my thoughts and then let me come back to my senses.  I'll go to work a better dietitian tomorrow!!