tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63292976285196965982024-03-13T13:09:45.532-04:00Eat, Mind, MoveThis blog chronicles my health and wellness journey, following a diagnosis of diabetes, to encourage me and others who are on the same path. I also blog about life, faith, family, yoga, travel and other stuff.Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-25448292895528998302013-06-16T12:28:00.001-04:002013-06-16T12:28:42.678-04:00Five Life Lessons from My Dad<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My dad has been gone for ten years now. I think of him every day and today on Fathers Day 2013, reflect on these lessons his life reflected.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. <b>He showed up.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He was a self employed, small businessman with no employees other that himself. He had no sick days, paid vacation or pension plan. He was a tailor and took in dry cleaning; he made money by threading a needle and sewing. He did that for over 50 years, buying a home, raising a family and educating four children through college. I only remember one occasion during my growing up years, seeing my father sick, in bed. He got up and went to work -- every day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2.<b> He lived simply and within his means.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My parents had only one credit card -- from Gimbels Department Store. He paid the bill in full in the rare times that the card was used. He enjoyed the things of this world -- including cars (his '68 Buick Electra was a source of pride and enjoyment); but they did not control his life. He was proud that he was free from the burdens of debt, that he was able to pay off the 15 year mortgage on our house in eight years by doubling up on payments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3.<b> He valued education for its own sake and as a path to a better life. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps more so because he was an immigrant with limited education, he consistently emphasized to his children (all four of with with at </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">least bachelors degrees) that education is important. He respected it and any person who achieved through education. He would be so proud to see what his grandchildren are achieving through education.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. <b> He was a feminist.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one took me a long time to realize. In an era when most girls still became nurses and teachers, he did not make any attempt to steer me into any conventional educational pursuits. He allowed me to make my own choices. On the day of my law school graduation, I still recall his quiet pride. And when I did not marry right out of college as was the custom at the time, he was content. Even when I moved out of the house (none of my female cousins did anything like this), he was supportive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. <b>He loved unconditionally</b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember saying to a friend just after my dad died, "No one loved me like my dad". I still feel that way. I think it's true that parental love is like no other. But my dad loved me with an acceptance that had no strings attached, that was always giving and nurturing and nonjudgmental. I aspire to that kind of love with my children. </span></div>
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Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-79521969629784613512013-03-24T10:01:00.000-04:002013-03-24T10:05:24.098-04:00Losing a Sister-Cousin and Maybe Gaining a Message?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A week ago today, my cousin Karen died. She died, as obituaries so often starkly state, "after a long, courageous battle with cancer". This is a profound loss for her children, her father who is still alive, her extended family, her close friends and for me. I think of Karen as a sister-cousin. We only had brothers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We grew up in the same suburban neighborhood, her house was walking distance, one street up. She was three years older than me, so up until last Sunday, she knew me for my entire life. There are cousins that I rarely or never see due to barriers of age, language and geography. There are some I see only on special occasions, like weddings, graduations and funerals. Not Karen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We went to the same grade school and high school; and both had our first jobs as waitresses at the Jewish Home for the Aged. Yet sometime in young adulthood, our paths diverged as we were both busy with combinations of advanced education, school, careers and husbands and kids. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Then slowly our lives began to converge again the past decade, over some mostly sad shared experiences, most notably with losses of mothers, my dad, Karen's husband (also from cancer) and the unexpected responsibility of figuring out care giving and housing for our never married Aunt Mary. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Karen became deeply religious during that time period. She spoke openly of her faith experiences, and built an ecumenical faith community straddling her Catholic parish and the United Methodist church where, for decades, she worked as the Director of its pre-school. An unusual aspect of her obituary was that it listed her as a member of both St. Therese Parish and the Homestead Park United Methodist Church. She planned her own funeral Mass and it combined aspects and people from these two faith communities.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Karen's struggle with cancer was painful from the beginning and the process of managing it limited her mobility, since the medications precluded her from driving. She relied on a circle of family and friends to take her to work (which she continued to do until the day before she was admitted to the inpatient hospice), to chemotherapy and doctors' appointments and to family and other social events.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sometime after Christmas 2012, Karen knew that her time was limited. One of her wishes was to once again visit her daughter in Philadelphia to see her play hockey. It was my privilege to accompany her on the train from Pittsburgh over Super Bowl weekend for a final trip before the last trip that we all have to make someday. We got to see Emily play hockey, to visit my brother, go to Mass together for the last time in Drexel Hill and to talk for hours about our shared family history and experiences from childhood through our adult lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">At the hospice early one morning before any other visitors arrived, she asked me to pray with her and I did. She spoke of being comforted by the voices and messages from two people close to her who had recently died and about seeing patterns that she interpreted as the hand of God. I wanted to ask her one last thing, but I couldn't say it out loud. I wanted to ask her to let me know after she died to let me know that she was OK. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Karen died last Sunday morning, right around noon. Her wake and funeral were crowded, a tribute to the many lives she touched. The day after her funeral, I boarded a plane to Boston to help my daughter look for an apartment. My connecting flight was canceled, so I had to take a cab and schlep my luggage to meet her for our appointment with a real estate agent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I left my suitcase in the foyer of one of the buildings as we looked at an apartment many flights up. When I returned to retrieve my luggage, two cardboard boxes were there that had not been just minutes before. On the side of one of the boxes in large black letters was printed the word 'HARTZ', Karen's last name.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I looked at Clare; she looked at me. Is this my sign? I could read a lot into this. She's in transit? She's arrived home? Or is this just a coincidence? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I took actual comfort from seeing that cardboard box with those letters. And I don't believe in coincidences. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-69920614764804545602012-11-25T09:43:00.001-05:002012-11-25T09:43:38.467-05:00Tastes of Thanksgivings Past<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Living in the present moment is harder to do at the holidays. There are those decorations accumulated over decades, that bring back memories of holidays past and thanks to our collection of ornaments gathered at countless vacation destinations, vacations around the world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, well, there's the food. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year I cooked. Really cooked. With help. My daughter loves mashed potatoes and took charge of assembling an authentic version. No skim milk, I can't believe it's not butter facsimile. She got organic whole milk from Whole Foods, in glass bottles that have to go back to get a deposit refund. Claiming to be "from grass fed cows on family farms", and mixed with real butter, the mashed potatoes were a hit. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In Thanksgivings past, when I hosted dinner, I perfected the art (?) of the shortcut. Stove Top stuffing, boxed gravy, store bought pies, and the infamous green been casserole made with canned fried onions and cream of mushroom soup (light). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With real mashed potatoes, I vowed to be a bit more authentic this year.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Taking a literal page from the family cookbook (first edition), I made Aunt Edith's 'Zesty Corn Stuffing Balls". I actually chopped the celery myself. It was all worth it when my sister-in-law commented, "this stuffing tastes just like your mom's." <i> </i>It brought back another holiday memory at my other sister in law's house, when she made pasta with sauce. Upon tasting it, I said, "this sauce tastes just like my mom's". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I watched her make it one day and just wrote down everything she did", she said. It was the real thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aunt Edith is gone and so is my mom.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the recipe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"ZESTY CORN STUFFING BALLS</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1/2 cup chopped onion</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1/2 cup chopped celery</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>4 T butter or margarine</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1 17-ounce canned cream style corn</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1/2 cup water</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1 t poultry seasoning</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1/8 t pepper</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1 8 oz. package (3 cups) herb-seasoned stuffing mix (I like the plain seasoned croutons)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>3 eggs slightly beaten</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>1/2 cup butter or margarine, melted</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>In saucepan cook onion and celery in the 4 Tablespoons butter or margarine till tender but not brown. Add corn, water, poultry seasoning and pepper. Bring to a boil. Pour over stuffing mix</b>; <b>toss together lightly. Stir in eggs. Shape into seven or eight balls. Place in a 9x9x2 inch baking pan. Pour melted butter or margarine over. Refrigerate if desired. Bake in 375 degree oven for 25 minutes."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I confess to two shortcuts in this recipe -- the chopped onions came from Whole Foods and I skipped shaping the stuffing into balls, just pressing the mixture into a large baking dish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was good -- one serving of stuffing and the real mashed potatoes were quite enough.</span></div>
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<br />Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-24034388899110229022012-11-11T17:26:00.001-05:002012-11-11T17:28:01.244-05:00Roots, Wings and Tears<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Years ago at a home party that my cousin held to support a woman-owned business selling art, I purchased a print that hung in our house when my children were young. The quote on the print reflected what I thought was one of my core beliefs about parenting. In lovely hand drawn script, it proclaimed that "There are only two lasting bequests we can leave our children. One is roots and the other is wings."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">What was I thinking?? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The nest is empty. Really empty. While at least one child is still in college, you can cling to the notion that you are still tending the nest. She graduated last May. They both have truly gotten wings and flown. Away. They are both seeking. Neither seems to be settling or settling in. My generation had a more structured road or at least an apparent path to follow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My two children spent their college years on different coasts; now they are about to be on different continents. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I find myself ruminating. Should I have spent more time on the roots part? Should we have done less traveling and confined our vacations to places like the Jersey Shore, Lake Chatauqua or Niagara Falls? Should I have drawn a circle on a map like the one described to me by another mother who</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> told her children that their college options were limited to an eight hour drive from home? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am shoulding all over myself these days. Should I have worked less? Should I have been a better cook, a better housekeeper? We live in a wonderful city. Even the National Geographic says so. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And what does that saying mean anyway? Does it mean they fly away and remember where they came from? Does it mean they come back for selected holidays and call home once a week?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am not handling this well at all. <i style="font-weight: bold;">Intellectually I know they have to go. </i>And I keep reminding myself that with all of the available technology we are still connected in ways that were not possible just a generation or two ago. My own father's father died when he was a year old and he was raised by a step mother in a hill town in Italy for reasons I have never fully understood. She sent him to the local tailor so he could learn a skill and when he was still in his teens, kissed him goodbye and sent him off to America. She did not see him again for two decades and then it was for the last time. He bought her a stove and when he went back in later years, a tombstone for her grave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I find myself wanting to talk to her. How did you do it? Did you cry? Maybe that's just the way it was and she stoically sent him across the ocean in a manner that was common in that era. There was nothing for him there and she sent him off with hope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I find myself reflecting on Khalil Gibran's beliefs.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>Your children are not your children.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. </i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>They come through you but not from you,</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>and though they are with you and yet they belong not to you.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>You may give them your love, but not your thoughts.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>For they have their own thoughts.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>You may house their bodies but not their souls,</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i>For life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday. </i></b></span><br />
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Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-26116772150582417772012-10-16T17:57:00.002-04:002012-10-16T18:01:25.220-04:00Yoga for Grieving<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last Friday night, I attended a free 'Yoga for Grieving' class at Pittsburgh's Keystone Health Club. It has a really cool industrial vibe, being located in an old Westinghouse Plant. From the parking garage, the walkway into the club overlooks the vast expanse of a long-vacated manufacturing plant that once was part of the area's economic backbone. Now it's just a lot of emptiness except for this jewel of a health club, tucked into a corner of this big open space. Last June, I saw an ad from a local funeral home (Patrick T. Lanigan) announcing its sponsorship of this class as part of its grief support outreach. I tucked it away, thinking that some day I would like to attend. Since the class is only every other Friday night at 7:00 p.m., I kept missing it due to other schedule commitments. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As part of our yoga teacher training, we are supposed to attend two classes a week. It helps to observe different instructors and styles of yoga and to see how other studios are organized. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With nothing better to do, I set off for East Pittsburgh directly from work. It was not until I put the address into my smartphone that I suddenly realized that the route would take me through Braddock PA. My parents and maternal grandparents are all buried in the Braddock Catholic Cemetery. Probably almost a century ago, my maternal grandfather and his two brothers purchased cemetery plots on the same hillside overlooking this old industrial town. My mother's family included talented stonemasons -- there were family monument businesses in Dravosburg and New Kensington. The three family headstones are beautiful examples of their work. My grandparents' is an artful representation of the Agony in the Garden. My cousin tells a funny story that her mother did not want to be buried in Braddock, but she loved the design of the headstone. They graciously accommodated her desire to be located in a more upscale city location, Calvary Cemetery, and replicated the exact design in what is now her final resting place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Thinking that visiting the cemetery was the thing to do, seeing as I was on my way to a yoga class designed to help grieving people, I arrived at the family gravesite as the sun was nearly setting in the sky. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I always cry when visiting this place and arrived at the Keystone Commons in an appropriately grieving state of mind. There are other blog posts on this site where I have reflected on how yoga has helped me occupy my time, mind and body at times of loss. The class was very gentle, much of it done in a chair. There was no conversation about loss or grief or mourning. Just dim lights, calming music and soothing postures. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Teaching yoga is not something I am sure I can do. But I could do this kind of class. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-64680130659522942512012-09-03T14:51:00.000-04:002012-09-04T16:37:34.549-04:00You Really Should (Visit Pittsburgh)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my many vices is compulsively searching travel websites. A recent post on nbcnews.com (which used to be msnbc.com, but MS and NBC have apparently divorced, at least online) was taken from <a href="http://www.independenttraveler.com/">www.independenttraveler.com</a>. Titled, "9 places you haven't visited, but should", the article by Elissa Leibowitz Poma <a href="http://www.independenttraveler.com/slideshow/9-places-you-havent-visited-but-should">http://www.independenttraveler.com/slideshow/9-places-you-havent-visited-but-should</a>, listed countries (Zambia, Oman, Singapore, South Korea, Colombia and Armenia), a state park (Valley of Fire) in Nevada and two cities, Chan Chan, Peru and Pittsburgh, PA (no I am not kidding). </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am truly unlikely to be visiting any of the aforementioned sites soon, except for the one where I make my home, Pittsburgh.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The article, like many of these travel briefs that appear in magazines and websites, provides just a few sentences on each of the nine recommendations. And for Pittsburgh, after reminding the reader that it is no longer gritty and smoky, thanks to the demise of the steel industry, she highlights the Warhol Museum, Phipps Conservatory and the "historical funicular called the Monongahela Incline".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, what are the other sites I would add to her list? On a long trip back from a weekend wedding we attended in Charleston, West Virginia I came up with the following "9 places you should visit in Pittsburgh, if you haven't":</span><br />
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Maxo Vanka murals at St. Nicholas Croatian Church in Millvale.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">PNC Park for a Skyblast after a Pirate Game.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Nationality Rooms at the Cathedral of Learning.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wild Rosemary Restaurant.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pamelas, preferably in Millvale.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The city view from the West End Bridge.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fountain at Point State Park.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The parking lots before a home Steeler game for an introduction to 'Steeler Nation'.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The River Walk from the Convention Center, across the Seventh Street Bridge and along the river past both PNC Park and Heinz Field.</span></li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What's on your list of best places in the 'Burgh? </span></div>
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Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-64342593564618560752012-08-27T17:11:00.002-04:002012-08-27T17:11:45.644-04:00Yoga Classes and Catholic Masses<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a loooooong summer vacation from this blog. And I truly want to get back to blogging, to thinking and writing about health and wellness and to doing more about health and wellness. This summer has been bookended by two awesome vacations, one in early summer that took me to both coasts (Maine and Northern California) with Montana in between and a late summer trek by car to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6F_60sDFPWwNHGl90028VLXM5-rPB8gfTTA13RVV6RiCVJZdWFei5NYx1v5G8rKVA8Sg4UJpiPhyphenhyphenAPrYMVdn9qbbmMqaNbkWrqZcsOo5Yd1qhVEnWwcctx2Oeww2e5KJv_gla93pXG3wi/s1600/Smoky+Mountains.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6F_60sDFPWwNHGl90028VLXM5-rPB8gfTTA13RVV6RiCVJZdWFei5NYx1v5G8rKVA8Sg4UJpiPhyphenhyphenAPrYMVdn9qbbmMqaNbkWrqZcsOo5Yd1qhVEnWwcctx2Oeww2e5KJv_gla93pXG3wi/s320/Smoky+Mountains.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They really are smoky!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">What is a vacation? The word shares Latin roots with the words vacancy and vacate, so it has something to do with space, emptiness and openness. While there has been frantic activity to be sure, especially in Maine and California with kids, moves and San Francisco sightseeing and visiting, there has been much quiet and solitude. Quiet and solitude as in not doing much of anything. In both Montana and Tennessee, there was no access to cell phones, newspapers or the Internet. In Montana, there was no television. So, lots of reading, thinking and sitting. </span><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yet always from my childhood up to today, there is never a vacation from the obligation to attend Sunday (and post Vatican II, Saturday) Mass. No matter where we were, we found a Catholic Church. There was no discussion, no debating, no break. And as a adult with a family of my own, this tradition has continued. It has made for some challenges. Try finding a Catholic Church in Salt Lake City or the Cayman Islands. Since the advent of the Internet and a great website, <a href="http://www.masstimes.org/">www.masstimes.org</a>, the task has been made much easier. But what wonderful memories of grand and tiny churches, in places ranging from the Brompton Oratory to Hilton Head. And on the most recent vacation in Tennessee, the absolute luxury of two Masses (on Sunday and one for the August 15 Feast of the Assumption) that were celebrated right in our rented vacation villa, thanks to two priests who were with our group and vacationing too. While vacations bring adventure and new places, there is something comforting about finding the universal Church wherever I go.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lately I have added a new vacation tradition, with taking yoga classes whenever possible while on vacation. Not as predictably found as Catholic masses and with content not nearly as consistent, I have done yoga in Puerta Vallarta, Puerto Rico, on a cruise ship and on a dude ranch in Montana. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGldbCRwvyJkpcNXlcBHe9jaQuFx-XEASCw02K9Wbnirsh9ipaLoVIy0s2cidz8JZuErRywABG5uLh2UpSa1C574naNiVFvcuXQuKmbTugZ86N-H0W56VLso3lTmSPFu3Y8oaUJz2mwyGx/s1600/Montana+Yoga.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGldbCRwvyJkpcNXlcBHe9jaQuFx-XEASCw02K9Wbnirsh9ipaLoVIy0s2cidz8JZuErRywABG5uLh2UpSa1C574naNiVFvcuXQuKmbTugZ86N-H0W56VLso3lTmSPFu3Y8oaUJz2mwyGx/s320/Montana+Yoga.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photo doesn't do justice to the view from the yoga studio, but you get the idea. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">(Note to fellow Yoga Teacher trainees -- the Gatlinburg Tennessee location appears to be woefully underserved. Wedding chapels abound, but no yoga studios). I have travel yoga memories now etched in my head, including arising from Savasana this Memorial Day weekend to gently falling snow outside in the Absaroka Mountains in Montana and to rocking on a cruise ship in choppy waters in Alaska trying to keep my balance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">On vacation, we still eat -- we need to keep those prayer and exercise routines going too! </span><br />
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Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-90761593203491513092012-04-28T17:24:00.000-04:002012-04-29T09:37:23.978-04:00Aunt Mary's Secrets of Longevity<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is my Aunt Mary's 97th birthday. She has outlived her four sisters (even though two of them lived into their 90s also) and I have been thinking of how her most unique personality has gotten her to this ripe old age. So these are my thoughts on Aunt Mary's secrets of longevity. </span><br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't complain ever, about anything.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Walk everywhere you can.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't drive a car.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't get married or have kids.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Make friends with a bakery.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't ever go anywhere empty handed.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Correspond and especially remember the birthdays of those you love.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Avoid excessive entanglements, especially with doctors.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't worry. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Never stop getting your hair done, permed or dyed. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't talk about yourself.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Always have something to look forward to.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Don't criticize anyone, especially your family.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">Leave yesterday behind. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial;">When in doubt, wear pink. </span></li>
</ol>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-4602075613060077852012-03-19T16:47:00.000-04:002012-03-19T16:47:22.280-04:00Is Yoga a Religion? (Part 2)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A family member recently shared a link to a 'Boston Catholic Insider' blog post about the Archdiocese offering a yoga class to staff of its headquarters. The initial announcement of the class was made by a benefits administrator, attempting to determine interest in holding the class after hours, with fees paid directly by employees to the instructor. The post's author is scandalized by the offer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He (or she) quotes no less an authority than Wikipedia, which states that "The goal of yoga, or of the person practicing yoga, is the attainment of a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquility while meditating on the Hindu concept of divinity or Brahman. The word is associated with meditative practices in Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am here to categorically state that the goal of this person practicing yoga is to improve my physical and mental health. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The post went on to cite writings of the now Pope, but then Cardinal Ratzinger, warning of the dangers of "Eastern" practices, including yoga. It generated 39 pages of comment, much of it critical of yoga and the hierarchy of the Archdiocese for its apparent lack of understanding of the potential spiritual danger to which it is exposing its employees. A later post included the text of an email message from the Vicar General of the Diocese (clearly in a higher pay grade than the benefits administrator) confirming that the Archdiocese intends to continue to pursue the yoga class as part of its health and wellness program. These are among his comments:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">"While recognizing the dangers inherent in some spiritual practices of yoga, particularly those that incorporate eastern philosophy, we are no way promoting a false religion, pagan worship, or narcissistic spirituality...I am told that many good and faithful Catholics incorporate this simple and useful form of physical exercise into their workouts. This type of yoga is apparently also a common part of many physical therapy routines and can offer positive physical results...It is a health and wellness program..."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This second post generated more pages of comments, many of them laced with vitriol against the Vicar General, Cardinal O'Malley, the Archdiocese of Boston and both teachers and practitioners of yoga. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have no doubt that there are teachers and practitioners of yoga whose devotion extends to elements of it that are associated with Buddhist and Hindu traditions. Recently I attended a session on meditation at a retreat for yoga teacher trainees. The presenter, a trainee herself and a psychotherapist, commented that she sometimes during meditation, liked to picture herself "with my head resting in the lap of the Buddha". Another participant in the session commented that she found herself "turning to the Rosary" during the meditation practice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yoga, not unlike the Catholic Church, is a very big tent. There is a range of teachers and styles that is literally mind-boggling. I have previously shared in this blog my experience of attending a retreat on prayer at a Jesuit Retreat Center given by a Kripalu trained yoga instructor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This wellness journey of mine has taken me through a Dean Ornish series called the Spectrum, in which every session began with yoga poses and one entire session was devoted to meditation and relaxation techniques shown to have a positive effect on blood sugar and overall health. Last night I came across a Readers' Digest guide to diabetes that included photos of traditional yoga poses in a series of exercises designed to better control blood sugar. No chanting, no discussion of sutras or chakras -- just straightforward exercises and breathing techniques that have been shown to improve health of mind and body. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yoga has been a positive force for health in my life and I continue to want to learn more and to perhaps show others its benefits. Can't we all just stay calm and breathe? </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-24392294775333796292012-03-05T19:51:00.001-05:002012-03-05T20:07:56.115-05:00First, Do No Harm (Ahimsa)<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of our yoga teacher training involves participating in at least two classes a week. We are encouraged to try different styles and teachers so that we can appreciate and learn from the diversity of instructional methods and yoga 'schools'. Last Saturday I tried a new studio and a Yoga 1 class taught by a teacher who embraces the kundalini style. It included elements I had not seen before - not just chanting (which almost always unnerves me), but singing; a sequence that included marching in place; and quick movements accompanied by fast breathing exercises. It was different; challenging but energizing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After class, I met a friend for coffee who lives in the same neighborhood as the studio. She had visited the same studio for a gentle yoga class, but the experience left her <strong><em>in pain</em></strong> and needing two ibuprofens. She is very fit, but has a shoulder problem. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When she shared that she had not previously experienced pain as part of a gentle yoga class, it reminded me of the recent New York Times article by William Broad titled 'How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body'. He is a senior science writer for the NYT; and has a book titled, "<u>The Science of Yoga: The Risks and Rewards"</u> that is soon to be published. The article has generated a firestorm in the yoga community. It speaks of serious injuries (strokes, yoga foot drop and back, knee and shoulder injuries) sustained by even the most careful practitioners of yoga and is critical of under qualified teachers who are oblivious to the needs of their students. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Teaching is an awesome responsibility. And while I keep thinking what a significant time commitment it is, the 200 hours of training required to get a yoga teaching credential pales in comparison to that required of most other professions. I once heard that it takes 10,000 hours (or roughly five years of full-time work) to become truly proficient at a skill. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And that 200 hours includes time studying theory, including the yoga sutras. First committed to written form by Patanjali some 200 years A.D., the sutras present timeless principles of daily living. One of them is called 'ahimsa'. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Ahimsa is usually translated as non-violence. It's an expansive concept but fundamentally it encourages us to avoid harming ourselves or others, in actions, speech or even intentions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It is giving me great pause as I think of the responsibility of teaching others and the potential that I may have to cause them harm by something I say or do. </span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And Broad's perspective is making me much more aware of the risks. Hmmmm. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-55323327404862520212012-02-10T18:27:00.000-05:002012-02-10T18:27:03.830-05:00The Dangers of Second Hand Sugar<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After being told last year that "Sugar is Poison" by a naturopathic doctor at Canyon Ranch, I have tried to use that as a mantra when faced with a delectable dessert or the prolific office candy dishes full of chocolate treats. Sometimes repeating the mantra to myself works, but lately more often than not, it doesn't and I succumb to what is placed in my path even if I never intended to. I know how Eve must have felt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So when I saw an ABC News blog post this week with the headline, "Sugar as Dangerous as Alcohol and Tobacco?", it got my attention because of my ongoing attempt to understand my own behavior. The post reported on an article published in the journal, <strong><em>Nature, </em></strong>in which physicians from the University of San Francisco editorialized their views that sugar should be regulated, in much the same way as alcohol and cigarettes. They say that "supply side" restrictions have had some success in moderating behavior and preventing some of the harmful health effects of those substances.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm all for regulating sugar. When I worked as a consultant to a health care foundation, our CEO had the sugared sodas removed from the office and restricted the food that could be brought in to the office -- no dumping of excess Halloween or holiday candy or celebrations of birthday parties with cakes. "We're a health care foundation; we shouldn't be serving donuts."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It is easier to control behavior when the environment in controlled. Much of the sugar I end up consuming is second-hand. I eat it because it's there; somebody else put it there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Anyway tomorrow I am off to another stay at Canyon Ranch; looking forward to a session on sugar addiction. I need detox. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-65775469789794062072012-01-29T12:12:00.003-05:002012-03-05T19:08:27.180-05:00Changing Course<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the axioms in the quality management world is that if you do what you've always done, you get what you've always gotten. So in an effort to get something different, I am doing something different. Yoga has become a part of my life and I continue to be drawn to it -- but still not really understanding what "it" is. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Teaching was part of my professional life for over two decades. It helped me to understand what I was doing professionally, because I had to explain it to others. So, I have enrolled in yoga teacher training so that I can add the credential RYT after my name -- and learn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We are a group of about 20 people with incredibly diverse backgrounds. I hope to be able to write about this experience as a way of reinforcing it. We are required to keep a journal and I wrote the following at the end of the first class on January 15. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">'Me, a yogi? And I don't mean bear or Berra! In the midst of a roomful of beginner students, I feel like a true beginner. There are people here who are already teachers -- lots of lanky bodies -- no pot bellies the size of mine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I paid in full, not just to save the higher cost of installment payments, but to make a commitment. Time to leave today. Time to start." </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-88157646425383775782012-01-01T08:34:00.000-05:002012-01-01T08:34:10.040-05:00New Year's Baseline7.3Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-13616491536918236732011-12-30T15:04:00.001-05:002011-12-30T15:05:35.220-05:00Home Care or Just TMI<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The holidays are just about over. And they truly were holidays, particularly from the reality of diabetes. I admit to much overindulgence and to taking a break from regular yoga and regular blood sugar testing. But when I had trouble buttoning my pants for work this week, reality had to be faced. I've regained weight that was carefully lost (not all, but enough).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">One of the disciplines of diabetes is regular A1C testing completed just before PCP visits. My last one had a happy result. The next one is due in February. But where am I now post-holiday holiday? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Two new recent magazine subscriptions are <strong><em>Diabetic Cooking </em></strong>and <strong><em>Diabetes Self Management</em></strong>. Oh, those were the days when my taste in magazines ran to things like <strong><em>People </em></strong>or <strong><em>Woman's Day. </em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Inside the front cover of the holiday issue of <strong><em>DC </em></strong>is an offer for $5 off on home A1C testing -- "Finally, an easy way to track my progress, right at home."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In my case I have a feeling that it is an easy way to track my lack of progress or worse yet, my negative progress. Anyway, I printed it out and am off this afternoon in search of 'A1C Now SELFCHECK'. In this circumstance, I do not think that ignorance is bliss. Next PCP visit is fast approaching in February. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It's time for some new year's resolution. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-9735656525911663602011-12-28T17:38:00.000-05:002011-12-28T17:38:03.539-05:00Too Blessed To Be Stressed?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday, I was privileged to attend a Baptist funeral for the first time. It was a bit out of my comfort zone in several ways. First, I felt like a true minority for one of the few times in my life. Years ago, I attended a professional seminar and was the only female present. Yesterday, I was in the racial minority. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It was out of my comfort zone liturgically. The order of the service was unfamiliar and it included elements that I had never seen before. The program titled the service, "A Home Going Celebration" and noted the deceased's date of birth as his "sunrise" and his date of death as "sunset." Letters of condolence were read from neighboring congregations and the obituary too was read.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There was a degree of raw emotion displayed foreign to my experience of controlled and choreographed Roman Catholic funerals-- not just tears, but hard, breathtaking, loud sobbing that could best be described as wailing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And there were multiple preachers (not sure if this is typical). One of them spoke in a cadence that reminded me of the way that Jesse Jackson delivers a message. Part of his message was that "I'm too blessed to be stressed" and "I'm not disappointed because I'm anointed". </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The preachers seemed less concerned about the spiritual welfare of the deceased and more concerned about whether those of us in the congregation were saved, inviting us to accept Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior and praying over those who accepted the invitation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The repetitive cadence of the "I'm too blessed to be stressed" phrase has been playing over and over again in the background of my mind, like when there is a song that I can't get out of my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I've been stressed lately over typical holiday dynamics and dramas; and over my over-consumption of the type of food that should be avoided but that is everywhere. I am getting back on track; and I am blessed -- too blessed to be stressed. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-54411456636742988972011-12-26T18:09:00.001-05:002011-12-26T18:14:36.291-05:00The Oldest Terrible Towel<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Christmas eve, my whole family watched the Pittsburgh Steelers shut out the St. Louis Rams at Heinz Field, 27-0. Quarterbacked by hometown hero and perennial backup Charlie Batch, the Steelers provided a pleasant end to the regular season at home for the fans who were awaiting Christmas eve festivities. Who knows what the playoff picture will bring, but it looks like home field advantage is questionable. It is said that the Steelers are an 'old' team and I have to admit that yesterday, one of my favorite players, Hines Ward, wasn't smiling like he used to. It could be one of his final games and one of Charlie's too. I particularly enjoyed hearing the crowd chant 'Char-lie, Char-lie' as he engineered a win against a pretty lackluster opponent but a win nonetheless. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As usual I took my Terrible Towel (pictured below). But I am thinking it's time to retire this baby -- it has been with me since the late '70s and it's looking pretty old too. Two people who have seen this antique have recently bought me new ones -- one with 'cammo' and one an Italian 'asciugamano terribile'; and I have a pink one from the October breast cancer awareness/NFL promotion. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qksnseGH8iA/Tvj1zjPa_UI/AAAAAAAAAEg/6njQ6-eYYrs/s1600/Terrible+Towel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qksnseGH8iA/Tvj1zjPa_UI/AAAAAAAAAEg/6njQ6-eYYrs/s320/Terrible+Towel.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A woman can be dated by her hair color or style or by her fashion choices. My Terrible Towel dates me because it is so obviously very old. It may even be the original design. When former Steelers announcer Myron Cope created the idea, at first he just encouraged local fans to bring a black or gold hand towel to Three Rivers Stadium to wave as a way of showing support. One history I read said that the local department stores were miffed, because towels were typically sold as sets; and when fans bought only hand towels, the stores' inventory was out of whack. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In what is certainly one of the more successful sports merchandising <span style="background-color: white;">schemes ever, Myron Cope trademarked the 'Terrible Towel' and the rest is history. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There is nothing quite like the sight of thousands of people waving Terrible <span style="background-color: white;">Towels. The more modern versions are a more vibrant shade of gold and show well on national television not just at Steeler home games, but wherever the Steelers play since they have the strongest road following <span style="background-color: white;">of</span> any NFL team, courtesy of the Pittsburgh diaspora. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I used to love listening to Myron Cope; his voice and his dialect are irreplaceable. In addition to being a Pittsburgh and an NFL legend, Myron assured his place as a beloved son of PIttsburgh because his Terrible Towel creation is a force for good. Proceeds from its sale go to support a school for special needs individuals. Myron Cope signed over the trademark in 1996. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And I love waving that old towel, at home or at the stadium. But it's on my cranium (one of Myron's introductory queries to callers on his sports talk show was 'what's on your cranium?') that it's time for a new look. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-65378455413675100522011-12-18T11:22:00.000-05:002011-12-18T11:22:18.883-05:00Christmas Cookies Past<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many families with Italian roots celebrate Christmas eve with an ethnic tradition known as the feast of the seven fishes. It was not a tradition we adopted in my Italian family. The Christmas season memory I have been processing and remembering the most this year is more like the feast of the seven cookies. I have posted elsewhere about my mom's cookie baking prowess as it manifested itself at our wedding cookie table. Her Christmas cookies were even better. My mom mustered her considerable artistic skill and her characteristic attention to detail to create dozens and </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">dozens of cookies that could comfortably have appeared in a Martha Stewart magazine. Does anyone make cut-out cookies anymore? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember four particular designs that came out at Christmas - candy cane, Christmas tree, wreath and Santa Claus. She made dough in both dark gingerbread and white vanilla flavor. She decorated those cutouts in ways that I can still see in my mind. In the hundreds of family photos we have, there don't seem to be any pictures of these holiday delicacies. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She dyed the icing, so that Santa's hat was red, his beard was white (and coconut on top of white icing made the 'hair' on his beard). She painted the Christmas tree and wreath designs with green icing, adding red candies as berries on the wreath and metallic looking candies as ornaments on the tree. On the candy cane, she alternated white and red icing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then there were the rum balls, iced anise cookies and pizzelles (chocolate and anise flavored). She boxed and plated her handiwork in a beautiful presentation and they became gifts to be offered to family and neighbors. And oh, yes for our eating pleasure at home too! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She had a kind of cookie exchange going with my Aunt Gilda, who was also a master cookie baker. Hers were different. She did the roll out dough and made the horn shaped cookies stuffed with nuts or apricots. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This Christmas I am trying to have these memories suffice. I did not inherit the baking gene and yes, I know those carb and sugar laden delights are not good for me and they were not good for my mom either. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So I am eating them this year in my mind only. For sure by Christmas Day, we'll have a few (dozen) that will only be a unreasonable facsimile of what I grew up with. And I keep telling myself this holiday season, "sugar is poison", "sugar is poison". It's not working particularly well. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-60390970526731716132011-12-17T15:38:00.001-05:002011-12-17T15:39:51.918-05:00Gift Giving Emotions and Economics<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twas the week before Christmas and much left to do! My daughter and I were driving together today and she was having a hard time figuring out a gift for a special friend. I too struggle with picking gifts for those close to me. (I always remember one Christmas when JB and I were dating. He said he did not know what to get me, so "how about a couple of shares of IBM"?) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As an economics major, she told me that people often underestimate the value of a Christmas gift they have been given. Barely an hour later, I picked up the Review section of this weekend's Wall Street Journal and there it was -- a headline screaming "Is it Irrational to Give Holiday Gifts?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Dan Arkiely draws a distinction between the rational school and the behavioral school of economics. It is the rational school that my daughter was relating to me, and a particular study that concluded "as much as a third of the money spent on Christmas is wasted, because recipients assign a value lower than the retail price to the gifts they receive." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Bah-humbug. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But the behavioral economists know that it's not just about the dollars and cents/sense. We want to show our love, express appreciation and thanks, make an impression and give something of value. It's a tall order and I know that the things I pick out may fall short of those lofty goals.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">More and more, I have begun to realize that the only thing of true value that can be given to those I care about is the gift of time and attention -- a shared meal, a trip, a concert, a memory of some kind. And the thing I love most about the holidays is the opportunity to be with them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Years ago, JB and I were cleaning out the home of his aunt who in the last years of her life had to be in a nursing home. She had been a public school teacher for over 40 years. There were drawers full of Christmas 'teacher gifts' -- scarves, hats, gloves, Avon collectibles, candles. The job of downsizing other people's stuff is one that I have done a few times now. It's not fun and it's not pretty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In reality, there is not much and I and those closest to me really need. That said, who wants to have nothing to open on Christmas morning? </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-8179085121657485702011-11-26T11:18:00.002-05:002011-11-29T13:36:53.010-05:00Red Paint and Jesuit Humor<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My friend Alice recently gave me James Martin's latest book, <strong><em>Between Heaven and Mirth,</em></strong> as a birthday gift. Years ago, my friend Karen gave me his first book, <strong><em>In Good Company: The Fast Track from the Corporate World to Poverty, Chastity and Obedience</em></strong>. A Jesuit priest, editor at <strong><em>America </em></strong>magazine and frequent media commentator on religious and moral issues, he is a delightful writer and a pretty funny guy. His first book told the story of his life as a young corporate management trainee, his unhappiness in the midst of a yuppie good life and his discernment of a vocation to the Jesuits. The topic is serious. He talks about sad things, like the death of a college classmate and his parents' separation. But his wit and sense of humor come through, including his telephone conversation with American Express when he cancels his card just before entering the seminary or his description of a corporate boss mingling with the troops in an unconvincing way at a company picnic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His most recent book is an exploration of "why joy, humor and laughter are at the heart of the spiritual life."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the chapters is called, "I'm not funny and my life stinks". He relates the common experience of interacting with someone whose life is a series of misfortunes, big and small and being in places where "a culture of carping and general complaining predominates." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then he provided an image that is resonating strongly with me this Thanksgiving season -- "searching for the drop of red paint in a white paint can. The red represents your one problem. You have an entire can of white paint -- let's say, a job, a roof over your head, a loving family -- and you choose instead to concentrate on the one tiny red drop -- the one thing wrong in your life" He goes on to explain how cognitive behavioral therapy can help us to choose thoughts that are more positive, enabling us to focus on what is good and what brings us joy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There is a lot of Jesuit humor in the book. much of it self-deprecating. My favorite is his description of a visit by a Jesuit superior who explains an event from the life of St. Ignatius. It seems that he was riding on a mule and met a man on the road, also riding a mule. The man insulted the Virgin Mary. Ignatius was trying to decide if he should kill the man and let the mule he was riding make the decision as to whether he would take the road that would lead him to the man or away from him. The mule turned away, sparing the man and also Ignatius of his desire to murder. The superior concluded by remarking, "Ever since then, asses have been making decisions in the Jesuits."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A personal anecdote that demonstrates Jesuit humor: JB and I were making conversation with Fr. Jack, director of campus ministry at the university our son attended. JB was relating the story of our receipt of frequent solicitations by mail on behalf of a Jesuit school. First the roof was leaking and in need of repair. Then the van used to transport students broke down. Then a storm damaged the grounds, uprooting trees. Father Jack wryly commented that "perhaps they should fire the Development Director and hire a maintenance person."</span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-81881487100541377492011-11-20T14:51:00.000-05:002011-11-20T14:51:25.621-05:00Thanksgiving for Aunt Mary<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Aunt Mary, at 96, is a living lesson in how to survive. Last Sunday morning after finishing up a yoga class, I switched my phone back on to see missed calls and voice mail messages from my cousin Karen and JB. Immediately I knew that something must have happened to Aunt Mary. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In large Italian families, it is not unusual to have the last unmarried daughter stay at home to care for aging parents. Aunt Mary, one of five girls, did just that. She worked at US Steel, a career woman before it was commonplace. She not only never married, but she never even learned to drive, walking to work, taking buses to town and relying on others to drive her when she needed to get to a family event or holiday celebration.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Everybody should have an Aunt Mary. She remembers all family birthdays, with cards and presents too. I was the beneficiary of a great family birthday tradition as a child in which Aunt Mary gave us a dollar for every year of our life. So getting older meant getting more dough -- and it was surely something to look forward to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She was devoted first to her aging mother, and then to her siblings, nieces, nephews, and now great and great great nieces and nephews. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As she and I have gotten older, I have come to realize that while all of those tangible presents and her very real presence have been such constant blessings, there is something so much more edifying about how she lives her life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Aunt Mary lives <strong><em>totally in the present moment.</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This is a lesson I have longed to learn. In the firmament of magnets that have graced the face of our refrigerator over the years, this is one that can always be found and is attributed to Buddha -- "The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or to anticipate troubles, but to <strong><em>live in the present moment, wisely and earnestly."</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And so last Sunday, when Aunt Mary was taken to the hospital after a fall, she sat peacefully and was engaged in the Steeler game as we waited for the results of her X-rays. After the ED physician said he saw nothing broken, she prepared to return home (while I am mentally obsessing about how I am going to leave her in her apartment). It turns out she could not bear weight on her leg, so they ended up keeping her overnight. That night and the next day when I saw her, her only seeming concern was that I remember to call her favorite bakery and order a birthday cake for my cousin Karen. She must have told me five times to remember to get the cake and assured me that she would pay for it and asked that I get my uncle or a friend to pick it up. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I was further reminded of her positive mental outlook when she was presented with her dinner tray of what looked to me like classically nondescript hospital food. "Beautiful, beautiful", she kept repeating as she ate every bite of food on that tray. Turns out her hip is broken. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I went to see her in the nursing home where she has gone to recover, she was waiting at the dining room table for her dinner tray to arrive. "Beautiful, beautiful", she again exclaimed, as she proceeded to consume every bite on that tray too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She does not appear to be concerned about when or whether her hip will heal, when or whether she will be able to return to her apartment. That is because she is not thinking about that. She is only thinking of what in the present moment she can focus on that is positive. She is helping me more than I am helping her right now. Forget Buddha, watch Aunt Mary. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-84752379363735871022011-11-12T09:45:00.000-05:002011-11-12T09:45:16.834-05:00What Wowed Steve Jobs At the End?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have not read the eulogy delivered by Mona Simpson at her brother's memorial service, it's worth taking the time to do so. (<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/opinion/mona-simpsons-eulogy-for-steve-jobs.html?pagewanted=all)">http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/opinion/mona-simpsons-eulogy-for-steve-jobs.html?pagewanted=all)</a> She writes of learning at age 25 that Steve Jobs was her brother and of their relationship in three phases. "His full life. His illness. His dying." Most people with even a passing interest have learned more about Steve Jobs since his death with the extensive media coverage and the publication of his biography written by Walter Isaacson. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I am in the most people category; he never much interested me during his lifetime, even though his IPhone is a constant companion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She tells of his last day, observing of his breath, that it "indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude. He seemed to be climbing." His final words? "Monosyllables repeated three times. Before embarking, he'd looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life's partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them. Steve's final words were: OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When his biographer was interviewed for <strong><em>60 Minutes, </em></strong>Steve Kroft asked Isaacson if they had ever discussed the possibility of an afterlife. Isaacson responded, "I remember sitting in the backyard in his garden one day and he started talking about God. He said, "sometimes I believe in God, sometimes I don't. I think it's 50-50 maybe. But since I've had cancer, I've been thinking about it more. And I find myself believing it a bit more. I kind of -- maybe it 's cause I want to believe in an afterlife. That when you die, it doesn't all just disappear."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Steve Jobs was a visionary. He expanded our world and changed the way we use technology. He created things of beauty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It has given me comfort to know that he saw something in his final hours on earth of a beyond that is awesome and wonderful. It had to be an afterlife that wowed even Steve Jobs. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-79991265212513673302011-10-26T21:03:00.000-04:002011-10-26T21:03:40.525-04:00EMM's 10-10-10 Plan<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I seem to respond better to words than pictures. When Dr. Natalie wrote the words "Exercise 30-60 minutes each day" and then spoke the words "Exercise is not optional", I internalized those orders. Trying to deal with the eating and minding part has been much more challenging than the moving part. A previous blog post described the first anniversary of my exercise log; and there are already 52 entries since beginning the second year on August 15. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of my favorite wake up TV shows is Morning Joe on MSNBC. I think of it as a thinking person's show because it is funny but thought provoking (and I like Mika Brzezinski too). Anyway, they talk sports (baseball mostly) and politics, tracking the Republican candidates and the debates. Lately, they have been having some fun at Herman Cain's expense. It seems that when he was in single digit popularity numbers, he did not actually have well thought out policy proposals. So 9-9-9 was his mantra for awhile until people actually began to seriously examine its impact. And when he tried to explain the 9% sales tax added onto already existing state and local sales taxes as apples and oranges, the resulting reaction forced him to rethink the whole 9-9-9 concept in pretty short order.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But my 10-10-10 concept has been working pretty well when I cannot get a continuous 30 minutes of exercise on some days. It means breaking up the exercise into three 10 minute blocks. Or it can be 10-20 or 15-15. Today was 10-20. Upon arriving home, I still had 20 minutes to go. That's four times around the circle that is our neighborhood. Done. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-22890331056554165412011-10-22T08:32:00.000-04:002011-10-22T08:32:49.018-04:00No Vacation from Too Many Choices<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5HKbe1iTASZmQ8Scagd4bu4I2xNx1sXLhOOjkju_cKQwX1kYlVg3RAV_19TjBSSOmJpaqQ1nml8tPJLPPysAKtTlyV4oVPZcWwoTzvhcUVtMNJ7dffHyyiovG6rFDdLnf1FH25oTnOnM/s1600/Bedford+Springs+sign.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ5HKbe1iTASZmQ8Scagd4bu4I2xNx1sXLhOOjkju_cKQwX1kYlVg3RAV_19TjBSSOmJpaqQ1nml8tPJLPPysAKtTlyV4oVPZcWwoTzvhcUVtMNJ7dffHyyiovG6rFDdLnf1FH25oTnOnM/s320/Bedford+Springs+sign.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you are looking for a quick getaway from Pittsburgh, Philadelphia or the DC area, consider Bedford Springs. It's got a lot to recommend it, especially as fall begins to re-color the landscape. The resort is chock full of historical documents, photographs and artifacts, from the era when Bedford Springs was the edge of the frontier up through its magnificent restoration and reopening in 2007. T<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he spa, with its mineral baths and European trained aestheticians (I could only understand about half of what my Polish facialist said) is exquisitely appointed. And for those of you who are golfers, they have that too. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was the summer White House for the only President from Pennsylvania (and the only bachelor one), James Buchanan. Two other Presidents visited there, John Tyler and Ronald Reagan. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0qiQy6C-cpJ2tNJZAloa3lpbq8Q9AXnTO8K4EjJFRue39UYjWjdS6uat9VNSVGWyRNTNAr8ecXek3jivZn5xoV0WkfKy6M2kmVIYR4ZYjADr-hFC34gISk79r6VuRBUIZiqF6C2Xq7xk/s1600/Bedford+Springs+desk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga0qiQy6C-cpJ2tNJZAloa3lpbq8Q9AXnTO8K4EjJFRue39UYjWjdS6uat9VNSVGWyRNTNAr8ecXek3jivZn5xoV0WkfKy6M2kmVIYR4ZYjADr-hFC34gISk79r6VuRBUIZiqF6C2Xq7xk/s320/Bedford+Springs+desk.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desk used by James Buchanan during his years of summering at Bedford Springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought that perhaps by sitting at James Buchanan's desk, I could break my current writers block (or more specifically, a blogging block). It's been tough to blog about my current state, which can best be described as erratically compliant and frequently off-track in the eating part of this journey. I am moving just fine, keeping up with my exercise routine (and the fitness center at Bedford Springs is small, but adequate). There are several blog posts in the queue, in various stages of progress. One fact that keeps swirling in my head since I first read about it in the Canyon Ranch Magazine is that we make 200 different food decisions a day. This comes courtesy of the Cornell Food and Brand Lab and its Director, Brian Wansink. Yes, people actually research this stuff -- and the results are actually helpful to understanding why making lasting change is so challenging. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I understand that stopping smoking is difficult and that the urge to smoke is one of the strongest addictions to break. But the decision is easy and it is only one decision. Making it stick means repeating the same decision over and over again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But decisions about not just what to eat but about portion size come at me from all directions. First I was skeptical about the 200 number. Then I got to thinking. The opportunity to make good and bad choices related to food starts from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep (and occasionally in the middle of the night). And the barrage of conflicting and confusing dietary advice compounded by vagaries of blood sugar readings added to the unpredictable nature of when and how food decisions present themselves adds up to the exhausting reality that it is possible to make 180 good decisions, and another 20 or 10 or even one that totally screw up the best laid plans.</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have learned that planning is best and that pre-controlled portion size works for me. And beginning again and again. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-34794386952554750512011-09-19T17:15:00.000-04:002011-09-19T17:15:57.304-04:00Destination Walking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPPueCuYEzNkFRelq3BKqKnNy6bFmT6tlXDB2aUfDNTjpvhZUixyFxjqInGLVh3pxW-oTkXkEItOB2f_1K6qjNRB6OOmSMDEtGLnTAolsawmo9vaoMcRLCCNZMd_74E4d4Zz8X1U3FePF/s1600/Destination+Walking.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiPPueCuYEzNkFRelq3BKqKnNy6bFmT6tlXDB2aUfDNTjpvhZUixyFxjqInGLVh3pxW-oTkXkEItOB2f_1K6qjNRB6OOmSMDEtGLnTAolsawmo9vaoMcRLCCNZMd_74E4d4Zz8X1U3FePF/s320/Destination+Walking.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><div align="justify" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">It's about a mile and a half from the parking lot in the Strip to Heinz Field. One of the strategies I have been trying to use to get in exercise is destination walking -- not movement for movement's sake, but getting from point A to point B. That's JB walking along the river. One hour a day seems overwhelming when it's on a treadmill. But checking out the scenery with a destination in mind and a companion sure makes it go faster. </span></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329297628519696598.post-28417757139574712462011-09-19T16:34:00.000-04:002011-09-19T16:34:13.243-04:00Resilience<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqDs9JTsWLQh4X_lHtooZzfI0f1tPS7pvcHNesVS5SKI5pqSg_x0ghmP61yybubiLpA40SHcFU5rs_8Vs_OM_FQY-P2sbnaK1LM8v-Z9MqX5-RmM6ThiQHjN-xgeMyS77JxsE0yHhysFv/s1600/Steelers+Opener+2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" rba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqDs9JTsWLQh4X_lHtooZzfI0f1tPS7pvcHNesVS5SKI5pqSg_x0ghmP61yybubiLpA40SHcFU5rs_8Vs_OM_FQY-P2sbnaK1LM8v-Z9MqX5-RmM6ThiQHjN-xgeMyS77JxsE0yHhysFv/s320/Steelers+Opener+2011.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a stinging 35-7 loss to the arch rival Baltimore Ravens on their home turf in last week's NFL season opener, the Pittsburgh Steelers delivered a 24-0 win at Heinz Field yesterday. How does that happen? I know the "any given Sunday" argument. But the Steelers were humiliated last week and looked like they were completely unprepared for all of the tricks Baltimore pulled out of its playbook. One of the pundits suggested that it was because the Ravens played like it was the Superbowl and the Steelers played like it was the first game of the season. Baltimore and Joe Flacco clearly had something to prove. During the week following, there has been much discussion about the character, preparation and the age of the team. Yesterday, they put some of that to rest with a win, albeit against a team that was pretty bad. And they could not convert a couple of first and goal situations. These players are pros; they clearly go into a game thinking they can win and want to win. But what happens when they have a day like the one in Baltimore. Their flubs, fumbles and flaws are out there for the world to see, to be dissected in print, in the blogosphere and on sports talk shows. How do they turn it around?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Somehow they did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have been thinking a lot about turnarounds myself and think there is something to learn from the pros. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Coaching must be a part of it. I would love to be a silent bystander to have heard the message delivered by Mike Tomlin to his team last week. And then analysis -- watching film, seeing what went wrong and making adjustments. And practice. And not giving up. That's why these guys are pros. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Watching the game on TV and in person are such different experiences. In the stadium yesterday, the players played to the home crowd. They sought adulation, waving their arms to the assembled fans to encourage cheers and towel waving demonstrations. They clearly feed off the emotional energy of 66 thousand plus people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But they must have a fundamental belief in their ability to succeed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">All good lessons. </span>Rosannehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10347415401353253110noreply@blogger.com0