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.
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, Nature, 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.
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."
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.
Anyway tomorrow I am off to another stay at Canyon Ranch; looking forward to a session on sugar addiction. I need detox.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Changing Course
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.
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.
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.
'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.
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."
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.
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.
'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.
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."
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
Home Care or Just TMI
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).
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?
Two new recent magazine subscriptions are Diabetic Cooking and Diabetes Self Management. Oh, those were the days when my taste in magazines ran to things like People or Woman's Day.
Inside the front cover of the holiday issue of DC is an offer for $5 off on home A1C testing -- "Finally, an easy way to track my progress, right at home."
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.
It's time for some new year's resolution.
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?
Two new recent magazine subscriptions are Diabetic Cooking and Diabetes Self Management. Oh, those were the days when my taste in magazines ran to things like People or Woman's Day.
Inside the front cover of the holiday issue of DC is an offer for $5 off on home A1C testing -- "Finally, an easy way to track my progress, right at home."
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.
It's time for some new year's resolution.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Too Blessed To Be Stressed?
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.
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.
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.
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".
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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".
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.
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.
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.
Monday, December 26, 2011
The Oldest Terrible Towel
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.
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.
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.
In what is certainly one of the more successful sports merchandising schemes ever, Myron Cope trademarked the 'Terrible Towel' and the rest is history.
There is nothing quite like the sight of thousands of people waving Terrible 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 of any NFL team, courtesy of the Pittsburgh diaspora.
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.
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.
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.
In what is certainly one of the more successful sports merchandising schemes ever, Myron Cope trademarked the 'Terrible Towel' and the rest is history.
There is nothing quite like the sight of thousands of people waving Terrible 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 of any NFL team, courtesy of the Pittsburgh diaspora.
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.
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.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Christmas Cookies Past
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 dozens of cookies that could comfortably have appeared in a Martha Stewart magazine. Does anyone make cut-out cookies anymore?
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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