A jam sandwich and a pine float…..

I am dieting….yes, believe it or not, I am cutting back on what I eat and making a lot of changes in the types of things I consume. I must lose a few pounds. I am also walking a couple of miles each day in hopes of accelerating my weight loss.

Since I got married a little over three years ago, I have gained a few pounds that make my clothes not fit as well and my mirror reflection frowns when I look at it. My otherwise semi-perfect body is doing well...it just weighs too much. I realize that my age has a little to do with that. I got a message on my Face Book wall from a niece that made quite a point. The question posed went something like this: “Why is it I can remember lyrics to a song I knew from ten years ago, but I can’t remember why I came into the kitchen?” She also stated…“sometimes getting old sucks.” Well, let me qualify that just a tad.

Getting old is quite detrimental to most of us…but then what is the alternative? Live hard, die young, make a good-looking corpse. Okay, getting old is the better side almost all of the time. But, she is right…getting old can really be an encumbrance—and in my case it is my weight. The late night snacks might be another contributing factor…and, hmm…other things.

Of course, changing my lifestyle has definitely played a part in the weight gain as well. I went from working six to seven days per week—delivering, sorting, and picking up the US Mail and working for the hospital in Chipley as a kitchen supervisor--to working six days per week sitting at my computer processing orders from an online store. (But, I do have to admit…with this job, I can quit when I need to and take an afternoon nap or just watch the news if I am of a mind.) At any rate, and whatever the reason…I am dieting.

To begin my day, I had a glass of V-8 Hot and Spicy to wash down my thyroid pill and a hand full of vitamins and supplements. A couple of hours later, for breakfast, I had a small bowl of dry cereal wilted with a little 1% milk…with some water added to make enough liquid for the cereal and to dilute the calories.
For lunch, however, I had a half cup of mixed greens with a few slices of cucumber, some raw zucchini, two tablespoons of canned tuna and a teaspoon of salad dressing. It almost tasted like food. Oh, yes about 10:30 A.M. I had half an apple. It could have been a little sweeter for my taste, but when you diet, even a slightly tart apple is good to the palate.

While I am dieting, I am also kicking the caffeine habit…again! Those diet Mountain Dews and Cokes really play a number on you if you let them. I have been at this since Monday morning so my 72-hour period for overcoming a physical addiction has ended. It is the 72-day period for overcoming the psychological addiction that is kicking my butt!

I saw a sign on the back window of a car one day, when I was going into Wal-Mart to buy soft drinks, which read, “The doctor says I have too many red blood cells in my carbonated water.” Sometimes it does seem as if my veins run rich in carbonation.

Okay, where does Coca-Cola Anonymous (CCA) meet? Can you imagine a bunch of Cokeaholics meeting in a twelve-step program?

Creed: “Give me the courage to walk each day with a bubble only in my step and not in my beverage. Help me to overcome the tendency to succumb to the sound of a pop-top can being opened. Allow me the common sense to know that carbolic acid is not a vitamin and that natural and artificial flavoring is not on the food pyramid. I seek to walk a clear-water path, and with God’s help I know I can overcome.”
Instructions: Say this creed each morning and each evening…and anytime you feel the urge to partake of the dastardly soda pop! To make it even more effective…say it as you are standing on the scale looking at your true weight…not just the one you have made up in your mind. Yeah, like that would work!

Hello, my name is Olivia, and I am a caffeine junkie….but even more so, I am a carbonated drink junkie. (Insert here: “Hi Olivia”—from all the fools here with me—also carbo/caffeine addicts!) Okay, so I am officially “on the wagon.”

Speaking of the food pyramid….who thinks that stuff up anyway? Few people in the world plan meals according to the information contained in that little triangle of nutrition. If we made the pyramid to fit the way most people eat it would be a little different. Imagine…bottom row: dry cereal, pop-tarts, bagels, sausage biscuits,Whoppers and Big Macs,fried chicken,seafood platters,ice cream,in the south: Sweet Tea, and Coca-Cola; next row: hamburgers, cheese burgers, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, French fries, Donuts, Gummy bears, Snicker Bars, Coca-Cola; third row: spaghetti and meat balls, bar-b-que, pizza, mashed potatoes, Mexican-like food from Taco Bell, dessert, Beer, Pepsi-Cola: forth row: green bean casserole, corn, corn dogs, hot dogs, Chinese food, Coca-cola, and in the south…Sweet Tea; Top row: GRAVY…so that it dribbles down on top of everything else! Ah, America the land of milk and honey…and fast food joints…a nation of gourmands.
Now that I have that said, I believe I will prepare dinner. I will “jam” two slices of whole-grain, sawdust-like bread together and put a toothpick in my water to spice it up a bit.
The menu: A “jam” sandwich and a pine float…… I feel myself getting thinner every second.

Word play...keeps me young at heart

As long as I can recall, I have written whatever was in my heart or on my heart. It helped to heal the pain, express feelings otherwise hard to convey, and eased any stress in my life. It is also quite enjoyable to create, to pen, even to give birth to poetry or prose. It is only natural that I would blog at this point in my life now even though I am only somewhat technologically adept.
I find inspiration in different places and situations which I find inviting, comforting, even alluring. One of my favorite places to compose ingenious work is at the seashore or beach, or whichever you prefer to call it...the distinction can be made by the locale. I find when you are in the southeast United States you go to the "beach"...be it on the Atlantic or the Gulf side. In the Northeast they refer to the the beach as the "shore." But whatever the vernacular or colloquial term--it is still quite an inspiring place to be, at least for me.
Part of the lure of the seashore, of course, is the immenseness and grandeur of it all. I am lulled and coaxed by the rote (the noise of the surf or waves breaking on or near the shore) of the water. The smell of the salt air is also an alluring condition of the beach. It is also wonderful for your sinuses and your lungs, but that must be written of in a different blog.
One afternoon, I found myself quite alone on Blue Mountain Beach on the Gulf of Mexico between Panama City and Fort Walton Beach--and various points also between--the sunset was in gentle progress, the sky was a glorious color, and the water an emerald green closer to the shoreline. The high tide now diminishing had washed away any evidence that another person had even walked on the sand that day. My pen painted the scene in one of my favorite poems. I call it

At Ebb Tide
The ocean's voice is a gentle rush
Of ebb tide's waning sound.
The seagulls dance in shallow pools
And feed from the salty ground.
Sandpipers pick amongst the gulls--
Their share of ocean's bounty claim;
And cast a shadow upon the sand
By the sky's dwindling flame.
The sun will be but an ember soon
As it reaches for that heaven-sent time
Where the sky meets the earth
And forms a water-etched line.
The shallows are an emerald green,
But I watch for they will stray
To where the water turns a dark, dark blue
And then a darker gray.
I come to the sea when I am alone;
I walk the shore untrod.
I come to the sea to partake of the beauty
When I need to meet with God.
...1994

For a while I worked as a newspaper reporter and columnist. I loved the writing part of the job...but I must admit, I was not a good reporter. I just did not have that feeding frenzy instinct that leads good reporters to glean all the facts--especially in cases where people were suffering, hurt, or...dead. I covered several cases of such human misfortune. I had a hard time sticking a tape recorder or even a pad and pen, that would reflect in the tears, into the faces of victims and their families and asking them how they felt as they watched their house burn to the ground, when they first found out someone had died, was missing, etc. etc. etc.—or other equally asinine questions.
I interviewed quite a few people for human interest stories and mostly what I learned was many people confuse who they are with the worldly possessions they have accumulated. What a shame.
While writing for one small weekly publication, my editor used the term "wordsmith" quite often. I am not sure what one must do to be officially, and perhaps technically, deemed a wordsmith....I do sometimes hammer out the words to make them express my intent...but never under a spreading chestnut tree...so, I am probably not to be considered a wordsmith.
I love words and the sound they make on paper. But it is merely the word play that keeps me young at heart.