I do realize that for a lot of folks, time is an issue. But there are a lot of good reasons to get that first meal of the day in sometime before 8:00, if you can manage it:

1. It’s a matter of fuel.  You wouldn’t go out to your car (if you have one) or other vehicle and try to run it without gas, would you? Or drive out when that annoying little yellow light was on for a long drive?  Starting your day without breakfast is essentially that. Breakfast can help you jumpstart your metabolism (although the medical community isn’t united about that, but they rarely are, so no surprise).
2. No munchies (or fewer). It helps you avoid the 10:30 a.m. vending machine blues. If you’re not eating that first meal,  at some point your blood sugar is going to fall, you’re going to get very hungry and you’re likely to find the first source of food — even if it’s not what you really ought to eat (can I get a witness?)
3. Keeping the rules.  Okay, there really aren’t any rules, formally, about eating, although the way the “food police” act you’d never know it.  But the best approach to eating is to eat less as the day goes on.  It’s the old “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a pauper” thing. You probably don’t have to go that far, but it’s a fact that people used to eat along those lines. We tend to reverse the process, and you can see the results in the waistlines of the Western World.

The bottom line is that breakfast, when it’s more than a cup of coffee and also when it’s not a large stack of pancakes swimming in maple syrup, can be and usually is a good thing, especially when you’re trying to lose weight.  But more about that as the month goes on.

Good health to you!

The last few weeks have been tough on my regimen.  Since I’m not working, exercising is a problem. The weather hasn’t been good, so my walks haven’t been as long as I’d like them to be and I don’t have the cash to pay dues to a fitness club. Since my medical was extended, I have been going to the “Y”, but I only have access part-time. Still, even that little bit helps.

The big problem is fighting my desire to eat.  Some days, it’s no problem. I can eat as I’m supposed to and I’m fine.  Other days, though — oy!

I can pass up salty and sour things. That’s not where my issues are. Sweet stuff is my bete noire. And even if I get it under control (which takes loads of time and discipline, let me tell you!) the smallest slip and I’m back to square one.  Basically, it’s an addiction.  And it’s why I don’t understand the attitude of dieticians who tell you in post-diagnosis training, that it’s okay to have sweets.  From talking to other diabetics, I know I’m not alone in this problem.  Why set people up to fail? Discipline is a good thing for us. Not that I have any, or much, in this case.

The next 30 days are a restarting process (again) for getting my eating under control. I pray for the strength to turn my back on the stuff that I shouldn’t have and in keeping my appetite under control for portion reasons as well.

Adieu, sugar.  Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Brimfield, where I grew up, has changed some, but not enough to have grown past township status itself. So I’m most comfortable in those kinds of places, where things are quiet, there’s probably a greenspace at the center of the town and there’s a festival, carnival or fair that’s the heart of summer or fall events.

As I go through these pages, I find myself thinking it would be fun to have a whole summer and enough money to go from town to town, enjoy the people, the festivals or fairs (or both) and visit tourist attractions, tour factories (like Longaberger or Sauder) and see the historical sites that we keep saying we’re going to see and never have time for.

You could kick things off early in Hinckley, where the buzzards return every year. Or tour the Seiberling home at Stan Hywet (pronounced Stan You-wet), which has some of the most beautiful gardens imaginable. Same goes for Zoar Village, near Dover, formerly a settlement of German religious dissenters.

There’s a fair amount of history here in Ohio.  Of course, there are Native American sites of interest, where the Whittlesey Indians and the Hopewell Indians were, among others.  The French traders settled Ohio for awhile, and it was considered part of Nova Gallia (New France), although the property was ceded to the English as part of the Treaty of Paris. Oddly, for a state that was under French control for a time, there’s only a certain amount of that presence left, mostly in NW Ohio (where the French had Fort Loramie) and on the Ohio River in Gallia County and it’s county seat, Gallipolis (meaning, roughly, “French City”).

Besides that, we have Seven Years War, French and Indian War, Revolutionary War, War of 1812 and Civil War sites (the Civil War locations are mostly in Southern Ohio — Morgan’s Raid comes to mind).  The Underground Railway ran through Ohio. We have some very good battle reenactments, and preserved towns, railcars and railways, villages and settlements.

The canals also ran through Ohio and pieces of them still exist – at Milan, Ohio (birthplace of Thomas Edison) and Roscoe Village near Coshocton, where you can get a ride on a canal boat, or you could.

There’s the scenic railroad in the Cuyahoga Valley, the glass and ceramic industry near Cambridge in Guernsey County, cave explorations in the Hocking Hills, and Amish country in Holmes County, where you can eat yourself into a stupor (just make sure you save room for the homemade pie).

Ohio’s the home of Presidents (well, mother of Presidents, or so we call ourselves — you can read about that here, if you like).  Most of Ohio’s claimed presidents have some kind of visitable presence here, whether it’s Garfield’s monument in Lakeview Cemetary (I know, Cleveland’s not a small town, but this is worth seeing anyway) or his home, Lawnfield, in Mentor.  We’ve been to Marion (Harding), Fremont (Hayes) and Canton (McKinley).  Grant’s boyhood home and several other historical sites connected to him are in Southern Ohio within driving distance of each other.  That’s on our list of to-do things. President Taft has a site in Cincinnati. The Harrisons (Benjamin and William Henry) have the least presence here, but since they’re the ‘debatable’ ones, that’s no surprise.

Each of Ohio’s 88 counties has a fair.  Fair season this year runs from June 10th (Paulding County) to October 6 (Fairfield County).  You can find a schedule of fairs here.

I probably sound like I’m shilling for the Ohio Department of Commerce, but there’s so much I would like to see here and I’d like you to see it too.  If we run into one another, say “Hi!”  We’re friendly here in Ohio and we’ll be glad to see you.

Outside my window… the remnants of lake effect snow.
I am thinking… about the mistakes I’ve made that I can’t fix.
I am thankful for… the ability to write.
From the kitchen… nothing special.
I am wearing… the green sweatshirt with fake green plaid “shirt” under it and my “best jeans, denim blue, faded up to the sky”
I am reading… a lot of Betty Neels’ romances.
I am hoping… for an answer to my problems.
I am creating… very little — I have no energy to create beyond what I have to do for work.
I am praying… for patience and peace and for some friends going through medical problems.
Around the house… need to clean — sometime.
One of my favorite things… a new (to me) Betty Neels from the library to read tonight.
A few plans for the rest of the week… sleep so I don’t have to think; maybe a Three Word Wednesday tomorrow; maybe even a Friday Flash.

There I was, all in my new Habs toque and my newish t-shirt actually going out to watch the game because the wifi in our building didn’t work.  A message from a Quebecois friend of mine about watching (a pleasure to hear from him), a moving and spirited opening ceremony, the Habs hit the ice — and it was 2011 all over again.

All the received wisdom from last season made it out that the problem with the Habs originated behind the bench.  I’ll admit that Jacques Martin’s “I’m-an-extra-from-Walking-Dead-who-can-write-and-is-too-lazy-to-gnaw-on-the-living” act got old real fast. But was it really all his fault?

Besides, if he was the problem he was made out to be, shouldn’t SOMETHING have changed when Randy Cunneyworth took over? I really doubt RC’s not being a Francophone was all that much of an issue to anyone but the PQ – there aren’t that many Francophones on the team, and if they wanted to be snarled at in French, all they had to do was take the Métro out to Beaudry station and ask, in English, to buy an all-day pass. Easy as poutine.

Yes, I know not everyone was playing somewhere else while negotiations dragged on (or didn’t happen). Yes, I know there really wasn’t much of a training camp or any preseason.  But you know what? That applies to the Leafs, too, and last night they didn’t let it get in the way of their play. The Habs, on the other hand, were disappointingly lackluster.

I do want to acknowledge the contribution of the refs during the game – although it would probably be more fitting if a Leafs fan did that, since most of the calls went Toronto’s way. But the officiating we will have with us always, and if you know that’s a factor, you do your best to play in a way that makes it a non-issue.  Like clearing the puck, better puck handling, getting more shots on goal and scoring.  Little things like that.

Obviously, things could improve. One game is a little early for panic, even in Montréal. Especially for me, conditioned from my earliest recollection to be resigned to teams that play almost well enough. (I think they start training us in the cradle here in Northeast Ohio.)  It’s just that the talent’s there, the front office was cleared of Pierre Gauthier, Jacques Martin’s not behind the bench, and there’s no real and obvious reason why this team shouldn’t have improved.

Once upon a time, there was a hockey team who came on the ice with attitude, expected to win and usually did. I think they were called the Montréal Canadiens. I hope they show up Tuesday night – I miss ‘em.

Outside my window… Thunderstorms. And when I was in the car it said the rain would clear until 3 PM.  Yep, meteorology is an exact science.
I am thinking… about organizing my work for today.
I am thankful for… breathing.
From the kitchen…bought a croissant from GetGo. Not feeling the cooking thing.
I am wearing… black knit slacks, a red-plaid shirt and my Asics Gels (comfy!)
I am reading… something of Betty Neels’.
I am hoping… my life will miraculously change for the better.
I am creating… nothing at the moment.
I am praying… for patience and strength.
Around the house… nothing new or special.
One of my favorite things… sleep.
A few plans for the rest of the week… hoping for a long weekend.

Reblogged from :

By John Ed Mathison
Director of John Ed Mathison Leadership Ministries¹

Riccardo Russo is a motorcycle racer in Europe. He recently was competing in the Italian championship race. Coming to the end of the race, he was the leader. He was ready to win.

The problem was that he started celebrating his “win” a lap too early. He began fist pumping

Read more… 474 more words

Today, I heard that whisper myself.  I thought I was ready to get back to it — I had gotten out of the hospital, took my meds like a good little girl and even went and bought correctly fitted shoes.  I was sure I was on the high road.

Unfortunately, a couple of days later, things started back down and I was in a lot of pain, my foot was swelling up and I was having a heck of a time trying to get a doctor’s appointment at the hospital where I’d been admitted a couple of weeks ago.

Finally, a wonderful appointment person at the Clinic’s Willoughby Hills office heeded my pleas for help and called me back when a cancellation became available.  I wish I had her name — she almost certainly kept me from getting worse and I’d love to thank her publicly.

Anyway, to make a long story somewhat shorter, the doctor at the Clinic said in no uncertain terms that I belonged back in the hospital — an infection as bad as she felt this one was needed to be treated on an inpatient basis.  And to add to the fun, when I got to Lake West, the doctors ran a bunch of tests and told me there was every chance a blood clot was floating around and, in addition to being treated for the infection, I had to have a CT scan to ensure no blood clots were in my lungs.

It’s almost midnight now.  I just came back from the CT scan room, and I’m waiting.  I’m not sure if it’s just the test or if they’re clearing a room or what, but here I am anyway.  If was a little scared before, I’m incredibly scared now.  No, that’s not exactly right.  The idea that I’ve got a blood clot in my lung is not exactly comforting.  And I fear pain and potential disability.

I’ve always said that I wasn’t afraid of death, just of dying.  I believe there is more than this life — as a Christian, I believe that “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”  (I Cor. 2:9).  I do love Him and I believe I’ll be with Him when I die.

I admit, though, that I’m a little frightened by the thought of fighting for a breath that never comes, for the pain of organs fighting to work properly.  And I’m not READY to die — there’s a lot I’d still like to do.  Although most people probably feel that way; but hey! 51′s not that old. I haven’t made it to Montréal yet!

So I “compose my soul in patience” and wait, and think about the other people in the other rooms, who are going through their own journeys and pains, and their families who are waiting to hear.  I can pray for them while the doctors and nurses are doing whatever they’re doing.

And I remember that the journey never really ends.  It just goes on a different road.

For today…

Outside my window… a glorious late Summer, early Autumn day — and the trails from the aircraft practicing for the Air Show this weekend.
I am thinking… about the effects of Hurricane Isaac on people who have mostly been through the mill the last few years, between Katrina and BP’s oil spill…
I am thankful for… my job
From the kitchen… not much, today.  Living on reruns until tomorrow.
I am wearing… Amish modern Seriously, just jeans and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt.
I am reading… Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
I am hoping… for some emotional and physical energy.
I am creating… story ideas in my mind — now I just need whatever it is I’m missing to turn them into stories.
I am praying… to deal with my marriage as God intends
Around the house… some minor clean up to be ready for the quarterly landlord inspection.
One of my favorite things… Talking with friends on Twitter or FB in French.  It tickles me to see how much better I’m getting — although I still have a LONG way to go.
A few plans for the rest of the week… rest, rest and more rest.

I just spent the last week, roughly, in the hospital, being treated for diabetic wound issues and cellulitis. You’ve heard of “Scared Straight”? The program where they take kids into prison and scare them into realizing what it’s really like “inside”? Well, I’ve just been “inside” and now have a clear understanding of what my life might be like if I don’t get my act together and get rid of the sugar.  And I’m scared.

This all just kind of came up out of the blue, so to speak.  I thought I was dealing with gout (which is bad enough) but after about a week of things not really improving, my husband talked me into an ER trip.  I, in turn, twisted his arm into stopping and getting some books to take with me — as you know, if you’ve ever had to deal with a trip to the ER, it can literally take hours.

To my immense surprise (and concern), I was in registration, triage, a room and admitted to the hospital in about a half-hour, with brief stops for an x-ray, a shot of morphine (which left me feeling like Curly Bill Brocius in “Tombstone” after his trip to the opium tent) and an IV full of antibiotics.

Making a long story short — it was brought home to me in a way I couldn’t ignore that I am not immune from the side-effects of bad decisions, and at 51, I’m not going to magically be younger and able to heal in moments the way I used to.  There’s still a chance that a bone in my foot is infected and that’s scary because the word “amputation” was bandied around — and I’m attached to my toe (and foot), thankyouverymuch.

So I appreciate the UHHS folks for giving me a headstart on the changes that are going to have to happen in my life.  I lost 6 pounds in the course of my hospital stay, hard though that is to believe (some of it is no doubt water weight) and I’m finding it a lot easier to turn my back on temptation.  It’s not a matter of aesthetics any more — it’s a matter of what’s more important: some kind of sweet that will give me very temporary pleasure, or the continued existence of my limbs as permanent parts of my body.

So, yeah.  I heard the bell, Mr. Donne, and it’s most certainly tolling for me.  And believe me, I got the message loud and clear.