Chugging Along

So.

Thanksgiving has come and gone and it's time yet again for me to make my post-holiday whineybutt blog confession.

Yes. The I'm eating sensibly and organically and low-sugar low-fat train has jumped the tracks. It has crashed and burned and the wheels have come off. Whoooooeeeeeee. This year's derailment was a real beaut. And, like after every major holiday, here I am, bloated and bewildered. I thought I had it all under control. Silly Julia.

I prepared our Thanksgiving dinner with as many organic and healthy products as our budget would allow. We had organic mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and yams, apple cider, cranberry sauce, and even had organic soda pop available. I bought organic breads and turkey broth to make our turkey's stuffing. Organic apples and pumpkin and milk were the ingredients for apple and pumpkin pie, topped with organic whipped cream just barely sweetened with organic cane sugar and served alongside steaming cups of organically grown coffee.

I went through mental calisthenics to get my willpower in shape for the big event, and just before all my guests arrived, I felt reasonably certain that this year I would avoid a high calorie and wheat overload train wreck.

But.

Then all of my dear family and friends began to arrive, and with them came a mouth watering contributions to the meal. I was a goner as soon as the parade began: muffins and pastries and cheesecake and grandma's Louisiana sweet potato pie and chocolate pecan pie and cookies and.......oh my.

But we had a fabulous gathering and the festivities went on for a full three days, leaving me bloated but also profoundly thankful for the people with which God has enriched my life. *contented sigh*

I did learn one thing from previous holidays, and that is to send each and every guest out the door with as many leftovers as they and their vehicles could carry. This year, as I am making my blogosphere confession, at least my house and pantry is leftover free.

I am resolved: back on the healthy eating express.

Until the next holiday arrives.

I Am Thankful For Charlie

So I just wanted to share my favorite Thanksgiving story with you all. And don't worry - it won't require anybody to go searching for the Kleenex box to dab away sentimental tears.

Several years ago, my family and I were spending Thanksgiving with my parents and siblings. I grew up in a family of six children, so when gathered at Mom and Dad's home with all of our spouses and kids, we were a real mob. And I mean that in the best possible way, guys. We filled up that house to the rafters with our kids and stuff and some of us even brought along our pets.

The Thanksgiving table was groaning with the weight of a fantastic meal. Even though my mom has always been an exceptional cook, that year she had truly outdone herself. The turkey, golden brown and looking exactly like a Butterball commercial, steaming creamy mashed potatoes, velvety gravy, and all the other mouth watering side dishes were arranged enticingly on my grandmothers massive antique oak trestle table. It looked and smelled unbelievably delicious, but before we sat down to eat, my mother wanted us all to gather in a large circle in the living room and hold hands. She instructed us all to take turns expressing something for which we were particularly thankful for, and began by voicing her sincere gratitude to God for giving her ....... well, us. It was a really sweet and loving sentiment.

By chance, my place in the circle was the only spot that provided a clear view of the dining room and our waiting feast, and I have to be truthful here. I found myself looking longingly at those mashed potatoes instead of listening to everyone's expressions of gratefulness. I estimated that I had at least a full ten minutes of thankfulness to suffer through before I could grab my plate. Bad Julia....bad bad girl.....

One of my sisters had brought along her basset hound, Charlie, who in spite of having inherited those stubby little basset legs and huge ears that grazed the floor, was pretty lively. He also possessed that great sense of smell that most bassets are famous for. Charlie could tell that there was an amazing array of goodies up on that dining room table, even though he was only knee-high. As the litany of thankfulness progressed in the living room, I could see Charlie circling the table, his nose frantically snuffling all those delicious aromas.

What happened next was, I suppose, inevitable. Charlie took a flying leap, levitated over the dining room table with long ears extended in a Dumbo-esque silhouette, and while mid-flight expertly snatched an entire loaf of warm home made bread. He landed with a thud, hitting the floor on the other side of the table chomping wildly, bread crumbs flying. As he scrambled into the kitchen with his prize, I couldn't believe what I had just seen.

I glanced around our family circle. Everyone else appeared thoughtful and thankful and apparently hadn't noticed the larcenous Charlie dog. Which brought a dilemma to light: Should I interrupt this lovely family moment to bring this to the attention of the group in case the dog came back for the turkey? I was willing to sacrifice the bread, but really......I wasn't about to share my hunk of that beautiful bird with a basset hound. *Snicker. Mmfff*. I tried my best to muffle my very irreverent giggling, really I did. I mean, it was such a special and thankful and thoughtful experience, with everyone gathered round with hands clasped together. *Snork* My shoulders shook as I tried very unsuccessfully to regain my thoughtful and thankful composure.

My mother looked at me from across the room, and completely misinterpreted my heaving shoulders and facial contortions. As the thoughtfulness and thankfulness ended, she quickly came to my side and hugged me, thinking that I had been moved to tears by the wonderful sentiment expressed by all instead of my attempts to stifle hysterical laughter.

I couldn't speak, I was so far gone. Instead, I snorted and guffawed and pointed helplessly at the table and the canine culprit, who had left an incriminating trail of bread shrapnel and was plotting his next move for a second course.

Ahhh.........I still chortle when I remember that particular Thanksgiving......what a great dog. All these years later, when I count my blessings and reminisce about my favorite holiday memories, I still remember Charlie the basset hound, may he rest in peace. I hope this Thanksgiving he actually scores a turkey, wherever he may be.

Thanks, Charlie.

Basset image found here.

She's A Better Woman Than I Am

Head over to But You Don't Look Sick to read a heartfelt essay about feeling thankful even during difficult times.  It was written in 2008 by Karen Brauer but reposted this week. 


Picture by LilGoldWmn

Health Food Wannabe

Nobody said this would be easy.

In a quest to reduce my exposure to unnecessary and potentially harmful food additives, I have been doing more grocery shopping in those nuts-and-berries type stores these days, and I've come to the conclusion that eating healthy - you know, organic and unprocessed and fresh as possible foods - is actually kind of a pain in the neck. I'm learning that it takes more than just lofty food ideals to actually get the stuff into your pantry and on the table.

For one thing, there's a whole different food language to master. The words natural and wholesome do not translate to organic. I'm accustomed to grabbing a can or a package and tossing it into my grocery basket, but lately I find myself standing in store aisles with my glasses pushed up on my head and squinting at food labels. Quinoa? Amaranth? Is parboiled brown rice cheating? Who knew there were so many different kinds of beans? And how in the heck do you cook those things, anyway? Is grass-fed beef really any better than organic Angus beef? Does it matter if your chicken can roam at home on the range? With the buffalo? Is buffalo the same as bison?

Once I have chosen and schlepped the ingredients home in my organic cotton reusable shopping bag, then there's the whole preparation and cooking thing. Unfamiliar ingredients and longer cooking times don't always result in food that um....appears superior to my previous fare. What? Mac 'n cheese isn't always a fluorescent orange color? And it doesn't come in a tidy little blue box?? (Just kidding. Actually I'm used to the kind that comes in a yellow box. I do have my standards, after all.) And I'm not so far gone that I don't remember cooking oatmeal that comes in the round cardboard canister. It's just been awhile. A very long while.

I'm not totally unaccustomed to cooking from scratch. I have loved making home made breads and slow cooked pot roasts and poultry for ages. But I've been cooking on auto pilot for so many years that making changes of any kind is hard. Some things have been easy - it's just as simple to toss an organically grown potato into the oven as a commercially grown one. No, the most difficult changes have been in making the choices: what kind of potato is really more healthy than others? And the expense - eating organically definitely consumes a bigger part of our food budget. Are there really enough benefits to eating organically to justify the cost? Besides, after all the angst and study and consternation, does it all matter, anyway?

Well, sure it does.

I know this, especially after all the time that I have recently spent reading countless studies and listening to my doctors and dietitians. But right on cue, whenever a challenge that involves self-control presents itself my whiney-butt and undisciplined inner child makes her appearance.

"I don't waaaaannnnnnnnaaaaa eat healthier! I like high fructose corn syrup and mystery meat hot dogs and Twinkies and Wonder bread. I want to buy a zillion Little Debbie pastries for a buck a box! And soda pop and artificial sweeteners and colors and flavors! Waaaahhhhh!" *rolls on floor with fists and feet flailing*

While roaming around the various organic food stores, I did finally make an observation that helped me to corral my out-of-control inner child. After I eventually came up for air from all those ingredients and labels and bins of strange looking grains with shiny little aluminum scoops, it occurred to me that there were more differences here than just packaging and brands in these types of stores.

Oh, yeah, the simple concrete floors and soothing natural colors, the absence of plastic bags, the artful yet eco-friendly lighting, all those things definitely set these stores apart from my usual grocery haunts.

What really got my attention was the clientele. It took several weeks before it occurred to me that the people that shop these types of stores............well, they just seemed different than those that I was accustomed to jostling aside at the cereal aisle while reaching for a ginormous package of Cap'n Crunch.

Unlike me, none of those health food types were cruising the store slugging down a blue raspberry big-gulp-size Slurpee while snacking on leftover McDonald's french fries.

As I looked around at these shoppers, I noticed that they too were carefully examining labels and ingredients. They sniffed and poked and prodded the vegetables and fruits. They moved through the aisles and made their choices in a deliberate and thoughtful manner. But the real clincher? The real characteristic of those health-foodies that put inner child Julia in a straight jacket? That made me stop and think, "I want to join this club!"?

I'll betcha that a good 75% of those shoppers appeared to be in much better physical condition than me. That's it. Plain and simple.

Of course there's no guarantee that any of these folks were in as good of health as they appeared, after all invisible illnesses are named invisible because they are invisible. Any Sjoggie can attest to the frustration of hearing someone say those dreaded five words: But You Don't Look Sick! Sigh.

At the very least, I could definitely make the observation correctly that most of these shoppers were more fit than I am. Who knows - maybe the reason that they are more svelte than me is because at these prices, one really thinks twice before pouring a second bowl of cereal or finishing off a bag of expensive organic chips. I guess there's all sorts of motivation for portion control.

I really wish that by shopping at the right food store, one could guarantee a healthy and fit body. Wouldn't that be grand? But in spite of no hard and fast promises, I can't believe that I am doing my body a disservice by being more particular about what I eat.

Someday I want to blend in with this crowd.

photo by memoossa

News-As-Entertainment Stress

Wow, I had a really good idea for a post.

But I can't remember it.......hmm.....this makes me stressed......

Oh, yes. Wendy made a great comment about the effects of stress on autoimmune disease, specifically stress related to the barrage of non-stop television news deliberately formatted to hook our attention.

"...TV is often, as you pointed out, very stress-inducing. Now how is that good for auto-immune disease?! "News-as-entertainment" is a big culprit. "Breaking news", "developing stories", etc.--all are designed to elevate those stress hormones and keep you hooked for the almightly advertisers. Do we really need this stuff? I read once that humans evolved in smaller communities where basically all news was of immediate concern, since you only tended to hear about nearby events. So we have a natural reaction of heightened vigilance over bad news. Nowadays we get satellite news from all over. But our brains still fire the adrenaline pumps as if these things were happening in the next village! Since stress is such a big autoimmune trigger for me, I choose to pass on the barrage of bad news. It often means seeking out a quiet corner to wait AWAY from the TV, at airports, hospitals, doctor's offices, car service depts., etc., then if necessary telling the receptionist where to find me and WHY. Sheesh. Thanks for letting me vent!"

Thank you writing my post for me today, Wendy! Now what was I saying? And where's my coffee cup.........I'm stressed.......


Awesome graphics by fercozzz

Energy Management for Dummies

Now that Lulu has had her puppy shots, I have one less reason to avoid walking the dogs. Poor Sammy doesn't get to join us, but takes his walks with John. Walking Sammy is like attaching a seventy pound bowling ball to a leash - he rumbles around in any direction except where I want him to go. Whew. He consumes more of my energy per linear foot than the schnauzers do for an entire walk. Sorry, Sam, old boy. You are just too energy expensive.

So the girls love their walks, and once I'm bundled up and out the door, I have to admit that I do too. I've been a bit more adventuresome recently in seeking out other routes aside from the trudge around the block routine. Maggie and Lulu are thrilled - can dogs be thrilled? Yes, I think these two can - to hop in the car and explore new walking paths anywhere that I am willing to take them.

We discovered this wonderfully moss covered tree on our last outing.

The moss is just as soft as it looks.

While educating Lulu on the finer points of walking on a leash, I've had to learn a few things on these outings too, and the most important is this: By the time I feel tired, I have already crossed that invisible energy danger line. The key to successful exercise for me is to stop before the needle on my energy tank hits E.

I have been dealing with autoimmune fatigue for so many years, you'd certainly think that I'd know this by now. Perhaps I need some sort of remedial energy expenditure class. Gee, Julia - let's try to solve this educational math word problem, shall we?

If a clueless woman with autoimmune disease walks her rambunctious schnauzers for fifteen minutes in a direct line AWAY from her car, how long will it take for her to figure out that even though she's completely pooped, she and said schnauzers still have to walk the fifteen minutes BACK TO the car? 

Wonder what my report card would say if I took this class?

Irritating Intertrigo

Skin.

I have never had so many opportunities to scrutinize mine until autoimmune disease arrived. I've written multiple posts about autoimmune related skin issues - you can read them here, here and here.

My latest foray into epidermal excitement involves a skin condition that is only very indirectly related to autoimmune issues. It's called intertrigo.

I'm not a happy camper when my body changes due to age or inactivity. As it turns out, my skin isn't happy either when two skin surfaces meet such as in skin folds, or underneath breast tissue - dang, hate it when body parts start moving south - , or around the waistline when that little pooch becomes more than a pooch. Sweat, body oils, yeast, and germs can be trapped in these areas and raise a ruckus resulting in rashes and skin breakdown, or intertrigo. You can read all the squirm-inducing details, complete with icky pictures here and here.

In an attempt to keep my autoimmune skin dryness at a minimum it seems that I have only become more prone to other skin issues.  Um, I'll spare you all the details of my very own personal intertrigo experience. But here is what I have learned in general about this annoying condition:

How to tell if you have been blessed with intertrigo? You may develop a reddish or brownish colored area anywhere the skin rubs together such as in the armpits, between the toes, in the creases of the neck, under breasts, in the groin area, or underside of the belly, and the area is itchy or irritated.

Treatment includes keeping the affected areas clean and dry. So even if daily baths or showers are too drying overall for your skin, these specific problem areas may need daily cleansing. You may need to be creative in keeping these areas dry. How dry? Dry as in putting your hairdryer on the cool setting and aiming it at armpits and other unusual body parts. Wear undergarments that are absorbent and wick perspiration away from the skin.

See your doctor if these tactics don't resolve the issue, as a prescription ointment or cream may be necessary.

Puppy with a zillion skin folds found here.

Needs No Explanation

see more Sports Pictures

I have absolutely no excuse for not exercising.

None.

What I Look Like At Midnight When I've Taken My Prednisone At Noon

Soapy Update

You may recall that about a month ago, I tentatively ventured into the realm of saponification - or soap making. You can read my previous post here.

Today, I took one of my cream colored bars for a test run. I gingerly lathered up the bar in my hands and was surprisingly reluctant to slather the suds over my body. All I could think of was the essential ingredient LYE and the skull and crossbones and warning - caustic! labels plastered all over that can. And the fact that lye is a precursor to every bar of soap around the world. Did I get the ratio right? Did I saponify each and every molecule of that nasty stuff?

I'm happy to report that, yes, I did. Aside from the absence of fragrance and the strange shape of the bar (um, yes, I need to work on making the bars pretty) had I not remembered that I actually produced it, I wouldn't have thought there was anything unusual about that chunk of bathing stuff.

It lathered quickly, rinsed off cleanly, and......well......it was soap. I was amazed.

I decided to take the experiment one step further and use it as shampoo. But how to do that? I decided to just close my eyes and rub the bar over my wet head. I suppose there's no other way to do that....  It produced gratifyingly shampoo - like sudsy lather and rinsed off leaving my hair squeaky clean, maybe a bit too squeaky compared with the moisturizing shampoo that I usually use. I may experiment with soap recipes formulated to use as a shampoo bar. Who knew they were out there?

So I'm sitting here blogging away, feeling clean, smug, and strangely chemical-free. Ahhh.

Of course immediately after my shower, I toweled off and put on clothing that had all been laundered with commercial laundry detergent, brushed my teeth with toothpaste from a container listing at least ten ingredients of dubious origin, put on makeup - don't even want to know what is in that - and spritzed on a commercially made perfume.

I poured myself a cup of organic coffee BUT opened a plastic container of liquid coffee creamer with ingredients taking up a full 1/3 of the product label. I walked across my new area rug that is made from polypropylene fibers and is treated with chemicals to make the rug low-static and stain-releasing. I'm snuggling with my doggies who were recently treated with an oil-based complete body-covering pesticide to kill fleas and considering making myself a nitrite-laced ham sandwich for lunch.

Sigh.

At some level I am cognizant of my chemical laden life, but on the other hand, it sure feels good to consciously make a real effort to reduce my exposure to some of these products. My little bar of home made soap is just one little step in that direction.

Power to the soapies!