Tuesday, December 22, 2009
A picture is worth a thousand words. But how many calories is a photo worth?
Found this blurb somewhere on CNN:
Snap before and after photos of each meal with your camera phone.
Keeping a visual food diary is a more accurate way to see what and how much you're eating, United Kingdom researchers say. Afterward, download the pics so you'll have a record.
I don't have a camera phone. Still, this idea really struck me as the ultimate of diet strategies.
To have a photo collection at the end of every day of every bite you put into your mouth! Wouldn't THAT open your eyes!!
For now, I'll just visualize every plate of food, every snack. What will that pile of food look like at the end of the day? Of the week?? Wow!
Does that idea open your eyes, like it does mine?
Sunday, December 20, 2009
What Gift can I give my body today?
My body is pretty important. It keeps on going no matter what I put in it or do to it or how I neglect it. What about YOUR body?
Instead of complaining about your body; constantly listing all its faults, express some love for your body and the miraculous things it does, with or without any help from you.
Every day that you live and eat in a healthy way is a GIFT to your body.
If you only do it once during the week, you have still given your body a Gift.
In fact, every healthy meal you eat, even if it's just one, is still a Gift to your body.
Your body is better off for having that one healthy meal than never having a healthy meal at all.
So stop counting your failures, and start counting your WINS.
Start counting all the Gifts you give your body.
And count all the Gifts you receive from your body.
Love your body. Be kind to it. Give it what it needs and not what YOU want at the moment.
Start now with a healthy meal or snack, instead of . . .
Monday, December 14, 2009
Many of you may know about this, but I just found it. I've been talking about it, wanting something like it, and I just discovered this has been here on SparkPeople while I've been dreaming about it.
It's the Stay-On-Track calendar and it gives you a birds eye view, month by month, of everything you have tracked on the Spark Planner, the food tracker, and your weigh-ins.
You can look back over any month and view a day when you ate exactly what you planned to eat, so you can give yourself an instant replay. The same goes for your calories burned, your exercise, etc. etc. It's a good way to find that favorite meal you had two months ago, but you can't remember what day it was.
I think it's a very handy, helpful tool and I wasn't even aware it was here. So I want to share it with all the teams I've joined in case others aren't aware of it either.
PS - In case you aren't familiar with the Spark Planner, the link is below. Map out your appointments and have it send you a reminder via email.
Friday, December 11, 2009
This is a poem to Angie,
Not as my Aunt, but as a woman.
A woman who never knew
that she was beautiful,
Nor remembered she was crippled.
Who, though thoughtless, ignorant people
laughed at her,
Found a reason to laugh with all.
Who loved all God's creation so intensely,
That speaking of children and animals
and ordinary people,
Brought tears of joy to her eyes.
Who loved everyone so much,
It was difficult for her
to love one person exclusively.
Who was not religious,
But was God-like in her truly Universal love.
Who could laugh until her sides ached,
And defy the strongest of the unjust.
Who never, never quit,
Until the end,
When she could not place her burden
of old age upon those she loved.
This is a poem to Angie's beauty,
Which, after her crippled body faded to dust,
Angie was my aunt. She was more than that, really. She was my Other Mother. Always there. Always patient. Always happy.
The love of her life never came home from WWII. She never married. Never had children. She became Mother to me and many of my cousins and all of us thought of her with the same love you have for your mother.
She fought to get her job at the telephone company during the war. They didn’t want to hire her because she had polio. She wore a heavy leg brace, ugly built up shoes and walked with a limp. No, it was much more than a limp. Her uneven legs and her weak side threw her into such a meandering gait that every eye turned her way whenever she moved. She convinced the phone company that as a telephone operator she’d be sitting down all day so it wouldn’t matter. They were worried about all the work she’d miss.
I’d love to have been in the room during her interview when she convinced them to hire her. She eventually received an award for 30 years PERFECT ATTENDANCE.
She worked a late shift at the phone company, most of the time, getting home after midnight. Still, she was there every morning, carving my pancakes into faces with grins and big square eyes. She was there when I got home from school, with my snack, and with dinner ready in the oven before she left for work, so my mother and my youngest aunt would have food when they got home at 6 PM.
She walked her walk beside me through countless school halls and stores and trips. Never bothered that my little girl legs ran circles around her wherever we went. And what a nurse! It was almost a delight to be a sickly little girl with asthma, bronchitis and bouts of pneumonia. I spent days in a sunny bedroom, with a kitten, a book, a doll, and Aunt Angie. She made me soup. She buttered my toast. She handed me anything I wanted. And me too little to ever think of her and her painful steps, or what it meant to watch her cut callouses off her uneven feet.
No one ever thought of her crippled state. And that was her glory.
For the most remarkable thing about Angie was that she was crippled, and no one ever remembered it.
What did she feel inside about never marrying or having children? About loving to dance and having a body that fought her? About not being able to run, to take long walks, to ride a bike? I was too young to ever wonder.
Her smile, her eyes, her deep, true kindness radiated from her and met you right up front; filled your senses with delight and joy, so that you were blind to any defect, any pain she had. A spinster who lived her life with other people’s kids, in someone else’s house. Dear Lord, if I can only live in such a way to be remembered with the sweetness and fondness and love that we all remember Aunt Angie, I will die happy.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Once upon a time, my husband and I and our two sons lived on ten acres overlooking Stillhouse Hollow Lake in Central Texas, near Salado. Our little plot of land bordered the Army Corps Of Engineers land that surrounded the lake.
Our house was high on a hill and the land dropped away behind it in shelf-like layers. On the second layer was the barn and workshop. On the third layer was a small field and a pond, which is Texas is often called a “tank”. The final layer was the lake itself.
We had some mallard ducks, but they were slowly ravaged and eaten by the many critters that lived in the land. A few hardy, crafty hens and a drake survived. One hen layed a large clutch of eggs near the tank. But that didn’t last. Eaten by a fox or a raccoon or a opossum or one of any number of varmints that shared the land with us. So she layed another clutch of eggs on the next higher level of land, near the barn. Same ending.
The poor duck would not give up and finally she deposited her eggs in a nest she created right next to the chimney of our house, which was right outside our picture window. (Remember those?) Each day we could look out and see her sitting there, patient and confident that she was taking care of her eggs. It worked.
A few weeks later she hatched about 9 or 10 little ducklings! The cutest things you ever saw. Hours later she took them down to the pond. Can you even imagine how many tiny steps those little webbed feet took to get down there??
They swam in that pond for a very short time. The catfish we had stocked in the pond opened their wide mouths and swallowed them like bugs! I was horrified for a while, but this is MOTHER NATURE, folks. She’s never seen a Walt Disney movie. Only the strong or the very lucky survive.
Back at the house, the boys were looking at an egg that didn’t hatch. It was still in the nest, but had a little hole in it and you could see a tiny little beak moving and weakly chipping away at the egg shell. MOM, we have to help it! Wow. My husband was a Game Warden and had always told me there is a reason some eggs don’t hatch. The bird inside is weak or mal-formed and just won’t make it anyway. But two little boys didn’t want to hear that, so we gently helped that little duckling fight his way out of the egg, slowly, a little at a time, as natural as we could make it. Put him in a box and sat him on the dryer with a light above him to keep him warm. Fed him, got him to drink. Over the next days, he spent a lot of time in one little-boy-hand or the other, watching cartoons on tv, lol.
We named him, of course. Donald, of course. He grew up fine and healthy, except he walked with a little limp and one of his wings was so crooked it stuck out like an artificial limb not quite correctly attached, so he couldn't fly.
The only thing we forgot to do was put him in water and let him swim. So, he never did want to swim. Wouldn’t go near the water. I often took him out and turned over rocks so he could find crickets and other bugs to eat, lol. He was a very plucky ducky, lol.
In the summer, the boys took him down to swim in the tank with them. He wouldn’t have it. We made a boat from the lid of a styrofoam ice chest, and the boys put a rope handle on it and pulled Donald around the tank on that lid when they swam. He would settle down on that lid and seemed to enjoy the ride! He certainy NEVER jumped off, lol.
He lived a long and happy life, was a real pet, just a little funny looking and certainly the only duck we knew that couldn’t swim, lol.
(Inspired by JUSTJO66's blog, A Lesson from a Duck.
Get An Email Alert Each Time --KREN Posts