Sunday, May 02, 2010
After logging your food for weeks and months, eventually you arrive at what seems to be the best calorie allotment per day for YOU. Then you know how many calories you can eat each day and still lose and be healthy. You figure out what you can live with and still reach your goals.
Now, I’d like to know what you feel about the way you distribute your calories throughout your day.
Are you better off if you eat your main meal (meaning more calories) at lunch and eat lighter at night?
Or maybe you have your largest meal early in the morning?
Do you eat like a bird all day and save the best (and most) calories for the evening meal?
I’d like to know HOW CALORIE DISTRIBUTION MATTERS to you in your efforts to lose weight.
NOT what you were told by a coach,
a tv show,
a website or
your best friend.
But what YOU observed in your own personal journey to lose a few pounds and be healthy.
Does your calorie distribution during the day have an effect on what the scale says next morning, or is it your total calories that count the most?
** I'm enjoying all the responses. It's very interesting. For me, it seems important to eat my biggest meal during the middle of the day and eat very light at night. Also, it seems to help if I really watch the starches and sweets at night. I'm better off if I have those in the morning or at noon, if I just HAVE TO have them, lol.
Monday, April 26, 2010
This blog was inspired by Gaby1948's blog:
My husband was a State Game Warden in Texas. Besides everything you think you know about game wardens anywhere, I can tell you that people bring them every animal, bird, fish, etc. that they find.
We raised and rehabilitated everything from fawns to owls. The county road crew could be counted on to bring us something every spring, when they began mowing the roadsides and ditches and/or widening roads and cutting trees.
One year they brought us six wild turkey eggs. They found them in a ditch while mowing, some were broken, but six survived, whole. So we incubated them, hatched them and raised them. I use the word “we” loosely. Guess who was Momma Bird? Lol.
Raising those turkey chicks was a beautiful experience. First thing I discovered is that those turkey Toms (male turkeys) who grow up to have long beautiful beards and big boastful chests they like to thrust out while they “strut” around and show off, are born KNOWING what they are!
I discovered that three of my six turkey chicks were males on about the 5th or 6th day after hatching. They were prancing around their little cage, tiny fuzzy chests stuck out and little teeny wings arched, doing the typical turkey strut! Each wing had begun to grow one tiny feather, lol, but these little boys KNEW they were proud Turkey Toms and boasted of it before they were a week old!
No room here to tell you of all the wonderful escapades I had with these turkeys. Showing them where to roost each night - I’d go out about sunset and they would follow me to whatever tree I chose. I’d point each one of them to a tree limb and up they’d fly, settle down for the night in a high, safe spot. My only problem was teaching them NOT to jump down and follow me back to the house. I guess they wondered why Momma Bird didn’t roost with them, lol.
I took a walk around our property each evening and was followed by six wild turkeys and one 18 pound yellow, long-haired tomcat, Mikey. (See? That story about the Pied Piper leading all the mice could be true!) Mikey had to be carried about half way through the walk, but the turkeys went all the way.
As we did with all the wild animals we raised, eventually we found them all a foster home on some ranch where they could live and reproduce, happily ever after. All but one, which became such a pet I named her Sweet Pea and she stayed with us.
She was a great watch dog! She let us know every time someone drove up our long winding drive. And if they looked too aggressive when they got out of the car, they might be attacked by a wild turkey, lol.
When I sat on the patio, she would come up beside me and “preen” my arms! Sometimes she’d pull on the hair on my arms; sometimes she’d try hard to pick off a freckle or a mole, lol.
Whenever we were outside on our little hillside estate, she’d be right there with us. This continued after all the other turkeys had been moved to a large ranch where the rancher would look after them and was thrilled to have them restock his ranch.
One day my husband and I were working outside. He was up near the front gate, which was still about 1/5 mile from the road. I was on the patio. Sweet Pea had laid a clutch of eggs at the base of a small oak tree near the gate. Suddenly she was flapping her wings, making all sorts of turkey noises, and flying up and down in the same spot, making a real commotion. My husband was nearby and ran over to see what was wrong. He found a chicken snake trying to escape Sweet Pea’s wrath!
He killed the snake and then went to look at the eggs. One of the eggs was cracked because the snake tried to swallow it. He tried to take it from the nest so it wouldn’t rot, but Sweet Pea wouldn’t let him near it. So he walked off and went back to cutting brush.
Just a minute later, I witnessed the most incredible thing. Sweet Pea was flying to me, just about a foot off the ground, making a straight line from her nest to the patio where I was standing. She landed right in front of me an put her broken but still whole turkey egg on the ground at my feet. (To this day, I do NOT know how she carried that egg in her beak! I only know what I saw.)
With tears in my eyes, I reached out to pet her and she stood there for a while, murmuring sweet little turkey talk to me as I stroked her and we both looked at the fatally wounded egg. Then she flew back to her nest.
This was the most precious moment I ever experienced in all my wonderful times with animals. One mother to another.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
My entire family has worked in criminal justice forever. Hubby was a state officer. Youngest son is a Federal Agent. (See those capital letters? He earns them every day. Stressful job.) Oldest son was an undercover narc in deep cover for years. Now works as an investigator for the court. I worked in and headed the pre-trial release department for my county and worked for several judges along the way.
So, you’ve heard and read those “Crooks do dumb things” articles? Here’s a true one for you.
Man walks into a camera store in the mall on a busy day and manages to walk out with an expensive camera. The manager has his eye on him but is so busy he can’t get to him before he gets away. Calls the cops. Gives a description, but really, what are the chances?
A week later, the SAME man returns to the SAME store, with the SAME camera he stole, complaining that it doesn’t work. Store manager recognizes him, apologizes profusely, says he’ll fix it for free but it will take a few days. Thief obligingly gives manager his DRIVER’S LICENSE information so he can get a receipt. Manager promises to contact him soon! OH YEAH. The police picked him up about an hour later. Was that soon enough? LOL
Thursday, April 22, 2010
If you approach the River for the first time, fresh from “civilization”, it seems quiet, peaceful and empty. If you are still and observant, you find the truth is that the river is teaming with life, struggle, beauty, birth, death and transformation. It’s a microcosm of the universe and you can lose yourself in its intricacies.
The River itself is a living thing. It has its moods which range from dark and ugly to shining and beautiful. Somewhere in between is awesome, raging, and breathtaking. It can be all of these in one twenty-four hour period.
Here in Central Texas even a small river has some fascinating secrets; unique episodes of nature waiting to be discovered. Once, while walking along the river bank, I smelled an unusual musty odor. I followed my nose to a clump of weeds and gently parted them with my hand. There was the opening to a small den, not large enough to be called a cave, but deep enough to hide a mother bobcat and her kittens. Mom was gone to lunch, fortunately, and I resisted the impulse to scratch those kittens behind the ears.
I found a gator floating, looking like the log he was pretending to be.
Trees with branches bending down to kiss the water.
Fish lurking under the shelf of rock that projects from the bank.
Turtles that lined up on a fallen tree and splashed into the water one at a time as I approached.
Birds watching from the overhead branches.
Snakes skimming the surface.
Racoons feeling of the mud.
Deer bending low to drink.
Ducks flying low.
Turkey roosting nearby.
Owls nesting in the rocks.
But the River never gives up all its secrets. No matter how long you stay there, how many times you visit, the ever-changing world of the River has ever-lasting mysteries.
I once lived high on a hill overlooking a river. People would travel to the slough beneath my house in their boats. It would take them about an hour to get there from the closest boat ramp. They thought they were out in the wild, away from everyone. I could hear every word they said while sitting on my porch. A river is also a sound tunnel.
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