Didn’t autumn start a couple of weeks ago? Unfortunately, it doesn’t feel like it here, so why confine yourself to season-appropriate meals when the temperature outside continues to rise and fall like the ocean tide you lounged by not so long ago?
Here’s a fun, simple (and always healthy) recipe to wistfully kiss summer goodbye before bringing out the hot apple cider and cocoa.
It’s easy for distractions and daily responsibilities to dominate and overshadow the important issues in one’s life, but getting wrapped in too many layers is suffocating.
Please try to take a millisecond to just let yourself be, despite your packed, unavoidable schedule.
Someone might argue there are people whose lives depend on constant movement, engagement, and continuous activity without much rest. Effectively reacting to a situation or environmental circumstance also relies on maintaining a realistic grip and staying level-headed. A person’s adrenaline is in overdrive in moments of duress – stress and anxiety cause more harm than good if not kept in perspective and checked.
Remember to breathe and take that brief respite to stay calm and fight down the panic – great or small, no matter the source. It may just help collect yourself and focus enough to save your life one day, or prevent a needless paper cut.
P.S. WordPress iOS review on its way.
Hello, weary readers and fellow bloggers,
I woke up a few minutes ago from a non-nap. I call it a non-nap since the hours slept total nearly the amount usually gained throughout an average night – four or five.
Sleep-deprivation is so normalized in many peoples’ routines that it’s not considered an epidemic, but it’s definitely something my body tries to make up for on the weekends. Here are all the things I wanted to accomplish before I crashed earlier this evening:
Positive things I’ve done in the past hour to make up for “lost time”:
Posted in Culture and Society, Good Days, on Dreams and Sleep
Tagged Gavin Becker, Gift of Fear, to-do list
Tonight, my stomach feels contentedly full. It is a foreign feeling (not that I haven’t eaten a hefty amount of food in one sitting before), but the presence of caloric weight in my stomach feels healthy for a change.
I’ve watched plenty of excellent documentaries on eating disorders before; taken many classes meant to help me diagnose and treat clients. I’ve had friends who nearly died from it. But as much as I know, protecting myself from it is another story.
Eating disorders are predominantly seen in females within the United States, but males can suffer too. The people taking these statistics down aren’t sure whether it’s because potential clients go untreated out of embarrassment or social stigma, but like most reported numbers with these type of disorders, there is a wide margin of error. It is also difficult to write down accurate figures because American society integrates and encourages many traits of disordered eating that normalizes our thoughts and values. A person doesn’t have to be classified with anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, or a binge-eating disorder to have disordered eating. It is very likely that you know at least two people who are dealing with food/consumption-related issues, and you may not even be aware of it.
I do not have a diagnosable eating disorder, but I sure know that my eating can seem very disordered at times. Not to make excuses for it, but it’s pretty commonplace in America because our body image perceptions are so thoroughly screwed and skewed. Our culture glorifies being skinny, while a great many of us struggle with our weight. Food is readily stocked and available. Fast food is cheap. Diet pills are plentiful. Celebrities are waif-limbed and paraded in front of an audience that reclines instead of exercises. We keep our children indoors (where they have their gadgets and gizmos to distract them) to keep them safe, but they don’t move around. If a child is ‘hyperactive’ we would rather drug them than sign them up for a few extracurriculars and moderate their diets, get them behavioral therapy and devise stringent coping mechanisms to reach long-term success. Our governments limit recess and physical education classes in favor of opening up greater opportunities to study for state and national aptitude exams. In short, we’re sent a lot of mixed signals.
The first time I felt publicly ashamed of my body was in middle school, during one of the first gym classes of the year. The gym teachers were taking our heights and weights for their charts and had us line up. They’d call us up one at a time. After it was my turn, I sat in a circle with several other, more petite girls who rattled off their weights. Some groaned in frustration and others beamed that they felt “skinny and perfect.” I stayed quiet, my number being a bit higher than theirs, but of course, one girl noticed and asked, “So, how much do you weigh?” And when I muttered my reply quietly, she responded, “Oh. I’m sorry.” I was ashamed.
“Do you practice safe back safety techniques when lifting heavy objects?”
The ‘health and wellness’ test offered, free of charge, in my local community had me in fits. I nearly laughed out loud, or as the average Internet user (and my father) would say, “You lol’d!” My father would probably retort, “No, you rofl’d!”
No, actually, my father would probably glare at my reaction. Our phone conversation last night went like this:
Him: “Are you going to go to the doctor?”
Me: “For what?”
Him: “Your back – you know, the reason why you took off from work last week, though you’re barely in your mid-20′s and shouldn’t feel this way for another 40 years?”
Well, he had a point, but I argued, “Oh, you know my back problems are a genetic thing, a pain management case by now. So, I’m doing just that – managing the pain.” Thank you, ibuoprofen. I’ll find make time to exercise. Soon.
Him: “I’m serious. I will drive over there and drag you to one, girl. You’re still my daughter and you should still do what I say.” Well, ouch, Dad – pulling the Daddy Card on me.
Back to the test. The results came in and said I was a ‘moderate’ risk for causing further injury to my poor spine. I swear, it cracked and made all sorts of weird popping sounds at the recurring memories of me carrying heavy grocery bags, laundry baskets, and all manners of furniture – yes, I’m calling you out, disassembled but still heavy as hell elliptical machine – up and down numerous flights of stairs weekly. It spazzed out in an air drum solo fashion, picturing all of the heavy percussion equipment I’ve put together and carted around throughout the years. My back is a bona fide champ, but even champions don’t stay in their prime forever; they’re only remembered for feats in the peaks of their careers.
I will never have enough time to take care of myself physically. My schedule sees to that, normally. However, I’ve come to realize that I’m not getting any younger and my body, though sturdy and reliable in its way, needs some back-up (no pun intended) support to help see me through many more decades.
So, it’s time to accommodate my health and allot space for the exercise. There’s really no other way. And this time, I’m using pen, not pencil.
Admittedly, I am picky about the doctors I visit, because my medical history is a bit bulky and unusual for my age. I need to feel rapport when I report symptoms because it takes a lot to complain or even get a check-up. Regardless of my experience below, doctors are outstanding human beings – they work hard, long hours, the nature of their profession leaves them at risk for unfair lawsuits or restrictions from practicing, and they spent many years in school to get their degrees, licensing, and credentials. In most instances, doctors know more than the general public, than the average patient, but they are not invincible to mistakes or a flawless source of knowledge – we forget that medical professionals are human and have emotions, expectations, and frustrations like any other person. Their understanding of our bodies is based on test results, the culmination of medical knowledge and research thus far. Their line of work has a greater burden of responsibility because it entails the well-being and mortality of others, and ultimately, those things are out of their hands too.
“Frankly, you have not been here in a few years – usually, patients experiencing such symptoms come here sooner. Surely, it’s not that bad, then.”
I sat for a moment, wide-eyed and unsure how to continue. My doctor heard the catch in my breathing, and waited for me to respond. Anger bridled beneath my calm exterior, but also self-doubt. See, you are a wimp for even coming here, I admonished myself. This will be a waste of time – you shouldn’t have to convince her that you’re not feeling well, corrected my nagging inner voice back.
I kicked my dangling legs self-consciously against the examination table, talking more to the floor than making eye contact.
My voice wavered, though my mind screamed as I said shakily, yet calm, ”I’ve been busy working on my degree, temporarily living in another state, and settling into a job that typically has me there for well over 50 hours a week…I’ve let some things go that should be attended to more often.”
“Well, people who usually have symptoms experience x, y, and z. One of your symptoms is not even on the list.”
I thought, Truly, I’ve been experiencing these symptoms for the past several years. I’m not someone who likes to complain because I feel like I’m always falling apart physically, no matter what I do. To be honest, I would rather not be here – if you tell me I don’t have what I think I do, I’ll feel crazy. If it turns out that I do, I’ll feel triumphant, yet morose. And just because one complaint falls short of the usual symptoms does not mean it doesn’t exist.
Instead, I lamely, almost defensively said, “But I have experienced those symptoms and the only reason I suggest it is because my primary care doctor said it would be a good thing to get checked out.” Internally, I added, Are you trying to screen me out as a hypochondriac, or do you not believe in unconditional positive regard of your patients in the same way that I treat my clients?
She looked at my history and back at me speculatively for a moment before responding, “We will get you checked out anyway, to ease your mind.”
I fully support the medical profession – I believe that doctors truly follow the ethics of non-maleficence in their industry to “do no harm.” However, I also strongly believe in being aware of my homeostatic physical state, of getting a second opinion if my health is on the line. For years, my stubbornness only brought on more severe injuries and diagnoses. Now, I remain stubborn, but acutely aware of my body.
Today’s phone call from the doctor’s secretary confirmed that in most cases, if my body hurts, it does so for a reason worth investigating, rather than ignoring: “Please schedule a CAT scan, the radiology center believes there is something there, but the ultrasound was a bit blurry. They would like you to get it examined shortly.”
Lately, I have been simultaneously enthralled and disgusted by Man vs. Food with Adam Richman. In particular, it has led me to question why I subscribed to cable television recently. Until two weeks ago, it was steadfastly easy to ignore the distracting buzz of reality tv shows, rabid advertising, and what I perceived to be a degradation of American innovation and purpose. Now, don’t get me wrong, the show is entertaining. Yet, it feeds into the gluttonous image of our society, showcasing the most outrageous food eating contests in the nation, and providing insight into the gross portions presented to restaurant patrons in a bid to gain popularity and novel fame.
Man vs. Food features the idea of an average man (albeit one who has a graduate degree in drama from a top-notch institution of higher learning aka Yale) who displays his gourmand passions through tackling eating competitions in nationwide eateries and food establishments. Unlike competitive eating, Adam is not sized against the appetites of fellow competitors with a habit to consume a large amount, and down it fast; he competes solely against the clock and rules of the restaurant he visits. So, while one can admire the man’s ability to put away food, and salivate over some of the spreads (while slightly gagging from the thought of eating that much), one also has to question what makes the public so interested, anyway. As a country, we have poor eating habits and even worse body images (see: The Biggest Loser and note the double meaning of that title – the one who can lose the most weight, but also one who is perceived by others as being a loser, worthless of our respect based on their body mass and BMI). Our obsession with being thin and beautiful leads us down paths of eating disorders, temporary diets, depression, bariatric surgery, and a variety of ailments, psychological and physical, in between. There are some who can settle into a routine, a healthy eating mindset and exercise regimen, but there is an equal population, if not greater, who want fast results with as little work as possible – immediate gratification.
Mankind has long been plagued by the concept of gluttony. One of the seven deadly sins, being gluttonous was not necessarily viewed as being bad for the body, but was primarily harmful for one’s soul. For instance, Ruben painted voluptuous women and having a plump figure was taken to be healthy in a multitude of cultures, ensuring survival during famine and food shortages. Dante spoke of gluttons in his Inferno, placing them in the Sixth Canto. In this circle, Dante writes of gluttons being mercilessly rained upon, while Cerberus, a monster, grabs of the earth, throwing handfuls down their ravenous mouths. In life, these sinners partook of food in excess, and in death, they suffer from being eternally fed dirt, rocks, etc. and in miserable conditions. It is incredible that there are still millions, if not billions, of people starving while developed countries, lands of plenty, struggle with their citizens eating too much. It is, perhaps, even more incredible to think that such countries, where the government may pay subsidies to farmers to halt crop planting and harvesting, still have those within their physical boundaries who go without.
Still, we are fascinated by food – our instincts drive us to obsess with it, really. We devote many hours to the purchasing, preparation of, and consumption of food. We watch many hours of cooking shows, swapping recipes, and gathering for events with the assumption that feasting and satisfaction with life walk together. I hope that Man vs. Food continues on – it certainly holds entertainment value for me, but I hope that the Travel Channel recognizes its responsibility then to also promote proper eating habits in its viewers. Many websites mention that Adam Richman exercises and limits his food intake off-camera, yet no attention is given to the balance that he practices in his daily life to host a show founded on gluttony. In this century, it is almost criminal to not address the issue.
Regardless, enjoy your barbecues during this July 4th weekend. Be safe and merry, but pause and consult your stomach before eating that extra hot dog or burger with all the fixings.
Posted in Culture and Society, Health
Tagged Adam Richman, gluttony, Man vs. Food, reality tv
Be careful while driving out there. Here are some helpful tips for people who may not be familiar with wintry road conditions, as taken from howtodothings.com:
Weather.com also posted some specific tips for drivers, including how to winterize your car. Browse at your leisure, so you don’t end up posted on YouTube and ridiculed, like Georgia:
Posted in Health, Humor, Practical Advice
Tagged Nor'easter 2010, safe driving in snow, snow, snow storm nicknames, snowicane
Everything looked darker than usual after work. My eyes felt drawn, tired. Stubbornly, I bought a few more lamps, some brighter bulbs.
It did not matter that I spend roughly seven hours on the computer for work each weekday, if not more. I did not take into account the hours spent afterward either, to complete homework and unwind – not just computer screens either, but the television occasionally as well.
Well, the tiredness increased to burning. As I near closer to the completion of my graduate degree, the muscles beneath said eyes twitch every once in awhile. The stress is externalized through this single matter. Sleep is not affected. Emotionally, I seem intact, whole.
Visiting the optometrist was (cue bad pun) eye opening. As the eye examination continued, I felt as though I were going blind. Every minute weakness or blurry letter made me feel more paranoid. My anticipation and anxiety peaked when the kind doctor said, “We’ll go over results soon.”
Relief and astonishment followed as he said, “Your long distance vision is near perfect, especially in your left eye. Your right eye is a bit nearsighted, but not so much as to cause need for glasses on a regular, everyday basis. Let’s go out front and you can pick out frames for computer use only. It will help alleviate the strain on your eyes.”
So, I went with the Fossil Lindsy eyeglasses in satin black. This post’s relation to the Lenten season tomorrow.
How do you do?
Swine flu madness surrounds me – it’s ridiculous. Hand sanitizers have magically turned up in the strangest places. Dutiful employees enter building lobbies, open up the antibacterial devices to check for fullness, make obscure marks on their brilliantly white clipboards, and turn around, disappearing in the crowds outside. So, we’re a society building an army of highly resistant bacteria. Let’s kill off the weakest ones, the good guys even, and leave only the biggest and baddest. It’s simple Darwinism. Let’s cause a panic and entitle this H1N1 strain as a pandemic. Let’s set up quarantines and close down schools, public offices…well, you get the picture…isn’t this craze just a tad overboard? Overplayed? Overstated?
The media hype makes it particularly understandable, not remotely strange, that a client flinched as she told me her identifying pin number, only to have me sneeze. She even jumped back a little (hey now – I covered my face!) and warily eyed me as I massaged a liberal amount of Purell into my skin. Her worry lines did not cease afterward, when I handed her a form to fill out. That was perhaps the fourth sign. The first sign would be when one of my employees called out ill for a few days. Then, a co-worker started coughing. A second one came to work sick, and abruptly stayed home the following day. My boyfriend’s younger sister complained of pains, fever, and chills – returning to her hometown rather than infect her dormitory building.
The fifth sign was when Boyfriend himself began to cough and break out into cold sweats. He began to drink tea. And abashedly burp in my presence – something he does not do, and does not promote in the company of others, strangers and loved ones alike. He says his whole body hurts and feels sore. He was grumpy all day, allowing little irritations to pile up into a festering groan of sickness and annoyance at setting foot out into the world beyond his bedside.
On Saturday, I was putting on a sweatshirt when all of a sudden my right hand, wrist, arm, shoulder blade started aching. I stretched it out. The feeling returned a few hours later. My throat began to tickle and burn. This morning, my body hurt. My eyes watered. I was equally sluggish to Boyfriend – our bodies moving around like unwilling slugs in a mild drought, seeking relief from a freaking puddle, somewhere, anywhere, before some kid decided to test out what their big sibling told them about mixing slugs and table salt.
Today continued along that route – Who made the sun so bright? Someone pull down the shades. It’s so hot in here. No, it’s so cold. Don’t sit by me – I’m sick. Well, who cares? I’m getting there, too. Even washing dishes hurts. Even drying them is torture. Having hands at a time like this is just inconvenient – fingers wiggle out of habit, out of normal use, and pain receptors flare up. Having arthritis must suck.
No fever. Just chills. No vomiting. Just aches. Not really coughing. Eyes tearing like mad. Going to ward this thing off with the following:
honey roasted peanuts. cranberry supplement. multivitamin for women. calcium supplement. acetaminophen.
Not swine flu. Just The Flu, saying hello like a nosy guy friend crushing on my sister and me pushing him out of the door, with equal charm and promises to meet up the next time I’m in town. Away from her.
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