I chose--surprise!--a cup of English tea in the morning, with milk and sweetener, followed by a small bowl of fruit and cereal: a half banana, a quarter chopped persimmon, a teaspoon of dried cranberries with a handful of oat circles and milk. A drizzle of half-and-half. (That darned small carton is now almost half empty! One of these days, I'll get it finished.)
Exercise: a whole hour at the gym, a half hour on the elliptical walker and a half hour with weights. Instead of returning home for breakfast, we bought ourselves a cup of coffee (regular, with milk and sweetener) at the Heidelberg Cafe and walked next door to the Sapphire gourmet shop, where Ellie told me they make good breakfast sandwiches. Indeed they do. I had a "Traditional"--English muffin with scrambled eggs, ham and cheese, hold the cheese--and we ate out on the patio in warm sunshine, with a Pacific Ocean view. Ah, eat your heart out, you freezing mid-westerners!
We walked down to the same intersection of Pacific Coast Highway for dinner out at K'Ya, our current favorite restaurant. We like it especially because they have a good menu of "small plates" to choose from--plenty of food at much less cost. I had a "small" Romaine lettuce head salad with a blue cheese dressing and cranberries, very tasty; and scallops, two of them, large and nicely cooked with a small portion of mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables. Accompanied by a pleasant glass of Fume Blanc.
Ah, yes, and on the way home we stumbled on a chocolatier's shop, tucked away in a previously-unvisited corner near that same Sapphire gourmet shop. With a tempting array of tiny samples. We tasted everything and, judging it good, came home with a couple of choice items, and enjoyed a quarter of each for dessert. My choice, remember?
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday
A cup of tea, a half hour on the elliptical walker at the gym. A bowl of porridge with the usual fixings: dried cranberries, dried blueberries, a sprinkle of brown sugar and a splash of half-and-half. For lunch, a dollop of lo-fat cottage cheese, four crackers with cheese, an apple. For dinner, that left-over chop (and I left half of that for another time) one boiled potato (with a little butter, salt and pepper) and a spoonful of peas. And a glass of red wine. For dessert... just a cup of tea. Oh, and a chocolate cookie. (Nearly forgot.) Until tomorrow, then...
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday
A Monday morning cup of tea, 7AM. Monday morning at the gym with Knute. A half hour on the elliptical walker and an hour of weights. A good workout.
I ventured onto the bathroom scale again today. I have shed five and a half pounds in the two weeks since I started "A Diet of Choice." I understand that to be the easy part. The hard part comes when I get down to my previous hight weight, and I have a couple more to go before I get there.
Breakfast out with Nigel, a new friend from our sitting group, a Brit, over here on a two-month vacation. We went to the Heidelberg Cafe, where I could have chosen an egg white omelet with an English muffin. Instead I chose a bagel with cream cheese and lox, with two cups of coffee. Not the best way to lose those extra couple of pounds, but a short cut, it seems, to severe indigestion. Two hours later, I was suffering.
We had been planning on the leftovers from Saturday for dinner--that pork chop I had set aside. Given the intestinal discomfort, though, Ellie suggested another vegetable soup and I readily agreed. We chopped over the State of the Union address--enough to add to the indigestion. But the soup, when it was ready, was good. I did indulge, before, in maybe four crackers and cheese and a half glass of sherry--to settle the stomach. And, during, in a glass of red wine. And, after, in a small bowl of Very Cherry soy cream.
Ah, well. Today, as they say, is another day. And I have to think about that Bush speech, for my Huffington Post blog...
I ventured onto the bathroom scale again today. I have shed five and a half pounds in the two weeks since I started "A Diet of Choice." I understand that to be the easy part. The hard part comes when I get down to my previous hight weight, and I have a couple more to go before I get there.
Breakfast out with Nigel, a new friend from our sitting group, a Brit, over here on a two-month vacation. We went to the Heidelberg Cafe, where I could have chosen an egg white omelet with an English muffin. Instead I chose a bagel with cream cheese and lox, with two cups of coffee. Not the best way to lose those extra couple of pounds, but a short cut, it seems, to severe indigestion. Two hours later, I was suffering.
We had been planning on the leftovers from Saturday for dinner--that pork chop I had set aside. Given the intestinal discomfort, though, Ellie suggested another vegetable soup and I readily agreed. We chopped over the State of the Union address--enough to add to the indigestion. But the soup, when it was ready, was good. I did indulge, before, in maybe four crackers and cheese and a half glass of sherry--to settle the stomach. And, during, in a glass of red wine. And, after, in a small bowl of Very Cherry soy cream.
Ah, well. Today, as they say, is another day. And I have to think about that Bush speech, for my Huffington Post blog...
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sunday
So I missed a day. Is that so terrible? Saturday remains a bit of a blur, insofar as what I ate and drank. Except that we did go out to dinner with friends that evening, to Cafe Zoolu, down the hill from here. Ellie and I had decided in advance that we would split a dish, but that decision went the way of so many good intentions, and I ended up with two enormous pork chops and a huge dollop of mashed potatoes--with a mix of green and white string beans and a good portion of chunky apple sauce on the side. I did set aside one of the pork chops before I started, and left some of the mashed potato to take home. But I shared a whole bottle of red wine with my friend, Brian, while Ellie managed to be more judicious, with a single glass of white.
Well, there, that's the confession. Now for Sunday.
We did not have our regular cup of morning tea, first thing. The fact is, we had run out of milk, and I'm not especially keen on English tea without it. It was a lovely morning, though--a sunny break between our current series of rainstorms--so we decided to walk down to the market with George the dog before the anticipated rain set in again for the day. And once on the road, could not resist the opportunity to head down to the beach, much to George's delight. There's nothing better in his mind than a romp on the beach with his ball.
The surf was wild, the sand was wet and firm, the sun continued to shine... A perfect Sunday morning.
Okay, the "diet of choice."
We made that cup of tea on our return, but agreed to be patient a while longer for breakfast--still well ballasted with last night's dinner. Then a friend stopped by, and we chatted for another hour.
A late breakfast, then. An onion bagel from the freezer. Cut in thirds, and buttered. My English scrambled eggs, with milk and a dab of melted butter in the mix. Marmalade. Coffee (two cups, with milk.) And a small bowl of fruit salad.
No lunch. But mid-afternoon, at tea time, a cup of chai with milk AND two small cookies,
Before dinner, a small glass of sherry. It's Sunday, no? And for a serving of salmon, baked with onion and lemon slices, a baked potato, and some greens. And a glass of white wine. And afterwards, a scoop of soy cream. It's Sunday, no?
Well, there, that's the confession. Now for Sunday.
We did not have our regular cup of morning tea, first thing. The fact is, we had run out of milk, and I'm not especially keen on English tea without it. It was a lovely morning, though--a sunny break between our current series of rainstorms--so we decided to walk down to the market with George the dog before the anticipated rain set in again for the day. And once on the road, could not resist the opportunity to head down to the beach, much to George's delight. There's nothing better in his mind than a romp on the beach with his ball.
The surf was wild, the sand was wet and firm, the sun continued to shine... A perfect Sunday morning.
Okay, the "diet of choice."
We made that cup of tea on our return, but agreed to be patient a while longer for breakfast--still well ballasted with last night's dinner. Then a friend stopped by, and we chatted for another hour.
A late breakfast, then. An onion bagel from the freezer. Cut in thirds, and buttered. My English scrambled eggs, with milk and a dab of melted butter in the mix. Marmalade. Coffee (two cups, with milk.) And a small bowl of fruit salad.
No lunch. But mid-afternoon, at tea time, a cup of chai with milk AND two small cookies,
Before dinner, a small glass of sherry. It's Sunday, no? And for a serving of salmon, baked with onion and lemon slices, a baked potato, and some greens. And a glass of white wine. And afterwards, a scoop of soy cream. It's Sunday, no?
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Friday
Morning tea. Misty, cold, and raining--a porridge day. I made some, with the usual condiments: raisins, dried cranberries, a sprinkle of brown sugar. Out at noon. A day at the Santa Monica art fairs. At the first, a cup of coffee and, to stave of the growing pangs, a chocolate chip cookie. At the second, a shared toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Home in time for dinner. We finished the latest installment of Ellie's homemade soup, with chopped up Polish sausage, a couple of crackers and cheese. And a glass of white wine. Not the most inspiring of days, from the culinary point of view. But not a disaster, either.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
The Clean Plate
I promised yesterday that I would find an opportunity to say more about that compulsion to clean the plate, and now seems as good a time as any. I find myself engaged in a reactive pattern that has been with me since childhood and which continues to influence my behavior even today.
The pattern originated, as I see it, in my very earliest days. I was born a couple of years before World War II, so my earliest eating memories date from the war years--a time at which it was worse than sinful to waste food. Food was scarce. Supplies were strictly rationed. We were fortunate in a sense: we lived in a big old Victorian rectory (my father was a country priest, Church of England) and had many people living in the house, including billetees from the military and from the hush-hush facility at nearby Bletchley Park. (We discovered only long after the war that this was where they decoded intercepted German messages on the Enigma machine.) My mother, then--an excellent cook and organizer--would collect all the ration books, pool resources, and put them together with the fruit and vegetables we could grow in our big garden to feed us all in grand style.
My sister and I were constantly made aware, though, as children, that others were less fortunate than we were. Food left on the plate would be met with remonstrances and exhortations to remember the starving children in Europe--and there were, of course, literally many starving children in Europe at the time. It was considered ungracious at best to fail to finish whatever we were served. "Clean your plate" was the mantra--along with that other familiar adage, "Waste not, want not."
That's how it was. I can't stand "waste" of any kind today--and I know I have an overly broad definition of the word. It's a cause of continuing anguish in a world where obsolescence is built in to virtually everything you buy, from clothes to computers, from toys to telephones... So much of what we use in our daily lives is made to be discarded.
Which explains, I hope, why I can't bear to leave my plate uncleaned. The answer, of course, is to put less on it in the first place!
Thursday
Tea in the morning, and a good walk around the hill. Breakfast with cereal and cut-up fruit--a half banana, a quarter pear and a slice of persimmon, with coffee. For lunch, a small lox sandwich with cream cheese and a couple of crackers woth a spread of delicious creamy blue cheese (I can't stand that Frenchified spelling, bleu cheese, can you?) that Ellie had found at the market. Not Cambazola, which I like, but something different, something I'd never tried before... And an apple.
Chai tea at 5PM with a quarter of a large chocolate chip cookie that Ellie had bought yesterday at Nordstroms, and which I resisted then.
A friend was over for a simple dinner: leftover vegetable soup with sauteed Polish sausage pieces, green salad, a couple more crackers and cheese. I drank TWO glasses of white wine....
The pattern originated, as I see it, in my very earliest days. I was born a couple of years before World War II, so my earliest eating memories date from the war years--a time at which it was worse than sinful to waste food. Food was scarce. Supplies were strictly rationed. We were fortunate in a sense: we lived in a big old Victorian rectory (my father was a country priest, Church of England) and had many people living in the house, including billetees from the military and from the hush-hush facility at nearby Bletchley Park. (We discovered only long after the war that this was where they decoded intercepted German messages on the Enigma machine.) My mother, then--an excellent cook and organizer--would collect all the ration books, pool resources, and put them together with the fruit and vegetables we could grow in our big garden to feed us all in grand style.
My sister and I were constantly made aware, though, as children, that others were less fortunate than we were. Food left on the plate would be met with remonstrances and exhortations to remember the starving children in Europe--and there were, of course, literally many starving children in Europe at the time. It was considered ungracious at best to fail to finish whatever we were served. "Clean your plate" was the mantra--along with that other familiar adage, "Waste not, want not."
That's how it was. I can't stand "waste" of any kind today--and I know I have an overly broad definition of the word. It's a cause of continuing anguish in a world where obsolescence is built in to virtually everything you buy, from clothes to computers, from toys to telephones... So much of what we use in our daily lives is made to be discarded.
Which explains, I hope, why I can't bear to leave my plate uncleaned. The answer, of course, is to put less on it in the first place!
Thursday
Tea in the morning, and a good walk around the hill. Breakfast with cereal and cut-up fruit--a half banana, a quarter pear and a slice of persimmon, with coffee. For lunch, a small lox sandwich with cream cheese and a couple of crackers woth a spread of delicious creamy blue cheese (I can't stand that Frenchified spelling, bleu cheese, can you?) that Ellie had found at the market. Not Cambazola, which I like, but something different, something I'd never tried before... And an apple.
Chai tea at 5PM with a quarter of a large chocolate chip cookie that Ellie had bought yesterday at Nordstroms, and which I resisted then.
A friend was over for a simple dinner: leftover vegetable soup with sauteed Polish sausage pieces, green salad, a couple more crackers and cheese. I drank TWO glasses of white wine....
Intentions: A Review
I thought it might be useful today to remind myself of my avowed intentions, first posted a week or so ago, rate my perfomance, and maybe add another one or two.
• To eat a maximum of one slice of bread, or the equivalent, per day
• To drink a maximum of one glass of wine
• To avoid sweets
• To avoid pre-dinner and between-meals snacks
• To eat early in the evening
• To minimize my use of milk, butter and cheese
• To take small portions
• To leave food on my plate when I’m no longer hungry
• To maintain my regular exercise program
• To avoid reading while eating
Bread, then. I've done pretty well on this front, though I have fallen short of the goal on a couple of occasions. Same with the glass of wine: I think I only exceeded that mark on one occasion during the week. I have, I confess, indulged in some pre-dinner snacks--mostly a few lightly salted nuts. The jar sits in front of me while I wach the news. Or humus with small pita slices or yam sticks. Diary: not so good. Small portions: improvement needed. Leaving food: fail. I'm addicted to finishing my plate. I attribute this habit to growing up in England during World War II, plus my family's "waste not, want not" philosophy. More of this one day. Exercise: good. Avoiding reasding: Pretty darn good, too.
My son, in England, wisely suggested this addition:
* Eat slowly. Put down the knife and fork or spoon between each bite.
Yesterday, Wednesday
I don't know how many different ways I can say this: morning tea at 7AM. Exercise: twenty minutes of light weight work on the bench: at home, our maximum is 15lbs., better than nothing, but not quite heavy enough for me. Then a brisk walk around the hill with George.
For breakfast, a couple of poached eggs on a toasted English muffin. Butter, no marmalade. And a cup of coffee.
A very late lunch at Nordstroms--too late for me, but I'd made a date with Ellie to go shopping for clothes: a Chinese chicken salad. I ate the whole thing. And a cup of chai. And mid-afternoon, as a break from the shopping exertions, a small cup of coffee and---gasp--a chocolate biscotto at Starbucks.
Pre-dinner no-no: a half dozen nuts AND three of four pita pieces with humus. And for dinner, a full plate of leftover Cornish game hen (one half--see above somewhere) with couscous, Swiss chard, and green salad. And a glass of white wine.
After dinner--nothing!
• To eat a maximum of one slice of bread, or the equivalent, per day
• To drink a maximum of one glass of wine
• To avoid sweets
• To avoid pre-dinner and between-meals snacks
• To eat early in the evening
• To minimize my use of milk, butter and cheese
• To take small portions
• To leave food on my plate when I’m no longer hungry
• To maintain my regular exercise program
• To avoid reading while eating
Bread, then. I've done pretty well on this front, though I have fallen short of the goal on a couple of occasions. Same with the glass of wine: I think I only exceeded that mark on one occasion during the week. I have, I confess, indulged in some pre-dinner snacks--mostly a few lightly salted nuts. The jar sits in front of me while I wach the news. Or humus with small pita slices or yam sticks. Diary: not so good. Small portions: improvement needed. Leaving food: fail. I'm addicted to finishing my plate. I attribute this habit to growing up in England during World War II, plus my family's "waste not, want not" philosophy. More of this one day. Exercise: good. Avoiding reasding: Pretty darn good, too.
My son, in England, wisely suggested this addition:
* Eat slowly. Put down the knife and fork or spoon between each bite.
Yesterday, Wednesday
I don't know how many different ways I can say this: morning tea at 7AM. Exercise: twenty minutes of light weight work on the bench: at home, our maximum is 15lbs., better than nothing, but not quite heavy enough for me. Then a brisk walk around the hill with George.
For breakfast, a couple of poached eggs on a toasted English muffin. Butter, no marmalade. And a cup of coffee.
A very late lunch at Nordstroms--too late for me, but I'd made a date with Ellie to go shopping for clothes: a Chinese chicken salad. I ate the whole thing. And a cup of chai. And mid-afternoon, as a break from the shopping exertions, a small cup of coffee and---gasp--a chocolate biscotto at Starbucks.
Pre-dinner no-no: a half dozen nuts AND three of four pita pieces with humus. And for dinner, a full plate of leftover Cornish game hen (one half--see above somewhere) with couscous, Swiss chard, and green salad. And a glass of white wine.
After dinner--nothing!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Tuesday
I nearly forgot this entry today! So much for consciousness! Anyway...
Yesterday, Tuesday, morning tea; porridge for breakfast, with the usuals, and a cup of coffee; a small ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, and an apple; yam sticks (I found them in the crisper and thought they were carrot sticks!) with humus for an appetizer--I was hungry by 6PM; and dinner with our daughter, Sarah, just returned from her trip: Ellie's homemade soup with a few cut-up slices of Polish sausage and a small slice of leftover spinach pie with a single glass of white wine.
Oh, and I nearly forgot to add: a square of dark chocolate with mint teat for dessert. There. Not too exciting, I'm afraid. But sufficient unto the day...
Yesterday, Tuesday, morning tea; porridge for breakfast, with the usuals, and a cup of coffee; a small ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, and an apple; yam sticks (I found them in the crisper and thought they were carrot sticks!) with humus for an appetizer--I was hungry by 6PM; and dinner with our daughter, Sarah, just returned from her trip: Ellie's homemade soup with a few cut-up slices of Polish sausage and a small slice of leftover spinach pie with a single glass of white wine.
Oh, and I nearly forgot to add: a square of dark chocolate with mint teat for dessert. There. Not too exciting, I'm afraid. But sufficient unto the day...
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Monday
Ah, yes, the morning cuppa. 7AM. And a small bowl of cereal at around 7:30 in anticipation of my date at the gym at 9:30. (My son told me once to be sure to have some food a couple of hours before working out.) A handful of those oat round things, with a half a banana, a few grapes, my favorite dried cranberries and a dollop of yoghurt, with milk. Very good.
An hour and a half at the gym--a half hour on the elliptical walker and an hour's workout with my mentor, Knute. He suggests some protean after working out, so I toasted a third of a bagel, left over from Sunday brunch, spread it with cream cheese, and topped it with two slices of lox and a squeeze of lemon. Then we stopped for a cup of coffee (regular, medium size) to drink on the way back to Los Angeles. Milk and sweetener.
A late lunch before the afternoon's work. I chose a half pita with mayonnaise spread and a slice each of ham and cheese. And an apple.
Ellie made another vegetable soup for dinner--this time with white beans. Delectable. One bowl, plus a half matzoh with a little Boursin goat's cheese and a single glass of white wine. Very satisfying.
No dessert. Just the Democratic debate. Well, the Democratic bicker.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Reporting...
... a loss. I stepped on the scale this morning, one week after the decision to begin this record of my consciousness diet last Monday. Pleased to report that I am 2 1/2 pounds lighter than this time last week, despite a somewhat more... permissive day yesterday.
Sunday started with--guess what?--a cup of tea and the New York Times "Week in Review" in bed. Sunday is the day Ellie and I go to sit with our meditation group whenever possible: we sit for an hour, starting at 10AM, and spend the following hour, from 11 to noon, in discussion about our practice. In preparation, I start out with a small bowl of cereal and fruit--to which I added a teaspoon of yoghurt, yesterday, along with a scatter of dried cranberries and a splash of half-and-half (still there!)
We returned from our sitting group around half past noon, and I chose our customary Sunday brunch: an onion bagel, English scrambled eggs (see earlier entry), four small slices of bacon, AND marmalade! for the first time this whole week. And a cup of coffee with sweetener, a drop of milk, and a splash of the usual... It will soon enough be gone, but for the moment it seems like a bottomless small carton.
At Ellie's urging, and against the dictates of my own habitual pleasure, I passed on my Sunday afternoon cigar out on the balcony, and watched the Giants beat the Packers on their way to the Super Bowl instead, to compensate for the sacrifice. We worked on a new dinner recipe together as the game progressed: two Cornish game hens--we shared just one--roasted with two different kinds of olive, paper-thin Meyer lemon slices slipped beneath the skin, garlic, and thinly sliced fennel. Served, around 7PM, with couscous laced with tiny currants and five (count 'em!) Brussels sprouts. A delicious dish, helped down with a pre-dinner glass of Chateau St. Jean chardonnay AND a during dinner glass of the same. FOLLOWED, after dinner, by a (large-ish) scoop of Trader Joe's Very Cherry Chip soy cream. Ouch!
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Saturday
A beautiful morning, down at the beach. A good cup of tea (with milk and sweetener) to start the day, and a lazy morning waiting for the plumber to arrive and fix a tiny leak in the fireplace gas lighter (we had noticed the smell after leaving the cottage closed for a week.
Meantime, around 9, I cooked up a bowl of porridge for each of us, with the usual addition of some raisins and dried cranberries, a sprinkling of brown sugar and a splash of half-and-half (it's still there, half empty now, in the refrigerator.
A not-so-good choice at lunch time. We were passing through Corona del Mar and stopped at the Zinc Cafe, where I ordered a quesadilla, served with a small bowl of vegetarian chili and a dollop of guacamole. A surfeit of beans, since both the quesadilla and the chili were made with a base of beans. A cup of coffee--with milk and sweetener. And I chose to watch Ellie eat her biscotto rather than indulge in one myself.
A late-ish dinner over "No Country For Old Men"--a borrowed Academy DVD. (We were breaking a copyright law? Offending the Writers' Union?) A bowl of homemade soup, with that inevitable splash of half-and-half (I'll have finished it soon, then I won't have to bore you with it any more) and a handful of pita chips with a spread of Boursin goat's cheese with fines herbes.
And I chose, again, to avoid the sweet stuff for dessert.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Friday
Cup of tea, 7AM, milk and sweetener. A creature of habit.
Our morning walk took us around the hill on which we live--I guess a good mile, perhaps a mile and a half, quite strenuous for the first half, walking up to the top of the hill, then a brisk pace from there back home. Breakfast at nine-ish, by myself. Ellie had a medical appointment, and ate later. I toasted an English muffin (lo-fat!) and scrambled three eggs--two for me, one for the two dogs to share, more or less--in a skillet. That's unusual for me. I usually do my scrambled eggs English-style, in a saucepan. Still tasted good, though. And I chose NOT to read the NY Times as I ate, even though alone, so the temptation was great.
Before leaving for our weekend cottage, I made us each a half-tortilla sandwich, mine with two slices of packaged Havarti cheese (l0-fat!) and a few rounds of Amana summer sausage (fat!) to munch on in the car on the way south. And we stopped for a medium-sized (grande? I always forget) cup of Starbucks coffee to go with. AND... Ellie had packed some chips in our shared brown bag. I ate a handful. A small handful.
We had to wait for dinner, expecting the Geek Squad to advise us on a TV-DVD-stereo problem we've been having in the cottage; and then were invited down to our neighbors, the Joneses, for a glass of wine. Mary poured me a very LARGE glass of Pinot Noir. I did not say no. But it got its revenge on me by triggering an allergy attack, as some red wines do. I snuffled all the way home.
Dinner at last--late for us, over Real Time with Bill Maher. A Trader Joe's frozen spinach pie. We don't often do this, but sometimes, when we're tired and lack the energy and inspiration and there's nothing else in the refrigerator, well... And it was really quite good. I chose to indulge in a second, half slice. And Ellie made a green salad. AND I chose to add insult to injury with a second (small!) glass of wine, this time a Sauvignon Blanc, already opened. And besides, it was Friday.
I chose to pass on dessert.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Thursday
You know by now that it's a cup of tea at 7AM. No exception this morning. A good, long walk around Silver Lake before breakfast at nine.
For breakfast on a brisk morning, I chose porridge, made with just a dash of milk added to the water, and served with raisins, dried cranberries, and a splash of half-and-half. And a cup of coffee with hot milk.
An early lunch, at noon. I toasted an English muffin (one piece equivalent, I thought) and made a sandwich with a few slices of Amana summer sausage. And ate an apple--a Pink Lady, I think--as I drove downtown to the John Edwards rally.
Afternoon tea at 3:30 PM, with two cookies. Hmmmm...
I left at 6:00 to do a reading from The Bush Diaries and other writings for the Glendale Democratic Club, then returned for a small bowl of soup and an assortment of leftover salads for dinner.
Then, afterwards, a cup of tea with another two (very small, tiny, really!) chocolate chip cookies.
I think that's it.
For breakfast on a brisk morning, I chose porridge, made with just a dash of milk added to the water, and served with raisins, dried cranberries, and a splash of half-and-half. And a cup of coffee with hot milk.
An early lunch, at noon. I toasted an English muffin (one piece equivalent, I thought) and made a sandwich with a few slices of Amana summer sausage. And ate an apple--a Pink Lady, I think--as I drove downtown to the John Edwards rally.
Afternoon tea at 3:30 PM, with two cookies. Hmmmm...
I left at 6:00 to do a reading from The Bush Diaries and other writings for the Glendale Democratic Club, then returned for a small bowl of soup and an assortment of leftover salads for dinner.
Then, afterwards, a cup of tea with another two (very small, tiny, really!) chocolate chip cookies.
I think that's it.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wednesday
Up at 5:30, meditation until 6:15; then blogs—including this one. While I’m thinking of it, guiltily, I should mention that I omitted an item in yesterday’s report on Tuesday night: with the half glass of sherry, I did take a “lightly salted” Brazil nut. Just the one. I felt virtuous in having chosen to leave the rest of the temptations in the jar.
7:00 AM. The usual English tea with a drop of milk and sweetener. A good walk around the hill with dogs, and breakfast at 9:00 AM. Two boiled eggs, two small pieces of toast (I figured this was my one piece “equivalent”) with butter. A large mug of coffee (instant) with milk and a dash of half-and-half—since it’s there, unusually, in the refrigerator. Ellie bought it for her soup, and used only a very small amount. Can’t berar to see it go to waste…
I did think, consciously, about my English marmalade. Well, Scottish, really. It’s Cooper’s. With my morning tea, it’s one of the two remaining English habits I have always insisted on. It sits there invitingly, also in the refrigerator, appealing almost irresistibly to my addiction. But I choose not to indulge. This morning.
Lunch time, 1PM. Broke an intention, but with forethought. I made myself a lox and cream cheese sandwich—again with two quite small pieces of bread. But that makes two equivalent. My excuse? Couldn’t find anything else. Later, of course, I realize that I could have had a cup of soup, because we’re not having that tonight. Also, an apple. Pippin. Not as good as the Cox’s Orange Pippins I remember from the tree in the rectory orchard at Aspley Guise, the village in Bedfordshire where I grew up—those had a freckly skin and a delightful orange touch to the flavor. Crisp, sweet and tart. But the Pippins in the market are the best I can find.
A cup of chai with milk and sweetener at four-ish, tea-time. Then very puckish by 6PM, with one of our artists’ groups due to arrive at & for a New Year’s feast. I made do with a couple of lightly salted almonds and three tiny tomatoes. Now I await the arrival of our artists, getting hungrier by the minute!
Ah, the evening! Should not be mentioned... My choices were, let's say, less than skillful--as is so often the case in social circumstances. I started out okay, with two half glasses of wine with the potluck dinner: chicken, green salad, rice salad, a dollop of humus and another of guacamole and, well, a handful of chips, because what can you do with guacamole unless you have a few chips to dip into it? And then the mindlessness began to kick in. Not exactly mindlessness: I was certainly aware that I was making choices whose consequences would run counter to the general intentions I have set up here: another couple of glasses of wine, then the cake arrived, and the other dessert items: little chocolate bottles filled with liqueur (mine had solidified, but it still tasted pretty good): cookies; chocolates...!
I ate them all. Well, a piece of virtually everything. And tried to be conscious of my gluttony.
7:00 AM. The usual English tea with a drop of milk and sweetener. A good walk around the hill with dogs, and breakfast at 9:00 AM. Two boiled eggs, two small pieces of toast (I figured this was my one piece “equivalent”) with butter. A large mug of coffee (instant) with milk and a dash of half-and-half—since it’s there, unusually, in the refrigerator. Ellie bought it for her soup, and used only a very small amount. Can’t berar to see it go to waste…
I did think, consciously, about my English marmalade. Well, Scottish, really. It’s Cooper’s. With my morning tea, it’s one of the two remaining English habits I have always insisted on. It sits there invitingly, also in the refrigerator, appealing almost irresistibly to my addiction. But I choose not to indulge. This morning.
Lunch time, 1PM. Broke an intention, but with forethought. I made myself a lox and cream cheese sandwich—again with two quite small pieces of bread. But that makes two equivalent. My excuse? Couldn’t find anything else. Later, of course, I realize that I could have had a cup of soup, because we’re not having that tonight. Also, an apple. Pippin. Not as good as the Cox’s Orange Pippins I remember from the tree in the rectory orchard at Aspley Guise, the village in Bedfordshire where I grew up—those had a freckly skin and a delightful orange touch to the flavor. Crisp, sweet and tart. But the Pippins in the market are the best I can find.
A cup of chai with milk and sweetener at four-ish, tea-time. Then very puckish by 6PM, with one of our artists’ groups due to arrive at & for a New Year’s feast. I made do with a couple of lightly salted almonds and three tiny tomatoes. Now I await the arrival of our artists, getting hungrier by the minute!
Ah, the evening! Should not be mentioned... My choices were, let's say, less than skillful--as is so often the case in social circumstances. I started out okay, with two half glasses of wine with the potluck dinner: chicken, green salad, rice salad, a dollop of humus and another of guacamole and, well, a handful of chips, because what can you do with guacamole unless you have a few chips to dip into it? And then the mindlessness began to kick in. Not exactly mindlessness: I was certainly aware that I was making choices whose consequences would run counter to the general intentions I have set up here: another couple of glasses of wine, then the cake arrived, and the other dessert items: little chocolate bottles filled with liqueur (mine had solidified, but it still tasted pretty good): cookies; chocolates...!
I ate them all. Well, a piece of virtually everything. And tried to be conscious of my gluttony.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Tuesday
At 9AM I had breakfast with Ellie. I chose to eat a bowl of porridge, made with 1/8 milk and 7/8 water, a handful of raisins and dried cranberries; and served with a sprinkling of brown sugar and a few chopped walnuts. I chose to add a little milk and a very small splash of half-and-half (it’s in the fridge… I have this horror of waste; more about this in a later entry.) Plus a cup of coffee with milk and sweetener. I chose NOT to have my usual round of toast with butter and marmalade.
Lunch at 1:30 PM with Ellie and a very old friend of ours. I chose to split a BLAT (bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato) sandwich with Ellie. Tasty! And chose NOT to have one of the delicious-looking cookies at the counter with my black coffee afterwards.
Early evening, our daughter Sarah came around to leave her dog, Nico, to spend the week with us. Sarah is off on a trip so it seemed appropriate to celebrate her departure with the offer of a glass of sherry. She accepted. I joined her with a half-glass of my own--and had another half--well, three-quarters--of a glass of white wine with dinner: a repeat of last night, Ellie's home-made squash soup and a green salad. I thought long and hard about that bowl of soy ice cream after dinner, as I watched the Democratic debate, but I chose not to act upon the thought.
Lunch at 1:30 PM with Ellie and a very old friend of ours. I chose to split a BLAT (bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato) sandwich with Ellie. Tasty! And chose NOT to have one of the delicious-looking cookies at the counter with my black coffee afterwards.
Early evening, our daughter Sarah came around to leave her dog, Nico, to spend the week with us. Sarah is off on a trip so it seemed appropriate to celebrate her departure with the offer of a glass of sherry. She accepted. I joined her with a half-glass of my own--and had another half--well, three-quarters--of a glass of white wine with dinner: a repeat of last night, Ellie's home-made squash soup and a green salad. I thought long and hard about that bowl of soy ice cream after dinner, as I watched the Democratic debate, but I chose not to act upon the thought.
Intentions
Just a reminder, so that anyone who stumbles on this very personal site can make a little sense of it. I posted this list of my intentions for “A Diet of Choice” back at the start:
• To eat a maximum of one slice of bread, or the equivalent, per day
• To drink a maximum of one glass of wine
• To avoid sweets
• To avoid pre-dinner and between-meals snacks
• To eat early in the evening
• To minimize my use of milk, butter and cheese
• To take small portions
• To leave food on my plate when I’m no longer hungry
• To maintain my regular exercise program
• To avoid reading while eating
• To eat slowly, chew thoroughly
• To put down knife and fork between mouthfuls
I'm in good health, and not seriously overweight, but I have been putting on a couple pounds a year since my early fifties, and am now carrying around some twenty extra pounds, in my own judgment. I am encumbered by what feels to me like an extra layer of flesh, and am simply uncomfortable with it. I am impatient with diets. They irk me. And yet I want to do something to feel better in my skin.
So the above sound like good preliminary steps. They are intentions, not compulsions. I may ignore them on any occasion I so choose. I may add to them, or eliminate them at any time. They are a guide to consciousness. Before I put anything in my mouth, I will mentally consult this list and make my choice accordingly. And I intend to report on daily progress and results.
• To eat a maximum of one slice of bread, or the equivalent, per day
• To drink a maximum of one glass of wine
• To avoid sweets
• To avoid pre-dinner and between-meals snacks
• To eat early in the evening
• To minimize my use of milk, butter and cheese
• To take small portions
• To leave food on my plate when I’m no longer hungry
• To maintain my regular exercise program
• To avoid reading while eating
• To eat slowly, chew thoroughly
• To put down knife and fork between mouthfuls
I'm in good health, and not seriously overweight, but I have been putting on a couple pounds a year since my early fifties, and am now carrying around some twenty extra pounds, in my own judgment. I am encumbered by what feels to me like an extra layer of flesh, and am simply uncomfortable with it. I am impatient with diets. They irk me. And yet I want to do something to feel better in my skin.
So the above sound like good preliminary steps. They are intentions, not compulsions. I may ignore them on any occasion I so choose. I may add to them, or eliminate them at any time. They are a guide to consciousness. Before I put anything in my mouth, I will mentally consult this list and make my choice accordingly. And I intend to report on daily progress and results.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
A Diet of Choice
(Cross-posted with The Buddha Diaries)
The last thing I need is another blog. I have two of them already, The Buddha Diaries and Accidental Dharma. Not to mention my blog at The Huffington Post. But this one will be a little different. It will require less thought and writing… but more real-life attention. It will be called "A Diet of Choice."
Here’s the thing. I woke up yesterday morning and stepped on the bathroom scale. I was not pleased with what it had to tell me. It’s not that I’m obese, just a few pounds overweight for my age and height, ten pounds maybe. Well, maybe fifteen. And it’s not just what the scale tells me, it’s how I feel. I’m uncomfortable with the extra weight. It weighs on me, like a winter coat. My clothes feel uncomfortable.
I look at others who lack the bulge above the midriff that I have, and I realize that they are healthier than I and, yes, that they do look better. Not that it’s about cultural imperatives or aesthetics. No, it’s truly about how I feel about myself, and about the realization that this is an area in my life where I am still being driven by reactive patterns rather than by consciously-made choices.
I’m reminded of my battle with cigarettes, years ago. I started smoking at the age of thirteen. By the time I was forty, I was hopelessly addicted to the filthy weed. I was all too aware of the consequences to my health, and had plenty of aggravating reminders from my wife and daughter—which made it all the harder to give up: I didn’t want anyone telling me what was good for me and what wasn’t. So I started “trying” to give up.
I tried everything, from will power to nicotine patches to phony cigarettes to… well, everything. Nothing worked. I would manage to “cut down” or even stop altogether for a few days, but then I’d be back again, sneaking cigarettes like a teenager when I thought no one would know and disguising the results with breath mints and mouthwashes. I would stop buying cigarettes—and start bumming them from fellow smokers. I kept telling myself No, no, musn’t, shouldn’t, can’t… And nothing worked.
Nothing worked, until the day a reformed smoker suggested making it a matter of choice. Give yourself permission to smoke, he said. Carry cigarettes wherever you go. Stop saying No and Mustn’t. Try saying, instead, I can, I give myself full permission to light up… but I choose not to. I choose, instead, the positive things: no smelly clothes, going to sleep at night without a pounding heart, walking up a few steps without losing my breath. Perhaps, even, a longer life.
Then it worked. I don’t know about others, but it worked for me.
So I hereby give myself permission to eat and drink as much and as often as I want to, but undertake to be conscious of the choices I make and aware of their consequences. And this will be the place where I hold myself accountable. The blog…
(More about goals and intentions a little later in the week. This is just to get me started.)
I understand that this particular journey might be of little interest to anyone else. In my other blogs, I try to talk about things that will have some meaning and resonance for others. Here, it’s about me. It’s about my choices. It’s also about practice and consciousness. If anyone chooses to check up on me, I welcome their kindness. I’ll welcome their comments and support. If not, not. I choose to check up on myself.
For yesterday, the choices were as follows: multi-vitamins with half a glass of cranberry-apple juice and a small bowl of cereal at 7:30 AM, with half a banana, half a dozen grapes, a scatter of raisins and a little milk—with just a splash of half and half which happened, unusually, to be in the refrigerator. Oh, and I forgot my cup of morning tea. All these were, thus far, my choices.
After gym, at 11AM, I made myself a Canadian bacon sandwich with an English muffin spread with butter. Delicious. And a cup of instant coffee with milk and sweetener. On our return to Los Angeles, I chose to eat a bowl of leftover spicy couscous with chick peas and red peppers, PLUS a small melted cheese tortilla AND half an apple. Too much. More than I needed.
Then, at dinner, a small bowl of Ellie’s delicious home-made squash soup with two crackers and a green salad. And a glass of white wine.
I swear I will not bore readers of The Buddha Diaries with such details again. Those interested are invited to follow me to "A Diet of Choice."
The last thing I need is another blog. I have two of them already, The Buddha Diaries and Accidental Dharma. Not to mention my blog at The Huffington Post. But this one will be a little different. It will require less thought and writing… but more real-life attention. It will be called "A Diet of Choice."
Here’s the thing. I woke up yesterday morning and stepped on the bathroom scale. I was not pleased with what it had to tell me. It’s not that I’m obese, just a few pounds overweight for my age and height, ten pounds maybe. Well, maybe fifteen. And it’s not just what the scale tells me, it’s how I feel. I’m uncomfortable with the extra weight. It weighs on me, like a winter coat. My clothes feel uncomfortable.
I look at others who lack the bulge above the midriff that I have, and I realize that they are healthier than I and, yes, that they do look better. Not that it’s about cultural imperatives or aesthetics. No, it’s truly about how I feel about myself, and about the realization that this is an area in my life where I am still being driven by reactive patterns rather than by consciously-made choices.
I’m reminded of my battle with cigarettes, years ago. I started smoking at the age of thirteen. By the time I was forty, I was hopelessly addicted to the filthy weed. I was all too aware of the consequences to my health, and had plenty of aggravating reminders from my wife and daughter—which made it all the harder to give up: I didn’t want anyone telling me what was good for me and what wasn’t. So I started “trying” to give up.
I tried everything, from will power to nicotine patches to phony cigarettes to… well, everything. Nothing worked. I would manage to “cut down” or even stop altogether for a few days, but then I’d be back again, sneaking cigarettes like a teenager when I thought no one would know and disguising the results with breath mints and mouthwashes. I would stop buying cigarettes—and start bumming them from fellow smokers. I kept telling myself No, no, musn’t, shouldn’t, can’t… And nothing worked.
Nothing worked, until the day a reformed smoker suggested making it a matter of choice. Give yourself permission to smoke, he said. Carry cigarettes wherever you go. Stop saying No and Mustn’t. Try saying, instead, I can, I give myself full permission to light up… but I choose not to. I choose, instead, the positive things: no smelly clothes, going to sleep at night without a pounding heart, walking up a few steps without losing my breath. Perhaps, even, a longer life.
Then it worked. I don’t know about others, but it worked for me.
So I hereby give myself permission to eat and drink as much and as often as I want to, but undertake to be conscious of the choices I make and aware of their consequences. And this will be the place where I hold myself accountable. The blog…
(More about goals and intentions a little later in the week. This is just to get me started.)
I understand that this particular journey might be of little interest to anyone else. In my other blogs, I try to talk about things that will have some meaning and resonance for others. Here, it’s about me. It’s about my choices. It’s also about practice and consciousness. If anyone chooses to check up on me, I welcome their kindness. I’ll welcome their comments and support. If not, not. I choose to check up on myself.
For yesterday, the choices were as follows: multi-vitamins with half a glass of cranberry-apple juice and a small bowl of cereal at 7:30 AM, with half a banana, half a dozen grapes, a scatter of raisins and a little milk—with just a splash of half and half which happened, unusually, to be in the refrigerator. Oh, and I forgot my cup of morning tea. All these were, thus far, my choices.
After gym, at 11AM, I made myself a Canadian bacon sandwich with an English muffin spread with butter. Delicious. And a cup of instant coffee with milk and sweetener. On our return to Los Angeles, I chose to eat a bowl of leftover spicy couscous with chick peas and red peppers, PLUS a small melted cheese tortilla AND half an apple. Too much. More than I needed.
Then, at dinner, a small bowl of Ellie’s delicious home-made squash soup with two crackers and a green salad. And a glass of white wine.
I swear I will not bore readers of The Buddha Diaries with such details again. Those interested are invited to follow me to "A Diet of Choice."
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