If it’s January it Must be Diet Time

The ungodly cold and bleak weather finally broke and on the same day as I decided to re-join the human race after being under house arrest for catching one of the ‘yuckies’ going around. It was long enough that I was sure I wasn’t contagious so I took the shower I should have taken two days prior and I left the house for the first time in more days than I could count on my fingers. Well, assuming one finger had been cut off in an industrial accident which it wasn’t. Levi was out of peanut butter treats and it’s not fun to be in the house when the dog’s begging for biscuits that aren’t in the jar. So off I went to Chow Hound and since the Guy Land Cafeteria was several businesses down the street, I stopped there as well. I ordered the biggest breakfast I’ve had in ages: scramble eggs, bacon, American fries and English muffin toast. I couldn’t eat all the American fries so I carefully sorted the crispy golden fried potatoes from the anemic, soft white ones and ate the former. I was proud of myself that I was able to leave food on my plate but I covered the potatoes left with a napkin to make sure I didn’t keep picking at them as I stayed around to write in my little black notebook. I might not be a tortured author working out of a half empty pub in Havana but I play one in my daydreams.

What I am is a grown woman who hasn’t lived with my mother in a half a century but at mealtimes I still hear her voice in my head, “Clean your plate, children in China are starving to death!” It wasn’t just a throwaway line to Mom. She was militant about it. And at the dinner table I sat until bedtime on a regular basis if I didn’t heed her demands---to be more precise, every Thursday on liver night and whenever she served orange vegetables. It was just after World War II when the government put out its first guidelines on what to feed kids because the draft had pointed out an alarming problem: too many young people had Rickets and other vitamin-deficiency diseases. She followed that government chart to the letter. Even though her force-feeding came from a place of love, Mom creating a human being with an eating disorder. I still struggle with my brain not believing the messages from my stomach when it’s full. It can’t be full! There’s still food on the table! 

One of the very few arguments my parents ever had was on my 13^th birthday when my dad finally had enough of the fighting at the dinner table over me cleaning my plate. Dad won a compromise of sorts: no more orange foods as long as I ate everything else I was served. And no more liver! But wasting food in our household was still a major sin. Fridays at our house was use-up-any-leftovers-in-the-house day because Saturday was shopping day. I loved Fridays for its bread pudding. To this day I get a warm-fuzzy feeling just thinking about bread pudding. I’ve collected nearly a hundred recipes for it but I haven’t made bread pudding since Don died because I know I’d eat it all within a day or two. Now, the squirrels get the stale bread. 

The day after hiding the anemic fried potatoes under the napkin I was back at the Guy Land Cafeteria for an impromptu lunch with three of my Gathering Girls pals. We like to go there for several reasons: 1) It has cheap-but-good food; 2) breakfast and lunch are served anytime; 3) it’s centrally located to us all; and 4) it’s large enough that we can sit for nearly two hours without feeling pressured to leave because they need our table. Trust me, sitting that long at a table after we’ve finished eating is difficult for me because even if I’ve cleaned my plate I’m eye-balling other people’s plates and I get anxious over all the wasted food. Thankfully the busboys often come by to clear our dishes, then I can relax. One of the Gathering Girls once talked about how much she likes to linger after eating because growing up, talking around the kitchen table after dinner was her family's norm. She gets annoyed when company at her house jumps up and wants to clear the table as soon as a meal is over. It’s not lost on me that we are polar opposites on that score and hanging out with her has been good for me. Although one time I got so obsessed and uneasy over discarded food on one of the lady’s plates that I debated in my head if I dared to ask her to cover it up. Out of sight, out of mind.

And since I’m on the topic of food, I will mention here that I’ve lost six pounds since January 2^nd but more importantly I’ve broken away from the sugar cravings that always hold me hostage through the holidays. Like most people who struggle with their weight, I know my food issues. I know their causes. I know my excuses and I know what I have to do to get myself in check again. For me it’s tracking every single calorie that that goes in my mouth and I know I’ll keep it up until April when I see my doctor for my by-annual. As soon as he gives me that “good girl” pat on the head I’ll drift away from the boring process of accounting for every morsel that I eat until after the next New Years Day when I’ll begin the cycle all over again. I'm as predictable as sunrises and sunsets. ©