Skinny Jeans Here I Come

 Motivation and self-control are key factors when it comes to dieting. Without motivation there IS no self-control. I’ve learned this the hard way for most of my life.

So what motivates me? Well, I really like food. Good food. We’re not talking junk food here. I want to be able to incorporate good foods into my life. Foods that are healthy. Foods that are even decadent (think dark chocolate). At the moment, the majority of the “food” I am ingesting is not really food. It’s kind of like fake food. As I’ve said before-it’s super convenient and filling, but not really satisfying. 5 fake meals and 1 real meal a day. It’ll do for now. But I am looking towards the future.

This is for ONE person. Mamma mia!

I’m extremely motivated to lose another 60 pounds. Not only do I want to buy some skinny jeans but I also want to add back into my diet the foods I love. Fruit, yogurt, brussel sprouts (yes, they ARE good) and a bit of dark chocolate. And yes, every now and then a slice of pizza. A slice. Not an entire Triestin pizza.

I have not had real fruit since last year. For sure, this program I am on is making me crave all the right things. I can’t wait to bite into a nice crunchy apple. Or top some plain non fat Greek yogurt with blueberries.

Clothing motivates me. I like clothes. Right now I have no clothes. Ok…I have a few things because last I heard it’s illegal to walk the streets naked. I have a list of clothing pieces that I want to buy come October. Not a lot really. Just a few basic pieces. I know that I won’t be at goal weight by October but I will need some things to take me through the winter. I am sure I’ll be at goal weight by next spring and then the serious shopping will begin. First purchase? A bathing suit. Haven’t owned one of those in years.

My friends motivate me. They encourage me to keep going. They tell me I look great. As tempting as those french fries look and smell, I know that eating one would never work for me. So I smell them and think about the skinny jeans that will hang in my closet once the autumn leaves start to fall. And that works for me.

MOTIVATION!!

I have had people tell me that I’ll gain every pound back once I start eating real food again. I have had a person tell me that I will look terrible because my skin will be all flabby and loose. I have had people tell me that I’ll start to cheat and go off my plan. These people are not friends. They are rodents.

I am motivated because I want my blood pressure issues to go away. I am motivated because I have no intention of ever being diagnosed with diabetes, high cholesterol or heart disease. I am motivated because I want to be able to walk up 5 flights of stairs without screaming for oxygen.

It’s a good feeling to be in control. I like it. Now if I could just get my husband to empty the dishwasher I’d be all set!

Shopping anyone?? Let’s meet the first week in October and hit the mall. And then let’s do it again in Italy. As of today I am down 56 pounds (25.4 kg) BOOYA!!!

Dedicated to my dear friends who are standing on the sidelines and cheering with pompoms: Cathy, Saory, Lorri, Juan, Maddi, Raffa, Chiara, Krizia, Becky S. AND my sweet Babboo Larry. You are all the BEST!!!

L’dor Va Dor-From Generation to Generation

They came from Europe. From Poland and Russia and Lithuania. And other places as well. They landed at Ellis Island and most stayed in New York. My family.

My family tree is intricate and fascinating and it would take years of blog posts to tell the story of the Rosenoff clan. So I will share the memories of my childhood family gatherings. Go get something to eat. You’re gonna be hungry. The Rosenoffs knew how to entertain with food. Oh boy.

Several times a year we would gather at someone’s home for the cousin’s club, or as we called it- the RR Club or family circle. It started out in the Bronx and eventually migrated to the Island. Er…Long Island for those of you who are not native New Yorkers. It was exciting to see our cousins, aunts and uncles and our great aunts and uncles. And our grandparents. The grandparents were the matriarchs and patriarchs. They were the brothers and sisters who came from Europe when they were small children. They were our heritage.

The meetings were called to order. There was a president, treasurer and secretary who kept handwritten minutes (copies of the original minutes are floating around the East coast somewhere). There may have been a vp at one time but I don’t remember. The treasurer collected dues from all the families and those dues were put into a bank account which was later used for trips to Atlantic City and the Catskills. The minutes from the last meeting were read, there was a finance report and good and welfare. The kids loved that part. Who was born, who was having a Bar Mitzvah, who was getting married, who got a new job. Good and welfare was the most interesting by far!

But wait…before the meeting it was time to eat. Buffet style. There were deli platters piled high with corned beef, pastrami, salami, tongue and roast beef. All kinds breads and hard rolls. Sometimes we had sweet and sour meatballs. Potato salad, cole slaw, sauerkraut. Pickles-sour and half sour, olives and celery sticks in special serving trays. And chopped liver. We always had chopped liver. It was a tradition. Served with cocktail breads- little slices of rye and pumpernickel. There were bowls of mixed nuts, mixed nuts and raisins, pretzels and potato chips. After the meeting there was dessert. For dessert there was fruit salad. That was another tradition. We HAD to have fruit salad. I remember one occasion when someone forgot the fruit salad and one of my cousins hollered “where’s the fruit salad” while everyone shook their heads in disbelief. There were home made cakes and Entenmann’s of course. Seltzer water and ginger ale. I don’t remember coke being part of the drinks option. Of course there was always a bar. Whiskey, rye, scotch and all the stuff we kids thought was vile.

Everyone smoked back then. Except my father and my grandmother. And the men smoked cigars. It’s funny. As much as I despise cigarette smoke, I love the smell of a cigar. I think it brings back family circle memories.

These days, our family is spread out all over the place. Many are no longer with us. We’ve talked about reviving the RR Club but it never seemed to materialize. The grandchildren are married with families of their own. And so the generations continue.

In loving memory of my grandparents, Julius and Clara Rosenoff.

50 Shoes Of Green--A Midweek Parody with Cathleen Cole

GREEN!

 It's all about the visuals.

My friend Cathy and I get kind of punchy at work sometimes. We make up new titles.

 Right now the biggest selling book is 50 Shades of Grey. I read it. Actually I read all 3. It’s a trilogy. It’s fun. It’s sexually explicit. It’s psychological. It’s definitely not for those who are faint of heart. In fact I was kind of surprised to learn some of those things. Whoa. People really DO that?? Well now.

So today Cathy said we should write a book called 50 Shoes of Green. Well, truthfully, I don’t have the patience or motivation to actually write a BOOK. Blogs are ok. But a book requires skill. Ok, there are some writers who have no skill at all. Just saying.

I’m a very visual person. I like pictures. For instance-cookbooks with no pictures are useless to me. I need to see what my gastronomic creation is SUPPOSED to look like.

Here is my take on 50 Shoes of Green. Don’t count. I didn’t. See you on Friday.

Shopping the Perimeter

As all good dieters know, shopping the perimeter in the supermarket is of major importance. Vegetables and fruits, low fat dairy products, fresh fish, meats and chicken.

Of course, one has to wander down an aisle every now and then for stuff like canned tuna and toilet paper. Just saying.

These days, it costs more to eat healthy than not. So how do we stay healthy by eating healthy in an overpriced world of supermarket chains?

The other day I filled up my cart with greens and tomatoes and broccoli, mushrooms, peppers and eggplant, a few cans of solid white tuna in water, coffee beans (you knew that was coming), olive oil and a bag of chopped walnuts (I like those in my oatmeal). My tally was not quite $75. With the exception of the olive oil, nuts and coffee (well, maybe not the coffee) everything will be consumed before the week is over. In fact, I usually shop for produce easily twice a week. And this is not including kosher meats which are astronomical in costs.

So I decided to do an experiment. Just for fun. I put packaged foods like mac and cheese, cookies, hamburger helper and other processed foods into my cart. Buy one get one with chips and other junk foods. Even frozen pizza. Filled the cart up and did a mental calculation of the total cost. Yeah. You guessed it. Less than ½ of  what it costs for me to fill my cart with the good stuff. By that I mean the HEALTHY stuff. It was fairly depressing.

I’m not talking about diet foods here. I love potato chips, tortilla chips smothered in cheese and salsa and cheese curls. I LOVE those. It’s been a long while since I’ve had any of that stuff. I could make a meal out of nachos washed down with diet coke. No, make it diet root beer. And you know…it would cost me so much less than a piece of salmon, poached with a little yogurt dill sauce on the side. Greek yogurt. It’s the best.

America. Listen up. We need to eat healthy. You know the old saying. You are what you eat. Well, unless we do something and make eating healthy affordable for everyone, we are going to continue to become obese with all the problems that go along with it.

OK. Lunchtime. Salad and veggie burgers for me. And some of that olive oil.

And by the way at this posting I am down 53 pounds (24 kg) since January 2.

Loving it!!!

Summer in the City...Forest City

I’m a native New Yorker. Granted, I’ve been living in Boston for 25 years but ask any New Yorker and they’ll tell you “once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker”.

I guess my roots lie in The Bronx-but that’s a story for another time.

I lived in an area of Wantagh called “Forest City”. Wantagh is located in Nassau County and for those of you unfamiliar with the Island…think Levittown or Jones Beach. I actually went to school in Levittown due to strange zoning.

Forest City was (and still is) a cute little community. When I was growing up we belonged to the pool club. You could only be a member if you lived in Forest City. The club had tennis courts, mini golf, Olympic size pool, kiddie pool, a little restaurant called the Whaler, changing pavilions and an expanse of open cement so we could bake in the sun. There was also a covered area for those who didn’t worship the sun. There was a bocce ball court and a horseshoe court where the men would hang out while their wives were gossiping about the neighbors while baking in the sun. SPF was non-existent.

Part of the summer my family traveled. The rest of the summer was spent at the pool (when we were older we would go to the beach).

My parents had rules. Oh boy. In order to be allowed to go to the pool without parents, we had to take swimming lessons. It was not an option. You want to hang out with friends at the pool? You gotta learn to swim. Not just splash around and do the dog paddle. Oh no, no. We had to take American Red Cross swim lessons right up through lifesaving. Yeah. It was grueling. Summer. Time to sleep late. But noooo. We had to get up for 8 AM lessons. And let me tell you. At that hour the pool was FREEZING. But we did it. In our black and red Speedo tank suits and bathing caps.

Once I learned how to swim with grace and style (I made that part up) my mother signed me up for synchronized swimming (I didn’t make that part up). She had a thing for Esther Williams. I think for the one summer that I did that I must have snorted the whole pool. Maybe I did it for more than one summer. I don’t remember. I probably shoved the whole sordid ordeal out of my memory bank. Then came the pageant. Good heavens. Pre-teen anxiety. Black suits, red sparkly caps and white gloves. Swimming to Moon River. Dear Lord.

When I wasn’t learning how to be the next great synchronized swimmer, I just hung out at the pool with my friends. We’d swim, we’d bake, we’d swim, we’d eat burgers and fries with gallons of ketchup at the Whaler only to be told by the parents NOT to go in the pool for at least ½ hour after we ate or we’d drown. So we sat dangling our toes in the pool watching the clock on the pavilion wall. Of course when the half hour was up, it inevitably became “adult swim” and all kids had to get out of the pool for 10 minutes so the grown-ups could enjoy a little peace and quiet while paddling around.

We used to surface dive in the deep end of the pool (thank you synchronized swimming). We’d find all sorts of loose change that would fall out from the pockets of the men’s swim trunks. We’d pool our money and buy fries and drown them in gallons of ketchup and salt. To this day when I smell fries and ketchup it brings up memories of childhood summers. There were also diving boards. The high board used to freak me out. Yes, we had to learn how to dive as well. So well rounded. The boys preferred to do cannonballs off the low boards. Woe to all the sun bakers sitting anywhere near the low boards.

I haven’t been swimming in chlorine in many years. Really bad for color treated hair. One of these days when I dare to squeeze into a bathing suit I’ll hop into a pool and do a little swimming. Just don’t ask me to do any synchronized swimming. It’s just not happening. EVER.

An American in Paris...Eventually

Lately, I’ve got Paris on the brain. I’ve never been to the city everyone falls in love with. I’ve been in the airport, but that doesn’t count as I was just passing through on my way to Trieste.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Paris. It seems like a majority of the books I’ve been reading lately take place in Paris. So what am I waiting for??

Last week I saw the movie Midnight in Paris. It was wonderful and prompted me to read the Paris Wife, which prompted me to read Hemingway all over again. It’s like a domino effect. Oh yes…and prior to that I read Christopher Moore’s new one: Sacre Bleu. Then I started watching short videos of Paris on youtube. AND I “liked” a page on facebook about how to dress like a French woman. I’ve clearly lost my mind. It’s somewhere in a charming little outdoor café in Montmartre. It’s hiding in a steaming cup of café au lait.

I want to see La Tour Eiffel. In the daytime AND the nighttime. I want to wander the Louvre. I want to walk. Maybe I’ll take a bus tour of the city. Or a boat ride down the Seine. I want to wear scarves. And most of all, I want to sit in a charming café and drink a steamy café au lait and watch people go about their day to day lives in the only way Parisians know how. With style and finesse.

And you know? I’m very content to go solo. It’s a hop, skip and a jump from Trieste. My French is as bad as my Italian but just as grazie mille goes a long way, so does merci beaucoup.

A bientôt mes amis! Until next week….