Bailie.com

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Soy sauce is evil

Dear Food Diary,

I was so good for an entire weekend - an entire long weekend, I might add, Easter weekend when normal people eat chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy, and things like pie or, in my case, matza and kugel and desserts that work around the fact that you can’t use baking powder for leavening. I ate salad and meatloaf that used quinoa flakes for filler, and roast chicken with boiled green beans. I drank black tea and tons of water. A kiwi one day; a roma tomato another day. My only indulgence was a couple of low-carb macaroon. (4 carbs per 2 pieces - you think I wasn’t counting? I know the carb count of everything that goes into my mouth. I didn’t eat after 6 PM, except for a little bit of sliced turked one night. I don’t think my carb count went over 40 grams on any given day. I took my fat burners and my nutritional supplements that help with my sinuses and my ... whatever it is that my mother sent me that is supposed to be good for me (and I trust my mother; she’s a gifted herbalist) and the glucosamine chondritin for my arthritis. I ran on the elliptical trainer in my home office. I lost a pound a day, and the whoop that came out of the bathroom as I got off the scale probably scared the upstairs neighbors. I lost 4 lbs over the course of 5 days. On Monday morning, that put me at the 60-lb weight loss mark.

And then there was yesterday. I started off the day much the same. Got distracted by work - 7:30 a.m. conference call from somewhere back east - and drank blank tea until I realized I was hungry. Meat and greens, and later chicken and greens. A few green grapes, a run on the elliptical trainer. Water, tea, water, tea. So far, so good. I ran out of the house at 5:00 to go to a networking event, and knew they would have food there. there, they had sushi. I’ve learned, for the most part to ignore food when I go out. It not so much ignore food as it is acting like a dog on a leash who sees a cat but has been trained not to chase the nice kitty even though its instinct is to RUN, RUN, CHASE IT, HUNT IT DOWN AND EAT IT. So I turn my back, stay at another end of the room, and pretend it’s not there. But another dynamic kicked in, and now I’m the one kicking myself. It’s convoluted but goes like this: Entry to the event is $15; probably 1/2 of that goes toward food. So there’s a sense of entitlement to partake of What My Money Bought. (This goes back to being excluded from events as a kid, but more about that another time.) I can get through that, most times, but I want to network beforehand, and where is everyone congregating? By the food, of course. So I stand somewhere near the back, not too close to the food, with my back to the food table. Someone hands me a bottle of water, and I gratefully accept. And drink, hoping the full feeling will stave off temptation. But just before the speaker starts, my friend takes a roll with her to her seat and I cave, and take a roll to my seat, too. I gingerly pick out the salmon, avacado, and cucumber, and even unroll the seaweed, leaving the rice in a white, glutinous mass in the clamshell container. I finish my water, and have no trouble ignoring the cookies on the table. After the session, I chat with the speakers and then run out, to my last conference call of the day, from 8:30 to 10:30 p.m., and drive home to fall into bed.

This morning I was up 1.5 lbs. Argggggh. And my fingers feel swollen. My ring barely goes past my knuckle. It’s the soy. The combination of wheat and fermentation is deadly. I know this. I know this. So why didn’t I think of it? I don’t know. I can gain weight faster than I can lose it, though, and this has been a setback that is making me crazy right now. So I’m back on the wagon today. A chunk of meatloaf, and take my own lunch for later. I have to go from appointment to appointment today, and won’t get home till 7 PM, likely, so there won’t be much temptation, except for at the coffee meeting. But I’ve pretty well trained myself to be turned off by any baked goods, so I’m safe there. But when I get home, it will be after 6 PM, and if I eat after 6 PM, I won’t have lost any weight in the morning, so I have to manage my food carefully today. Must eat mid-afternoon. What a chore to have to process all this. OK, off to pack my lunch and computer up, and get to my first appointment.

My long view on weight loss: the food diaries

My poor, neglected blog. My business blog is getting updated all the time, but getting the time to create posts for myself always seems to fall by the wayside. Hmm, a metaphor for my life, perhaps? Anyhow, here’s my attempt to not only revitalize my blog but express myself on a topic that is on my mind all the time. You know how it’s said that men think about sex all day long? Well, I think about weight loss all day long. I almost said I think about food all day long - it’s the remnant of an eating disorder spawned as a child (more about that in some other post) that I’ve managed to get a handle on, more or less - but I don’t think about food the way most people think about it. My wife, for instance, will wake up in the morning having dreamt up a new recipe, and say something like “I think I’ll roast a chicken today, with a what’sitmadoodle marinade.” No, I think about food in terms of “will I feel icky tomorrow if I eat this today” (food sensitivities) and “what will happen to my body if I put this in my mouth” (weight gain) and “if I feel hungry, am I really hungry, or just pseudo-hungry?” (emotional eating) and “if I’m truly hungry but eat something at this time of day, what will I feel like in the morning?” (weight gain).

It’s said that people on weight loss program will have a 50% greater chance of success if they keep a food diary. Well, I’ve tried that. It’s a hopeless pain in the posterior. So until I can team up with someone to program a smart phone/iphone app that has the design aspects that will make it actually usable, (instead of throwing in the towel after a week because I’m too busy to update the darned thing), this will be my food diary. It’s a different kind of diary, but I’m hoping it will allow me to vent when I’m frustrated, celebrate my accomplishments, and generally put my thoughts out there in a way that is completely frightening but perhaps helpful to my fellow dieters.

Saturday, March 07, 2009

Water’s Edge Music Festival

Thanks to the good travel writer over at theseboots.travel, I am the delighted recipient of two tickets to the Water’s Edge Music Festival in Coquitlam. It’s at the Evergreen Cultural Centre, where my good friend, Florence Debeugny, is having a photo exhibition called Maillardville 100 and beyond - a celebration of 100 years of that community.

In Maillardville itself, they’re having the annual Festival du Bois. Too bad I can’t get to both festivals.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Who knew soy could be so bad for you?

After years of liking soy alternating with avoiding soy, I found some explanation for the digestive problems that plagued me re soy: The Ploy of Soy. When my grandson was young, he had violent gastric reactions to soy, much to the disbelief of some pro-vegetarian friends who insisted on feeding him soy, and from which we suffered from during a ferry ride home.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Update on family news

Well, it’s not exactly a holiday catch-up letter, but the closest I’ll get to writing one.

It’s end of the first semester for my grandson, who has spread his wings and gone off to boarding school. He absolutely loves it. I was worried that he would get lonely after the initial novelty wore off, but so far he’s in his glory. When I asked him about the academics, he replied that they were “challenging in a good way but not rocket science or anything.” Ah, spoken like a true little brainiac. He decided he loves rugby, and helped his school win the local championship. He was always great at soccer, so this news doesn’t surprise me.

One of my granddaughters just joined Air Cadets, which was a huge surprise for me (as well as for her parents!), but E. said it didn’t surprise her. Once I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised, either. She likes structure, and likes the lines of authority to be clear and absolute.  She is also very determined and very capable, and likes camping. I had to chuckle when she even agreed to slather her hair in gel so she could wear it back in a bun. This comes on the heels of her taking up golf. She came with me to a golf lesson, and the pro handed her a putter and encouraged her to participate. She decided she really liked it, and so we now have a shared activity at the pitch-n-putt. This also means that she’ll be able to golf with her brother, who evidently has the gift for it, too.

The other granddaughter is [deleted].

My son is still working at the transport terminal. He upgraded his First Aid certificate to a Level 2, which is good. It means that when the sporadic lay-offs hit, he may not be as vulnerable to them because in an industrial environment, there always needs to be someone with a first aid certificate. This summer, he eloped. He actually didn’t tell me - I found out in a bizarre conversation with a friendly restaurateur who told me a story about a guy too afraid to tell his mother about his marriage because “you don’t know my mother.” Funny, I’ve never thought of myself as an ogre. Really, I’m not. When he decides to tell me, officially, I’ll post it. (I’m letting him tell me in his own good time.) Maybe I should start taking bets on how long it will take to tell me!

As for us, we’re keeping on keeping on. Because I had bronchial pneumonia this summer, I didn’t work for a month. Then, as the economy tanked, I became busier than I’ve ever been. At some point, I had seven simultaneous projects on the go. It’s better now, and I even get a day off now and again. Still, I present at a lot of conferences and so travel a fair bit. (One recent trip involved a Vancouver to Boston to Honolulu to Syracuse to Vancouver marathon.) It’s a treat to stay home for an entire month! I’m giving up the office that I’ve had for a few years now, as the building is going down hill, and I’m tired of being the person who also sweeps up and dusts and does troubleshooting when the phone line goes down. Also, when I bought my midlife crisis car, I decided to work from home 3 days a week, and work from a co-work office a day a week. The last day is my RALAM (run around like a madwoman) day, seeing clients and so on.

I’ve been pretty successful in my fitness quest, working out three times a week and doing cardio other days, and am looking forward to losing another 50 lbs in the coming year. (It’s a great excuse for a new wardrobe, as well.) Thanks to my trainer, Matt, I’m also strong now. He says I now warm up using the same weight levels that I used to lift. And I have actual muscles, for the first time in my life. We’ve done some minor renos in the house (we now have interior doors on the rooms that were missing them - how novel!) and are making plans to do the back yard.

E. continues to do her thing, offering executive career coaching that she does so well, and has become quite the fan of social media. I think it’s a substitute for cigarettes because - and this is the big news - she quit smoking! I am delighted. And finally, the cat is fine, mewling and shedding as usual.

My family back east is having their share of problems - my mother is undergoing chemo, my dad, having had a stroke, is now showing early signs on Alzheimer’s, and two of my siblings have some health challenges. It’s worrying, and frustrating that there’s not much I can do for them from here.

And that’s all the family news, as we come up on my birthday.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Spam (the meat product) vs real meat

Just had a bizarre conversation with the wife, who had asked me to use a plate to eat my artichoke dip with the tofu crackers I made, insinuating that I was being a bit of a hillbilly. Ah, this coming from someone who became a Facebook fan of Spam. And was prepared to defend its merits.

Of course, I couldn’t just take that at face value, so here’s the nutritional breakdown I found:

• Spam: (100 g): 3 g carbs, 27 g fat (6 saturated), 13 grams protein, 310 calories (and 0 g fiber)
• Cooked, trimmed pork (100 g): 0 g carbs, 7.5 g fat, 29 grams protein, 191 calories
  
• Smoked, seasoned, chicken breast slices (110 g): 2 g carbs, 1 g fat, 20 g protein, 100 calories
• Mock chicken loaf (100 g): 4 g carbs, 22 g fat (8 saturated), 12 g protein, 260 calories

Case closed.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Pride and the nature of community

This time of year is when Pride celebrations happen at various times around North America, starting late June, and wrapping up around beginning of August. It gets me thinking about visibility and community, and I needed to share some observations and thoughts on the topic.

Last weekend I went to Victoria, where E and I had intended to take in the Pride Parade.  Who knew it was so short that by the time we wandered down to the street where it was to take place, the parade would be over? That we missed the parade isn’t the point of the post, however; it’s what happened peripherally to the event, and has become an all-too-familiar pattern.

When we got to the street where the parade was supposed to be passing by, and didn’t see signs of it, I deduced that we were either too early or too late, so I thought I’d ask someone. Across the street, I spied two women who looked like they might be a couple - definitely members of the tribe, anyways - and would ask whether we’d missed the parade. They were friendly enough with their answers, and proceeded to explain what a Pride Parade was, and about the demographic who participated in it. And as I stood there with my wife a mere few paces away, I wondered why I was so invisible to her as a fellow member of the tribe, so to speak? Granted, it was easy for my gaydar to go off - they both had very short hair with what could be called “dykey” haircuts, comfortable clothing, and carted a tie-dye carry bag. If that’s not a profile from the Dykes to Watch Out For comic strip, I don’t know what is. But I didn’t think I was so “straight-looking”. Clad in belted shorts and a plain scoop-neck shirt, ASICS runners, sans purse and a phone clamped to my belt, the only difference was a bit of eyeliner and a good haircut.

But there’s something about me that seems to bring down a straight-jacket exterior (pun intended); wherever I go, I’m taken for the fag hag or the PFLAG mom instead of my inner lipstick lesbian. A number of years ago, I was walking towards the annual Dyke March and Festival on Commercial Drive, pushing my infant grandson in a stroller. As I caught the eye of a lesbian couple holding hands, walking in the opposite direction and smiled appreciatively at their delight in one other, one turned to me and spat out, “Yes, we are everywhere!” Yes, we are, but it seems that some of us are just more myopic than others. Similar scenes have taken place over the years, to the point where I don’t acknowledge fellow (fella?) lesbians, because they generally think I’m a straight person getting my jollies gawking at them. In fact, at this point, if a fellow community member were to give me “the look”, I think I’d be so shocked, I wouldn’t know what to do. Look away? Turn around to see who they’re really looking at? Stare back, incredulous?

On the other hand, being invisible has probably kept me out of trouble. It’s allowed me to be spared the drama that many of my friends and acquaintances have gotten drawn into, over the years. Instead of getting hit on, I’ve been left in peace to work on my personal growth, build my business, and take care of my family. And fittingly, the community I’ve found has been through those venues, where business and personal and friendships meet. My community has a great mix to it, including wonderful people from demographics that are sometimes undeservedly stereotyped as homophobic, where my sexuality is simply not an issue. My circle of friends includes engineers and musicians, software developers and photographers, marketing consultants and technical writers, UX professionals and content management types, artists and executives, teachers and project managers. A few of them share my sexual orientation; most of them don’t, or, I assume they don’t; a few of them share my spiritual beliefs; most of them don’t, or I assume they don’t. What we share is often different but what boils down to having a good core, and I think it’s made me a more balanced person in the end. So in the spirit of Pride, here’s to being proud of all aspects of my life, from my family - right from wife down to my precious grandchildren - to the friends support me, whether they be near or far, and my community that surrounds me.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Heading off to what used to be home

It’s been so long since I lived in the Niagara Peninsula that I can’t really call it home any more, but it is where I grew up, and the rest of my immediate family still lives in the area, so it seems odd both to call it home and to not call it home. I rarely go there - there didn’t seem to be much once my mother disowned me the second time (long story), but now her cancer is winning, and I feel the right thing to do is to visit. No matter what her feelings toward me, I’ve never held a grudge against her, and now isn’t the time to try to prove any points about family dynamics.

I offered to take whichever grandchildren with me who wanted to meet their greatgrandparents while they cuold still avail themselves of the opportunity. Only one grandchild was able to make it, so my 13-year-old grandson and I are leaving on an overnight flight to Toronto. We then drive to an area so economically depressed that, much to my grandson’s dismay, the nearest Starbucks is in Niagara Falls. Yep, it’s Tim country, with a Tim Horton’s doughnut shop every few blocks - well, the blocks are pretty long in the rural areas.

I bought a digital photo frame, packed it up with whatever photos of the grandkids I could find, and am hoping that the peace offering will help things go smoothly. We’ll have a family visit, then spend a day in Niagara Falls, then have another visit - not overwhelming her but spending bits of time interspersed with some sightseeing opportunities for my grandson. This will be an interesting meeting of cultures, for sure.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Custom songs makes for light-hearted gifts

A long while back I heard about a site called Songs to Wear Pants To. In cleaning out a bunch of old business cards, I came across the site name and thought I’d see if the site was still there, and it is!

Andrew is a songwriter who creates custom songs based on whatever criteria you provide, no matter how odd. All you need is a little pancreas? No problem. Crazy candy theme? His pleasure. Polka loca? Of coursa. Celtic techno burrito? Why sure-o. The site even has its own theme song. I have to hand it to Andrew for the longevity of the site, the way he’s found to make money doing something he loves, and for finding a way to stay good-humoured about the weird and whacky requests he gets for songs.

Considering that my family is entering “birthday season” - a few of us have birthdays between late November and end of January, then just about everyone else’s birthday is clumped together between end of March and beginning of June; something like 18 birthdays - this may be the gift that everyone gets this year!

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Fitness quest update

Back in November, I made up my mind to get fit. I was tired of being hostage to my food allergies, which were getting worse, my joint pain, which was getting worse, and the excess weight, which has so much negative effect on my quality of life. A friend and client from Minneapolis had made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse - his payment terms for work done for his company would be that the cheque would be made out not to my company, but to a personal trainer of my choosing. Well, the strategy is paying off. I’m stronger, thinner, and have a better sense of balance (which I’d lost during the years surrounding my ship replacement).

It took me until January to find a trainer that I liked - I chose Matt Cole of Peak Exercise Sciences because he’s a MSc, BHK, CSCS, and RK. He’s not only knowledgeable about training and fitness and injuries and rehabilitation, but he’s experienced (he’s not as young as he looks, he assures me). And he has a disarming way about him - none of this bootcamp obnoxiousness which would have turned me off right away. As well, something that I needed was flexibility; as a consultant, I’m all over the place during the week, so I looked for someone who could train with me downtown or close to where I live, or at my townhouse complex’s fitness room when needed. He comes up with cockamamie exercises that are meant to improve my core strength, and just when I manage to master them, he finds something else that I completely suck at, and I start over again.

Yesterday, I went to The Running Room to invest in a good pair of sneakers which would accommodate my orthotics and my lift and let me get in a good workout without hurting my ankles or knees. And I put on a t-shirt I got at a conference, a t-shirt that was two sizes smaller than I usually wear, and it fit! And I put on some jeans, and realized I needed to wear a belt to keep them up, and my belt fit on my hips (a belt that would have barely fit my waist before), and I checked and I’m down 15 pounds. Whoo hoo!

I wonder why my joints still hurt. Must ask Matt about that. But hey, I’m more motivated than ever to keep going. Working out, riding my Trikke, watching my nutrition, trying to keep my stress levels under control. Stay tuned ...

Saturday, March 08, 2008

International Women’s Day

It’s been a couple of years since I’ve actually done anything for International Women’s Day other than take a moment for myself to think about the implications for my own life and the women around me. There’s not much discussion of it any more, just like there’s not much discussion of feminism any more. It drives me crazy when women say they’re not feminists, and that the feminist movement did nothing for them. (Oh yeah? Do they want to go back to the days when a bank manager wouldn’t give a woman a bank loan? Or give a woman a mortgage? Or give a woman a hassle about opening her own bank account, without the signature of her husband or father?) The completely irrational cop-out of “well, I don’t want to call myself a feminist because some thirty years ago, there was an urban myth about women burning bras that I don’t want to be associated with” drives me crazy.  The “I don’t want to call myself a [name any group] because there are some [name the fringe element to that group] that give that group a bad name” argument is so lame. I always want to respond with “well, I don’t want to call myself a lesbian because there were some incidents about man-hating separatists that I don’t want to be associated with. Apply that to religion, culture, status in life (motherhood, for example), profession ... anyhow, back to International Women’s Day.

I’m quite thankful for many of the women in my life. There are a couple that I want to throttle right now - I wish they’d renounce their womanhood so I could simply distance myself completely from them. I would like to be able to say that they have NOTHING in common with me, not even sex or gender. Well, one in particular I don’t consider to be of the same gender though she’s of the same sex. But life isn’t simple that way. We have to live with ambiguity and complexity, and interconnectedness of circumstance. I remind myself of this because even if I were able to say “we have nothing common,” it would still not give me license to hate. The difference in gender doesn’t stop me from deeply loving my grandsons. The difference in the values with which my granddaughters are being raised doesn’t stop me from deeply loving them. International Women’s Day reminds me of all these things, and more. - it’s a day for us, and for all those affected by us.

Friday, March 07, 2008

Happiness is genetic - go figure

Went to work out today for the first time since falling down the stairs. Hurt like hell, but didn’t want to leave it too long. When I came home, stiff and sore, I came up from the underground parking and saw a half-dozen robins hopping about the yard, pulling worms out. They paused when they saw me, cocked their heads to see if I was a threat or a passing phenomenon, and resumed their foraging for wriggling protein. It made me happy - spring is imminent.

Speaking of happy - I just read that British and Australian researchers have shown that half the differences in happiness are genetic, based on studies done on twins. Common genes result in personality traits that predispose people to happiness. Does that mean that certain miserable people I know will always remain so?

I wonder if they’ll ever find the tacky gene. If they do, I could certainly get behind certain pragmatic uses for genetic testing.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Can’t afford to be sidelined for a day

Mostly, living in a strata situation is okay - less yard work, tree trimming, trash collection, and so on. But every so often, there are things that drive me crazy. Like having slippery outside stairs and not being able to just fix them - no, you have to wait for the powers that be to Do Something - which is not likely to happen unless you make a fuss.

So the bloody awful coating on the steps is slippery when the temperature drops to around the freezing point. Anyhow, despite wearing flat, rubber-soled shoes, I fall down the stairs and am in great pain. I’m pretty paranoid about my artificial hip and my remaining good hip, so I go get x-rays at Burnaby General. All day at emergency.

All bloody day it takes them to do an x-ray and tell me that nothing is broken, no hairline fracture. At some point, through my morphine haze, I hear a medical professional complain that all the beds are full, and I think to myself that if someone would come in and pronounce me releasable, they could have an extra bed. And probably another few of us, as well. They need some work process re-engineering in the emergency department there.

So I start my own little discharge campaign. First, I just get dressed. A nurse asks me if I’ve been OKed to get dressed. I say that I’m getting dressed before the morphine wears off and I can still move. Then, I go in search of water. A nurse wants my assurance I’m coming back. I say sure, of course. Then, I put on my jacket. She wants to make sure I’m not leaving. I say I’m freezing (which is true). Then I put on my gloves, mainly because by now, my blood sugar has dropped and I’m really, really freezing.

Now, the doctor comes in and says oh, you’ve had a hip replacement and I can understand why you’re really concerned about falls. And I think to myself, hmmm, isn’t that what I tried to tell you when I came in? I’m sure I mentioned that ... but it’s one of those things. I can talk,a but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the other person listens. Haven’t figured out how to exactly make the loop close, at least not all the time.

Losing a day at the hospital, then another day of being nauseous and on painkillers, a week before our big conference, is the worst possible time to be unproductive. Guess this weekend will be another working weekend - have to make up for lost time somehow. I’m really excited about the conference and want to put in as much time as I can to make sure it’s a success.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Say No to Bullying day

Yesterday I wore the one pink shirt in my wardrobe for Say No to Bullying day.  Though I’ve never been a big fan of Christy Clark (remember the statistically impossible “all our children should be above average” remark?), this is one of her initiatives I can get behind. I have no reason to divulge this, at least not often, but I was bullied terribly from grade 5 to grade 11. For me, that was age 8 to 14, more or less. Being younger, shorter, and different in a lot of other ways from the rest of the kids made me a walking target. My parents were no help. My mother, a fundamentalist Christian, counseled me with the “turn the other cheek” line - today that would probably get me killed; back then, it just got me tormented. My emotionally absent father was ... well, he had his share of bully in him, as well, so it took me into my adult years to stare him down, let alone ask for his help.

What I think did me in, though, was being smart, in a geeky kind of way. I lived a pretty isolated life - on a farm, away from other kids, not encouraged to socialize with the non-believers. It was a rural school - we were all bussed in from our farms and villages - but the social situation was the same as in the city. No one explained to me that girls aren’t supposed to flaunt their brains after grade 4. But being younger and weaker, I couldn’t run as fast as the rest of my classmates, or reach as tall as them, or get permission to do the things they did (I couldn’t even get a driver’s license until my graduating year of high school!), but I did seem to absorb information without trying, and being ostracized meant that I could speed read a book a day, and went through the school library pretty fast. Which probably made things worse, in retrospect. Smart, geeky, and my mom drove the school bus. As much as I loved school, I hated the school yard, and would do anything to get out of field trips, group work, team sports, and anything involving hanging out in the school yard. Hallelujah for library club.

OK, it’s forty years later, and the schools are just getting around to recognizing bullying as a phenomenon that needs some attention. Better late than never. Count me in - I’m there for my grandchildren.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

The year of Me

This year, I wanted to do more for me. Yeah, yeah, it probably falls under the category of New year’s resolutions, but it’s been a long time coming and it’s here now. The changes may not seem profound but I feel they’re the start of a new phase:

• Do things I want to do - don’t guilt myself into staying home when I’m rather be out seeing a play or having fun doing something else outside the house
• Take care of my emotional health - don’t engage with people whose own inability to cope ends up projecting their drama onto me, be that anger, guilt, or other drama
• Take care of my physical health - Find physical activities I like to do, work with a trainer, and eat better

So far, so good. It did mean staying away from certain people completely and scaling back time with others. But I’ve compensated by going out of my way to make new friends or strengthen existing relationships with people whose company is easy and comfortable. It also meant getting a personal trainer, which I haven’t done since before my hip surgery, and it’s been great. Getting strong, building core, and losing weight already.

2008 should be a fabulous year; it’s looking up already.