There are many, many message boards and groups at WeightWatchers online, but one in particular has put its finger on the problem: It is a group of short gals who "only" have 20-25 pounds to lose.
Not only is it harder for short people to lose weight, but the less you have to lose the harder it gets also. The WW program (it is excellent, let's face it) has a number of ways to allow the obese to manage their weight loss program without getting sideswiped by terrible cravings: You are allowed a number of food points per week that you can chose to use for desserts or whatever your weakness happens to be, and you can also use your exercise points in exchange for food. This is fantastic if you are a million pounds overweight, but if you are only a little overweight, use those points and you'll wind up fatter than when you began! I know, I used them last week and gained back half of what I lost.
Meanwhile, TootSweet is swiftly becoming the smartest dog on the planet. Perhaps I exaggerate slightly, but not much. We have a training session this afternoon, and he has already learned to turn right and left on command, stop, sit, stay, heel...The trainer is proud of him, and it is fun to have a long walk with an obedient dog and a trainer who can discuss any topic under the sun (he's from Mexico City, where mental agility is necessary for survival).
I am off to find danged batteries for my camera, some that will actually work. And tomorrow, horror of horrors, my training team gets its picture taken, and I'm supposed to be there. It's ridiculous, all I have managed to do is buy my running shirts, on the outside hope they will work magic and make me run like the wind. Only a tornado would accomplish that particular feat, and then only if it manages to engulf me...
lunes, 30 de abril de 2012
lunes, 23 de abril de 2012
Nature strikes back
First of all, to my astonishment, I've lost weight this week, much more than I would have thought. At least is serves as motivation to keep on.
On Saturday we went to the quinta and stayed overnight. Sunday morning, in the cool of the front porch under a lazy ceiling fan, I began to wax poetic in my mind about Nature. The sky was a washed, water-color blue, clouds of butterflies (pale green, yellow, orange, white) jostled with hummingbirds around flowering shrubs and the rose bush, high in the air hawks glided gracefully, dipping and soaring, and the horses grazed calmly in a far field.
As if it weren't reality aplenty that there were enough cattle ticks around to supply a major feed lot, and when the wind was right the eau de steers knocked us off our feet, as I sat there ignoring these minor inconveniences, a dove suddenly came whipping under the porch roof and tried to land on my head. Discovering at the very last minute that the landing place was a living creature, in a frenzied flurry of wings and feathers that caught in my hair, it took off again.
That was all it took to break up the moment of poesy, by dang! My main concern was whether it had pooped on my head. That it hadn't seemed almost miraculous. (I have a long history of being pooped on by birds...) It also confirmed my opinion that doves are unbelievably dumb and it is amazing there are so many of them. They are the last birds to get out of the way on a road or highway and the only ones my cats caught often enough so as to supply themselves with a complete meat diet. Every other kind of bird in our yard seemed to know exactly where the cats were hiding out, except for the doves. The starlings would even flutter around scolding the cats, sounding warnings, or occasionally divebombing them, but doves don't seem to speak starling.
No poetry, but poetic justice, I suppose, considering that I fed my dog braised dove breasts the other day.
On Saturday we went to the quinta and stayed overnight. Sunday morning, in the cool of the front porch under a lazy ceiling fan, I began to wax poetic in my mind about Nature. The sky was a washed, water-color blue, clouds of butterflies (pale green, yellow, orange, white) jostled with hummingbirds around flowering shrubs and the rose bush, high in the air hawks glided gracefully, dipping and soaring, and the horses grazed calmly in a far field.
As if it weren't reality aplenty that there were enough cattle ticks around to supply a major feed lot, and when the wind was right the eau de steers knocked us off our feet, as I sat there ignoring these minor inconveniences, a dove suddenly came whipping under the porch roof and tried to land on my head. Discovering at the very last minute that the landing place was a living creature, in a frenzied flurry of wings and feathers that caught in my hair, it took off again.
That was all it took to break up the moment of poesy, by dang! My main concern was whether it had pooped on my head. That it hadn't seemed almost miraculous. (I have a long history of being pooped on by birds...) It also confirmed my opinion that doves are unbelievably dumb and it is amazing there are so many of them. They are the last birds to get out of the way on a road or highway and the only ones my cats caught often enough so as to supply themselves with a complete meat diet. Every other kind of bird in our yard seemed to know exactly where the cats were hiding out, except for the doves. The starlings would even flutter around scolding the cats, sounding warnings, or occasionally divebombing them, but doves don't seem to speak starling.
No poetry, but poetic justice, I suppose, considering that I fed my dog braised dove breasts the other day.
miércoles, 18 de abril de 2012
Dog Days
The hour set for dog training couldn't be better for our purposes: There are what seem like hundreds of people up and down the running path, and plenty of pooches. TootSweet did quite well, in fact, not once actually trying to pull off in another direction, although it cost him quite an effort. There are some really good tricks this guy is teaching me, too, on how to calm the dog down; now if only he will get in his order of collars, I'll be able to take Toots with me in the morning without dislocating my right elbow.
We passed a woman jogging who shouted a salutation to the trainer and said she couldn't wait until her dog looked as obedient as the Tooter. With a rather cynical laugh, the trainer told me it would be a warm day in Hades when that finally happened; the woman has an Italian greyhound fueled by atomic energy, and it ricochets off the walls of her home. He said the dog can be trained but it will take a long and determined effort plus a massive amount of regular exercise (no wonder the woman is running, she's got to get in shape for the dog).
On this morning's very short walk/run for me, sans the dog, it again looked like rush hour in Seattle. Either I'm going to have to get out there earlier, God knows how, or later when in the summertime I'll pass out from the heat and wind up hospitalized. Waking up very early is not an issue, but people with fibromyalgia get up in the morning as if rising from a particularly severe train wreck in which they have fully participated by being hit by runaway derailed cars. I don't even know what shape I'm in until after my cup of coffee, when my senses manage to fire up a bit and let me know which parts ache, which parts are okay, and which parts are probably missing. I figure that in order to hit the park around five-thirty at the latest, I will have to have my caffeine infusion around 4:45.
Somehow I've got to manage it or the summer is going to be a total loss. The Tooters also needs to avoid the worst of the heat, and the more people on the running path, the greater the amount of information you overhear that you really don't want to hear at all. This morning, for example, a couple of old codgers about my age trotted past me as one mentioned that he has varicose veins of the nose. I wasn't feeling particularly good this morning anyway because yesterday I had a migraine and had to dose myself with a strong medication, but the overheard remark ended my desire to keep on. I felt slightly sick, because in my altered mental state (thanks to the medication), I imagined some kind of nasal hemorrhoids.
I went home then, but perhaps that was a mistake. I should have continued on, hoping that some other grotesque physical ailment would be revealed in random conversation, something that, by God, would put me off my feed. Because ever since I've been on WW, no matter how delicious the recipes (and they are), each day I get hungrier and hungrier. That would be fine if I were losing weight, by dang, but as it is, I am nearing the point of cramming every single one of the points allowed each day into one meal. But stay tuned.
We passed a woman jogging who shouted a salutation to the trainer and said she couldn't wait until her dog looked as obedient as the Tooter. With a rather cynical laugh, the trainer told me it would be a warm day in Hades when that finally happened; the woman has an Italian greyhound fueled by atomic energy, and it ricochets off the walls of her home. He said the dog can be trained but it will take a long and determined effort plus a massive amount of regular exercise (no wonder the woman is running, she's got to get in shape for the dog).
On this morning's very short walk/run for me, sans the dog, it again looked like rush hour in Seattle. Either I'm going to have to get out there earlier, God knows how, or later when in the summertime I'll pass out from the heat and wind up hospitalized. Waking up very early is not an issue, but people with fibromyalgia get up in the morning as if rising from a particularly severe train wreck in which they have fully participated by being hit by runaway derailed cars. I don't even know what shape I'm in until after my cup of coffee, when my senses manage to fire up a bit and let me know which parts ache, which parts are okay, and which parts are probably missing. I figure that in order to hit the park around five-thirty at the latest, I will have to have my caffeine infusion around 4:45.
Somehow I've got to manage it or the summer is going to be a total loss. The Tooters also needs to avoid the worst of the heat, and the more people on the running path, the greater the amount of information you overhear that you really don't want to hear at all. This morning, for example, a couple of old codgers about my age trotted past me as one mentioned that he has varicose veins of the nose. I wasn't feeling particularly good this morning anyway because yesterday I had a migraine and had to dose myself with a strong medication, but the overheard remark ended my desire to keep on. I felt slightly sick, because in my altered mental state (thanks to the medication), I imagined some kind of nasal hemorrhoids.
I went home then, but perhaps that was a mistake. I should have continued on, hoping that some other grotesque physical ailment would be revealed in random conversation, something that, by God, would put me off my feed. Because ever since I've been on WW, no matter how delicious the recipes (and they are), each day I get hungrier and hungrier. That would be fine if I were losing weight, by dang, but as it is, I am nearing the point of cramming every single one of the points allowed each day into one meal. But stay tuned.
lunes, 16 de abril de 2012
WW, but not II
A funny thing happened to me on the way to a WeightWatchers message board. As I meandered through the topics being discussed, there was a lone soul who had done a baddie by bringing up politics. The ground rules ask you to avoid controversial topics "such as politics" as being inappropriate, as if people with political ideas didn't get fat. Anyway, there are dog lovers who are fat, fat riders (that's where I am), fat cat lovers, knitters, you name it, a group for every interest.
Oddly enough, however, considering the ground rules, there are groups of people who profess every kind of crackpot religious opinion, and talk about boring! Not to mention, of course, controversial, but somehow these possessors of THE truth haven't caught on to that. The big question is, how come agnostics and atheists also loose weight?? Is it a trick of the devil? Does God make these rabid Christians fat to put them to the test? And will I get kicked out of WW if I ask some of these questions on the religious message boards? Let's try it and see...
Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, our dog training course begins this evening at seven. I can't take the dog with me in the morning until I get my new collar, which the trainer will probably get on Tuesday. One of my grand-daughters is interested in watching the training; she is an animal lover par excellence.
The house is unbearable; there are people working on three doors and two bathrooms, pounding and drilling and painting and installing and getting stuff dusty and dirty. We are having spinach quiche for lunch today, complete with gruyere cheese, but the stress alone around here will prevent me from gaining weight.
And for the dad-gummed record, after being hungry all week, I only lost a small portion of a pound!!
Oddly enough, however, considering the ground rules, there are groups of people who profess every kind of crackpot religious opinion, and talk about boring! Not to mention, of course, controversial, but somehow these possessors of THE truth haven't caught on to that. The big question is, how come agnostics and atheists also loose weight?? Is it a trick of the devil? Does God make these rabid Christians fat to put them to the test? And will I get kicked out of WW if I ask some of these questions on the religious message boards? Let's try it and see...
Meanwhile back at the proverbial ranch, our dog training course begins this evening at seven. I can't take the dog with me in the morning until I get my new collar, which the trainer will probably get on Tuesday. One of my grand-daughters is interested in watching the training; she is an animal lover par excellence.
The house is unbearable; there are people working on three doors and two bathrooms, pounding and drilling and painting and installing and getting stuff dusty and dirty. We are having spinach quiche for lunch today, complete with gruyere cheese, but the stress alone around here will prevent me from gaining weight.
And for the dad-gummed record, after being hungry all week, I only lost a small portion of a pound!!
viernes, 13 de abril de 2012
The "intense" dog...
Having mulled it over, somehow I think "intense" is dog-trainer code for "You are dumber than your dog"....
This morning's run...
It is just as I suspected. Taking the dog with me to walk/run is double the work, even walking, than it would be on my own. After a 1K warm-up, I ran 2K almost without effort, then walked the remaining 2K so I won't be so sore tomorrow. I sweated just as much as when I take the dog for a measly 3K walk. On the WeightWatchers activity tracker, I think I'll give myself double the points for a dog-assisted run. (A dog-impeded run?)
Today's WW recipe, also from the vegetarian section, is a kind of delicious Greek sandwich usually made with philo dough. I think I've made myself clear on philo dough. It is the Greek answer to the Spanish Inquisition. This recipe, though, is made with none other than giant burrito-sized flour tortillas. If these recipes get any easier, they'll cook themselves, and so far, there have been rave reviews.
Today the trainer reports back on the TootSweet schedule. This definitely is going to be fun.
Today's WW recipe, also from the vegetarian section, is a kind of delicious Greek sandwich usually made with philo dough. I think I've made myself clear on philo dough. It is the Greek answer to the Spanish Inquisition. This recipe, though, is made with none other than giant burrito-sized flour tortillas. If these recipes get any easier, they'll cook themselves, and so far, there have been rave reviews.
Today the trainer reports back on the TootSweet schedule. This definitely is going to be fun.
The Trainer
The very day I contacted the trainer, he had time to come to the house and check out my nutty poodle. We took him to the park and walked for about an hour. The trainer changed his collar, and that was the breakthrough I wanted.
The trainer is a guy about 50, a professional of animal behavior, who specializes in dogs, cats, and ferrets. He said Toots was highly trainable but very "intense". We are going to schedule 15 sessions plus a new collar. Meantime, I took the Toots to the quinta with me yesterday when I went to deal with my other animal problem, Gitano, who behaved like a gentleman and galloped with the correct lead for once. The Toots spent the whole time a full blower tearing around the quinta from one end to the other until I thought he would drop, so today he gets a rest. I don't, however, so off I go to the park. More later.
The trainer is a guy about 50, a professional of animal behavior, who specializes in dogs, cats, and ferrets. He said Toots was highly trainable but very "intense". We are going to schedule 15 sessions plus a new collar. Meantime, I took the Toots to the quinta with me yesterday when I went to deal with my other animal problem, Gitano, who behaved like a gentleman and galloped with the correct lead for once. The Toots spent the whole time a full blower tearing around the quinta from one end to the other until I thought he would drop, so today he gets a rest. I don't, however, so off I go to the park. More later.
miércoles, 11 de abril de 2012
Desperate measures
This morning my forearm was so sore there was no question of taking the dog to the park, and this was the absolute last damned straw. I went to the vet clinic this morning and had a long talk with one of my two favorite vets, and he highly recommended a dog trainer right in town.
I trust my vets implicitely, and up until now they have been reluctant to recommend any of the con men who claim to be dog trainers around here. My dog's groomer, a man who worked his way up from nothing to a position of prestige and relative comfort, is unfortunately not the world's greatest judge of character; he gave my name to a "trainer", after asking my permission, who phoned me and simply refused to speak Spanish to me even though I said everything to him in that language. His English was very good, but everything about the man (and this was only over the phone!) was irritating. But when he extolled his own virtues and said he'd do the job for only "five hundred bucks!", I told him I wasn't interested; what I really wanted to tell him was that he was a narcissistic jerk, and up his with pineapples.
But this trainer is like day to the other guy's night: polite, smart, organized and punctual--and this only over the phone! He said he will call today at three to set a day and time for him to see just how much of a problem the Toots is, although I already made it clear that I just can't get any respect from the mutt. Whatever happens, it should be interesting and surely an eye-opener.
So there was no run today, and the weather threatens rain. Tomorrow I'm taking a grand-daughter to the quinta to ride, and maybe my arm will be better by Friday. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are having French salmon salad and potato-apple pancakes with sour cream. The peppers yesterday were magnificent. I haven't been able to use all the points I'm allowed, including the weekly "treat yourself" points, so I am going to give myself a small Coke. Three points.
I trust my vets implicitely, and up until now they have been reluctant to recommend any of the con men who claim to be dog trainers around here. My dog's groomer, a man who worked his way up from nothing to a position of prestige and relative comfort, is unfortunately not the world's greatest judge of character; he gave my name to a "trainer", after asking my permission, who phoned me and simply refused to speak Spanish to me even though I said everything to him in that language. His English was very good, but everything about the man (and this was only over the phone!) was irritating. But when he extolled his own virtues and said he'd do the job for only "five hundred bucks!", I told him I wasn't interested; what I really wanted to tell him was that he was a narcissistic jerk, and up his with pineapples.
But this trainer is like day to the other guy's night: polite, smart, organized and punctual--and this only over the phone! He said he will call today at three to set a day and time for him to see just how much of a problem the Toots is, although I already made it clear that I just can't get any respect from the mutt. Whatever happens, it should be interesting and surely an eye-opener.
So there was no run today, and the weather threatens rain. Tomorrow I'm taking a grand-daughter to the quinta to ride, and maybe my arm will be better by Friday. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are having French salmon salad and potato-apple pancakes with sour cream. The peppers yesterday were magnificent. I haven't been able to use all the points I'm allowed, including the weekly "treat yourself" points, so I am going to give myself a small Coke. Three points.
martes, 10 de abril de 2012
We are all on the drawing board...
In spite of the inferior vanilla wafers (something my daughter's girls did not confirm), the pudding was delicious, but my pigging out was the last straw. So, I joined WeightWatchers online, and the program is fantastic. With the point program, you don't have to count calories, and you can track you foods, your activity, your terminal depression, and your moments of ravenous hunger that make you bite your spouse.
There are two fabulous pluses: the recipes are to die for, and you can swap the points gained in your exercise program for food. This is day two, and I've already earned enough exercise points to eat an entire meal. I'm not going to do it, however, since I'm saving up for a vanilla ice cream cone. The cone "costs" about five points--what I've earned so far, in fact--but I don't want to sidetrack healthy eating right out of the gate. A Coke is three points. I can see that WeightWatchers has modernized its information and its stance on junk food, too. The site has the latest scientific info on weight and healthy eating, and I'm thrilled to see that eggs are now on the "you gotta have 'em" list, because I love eggs.
The recipe I am trying today for lunch is Mediterranean-spiced quinoa in red peppers, baked with a topping of feta cheese. I've made the filling and stuffed the peppers, and I can say that the filling is delicious. Quinoa seems to be the next miracle food if one is to judge by how often it is popping up in recipes from CooksIllustrated and Bon Appetit. It contains all eight amino acids, is easy to cook, has a nice nutty flavor, and can be made into pudding just like tapioca.
By the way, for those of you who some day may have leftover chile cascabel, you slice the chiles down the side, remove the seeds (don't remove the stem end) , hydrate in hot water, stuff with panela or farm cheese, or if you want to really go for broke, with Monterrey jack; place chiles in an oil-sprayed baking pan.
In the blender, blend some cream, onion, tomato, garlic, and season with chicken consome powder or crumbled consome cube, and pour over chiles. Bake at 350 until hot, bubbly, and brown.
Stay tuned for more compensatory recipes to satisfy my foodie cravings. I've got one for ravioli stuffed with sweet potato that will give you a heart attack, but oh, you will die happy!
There are two fabulous pluses: the recipes are to die for, and you can swap the points gained in your exercise program for food. This is day two, and I've already earned enough exercise points to eat an entire meal. I'm not going to do it, however, since I'm saving up for a vanilla ice cream cone. The cone "costs" about five points--what I've earned so far, in fact--but I don't want to sidetrack healthy eating right out of the gate. A Coke is three points. I can see that WeightWatchers has modernized its information and its stance on junk food, too. The site has the latest scientific info on weight and healthy eating, and I'm thrilled to see that eggs are now on the "you gotta have 'em" list, because I love eggs.
The recipe I am trying today for lunch is Mediterranean-spiced quinoa in red peppers, baked with a topping of feta cheese. I've made the filling and stuffed the peppers, and I can say that the filling is delicious. Quinoa seems to be the next miracle food if one is to judge by how often it is popping up in recipes from CooksIllustrated and Bon Appetit. It contains all eight amino acids, is easy to cook, has a nice nutty flavor, and can be made into pudding just like tapioca.
By the way, for those of you who some day may have leftover chile cascabel, you slice the chiles down the side, remove the seeds (don't remove the stem end) , hydrate in hot water, stuff with panela or farm cheese, or if you want to really go for broke, with Monterrey jack; place chiles in an oil-sprayed baking pan.
In the blender, blend some cream, onion, tomato, garlic, and season with chicken consome powder or crumbled consome cube, and pour over chiles. Bake at 350 until hot, bubbly, and brown.
Stay tuned for more compensatory recipes to satisfy my foodie cravings. I've got one for ravioli stuffed with sweet potato that will give you a heart attack, but oh, you will die happy!
domingo, 8 de abril de 2012
The Verdict
We are all grateful that it has drizzled today, and thick clouds to the north are promising perhaps more drizzle. TootSweet not only went for his walk yesterday (in his case it's a trot, he doesn't seem able to walk), then went to the quinta with us and played with my son-in-law's two dogs, since he and his family showed up too. Playmates were a beagle and a Springer spaniel. Today I am going to make sure he rests.
Meanwhile, back at the homestead, I made the vanilla wafers and the banana pudding. Tasting the wafers showed that they are inferior to the commercial wafers, but the pudding is going to be wonderful anyway with loads of bananas and the fantastic filling.
Back to the drawing board, however. Next time I'm in the States, I will have to stock up on Nilla Wafers.
Meanwhile, back at the homestead, I made the vanilla wafers and the banana pudding. Tasting the wafers showed that they are inferior to the commercial wafers, but the pudding is going to be wonderful anyway with loads of bananas and the fantastic filling.
Back to the drawing board, however. Next time I'm in the States, I will have to stock up on Nilla Wafers.
viernes, 6 de abril de 2012
Vanilla wafers
No one should be without banana pudding. The entire world would benefit both physically and emotionally from a big dose. Unfortunately, as of several months ago, vanilla wafers have been notably absent from our stores here.
There is a specialty store not far from my house that specializes in stuff imported from the U.S., such as fondant for cakes, spices, buckwheat pancake mix, etc. They may or may not have vanilla wafers, but the prices in the place are outrageous. It's cheaper to drive to Laredo and stock up on cooking ingredients. But never fear, the Internet is here!
Yes, it's true, I found a recipe for vanilla wafers. I will report on the results as soon as I have a chance to try it out. Banana pudding looms in my future, and probably on my butt as well.
There is a specialty store not far from my house that specializes in stuff imported from the U.S., such as fondant for cakes, spices, buckwheat pancake mix, etc. They may or may not have vanilla wafers, but the prices in the place are outrageous. It's cheaper to drive to Laredo and stock up on cooking ingredients. But never fear, the Internet is here!
Yes, it's true, I found a recipe for vanilla wafers. I will report on the results as soon as I have a chance to try it out. Banana pudding looms in my future, and probably on my butt as well.
A claim to fame...
Today I managed to trot over a kilometer, with the Toots acting like a totally civilized dog. Now he pays attention to verbal corrections, and it looks like we are on our way.
After Beto staggered away from the table after lunch (sweet potato stuffed ravioli with brown butter and hazelnut sauce, smoked porkchop with fresh, roasted pineapple, and fig and arugula salad with prosciutto and shaved parmigiano cheese), it brought to mind that Monterrey has the dubious claim to fame of having had, at one point, the world's two fattest men living here.
They were HUGE. Their legs were so fat that the couldn't keep them together, and they stuck out at right angles to their bodies. In fact, you would be hard pressed even to identify the limbs as legs, since they had no real recognizable shape. "Grotesque" doesn't cover it.
One of these men literally ate himself to death, and the other pleaded for help and got it. Hordes of people descended upon his humble abode, put him on a diet, helped him exercise even while bed-ridden. (Neither of these men had gotten out of bed in years since neither could move under his own steam.) This man probably no longer holds the record as the world's fattest man, because he has lost a couple of hundred pounds and seems to be forging ahead with his diet and exercise program. I think he still hasn't gotten out of bed on his own, although he has been hauled out by pulley and taken for medical evaluations.
Let's face it, these men are the victims of attempted--or successful--murder. If you are bedridden, you can't chow down unless someone brings you the masses of calories and crap that are keeping you too fat to move. One of the mothers was interviewed for the Discovery Channel (and surely there are others things more inspiring to discover than this), and she was a humble, passive woman who seemed simple-minded, no doubt trained from birth to cater to everyone's needs except her own. She was no sylph herself, mind you, but it is probable that no one every taught her anything about nutrition. She entered into the diet regime with gusto, though, so her heart is in the right place. According to her, her son threw such temper tantrums when he didn't get enough food that she would wind up giving in. They live in a tiny house with only three or four rooms, so maybe she was afraid the neighbors would intervene if he kept up the ranting. Poor woman!
Every now and then, our local paper comes out with some article about this man, and believe you me, I've seen enough of him. I'm not amused by his massive self, unable to wear clothes in the summer because nothing fits him, wrapped barely in a sheet. But morbidity seems to be the byword in television viewing too, so if you want to look up this individual, just google "world's fattest man", and you may find him even though he has probably lost his title by now. But you never know.
After Beto staggered away from the table after lunch (sweet potato stuffed ravioli with brown butter and hazelnut sauce, smoked porkchop with fresh, roasted pineapple, and fig and arugula salad with prosciutto and shaved parmigiano cheese), it brought to mind that Monterrey has the dubious claim to fame of having had, at one point, the world's two fattest men living here.
They were HUGE. Their legs were so fat that the couldn't keep them together, and they stuck out at right angles to their bodies. In fact, you would be hard pressed even to identify the limbs as legs, since they had no real recognizable shape. "Grotesque" doesn't cover it.
One of these men literally ate himself to death, and the other pleaded for help and got it. Hordes of people descended upon his humble abode, put him on a diet, helped him exercise even while bed-ridden. (Neither of these men had gotten out of bed in years since neither could move under his own steam.) This man probably no longer holds the record as the world's fattest man, because he has lost a couple of hundred pounds and seems to be forging ahead with his diet and exercise program. I think he still hasn't gotten out of bed on his own, although he has been hauled out by pulley and taken for medical evaluations.
Let's face it, these men are the victims of attempted--or successful--murder. If you are bedridden, you can't chow down unless someone brings you the masses of calories and crap that are keeping you too fat to move. One of the mothers was interviewed for the Discovery Channel (and surely there are others things more inspiring to discover than this), and she was a humble, passive woman who seemed simple-minded, no doubt trained from birth to cater to everyone's needs except her own. She was no sylph herself, mind you, but it is probable that no one every taught her anything about nutrition. She entered into the diet regime with gusto, though, so her heart is in the right place. According to her, her son threw such temper tantrums when he didn't get enough food that she would wind up giving in. They live in a tiny house with only three or four rooms, so maybe she was afraid the neighbors would intervene if he kept up the ranting. Poor woman!
Every now and then, our local paper comes out with some article about this man, and believe you me, I've seen enough of him. I'm not amused by his massive self, unable to wear clothes in the summer because nothing fits him, wrapped barely in a sheet. But morbidity seems to be the byword in television viewing too, so if you want to look up this individual, just google "world's fattest man", and you may find him even though he has probably lost his title by now. But you never know.
miércoles, 4 de abril de 2012
Mexican fire-roasted sauces
If you are into real Mexican cuisine, you might like to make a fantastic fire-roasted sauce that only gets better once it sits in the fridge.
You'll need a cast-iron griddle or comal (a round iron griddle). The best are by Lodge, and you can often find them at Academy; if not, you can order one directly from Lodge. They are the best way to heat up corn tortillas also.
Ingredients:
One onion, quartered
Three or four Italian tomatoes
Two or three garlic cloves, unpeeled
A chile ancho, mulato, guajillo, pasilla, or cascabel (I really like cascabel chiles); these are dried chiles but they should still be flexible so you can use the rest for stuffing if you want to. Recipe for that later.
Ground chipotle powder
Cover the griddle with aluminum foil and heat. Place onion and tomatoes on the griddle and allow to roast, turning with kitchen tongs. Have your blender handy, and as the onion and tomato begin to char, put them into the blender. Put garlic on griddle and remove as the peel becomes toasted. You can do this at the same time you do the onion and tomatoes if you are careful not to let the garlic burn. Without taking off the peel, use a garlic mincer to mince the garlic right into the blender.
Put a small pan of water on the stove, add some salt, and heat to just boiling. Meanwhile, remove the seeds and the stem from your chile of choice (I only use one) and place on griddle. Turn chile, pressing it down lightly, but only until fragrant. If it burns it becomes bitter. Pop it into the hot water, turn off the heat under the pan and allow chile to rehydrate.
Place chile into blender with other ingredients and a little of the water in which the chile soaked. Add salt and pepper. Blend until smooth.
Heat a skillet and add some neutral-tasting oil. When hot, "fry" sauce, stirring, until the raw taste has worn off. Check the salt, and add just a touch of chipotle powder to add a smoky taste.
Store sauce in fridge. Use for flautas, enchiladas, with a fried egg, in beans, you name it.
The aluminum foil allows you to use the griddle without having a clean-up afterward. Enjoy!
You'll need a cast-iron griddle or comal (a round iron griddle). The best are by Lodge, and you can often find them at Academy; if not, you can order one directly from Lodge. They are the best way to heat up corn tortillas also.
Ingredients:
One onion, quartered
Three or four Italian tomatoes
Two or three garlic cloves, unpeeled
A chile ancho, mulato, guajillo, pasilla, or cascabel (I really like cascabel chiles); these are dried chiles but they should still be flexible so you can use the rest for stuffing if you want to. Recipe for that later.
Ground chipotle powder
Cover the griddle with aluminum foil and heat. Place onion and tomatoes on the griddle and allow to roast, turning with kitchen tongs. Have your blender handy, and as the onion and tomato begin to char, put them into the blender. Put garlic on griddle and remove as the peel becomes toasted. You can do this at the same time you do the onion and tomatoes if you are careful not to let the garlic burn. Without taking off the peel, use a garlic mincer to mince the garlic right into the blender.
Put a small pan of water on the stove, add some salt, and heat to just boiling. Meanwhile, remove the seeds and the stem from your chile of choice (I only use one) and place on griddle. Turn chile, pressing it down lightly, but only until fragrant. If it burns it becomes bitter. Pop it into the hot water, turn off the heat under the pan and allow chile to rehydrate.
Place chile into blender with other ingredients and a little of the water in which the chile soaked. Add salt and pepper. Blend until smooth.
Heat a skillet and add some neutral-tasting oil. When hot, "fry" sauce, stirring, until the raw taste has worn off. Check the salt, and add just a touch of chipotle powder to add a smoky taste.
Store sauce in fridge. Use for flautas, enchiladas, with a fried egg, in beans, you name it.
The aluminum foil allows you to use the griddle without having a clean-up afterward. Enjoy!
The Yard Rat
Two days ago, as I watered my newly-planted flowers in the back yard, suddenly a large rat scuttled across the lawn and made its escape. I was horrified, because each morning Toots dashes into the backyard sniffing the ground from one end to the other, obviously enthusiastic about something unusual that has been here in the night. Okay, I can take opossums and raccoons, but I draw the line at rats. It was off to the store to find some kind of trap. Rats can give dogs toxoplasmosis and gosh knows what else.
There was poison, but I didn't want to kill some harmless visitor to our lawn, such as our squirrel. There were the snapping-type traps, but only mouse size, and besides, it seems like a ghastly way to die. I have a wire cage trap I've used to get rid of opossums and stray cats, but where would I let the danged rat out? ]And what else might I catch instead of the rat? Could I let the rat loose far enough away to keep it from returning? Heaven forbid it should be reproducing somewhere in the yard, because not only might it come back, but then what to do with the offspring?
Finally I bought a sticky trap. It consisted of a couple of strips of thick plastic (two traps, or a double dose of stickiness if you needed it) covered in something unbelievably adhesive; I accidentally got a finger into the stuff and thought I'd never get free again.
But somehow this didn't seem like a particularly stress-free solution; the instructions showed a rat, dead, stuck in the stuff and being tossed into the trash in a very sanitary fashion. Well, something wasn't right, because why was it dead? And who in his right mind would pitch the cadaver into his trash can and hope for the best, smell-wise?
It took me two days to work up the nerve to set the traps out, baited with some almonds and a toasted tortilla. The instructions were clear that no cheese or bacon could be used since greasy substances were banned. Might they allow the rat to slip away, lubricated by cheese or bacon? Who knows?
During the night, I had nightmares that the trap was loaded with radioactive material such as uranium and strontium 90. That would sure explain the dead rat in the instruction drawing!
First thing this morning before allowing Toots outside, I checked the trap, which I had placed on a patio close to the laundry room. The entire trap was gone. I couldn't find it anywhere. I pictured a 'possum making off with the trap stuck to its paws, strong enough to function in spite of this minor bother.
Finally I found the sticky thing, overturned and crammed into a drain grill next to our patio that keeps water from accumulating along a wall. The danged beast, whatever it was, was not only strong but vindictive. If it had rained we would have had water flooding the whole patio, thanks to the natural dam created by the trap.
I've declared a truce on the vermin front. As long as whatever they are stay outside, so be it. After last night, though, I don't think we will be visited again for a while. That could not have been a pleasant time, finding yourself stuck to a big black plastic tray and having to drag it around the yard while trying to free your paws. I wish I could have seen it.
There was poison, but I didn't want to kill some harmless visitor to our lawn, such as our squirrel. There were the snapping-type traps, but only mouse size, and besides, it seems like a ghastly way to die. I have a wire cage trap I've used to get rid of opossums and stray cats, but where would I let the danged rat out? ]And what else might I catch instead of the rat? Could I let the rat loose far enough away to keep it from returning? Heaven forbid it should be reproducing somewhere in the yard, because not only might it come back, but then what to do with the offspring?
Finally I bought a sticky trap. It consisted of a couple of strips of thick plastic (two traps, or a double dose of stickiness if you needed it) covered in something unbelievably adhesive; I accidentally got a finger into the stuff and thought I'd never get free again.
But somehow this didn't seem like a particularly stress-free solution; the instructions showed a rat, dead, stuck in the stuff and being tossed into the trash in a very sanitary fashion. Well, something wasn't right, because why was it dead? And who in his right mind would pitch the cadaver into his trash can and hope for the best, smell-wise?
It took me two days to work up the nerve to set the traps out, baited with some almonds and a toasted tortilla. The instructions were clear that no cheese or bacon could be used since greasy substances were banned. Might they allow the rat to slip away, lubricated by cheese or bacon? Who knows?
During the night, I had nightmares that the trap was loaded with radioactive material such as uranium and strontium 90. That would sure explain the dead rat in the instruction drawing!
First thing this morning before allowing Toots outside, I checked the trap, which I had placed on a patio close to the laundry room. The entire trap was gone. I couldn't find it anywhere. I pictured a 'possum making off with the trap stuck to its paws, strong enough to function in spite of this minor bother.
Finally I found the sticky thing, overturned and crammed into a drain grill next to our patio that keeps water from accumulating along a wall. The danged beast, whatever it was, was not only strong but vindictive. If it had rained we would have had water flooding the whole patio, thanks to the natural dam created by the trap.
I've declared a truce on the vermin front. As long as whatever they are stay outside, so be it. After last night, though, I don't think we will be visited again for a while. That could not have been a pleasant time, finding yourself stuck to a big black plastic tray and having to drag it around the yard while trying to free your paws. I wish I could have seen it.
Sandles, sandels and sandals...
This is what happens when you are too lazy to look up a word that has whisked out of your brain. It's not as if the dictionary were in another room, either. It is on a stand right by the computer, but that means I have to get up and turn pages, God help us. And try learning another language. It will make your English go to the devil. I have a wonderful computer program for learning Italian, and it has made me grind to a halt, communication-wise. My brain goes into some kind of gear-stripping buzz that can't come up with the right word in any language at all until, perhaps, several hours later.
Today the Toots and I only went two kilometers because I was tired, sore, and hungry, but he behaved wonderfully. I may be able to trot with him before long. It has dawned on him that there will be no leash, thus no walk, if he goes bananas at the very thought of going out. So now the uproar of getting him into the underleg doo-dad has calmed to a mere routine. Today we went by another wonderful Sheltie, the soul of civilization, and a black Lab totally out of control that was dragging its owner down the path. The Toots did not try to dash to one side, he didn't yank on his leash, he didn't whine. Is victory within sight??
Today the Toots and I only went two kilometers because I was tired, sore, and hungry, but he behaved wonderfully. I may be able to trot with him before long. It has dawned on him that there will be no leash, thus no walk, if he goes bananas at the very thought of going out. So now the uproar of getting him into the underleg doo-dad has calmed to a mere routine. Today we went by another wonderful Sheltie, the soul of civilization, and a black Lab totally out of control that was dragging its owner down the path. The Toots did not try to dash to one side, he didn't yank on his leash, he didn't whine. Is victory within sight??
lunes, 2 de abril de 2012
Last tango in Monterrey
You've probably heard that ancient joke about the Aggie who heard that most accidents take place within 25 miles of home, so he moved. It always reminds me that of all the times I've fallen off horses, the only time I really hurt myself falling was when I tripped on a tennis court.
It was bad enough that I have been sore from crashing on the running path. Yesterday, while some of our kids and grandkids were getting their gear out the front door, my husband, who was humming a tango, grabbed me and started to dance. At this point, I need to discuss Mexican arts and crafts.
While in Querétaro last year, I bought some delightful woolen mice, stuffed with sand, that are meant to keep your door from slamming when a breeze whips through the house. I bought two, one for the front door and one for a door that goes to the breakfast room. The grandkids love them, of course.
Well, in a move that only a very young man should try, Beto went swirling around, and I was just holding on and trying not to get stomped on, since I had on sandles and it would have killed my foot. I backed into the doormouse and, of course, began to fall down. It was Keystone cops there for a while, except that Beto seemed to hit every object in the room before finally striking the floor a mighty blow with his right gluteous maximus. Unfortunately, his gluteous isn't very maximus and there isn't much cushioning. In a matter of a fraction of a second, he looked like he'd been mugged.
I'm glad to say he is fine, nothing broken, but plenty is sore. I, on the other hand, am now evenly sore on both sides of my body--from my flying leap on the running path and from my flying leap during the tango. I keep telling people that fibromyalgia wreaks havoc with your sense of balance, but no one believes me. But they will now--"they" being Beto, of course. I took ballroom dancing a million years ago and loved it, but we didn't learn this tango move. I think it was one of those spontaneous things Beto does from time to time, but from now on, it aint gonna be with me!
It was bad enough that I have been sore from crashing on the running path. Yesterday, while some of our kids and grandkids were getting their gear out the front door, my husband, who was humming a tango, grabbed me and started to dance. At this point, I need to discuss Mexican arts and crafts.
While in Querétaro last year, I bought some delightful woolen mice, stuffed with sand, that are meant to keep your door from slamming when a breeze whips through the house. I bought two, one for the front door and one for a door that goes to the breakfast room. The grandkids love them, of course.
Well, in a move that only a very young man should try, Beto went swirling around, and I was just holding on and trying not to get stomped on, since I had on sandles and it would have killed my foot. I backed into the doormouse and, of course, began to fall down. It was Keystone cops there for a while, except that Beto seemed to hit every object in the room before finally striking the floor a mighty blow with his right gluteous maximus. Unfortunately, his gluteous isn't very maximus and there isn't much cushioning. In a matter of a fraction of a second, he looked like he'd been mugged.
I'm glad to say he is fine, nothing broken, but plenty is sore. I, on the other hand, am now evenly sore on both sides of my body--from my flying leap on the running path and from my flying leap during the tango. I keep telling people that fibromyalgia wreaks havoc with your sense of balance, but no one believes me. But they will now--"they" being Beto, of course. I took ballroom dancing a million years ago and loved it, but we didn't learn this tango move. I think it was one of those spontaneous things Beto does from time to time, but from now on, it aint gonna be with me!
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