Will Lean Cuisine Make Me Leaner?

Like most middle-age women, I have a few pounds to lose for my health as well as my vanity. I've been avoiding this reality for many years. I would just avoid mirrors, clothing stores and my doctors' imploring speeches about losing weight.

But somehow I just stopped avoiding my "weight problem" and stopped making excuses too. Most people think overweight people eat a lot of junk or bad food. Quite the contrary in my case, I eat healthy and sometimes rich food. My problem is that I just eat too much of a good thing.

I love food. Sometimes I love to cook too. But I always have an appreciation for food. This Big Love has gotten me into clothing sizes that I will not disclose here. But for me, here's the rub: portion control.

I can't do portion control for myself. That's why I'm now on a diet of Lean Cuisine. I microwave about 300 calories of something I'd be proud to cook. And it satisfies my taste. (Often, I'll keep eating because my tastes are being left unsatisfied.) Hopefully, there will be hundreds of entrees to choose from which will also satisfy my need for variety.

It seems that Lean Cuisine is a method of weight-control for Hollywood types too. My friends tell me that grocery stores in LA boast that they carry the largest selection in that city of thin people. I hope our stores on the East Coast can keep up too.

Lean Cuisine may not be the complete answer to my weight loss issues. But it's a diet where I don't have to cook so much and the food still tastes good. I'm willing to give this method a try.

Me and Madonna

Just got MDNA, Madonna's latest. Listening to it. I love her for being such a sexual renegade. It was something when we were twenty-somethings. Well I came of age when Madonna came to stardom. She went on to become one of the richest self-made women in the world. I did not. I worked in psychology (I videotaped parent-teenager interactions, I calculated thousands of GPAs for graduate fellowships, and I talked to and emailed hundreds of wanna-be psychology graduate students.)

I put in 20 years. Madonna has put in close to 35 years, and the clock is still clicking. We are both risk-takers. I think hers paid off better than mine. But I've got no regrets.

Finding One's Place

Where's your center of being and doing? At work, at home, in your car, when you're out enjoying the night? Not necessarily your favorite spot, just where you do you.

So fess up now...

My center is in my purple chair in my living room with the cats and in front of my laptop alongside a window that looks out to ponds, ducks, geese and lots of trees. Nothing exotic or romantic, but it works for me.

Please Not Another Potluck!

I have not been to a LGBT bar in years, but I can't seem to get away from the potluck invitations. It's a staple of middle-age lesbian life: we do games and potluck get-togethers in someone's home. These social events are private and very exclusive. You either have to be a friend-of-a-friend or have answered the email on your city's lesbian listserv. No, but really, most of the time you have got to know somebody to get invited. And the group is relatively small---under 40.

But we must discuss the food. I've wheeled out my Greek salad with feta and olives several times. I picked up this salad from a neighborhood cafe and loved it. So I reproduced it and thought how nice it would be to bring it to a potluck. The salad bombed, big time! Too exotic and foreign for most people. I did notice that the deviled eggs and tuna salad were a big hit. Such is my fate! Oh well, more for me.

And then there's the fun and games. Kathleen and I belonged to a mahjongg group for a while. This group had two tables going every Friday night. But as in all things, everyone's schedules started conflicting. Also, we had too many alphas in our group. A couple of people became slightly cut-throat competitive and that killed the joy of playing the game for the rest of us.

And so for our group, game night broke up.

But we'll get another invitation to a game night soon, and another potluck won't be far behind. Or just maybe we'll all do something other than game night and potluck. How does ping-pong and billiards in a sports bar sound to you? Or a theatre group? I'll consider it. Will you?

Maybe a Little Make-Up

To wear make-up or not to wear make-up? That's the question for the 50+ lesbian. We have the shining and inspiring example of Ellen, who looks great as the 50-something Covergirl. (At her age it should be Coverwoman, but I'll let it go this time...) 

It's almost too good to be true. A mature woman albeit blond, thin and  cute as a button, selling make-up in a pant suit and short pixie hair-cut. Is this just more of the Ellen phenomenon, or has someone discovered that there might be another niche market among women---lesbians?
 
Well, I for one broke down and bought some Covergirl foundation. When I was younger, I wore foundation everyday to cover my uneven skin tones. As middle-age approached, I gave up the foundation and went natural. Personally I felt my looks suffered for it. But the peer-pressure to NOT wear make-up was overpowering, and I caved. Also, it was easy to become lazy and let myself go.
 
Now at 50 I want to do all that I can afford to look my best. I'm tired of looking tired. If a little foundation makes the difference between me feeling worn-out and beaten-down and a little more perky, then I'm using the foundation.
 
Now many would say I've entered the realm of femmes with all this make-up talk. I differ with you. Men now have their own cosmetics as well as women. So there. It's no longer about being butch or femme. It's about taking care of your skin and looking your best.
 
So when you consider all of this, you must remember that I'm from LA where even the local CVS has a cosmetic department that would rival our department stores' cosmetics counters. And I for one believe that while appearances are not everything, taking care of yourself speaks volumes about yourself.

George and Gracie Are Back!

Every Spring the birds come back! And the first ones are the House Sparrows. Several years ago I was delighted with a mating pair who took over the air vent by our front door. This pair were quite animated.   

Every day as I sat soaking up the morning sun by our front door, these real-live comedians endeared me with their song and flying dances. I watched them choose each other, dance, mate, build a nest, and incubate their eggs.
 
Now you may say that all sparrows look alike. Well, yes indeed. George looked like a guy and Gracie looked like a girl sparrow. But mostly, I knew them because they were the sparrows that had chosen our air vent and felt safe around me. George could be quite bold. If I sat still and did an almost zen-like meditation, he would come within 6 inches of my foot. He'd cock his head and I could almost hear him thinking "Two-leggeds are so strange. Doesn't she have something better to do than watch us?"
 
And then finally, we knew that the chicks had arrived because we could hear them. Unfortunately, there were too many chicks and one got kicked out of the nest.
 
I was horrified!!!

Kathleen explained to me that this was nature's form of birth control and that we should let nature take its course--such as a cat would discover "our abandoned chick" and have lunch. I just couldn't let it go. So I convinced Kathleen to bring the chick inside the house.
 
So like for all things we Googled it---"abandoned sparrow chick."  We discovered that a shoe box with heating blanket and a towel could provide a temporary nest. And ironically, our chick needed to be fed dampened cat kibble, every 20 minutes. With two cats in the house, we had plenty of cat food. And thankfully, baby birds do sleep when the sun goes down.
 
And then I Googled bird rehabilitation and found this place in the woods called Second Chance. By now, after several feedings, we had both formed a parent-baby bond with our chick. And so of course, even Kathleen took off from work the next day and drove us all to Second Chance.
 
Second Chance is a wonderful place if you're a wild bird or someone who loves them. We gave them our chick, made a donation and hoped she survived.
 
While George and Gracie might not have been the best parents, we tried to do right by their progeny. So nowadays when I see the House Sparrows, I kinda feel like one of the family.
 

Poor, Poor Cherry Tree Is Poor No More

She got pruned today. Our poor cherry tree got three to four feet "topped off." She now has a lovely sculptured look about her. Later she'll get injected around her base with fertilizer pellets, and then we wait. We wait for her to bloom beautiful double-petaled pink flowers.

Like most cherry trees in DC, she's an ornamental variety. I don't feel cheated that she doesn't bear fruit. I'm not much of a cherry-picker myself. Heck, the pink double-petals make quite a mess on their own. Typically the tree blooms for about a week, and then pink petals rain from the tree. The first day of "petal rain" carpets the sidewalks around the house with a good two to three inches of petals.

Of course all that former beauty becomes work. A job of constant sweeping, two to three times a day, takes its toll. And soon our poor, poor cherry tree doesn't seem quite so beautiful anymore.

But I remember the week of full bloom. And the beautiful pink light she cast in both my kitchen and bedroom.

I'm so glad we saved our tree from "removal." Because, you know, now cherry pink is my favorite color.

Ugh! The Laundry Has Got to Get Done!

There's a pressing matter of vital importance to our lives. It's who does the laundry. And how often does it get done. We all face the mountains of laundry. Our own or our family's. It never goes away and is never finished. It's always present.

Kathleen and I do our laundry together. I bring it down, wash and dry. She folds it and very well I might add. I schlepp it up two flights of stairs in our townhouse, and Kathleen puts it away. After living together for over a decade, we've learned to play to each other's strengths.

But we both still avoid doing the laundry until we're almost completely out of clothes. We've even tried the trick of buying more clothes so we can go for longer periods before we have to do the dreaded laundry. Unfortunately when we finally break down and do the laundry, we've got mountains of laundry to do. It's scary, but we both loathe laundry. How about you?

I kid myself that the reason we both dislike laundry so much is because we're such liberated women. Something like "we have better things to do with our time than domestic tasks." Or something like "our time is worth so much more than a laundress's time."

So sometimes when one of us is sick or we're both busy being "liberated", we break down and take the laundry to the laundromat and have it done. It really isn't that expensive, but of course it's not done as well as we do it.

No matter which way you slice it or dice it, the laundry has got to get done. Once I wrote on the back of a postcard that "one of the most telling thing about a person is who does their laundry." Think about it. It's really true, you know.

Waiting for the Arborist to Arrive...

It's raining out. I mean really raining out. And today, I get to go outside with the second arborist and either cross my arms or stand with arms akimbo depending on what s/he has to say. I have an umbrella, rain slicker and rain hat to shield me from the relentless rain. I wonder, what does the arborist have for these occasions?

2 Hours Later...

In the pouring rain, I discuss with our second arborist, Tony, the fate of our poor, poor cherry tree. As our clothes soak, Tony's story about our tree is strikingly similar to the first arborist's take on her distress. She's outgrown her space, and her growth is leading to her demise. We can keep her going for a few more years, with pruning, or we can just remove her.

I can't bear killing this tree right now. I love the pink she brings into the house in late April. This spring will be our 12th year together. Ahhh, this tree is breaking my heart! I know, we can plant another one, but it just won't be the same!

Tonight Kathleen and I will be responsible home owners and look over the proposals. We'll make a decision: prune or remove. Which one would you choose?

When It's Time to Call In an Arborist

Our poor, poor, cherry tree. She's going to have to be pruned back or even removed entirely. Stump and all. The builders when they planted our cherry tree failed to remove the root basket, and now she's outgrown it. Lazy bastards condemned our poor tree to a short life. This is what our first estimate from an arborist said. 

I did a little research on our tree. She's a late bloomer (late April that is), and her blossoms are a vibrant and rich pink and double-petaled too. In full bloom she casts our bedroom in a soft pink light on a sunny day. It's fantastic and surreal. I love being surrounded by all that pink, pink & more pink.

I also learned what variety our tree is: Kanzan. A good Japanese name. Did I tell you I visited Tokyo when I was eight...

Tomorrow we'll hear from the second arborist. "Our Poor Cherry Tree" to be continued...