I grew up with a girl who was born on the same day as me. Every year, in grades 1 through 6, we held hands at the front of the classroom while our classmates sang "Bonne Anniversaire" (we were in French immersion) to us on our birthday. I was always glad that I had a birthday buddy, because I was shy and it would have been hard to stand up there all by myself.
Much, much later, I met someone else who has exactly the same birthday as me. My current birthday buddy is a man I work with. He joined the company a few years ago, and we discovered that we had this in common.
Then, at the company Christmas party, I met his wife. She looked awfully familiar. Turns out that she was in my class in grades 1 through 6, and was one of the voices singing "Bonne Anniversaire" to me and my childhood birthday buddy many years ago. Not only that, but she's still in touch with my childhood birthday buddy. They're friends, their kids are friends, and they hang out on a regular basis. Every year at the Christmas party we talk about setting up a reunion. It probably won't ever happen, but I like getting an annual update on my old birthday buddy's life from my new birthday buddy's wife.
If that wasn't enough to convince you that it's a small world, consider this.
I have a girlfriend who's a real Downtown Girl. I met her when she was selling shoes in Toronto's fashion district (that's Queen St. West, for those of you in the T-dot). She lives in a slightly run-down, artsy, colourful neighbourhood called The Junction. It's not exactly downtown, but it's within shouting distance thereof. She lives in an apartment in a building that's over one hundred years old, with an original claw-footed bathtub.
Recently Downtown Girl quit her job at the shoe store and went back to school for a career change. Her new qualifications could potentially be a fit for my workplace (although not in my department). She came out to the suburbs to meet me for lunch, to get a tour of my workplace, and to meet the other department manager. Imagine my surprise when she eyeballed one of my staff and said "You look very familiar. Did you ever work at the airport?"
Here's the story: Downtown Girl and My Employee did both work at the airport years ago. My Employee had a desk job in the customs office. She used to buy her lunch from a restaurant where Downtown Girl was a server. They started chatting when they met on the bus to and from work. They figured out that they were both from the same city in Ukraine, and not only that but they had both gone to the same primary school.
As if that weren't enough, here they were meeting again, randomly, although we were nowhere near the airport and both of them had changed careers. Our minds were blown by the odds against this reunion.
Your turn. What's your best small world story?
Friday, January 25, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Pierced
I've had a few piercings in my life. I've had a total of six* holes poked in to my ears over the years, of which two remain functional. I also wore a nose ring for a while, in 1997-8. I took it out when I went job-searching in the corporate world. Sometimes I miss the nose ring, but then I recall having to do nostril maintenance with a Q-tip and the nostalgia fades.
If piercing makes you squeamish, you may wish to stop reading now.
I have always avoided heavy earrings because over time they can pull a neat pierced hole into a long, stretched-out slit. I have been careful to maintain my piercings. In fact, I have one pair of earrings with slightly thicker-than-average posts, and I sometimes need to use a little hand cream to get them in.
I mentioned a while back that Ken took me to a fancy jewellery store on Boxing Day. Well, there were some very pretty earrings there that had thick posts. I wanted to try them on, plus there was a salesperson who was very eager to see me fall in love with them.
I couldn't get them to go in, so I asked the sales guy if he could find a drop of hand cream. He produced some that they normally use to get tight rings off of ladies' fingers. I lubed up the earring, but no matter how I wiggled it and pushed it, it wouldn't go into my ear.
The sales guy wasn't willing to give up so easily. He asked if he could give it a try, and I made the mistake of allowing him to do so. He pushed and shoved that earring so forcefully that I had to ask him to stop because he was hurting me. And thusly, my right ear was injured.
I have been having trouble with that ear ever since. Miraculously it never got infected, but it got to the point where the injured area would heal shut overnight and I would have to basically re-pierce my ear every morning when I put my earrings in. Very, very uncool. Also, OW.
So I've stuck a pair of simple, silver studs into my ears and I'm going to simply leave them in until March. It takes 6 to 8 weeks for a fresh piercing to heal. It's a shame, because I enjoy my earring collection and always match my ear jewellery to my outfit. Oh well. Silver goes with everything. I should have both ears back in working order in time for spring, when hats and hoods come off, so that'll be good timing.
Also, I think I'm going to start wearing heavy earrings every once in a while, and stretch out those holes a little, so I can avoid having to deal with this situation again.
Do you have any piercings?
*I had my ears pierced for the first time when I was 8 (2 holes), but I didn't take proper care of my earlobes, and eventually the holes grew over. I had my ears pierced again when I was 16 (+2 = 4 holes). When I was in university I had one extra hole pierced in my left ear way up near the top corner, through the cartilage (+1 = 5), but that one didn't heal well so I let it close over. I had another extra hole pierced in my left earlobe (+1 = 6), but wearing an asymmetrical third earring went out of style after the '90's, so in the end that one closed over too.
If piercing makes you squeamish, you may wish to stop reading now.
I have always avoided heavy earrings because over time they can pull a neat pierced hole into a long, stretched-out slit. I have been careful to maintain my piercings. In fact, I have one pair of earrings with slightly thicker-than-average posts, and I sometimes need to use a little hand cream to get them in.
I mentioned a while back that Ken took me to a fancy jewellery store on Boxing Day. Well, there were some very pretty earrings there that had thick posts. I wanted to try them on, plus there was a salesperson who was very eager to see me fall in love with them.
I couldn't get them to go in, so I asked the sales guy if he could find a drop of hand cream. He produced some that they normally use to get tight rings off of ladies' fingers. I lubed up the earring, but no matter how I wiggled it and pushed it, it wouldn't go into my ear.
The sales guy wasn't willing to give up so easily. He asked if he could give it a try, and I made the mistake of allowing him to do so. He pushed and shoved that earring so forcefully that I had to ask him to stop because he was hurting me. And thusly, my right ear was injured.
I have been having trouble with that ear ever since. Miraculously it never got infected, but it got to the point where the injured area would heal shut overnight and I would have to basically re-pierce my ear every morning when I put my earrings in. Very, very uncool. Also, OW.
So I've stuck a pair of simple, silver studs into my ears and I'm going to simply leave them in until March. It takes 6 to 8 weeks for a fresh piercing to heal. It's a shame, because I enjoy my earring collection and always match my ear jewellery to my outfit. Oh well. Silver goes with everything. I should have both ears back in working order in time for spring, when hats and hoods come off, so that'll be good timing.
Also, I think I'm going to start wearing heavy earrings every once in a while, and stretch out those holes a little, so I can avoid having to deal with this situation again.
Do you have any piercings?
*I had my ears pierced for the first time when I was 8 (2 holes), but I didn't take proper care of my earlobes, and eventually the holes grew over. I had my ears pierced again when I was 16 (+2 = 4 holes). When I was in university I had one extra hole pierced in my left ear way up near the top corner, through the cartilage (+1 = 5), but that one didn't heal well so I let it close over. I had another extra hole pierced in my left earlobe (+1 = 6), but wearing an asymmetrical third earring went out of style after the '90's, so in the end that one closed over too.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Mother Nature is Weird
I've been watching my way though a free course available on YouTube: Human Behavioural Biology taught by Prof. Robert Sapolsky at Stanford University. I am completely fascinated by what I'm learning. The course investigates the roles of heredity and environment in shaping behaviour. The aim is to explain human behaviour, but the course also presents the results of numerous animal studies to make various points.
For example, the case of the naked mole rat, (a.k.a. the "sand puppy", according to Google). According to National Geographic, this ugly little beast looks like a tiny, pink walrus, or "perhaps a bratwurst with teeth". Professor Sapolsky explains that these guys live in elaborate underground burrows, in large communities. There is division of labour. Each naked mole rat has a job to do. Except, researchers found when observing one community, there were a handful of lazy naked mole rats. They just hung around in the burrows, eating lots of food that was brought to them by their buddies. They ate so much that they got big and fat.
The researchers couldn't figure out why the other naked mole rats wasted resources feeding the lazy naked mole rats. Until rainy season. When rain started pouring down, each overfed naked mole rat backed his big fat butt into one entrance to the burrow, thusly plugging up the doorway and keeping rainwater from flooding the underground tunnels. Take whatever lesson you will from this.
Another one of my favourite anecdotes from the course has to do with bees. As you probably all know, bees communicate via "dancing". A dance with particular parameters translates into "There is a significant food source if you travel around 10 minutes from the hive entrance at an angle of 80 degrees to the east" or something close to that. Normally if a bee came back to the hive and did that dance there would be an immediate bee exodus to go take advantage of the food source. That's pretty impressive in itself.
Here's the even-more-awesome part. The researchers put an attractive food source onto a rowboat and rowed out into the middle of a lake. They waited for a bee to discover the food source, then they monitored what happened inside the hive. The discoverer bee flew home and danced the message "Hey guys I found a tasty snack 7 minutes outside the hive, 150 degrees to the left!" But the other bees didn't believe him. They were all "Yeah, right, I don't think so. Dude, that's in the middle of the lake! Pollen doesn't grow out there!" And none of the bees went to investigate.
How could bees possibly be that smart? I mean, do they even have a brain? I'm thinking that they might have a tiny cluster of neurons inside their fuzzy little heads about the size of a poppy seed, or of sesame seed if we're being very optimistic. How can they put two and two together to make four? It's pretty amazing.
For example, the case of the naked mole rat, (a.k.a. the "sand puppy", according to Google). According to National Geographic, this ugly little beast looks like a tiny, pink walrus, or "perhaps a bratwurst with teeth". Professor Sapolsky explains that these guys live in elaborate underground burrows, in large communities. There is division of labour. Each naked mole rat has a job to do. Except, researchers found when observing one community, there were a handful of lazy naked mole rats. They just hung around in the burrows, eating lots of food that was brought to them by their buddies. They ate so much that they got big and fat.
The researchers couldn't figure out why the other naked mole rats wasted resources feeding the lazy naked mole rats. Until rainy season. When rain started pouring down, each overfed naked mole rat backed his big fat butt into one entrance to the burrow, thusly plugging up the doorway and keeping rainwater from flooding the underground tunnels. Take whatever lesson you will from this.
Another one of my favourite anecdotes from the course has to do with bees. As you probably all know, bees communicate via "dancing". A dance with particular parameters translates into "There is a significant food source if you travel around 10 minutes from the hive entrance at an angle of 80 degrees to the east" or something close to that. Normally if a bee came back to the hive and did that dance there would be an immediate bee exodus to go take advantage of the food source. That's pretty impressive in itself.
Here's the even-more-awesome part. The researchers put an attractive food source onto a rowboat and rowed out into the middle of a lake. They waited for a bee to discover the food source, then they monitored what happened inside the hive. The discoverer bee flew home and danced the message "Hey guys I found a tasty snack 7 minutes outside the hive, 150 degrees to the left!" But the other bees didn't believe him. They were all "Yeah, right, I don't think so. Dude, that's in the middle of the lake! Pollen doesn't grow out there!" And none of the bees went to investigate.
How could bees possibly be that smart? I mean, do they even have a brain? I'm thinking that they might have a tiny cluster of neurons inside their fuzzy little heads about the size of a poppy seed, or of sesame seed if we're being very optimistic. How can they put two and two together to make four? It's pretty amazing.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
The Epiphyte
Santa brought me an air plant for Christmas. Buddha likes to hold it while he meditates.
An air plant, or epiphyte, is a category of plant that hails from the canopy of the rain forest. They do not require soil. This particular type, a tillandsia, does naturally grow roots, but they are used only for clinging to trees, not for the absorption of water or nutrients. It sucks in water through the outer cells of its leaves.
Contrary to what the giver of this gift assumed, tillandsias require plenty of water and care. They are soaked by rain approximately 2 - 3 hours per day in their natural environment, with time in between each soaking to completely dry out. They are not like cactuses, nor can one be left floating in a bath of water for more than a few hours at a time, or it will rot. In other words, the little buggers are incredibly high maintenance.
The lovely lady who gave me this plant didn't realize that it would be a bad idea to leave it on my desk unattended for a week, in a gift bag, over the Christmas holidays. When I got back the tips of all its leaves had gone brown and crispy, and the plant had retreated into dormancy. I had to go through several cycles of soaking it and letting it dry to get it back to something resembling good health.
We'll see if I have the patience to tend to this demanding plant every day. I'll give it a try. I'm testing to see if running warm tap-water over it for a few minutes each day will do the trick. That would be preferable to having to prepare a bath for it, soak it, and then remember to take it out to dry after a suitable period of time. My other plants are much easier to care for. I water them once a week, on Sunday, and that's the end of it.
My grandmother gave me a couple of her plants recently. Apparently everyone she knows thinks that plants are the best gift for her, so she has more than she can handle.
This one is very pretty. The edges of the leaves are pink, if you look carefully:
This one is also from my grandmother:
In the photo below you have to look carefully to find the plant in the foreground with the flat, heart-shaped leaves. It always blossoms at the winter solstice. There's one bloom off in the background, peeking out from behind the forest of giant aloe tentacles. In the foreground you can see two up-and-coming flowers, both still buds on stalks, leaning toward the right. I'm excited to see the two new blooms coming in. I had just removed one of the older blossoms, and I wasn't expecting any more to come in and take its place.
Anyone want to place a bet on how long that air plant is going to last?
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Wintery Summary
My holiday season is proceeding happily. I hope that you can say the same for your own.
As always, I spent Christmas eve with family, celebrating my grandmother's birthday. This is my younger grandmother - a mere spring chicken at 92. My older grandmother is 96. And a half. She says that when you get very old, the halves start to matter again.
Christmas day was spent at Ken's mom's house, with his two brothers and the younger brother's fiancée. It went as usual: my MIL and BIL (the younger one) seem happy to have me there as an audience for their stories, but they show absolutely zero interest in any conversation that I volunteer. I'll tell a brief, funny story, and by the time I'm on the second sentence my MIL will be fiddling with the food on the table and my BIL will be playing with his shoelaces. When I hit the punch line they don't even pretend to smile. Nice. The fiancée seemed to be taking her cues from them. Ken's older brother isn't really in the equation as he is mentally disabled and is approximately the social equivalent of a three-year-old. It made for a rather long lunch, although I must say that my MIL put out a lovely spread of smoked salmon, fancy cheeses, fancy crackers, sliced baguette, olives, and (the big crowd-pleaser) a large hunk of duck pâté with blueberries. I mean the blueberries were in the pâté, as though it were a muffin. You'd think it would be gross, and it did look a nasty bruised shade of purple, but it was delish.
We didn't have any plans for Boxing Day, however Ken could not resist browsing the Birks website. Of course they had a sale. Ken had not given me a Christmas gift, which I didn't mind whatsoever, however when he offered to take me shopping at Birks I'd have been a fool to refuse, right? I am now the proud owner of a gorgeous matched set of earrings and a necklace.
On Thursday I went back to work, thinking that my holiday fun was over for a couple of days. However, my girlfriend who lives in British Columbia (in a little town in the mountains) was in town with her husband and three kids, and she called me mid-afternoon to invite me for dinner at her in-laws'.
I love spending time with this friend and her family. I've known her since we were in the first grade together, and we were best friends from grade 4 through grade 8, almost inseparable. I've known her husband since we were all teenagers, and consider him a friend too. They have three great kids, two boys, (10 and ? 8 maybe?) and a little girl who's now 4 and is the cutest little munchkin you can possibly imagine.
My friend's MIL is one of those old-fashioned-type ladies who always has her hair up in a kerchief, an apron tied around her waist, and never stops fussing and puttering around the kitchen. When we arrived (my friends picked me up at the train station) she had finished feeding the kids dinner, and was preparing our dinner. It was no small affair either: roasted potatoes, three different kinds of vegetables, seasoned tilapia, spicy rice casserole with beef, and a delicious homemade soup. She never sat down and ate. She was constantly back at the stove warming up more food, squeezing a slice of lemon over your fish, offering beverages, offering napkins, dropping ice cubes into your glass, worrying that you wouldn't like the food, assuring you that you didn't have to eat if you didn't like it (of course it was all fantastic). After dinner there was tea and sweets. And then, just when I thought dinnertime was done, she started all over again making dinner for her daughter, who prefers to eat late. I wasn't sure why there was a smoking pan on the stove until she rolled up a ball of from-scratch dough in order to fry a fresh, homemade roti. (She had to season the pan first.) Woah! I don't know if I would have found her attentiveness enjoyable if I lived there (it was a bit much) but for a one-evening treat it was great.
And so it continues. I'm looking forward to dinner and games with friends tonight; brunch with other friends tomorrow; and a wild all-ages, child-friendly New Year's Eve party. I tell you, no one gets excited about shouting HAPPY NEW YEAR! like a crowd of hyper-excited kids who are up several hours past their usual bedtime. It's all good, so very good.
As always, I spent Christmas eve with family, celebrating my grandmother's birthday. This is my younger grandmother - a mere spring chicken at 92. My older grandmother is 96. And a half. She says that when you get very old, the halves start to matter again.
Christmas day was spent at Ken's mom's house, with his two brothers and the younger brother's fiancée. It went as usual: my MIL and BIL (the younger one) seem happy to have me there as an audience for their stories, but they show absolutely zero interest in any conversation that I volunteer. I'll tell a brief, funny story, and by the time I'm on the second sentence my MIL will be fiddling with the food on the table and my BIL will be playing with his shoelaces. When I hit the punch line they don't even pretend to smile. Nice. The fiancée seemed to be taking her cues from them. Ken's older brother isn't really in the equation as he is mentally disabled and is approximately the social equivalent of a three-year-old. It made for a rather long lunch, although I must say that my MIL put out a lovely spread of smoked salmon, fancy cheeses, fancy crackers, sliced baguette, olives, and (the big crowd-pleaser) a large hunk of duck pâté with blueberries. I mean the blueberries were in the pâté, as though it were a muffin. You'd think it would be gross, and it did look a nasty bruised shade of purple, but it was delish.
We didn't have any plans for Boxing Day, however Ken could not resist browsing the Birks website. Of course they had a sale. Ken had not given me a Christmas gift, which I didn't mind whatsoever, however when he offered to take me shopping at Birks I'd have been a fool to refuse, right? I am now the proud owner of a gorgeous matched set of earrings and a necklace.
On Thursday I went back to work, thinking that my holiday fun was over for a couple of days. However, my girlfriend who lives in British Columbia (in a little town in the mountains) was in town with her husband and three kids, and she called me mid-afternoon to invite me for dinner at her in-laws'.
I love spending time with this friend and her family. I've known her since we were in the first grade together, and we were best friends from grade 4 through grade 8, almost inseparable. I've known her husband since we were all teenagers, and consider him a friend too. They have three great kids, two boys, (10 and ? 8 maybe?) and a little girl who's now 4 and is the cutest little munchkin you can possibly imagine.
My friend's MIL is one of those old-fashioned-type ladies who always has her hair up in a kerchief, an apron tied around her waist, and never stops fussing and puttering around the kitchen. When we arrived (my friends picked me up at the train station) she had finished feeding the kids dinner, and was preparing our dinner. It was no small affair either: roasted potatoes, three different kinds of vegetables, seasoned tilapia, spicy rice casserole with beef, and a delicious homemade soup. She never sat down and ate. She was constantly back at the stove warming up more food, squeezing a slice of lemon over your fish, offering beverages, offering napkins, dropping ice cubes into your glass, worrying that you wouldn't like the food, assuring you that you didn't have to eat if you didn't like it (of course it was all fantastic). After dinner there was tea and sweets. And then, just when I thought dinnertime was done, she started all over again making dinner for her daughter, who prefers to eat late. I wasn't sure why there was a smoking pan on the stove until she rolled up a ball of from-scratch dough in order to fry a fresh, homemade roti. (She had to season the pan first.) Woah! I don't know if I would have found her attentiveness enjoyable if I lived there (it was a bit much) but for a one-evening treat it was great.
And so it continues. I'm looking forward to dinner and games with friends tonight; brunch with other friends tomorrow; and a wild all-ages, child-friendly New Year's Eve party. I tell you, no one gets excited about shouting HAPPY NEW YEAR! like a crowd of hyper-excited kids who are up several hours past their usual bedtime. It's all good, so very good.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
'Twas the day before the night before Christmas
With mixed feelings, I went downtown today. I was a little worried about getting smushed to death by frantic last-minute shoppers. However, I needn't have worried. It was a beautiful, sunny day! And everyone was stupendously cheerful and friendly!
I think it helped that I was in and out of the Eaton Centre mall before noon. It hadn't yet filled up to the brim with anxious, desperate people. Instead, I saw young parents walking their small children around the mall, oohing and aahing at the window displays and decorations. A tickled-pink baby waved hello to one of the giant reindeer-made-of-lights.
I was at my parents' house for dinner yesterday, where I hung out with my furry little brothers.
My mom was test-driving a new dish: roasted, mixed winter root vegetables. She's planning to serve it for my grandmother's birthday on Monday. She wants me to arrive early to help her prepare the dinner. This is all well and good, except I realized immediately that I'd be stuck peeling a big pile of carrots, turnips, parsnips, beets, and potatoes with her absolutely useless, ancient peeler. My hands hurt just thinking about it. So I stopped in at The Bay and bought a fancy new peeler for her kitchen. Kind of a "for you for me" gift.
I didn't have to wait in line long to pay, and when I got to the counter the cashier was in fine spirits. I can't remember how we got on the subject, but I told her how I'd just been in Dundas Square patting a reindeer.
There were two of them there, munching hay in a small enclosure, overseen by two miserably cold handlers. Another clerk perked up his ears at this news. I explained how the reindeer were smaller than I'd imagined, between the size of a goat and the size of a donkey. Also, their antlers were impressive and their fur was very soft. (Yes, petting was allowed.) Both cashiers got pretty jazzed about the idea of going to meet the reindeer on their break.
Next stop was the Annapurna restaurant, Toronto's oldest vegetarian restaurant (est. 1974) and "dedicated to the oneness-world vision of Sri Chinmoy." I had arranged to meet a friend there for lunch. I love Annapurna's simple, healthy food and the calm, pastel atmosphere. Ken finds the food bland, and refers to the oneness-world vision as a cult. Cult or no, they make a fantastic peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookie.
And that was enough excitement for me for one day. I headed home for a nice warm nap. Now Ken has just called to me from the next room "Want to go to Mandarin for dinner?" Oh, yes, yes, and double yes. I'm outta here. Merry Christmas everyone!
I think it helped that I was in and out of the Eaton Centre mall before noon. It hadn't yet filled up to the brim with anxious, desperate people. Instead, I saw young parents walking their small children around the mall, oohing and aahing at the window displays and decorations. A tickled-pink baby waved hello to one of the giant reindeer-made-of-lights.
I was at my parents' house for dinner yesterday, where I hung out with my furry little brothers.
My mom was test-driving a new dish: roasted, mixed winter root vegetables. She's planning to serve it for my grandmother's birthday on Monday. She wants me to arrive early to help her prepare the dinner. This is all well and good, except I realized immediately that I'd be stuck peeling a big pile of carrots, turnips, parsnips, beets, and potatoes with her absolutely useless, ancient peeler. My hands hurt just thinking about it. So I stopped in at The Bay and bought a fancy new peeler for her kitchen. Kind of a "for you for me" gift.
I didn't have to wait in line long to pay, and when I got to the counter the cashier was in fine spirits. I can't remember how we got on the subject, but I told her how I'd just been in Dundas Square patting a reindeer.
There were two of them there, munching hay in a small enclosure, overseen by two miserably cold handlers. Another clerk perked up his ears at this news. I explained how the reindeer were smaller than I'd imagined, between the size of a goat and the size of a donkey. Also, their antlers were impressive and their fur was very soft. (Yes, petting was allowed.) Both cashiers got pretty jazzed about the idea of going to meet the reindeer on their break.
Next stop was the Annapurna restaurant, Toronto's oldest vegetarian restaurant (est. 1974) and "dedicated to the oneness-world vision of Sri Chinmoy." I had arranged to meet a friend there for lunch. I love Annapurna's simple, healthy food and the calm, pastel atmosphere. Ken finds the food bland, and refers to the oneness-world vision as a cult. Cult or no, they make a fantastic peanut-butter-chocolate-chip cookie.
And that was enough excitement for me for one day. I headed home for a nice warm nap. Now Ken has just called to me from the next room "Want to go to Mandarin for dinner?" Oh, yes, yes, and double yes. I'm outta here. Merry Christmas everyone!
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Eating All The Foods
Last year, when I wasn't doing well, I developed some eating problems. The list of foods that I was comfortable eating shrank down to a select few. I wasn't happy eating food I hadn't prepared myself. I didn't want to try new things. I feared contamination. No wonder I lost my butt!
As I got better, I pushed through my anxieties and started eating a wider variety of foods again. I'm now eating more freely than I have at any time in my life. I don't mean huge quantities. I start eating when I'm hungry and I stop when I'm full. I'm not paying too much attention to counting calories, except to make sure I don't under-eat by accident (which is easy for me to do). And I'm enjoying my freedom quite a lot.
Today I ate sushi. And I don't mean California rolls. I ate raw salmon on rice. It was excellent! I also had red bean ice cream (delicious) and some questionable baked goods that my grandmother had been storing in the back of her freezer for God only knows how long.
Last week I ate pork that I hadn't tested with a meat thermometer when it came out of the oven. (Ken had taken our digital probe thermometer to work in order to test the hot water temperature at a newly constructed building. He also took our silicone spatula. I'm not sure why he took the spatula.)
I'm still a little compulsive around hand-washing. For example, when I was a teenager I wouldn't have thought twice about eating a hamburger and french fries with my hands after shopping around the mall all day, without scrubbing up first. This never seemed to harm me. However, I would have a very hard time doing that today. I can't help thinking of all the things I touched: door handles, money, the plastic tray you carry your food on... I read of a study that showed that plastic trays in food courts have as much poop bacteria on them as the average toilet seat. Now, we never knew that until just recently, and I think it's fair to say that over 99.9 % of people who eat in food courts suffer no ill effects. However, I will not eat a sandwich with my bare hands in a food court, no thank you very much.
(How do I get around touching food in a food court? a) Wrap the item in paper. b) Use a fork and knife for items that one would normally consider "finger food". c) Don't order anything that needs touching.)
How fussy are you about food?
As I got better, I pushed through my anxieties and started eating a wider variety of foods again. I'm now eating more freely than I have at any time in my life. I don't mean huge quantities. I start eating when I'm hungry and I stop when I'm full. I'm not paying too much attention to counting calories, except to make sure I don't under-eat by accident (which is easy for me to do). And I'm enjoying my freedom quite a lot.
Today I ate sushi. And I don't mean California rolls. I ate raw salmon on rice. It was excellent! I also had red bean ice cream (delicious) and some questionable baked goods that my grandmother had been storing in the back of her freezer for God only knows how long.
Last week I ate pork that I hadn't tested with a meat thermometer when it came out of the oven. (Ken had taken our digital probe thermometer to work in order to test the hot water temperature at a newly constructed building. He also took our silicone spatula. I'm not sure why he took the spatula.)
I'm still a little compulsive around hand-washing. For example, when I was a teenager I wouldn't have thought twice about eating a hamburger and french fries with my hands after shopping around the mall all day, without scrubbing up first. This never seemed to harm me. However, I would have a very hard time doing that today. I can't help thinking of all the things I touched: door handles, money, the plastic tray you carry your food on... I read of a study that showed that plastic trays in food courts have as much poop bacteria on them as the average toilet seat. Now, we never knew that until just recently, and I think it's fair to say that over 99.9 % of people who eat in food courts suffer no ill effects. However, I will not eat a sandwich with my bare hands in a food court, no thank you very much.
(How do I get around touching food in a food court? a) Wrap the item in paper. b) Use a fork and knife for items that one would normally consider "finger food". c) Don't order anything that needs touching.)
How fussy are you about food?
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