Cheese was my quintessential comfort food. I was the person who made a beeline to the baked Brie at cocktail parties. Baked potatoes, chili and tacos were merely cheese delivery vehicles, a simple base upon which to heap mounds of shredded cheddar and Monterrey Jack. And don't even get me started on the wedge salad. Sure, it's got bacon, but it was the creamy, crumbly, blue cheese goodness that had me at "hello."
My lifelong romance with cheese came to an abrupt halt three years ago when a new doctor – a naturopath – suggested I give up dairy. I'd sought her help for some ongoing health issues, including chronic pain, fatigue, depression and an inability to lose weight—what many now call FLC Syndrome: Feel Like Crap.
Credit: Jill Wellington/Pixabay My mother-in-law was a game, world traveler who liked her creature comforts. She’d have ridden a camel through the desert in the hot North African sun as long she could stay at the Ritz Carlton that night. In a room with a view. My vacation plans aren’t quite as luxurious and exotic, although I do appreciate room service breakfast, sheets with a high thread count, and fluffy terry cloth robes... and occasionally good luck falls into my lap. “A seat with your name on it just opened up in First Class.” Hallelujah. “We’re relocating you to a corner suite.” There is a God, after all. “It’s your birthday! How 'bout a complimentary Molten Chocolate Lava Cake?!” Duh. You’d think I’d be grateful, ecstatic even, about the swanky rental car I scored on a recent trip, but here’s a travel tip: Some luxury upgrades are just, well, “extra” – and not in a good way. I checked in online the day before in the interest of ...
I reach for the bananas in the grocery store and feel an unexpected pang of sadness. Out of the blue, I miss my mother. Over years of her decline, I chauffeured her on errands and sighed deeply when she admitted she’d meant to make a list, but… I knew what would be on the list—muffins, butter pecan ice cream and bananas—but I wanted her to write it all down. Addled by dementia, not only did she forget to make shopping lists, she often couldn’t remember how to use her cell phone or turn on the TV. I knew it wasn’t her fault. Even so, there were times when my patience wore thin. If only she could jot down a few grocery items on a piece of scrap paper or the back of an envelope, I could take it as a sign that she still had some faculties. Twenty months after her death, here I am frozen in momentary grief in front of the banana stand. We didn’t agree on bananas. I preferred them firm and still tinged with green, she agreed with Chiquita Banana’s recommendati...
As seen in the Huffington Post There's a meme going around, the one with two precious little girls in frilly, white matching outfits. One of them stands on the bathroom scale while the other says, "Try again without the socks." It's meant to be cute and funny and, on the surface it is. I'm sure I've "liked" it more than once (along with tens of thousands of other women) as friends have posted it on Facebook, maybe even LOL'd or ha ha'd in the comments, because who among us has not commiserated with a girlfriend about our weight? One particular day, though, I got on my own bathroom scale and when the image of those two angelic preschoolers popped into my mind I was angry. Maybe the meme is just as much about friendship as weight, but I couldn't stop thinking about the heavy implications. What is cute or funny about these adorable creatures obsessing about a number on the scale? Feeling even at the tender age of 3 or 4, that they sho...
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