madermouse's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- June 22nd, 2001 Yeah! Its Friday, and I have two parties this weekend...(hence the martini's above^) Now, the challenge is going to be how to stay in control around all that food! Tomorrow is a barbeque with some friends, and my entire apartment complex. We'll have the usual barbeque fare I'm sure, potato salad, steaks, hot dogs, hamburgers and baked beans. I'm making a couple of healthy things that I know I can eat - including grilled zucchini sticks that have been marinated in balsamic vinegar and herbs, and garlicky spinach and garbanzo bean dip with pita triangles. I'll probably marinate a chicken breast too and roast some asparagus in lemon oil. For those who don't know me well, I'm a cooking fiend! I absolutely adore cooking for people. Its one of my favorite pastimes. But that, too, has changed along with my new lifestyle. My friends have come to know me for my baking. There was seldom a time when you'd come to my house and not find a fresh batch of cream scones, or a decadent 3-layer cake sitting on the counter top. I made muffins, cookies and tarts - all from scratch. I learned how to cook by practice and by reading cookbooks, cooking magazines, and watching cooking programs. People remember me from my cooking. A few weeks ago, I saw a girl at Natures grocery who came up to me and said, "Aren't you the girl who made that amazing raspberry fudge birthday cake for Patty?" I nodded, yes. "I have dreams about that cake! That was the best cake I've ever eaten in my life." she said, then gave out a long sigh and looked wistfully at me - the creator. Ah, shucks..... (sheepishly, while scuffing my foot on the ground) A friend of mine stopped over the other day. The first thing she said was, "Mader - there's never any sweet treats here anymore, no cakes or chocolate!" I laughed, practically hearing her sweet tooth aching. And, its true, there aren't treats around the house anymore. I've found that a batch of cookies is about 3,600 calories - and I can't hardly stop myself from nibbling hundreds of calories of cookie dough. To make my famous cream scones I need to buy a pound of butter, and a carton of whipping cream - both of which I use about half. Then what? I find two sticks of butter staring me in the face, pleading with me to fashion them into a pastry crust or a hollandaise. I just can't do that anymore. And, yes, I really do miss it. Its always been a part of my "persona" and sometimes I feel sad that I can't crank out the exquisite masterpieces that I used to with the same frequency. But where I find solace, is when I set down a platter of delicious white bean enchiladas in front of my friends and watch their eyes bulge! With a side sweet cumin corn salad and succulent raspberries for dessert, they don't even know that I've just filled them up with a healthy light meal. And they don't "miss" my old cooking at all - or at least they don't seem to. Other things I don't miss about my "old" cooking style - * having the house smell like a grease pit *wiping up grease splatters off the stove, walls, floor *wiping oil off my mouth & lips after eating food *Having diarrhea from fatty fried foods *buying a pound of butter a week - its expensive! *Feeling tired after every meal Last night I was walking around the neighborhood, a light summer breeze was blowing. People were outside watering flowers, children were playing jump rope and writing on the sidewalk with chalks. Couples were walking their dog in the park, a family was playing basketball (the Dad obviously was kicking butt), and two teenagers raced past me riding their bikes, laughing loudly. I realized at that moment, how normal people live. Normal people go outside after work and fix their cars, play catch, and walk. Normal people eagerly flock the streets on a hot summer night to shoot hoops and walk the dog. I compared this newfound realization with my old life. After work I spent hours cooking the elaborate dinner's I'd planned all day, gorge on food, watch t.v. until I couldn't hold my eyes open, and hit the sack. This wasn't every night, because lots of nights were spent gorging on various cuisines in restaurants. Be it spicy Thai chili noodles, dripping with oil or a basket of chili cheese fries and an Elvis burger at The Hop I'd eat til I felt I was going to burst. If it was hot outside - I'd snuggle up with a bucket of popcorn and purse full of candy at the cold, dark movie theater in the middle of the day. That is until the seats got too small for me to fit in. I used to come home with bruises on my hips from sitting through a two hour movie. In August, I'd scuttle from one air-conditioned building to the next, grateful for the reprieve from the stifling heat. I would do anything to avoid sweating - including soaking my hair with ice cold water before walking a block to the bus stop. Now I sweat, deliberately, every single day for at least an hour. Six months isn't a very long time, but then it is. Time is a paradox, a self contradiction. I am a paradox. I am a fat woman living the life of an active, healthy woman. I see it in the eyes of strangers when I'm out walking. I'm moving briskly, despite my size. I'm sweating and red-faced but still tackle hills with a vengeance. I'm in a sports store, looking to buy a baseball mitt, and the clerk asks me if it's a present for my son, probably unable to picture me doing anything physical. I'm at Macheesmo Mouse, a super-healthy mexican restaurant, and I'm ordering the vegetable power-salad. (The healthiest thing on the menu) Skinny people notice that I'm in there, you can see the inquisitive looks on their faces that seem to be saying, "What is SHE doing here?". I am fat. I am skinny (in my mind). I have a huge stomach overhang that I despise and curse every single day, yet I look in the mirror and see the beginnings of calf muscle definition. I play catch. I walk. I still take up 1 �� seats on the public bus, but now I could actually walk to work if I wanted to. I've changed, I'm changing. I am what I am. I am a paradox 12:22 p.m. - June 22nd, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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