How to lose 100 pounds after Thanksgiving

For some reason on the Friday after Thanksgiving, instead of beginning a new cycle of acquiring, I usually start to take a look at all I have managed to “collect” or hold onto during the year. The stacks of magazines that continue to inspire- until I put them down, the half burned candles that I know I can melt down and make a “memorial” to the dinners and gatherings they once graced. I see so much potential in all things that it is hard to simply let them go. But there is something about Thanksgiving Day that helps me to release and make room for that which is yet to come. I call it my Thanksgiving Weight Loss Program. It is a day to purge…things.

This year I am drawn to the closet and the treasure trove of memories interwoven in the folds of woolen scarves, vintage dresses and “soldier” suits that served me for so many years. No longer a size 6, 8, or 10, I have to wonder why I hold on to some of them.

I need only touch the brocade of my infamous “Poinsettia Dress” and the memories of the past come rushing back. It was my mother’s official Christmas dress, past down to her from one of her best friends who would never be seen in the same dress twice. A best friend whose life had taken a different turn.

Every year, around Thanksgiving a box from Barbara would arrive. Even though we knew what was in it, it would sit, unopened until the end of the day. I used to wonder why Momma didn’t just open it right away, but I understand now. It was personal. Only after dinner, homework, and baths, would she take that box to the backroom and in front of the full length mirror, try on each and every piece. I would help with the 22 inch zippers that miraculously brought together two halves of a bodice into a seamless silhouette that only the styles of the fifties and the nature of silk or cashmere seemed to capture.

Momma would smile at herself, turn left and right and then look over her shoulder as she smoothed away the wrinkles that came with packing fine woolens for a long journey. I watched her focus soften and just for a minute, I knew she was seeing herself at a party or a tea; seeing herself in a life like Barbara’s. I knew, because I could see it too; a moment ever so brief, yet everlasting.

So while this year, I have gathered close to 100 pounds of power suits and skinny jeans; leather pants and bouclé jackets, scarves and ill-fitting silk blouses, to take to the Goodwill; I have once again, touched and returned the Poinsettia Dress to her protective cover, on the padded hanger, in the back of the closet. After all, It doesn’t weigh that much.

The Journey

The habit of ignoring our present moment in favor of another yet to come, leads to a pervasive lack of awareness of the web of life in which we are embedded.
-John Kabot-Zin

These are my circumstances, my lessons
Originating in the domestic, rather than the esoteric.
In doing, not thinking.
Tasks that keep me in the moment
Attending
to home, husband, land,
to that which is broken,
to things that must be done.

At first seeming mundane
It was in the rhythm of doing that I recognized my "work"
patience
diligence
acceptance
This is my quality time.

When VooDo Won't Do

Inspiring me to do a little Bite-Me-Map, Liane Kupferberg Carter said it well in her short story, "A Room of My Own", published in this month's issue of Skirt Magazine.

"Writing was my refuge. Writing pinned the chaos to the page; it made it containable and manageable."

Right now so many of my friends are going though what seems to me to be a "re-birthin." Changes are out there, forcin'um out of the comfort of the familiar and sendin'um, one contraction at a time into another phase of life.

While I never birthed anything but a few ideas and some strange art, I do have a vague memory of the process. It's not comfortable and the birth canal is tricky to navigate. But bottom line is, there is only one way out so keep your hands and feet close and just keep "go'in to the light."

These days, I'm just a shadow boxer and it's hard because, there's not much I can actually do, but let'um know I have their back. Earlier today I wrote Lushious and told her to just imagine a great big bugger (how does one spell that crusty thing that falls from the nose) on the lip of the person givin her grief. Look'um right in the face and see it there...while that won't do a darn thing to change the situation, it will put a smile on her face and we all know that those who pretend to be superior, hate it when you smile like that. It'll also help to lightly brush your own nose a time or two, folks always fall for that one. My favorite was when I used to motion to my Nemitoad, "Miss Thang" and then brush at the corner of my lip; and then she'd mirror me and say, "Do I have somthin' on my lip?" Then I'd say, "Yeah, bullshit." Worked every time! Now she didn't write my checks or anything, but it gave us a good laugh and got her off her high horse so we could continue with the work that had to be done.

Changes are hard, especially when the whole picture is so confusin', but I firmly believe that Miss Universe don't play. So to my friends havin' to put up with BS right now, it's time to pin the bugger on the "Donkey" and know that karma is a thing in the makin'.

The Give Away

Serves Four

Lately I’ve been thinkin about “porcupines”. Not the critter; all be-it I do identify with the defensive little feller. Nope, more like the approach of the dark season and memories of birthday’s past that got me dwelling on ‘um.

Momma usta always ask me what I wanted to eat for my birthday supper and when I was little, it was without hesitation that I would ask for Porcupines. Now I know you think there are few things that Southerner’s don’t eat, but NO, we do NOT actually eat porcupines, we fix’um.

(Here’s why they’re called porcupines – as they cook the rice starts to poke out and they look like little porcupines.)

Momma always used her electric skillet and I’m bettin’ that this recipe came with the book cause it’s a bear to make these in the oven. I could almost eat the whole pan by myself, but I know I didn’t cause momma always gave Daddy what she liked to call, “the “Lion’s share”. Funny, I don’t even remember what went with’um, maybe a pineapple salad with shredded cheddar cheese and Hellman’s mayo spooned in the center, or maybe canned pears with cream cheese, didn’t matter cause it was all about the Porcupines. I didn’t have to worry about my brother eatin’um cause they had texture and he didn’t eat texture, nope I don’t think that boy ate real food til he went into the service, but that is another story, today, the focus is on Porcupines.

Folks my age remember these meatballs made with ground beef, rice, onion, tomato soup, and Worcestershire sauce. Buck doesn’t know it, but I’m gonna make him a skillet full of Porcupines this week. It’s gonna rain and be cold here on Wednesday and that’s perfect Porcupine weather.

So thank you Momma, thank you for workin all day then comin home and it pullin together my birthday dinner. Later it would morph into spaghetti, then pork tenderloin with black-eyed peas and stewed tomatoes, but these little meatballs still have a special place in my heart.

Ingredients:

1 pound lean ground beef
1/3 cup uncooked long-grain rice
1/4 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
dash ground black pepper
dash of Worcestershire
1 can condensed tomato soup
1/2 cup water

Preparation:

Combine the ground beef, rice, onion, 1/4 cup of the water, salt, and pepper. Shape meat mixture into 12 to 15 meat balls. Combine the soup, and rest of the water in a large saucepan; (electric skillet, but who has one these days) bring to a boil. Add meatballs; reduce heat, cover, and simmer over very low heat for 1 hour. Stir occasionally.
Serves 4.