South Beach Disaster

Last night I was at someone's house for a birthday party and ate at least four potatoes' worth of chips...with dip! Talk about abandoning South Beach! But I resolved to return to the basic diet this morning, especially after my husband got his results back from a recent cholesterol reading. He had terrific numbers, so I thank and esteem the good doctor. Thanks to the South Beach Diet, our family doctor said medication won't be necessary. Cool.

Working through some technical difficulties at the moment. My blogs have been put on hold while I sort it through. I think the following recycling one is new.

Recycling thoughts: why don't we do it more?

A friend of mine is working to bring our attention locally to recycling, in hopes of making us more aware of environmental concerns in general. In a recent e-mail, she wrote:

"My friend who runs the recycling center in N-- basically told me that it's hard to get anywhere in [this state], and that until everyone starts dying of diseases from pollution, nothing will be done. He said whole subdivisions are built on landfills and that vile gases escape from underneath people's homes. Places in the river bubble up from buried filth. People won't bring in their paint cans and hazardous wastes to be disposed of "properly" because it takes time. And others just pour these things down storm drains in the streets so it goes into our rivers. New York used to dump all their garbage barges into the ocean. It all makes me nuts. I feel like I'm a lung cell who can't get the body to stop smoking."

Pause for reflection. Powerful analogy, eh?

So. Where are your old batteries? What do you plan to do with those leftover paint cans? No, I know that everyone who reads my blog is an responsible citizen and knows his/her hazardous waste disposal location. Perhaps it the neighbors we could help out? "Hey, I'm heading over to the hazardous waste disposal place next weekend. Here's a list, if you'd like to know more about where to take your old paint cans and other hazardous stuff." I'll bet my kids would like going door to door with information sheets!

We've got to start somewhere. It may not make a huge difference, but these small things surely spread an awareness. There's a self-proclaimed "crabby environmentalist" in my life keeping me honest. I like that. She keeps me on my toes. I think about how to reuse things. I go ahead and rinse out my old ricotta cheese containers (from that nasty dessert the South Beach Diet had us making), and stick them in recycling.

I use both sides of copy paper for my drafts. I even rinse out cheapie resealable plastic sandwich and storage bags before tossing them into the recycling bin...not that I'm bragging. I'm just becoming more aware.

The Teaching Company has produced a CD series called "Great Courses." They've selected some of the top professors in various disciplines from universities across the country to record their lectures for lifelong learners like myself to listen to in cars while commuting to work, or in my case, while folding laundry, unloading the dishwasher, and transporting children to soccer practices. They moan when I put one in, and have offered their portable CD players for me to use so that it isn't broadcast within the entire van.

I've sampled several courses, and the best by far is Robert Greenberg's "How to Understand and Listen to Great Music" It is the best course I've listened to, and I'm only through part one! I'm waiting for part two to become available through the library. He's If you've ever felt intimidated by listening to concert music of the past written by Western composers, Greenberg's course is empowering and entertaining.

"We're a little bored," whispered one of the kids.

"How about you learn some origami?" I suggested. I'd come across the idea in a little book of math games, so it was tucked away in the front of my mind, over to the side, for a rainy day.

"Ori-what?"

"Origami. Japanese people fold paper into shapes. You get some paper, and I'll get the instructions. Let's see if we can figure it out together."

The first instructions were easy, so we made folds that we could puff air into and blow up to become a cube. The kids made about a dozen of these, scribbling numbers on each side of some to be dice.

They wanted more. Thank heavens for the Internet. I searched for easy folding instructions and found a swan. It was perfect. They made dozens of all sizes, learning to make smaller squares of paper so they could create tiny baby swans, all colors.

We tried a little boat and a crane, but they didn't go so well. It was beyond our beginner's minds. But it delighted them, which delighted me. I mentioned that I had a kimono in my closet, a gift from my mother-in-law. She'd brought it from her mother's apartment. My husband's grandma was a missionary in Japan for years. I can pull out several Japanese items--a beautiful doll, some plates and bowls, some writing. It could make for some interesting exploration.

We think our kids could do an emergent church thing at our house. Just set out some paper and crayons or cray-pas pastels, or watercolor...a little artistic expression right there, modeled by uninhibited worshipers. I think they could lead the way, a multi-generational experience. And a little child would lead them! Perfect.

Oh, and of course there's always the clay. Molding, working that stuff, to express ourselves. Yep, Emergent Church led by the kids. Why hasn't anyone thought of this? The third- and first-graders could inspire the preschooler, and we'd be singing and molding and coloring in no time. "Come on, Mommy! Color with me! Here's Jesus, this is you, this is me, and we're singing, see?"

I can see it, yes, I can.

If you scroll down to August 18, just a few entries south, you'll read about the magic trick, the disappearing book trick, as performed by our six year old.

Well, today, as inspired by Calvin and Hobbes, she has created a "Transmodifier" out of a cardboard box. She cut a perfectly lovely arrow out of cardboard, asked me to poke a hole in it so she could insert a brass fastener, the kind we used to make homemade clocks in elementary school math class. She attached the arrow to the top of the box, er, the Transmodifier, that is, and wrote various creatures in a circle. The arrow might land on, say, "tiger," or "parrot." Whatever she puts into the box turns into the item that the arrow pointed at. Using Beanie Babies for her experiment, she placed one inside, spun the arrow, and pulled out the modified creature accordingly. "Look, it's now a parrot! This is tiger, but he's a parrot, see? He's transmodified!" And on it went for much of the afternoon.

Then she came up to me, and this is the second time she's made this wishful comment, "Wouldn't it be neat if I asked Santa to bring me a magic kit for Christmas, and I really could transmodify things?"

"I've told you before, the magic kits show you tricks that look like you've changed things, but you haven't. It's not real magic."

"I know," she says, still smiling. "But if I could, I'd turn myself into a bluebird, so I could fly. And then I'd turn a bunch of pebbles into worms so they'd be right where I need them to eat during the day, on top of the box. Wouldn't that be a good idea?"

An older sister had been listening in. She turned to me, "What would you turn something into, if you could?"

It's an interesting question. What would I want to turn myself into? What would I like to turn something else into, for a day, perhaps, or just a few hours?

I'm on Phase 2 of the South Beach Diet. Oh, please, stop calculating the days. Yes, I know, it's a few days short of the two weeks, but I'm sick of this stupid diet. They said I'd stop craving carbs within two days, but that's a joke. I do. It's not like I want a bag of potato chips or something. I just want some oatmeal. Is that so bad? So I'm moving on to Phase 2 and inviting a few healthy carbs into my life. Maybe a little fruit, too. Tonight my dear spouse has to go out and buy a new mailbox (the door is hanging from one bolt that he'd already used to rig it up the last time it fell apart). I think I'll ask him to pick up some scales while at Lowe's. I hate to have scales around, micromanaging my weight loss. To remedy that, he suggested we stick it up on a shelf so that it's a hassle to pull down. If we have some scales accessible, I can confirm if I've actually lost anything. Based on what I see when I stand in front of the mirror, well, there's just no change. So I'm going to happily eat my bowl of oatmeal tomorrow morning and move on.