Sunday PM Ramble at Random

You know the difference between minus 10 and minus 17? No, me either with the possible exception of my toes starting to tingle 5 minutes sooner in minus 17 than they did in minus 10. Let's hear it for 25 degree days. YaY!

My mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on many topics. So says she, I've contradicted her from the time I was twelve. I think more likely, it probably started at age twelve when I felt the confidence to be vocal about certain things.

I've had much more fruit in the past couple of weeks, oranges among the lot. My daughter notes that I don't eat oranges sexily, "don't eat them in front of your girlfriend." I beg to differ. Perhaps. Though, I'd have to agree, the display my daughter witnessed could not have been construed as sexy. I'm sure it was a messy display. It was a very juicy orange and it was cold. Why my daughter made a connection between me, eating oranges, and sexiness is a question for another time, perhaps another forum.



Speaking of oranges, allergies kept me from eating them (and other citrus fruit) for most of my life. Only in the last couple (or three) years have I been able to eat oranges, grapefruits, lemons and limes with any type of consistency without suffering irritating outbreaks. Yuck into Yum.



That said and allergies aside, I avoided all things orange for quite a while in part because of my older brother's mis-hap and partly because oranges (and other citrus fruits) require peeling and can be messy, especially for someone like me. Though I eat oranges (and other citrus) now, I still do so in relative private and not when I'm out and about. I never even considered the sexy (or lack thereof) aspect.


Moreover, though I like oranges, I'm not wild about orange flavored products. I'm not even all that wild about bottled juices. Much too sweet for my taste.



And just one more thing about oranges, the juice of 4, combined with a bit cumin and honey make a pretty good glaze for chicken being roasted. If you cut up some veggies (potatoes, onions, celery and carrots), place them under the rack while the chicken coated and basted with the orange-sweet and savory concoction, you've got yourself a yummy side.




My quest and involvement with the group getting on a scale, acknowledging, and recording my weight has become a weekly ritual. I've gone back and forth not only with the weight, but with the value of the scale. I've gone through cycles where I avoided the scale, while still trying to maintain, there was some level of success. For a time I felt that obsessing over the number on the scale was counter-productive to the over-all goal, so I didn't weigh, except at the doctor's office and there was some measure of success there as well. I don't know which is right, which is best, never-the-less, it is my life now and in a few hours I'll know how I did this week.


While channel surfing yesterday I caught a movie somewhere in the middle. I stopped because Jennifer Beals was on screen. I read the synopsis and mildly intrigued, watched for a bit. Shortly after, my attention was diverted to something else, so I didn't finish the movie and I don't know how it ended. I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll probably seek it out on purpose at some point. Still, it got me to thinking, if there is such a gene and I do indeed possess same, it might have been nice(er) if action with the realization could have occurred sooner in my life rather then the later. Still, better later than not ever at all.




You "L" fans know that the sixth and final season begins today and of course by now you've heard or read the thrust of this new and final season. I won't spoil it here in case you haven't heard, but suffice to say, if the writers do what I fear I'll be royally ticked. But only for awhile. It's only TV, I'll get over it soon enough.

Finally, hunger is present. But not a hunger for food or even a particular food. No, not food at all.


Just to feel her, to hold her in my arms again . . .