Journey With Me

Today was a busy day which really started last night with dinner with my cousin. I had a Boot Camp session scheduled with my trainer that my other cousin was coming to on the far side of town. Then her and I visited over a bowl of oatmeal, toast and orange juice (I had the oatmeal). Afterwards, I ran home through a freak snow shower to change clothes, grab all the laundry bags and heff them over to the laundry mat. Fifteen people hid all the the rolling baskets. Seriously. There were two or three parked alongside various rows of washers with all sorts of crap piled up inside of them. It was then I realized the obvious:

The laundry mat was filled with hoarders.

I got to read half an issue of Time on my nook. Really. I’ve blurted this out before: it’s interactive. For someone who has a teeny tiny addiction to electronics….it’s AWESOME! I check news junk online throughout the day or week, but Time I read cover to cover. Makes my laundry days less boring. And I don’t glare at the guy who decided to shove my stuff over on the table to fold his boxers (uh…EEW!).

After folding my boxers (kidding) I trollopped over to Meijer on 14 Mile Road. There’s a reason I don’t shop at Meijer on 14 Mile Road. It was freaking packed and full of rude people. Rather than say “Excuse me” to  shopping cart clusters of customers fighting over a jar of peanut butter like two top models would fight over a candy bar (joking!), people would just stand in the way…staring. As if sheer will were enough to shove all of the obstacles out of the way. I wasn’t having any of it. I was on a mission, and some dude was in the way of my almonds – he looked like his puppy got kidnapped. I politely said “Excuse me”, he dramatically picks up the cart an moves it over, I politely say “Thank yoooou”. I think he attempted to bore holes into the back of my head with his imaginary laser beam eyes because I made it through the peanut-butter-fighting-shopping-cart-people-cluster.

Well, nobody was fighting over peanut butter. I said that for dramatic effect.

I got home and started to unload my treasure trove of goodies and clean socks. Armed with six or seven bags and a relatively heavy purse, I tromp up the stairs, push the little screen door open and step onto my porch (it’s more like a super big mud room). Over to the right I noticed two bags of clothes I had sitting there were disturbed. One had fallen off the other  with obvious signs of rodent tampering. The other was tipped over and had this gaping hole  that had been torn in it, there were black plastic pieces of the bags all over the floor.

Next the bag moved, I screamed and an overly-nourished grey squirrel bolted out from between a pair of pants and flannel pajama bottoms which were in the bag, ran into my leg and slammed himself into the corner of the screen door. Kid you not, head first. His little arms splayed out from the force of the impact – like something out of a cartoon: splat! Then he ran through the opening, zipped down about seven stars and sat there. Staring at me. He drummed his little claws together like he was pondering the next move, but his little black beady eyes silently dared me to drop the groceries and give chase.

I tried to shoo him off the stares, but all he did was glare at me.

Like a hole in the head.

Prior to my having weight loss surgery I was told my taste buds might change. They have a little: I can only eat one brand of cottage cheese (Daisy), all the others I used to like I now can’t stand the taste, let alone the texture. Sour cream is  a definate no-go. Not a big fan of mangos. Don’t dig strawberries. I used to detest cantelope, but it’s become a little more tolerable. Still hate lemons, and onions are now viler than they were prior to surgery. I’ve become a touch sensitive to tart (or sour) foods. I absolutely love almonds (I have a snack basket with tons of little almond packs) and peanut butter (I have a second snack basket full of nothing but Jif-To-Go cups). Still love tomato, cucumbers and feta. I like Greek yogurt if it’s got stuff in it.

Usually I get Chobani. I loved it so much I at one point sent an email through their web site saying why I loved it and how it worked for my new way of eating (I received a hand written thank-you card in the mail, accompanied by several coupons and a nifty little magnet). Every now and then I’ll pick up different yogurts. Last week I picked up Fage Greek yogurt. They have a little pocket on the side filled with fruit, that one scoops out and mixes into the yogurt (that’s after one gets spit upon by removal of the little foil lid which is fused onto the container). Really talented people manage to get it on their desk while mixing (cough, cough). Blueberry is my favorite.

I really should have stuck to the blueberry.

“Honey” was the flavor today. First of all let me just say whomever though to put honey in that stupid side pocket ought to be slapped. Seriously…have you ever scooped cold honey? It’s like the consistency of Play Dough (without that smell). Then trying to mix it into a pile of cold yogurt. Oh. Em. Gee. Wally. It hardens right up. So there I am trying to mix this hardened glob of honey into a teeny tiny area of yogurt.

Yep. Got it all over the place.

When I finally managed to get half of it mixed together I almost threw up because of the taste. I can’t even describe it. It was just…just…awful.

If I had just stuck with Chobani…I wouldn’t be writing this blog.

Oh…I’m eight months out. 113 down. And today the doctor looked at me, raised his eyebrows and said, “You already look like a thin person.”

-Traci

I’ve been driving an SUV for quite a long time. I’ve had moments of driving smaller vehicles (i.e. the Mazda RX7 that Don Arnold left a fat note on the dashboard of titled “This Car Needs” – the tires were just a tad out-of-round [ahem]; or the little green Geo Ruben and Angela John loaned me several years ago when the engine on my teal Jeep Cherokee Sport blew…to this day I think they secretly watch videos of me getting in and out of that car!). But, for the most part I’ve become very accustomed to driving a Grand Cherokee.

Until this morning at slightly past seven. I came down the stairs from my flat and immediately noticed the Jeep didn’t sound right (I live in Michigan, I have a car starter…and yes, I use it all year long). You know – that sound which indicates something is “off” but you can’t describe it. You just “know”. So I put my lunchbox and purse in, tuck my uber big coffee tumbler into a safe spot, get into the front seat, verify the radio is off, shut the door, put on the seat belt, slide the gearshift from P to R and about had heart failure right there in the morning dark by myself in 32 degree weather.

“WHIRRRRRRRRRRRR!”

I put the stupid thing back in park, waited a second, then put it back in reverse. Same awful whirring noise comes from somewhere inside the engine compartment. What I really heard was, “Whirrr-cha-ching….whirrr-cha-ching….whirrr-cha-ching”. I throw it back into park, rev the engine as if magically that will be the ultimate resolution….aaaand not a stinking thing changed.

Holding my breath, I back up – praying nothing bad happens over the next twenty feet or so. Then I head to work. And of course, I hear E V E R Y T H I N G you can possibly hear in a car that was built in 1996 over the course of the next 3.5 miles.

It gets better. At lunch I decided to run back home to check my emergency fund booklet and the engine CLACKS really fast.

Side note: I had called one customer to find out if he knew of anyone selling another Jeep. When I told him about the clacking he said, “That’s not good”. Before I could stop myself I blurted out (quite loudly), “Ya THINK??”

On the suggestion of a coworker I called another customer of ours who has a used car lot, deals with auctions, and whatnot. I explained the situation and why I wasn’t willing to replace an engine or transmission. I’ve had the Jeep for four or five years now, and it’s done me good. But I have a limit on how far I’ll go with repairs. Seems when I get the inkling to look for a different vehicle, something BREAKS!

Anyways, I explained to my customer I wasn’t in a position to be picky. What I want is the fifty-five thousand dollar Grand Cherokee that came out this year. What I need is reliable transportation…but I really don’t want to drive a small car (ask me sometime about Mom’s Focus and the teenager who stole her daddy’s car who slammed into us at Home Depot in Lincoln Park). So our customer tells me he’s got a line on a heck of a deal on a very clean car: 97 Grand Marquis. He’s on his way to the warehouse, he’ll let me drive his since it’s pretty much the same. He was very excited in that sales personey kind of way.

All I kept thinking was…you got it: Land Yacht.

The pictures I found online weren’t very encouraging. Everyone I know drives little cars, or cool SUV’s, nobody drives a land yacht (well, Leslie was the exception…I test drove her land yacht in Florida…but it was a collectible!). I mention this to my boss, who makes a remarkable comparison between the Grand Marquis and an old, white guy smoking cigars into retirement.

So when our customer shows up, I am nice and polite. I get my coat and we go out front. He opens the door for me and hands me the key, then moves a little button and the seat slides back (I have long legs…and again…love my legs!). I get in, he hops into the passenger seat.

Okay…so having my rump hugged by this leather seat was kind of…nice. Then I saw the hood of the car…the long, long hood of the car. How the heck am I ever going to park this thing? The customer is telling me all about the car, as I move the shifter down into reverse and back out of the parking space. I was just going to go for a romp around the parking lot. But for a second I had this horrible thought of not being able to turn the car. It’s freaking HUGE! Over two feet longer than the Grand Cherokee I drive, and almost a foot wider.

And those who remember my dumber drunk days are remembering the pretty Ford F150 and Traci backing into Jill’s mom’s car…and tearing the rear corner panel off Jenny’s car with my bumper…and taking out the fence at the condo complex.

Now, I’m driving a land yacht.

I did fine. Nobody died, I put it back where I found it.

It was a freaking GREAT ride!

Oh Em Gee Wally! It was totally awesome. Like riding a cloud. Riding a sled down butter. It was so cool! It sold itself.

So before the week is up, I’ll be the owner of my very own personal Land Yacht. I should probably put up fliers to warn the neighbors…

I admit, without reservation, I have no clue what God’s ultimate plans are for my life…let alone His plans for the lives of those around me. Those who have long been cemented deep within the recesses of the church would most likely say He desires a man/woman after His own heart, and pour forth all the scripture they can muster to support such a statement.

Thing is, I know those scriptures. They are underlined, circled, and boxed with different shades of ink; onion skin pages highlighted with various colors (yellow, pink, green, blue, orange). The margins of my Bible are filled with notes, as well as the spaces in between sentences; ink has blurred and bled through on many pages. I can give answers with much confidence about things in the Bible.

What I can’t give is an answer for why in the lives of those who love God…why things are such a mess. Foolish people say it’s a lack of faith, wavering trust in Him, a fledgling prayer life, not enough time in the Word. I say that is bunk…the Bible doesn’t say life is messy because we didn’t do enough. It simply says in the 64 books tucked between Genesis and Revelation life is messy, and that God is there to help us muddle our way through it.

I don’t get it. I don’t get how some Christians who love God have this amazing life and ministry, manage to wade their way through the orange barrels of life while others – who love God with all their being – get plowed over by a herd of steamrollers on what seems to be a daily basis. Can you answer that?

Really, I don’t want you to.

There was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord, and Satan came with them. God actually said to Satan, “Have you considered My servant Job? For there is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, fearing God and turning away from evil.” It should be mentioned here, Job was the Donald Trump of the Old Testament. He had ten children. 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 500 oxen, 500 female donkeys, lots of servants (employees). The Bible says, “…and that man was the greatest of all the men of the east.” Because of this Satan challenged God by saying if He put His hand against Job, Job would curse God to His face.

To prove Job’s love for God was greater than whatever Satan could shell out, God allowed the carpet to be yanked right out from underneath him. In one day everything Job had was ripped from his hands: his wealth, his herd, his servants, and most painfully…his children. God’s Word was true, Job fell on his face and worshiped Him. The Bible says, “through all this Job did not sin nor did he blame God.”

God pointed this out to Satan, repeated what He originally said about Job and added “And he still holds fast to his integrity, although you incited Me against him, to ruin him without cause.” Satan challenged God a second time, “Inflict him, then he’ll falter.” (I’m paraphrasing). What does God do? He allows Satan to come down hard on Job, this time it was so horrible he had to scrape boils off his body with a piece of pottery.

Job’s friends weren’t much help. They were, in my humble opinion, like the foolish ones I mentioned earlier.

A friend of mine is going through some messy stuff. It’s challenging. It’s affected her, her family and her health, and for me on the outside looking in it’s heartbreaking because I just know things…like how she loves God. In a lot of ways, her story reminds me of Job’s. I found myself thinking hard on that today. I think God looked at Satan and said, “Have you considered my daughter? For there is no one like her on the earth, a blameless and upright woman, fearing God and turning away from evil. And she still holds fast to her integrity.”

I suspect some days are really tough for her to see God in the midst of the circumstances, as I’m confident it was for Job. But I am hopeful God’s supremacy will shine through the messy stuff. The book of Job asks if you can discover the depths of God, discover the limits of the Almighty. It says they are as high as the heavens, deeper than Sheol. It’s measure is longer than the earth, and broader than the sea. In short, God is still more magnificent and bigger than all the messes life can throw.

And I hope my friend can take comfort in knowing God knows the way she takes; when He has tried her, she shall come forth as gold…and like Job…all will be restored.

The definition of aversion is: a strong feeling of dislike, opposition, repugnance (strong distaste or objection), or antipathy. 

Ed brought in his annual Christmas lunch for the employees where I work. A thank-you for  our business. I had to take a picture of him in his suit, and as you can see…he’s a relatively cool guy.

Soon after I snapped this spiffy photo, he loaded up those tables behind him with lasagna, fettuccine alfredo, fried chicken, salad, and baked goods.

The aroma wafting down the hallway to the door, which is located on the opposite side of my cube-wall, about sent me running out of the building. Well, actually, it did send me out of the building…I went to Wendy’s and got chili.

This has happened a couple of times since my surgery, both times caught me completely by surprise and sent me running. From the boards I frequent, I’m assuming this is what food aversion would be called. It affected my pallet…some things I used love I hate the taste of…some items the texture bugs me. It’s just totally weird.

When you think about it, it’s a great fail safe.

So if you see me looking like this, chances are I didn’t like what I smelled!

Have a great day!

All I have thought about over the past few days are friends of ours who are overseas, who have a front porch view of a nation about to teeter into war – and all they want – while practically everyone they know in the states has an overwhelmed, glassy-eyed, coma-like gaze over Christmas expenses – are two gas masks.

So while darling Darla begs you for that new thing all the other kids have (“you know I’ll absolutely die without it”) – on the other side of the world a man is pleading with a government official. He tells the official he understands he and his wife aren’t “citizens”, but please consider the government letter he has as he shows the official their passports.

They just want a couple of gas masks because they, too, desire to live. With what is stirring in the wind, war breaking out soon is a very, very real reality.

Before you go to your Christmas or birthday parties, or do your elephant trading, before you drop half your savings account on something that will most likely be collecting dust in three months, consider making a donation to the organization our friends belong to (click here for more information – you can earmark your donation: House Directors in Akko).

And if your finances simply do not permit a donation, please – I beg you – keep them in prayer, ask your friends to pray for them. Add them to your local church prayer list. They are an amazing couple and I wish I would have gotten to tell them that the last time I saw them.

Peace.

-Traci

This past week I’ve managed to blast through four pair of pants. You know, part of that “I only have 17 hangers with articles of clothing on them”? I think they lasted five weeks before they began to fall off. Two shirts no longer fit either. I could own stock in Lane Bryant if I keep going at this rate!

But…I seriously doubt I’ll be shopping at Lanies too much longer. Their lowest size is a 14/16. I’m already wearing that in just about everything, and have begun to snag a couple of things from the regular department store. Granted, it’s been gym shorts and pajama bottoms. Still, six and a half months ago…NEVER would have been able to do that!

No seriously. I mean, check out my latest updated self-portrait (yes, I know I take pictures in the same spot all the time…but…I only have one mirror that goes past the waist!

Another change I noticed: the dent I put in my new undentable mattress after I bought it last summer (the one I saved for a year to buy) is gone. Who knew!?! I also sleep in one spot now instead of all over the place. To you, the blog reader, this may not mean anything…but to me it means I’m sleeping through the night and not waking up all freaking time.

Finally, my Jeep. I’ve mentioned before about the fact my belly no longer steers the SUV. Well, my butt no longer conforms to the seat. I am constantly readjusting the seat, I have this gap between me and the steering wheel (which I had lowered two inches), my legs have shrunk so they lay weird. I move the seat forward, move it back, move it up, move it down. I thought I had finally gotten it right the other morning, and yesterday…the stupid mechanic moved EVERY thing.

I have lost 103 pounds, oodles of inches, and 14% on the BMI scaley thingy. But what’s really gotten my attention is Paul’s writings in the New Testament. He talks about putting off the old man and putting on the new. I really think I’m starting to get that.

It’s kind of cool.

On the Bariatric Foodie Blog, there’s a recipe for Apple Brown Nik (she called it that because it has apples, it is brown, she’s Nikki and cooked it, and she too, is brown). I just called it an apple crumble.

The ingredients were minimal. To be honest, I didn’t think those main items pictured would turn into something so yummy.

I sliced and cored six Granny Smith apples by hand (which means I do not have an apple peeler or one of fancy doo dads that cores the apples for you…and I don’t want one). I realized the slices may have been too large, so I cut them into chunks and dropped them into the largest pan I have. As you can see from the picture…there was just a wee bit too much apple for that pan. 

Side note: No, your eyes are not playing tricks on you. I have what is commonly referred to as an apartment stove. It really is just cute as all get out.

Obviously I needed more space, so I pulled out a large pot. I melted “butter” (well, i can’t really believe it’s NOT butter because I got it all over my fingers and it was…um…yummy…cough, cough), added nutmeg, cinnamon, the apple chunks and Splenda. After cooking for a bit I ended up with pretty brown colored apples.

I cooked them a few minutes longer and the small sauce turned darker, the apples softened up and OMG! Surprise, surprise, surprise.

Actually, that wasn’t really the surprise. The piece I had tested was super sweet, almost too much for me. So I thought maybe I screwed it up somehow. Still, I plodded forward. I mean, I was halfway there…I couldn’t stop, and I wasn’t about to throw out all those apples.

I made the crumble mixture in my handy dandy Ninja. Which was really kind of fun. Few little bursts and this container was just filled with crumble stuff, I think it looked better than what I could have picked up pre-crumbled in the store. Since I know what’s in it, makes it all that much better. Side note: got to be really careful toasting nuts on the stove. They can burn rather quickly (hey, no comments!)

Per Nikki’s instructions, I poured the apple mixture into a 9×13 pan. That shocked me. Total illusion of the eyes because you just couldn’t tell if they were going to fit or if there was going to be unfilled gaps. But I smoothed the mixture out so it would fit the entire bottom of the pan and then sprinkled the crumble mixture on top, and wella…ready for the oven.

The instructions indicated to bake for 30 minutes at 350, or until the apple mixture bubbles through and the crumble browns. There’s where things got a little iffy because at 30 minutes, nothing was bubbling through and it certainly wasn’t turning brown.

I left it in the oven for another 20 minutes or so. I kept a close eye on it so it wouldn’t burn, and since this was my first try at anything of this magnitude…I didn’t want to jack it up. I took it out of the oven and the edges were pretty bubbly and those were brown, the rest however, didn’t look the way I imagined it would, but what the heck.

I transferred part of the desert to a smaller pan, then transferred a serving to a small plate. The only item I didn’t have was whipped cream. This turned out AMAZING! A little tart, a little sweet. Ice cream probably would have made it rock, but quite honestly it rocked all by itself. I am excited!

Thus, Traci cooked an apple crumble!

Over the weekend I tried a different grocery store (you can read about the adventure here), and did something I never do anymore: grabbed a package without reading the ingredients (insert creepy “Oh No!” music here).

Aldi has a brand called Bremer. I stumbled across their “Homestyle Beef” blah-blah in the freezer section just as I was finishing my shopping. I grabbed the package, glanced at the calories and whatnot, thought I could split this thing into four meals, and tossed it into the buggy.

Tonight I decided to cook up the bag. So I open said bag. Inside contained smaller bags: one with green beans, sliced carrots, onion pieces and diced white potatoes. The second: beef pot roast “dices”. The third: a “homestyle savory sauce”. On the beef bag the ingredients were listed. Words like sodium phosphate, modified food starch, caramel color stood out like the neon signs that blink on and off in the middle of the night (in a horror movie). I was completely disturbed over “caramel color”. Then I looked at the packaging itself, which is what is pictured with this blog post.

OMG! Do you SEE the list?

Seriously. I can’t even pronounce half those ingredients. And the length. Holy crap. I saw a recipe for Oreo Cookie Balls that had less in it than I had toes. I just knew none of that stuff would be good for me (in the Bremer bag…I don’t know about the Oreo’s ). What I do know is this:

Never, ever, EVER buy anything that has more ingredients than you have digits!

-Traci

Today I tried two new things (well, three, if you include my resistance to the urge to buy a large Breve Latte’ with an extra expresso shot).

First, I tried a new grocery store (new to me). I wrapped up at the laundry mat and was going to head over to Meijer and stock up on a few items since I was only a couple of miles away. I also had to swing by Staples to pick up ink cartridges for my printer while heading over there. In the Staples shopping center there’s a sign for Aldi. So I figured why not?

The buggies are all chained together and require the buggy pusher to deposit a quarter into the box on the right of the handle to said buggy. I made a face. I was going to have to use that quarter to pay for the parking meter later, I didn’t want to to stick a quarter into the stupid box (not that I had a choice). I sighed and stuffed a quarter in the slot, freed the stupid buggy and went into the store.

Immediately upon entering I noticed as a whole it was smaller than your typical grocery store. Maybe a little bigger than 7-11? The entire place was filled with off-brand foods. From kettle chips to milk. I saw Uncle Ben’s rice stuff, a Lysol cleaner, but nothing else really stood out. So I thought I’d give it a shot and see what the benefit would be. I picked a 1/2 gallon of milk, egg substitute, a few off brand greek yogurts (I think I know where those will end up), cheese (they did have Baby Bel’s, really excited I was!), some crackers to go with my cream cheese, half and half, decaf coffee, couple of frozen food items, kettle chips (they were in front of the door and called my name), lunch meat, blah blah blah. I had  meals at home, this was just a run for fillers and mild munchies (okay..TWO munchies…sue me).

At the checkout I noticed there were only two lanes, customers had to pay for bags (paper or plastic), and the cashiers only put the items back into the buggies after scanning them. Similar to Sams Club. The end of the lanes aren’t user friendly, they get clogged up with recycling buggies (again, like Sams). Also, there’s no display to indicate how much you’re spending, which kind of bugged me because I am watching my wallet.

When the cashier finished with me, I bagged up my stuff and loaded up my car. Then put the buggy away to get my stinking quarter back. Side note: there wasn’t a single solitary buggy in the parking lot.

Then I went to Staples. When did they get so cluttered? It’s like walking into Micro Center, crap everywhere. I won’t be going back there. I like clean, obstacle free shopping. I enjoy displays which get my attention and force me to touch the items in the basket. Cluttering up the entrance and the area in front of the cash registers is, as far as I’m concerned, a marketing nightmare. When I was trying to check out, the guy had me go to another lane. You know, they couldn’t even be bothered to remove the crap off the counter so I could finish my transaction. This duded wanted me to fill out a rewards application. Looking back, what I should have said was, “NO, I don’t want to complete your application. I don’t want two rewards points for recycling my old cartridges. You’re wasting my time and I can’t see where the hell I’m going!”

Finally, I went to the Salvation Army over on 4th Street here in Royal Oak. I just asked my mom, “When did they get so expensive?” I found three t-shirts which cost me $21 bucks, and I also looked for a winter coat. However, I’m not spending 80 bucks on a wool coat with holes in the pockets and tears in the inner lining. I’m struggling with the whole coat thing because whatever I get, I am not going to be able to wear in a couple of months due to the rate I’m losing weight. In other words, spending all that money on something I will not be able to wear in 60 days doesn’t make sense. I might hook up with my cousin and look into hitting the DAV she and her husband go to. Might get lucky there.

Oh, so this picture is from the lot where I parked. Some fool stuffed a nickel into the meter with glue on it. It was wedged in the slot. If you look, you can see the substance on the bottom portion of the coin, on the right. Nice, huh?