the games

I saw someone post something on facebook within the last day or so regarding "the games," and now, thanks to Suzanne Collins, when we hear the games, we're not thinking the 2012 London Summer Games, but rather The Hunger Games.

I loved the Olympics as a child, and I still do.  I wanted to be a gymnast in the summer and a figure skater in the winter.  I remember distinctly pretending to be Katarina Witt in the winter of 1994, because of the amazing red lace costume she wore (the internet will find you anything):

Yes, I even chose Katarina of Kristi Yamaguchi and Nancy Kerrigan thanks to this outfit.

In the summer of '96 it was USA women's gymnastics or bust.  I remember wanting to know everything I possibly could about those seven girls.  Shannon Miller was my favorite, because her hair was curly like mine.

Today, I'll watch whatever I can see.  In 2014, I'll host an opening or closing ceremonies party and we'll eat around the world.  Yes, I will start compiling recipes now.

what if

What if I could go to the gym four days a week (I'll live with 3)?

• Mondays, yoga 7-8 (in AH)
• Tuesdays, six pack attack 1245-1 (in DG) Turbokick 630-730 or zumba 730-830
• Wednesdays, turbokick (in DG) 530-630 or cardio kickbox (in AH) 715-815
• Thursdays, pilates (in DG) 5-6 or piyo (in AH) 630-760 or zumba (in AH) 630-730

What if I could eat cleaner?

• Less processed foods.
• More lean proteins.
• Less sugars.
• More fruits and vegetables.
• I pinned a list of clean foods here.

What if I could cut out the following all together?

• Soda/Pop/whatever you choose to call it.
• Bread products.
• Unnecessary sweets.
• Unnecessary dairy.

What if G and I decided to do more physical activity together?  Like going for walks or bike rides?

I'm beginning to plan meals, starting now.

• Breakfasts:  medium boiled eggs with pepper or hot sauce.  Whole wheat English Muffin or Ezekiel toast with almond butter (which includes Flax)
• Lunches: SALADS.  Weight Watchers meals (yes, I know this defeats the purpose of non-processed food, but I have to start somewhere.
• Dinners: Lean proteins (chicken, turkey, fish. 6-8 oz)  Massive amounts of veggies, minimal starches.
• Snacks: nuts, fruits, vegetables.
• LOTS OF WATER.

keratin

As a little girl, I had curly hair.  It wasn't unmanageable, but it was certainly unruly.  I cried every time my mom wanted to brush my hair (GOD FORBID.)

In junior high, unruly turned into unmanageable.  I wore my, by that time very long and hippy-ish curly hair in a bun almost every day.  The only time my hair was in anything other than a bun was for a special occasion, which, at that time in my life, was a band concert.  I hated my hair.  Until the day that someone told me it resembled Juliana Marguiles on  ER.

So, I liked my curly hair.  Until I realized the only thing I could do with it, is be curly.  I couldn't blow dry it without looking like Phil Spektor.  I couldn't flat iron it (seriously, I had friends try.  They usually got discouraged after the first HOUR.)  I embraced the curly, tried special curly products, went to special curly salons, frequented www.naturallycurly.com.  I just got tired of always being the curly girl.  I wanted to be the diverse girl.

So, I got keratin.  And it was the best thing I ever did.  I have zero frizz or fly-aways.  I can scrunch my hair into looser curls and waves, or I can blow dry it straight.  I can use a curling iron or hot rollers.  I can actually do things with my hair.  Who would have thought?

Sally

My Aunt Sally passed away two years ago yesterday.  She was a major influence on my father’s life, and in turn, my own.

Sally moved in with my grandparents when my dad was born, and lived with my grandparents until she passed away, at the age of eighty-eight.  My father was fifty-five.  She raised my father, took him to concerts (Elvis!), taught  him to save, and molded him (mostly) into the person he is today.

She treated me as if I was her granddaughter.  She never married or had children of her own.  My father, was her child.  I, was her grandchild.  She always had a word of wisdom for me, no matter what the situation was.

When Sally was younger, she worked as the executive assistant for some big wig hot shot downtown.  She was the lifeline of the office.  When I was little, I thought she never worked, and just took care of my dad and his brother.  She worked.  She worked really hard.  And lessons of hard work, integrity, and self preservation were being passed to me from a very young age, and I didn’t even realize it.

Sally paid for my first year of college.  In fact, I’m fairly certain that Sally paid for all of my college.  I’m fairly certain that post mortem, she is STILL paying for my college.

Sally was always happy, even when she was sick.  She never let anyone see her anything less than with a smile on her face.  Through multiple bouts of cancer, and open heart surgery, she always had color in her face and a smile.

The last time I saw Sally, she was suffering from dementia.  She had trouble remembering things moments after they happened, and often thought she was in a different time.  She didn’t know who I was, but knew my father, and regarded him as a teenager.  When we moved Sally from the hospital to Hospice care, we left her to go get dinner, with the intention of coming back the next day.  When we left, I taught her how to fist bump.

The next day when we came back, the first thing she wanted to do was fist bump me.  After that, she had brief moments of lucidity, mostly though, her dementia was severe.

The weekend before she passed, my dad was at dinner with one of my sisters.  He swore he heard someone calling his name.  My sister didn't hear it.  The next morning, he flew to Florida, and went straight to Sally's apartment.  She was lucid, saw him, recognized him, and spoke with him.  Then, she passed.

4, July.

The Fourth of July used to be my favorite holiday.  As a child, I lived for running through sprinklers during the day, getting to the fireworks early to stake out the perfect viewing area, and later, having our annual hide-and-go-seek-tag game in the dark with the neighbor kids.


As I got older, I enjoyed barbecues with friends, swimming, and boating.  The two summers I worked at the country club, I busted my tail for extra cash, got to enjoy a "gourmet" barbecue, and a private firework show.


The last two years, the Fourth hasn't been so great.  Actually, they've been downright miserable.


In 2010, my great aunt, who for all intensive purposes, was my third grandmother, passed away on July 2.  I wanted to be in Florida for as little time as possible (which is a story for another day,) and my dad agreed.


Unfortunately, due to the holiday, I ended up in Florida for days rather than hours.  I was on a redeye flight the morning of the third, and returned home on the sixth.  The funeral itself was on the fourth.  It rained the whole time.  No fireworks.  The closest person in age to myself was my father.  I spent the majority of the weekend holed up in a room being antisocial, because people just didn't understand my relationship with Sally, (again, another story) and I didn't feel like explaining it, again.


2011 was supposed to be better.  It had to be.  Except, it wasn't.  We went to the racetrack.  It was hot outside.  I was emotionally and physically miserable.  I didn't bet on the horses.  I got in a fight with my dad because of my shitty mood.


No one wanted to go see fireworks.  I went by myself.  I was alone, and it was depressing.


I've been promised that my faith in the Fourth will be renewed this year.  I really hope that's the case.