Author Archives: JL

LET THE SUN SHINE IN

The weather this summer has been less than ideal; far less than ideal.  If it’s not raining for days and nights on end, it’s likely that the heat and humidity index is sufficient that I have crossed ironing my summer cotton wardrobe off my list.  I just put a shirt or shorts on all wrinkled and disheveled and after two minutes outdoors, they’re as smooth as permanent press.
It’s bad enough that my summer days have been limited ever since my birth in the land of the north.  Close to the Canadian border, I am lucky to count on June, July and August for temperatures high enough to pack away the Cuddl Duds and expose my sickly white flesh to those essential Vitamin D boosting rays of the sun.
I’ve gone through more than half of all the summers I’m ever going to get. The older I get, the more precious the salad days of sunshine and balmy breezes become to me.  Every single one that I am cheated out of fills me with resentment and an urge to shake my fist and rail at the gods of weather.
So far this summer I have been either cold and wet, or wet and sticky and I can’t get that darn quack, quack, waddle, waddle song out of my head. “We are nippersinkers, we’re in luck, if it rains all week just pretend you’re a duck.”
In fact, I’m so desperate that if I thought doing a sun dance at high noon in the village square, naked except for my rubber rain boots, would guarantee the next thirty days of summer unfold in the low 80s’ with a balmy western breeze (make that the last 30 days – one and the same around here),  I’d be shakin’ my tush off. 
Do the butt dance . . .
(_|_)   (_\_)   (_|_)   (_/_)   (_|_)   (_\_)
 . . . doo, doo, doo, doo . . .
Not sure that would have much affect on the weather, but it would certainly give new meaning to the name MAD Goddess around here.
I’ve got places to go, people to see and things to do that don’t accommodate rain dates.  I’ve been in my swimming pool twice this year – and one of those times was to bail the water down after a deluge so my air mattress wouldn’t float over the edge with the over flow.
The only thing this weather is good for is growing mushrooms and mold.  Come to think of it, this jungle climate has me feeling a lot like a moldy mushroom and at this age I could go bad real fast.
Maybe I could just install fluorescent lighting fixtures in my “sun” room, fit them out with tanning bulbs, turn the fan on, haul the deck furniture inside, mix up a pitcher of umbrella drinks and call the girls over for for a little age-preservation therapy.
. . . . . . mid
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THE BLISS CONNECTION

The Drs. aired a Special episode today with an all male audience to ask everything they always wanted to know but don’t understand about women.  One man wanted to know what it is with women and chocolate.  He thought that sometimes women would prefer chocolate to sex.  At least he thinks his woman would, so they all must be that way, right?
His ego-arrogance aside (maybe she only prefers chocolate to sex with him), it got me thinking.  What is this hold chocolate has over so many women and why does it seem to be a female- mostly addiction.
I’m not buying all that malarkey about estrogen and hormonal imbalance driving a women like a wild stallion out of control, the poor female doing her best just to keep hold of the reins. 
For instance, estrogen is supposed to be the “feel good” hormone.  There’s just one flaw in the ointment – PMS. For those who suffer it, PMS symptoms are worse when estrogen is at it’s highest. Then, they seem to be far more relaxed and calm when estrogen drops to its lowest monthly level right after ovulation.
The flaw is in the narrow parameters of the studies.  They forget to factor in that estrogen also boosts brain function.  It’s the reason why we become forgetful in menopause when estrogen starts drying up along with everything else.
Though men refuse to admit it, study after study indicates that women are more prone than men to compromise and “let things go” for the sake of harmony in a relationship. Perhaps when estrogen peaks and takes brain function and reasoning along with it, women simply can’t dumb themselves down enough to keep from throwing their perfectly valid two cents (uh, sense) into the pot.
So what about the chocolate?  I have a theory on that too.  Did you doubt that I would?
When a man is courting a woman, trying to impress her, win her over with his charm and gallantry, he talks to her in sweet tones, smiles a lot, gives her gifts (little and big) compliments her regularly and generally feeds her on a feel good diet.  Powerful drug that feel good stuff is.
But it doesn’t last.  I point again to science.  Prehistoric men were hardwired to be hunters and warriors.  Fast forward and it’s still lurking in their DNA; they hunt for jobs, they compete with other employees for promotions and raises, they watch their sports teams battle it out on the field, maybe they hunt wild game . . . and they hunt and compete for a mate.  The very challenge of finding her and winning out over all the other men gets their blood up.
Once the woman is won, their brain starts dragging them off to find new conquests on the modern day hunting grounds and battlefields of jobs and sports and backyard barbeques.  The sweet tones become flat, the smiles are fleeting, and the compliments have to be dragged from the dark, cobwebby recesses of the brain cave.
“Honey, how do I look in these jeans?”
Can you believe that, handed the opening on a silver platter, some guys still don’t get it?
The Drs. said today that chocolate contains certain chemicals that mimic the feel good substances, like serotonin, in our brains.  Just so you know, so do fat and sugar.  So, after being slyly seduced and helplessly addicted to the feel good diet of our courtship, we crave the high that those sweet words of love and adoration gave us.
But the supply line has dried up, so we stuff chocolate in our mouths like a heroine addict sucks down methadone.  We prefer the dark chocolate (something else men don’t understand) because it has the greatest percentage of cacao – a better high.  But like any addict, we’ll take what we can get.  Admit it, you’ve stood with the fridge door open slurping from the can of Hershey’s Syrup.
Supposedly, long distance running produces the same feel good chemicals – the runners’ high.  Remember that movie with Julia Roberts, The Runaway Bride?  Maybe she had this figured out.
As for me, I think I have the solution to my addiction and for shedding the weight that is, literally, rolling around my midsection.  I just need somebody to dangle a chocolate bar off the back of their truck and get me to chase it for a couple of miles every day.

. . . . . . mid

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GET DOWN AND GIVE ME TWENTY

You  may not know this, but I am a Certified Health and Wellness Coach and I specialize in motivating women to care for themselves in midlife and beyond.  A recurring theme in my workshops is weight management.

I’m great at helping other women figure out what they can to do to achieve their fitness goals and set up supportive environments that will help them succeed.  To be honest, I don’t have a problem outlining my own plan for fitness, and lets face it, weight loss is a big part of that plan.

My personal problem is with the motivation.  I’ve been canoodling on this for a good year now – well when I wasn’t hunched over textbooks trying to make facts stick to my aging gray matter.  Too bad the information doesn’t stick to my brain the way every single calorie I eat sticks to my ass.

Anyway, I am a straight A student.  I’m a successful author.  I am a pretty darn good mother (so my kids tell me).  I’ve excelled at every job I’ve ever had.  Everything I do, I do at 110%. 

So why can’t I excel in a fitness program the way I do in other areas of my life? Motivation and boredom.  I lack the motivation to engage in physical activity that is short of torture while being less mind engaging that sorting sox.

Also, I’m a praise junkie.  Whether it’s a teacher, a client or an editor, receiving a pat on the back, an “Atta girl!” or any other acknowledgement of a job well done, gives me an endorphin high to rival any drug induced mind trip.

Clearly, I need a personal trainer who will give me my daily does of praise – but only when deserved. But not just any trainer will do.  I need my Jr. High phys-ed teacher and gymnastics coach, Mrs. Farmakes. It’s important that you are saying the name correctly in your head; far – mach – ass, accent on the first syllable.  You can see how that is much more formidable than far – makes.

Mrs. Farmakes was anything but svelte.  She sat on the bottom bleacher with a clipboard and a whistle, barking instructions and critiquing with a critical eye.  She was the teacher you hated, until you won first place in the track and field sprints, or hammered the opposing basketball team, or heard the roar of applause for your perfect cartwheel, back hand-spring, round-off.

I have no idea where she is today, but I’ve got a plan.  One of the tools I use with my own clients is having them create visions boards – collages depicting their goals.  Vision boards are the warm fuzzies of motivation, filled with pictures and words meant to be uplifting, positive and encouraging.

Suddenly my own vision board seems wholly inadequate for the job.   A conglomeration of graceful yoginis, slim women walking along the beach or through the park, and gardening with floppy brimmed hats upon their heads – all overlaid with cut-out words to make phrases like, “New steps to enrichment,” and “Balancing body, soul and spirit,” is not what I need.

My hubby, who spent three years in the regular army and 20 years as a Sergeant in the National Guard, offered his services to whip me into shape.  I declined for the sake of harmony in our marriage, but it got me to thinking.

What I need is a poster sized cut out of Mrs. Farmakes – or a reasonable facsimile – with word balloons of stern commands and brutally honest critiques that will make me want to punch her lights out.

I don’t need guided visualizations on CD of soft voiced hypnotists telling me to listen to my body and give it what it needs.   I need a stern voiced old broad telling me the cottage cheese on my thighs could feed a starving country.

Mrs. Farmakes, if you’re out there, I hope you don’t take offense.  You are the best motivator I ever had, and I’m hoping you will be again.

.  . . . mid
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