Sjs59's Blog

compositions from my heart

Fresh and Other Overused Words

This morning I was reading the news, like I do almost every morning and I came across an article of opinion written by Sam Sanders on NPR news.  The title, “It’s Time To Put ‘Woke’ To Sleep”.

Intriguing, right?  Well it sparked my curiosity and I had to read on.  The writer was asking for people to leave behind the word “woke” in 2019.  And you know of course at this point that I most certainly had to read on to find out what was so terrible about this particular word and it’s use in today’s world.

It seems that according to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the word “woke” means, “aware of and actively attentive to important facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice).”

Honestly, I had no idea.  I actually thought that the word, when I first read it, had something to do with awoke, as in rising from sleep in the a.m.  Sam Sanders wants to put the word to rest and I never even heard of it’s use until this morning.

Funny how these things are, don’t you think?  I guess that says a lot about where my head is at.  Don’t get me wrong I am aware of the struggles people have in the world today, I’m just not always up on the latest cliché that gets used in regards to it.

Personally, I have words of my own that I would love to see put to rest forever.  One in particular is the word “fresh” used on most all of the cooking shows these days to describe, of all things, the taste of a particular food that has just been prepared and presented.

Think about it, doesn’t it seem totally unnecessary to even say that something tastes fresh or that by adding some particular herb you’re adding freshness to the dish?  This is totally ridiculous given that if something is not fresh to begin with, why on earth would you want to be cooking with it or eating it in the first place?  If a food is not fresh than it is garbage, right?

Another word that could definitely use a rest when it comes to describing food is texture.  Call me crazy but if I bite into something and it crunches, all that says to me is “gross”!  Kinda like finding bones in the fish and broth and eggshells in the scrambled eggs.

I don’t know about anyone else but when I bite into something, I simply want it to taste perfectly blended with all the flavors of all the ingredients that were added to the dish.  If it’s supposed to be crunchy, it will be.

I think what I’m looking for in a prepared dish is what Barbra Streisand described in the movie, “The Mirror Has Two Faces” as “the perfect bite”, that’s all that I want.

And alas, still one more word to be laid to rest in 2019, for sure for me at least, is the word “correct”.  My gosh, can’t anyone just answer “yes” to a question asked anymore?

Anyway, I guess you get my point.

Whatever words you choose to use, like I’ve heard it said in Alcoholics Anonymous, “say what you mean, mean what you say but don’t say it mean”.

As always, thank you for reading and may you have a happy, prosperous and healthy New Year!


We, the people, Are, the United states of America

That’s right!  We, all of us citizens are what makes the, still great, by the way, in my humble opinion, the United states of America the United States of America.  If we weren’t still great, why would so many peoples be trying so hard to come here and be a part of us? 

Have we forgotten how we came to be the United States of America?

A bit of history.

Originally, we were British subjects living in the Colonies of the British Empire.  Did we forget that?  King George III was on the throne at the time.

There were no Democrats or Republicans at the time. The political parties were the Whigs and the Tories and many of the colonists were definitely a part of those groups.

According to, “the Whig party was originally founded in 1678, at the start of Britain’s modern political history.  The key principles of the Whigs were to defend the people against tyranny and to advance human progress.”

According to,Inc., “the Tories were generally the party of the nobility.  They were supporters of the monarchy, and tended to be wealthy rural landowners.  They were staunch supporters of the Church of England and formed a High Church party within it, advocating traditional liturgy and fairly strict and narrow theological positions.  They advocated close ties between church and state.”

And, I’m sure everyone has heard about the Boston Tea Party.  According to, “On this day, (December 16, 1773), a group of Massachusetts colonists disguised as Mohawk Indians board three British ships moored in Boston Harbor and dump 342 chests of tea, (valued today worth more than $700.000), into the water.

Parliament, outraged by the blatant destruction of British property, enacted the Coercive Acts, called the “Intolerable Acts” by the colonists in 1774.  It closed Boston to merchant shipping, established formal British military rule in Massachusetts, made British officials immune to criminal prosecution in America, and required colonists to quarter British troops.

The colonists subsequently called the first Continental Congress to consider a united American resistance to the British.”

I guess my point is that we, as Americans have so many freedoms.  We only got these freedoms as a result of putting up a very big fight with a very powerful country and we won.   After which, we, the people, came together and formed “a more perfect union“.

I wonder now, how was it possible then for so many people that inhabited the colonies, all with their own personal agenda and opinion to reach a conclusion to unite all thirteen colonies?

I personally don’t believe human behaviors and traits have changed so much since our Constitution was created that there was no arguing going on amongst the different factions.  After all, we’re human beings right?  Different people have different opinions and everyone wants to believe that they have the right opinion.

I believe that the creators and signers of the Declaration of Independence and Constitution were able to create this document because they were able to compromise and see that the end picture was what would be best for our country and not what would necessarily be best for them as individuals.

I look around at people in my own neighborhood and I watch their behavior towards one another.  I hear my neighbors converse about their politics and most folks I see behave in a civilized manner towards each other. 

In political conversations I overhear on the bus, people are not arguing and calling each other names because they disagree with the other’s opinion.  I can hear most folks trying to calmly state their opinions to hopefully come to a non combative resolution to their discussion. 

With my friends and even within my own family we have political discussions and no one wants to call anyone any names or get violent with one another because we do not agree with one another. 

No one has to answer to me but just ask yourselves the following questions:

1.  Why do you think it is that people who are supposed to be representing us and doing what is best for us are so unwilling to find compromise?

2.  Why do you suppose it is that these same people want to have all of us fighting with each other?

3.  Do you think these people who represent us are really there for us or are they really there for themselves?

4.  Why have so many people stopped bothering to find out for themselves whether the propaganda they are told is true or not?

I don’t know about anyone else but when I hear some of the political rhetoric that is being told to us it makes me curious.  I have never been the kind of person who just takes someone else’s word for anything.  Ask anyone who knows me.  I want to know for myself whether what is being said is true or not so I will go and investigate things for myself.  I can not stand for someone to think that I can be so easily led and persuaded simply by what I am being told.  My motto is “prove it!”

We, the people are the United States of America.  We have a voice and we matter.  Tuesday, November 6 is mid-term elections.  If you are able to vote, use your voice and vote.

Thank you for reading.





The Absurdity of it All

I think this morning was the last straw for me.  Sadly, I’ve decided that when my lovable, twelve year old, high strung, indoor manageable only but sweet dog Etta passes away, I think I will not get another one after her.

Being a dog owner has become such a chore and such a source of stress in my life.  I have come to hate even having to walk her outdoors when I think that there might be other people walking their dogs at the same time because as soon as my dog spots another dog, even from across the street, the first thing she does is start whimpering and tries to make a mad dash to go see them.  

From the first moment Etta sees the other dog, she is in a crazed state of mind.  No one exists at that point except her and the other dog.  Contrary to what others might think, this is not normal dog behavior.  It’s neurotic.  She does not hear me when I tell her to stop and she does not seem to feel the restraint of her collar around her neck when I am holding her back with the leash.  She has done this since the time that I first got her and every single day since then I try something new to see if I can get her to stop.

Most recently I have been calmly putting my foot out in front of her to block her path and to show her that there is a boundary that she should not cross.  It does seem to distract her for a bit and get her to look up at me which is what I want but that’s only a beginning. 

However, Etta doesn’t pay attention to me for very long because now I have to be distracted from her to try and explain to the other dog owner that we have encountered and wants our two dogs to meet that it’s not okay for our dogs to meet until my dog calms down and behaves the way I want for her to behave.  I tell them that I do not want to reward her for behaving badly and to which they now look at me like I have two heads and there is something wrong with the way I’m treating her.

I am so disgusted with the ignorance and lack of consideration of others these days who can not seem to understand that the behavior that they see as so sweet, cute and adorable in my dog is actually bad behavior for a well adjusted normal dog and I am tired of trying to convince them to the contrary.

When did it ever become like this?  I would never dream of trying to force my attentions on someone else’s dog or totally disregard what they were asking of me in regards to their dog.  Why is what I ask of people in regards to my dog treated with such disrespect for me and disregard for what is best for my dog?  Neurosis is not cute and when you have to deal with it every single day, it’s work!

At one point I wanted to give Etta away because I started to feel overwhelmed by her neurosis and was tired of dealing with it.  Fortunately for me, the person did not want her to live with them.  

My Etta is here to stay.  I’ve made a commitment to her and she will have a home with me for the rest of her life neurosis and all, I love her and I will not give up trying to teach her a different way to behave when she meets another dog……or another dog owner.  One day at a time.

Thank you for reading.

My “Final Wishes”

It sometimes feels strange to me to have thoughts about my “final wishes”.

Come on, everyone knows what those are, right?  The thoughts about the arrangements for disposal of your remains after you die?

Personally, I could care less what happens to my body once I am done using it.  I am not my body.

For one thing, I think I can count ten people, twelve or thirteen at the most, that might actually care enough about me right now and it would matter to them if I die.  How could I possibly know this, you ask?  Because those people are the ones who actually take and make the time for me now, the same way I take and make the time for them.  With everyone else, I feel like what some kids these days like to call the “begger friend”.  These are the kids that no one really wants to be bothered with but most kids will be nice to them when it is actually necessary. 

Trust me, I love and I am so appreciative and grateful for everyone who chooses to make me a part of their life.  However, realistically speaking in the scheme of things, ten – thirteen people is not really a lot of people, is it?  For that amount of people, it hardly seems worth spending, easily, over $10,000.00 to host a party for them and all the other obligatory friends and family who feel the need to show up at a funeral parlor.  $1,000.00 per person?  That would have to be one hell of a party, don’t ya think?

Respectfully, I think dinner at a very nice restaurant would suffice for the occasion.  The only real dilemma here is what to do about the disposal of my remains but, that can be remedied with a simple donation to a medical school or the cheapest crematorium in the state, then my ashes can be scattered into the ocean somewhere near Provincetown, Ma. or anywhere, really, along the New England seashore because I love being near the ocean.

My thoughts about the subject of my final wishes change from time to time.  Before my daughter Katie died, I thought I might like to donate my body to a body farm somewhere in the south of the United States to be used for science.   Believe it or not, I have always been what some people might like to call, in a negative way I might add, “a do-gooder”.  Whether some believe it or not, I am a good person inside and I am always looking for ways to be helpful to others.

After Katie died, I thought I might like to be cremated and placed in the burial plot at the cemetery with her but now, I’m back to not really knowing what I would like to have done with my remains.

In the back of my mind I’m having a kind of tug-o-war going on.  On the one hand, I feel like I have plenty of time to decide what to do about “my final wishes”, after all, I do not feel old, no more so than when I was a young woman.  On the other hand, my chronological age is telling me that I will not be here forever and I do not have all the time in the world anymore.

Ah, decisions, decisions, hopefully I will have made my choices known in time to make other’s lives’ easier once I am gone from this planet. 

Thank you for reading.


September Again

Every year the approaching of the month of September refreshes a deep sense of sadness within my heart.  September 10 it will be 15 years since my daughter Katie took her own life.  At the time that Katie died, I could not imagine how I could go on living for very long without her in my life but here I still am, surviving her loss after all this time. 

Every day I still have thoughts of Katie.  Most memories of my daughter are happy and good memories these days.  The memory of my experience of coming home after work and finding her lifeless body is still in my memory bank but it is tucked away behind all of my most recent memories and stored for only occasional glimpses.  That memory is far too painful and detrimental to my every day health and wellbeing to keep but anywhere else. 

Every September I purposely bring the memory of what happened with my child back to my present mind, dwell on it and write about it.  As Katie’s mother, I feel it is my responsibility to make an effort to keep her memory alive in the minds of other people.  My daughter lived.  She was here.

I know that Katie has not really been forgotten, it’s just that after some time, most people who have died become a part of the past for a lot of us human beings and they are not thought of as often and not spoken about as much.  It’s not a bad thing or wrong.  I believe that this is just something, as a group, that we do.

Katie’s last driver’s license picture taken in May 2003

Katie was 28 years old when she died.  She was a delightful, beautiful person and she was loved by many, many people.  I knew that she had not been feeling happy or content for some time, but never in my wildest imagination did I ever think that she might want to take her own life.










When a person you love dies by suicide, it adds a dimension to their death that adds so many questions and feelings along with all the grief that you feel from that person’s passing.  With suicide, one person’s pain ends and another’s begins.

I know that my daughter Katie would never do anything to intentionally hurt me.  I also believe that if she had told me that she was thinking of suicide that she would still be here on this planet.  I would have made sure that I got her the help that she needed.

For anyone who may be feeling suicidal, there is help available.

Almost every mental illness or disorder can be treated. 

It is a myth that someone who is suicidal and attempts to take their own life will eventually succeed.

If you are reading this and are having thoughts of suicide, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.  It is a free, 24 hour a day, 7 days a week, confidential phone service.  The number is


September 10 is also World Suicide Awareness Day

Thank you for reading.



First and Foremost Ladies, Do Not Forget to Remove the Blade Cover When Shaving Your Legs

That’s right!  The first step in the process of shaving one’s legs is to remember to always remove the cover on the blade.

Perhaps you are wondering why I am feeling the need to write and tell you to remember to do this first basic step in leg shaving.  Well, let me proceed.

First I should tell you, rarely do I shave my legs anymore.  It has become one more thing that for me feels pointless and unnecessary.  After all, and I’m only speaking for myself now, the only reason I ever shaved my legs in the first place was for the effect and impression that it made on other people.  I heard other girls talking about it in school and decided to try it for myself.

When I first began to shave my legs, I was in Jr. High School and I used my father’s razor.  It was one of those double edged blade ones that you unscrewed the bottom of the handle to remove or replace the blade kind.  Of course I cut myself.  Not that bad you see, but bad enough to still be able to see the scar today, and my biggest concern then was how to have my father not know about it.  However, everyone knows, you almost never get away with something like that.  At least, I never did.  My father always knew someone else was using his razor because every time he went to use it again, he would cut up his face being that the blade had somehow become dulled from over use.

Well anyway, yesterday I decided to shave my legs.  Not because I had a date night or anything like that, (we all know how that is, right?), but because I just felt like it.  After lathering up my legs, I picked up my razor, ran it under the water and proceeded to shave my legs without even looking at it.  I remember thinking how it did not feel quite right but I never really checked to see if everything was as it should be, I just kept shaving.

At the point where I had finished shaving one leg, I ran my hand over it to make sure that I had gotten it all and it did not feel quite smooth enough for my liking so I proceeded to shave over a few more spots.  Still I did not like it and I could not figure why it still felt rough to my touch.  Trust me, this story is true.

Finally, after still not being satisfied with the feel of my leg after I had shaved it over, I decided to feel and look at the razor and to my surprise and disgust, I saw that the clear, plastic cover was still over the blade of my razor.  The first thing I said was, “You Dope!”

When I saw that the plastic cover was still on my razor, at first I felt really stupid, but hey, what the heck, these things happen, right?

It used to be when I did things like shaving my legs with the cover still on the blade made me want to beat myself up for doing such an idiot thing but like I said, these things happen and it’s not really that big a deal.  Afterwards I just had to laugh because it was a pretty funny thing to do and I thought y’all would get a good laugh over it as well.  

Life is short.  Laugh a little.

Thank you for reading.



Hey Ma, Look at Me!

I remember saying “Hey Ma, look at me”, so many times when I was very young and I was doing something that I thought was pretty cool and I wanted it to be noticed by my parents.

I can remember pumping my legs back and forth harder and harder on the swings and leaning back farther and farther to make myself go higher and higher almost to the point of making myself feel nauseous just so that my parents might notice that I was doing something cool and appreciate that I could do something pretty cool.

At home I tried doing everything that I was told to do and tried to behave the way I was supposed to behave.  I was a kid.  I wasn’t perfect.  I made mistakes.  Most times I didn’t listen the first time I was told and I needed to be told more than once, the same as it was with all my brothers and sisters.  None of us really liked having to do chores around the house as is true with most kids.

In school I behaved the way I was supposed to behave and did all the work that I was assigned to do, got good report cards from the teachers and passed through all the grades without any trouble.  Unfortunately, my accomplishments were never enough for my parents to acknowledge to me that they thought I should receive any praises or encouragement from them.  They used to say that they didn’t want my head to swell.  

I used to wonder what I had ever done that made my parents look at me the way they did.  There were never any smiles when I looked into their faces.  It was always a scowl, anger or disgust looking back at me and I can remember always thinking, “What now?”

All my life I have loved music.  I loved to sing and I love to dance.  I used to be able to copy any dance that I had seen being done on tv and it really never bothered me to dance in front of anyone. 

Singing was another matter all together.  Up until I was in the sixth grade I had no problem singing out loud at all.  The summer before I entered junior high school my desire to sing out loud went away.  I can not remember where I had heard someone singing opera but I was trying to mimic what I had heard and my mother asked the question in a very disgusted, annoyed way, “What the hell do you call that?” and I was crushed.  I never sang out loud again except in a group where my voice could not be distinguished between someone else’s or with my kids when they were singing in the house or the car.

Some may say that I write this now because I am still that person looking for some positive attention or I’m looking for pity but simply put, I am merely writing about what is on my mind today.

I loved my parents and I know that they did the best they could with what they knew at the time.  “Without them, I would not be who I am today”, (this is a quote from my son when we were talking the other day about how he and his sister were bullied in school) and I thought it would fit for me here.

Today I feel grateful for all the negativity I was given as a child.  I like myself and do not need the approval of anyone else.  I have a great capacity to show love to my loved ones and I have an inner strength that keeps me always moving forward through the next obstacle I am given in my life and the tenacity to never give up on something that I believe is important to me.

So for what it’s worth, use everything that you are given in your life, it is what makes you YOU.

Thank you for reading.

Three Legged Start

I just saw a story on tv about the Corvette museum.  I think it’s in Kentucky but can’t remember where they said it was.  However, a few years ago the bottom started to fall out, literally.  Underneath the museum there was a sink hole in the ground and the floor and several of the Corvettes fell into the sink hole causing a considerable amount of damage, needless to say, but the story reminded me and myself and learning to drive a car.

In October of 1971 I got married.  My husband drove a 1965, Chevrolet Stingray, Corvette.  It was white with red interior, black, convertible top with a 4 speed transmission on the floor.  I loved this car and if I ever had the chance to buy another, I definitely would buy it for sure.  This magnificent car is the car that I learned to drive on.

My husband first let me drive the “vette” at the old abandoned racetrack and airport in Agawam, Ma.  It is now the property of the Agawam Industrial Park.  Of course I had to get a learner’s permit before he would let me get behind the wheel of his “greatest love” and there was sure no way he was going to let me drive it anywhere near a street,,,,,,,for now anyway.  But at least he was willing to teach me how to drive.

Before I did anything else in the “vette”, I wanted to understand what the purpose of the clutch and the shift was.  Up until then I did not fully understand why you needed to push down on the clutch as you shifted through the gears and I was never satisfied with other people’s explanation to “just because that’s what you need to do.”  My husband was able to explain to me that the clutch and the shift worked simultaneously to get the car to smoothly accelerate through the gears to acquire more speed.  As long as something makes sense to me, I get it!  One likes to know what they are doing and why they’re doing it, right?

Driving a car with a manual transmission really takes some getting used to when you first start.  Co-ordinating the movement of your feet and your hands and still trying to pay attention to how straight you’re driving and other traffic on the road, requires that you really pay attention to what you’re doing.  I think that’s what I really like about driving a car with a standard, it’s easier to manage in driving in the snow and bad weather as well.  At least I’ve always found that to be true.  I can’t really remember ever being stuck in snow for any length of time when I was driving the “vette”.

Anyway, after I had gotten the hang of driving the “vette”, my husband used to let me drive it on the street so that I could get the driving experience that I needed to take my test for my license.  When you’re driving with a learner’s permit, you need to have a licensed driver in the car beside you and it’s better if it’s just you and them. 

Most of the time the licensed person that I drove with was my husband but there were a few times when that person was my sister Christine. 

My husband and I used to meet my sister, her husband and daughter Amanda at my mother’s house in the morning before they went to work, (they both worked with my father at the time).  The husbands went to work, Amanda stayed with my Mom and Christine and I went driving.

Oh, and by the way, I didn’t mention yet how difficult it is to get the hang of driving a standard transmission car and waiting for a light to change to green, on a hill, without rolling backwards into the car behind you and without stalling out the car did I?  Well trust me, it really takes some practice.

When I was out practicing my driving I used to pray that I didn’t get stuck waiting for a light to change to green on a hill.  It scared the crap out of me.  I was so afraid I would stall out the car and have everyone behind me honking and getting pissed at me because I was holding them up.

One day Christine and I were out and about practicing my driving and what I dreaded the most happened.  Here we were stuck on the hill at the end of Main St. leading up to Belmont Ave. in Springfield.  I started to get really nervous and she kept saying, “just relax”.  Trust me I tried.  Then I had the bright idea to have Christine put her left leg over the console to operate the gas while I kept my left foot holding in the clutch and my right foot holding the break.

When the light changed green on the hill that Christine and I were waiting on, I slowly eased off the brake and clutch and Christine pushed down the gas peddle and we smoothly moved forward up the hill.  Oh my God, it worked!  The two of us laughed like hell that we had pulled that one off and no one else was the wiser.  

Looking back now on my “learning to drive” experience with my sister Christine is a funny, happy memory for me but I would never recommend to anyone today that they try this solution.  I know now that the best way to get better at anything is to just practice, practice, practice.

Thank you for reading.


Uh Oh, It’s Finally Happened

It’s only taken me thirty six days to wake up this morning and not even know what day of the week it is.  I got up honestly believing that it was Monday and yet feeling quite surely that I was mistaken.  Crazy huh?

My brother, (he retired June 30), and I were talking just yesterday  about this on the phone and he told me that it had already happened to him.  I thought it was funny.

To tell you the truth, I never really believed it to be true when other people told me that they woke up not knowing what day of the week it is.  At the time it didn’t make sense to me how that could happen to anyone.  If you go to bed knowing what day of the week that it is, how is it possible to wake up and not know what the day is?  Well folks I’m here to tell you, it happens.

Anywho, as far as my retirement goes, I am loving it so far.  I enjoy so much that I do not have to set an alarm clock except when I have to get to an appointment somewhere.  Other than that, I am allowing my internal alarm clock to do what it does.  So far, the latest I have slept until is 7:10 AM.  I know that for some that is still quite early but for me, it’s late.

On most mornings, even my dog Etta doesn’t wake up until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee and that is an excellent thing!  She’s not a dog that’s too demanding anyway and I am happy that she enjoys sleeping in, but then again, she is twelve years old and older dogs sleep a little more than puppies do usually.

This morning after finally figuring out which day of the week it actually was, and doing all the routine things that me and Etta do in the mornings I was able to get outside while it was cooler and do some transplanting in my flower garden.  Afterwards, I cooked some eggs and now here I am sitting down and writing to post on my blog.  I have to tell you, it feels so nice to be able to do the things that I enjoy doing and having the time to do it. 

Well everyone, that’s it for now.  Hope you all have a great, relaxing Sunday.

Thank you for reading.

Bread is NOT my Friend!!!

I love bread.  Unfortunately, bread does not love me.  The more I eat, the more I want to eat.  I am like an alcoholic with a drink.  One slice leads to another and another and so on and so forth.  So I am better off not having any bread at all.

I will be doing great with what I’m eating for a while and then I know I’m in trouble with my eating habits when I start to crave bread.  The trick for me is to make it through the craving period without buying the bread but so far, I haven’t been able to do that.

My latest bread to love is the white Italian bread that I’ve been getting at my local Stop & Shop….toasted, for breakfast, with lots of creamery butter, an egg, sprinkled with some pepper and onion powder and slabs of sharp cheddar cheese all together in one delicious bite and eaten while it is still warm.

Now I ask you, doesn’t that sound delicious?  Makes your mouth water, doesn’t it?

Well, it is delicious but it is extremely fattening and one of these a day, every day until the loaf of bread is gone can pack on the pounds quicker than you can say holy crap!

Story of my life.  It all boils down to my loving the taste of food.  It is not a case for me of not ever feeling full enough, I simply want to taste more of the tastes that I love no matter how much I’ve had so far.

I was born with great hearing, a great sense of smell and super taste buds and if I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop eating when I do, I’d probably be twice the size that I am right now which, by the way until recently when I took off almost 20 lbs., was considered by my Dr. to be morbidly obese.

I had no idea until I saw the words morbidly obese printed on my Dr.’s visit summary paper, yikes!.  I always thought that people who weighed 300 lbs. or more were considered morbidly obese but not so.  All it takes is for your mass body index to be over a certain percentage for you to qualify.

There used to be a time when I used to compare myself to other people.  I always thought that if I didn’t look as big as they do that I wasn’t as bad as them or as fat as them.  

The truth of the matter is that fat is fat.  If you eat fat, which butter and cheese have in them, it is fat, and bread which is a carbohydrate which burns down to a sugar and gets stored as fat if it doesn’t get used as energy, is still a fat.

I know that understanding how the body works does not make it easier to eat any different.  Losing weight is real work and it’s hard work.  I think that for me, I have to make a conscious decision every single minute of every single day to either eat the foods that will help me to lose weight or eat the foods to maintain my weight and always be a fat person.  It is my choice.

Life is short.  Resist the bread!

Thank you for reading.


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