Diet Disaster
Fifty-Dollar Challenge
In late January, I learned that a few of
the guys I work with were signing up for a challenge to lose weight. Terry
Albonetti, the Area Marketing Director (AMD) for the Indianola Division,
had been inspired by a similar initiative already in progress at our Atlanta
office. I phoned Terry to ask for details.
"You need to weigh the next time you’re in Indianola, and get Janice
or Mike to verify and record your weight," Terry shared. "I’m hoping
we get seven or more involved. We’ll end the contest on May
8th. We’ll all be in Indianola that day for a meeting. Everybody
will put up fifty dollars and whoever loses the biggest percentage of their
original weight will win the pot."
The idea of a loss percentage struck me as fairer than simply someone winning
based on the total number of pounds shed. Some of the guys that had signed
up were heavier than me.
I’ve never been a dieter and wasn’t sure I could be a contender
for the big prize, but I figured the challenge was the impetus I needed to
lose some weight. I had, after all, gained a few pounds during the holidays,
and with Felicia’s June wedding on the horizon, I felt the time was
ripe for a weight loss regimen.
I remember thinking I might possibly lose twenty to twenty-five pounds in
the three-month challenge if I started back to walking and cut back on my
intake of sweets. However, establishing a walking routine is tough for anyone,
and with my schedule of irregularly timed departures from home as well as
arrivals back home, I haven’t been able to do much walking. Okay, in
the three months, I didn’t fit in any time for walking for exercise.
So, after the first month, when I had logged a loss of five pounds, I realized
the vision of losing twenty or so was not likely to be realized.
I was able to reduce my caloric intake for lunch. I began to pack a small
container of yogurt, a serving of raw baby carrots, a child’s pack of
sliced apples, and a couple servings of pretzel twists, all in a cooler and
all to the tune of something under 400 calories. At least, it was healthier
for me than a burger at Wendy’s or candy bars from a vending machine
at work or a convenience store. I also stopped drinking Sprite with my noon
and evening meals. Additionally, I tried to curtail eating dessert after
dinner, but Sarah’s caramel cake, presented during the first week of
the challenge, proved too much for me to resist and evening desserts have
been more the norm than otherwise.
As the weeks ticked by, I would lose a couple of pounds or regain one or
two. And, after two months I had lost only seven pounds. From time to time
one of the guys trying to lose weight would stop by my office to report on
his progress, which seemed on par with mine or slightly better.
Yet, from the beginning, I accepted the challenge as an incentive to lose
some weight, not to win a competition. Sure, three or four hundred dollars
would have been nice, but losing five or ten pounds for fifty dollars was
a worthy goal for me.
I’m not sure what went wrong with my diet during the last two weeks
of the competition, but on April 23rd I weighed a full seven pounds
less than when the contest began. Then fifteen days later on May
8th, I weighed a half-pound more than at the very beginning. Yes,
I ate a few artery-clogging, diet-bursting dinners when Jim Hess and Lee
Gordon came up to fish, and yes I ate a plateful of fish and hushpuppies
that weekend, but otherwise, I stayed with my lunch program, and I’ve
not eaten a candy bar since early February. Maybe, it was excessive fluids
that crashed my weight loss plan, I don’t know, but a week after the
big weigh-in I showed a net loss of four pounds.
Now, that I’ve proved to myself that I can eliminate certain foods from
my diet, perhaps, I can work on reducing sweet treats in general, though
I have no plans to ever eliminate them. And, with a hot summer ahead and
plenty of yard work around my house and Sarah’s house, I’m certain
to sweat off a few more pounds. Of course, that won’t help my appearance
for Felicia’s wedding that’s only a few weeks away, but at least,
I should enter the winter a lot lighter than last year.
Dream Diet By
Ralph Jones
It could have been the anchovy and garlic pizza I had for supper last night
that was the catalyst for this heavenly realization; an altogether new and
different diet. It seemed that I was traveling by plane from point "A" to
point "B", at this point your guess is as good as mine as to the purpose
or destination of the trip, but I digress. At my last physical, the doctor
said that I had gained several pounds. He’s a really good doctor and
did not fuss or nag, just gave me the fact and depended on me to figure out
what to do. So, I’ve been trying to cut back some on my eating and have
been doing a little more walking than usual to loose those few pounds.
Someone in this ‘dreamland’ trip was telling of a new diet where
you smoke cigarettes while eating ice cream and thus, loose weight. As this
dream unfolded it seemed a most logical way to loose those extra pounds.
Well, I’m no smoker, but the ice cream part did sound tempting.
At one of the stores in the airport, I stopped to purchase some cigarettes.
Now you have got to understand that it has been about fifty-six years since
I bought a pack of cigarettes and, as a modern brand would say today,
"You’ve come a long way in making cigarette’s, Baby." Asking what
brands he had, you’d have thought I had asked for him to recite the
Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary aloud. He started listing every
conceivable brand of cigarette in the whole world, most of which I had never
heard of before. Somehow "Doral" stuck in my mind and after eight hundred
and sixty three name brands I stopped him and requested a pack of Doral’s.
Then he wants to know if I want soft pack, hard pack, box, or tin? Next he
wants to know if I wanted filter tips or plain, short or long cigarettes,
fat or skinny ones.
You see, as boys of about twelve or thirteen we experimented with cigarettes,
and like our former, illustrious, president, Bill Clinton, I never did learn
to inhale; but that’s beside the point also. Cigarette’s only came
one way, in a brightly printed-paper package covered with clear plastic or
cellophane, as we called it. There were only a handful of brands and all
were the same length and size, except Pall Mall’s; they were longer.
With all of the challenging choices he had given me, I finally opted for
the Doral’s in a box, no filter, and regular length. Well of course
in my dream, they only come in a carton of what looked like four or six packs.
At this point I was getting a wee bit embarrassed to say the least. As boys,
we had to sneak around and buy our smokes at out-of-the-way places so no
one would see us and tell our folks. I ducked my head and shielded my eyes
with my hand as those former feelings flooded back into this old brain of
mine.
After securing the bundle of tobacco I asked a flight attendant what kind
of ice cream to purchase. He said any kind would do, but vanilla would probably
do just as well as any to loose weight. Since that is my favorite flavor
anyhow, that’s what I bought, and since I wanted to loose lots of weight,
I purchased a gallon bucket.
Finding myself outside, you can do that in dreams; I hurried to a secluded
spot, found a park bench, and proceeded to get a cigarette lit. As a kid,
all you had to do was pull a little red strip at the top of the pack and
the clear plastic wrapping came off. Then tearing back the folded paper on
the top of the pack revealed the ends of several cigarettes. A tap on the
underside of the pack and a cigarette or two would protrude enough to pick
one out, very simple, even a child could do it. However, as I struggled with
the clear vacuum-sealed carton it seemed the anti-smokers had a saboteur
in the packaging plant. There was no simple way to open the thing, no zip
lock top, no peel strips, and no easy pulls. It would not tear for love nor
money. Stomping it did not help either. Where is my trusty hatchet when I
need it? Darn government rules frown on carrying a hatchet on the plane these
days. It would have taken a ‘bazooka" to open this hermitically sealed
thing. Finally after gnawing my way through the infernal plastic, I was down
to the individual packages. They were not much easier than the carton, but
a little more forgiving. If this diet works, I’ll find a more user-friendly
carton or just take them to my shop and use my chain saw on the silly things.
Oh, by the way for your information, swearing at it does not help either.
Now that the cigarettes are opened and I have one in my mouth, I can get
on with this wonderful diet. Well, it’s not too wonderful with the
cigarettes and all, but the ice cream part sure does sound good. You know,
even in my dream as I lit up I could still remember how bad those cigarettes
really tasted. But, the ice cream would help deaden the hot, smoky, taste.
Drat, the cream had begun to melt considerably by the time I got the cigarettes
opened.
You know how dreams are; they don’t always come to a logical conclusion.
As my pastor often said, "Some things are like a stool that doesn’t
stand on all its legs." This dream sure didn’t stand on all its legs
either, fact is, it didn’t stand on any of them; just fell flat. It
ended with me sitting there on the park bench, the Doral in the corner of
my mouth, left eye squinted shut as smoke slithered up my face and skimmed
across my eye and brow. I held the gallon of Haagen-Dazs ice cream in the
crook of my left arm and with a large spoon dug away at the semi-frozen treat.
With my luck, I probably won’t loose any weight at all, but instead
will become severely addicted to Doral’s and Haagen-Dazs. If you see
a poor soul wandering around in some park one day, smoking like a steam engine,
with a gallon of ice cream under his arm and weighing out at about four hundred
and thirty seven pounds you will know it’s me trying to stay on my
‘cigarette and ice cream diet’.
Happy dieting to one and all, and may all your ‘dreams’ come
true…
Sarah’s
Carport The Cause Was Worthy
My sister’s carport looks strange these days. For the first time in
years, there are no old clunkers collecting dust and wasp nests all the while
preventing a car that actually runs from enjoying shelter from the elements.
In a moment of generosity, Sarah donated them to a worthy cause.
John Williams, a local mechanic, has worked on first one then another of
Sarah’s old vehicles trying to keep her in something that will get her
to work and back on a regular basis. Considering that "routine maintenance"
is not in my sister’s vocabulary, I’d say John has done exceptionally
well.
Unfortunately, when Sarah decides it’s either too expensive or too time
consuming to have an old car fixed, she doesn’t sell it or trade it;
she just buys another old car. Over time, one can run out of room as used
vehicles pile up. John offered to buy Sarah’s 1980 Chevrolet Caprice
Classic a couple of years ago, but his offer didn’t meet either my
expectation of a fair price for a classic automobile of what my sister thought
it was worth. Nevertheless, John allowed Sarah to store her Chevrolet behind
his shop.
Our forward-thinking City Fathers passed an ordinance last year that promised
to fine residents of the city for keeping "junk cars" in yards, driveways
and carports, unless said vehicles had a current license and inspection sticker.
From what I’ve observed, around town, enforcement of the ordinance is
rather lax. These days, "a man’s home is his castle," applies only if
the man owns the town or island where his castle is located.
John Williams’ wife, Doris, died following an extended illness earlier
this year (possibly last year). I understand the hospital bills were huge.
I also remember a benefit being held to help John with the medical expenses.
Sarah, later mentioned she wanted to donate her old Chevrolet to John, thinking
he might be able to sell it and apply the proceeds to the medical expenses.
Her intentions were good; her follow-through wasn’t.
Back before Easter, I had occasion to be at John’s shop, something to
do with my pickup that Jason drives, and I asked John if Sarah ever got him
the title to the Chevrolet. When I learned that she had not, I asked her
if she wanted me to take it to him. When I presented John with the title,
I asked if he’d be interested in pulling the two clunkers out of
Sarah’s carport, if she signed the titles of each of them over to him.
"Yes sir, Mr. Wayne," John stated, I can use them for spare parts, if nothing
else."
I had no idea whether Sarah would go along with the idea or not, but I felt
like she would, especially, since I knew she was worried about an eventual
fine if the cars kept sitting in her carport.
It took a bit of persuasion to convince Sarah to give away Brett’s car,
but I assured her Brett had no use for it, and while it was a gift from his
Grandmother Brown, Brett never drove it, and for all practical purposes,
he had given it to her to drive. And, she drove it until she could no longer
depend on it for reliable transportation for getting to and from work.
A few days after John hauled away the old cars from Sarah’s carport,
I took him the titles to them. He told me he had worked on the Mercury and
was using it for a personal car. I was taken aback by his next statement.
"I sold my truck in order to pay part of what I owe North Mississippi Medical
Center," he stated.
If he can help it, John Williams won’t go to his grave owing anybody
anything. He may have to work night and day to pay his bills, but if that’s
what it takes he’ll do it. And, he’s the sort of man who’ll
praise God for his blessings, regardless of the adversity facing him.
Sarah could have sold her three clunkers to a junk yard, but she chose to
donate them to a worthy cause, and for that, I’m proud of her. I’m
proud of her carport, too, which while free of unused automobiles, needs
ridding of a few more items, including a set of French doors that belong
to Felicia, before it passes muster. I’m putting that on Sarah’s
to-do list right after Felicia’s wedding.
Bodock Beau
Classroom Humor
There may be an end to all the recorded humor children have provided,
but I don’t think it’s in sight. Anyway, new things are being recorded
even as one enjoys the following.
A Kindergarten teacher was observing her classroom of children while they
were drawing. She would occasionally walk around to see each child's work.
As she got to one little girl who was working diligently, she asked what
the drawing was.
The girl replied, "I'm drawing God"
The teacher paused and said, "But no one knows what God looks like"
Without missing a beat, or looking up from her drawing, the girl replied,
"They will in a minute."
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The children had all been photographed, and the teacher was trying to persuade
them each to buy a copy of the group picture.
"Just think how nice it will be to look at it when you are all grown up and
say, 'There's Jennifer, she's a lawyer, or that's Michael, he's a doctor.'"
A small voice at the back of the room rang out, "And there's the teacher,
she's dead."
A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood. Trying to
make the matter clearer, she said, "Now, class, if I stood on my head, the
blood, as you know, would run into it, and I would turn red in the face."
"Yes," the class said.
"Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position
the blood doesn't run into my feet?"
A little fellow shouted, "’Cause your feet ain't empty."
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The children were lined up in the cafeteria of a Catholic elementary school
for lunch. At the head of the table was a large pile of apples.
The nun made a note, and posted on the apple tray: "Take only ONE. God is
watching."
Moving further along the lunch line, at the other end of the table was a
large pile of chocolate chip cookies.
A child had written a note, "Take all you want. God is watching the apples.
Shared by Vickey Murphree
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