Moments in Time

Last night I saw a movie trailer for a film coming out next month called The Time Traveler's Wife. Based on a book by Audrey Niffenegger, it's about a man whose genetic disorder causes him to time travel.
Like economics and the George W. Bush presidency, time travel is a concept I've never been able to get my head around. The problem for me is basic: how can someone exist in two different time periods simultaneously? How can someone go back into a past that's over and done with and subsequently change the future? Over the years, I've watched it happen numerous times. James T. Kirk did it in TV and movies. Marty McFly made a habit of it, as did Terminators in several different forms. In The Lake House, Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves lived in the same house but a couple years apart, leaving each other letters in the same mailbox to communicate between the years. HUH??!
Fred, a lover of science fiction, has tried to explain the idea to me over the years. He says it's a matter of parallel universes, where a character can exist in 2009 while a different version of himself resides in 1945. So because of a tear in the fabric of the universe or a lightning strike on the town clock, it's possible for each self to go forward or backward in time and affect the future.
Just to be clear, let me assure you that I know time travel isn't real--my issue is that it can't be real in science fiction, either. Sci fi is supposed to be about things that haven't happened yet but could possibly happen in the future. I don't believe there will ever be parallel dimensions where we can pass ourselves walking across the street 100 years ago. So, it's hard for me to get past this premise in a movie, even when it involves Arnold Schwarzenegger dropping naked from the sky/future. (Some time travelers apparently lose their luggage.)
Maybe I don't have enough imagination. Maybe it's a natural human desire to want to experience the past that we missed or fix a disaster before it happens. All I know is that I'm stuck in the here and now--but I'd love to make a quantum leap back to 1999 and bring my then-120 pound body back to the future.

Food Orgy

Saturday we are having some friends over, so I've been thinking about what kind of meal to make. Planning food for an occasion normally isn't a traumatic experience, but that was before THE DIET. I used to skim through cookbooks, the recipe box, and cooking magazines with a general idea of what I was looking for. I'd pick out the recipes I wanted, make a grocery list, and that was that. But now things are a little different...
Instead of flipping through the pages of Taste of Home, I turn them s-l-o-w-l-y, taking in the full-color photos of all the bad, naughty foods. First I see Fiesta Lasagna. The thick, melted cheese is sensuously drenching three layers of noodles, meat, sauce, cottage cheese, and the secret ingredients: salsa and taco seasoning. A crispy slab of golden garlic bread, soaked in butter, accompanies the pasta centerfold. Now I'm sweating.
Next I slide my finger across the glaze on the Chocolate Party Cake, imagining the taste of that sweet icing on my tongue. I savor the list of ingredients with passionate longing: Devil's food cake mix...chocolate pudding mix...milk chocolate chips...It feels like the chocolate is melting beneath my hand. Oh no. I drooled a little.
Turning the soggy page, I find Caramel Apple Bread Pudding--a sweet, filling, comfort food. Gloomily I consider the ingredients: unsweetened applesauce, chopped apple, day-old bread, fat-free whipped topping, fat-free caramel ice cream topping...Hey, I can eat this! The nutrition info is provided, and the dessert is 187 calories per serving. It's a treat that won't make me feel guilty about cheating on my diet. After all, I promised to be faithful till fat do us part.
I'm still no closer to knowing what I'll serve Saturday, but I know I can find some healthy, tasty options that won't cause me to overeat or feel deprived. Here is the recipe for Caramel Apple Bread Pudding: 1 c. unsweetened applesauce; 1 c. skim milk; 1/2 c. packed brown sugar; 1/2 c. egg substitute; 1 tsp. vanilla; 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon; 5 c. cubed day-old bread; 1/2 c. chopped, peeled apple; 1/2 c. fat-free whipped topping; 1/2 c. fat-free caramel ice cream topping

In a large bowl, combine the applesauce, milk, brown sugar, egg substitute, vanilla, and cinnamon. Fold in bread cubes and apple. Pour into an 8-inch square baking dish sprayed with cooking spray. Bake, uncovered, at 325 degrees for 35-40 minutes or until a knife inserted near the center comes out clean. Serve warm with whipped topping and caramel topping. Refrigerate leftovers. Yield: 8 servings.
Sara, (a reader in Montana, :) also sent me a recipe for Black Bean Brownies that sounds really yummy. Today I bought the stuff to make them--after taking a circuitous route through the grocery store to avoid the bakery. Let me know if you'd like the recipe. And be good--those magazines have more than just pictures in them, you know. Read the articles instead.

Loons and Calories

Friday Fred and I headed over to Hayward to spend the weekend with our friends Paul and Lauri at their cottage on Round Lake. The weather was cold and rainy, but by Saturday morning the rain had stopped and it was merely cold and windy. My fishing license had been burning a hole in my pocket since May, so I was willing to go out on the water despite the weather for my first fishing experience in years.
Fred, Paul, and I boated to a spot across the lake, and the first thing I saw was a family of loons. There was a mom, dad, and one youngster. The mother hung close to the baby while Dad was fishing for some breakfast. He would dive beneath the surface and be under for what seemed like ages, then pop up far away from where he'd disappeared. At one point he was only a few yards from the boat, and I fumbled for my camera to get a picture. He dove just as I snapped, and I had a nice photo of the empty lake. I waited for him to reappear and then Fred, in the back of the boat, said the loon was now behind us. By the time I passed him the camera, it was underwater again. Finally Dad emerged with a fish in his mouth! He started swimming toward his family, and we chugged along perpendicular to them, getting close enough for some pictures. I think they are fascinating, and it was really fun to watch them. Their haunting cry across a lake gives me goosebumps.
As for the fishing part of our morning, it wasn't so successful. To get out of the wind, we went to a more sheltered bay, and I nearly froze into a statue in the front of the boat as we made the trip. We watched in amusement as a woman chased her two dogs along the edge of the lake, yelling most of the time. It reminded me of the many times I've futilely chased Huskies. I think I cast my line about a thousand times, catching one limp chunk of seaweed. Paul got a hook caught in his finger, and we lamented that we hadn't brought any beer--or at least hot chocolate.
The rest of the weekend was filled with relaxing, shopping, a campfire, and eating too much. Lauri and I did take a long walk, and of course shopping counts as exercise! But my friend Will Power seemed to have abandoned me for the weekend, probably off helping some other fat lady. Surprisingly I was down a pound this morning, so that's 3 pounds in 3 weeks. I'm happy with the slow and steady approach, and feel more in control now that PMS week is past.
Thanks to my friends Cathi and Sara for your encouragement and support! Won't it be great if there is less of us when we finally meet?!! Think HEALTHY!

I Cut Myself Shaving

One of the universe's great mysteries is why men lose their hair in middle age, only to have it reappear on women's faces. Where is the logic in that? Since I was already at Walmart today, I decided to investigate some of the products in the hair removal section. I wasn't interested in a bikini wax or leg hair remedies; no, I wanted to see whatever would prevent me from turning into Santa Claus.
As soon as I started my research, a sales associate materialized and started beeping her price changer gun at the shelf I was perusing. I loitered, waiting for her to leave, and she bellowed, "Can I help you?" I whispered no and rushed off to look at electric toothbrushes. After killing a few minutes, I peeked around the endcap and saw that she'd left. I again began scanning all the options: All-over Body Wax Hair Removal Kit; Nair Face and Upper Lip Kit; No-Heat Gel Hair Removal for Face and Body; Creme Hair Bleach. Wow, lots of choices! I figured wax should be a last-resort option; after watching Steve Carell endure a chest wax in "The 40-Year-Old Virgin," I knew it would involve certain pain. I don't need to bleach my facial hair--it's already blond and catches the sunlight in full splendor, thank you. The no-heat gel remover included a "post-treatment skin relief lotion for pain and itching." Yikes! Just then two guys appeared and were looking at shaving stuff directly above the women's products. Who designed the layout of this stupid aisle, anyway? I nonchalantly checked out razors until they left. I decided that the face and upper lip kit was the best deal--since they apparently don't make do-it-yourself electrolysis products. I didn't buy it though; that would be as humiliating as a purchase of Preparation H or a stool softener!!
What would you ladies think if this invitation turned up in your mailbox?
"You are invited to a BIG N' FUN party! (Ban It, Girls: No Fuzz Under Nose)
Try hair removal products in the privacy and comfort of my home among friends for moral support and assistance. Wine and desserts will be served!"
We get asked to candle parties, cooking parties, lingerie parties...how about an item we really have a need for?! I might even try the lip waxing if I had a friend there to rip off the strip for me as I sucked wine through a straw. I could see it catching on and becoming a hot new trend. "Hey, did you get invited to Rhonda's hair removal party? All the cool people are going to be there!"
Maybe women aren't ready to admit yet that their facial hair is increasing. But as more female Baby Boomers start looking like Juan Valdez, my idea may have increased appeal. Just remember, you heard it here first.

P.S. Why do people ride in cars with the tops down and the windows up??

Surviving the Storm

We are currently under the astrological sign of the Crab, which is quite fitting since there's a big grumpy one living at our house. It's like the "perfect storm": a deprived dieter meets PMS week. Since Monday I have been in moods varying from verge of tears one minute to fuming the next. One of the cats peed over the side of the litterbox; they're out to get me! The only good thing in the mailbox all week has been a 20% off Kohl's coupon. Nobody loves me!! I watched a chubby kid eat two samples of free cake in the grocery store bakery, but I can't have any!! Life is so unfair!! It's Wednesday and the sky is blue. Waaahhh!
Fred, after all these years, still thinks that there has to be something specific that I'm upset about. I mean men don't blubber for no apparent reason, right? And if there's a specific problem, it follows that there is a solution for it. He questions me repeatedly, "Are you sure there's not something bothering you?" I can't convince him that it's a stew of hormones, emotions, and chocolate cravings that would best be dealt with by Fed Exing me to Abu Dhabi.
However, his concern doesn't prevent him from beating me at two more games of gin. Or asking me to come outside and help him with something at the moment of a huge revelation on "The Bachelorette." Or dragging me out at six this morning to help plant oak trees!! Then when we're done, he winks and suggests we go back to bed. Has this guy ever heard of Lorena Bobbitt??!
I try to put myself in his shoes and wonder how I would deal with it if he acted nutso once a month. I wouldn't probe for the source of the problem; I'd just take action. I'd rub his feet and let him hold the remote; I'd take him out for dinner every night for the whole week. I wouldn't care if he drank 3 margaritas with the appetizer, and I'd tell him, "One little piece of turtle cheesecake won't ruin your diet!" I'd give him the credit cards and tell him to go shopping. I'm sure that's what I'd do! I'd even give him my 20% off Kohl's coupon!
I may be onto something here. I could write a book for men on how to survive PMS and menopause. For the title, I'd borrow from the mug I recently bought as a retirement gift: "Why do men die before their wives? Because they want to."

Play Ball!

Last Saturday Fred and I rode the Harley down to Merrill to watch our grandson Joshua play in a baseball tournament. It had been years since we'd been to a ball game, the last time being when Erica played summer softball in junior high. She gave up softball for track in high school--which was probably a good thing. (One of our basement windows didn't survive her pitching practice.) Katie dropped the sport after T-ball. She played an outfield position, and not too many balls get whacked that far by first graders. Since she spent most of the time being bored out there, she preferred to sit down and pick flowers instead of paying attention to the game. One time a well-hit ball went sailing past her, and everyone was yelling, "Katie, get the ball! Throw the ball in!!" Katie looked up from her daisy chain like, Huh?! Another parent said, "Whose kid is that??!!" Eek!
We learned Saturday that the sport has become more sophisticated than it was when the girls were younger. These were 8 and 9-year-old boys, and they had uniforms with their names on the back! I was impressed with the quality of their fielding and pitching at that age. Of course there were overthrows and wild pitches, but for the most part they were focused and and accurate in their fielding. I couldn't get over the way these kids pitched overhand and actually struck batters out on called strikes!
We weren't there for the first game of the morning when Joshua hit an inside-the-park home run. His defensive positions included catcher, third base, and shortstop. In game three he made an awesome over-the-shoulder catch that I wouldn't have been able to do in a million years! We were sitting in lawn chairs right behind home plate, so were able to see how good/bad the ump was at calling strikes. On the last ball of the last game, the ump called Josh out on a called strike. Grandma wanted to tell the guy to go buy a pair of glasses, but I refrained.
Caleb and Gabriel, Josh's brothers, are also in summer baseball, so Mom and Dad--Heidi and Ryan--have spent the past 2 months running in different directions for games and tournaments. Caleb had a 3-day tournament in Nekoosa over the weekend, so we only got to see half the family Saturday. (5-year-old Cora is into ballet and Barbies, not sports!) Heidi is probably already looking forward to Caleb getting a driver's license in 5 years!!
As for Grandpa and me, we plan on seeing them play more ball games in the future. We will have to get to Illinois and North Carolina to catch Luke, Rachel, Christian, Courtney, Drew, Jake, and Dani playing soccer and basketball. Have Harley, will travel.

Gin with a Rummy

Twenty-six years ago I made the mistake of teaching Fred how to play gin rummy. Gin was my family's favorite card game, whereas Fred grew up playing pinochle and cribbage. My dad and brother played gin all the time and had their own lingo from which we still borrow. "Jumped on that like a bitin' sow!" said to an opponent who quickly picks up your discarded card. "Fidar fidar!" crowed when a card "fits" perfectly into a run in your hand. Observers would probably think they were crazy. I still have the score sheet from the last games Fred and I played with my dad, eleven days before he died. My dad won two of three, Fred won the third, and I didn't score a single point in three games. Maybe that should have been an omen...
When Fred first learned the game, I won most of the time. Unfortunately, that changed pretty quickly. During almost every game, I'm subjected to remarks like "The student has surpassed the master!!" We play for a dollar a game, plus a penny a point if the spread is more that 100. A skunk costs double. So if Fred beat me 133-0 (a game goes to 125) I'd owe him $2.66. During each game he invariably asks in an innocent voice, "Have you ever seen someone be behind 124-0 and come back to win??" He won a game like that against me a few years ago, causing me to stomp around the table using words I don't normally say. Is it any wonder my pet name for him is Dead Horse? We've played "strip gin" in January, resulting in me shivering in my BVDs. (Hey, winters are LONG in Wisconsin!)
A month ago my family was here for a picnic, and Fred played gin with my sister Kelley. She beat him three straight games--and since that day, I haven't won a single game. I had $9 and some change in my gin jar, and now it's empty. I've had to take money out of my purse to pay him, too. He counted the money in his jar on Saturday and had $19.52--the counting accompanied by comments like "I'm going to need a bigger jar!"
We have both gone through these slumps over the years, but it's especially frustrating to keep losing when I'm the one who taught him the game. My one claim to superiority is that I don't tear up cards and throw them on the floor like his family has been known to do during cribbage games. (Though I may have called him a shithead once or twice...) If the shoe fits!!

**After writing the draft of this blog yesterday, I won a game 148-116. I gloated, "The streak has ended!" "STREAK??!" he scoffed. "More like a drought!" See what I have to put up with? At least I now have a dollar of seed money back in my gin jar!!