The Thrill Of Victory

10 Tuesday Oct 2017

Posted by in cooking, Exercise/ Fitness, food, Health Issues, Uncategorized

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Back in May, I decided to get serious about losing weight and keeping it off. I weighed 215 lbs then. Rather than have Weight Watchers© merely draft the monthly fees out of my checking account, I thought doing what they suggested would be a smarter choice.

This afternoon I weighed in at 180 lbs., within 2lbs of my goal weight of 179, so I again have Lifetime status and I get to use the digital resources of Weight Watchers© for FREE!!!!!!

I am very happy and satisfied. I remember every lame excuse I had for not doing the Weight Watchers© Plan. I remember every lie I told myself about being OK with how I looked and what I weighed.

Weight Watchers© is a disciplined way of living, putting food and eating within a healthy context. Plus the inducement to exercise makes the Plan fun. I even get Fit Points© for housework. There is nothing to stop me from fantasizing around my cleaning chores. I am a secret “service sub”. If one keeps the blinds drawn, there is nothing to stop one from cleaning house ” nekkid,”

My planrs for the next few weeks in maintaining my weight loss involve finding new ways to prepare and cook new vegetables, like tomatillos, fennel bulb, and kohlrabi. 

The most important things I’ve learned about weight loss and weight maintenance are slowly is better, don’t make weight loss harder than it has to be, and expect “bumps” along the way. I did not quit.

Yay ME!

Holy Hour. Short Fiction? 

07 Saturday Oct 2017

Posted by in Catholic Life, loneliness, Love and stuff

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Perhaps there is no fiction. Perhaps the stories are how we tell the truth. The only way. And the dreams are the distillate of the waking hours.

The First Friday brings Nocturnal Adoration. The faithful sit quietly before the Consecrated Host, The Precious Body Of Our Lord, clothed, as it were, in the exquisite monstrance. The monstrance sits on the low altar.  And those who sit with Our Lord in the Form of Bread, contemplate, meditate, pray. Those who sit with Him at Four AM, sometimes fight back sleep, but always return to His Presence. This morning, Joseph brought just his Rosary and a prayer book containing the Memorare, which he had yet to memorize despite how many years.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored  thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided.

Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not  my petitions, but in thy mercy, hear and answer me.    

There were souls in Purgatory to pray for. And those here with us, with burdens too grievous to bear alone.                                                                       

 

There were Mysteries to be contemplated, Sorrowful, Joyful, Glorious. And hopefully Fruits to be blessed with.  One day. Some day. Now there were the beads, the prayers., the thoughts which fly to God via Our Lady.

In The Name….. I believe,,,, Our Father….., Hail Mary, Hail Mary, Hail Mary.

….now and at the hour of our death.

 Lead all souls to Heaven, especially those in most need of Thy Mercy.

Hail Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy….

The hour wore on in the silent church. When it ended he knelt at the altar rail before The Precious Body of Our Lord, blessed himself (In the Name of….) and left, dipping  his fingers in the font, blessing himself again.

He returned to the empty bed, yet more silence. Even the birds weren’t awake. Or did he refuse to listen?

He put his head on the pillow. Her scent lingered still. Patchouli.  How much longer would it remain? How long had it been?

Marriage. Such a fancy word. Powerful. All enveloping. Every day until….  A shared life until that end, which came with her in that hospital bed the hospice people brought, along with the morphine or whatever it was.  Her fingers touched the beads of her Rosary as she drifted away. The priest, Father O’Hara, gave her Last Rites, and she was on the way.

Fourth Glorious Mystery, The Assumption,  The Fruit of this Mystery is the Grace of a Happy Death.

That day for him that never ended.

Facebook Go Home

06 Friday Oct 2017

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I made the mistake of logging back on to Facebook, only to play in The Gun Control Opinion Circle Jerk. Big mistake.  So I deactivated yet again.  An AA friend of mine died last night, so I felt compelled to post a condolence.

The big news around Richmond is that Facebook is building a data center in the area so they can spy on the whole world more efficiently. Of course, the new overseers on the same Old Plantation think this is great. And politicians of both parties are beside themselves in self-congratulation.  I’m betting with the tax breaks FB gets, we’re paying for the privilege of them being here and will continue to do so for a long damn time. Liberal billionaire leeches will suck money  from the tax base too.

I’m angry, because I’m grieving. Roger, my AA buddy, is the third of the spiritual mentors in my life who died this year. These have been tough losses. Part of the lesson I’ve learned this year is that I am way more conservative than I am willing to admit.  Conservative in the sense that I believe in Absolute Truth. And Heaven And Hell. And Satan. There is evil in the world. Pure Evil. Two words people, Las. Vegas.

I’m not a fan of moral relativism.  Sorry. People are going to stop following me because I wrote that. Chances are good, they pride themselves on being tolerant as long as they don’t have to tolerate any idea that makes them uncomfortable.  Yeah. That’s tolerance for you. Not.

My hunch is that most people who claim to be tolerant have never really had to accept people exactly the way are, because their lives aren’t contingent upon acceptance.

Enough Think about that.. I dare you.

What To Do

04 Wednesday Oct 2017

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Sometimes the choices we have aren’t life-altering. They’re just options, like “regular”or “decaf”. Tonight I just can’t force myself to watch another baseball game, even if it is my beloved Yankees playing the wild card play-in game. So I’m watching a Russian language World War II movie. I studied Russian in high school fifty years ago. I can still, sorta, kinda read the Cyrillic alphabet. There are no subtitles and the acting and the visual images have to get the story across. But I’ve watched dumber stuff with keener  interest, e.g. porn. 

Russia is a fascinating place.  The art, architecture, the music, the Russian Orthodox practice of Christianity, I would love to go there.  

#2 Son texted about a deep fat fryer to make donuts the next time we get together. I am all in for that. Maybe I can talk him into beignets.  I don’t have a deep fat fryer, but I would buy one if it means I get to see my son. 

 Back at the movie, It’s 22 June 1941 and, unbeknownst to the characters, the Germans are about to attack. As Gomer Pyle used to say, “Surprise! Surprise!”

This particular film centers around women soldiers serving as antiaircraft gunners, a job many female troops had in the Red Army.  It is a visually interesting film, particularly with the nude scene in the Russian bath, and the accompanying striking with the birch branches. If this movie is to be believed, there were NO ugly women in the Red Army. Who knew? 

Meanwhile, I now own a Kindle©. The challenge is to get it registered since it was a gift and I need my Amazon password to register it, a password I have, of course, forgotten. So Jeff Beezos’s minions are getting back to me on that.

Whilst writing this entry, #2 son called. He further elaborated on his food plans. They are as amorphous over the phone as they were in the text. He has this idea to fix deep-fried sushi, the preferred sushi of Sumo wrestlers? Somebody out there makes it. ” Here in America, we call that fish sticks, Son.” I felt like saying.

End Of Third Quarter

29 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by in Exercise/ Fitness, Family, Sexual Identity, Sexuality, Uncategorized

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Yes Sirree, Boy!  Where did the time go?  It seems like only last week I was hip deep in the muck of a Presidential Election, but that was 11 months ago.  Now…  

It seems like I was just buying Hallowe’en candy to give away to the urchins pounding on my door, (or, most likely, eat myself).

It seems like only just the other day, I was wondering if I would ever see my abdominal muscles again or weigh under 200 lbs, much less 185.  Had you told me six months ago, I would swim two miles, without stopping, and think nothing of it, I would have laughed. Since April, I have shredded a lot of notions I held about what a 66 year old retiree is supposed to look like and what his capabilities are.

I have also become quite comfortable living with conflicting ideas about politics, relationships, the very nature of love itself.  Try truly not caring about what somebody else thinks, but just love them, not in a superficial and/or a sentimental way. Love someone in the sense that you care about their welfare, that you want to see them live another day. Love someone, expecting nothing out of it for yourself.

Right now the  figurative elephant in my cranium I’m avoiding writing about is sex.  My sexual imagination is rich, deeply influenced by ideas of domination and submission and their accompanying ritual acts.  Yet my sex life is chaste.  I wrote a little story House Boy , detailing a fantasy I had.  There are more up there.

Would I like to act out?  Hell yes, in the worst way, but I know how the real world operates.  I also love the woman I am married to.  That Love and that vow of love I made controls taking any action that contradicts that vow.

And you wonderful people who stop and read what I write, thank you. I read what you share. I am in awe of your courage and willingness to sit at a key board, pound the letters, and sweat blood. 

I am on my way to becoming a writer of online erotica, the least likely job/avocation I thought I would have.  It will be fiction.

“Don’t try this at home, kids!”  will be my motto. But sometimes it just needs to be written.

Tired.

28 Thursday Sep 2017

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It is after midnight. I am tired. Yet there is no desire to go to bed.  There is a psychic hurt. I do not wish to sleep beside my wife. 

I am watching an old travelogue about Buenos Aires from the late Forties or Fifties on YouTube. It is public relations produced for the Peron Regime. 

There are worse things to do.