All Rileyed Up

enLIGHTened: How I Lost 40 Pounds with a Yoga Mat, Fresh Pineapples, and a Beagle-Pointer is a funny memoir about weight loss, yoga, and asserting the parallel between living a happy and satisfied lifestyle with living a healthy lifestyle. enLIGHTened is Jessica Berger Gross’ personal journey to find happiness and content in her life. And for her part, that journey includes yoga. Gross begins every chapter with a yoga position and a Yoga Sutra (per the preface to the book, the Yoga Sutras are “the key text of yoga philosophy”). Truthfulness, Moderation, and Introspection are among the sutras described in this book and applied to Gross’ personal struggle for self-confidence and its impact on her weight.

So how does her book live up to these sutras?

Truthfulness. Did I enjoy this book? Yes. Having gone from size 18 to 6 in the past five years, I know all too well about weight struggles. I understand the self-confidence struggles, and the parallel between the two as well. I enjoyed how Gross addressed “The Myth of the Feminist French Fry,” a section about how wanting to be a healthy weight is not an indication of whether or not one was a real feminist because while big can certainly be beautiful, it is by no means healthy. Wanting and working at maintaining the right weight is not pandering to a man-deemed image of what a woman should look like — it’s wanting to be healthy, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Moderation. Everything in moderation. This book is no exception to that rule. Gross has written meaningfully about achieving content with her life, yet the book maintains an air of “It worked for me, and it’s great. If it works for you, that’s great too. If it doesn’t work for you, though, something else will. You just gotta keep looking.” I don’t know anything at all about yoga except that I tried it once, yet my lack of yoga knowledge does not detract from enjoying the book because Gross doesn’t overdo it on blending the yoga principles with her personal journey. Gross also talks of why she chooses to be vegetarian without accusing meat eaters of being crazed carnivores (a hard line to walk). She’s also honest about her experiences (LOL line: “I’m not going to lie. At first, the juice fast sucked.”) She demands nothing of her readers except an open mind to hear what she has to say about her personal struggles, and the philosophies that helped her through them. On another note, I immediately embraced her “How to Eat Like a Yogi” description, which suggests that at the end of a meal your stomach should be “1/2 full with food, 1/4 full with water, and 1/4 empty with room for air.” Sound easy? Just you try.

Self-study and Introspection. I’m just going to quote Gross, since she summed it up so concisely: “You can work out on a treadmill for as long as you like, eat apples and cauliflower heads for dinner, and lose all the weight you want, but until you take the time to do some serious internal work, you probably won’t be able to bring about the kind of lasting life changes you’re craving.” enLIGHTened is about the introspective journey everyone is on, the “why do we do what we do?” journey. Gross goes from her childhood with her sometimes-abusive father to her life-changing trip to Nepal to her confronting her parents about her childhood to her struggle with infertility and back to her as she is today. At the end of this book, when you close the cover, you might think to yourself, “Wow, what a journey.” But that wow comes from the realization that she’s only in the middle of hers. As am I. As are you all (or all y’all, as we say in the South). The question is, who among us know what journey we’re on and why we’re on it? Gross appears to have gotten a handle on that. Care to take a peek? You won’t be disappointed.

Buy the book here.

See other reviews of the book at Lime and Food for Thought.

Jessica Berger Gross’ website here.

Lastly, Gross edited a phenomenal book, About What Was Lost: Twenty Writers on Miscarriage, Healing, and Hope, which was just mentioned in USA Weekend and she also writes the Mama’s Boy column for Literary Mama.

“911, hello?”

“Hi. My son is choking.”

I spoke calmly. I can hardly believe how calm I sounded, in retrospect. I was totally putting on a show. I swear, I missed my calling as an actress.

The Boy has choked two times in his life. Once, when he was nine months old, a woodchip had made its way into his playpen. His face had turned blue by the time we got it out.

This time, it was a piece of hard candy. It had lodged in his throat and he had been coughing and saying the words, “I’m choking,” but then the coughing suddenly silenced and I took it to mean that the candy had lodged further and he wasn’t going to get it out on his own. That was the moment I decided to call 9-1-1.

By the time they’d put me through to an emergency response person, The Boy had managed to cough it out. He was crying, but otherwise okay. I explained to the emergency guys that things had been taken care of and after I hung up, I repeated the same thing I’ve been telling myself since I had children.

I really need to learn CPR again.

I know this is a big huge demerit in the world of motherhood for me to have a four and six year old and still not be certified in CPR, but those classes have always been so tough for me to schedule. I have learned CPR before. In high school, I got certified for it a couple different times because I was always babysitting. I figured those skills were sufficient, but on both occasions with The Boy choking, I froze and thought to myself, “Do I really know how to do CPR?”

And wouldn’t you know, the American Heart Association has the neatest thing: the CPR Anytime Kit. A 22-minute self-directed crash course in CPR.

Great idea, Mom!

The first week of June is CPR and AED Awareness Week. Anyone care to join me in brushing up on their CPR skills?

Visit the American Heart Association and get your own CPR Anytime Kit.

Thanks to MomCentral for the info.

“That was such a good show.” I say that about so many concerts, like this one, and these:

1. Salt-n-Pepa at the House of Blues in New Orleans. My friend brought me with her as my birthday gift, and we both describe it as the most diverse crowd (race, age, class — seriously, diverse) we have ever seen grouped together for one show.

2. Flock of Seagulls at a bar next door to John Wayne airport, in the late 90s. The real entertainment of that show came from the crowd. I encouraged a more-then-tipsy woman to attack a cardboard stand-up of Kathy Ireland and she was, consequently, asked to leave.

3. Fats Domino at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Brassy Girl and I befriended the Southern Comfort-swilling gentlemen standing in front of us and I bought a beautiful moon shaped bubble blower made of metal wire, a stick, and lots of paint. I wish I still had it, but I gave it to a little girl who wanted to use it as her wand.

4. Widespread Panic at some arena in Memphis. I’d never really listened to them prior to that show, which I attended with my friend and her boyfriend, but wound up spending most of the concert hanging out with some VW minivan driving dudes I befriended while looking for a bathroom.

5. Rabbit in the Moon in Jersey. I’ve seen them a few times, but at this particular show, when my friend and I got to her car afterwards, the battery was dead, and the guy who offered to jumpstart the car accidentally hit us when he drove up to get the car batteries close enough for the jumper cables to reach. And that was only the start of the ridiculousness. Note to self: don’t ask for help from strange men in Jersey at 3 in the morning.

6. Simon and Garfunkel at The Pond. Went with Husband and his best friend. We bought the tickets last minute and were sitting in the nosebleed section but that beautiful music made it all worthwhile. Plus, The Everly Brothers made a special guest appearance.

7. Morrissey at the Coachella festival. I have to say, Morrissey fans LOVE Morrissey. Guys and gals alike were screaming and crying, “I love you Morrissey!” He must put on a great show too because I was headache-y and tired from a long day in that desert sun and I still loved the show.

8. Green Day in Jacksonville. One of my first real concert experiences. I was a junior in high school and in the mosh pit. This girl (girl #1) was there who my friend (girl #2) didn’t like because girl #1 had dated girl #2’s boyfriend (like I said, high school) and while moshing, girl #2 kept purposefully bumping into girl #1 and the next day at school, girl #1 told everyone she got beaten up. Oh, high school, you silly thing.

9. Sublime, back in the day at a tiny little club in Jax called The Milk Bar. Dude, I paid five bucks to see Sublime. Five. Bucks.

10. Rebirth Brass Band at the uptown Tipitina’s during the first post-Katrina Mardi Gras. After this show, we were sitting outside on the neutral ground when a man dressed as an ape approached us, and we paid him a couple dollars to do some cartwheels and dance for our friend, a bride to be. And that was only the start of the shenanigans that took place that weekend.

11. Bela Fleck and the Flecktones at same venue as above. I started feeling woozy mid-show and told Lawyer Girl I was stepping outside. Once I stepped outside, I started to throw up and realized I was sick and not going back into the club, and took a cab home. No cell phone, no message to my friend that I had left - just got in the cab and went home. The cab driver was so worried over how sick I was, he didn’t even charge me for the ride home (though it really wasn’t a long drive – about ten blocks), he just told me to get well. Lawyer Girl stayed after the show until almost everyone had left looking for me, before finally coming home and being relieved to see me. On the bright side, because she stayed so long, she wound up meeting and getting the autographs of Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.

12. Bob Dylan. Lawyer Girl won these tickets off a radio show when he played in New Orleans during Jazz Fest (he wasn’t on the fairgrounds - it was one of the night shows). We were up for almost two days listening to the radio trying to win them. I couldn’t believe it when she finally got them.

13. Garth Brooks Concert in Central Park. I wasn’t really a huge Garth fan, but I was not about to miss a Concert in Central Park. It was so packed and so fun. Billy Joel came onstage at one point and bagged on Garth for his cover of New York State of Mind. Awesome.

More lists at Thursday-13.

April 25th, I was driving by the beach on my way to church, minding my own business, and what do I see, but 150+ woodie cars lined up in the parking lot. Little No Limit and I went and checked them out and they did NOT disappoint. Here are a few shots (but I took tons…)

Here’s the deal: I don’t speak Spanish, but in sunny California, a lot of people do. It is not an uncommon occurrence for people to speak to me in Spanish because I apparently have a sign on my forehead that says “Si, hablo Español.”

While I did study Spanish in high school and college, those days are long gone. I only know random phrases now (although there was one occasion involving an absurd amount of alcohol that supposedly resulted in me carrying on an entire conversation in Spanish with a friend of a friend, but I’m not sure I believe them).

Because of my knowledge of a few Spanish phrases, if a waiter at a restaurant tells me in Spanish that my order is up or someone at a store asks me “¿Que hora es?,” then I know what they’re saying. So I respond accordingly and go about my business. No sense getting into the “Uh, I don’t speak Spanish” discussion if it’s one simple remark. But sometimes, the other person tries to take the conversation to the next level, at which point, I have to explain that I don’t speak Spanish, and then look at me like I am a weirdo who pretends to speak Spanish.

Case in point, I was at Wahoo’s Fish Tacos a while back and the server warned me the plate he was setting in front of Little No Limit was hot. I repeated the info to Little No Limit in English and smiled at him. He then said enjoy your meal in Spanish, and so I said thank you (not gracias).

The guy comes back to check on us and starts speaking to me again, and this time, I don’t understand him. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I don’t speak Spanish.”

Blank stare.

Perhaps in an effort to make me look less like a dolt, my friend adds, “She’s Filipino.”

“Oh!” he says and very excitedly nods up and down. “Pacquiao!!!!”

I think to myself, what kind of dumb luck do I have that not only do I not speak Spanish nor my mother’s native tongue, but I encounter a man who speaks both?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t speak Tagalog either.”

And he shakes his head and says, “No! Pacquiao!!!!” And he pronounces the word clearly as if I didn’t hear him right the first time.

“Yes, Pacquiao. I don’t know what that means. I never learned Tagalog. I’m sorry.”

And then the waiter starts bouncing around on his feet and mimics punching and says, “Pacquiao! Pacquiao! Pacquiao y De La Hoya!”

“De La Hoya?” I say. “You mean like the boxer?”

“Si! Pacquiao!” and again, more air punches.

Ah. And communication is established. “Oh! Pacquiao is a boxer from the Philippines!”

“Si! Pacquiao!” More air punches. I love this guy.

“Well, go Pacquiao!” I say. (air punch!)

And then he smiled and went about his business, hopefully happy to have educated the non-Tagalog-speaking Pinay who didn’t even know the name of the Philippines’ beloved man of the hour.

But I sure know who he is now. As De La Hoya learned in December, and as this past weekend taught Ricky Hatton. I kind of want to go back to Wahoo’s and do a few more air punches with that guy.

“Prediction? Pain.”

Per Painted Maypole’s Monday Mission, I am recasting a show with the bloggers I read. Painted Maypole took the much more intellgient route of casting an entire Shakespearean performance. Well, done, Painted Maypole. I am not nearly so sophisticated.

I originally wanted to cast Lost because it’s one of my favorite shows, but frankly, it was too hard because Lost has such a wide and varied cast and I know of few bloggers who meet criteria such as “manipulative as all get out” or “ex-torturer with sexy-smooth voice.”

I tried again with Friends, with Beck as Monica, because of her supreme cooking skills, but then fell short in the male casting.

I then decided to take the easy road with Absolutely Fabulous, because, hey, it’s only two women! Piece of cake! But truthfully, I didn’t watch enough of that show to really pick the appropriate bloggers for the characters.

Which leaves me with my old TV show stand by. Yes, I’m talking about Highlander.

Duncan – I shall consider myself Duncan, since this is my blog and my imaginary show. Plus, I can’t get enough of wearing poet shirts.

Joe The Watcher – the guy who keeps tabs on the immortals. What Works for Us, because she’s always got her camera going.

Richie – the sidekick. Under Construction, because I can’t wait to hear what he thinks about that! (hee hee hee)

Connor – the original Highlander, the old guard. Scribbit, because she’s writes the blog I go to whenever I’m looking for blogging tips and advice.

Methos – the wise one, over 5000 years old. Toddled Dredge, because she, too, is wise, and also knows so much about the goings on of 5000 years ago, I would believe her if she told me she was alive then.

Roger Daltrey special guest – Postcards from the Funny Farm, because I get the feeling he’d really like to be Roger Daltrey.

Joan Jett special guest – The Red Clay Diaries, because I bet she can do a mean cover of “I love rock and roll!” (despite here comments on this post)

So now it’s your turn to tell me which immortal you would be if you had been cast on the Highlander TV series. The shanty town ruffians of season two? Tessa? The guy with the creepy voice who followed and harassed Duncan through WAY TOO MANY episodes? The Dr Jekyll / Mr Hyde character? Sheena Easton special guest? The Russian? The bad-guy-turned-priest who killed all those kids in Cambodia? The Chinese dude with all the herbs and stuff? Oh, the possibilities!

Been eating Healthy Choice® foods lately?

I don’t eat much in the canned and premade foods department, but it’s always nice to know about some of the better ones for when I’m having a lazy night. Anyone who has been down the canned soup aisle knows what I’m talking about when I say there are like a zillion choices. And if you’re not buying strictly based on price, chances are you’re buying with your health in mind. So Healthy Choice has a new line of products with a medical study to back their words.

Cardiologist Dr. James Rippe of the Rippe Lifestyle Institute conducted a 6-month study:
*Both were groups of men and women who were overweight and had high cholesterol.
*Both groups were given the same exercise plan: 15 minutes of walking 3x/week beefed up to 45 minutes of walking 4x/week over the course of the six months.
*One of the groups made no changes to their diet. The other group followed a diet plan that included one low-fat Healthy Choice meal® every day.

After 24 weeks, the Health Choice® group had lost an average 18 pounds of fat and 3 inches off the waistline, and had reduced their cholesterol by 12 points.

(ie, not too shabby)

So what do you say? Are you ready to embrace a healthier lifestyle? This doesn’t mean you go out and buy all the Healthy Choice® foods and live off of it (though I’m sure ConAgra wouldn’t mind). This means you put down the candy bar, you stop eating four helpings at dinnertime, you add in some fresh fruits and vegetables, and for goodness sake, you get up and move. The exercise plan in this study wasn’t exactly The 300 Workout. 15 minutes of walking three times a week can be accomplished by anyone, anywhere.

So please, think about your health. Think about your kids’ health. And think about exercising and eating right. And if you’re going to eat a premade meal, know that Healthy Choice is the only major brand that can call 100 percent of their products “healthy” by FDA standards.

Thanks to MomCentral for telling me about the study.

Yesterday, I walked outside to accept a delivery and The Boy opened the door allowing Her Name is Rio to finally meet her presumed nemesis. It was a scary moment for everyone. Me, with my hands full of packages and sigining instruments. The delivery man, exclaiming, running. The Boy, saying, “This is my dog!” with a happy-go-lucky air about him. And Her Name is Rio, snarling. As if she’s some sort of tough dog.

Grrr.

The end result?

A poem.

To The Man Who Rang The Doorbell
By Her Name is Rio

I bark at you because I do not know you;
I bark at you because I am fierce;
I bark at you because I am top dog.

I bark,
I bark,
I bark,

Alas,

Fear not the hair standing atop my back;
Nor the teeth bared and sharp;
Nay, not even the snarl escaping my lungs.

I am all bark and no bite.

Unless you are a small yipping dog.
Which you are not.

Good-bye, good sir,
I’m sorry to have caused thee fright.

P.S. I hope your pants are clean.

Message to Her Name is Rio: Your poetry lacks substance.