A week ago Friday — the last day of Skippy’s spring break— we drove down to Sandy Hook with her and two pals. But life’s seas were churning, as they will, and I fell the next night on my recovery path. I picked myself up; the sun came back out. Here is the latest in the story series I started 1/31/21.
I haven’t written a story in this sugar/overeating addiction recovery series since April 7 — that’s 11 days.
I wanted to, I meant to, it pressed on me, because I ran into a roadblock or two during that time…
I walked with grace through the Easter candy season, free and clear, no longing for kiddie candy and magic chocolate rabbits. Under my snug control top L’eggs pantyhose and pink Lilly Pulitzer dress, my belly was full after our Sunday holiday meal— a normal entree, with a big salad and steamed fresh asparagus. So what happened at 1:30 a.m. in the kitchen, three mornings later? I promised to write about my sugar/overeating addiction recovery journey in real time, as I rise and as I stumble, so here goes.
Years ago, I pitched a magazine story and my editors especially loved…
My bedtime reading last night was the April InStyle Melissa McCarthy cover story. I slowly turned glossy pages — no scrolling on my iPhone or MacBook. I looked forward to the rare, delicious treat all day. Melissa’s beautiful hair, lipstick, blanket jacket and pastel, puff-sleeve dress — plus her personality as an actress, and her real size— drew me in. When did you last buy a magazine?
Magazines are thinner and flimsy these days, and you can find so much for free on the web, from pie recipes to essays, pink couches to tea towels. Truly, IDK how much longer…
All my life, Easter has signified rebirth and new hope. This is #26 in my flower-titled series about sugar/overeating addiction, started 1/31/21. I pledged to capture my struggles in real time and real stories, as they emerge in the garden of life.
I’m writing this on Good Friday, and though I’m less devout now than I was as a Saint Mary’s School girl, I remember when the darkness and mourning of this day on the Catholic calendar really hit me.
I was a Rutgers student, returning home for Easter weekend via two buses — the first from New Brunswick to…
And I definitely do — in the mirror. This is #1, Buttercup, in my flower-titled series on sugar addiction.
Here’s how I know I am an addict. I cannot turn away from my substance once I start — primarily if it’s sugary but also floury, baked buttery, chocolate, salty or sweet chippy, fried or doughy (or fried and doughy).
I might return to its lure, chase its hit, five minutes later, that night, the next day. For a string of days. A dead daisy crown of months. A tarnished silver necklace of years. And when I indulge in my substance…
Layer, Bundt, crumb, Costco sheet, upside-down, funnel, angel, pricey restaurant slice— I’ll pass. I’ve had my fill. I was a different woman on vacation this week. Here is #25 in the flower-titled sugar/overeating addiction series I started 1/31/21.
I’m changing on this recovery journey, begun in earnest last summer.
Dan and I got away this week for four days/three nights. We stayed at a small hotel from Monday to Thursday in Cape May, the historic seaside town at the Southern tip of our state. (We are both double vaccinated; the hotel has careful Covid cleaning practices; and masks were required…
I’m lightening my footprint here on Earth, not just by skirting sugar but also by letting go of past mistakes that weigh down my heart and soul. This is #24 in my flower-titled story series about sugar/overeating addiction started January 31, 2121.
To be honest, I have consciously avoided the Gladiola for our garden. Tall and topped with multiple ruffled blooms, it reminds me of death.
I’m not sure why, other than that it is unusual to my eye, and I have mainly seen it in arrangements at funeral homes. It’s that unforgettable line of fluttering white handkerchiefs on a…
Five signs that our Jersey suburb is still under your thumb, Covid — but not for long.
Driving back from downtown Montclair, I see you, lingering Covid. Fridays once buzzed with latte meetups and weekend plans but now our lives are changed, flattened. The vaccine (at Kmart in West Orange) brings promise, but we continue to ride out:
I’m popping up again, reporting from the green couch (eight-pound white puff dog, Sug, snoozing by my side now) to write in real time about my efforts to recover from compulsive overeating/sugar addiction. I pledged on January 31, 2121 to record what came up when I put down the food. It is March 15. Miss Sugar Addiction really and truly digs in her sharp designer heels and does not step off easily.
The dolly-sized snowdrop, a perennial, has a single small, drooping bell-shaped flower with petals.
Known by various names, in 1753, it was labeled Galanthus (from Ancient Greek gála…
I’m turning the tables and asking you, readers, for some help. Do you stop eating after dinner — manage to hang on until breakfast the next day? I would love your feedback. This is #22 in my series of flower-titled stories about toppling sugar and overeating addiction.
My good Dad got up in the middle of the night to eat, at least after Mom died, when I was old enough to notice.
When we started father/daughter/granddaughter visits to Cape Cod with baby Figgy — in the family ranch house, beginning with a short trip near the end of my maternity…
Magazine maven, craft coffee lover, legal guardian. Passionate about fashion and lipstick — though it may not look that way when I dash to the supermarket.