Monthly Archives: October 2015

Blue Food

blueCommon dietary advice for both eating healthy (healthily) and maintaining your weight, and your waistline, is to fill your plate with color. Half of it should be fruits and vegetables, they say, the richer the colors the better.

I’ve also read that to lose weight, you should not only downsize the food portions, but should also downsize your plate size. The theory being that you trick your brain into thinking you’re eating a lot because your salad plate, serving as your dinner plate, is heaping, seemingly overloaded, with food.

These are good ideas to not only trim your size, but to keep it trimmed. Not to mention improving your overall health.

As a quilter, I love color. And not only do I love splashing color onto my fabric palette, but I also love adding it to my food palette (palate). I marvel at the colors nature has bestowed on us, the translucent slices of red and white radishes, delicate slivers of orange carrots, shiny green leaves of romaine lettuce, light green slices of succulent avocado, luscious rounds of red tomatoes and the deep, rich red of my favorites, strawberries and watermelon.

I could go on, but you get my drift. It seems that nature has provided us with edible colors of many shades and hues, except for one. Blue.

Yes, the word blue is half of the name for blueberries, but they are not truly blue. They are more of a purple violet. The only “blue” food that I’ve eaten (overeaten) is the food that I eat when I feel blue, whatever its actual color might be.

Well, apparently, there is another food association with the color blue. According to a study referred to in the October/November edition of AARP Magazine, if you eat off of a blue plate it will make the food look unappetizing, and ahem, put you off your food.

I’ve had many sets of dishes over the years, in different colors, but never blue. I can’t think of ever seeing blue plates. I’m sure there must be, I just haven’t been looking. Perhaps there was a subconscious reason for that, but now that I’ve read this, I think I shall go shopping for a small blue plate to eat off of during my feeling-blue days.

Who Ate the Lampshade?

lampWith what appeared like two uneven eyes set above the ragged edges of its gaping maw, the lampshade peered toward the entrance of the restaurant.

Seeing it, I forgot I was hungry after a long day of shopping in Manhattan and jostling through the city in its underground subways. We were back in Brooklyn, home. Or at least, home to my daughter.

With her guidance, we have sampled many restaurants on our trips to the city. Each restaurant unique in its own way. Each one a culinary adventure. Most places making the most of their tiny share of real estate. This time we stopped at her favorite Japanese place.

While I attempted to decipher what the items on the menu were, I kept stealing glances at the lampshade. It hung over the long center table of the restaurant, smack in the middle of the whole place. Booths lined the wall on one side of the small venue.

We sat in one of the booths across from where the lampshade hung. I wanted a picture of it. I wanted to know what had happened to it. Had someone had too much sake and taken a big bite? And why was it still there? Why hadn’t it been thrown out, replaced to match its two whole companions hanging on either side of it?

The need to decide what I wanted from the unfamiliar menu kept me from taking out my phone to photograph it. That, and the young couple who sat directly beneath it occupying the space of one person on the bench, so close did they sit sharing their food from the bowls in front of them.

In between bites, he would give her gentle kisses. On her cheek, on her forehead. I could see his profile when he turned toward her, his features softened with tenderness. He ate with one hand, his left arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. In return, she smiled at him and bent her head toward him to accept his kisses.

They ate slowly, delicately balancing food on their chopsticks as they laughed, seeming to meld into one another, oblivious to the misshapen light fixture right above. When they finally left, I hurried and took some pictures before anyone else came to sit in their spot. Even though, any new customer would have had the choice of the entire restaurant, as ours was the only other table now occupied.

As I dug into my tempura shrimp and noodles, I wondered why the lampshade intrigued me. Was it because it hung there resolute and unashamed that it was lacking when compared to the other two? Was it because no matter that it was missing a portion of itself, it did not appear deficient or defective?

Or was it because even though it was not “healthy,” it was still capable of doing its job? That it was complete in its incompleteness, still able to diffuse the brightness and shield young lovers from its glaring light.


At The Met

At The Met

An editing client/friend called me peripatetic. It sounded like a disease so I rushed to my reliable helpmate, my dictionary. Though the sound of the word brought up visions of dyspepsia, it turned out to only mean one who travels a lot.

He called me that after I’d returned from St. Augustine, Florida for the third time this year and found out I was soon to leave for New York City. Again.

Interesting that the word also means “given to walking.” I’d forgotten that I had downloaded a health app onto my phone. While lazing in bed with my feet throbbing from all the city walking one day, I decided to open it to see what it did. Imagine my shock to discover that I’d walked 12,000 steps that day. And climbed twelve floors. (My daughter’s apartment is two steep flights up. And down.)

I was flabbergasted to see how my activity level had spiked tremendously since I’d left home. It had literally gone from sloth to cheetah level. I bored everyone with my new-found information. Look what I can do! In one day. And live to tell about it.

After my excitement died down, I admit I was a little weirded out to know that my phone was tracking me. How rude. But I had asked it to, I suppose. I don’t remember what day that was, but it could have been the day we spent at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I have no words to describe the treasures it holds within. You must see it with your own eyes. We only got to see barely half. We shall continue on our next trip.

Now that I know what that app does, I will use it to my advantage in my battle with RA. It can’t catch me if I don’t stay still. I know I haven’t beaten it, and most likely never will, but at least I win some of the battles. And that’s good enough for me. 12,000 steps, booyah!

How To Be a Better Blogger

Step 1: Blog

Step 2: Blog

Step 3: Blog

Oh, my gosh, I’ve been forgetting to blog!

In truth, I think about it often, but thinking doesn’t get it done.  Before I know it, it’s a week later and the idea flew the coop. And I have so many, ideas that fly the coop.

Right now, I’m flying a desk, trying to keep up with two online classes and two editing projects. They soak up all the extra grey matter. Or is it white matter?

Well, no matter. I will do better. Now that I’m back from actually flying around.


Downstreet view in Manhattan.

Skyline from Central Park

Skyline from Central Park

A sister yacht while on jazz cruise down the Hudson.

A sister yacht while on jazz cruise down the Hudson.

It was a bit nippy, but a welcome break from tropical heat.

It was a bit nippy, but a welcome break from tropical heat.

Thank you, dear Reader, for the moments you spend with me.