How to Shed Those Holiday Pounds in Just 1 Day

Just after Halloween, I had an inkling that a problem was emerging.  By Thanksgiving, it had become noticeable. As Christmas neared, it could no longer be ignored. I was gaining weight at an alarming rate.

How could I have gained so much weight during the holiday season? Usually I don’t make excuses, but this time I can honestly say I had no control over the situation. It wasn’t my fault.  It crept up on me a little at a time.  No, I’m not talking about excessive holiday indulgence.  By the time Christmas arrived, I had received nearly 40 pounds of catalogs in the mail.

The day after Halloween, five catalogs arrived in the mail. As I stood in our foyer weeding out the junk mail, Oregano said, “I’ve never even heard of some of these companies. For fun, why don’t we save all the catalogs we get between now and Christmas?”

“I’m not sure I’d classify that as fun, but it would be interesting to see what kinds of catalogs we get. This one is addressed to the shipping department manager. Is that me or you?” I laughed while waving a giant catalog offering packing peanuts, bubble wrap and boxes of all sizes.

And so it began. Each day I checked the mailbox. It was rare to find only one catalog.  Before long, we had made a tower on the hall table and when that started to teeter, we created a second one.  Just before Christmas, our cat stepped on the shorter tower of catalogs and sent them cascading to the floor. We decided it was time to end our experiment before someone needed medical attention.

We picked up the fallen catalogs and began stacking them on the floor. It was an impressive collection of junk mail.

an impressive pile of junk mail

“Look! It comes all the way up to your knees!” Oregano marveled.

“I wonder how much all of this weighs?” I said as I went to get the scale.

Very carefully, we transferred the pile of slippery, glossy pages; 38.5 pounds! Always the statistician, Oregano decided to catalog our catalogs. In all, there were 156 catalogs from 86 different companies. Some of them were from retailers we had shopped at previously, but most were not.

Thanks to this excessive show of convenient commercialism, I could enjoy the holidays without all the fuss of ever going to a store. Using the catalogs, I could dress myself in a complete outfit starting from the Spanx on up. Continuing my mail order shopping spree, I could accessorize that outfit with shoes, jewelry and handbags. Without ever leaving my home, I could furnish and decorate it completely. As long as I’ll have a snazzy, new outfit and a cozy home, I should have a holiday party. No need to leave the house to get the supplies. With catalogs offering cheese, fruit, meat, tea and flour, I could order everything I’d need; from the food I’d be serving to the appliances I’d be using to prepare it.  After my busy schedule of entertaining, I will need to unwind using the luxury bath soaps and snuggly pajamas delivered to my doorstep. With all these catalogs at my disposal, I could lead a full life without ever leaving the comfort of my home.

This vast assortment of catalogs would make it a pleasure to shop for everyone on our list.  For the people who always return their gifts or for the person who has everything, we have a catalog that would allow us to give their gifts to someone else.  For $850, we could buy a camel in their honor and donate it to a family in a developing country. That seemed pricey, but having never done any comparative shopping for camels, I have no idea how much they go for these days. While this is an intriguing idea, it does leave me with some questions, not the least of which is just how do they ship a camel? Does it ride along in the mail truck or do they make it walk to its final destination? Hopefully the costs are not determined by weight unless they offer free shipping.

For those of us with generous spirits and smaller paychecks, there are animals at lower price points. Compared to the camel, a $500 heifer seems like a bargain. Sure, you can’t ride a heifer through the desert, but you can get milk. The always versatile pigs, goats and sheep would set us back $120 each. The most affordable animals to give are honeybees. I can just imagine the smiling faces of the recipients as they open a box filled with bees.

Look how happy a box of bees can make someone.

I didn’t order anything from these catalogs. With the exception of the catalog filled with farm animals, I didn’t even thumb through them to browse the merchandise. They were a total waste of resources from the paper they were printed on to the fuel needed to transport them. But, I will say this; it was a satisfying feeling to drop all that holiday weight – right into the recycling bin.

Linus puts the cat in catalog.

Trash Talk

Recently I had the chance to spend some time at the Jersey shore. Not Snooki’s version of the “Jersey Shore;” an active adult community version of the Jersey shore. My parents, Falafel and Hummus, retired there and invited me to visit for a mini-vacation. We haven’t shared a roof in 17 years, but I do remember some of their more traumatic household quirks: grinding coffee at ungodly hours of the morning and eating the stinky cheese that was a perpetual resident in our refrigerator. What I don’t remember from my time living at home was how finicky they are about their garbage.

While getting ready for bed on the first night of my visit, I discovered that there wasn’t a trash can in the guest bedroom or bathroom. Rather than disturb my parents, I just walked to the nearest available receptacle in the kitchen and disposed of my items.  That should have been my first clue about their highly structured rules and regulations for the disposal of garbage.

The following night, Falafel and Hummus slaved away in the kitchen preparing a chicken to roast on the grill. It was a treat to have someone cook dinner for me while I sat at the computer responding to comments on a recent blog post. Most of their conversation was just background noise until I heard Hummus casually say, “Falafel, don’t forget to put the garbage in the freezer.”

I rolled the desk chair I was sitting in into the kitchen. “Did you just say put the garbage in the freezer?”

“Yes,” explained Hummus. “We only have garbage pick up here once a week. In the summer, the garbage starts to smell terrible in the hot garage. We keep a garbage bag in the freezer for the stinky garbage. We take it out on garbage night and put it in the can at the curb.”

I started to snicker and couldn’t stop myself. “So, you put all of your garbage in the freezer?” I needed clarification.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” said the woman stuffing a bag of garbage into her freezer. “We only put the stinky garbage in the freezer. It goes in a Ziploc bag.”

“What exactly qualifies as stinky garbage? Do you have a specific list?” I was curious. I understood the theory of the freezer garbage, but this was too much fun to just let slide without further investigation.

“You’re making fun of me, but the wrappers from chicken and fish stink to high heaven when we put them in the garbage can in the garage during the summer. Laugh all you want, “said Hummus.

“Don’t worry. I will,” I said as I rolled my chair back into the office and giggled.

Photo of freezer garbage courtesy of Falafel who added the skull and crossbones for dramatic effect.

“You’re not going to write about this are you?” I heard her question nervously from the other room.

I wasn’t sure if they were worried about starting a freezer garbage trend or if people would think they are crazy. “I’m not going to write about this. No one wants to read about your garbage. Your secret is safe.”  I truly believed that until the next morning.

When we finished eating breakfast, Falafel reached under the sink, pulled out a gently used plastic bag, tossed the leftover banana peel into the bag and tied it before throwing it into the garbage can. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In all the years I lived with them, I had never seen even an inkling of this kind of garbage related insanity. “You have rules for banana peels, too? That seems like an elaborate process to throw out the remains of a banana. Why not put it in the freezer with the other garbage?”

They both looked at me incredulously. Clearly I did not understand or appreciate the rules for freezer garbage. “We don’t have room in the freezer for all of our garbage. Only stinky garbage goes in there. We tie banana peels up in plastic bags so we don’t get fruit flies in the house.”

As part of my Garbage 101 lecture, they opened the cabinet door and showed me the gently used Ziploc and plastic bags they stored for use as bags for banana peels and freezer garbage. “Let me see if I have this straight. Stinky garbage goes in a previously used Ziploc bag in the freezer; banana peels get tied up in plastic bags and then go into the general, unrefrigerated garbage can.  You have a garbage disposal in the sink don’t you?”

“We do, but you can’t put banana peels in it,” said Falafel.

“I’m sure you recycle down here, so you also need to sort out cans, cardboard and glass, right? It’s a good thing you’re both retired.  Determining what trash goes in which receptacle is like a part-time job. Can I ask just one more question on this topic? Is the reason I don’t have a garbage can in the guest bathroom because you felt I wouldn’t be able to adhere to your strict garbage related rules?”

Falafel and Hummus both burst into laughter. “Oh, no! We forgot to move the trash can. No one is ever in that bathroom. When we know we are having guests we just move the trash can from the office into the bathroom temporarily. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I was trying to be a considerate houseguest. I didn’t realize that garbage is such a big topic of conversation around here. Next time I’ll know.”

Ben Franklin once said, “Fish and visitors stink after three days,” and that was before the days of modern refrigeration.  I was afraid that if I didn’t leave by the third day, I’d wind up in the freezer with the rest of the stinky garbage.  At the door, my parents handed me a care package. There were zinnias and leftover dessert each in their own plastic Ziploc bags. When I arrived home I transplanted the zinnias in my garden and shared the dessert with Oregano.  I was about to drop the Ziploc bags into our unrefrigerated garbage can when  I had an idea that would show Falafel and Hummus my appreciation for their hospitality and an understanding of their garbage rules. I put the bags through a rigorous two-step sanitization process (rinsing and drying) then folded them up neatly, placed them in an envelope and mailed the bags back to them.

**And now a word from our sponsor**

I’d like to thank Grace from Czech the Flip for offering the Very Inspiring Blog Award to me. Grace is an adventurous woman from the Philippines who moved to the United States where she met and married her husband. Now they have a son and live in her husband’s home country, the Czech Republic. Grace blogs in English about her adventures adjusting to her new life. Now that’s what I call inspiring. Go “czech” out her blog.

An Ecological Argument for the Ice Cream Cone

Most of the United States has been sweltering this summer. We’ve all been seeking relief from the high temperatures. How we get that relief varies. Some people seal themselves in their homes in front of fans and air-conditioners. Going to the movies used to be a cheap way to enjoy the comforts of air-conditioning, but with ticket and snack prices rising almost as fast as the temperature, it’s not exactly an inexpensive alternative anymore. If you have access to a pool, alternating dips in the water with naps under the shade of an umbrella is a refreshing option. For a low-cost, do-it-yourself cool down technique there is always the garden hose. Running through a sprinkler kills two birds with one stone; you cool off while watering the garden. These are all great options to beat the heat, but because of the large consumption of water and electricity, they can have a negative effect on the environment.

Eating ice cream, however, is a sound eco-friendly way to cool off during the summer.* If I scream; you scream and we all scream for ice cream, together we have an opportunity to make a big impact on the environment. Regardless of the flavor, it is important to make an ecological choice for your ice cream delivery system. According to my completely unscientific calculations, eating an ice cream cone is the most eco-friendly method of ice cream delivery.

*It may be a refreshing way to cool off, but there are caloric and nutritional consequences to consider.

A cup of ice cream* – This is the least eco-friendly ice cream delivery system. Eating ice cream from a cup is the preferred method for banana splits and hot fudge sundaes because they contain all manner of toppings both gooey and solid. However, those cups eventually wind up in landfills. The plastic spoon used to shovel the ice cream into your mouth also winds up in a landfill and will be there long after the summer heat subsides.

* Eating ice cream from a reusable bowl with a reusable spoon is kinder to the environment, but that is not always an option at ice cream shops and roadside ice cream stands.

Popsicles and other stick based ice cream treats – This option is more eco-friendly than having a cup of ice cream. The plastic that the treat comes wrapped in isn’t biodegradable, but it is less plastic than a cup and spoon. Popsicle sticks are made from wood and are biodegradable. Before you run out to stock up on stick based treats, consider the idea that somewhere in a forest a tree gave its life to become those Popsicle sticks.

Disclaimer: Many stick based treats come via an ice cream truck that drives down the street blasting music that hypnotizes small children to run screaming from their homes waving tiny fistfuls of dollar bills. The emissions from the ice cream truck offset any environmental benefits from having a wooden stick ice cream delivery system. 

Ice cream sandwiches – This option is a step above the stick based frozen treat. The only environmental impact associated with ice cream sandwiches is the wrapper.  (see above disclaimer for ice cream truck delivered treats)

Ice cream cones* – Be they wafer or sugar, ice cream cones are the most environmentally friendly ice cream delivery system. Having ice cream in a cone does not require a spoon, only your tongue. You can still enjoy toppings like sprinkles or dips without having to sully the environment with those plastic cups and spoons. When you have finished consuming the ice cream, you eat the delicious delivery mechanism leaving no trash for a landfill.

*Waffle cones and bowls are an exception. The ice cream container is edible, but requires the use of a utensil.  If that utensil is reusable, dig in and enjoy without the guilt of impacting the environment with yet another plastic spoon.

Before you reach for your air-conditioner or garden hose to cool off this summer, consider future generations and go get yourself ice cream in a cone. Eat it quickly though. In this heat, it will melt and drip down your hands. If that happens, you’ll need paper napkins which would detract from the ice cream cone’s environmental friendliness.  Of course, if you are really committed to protecting the environment, you could just lick your fingers and wipe them on your shirt.

The Three R’s

At a time in history when we are more aware of the environment, we have changed our habits to lessen our impact on it.  Reduce, reuse, recycle has been drummed into our collective consciousness. Most of us do what we can to follow these new three R’s, but my husband has embraced this as his personal philosophy. Many a Saturday morning has been spent waiting in line at the county dump on Hazardous Waste Day to drop off broken electronics and paint we’ve accumulated. The compact fluorescent bulbs he has installed in our bathroom are the bane of my existence. I now use the bathroom in semi-darkness while waiting for the lights to reach their full wattage by which time I am usually done doing whatever it is I had gone in there to do. He has called alternative energy companies to have solar panels added to our tree shrouded home only to be disappointed when told it was not a possibility and has joined his company’s “green team” to clean up a nearby nature preserve much to his own poison ivy related peril.

There is a glitch in my husband’s environmentally friendly programming. At home, he recycles every scrap of paper or cardboard no matter how small, yet on vacation, this green guy can not walk past a rack of promotional pamphlets and leave empty-handed. I must watch him like a hawk in hotel lobbies, museums and attractions or he will be clutching a fistful of brochures as we walk to the car. It doesn’t matter what the pamphlet is about; he feels compelled to take it. Perhaps he feels there is some vital information being disseminated that we would otherwise never learn about. I don’t know and he can’t explain it.

No matter where we are, as each day of our vacation passes, the pile of pamphlets on the desk in our hotel room seems to multiply like rabbits left unsupervised. Because of his indiscriminate brochure snatching, we often have duplicates and triplicates. Inevitably, several days into our trip, that teetering pile becomes the topic of conversation.

“Why do we have so many pamphlets on the desk?” I already know the answer. This is just my ice breaker.

He always replies, “I got them in (insert any location here) and thought there might be something useful in them.”

“Well, was there something useful, like a discount coupon?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gone through them,” is his standard answer.

On our most recent vacation, surrounded by the natural beauty of the Canadian Rockies, I tried a different tactic when I saw the pamphlets proliferating. Hoping to play on his environmental sympathies, I took the eco-angle to this chronic problem.

“You know, all of the information in those pamphlets is in our guide book or on the internet? Don’t you think it would be more Earth friendly to not consume so many?”

“Yeah, but I thought there might be something additional in the pamphlets that wasn’t in the guide book,” was his reply.

Undaunted, I continued with my green approach, “Perhaps we can return some of them to the rack in the hotel lobby so that they can be reused. Let’s start slowly. We can return the duplicates. Just think of how many trees were sacrificed to create this pile you’ve amassed on the desk.”

“The trees are already dead because the pamphlets have already been printed so how is putting them back going to help the situation?” was his rebuttal.

I was anticipating some resistance and was prepared. “Good point,” I conceded. “Maybe it is too late for the trees that sacrificed themselves for these pamphlets, but if people, and by people I mean you, take fewer pamphlets, they won’t need to print as many, thereby saving the lives of trees now happily growing in a forest somewhere; trees unaware of their destiny to become a pamphlet you will grab in the future.” 

He looked at me as if I was insane, but couldn’t refute my logic. For a day or so the pamphlet pile stopped growing. I felt triumphant. After years of skirmishes I had finally won the pamphlet war. My victory was short-lived.

On our final day of vacation we drove to the Athabasca Glacier in Jasper National Park. The glacier has been receding for 150 years and dated signs along the road marking the glacier’s retreat made that fact shockingly graphic. After we hiked up to the glacier and marveled at the size and thickness of the ice, we went to the visitors’ center for a bathroom break before the two hour drive back to Lake Louise. When I emerged from the bathroom, my husband had a pamphlet in his hand and a smile on his face.

The Athabasca Glacier once covered the area where the road now is.

“Look! I got us a pamphlet showing the size of the glacier and how far it has receded,” he said excitedly. “There’s just one small problem. They were out of pamphlets written in English, but this being Canada, a country with two official languages, they also had one in French!”

Clearly, this was the pièce de résistance of his pamphlet compulsion. “Did you become fluent in French while I was in the bathroom? You don’t even understand people who speak English with a French accent. Why would you take that pamphlet?” I was dumbfounded.

“I can’t read the French, but numbers are numbers and we’ll be able to figure out the rest of it,” he said pointing to measurements listed on the map to prove his point. He had thought this through thoroughly in the five minutes I left him alone.

We can't read French, but still my husband couldn't resist a pamphlet.

When we arrived home I began unpacking our luggage and found pamphlets, brochures, leaflets and flyers tucked in different pockets. By the time I was done, there was a hefty pile that had developed. I questioned my husband as to why he hadn’t returned any of them so that they could be reused. He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “I thought they would be helpful if we ever go back there. Don’t you have a travel file where you can store them?”

So now their indefinite safe keeping is to become my responsibility? I don’t think so.  “Yes, I have a travel file,” I replied, “It’s called the internet.” Obviously, the pamphlet war waged on.

The homeless pamphlets remained untouched on the dresser in the spare bedroom with the rest of the post trip detritus: Canadian coins, receipts, ticket stubs and stamps. The weight of the pile combined with the slipperiness of the glossy paper eventually caused an avalanche. I returned the items to their tidy mound only to have the papers slip and slide each time I passed by. Restacking this odd assemblage of paper was not a chore I was eager to add to my daily routine so I asked my husband if he had determined a final resting place for his collection.  He said nothing, but when I awoke the next morning, the pile was missing. My elation at the pamphlets’ disappearance quickly turned to disappointment when I found them neatly stacked on a different dresser in a different room. Knowing my husband didn’t have the heart to dispose of them, I took matters into my own hands. I carefully sifted through the hoarded pamphlets, removed the duplicates and those from places we had never visited and put the remnants back the way I had found them. I hoped he’d be none the wiser to my thinning of the herd.  

Later that night, when he walked past the pile of pamphlets, he did a double take. “This pile looks smaller!  What happened?”

CAUGHT! I said nothing and just looked sheepishly at him.

“Well, did you at least recycle them?” he asked.