Photo taken by Jenni the librarian at the North Bennington Library.
I was a social butterfly since last Friday night along with my sister Jennifer visiting. We had people over and went to people’s places.
Jen and I spent some wonderful sister time together, floating around the pool, cooking together, and watching girl tv.
Yesterday, Jen left early to head back to NJ to beat the traffic and did. We were done with production before noon which was fabulous.
After production, I felt exhausted, I had a great time with lots of fun, but I was beat. The heat didn’t help either.
I rested in our air-conditioned bedroom with Nelly until it was time to start getting ready for our library gig.
Unlike the parade gig, this time I was wearing my new white lace choli and polka-dot coin bra I made in early June.
The costuming I chose was simple; black, white, and purple. I did my hair in a flamenco style with only 2 flowers. My make-up was more subdued than the Pride Parade.
This was the look I envisioned when I made my polka-dot bra. Getting ready went smoothly and quickly. I was happy with how everything came out.
When I got to our dance space where we were meeting before the gig, I realized I was very mellow. I wasn’t in a talkative mood since I talked my fucking head off for days. Lol.
I felt the same way while driving over to the North Bennington Library and when I got there.
I knew it was part of my job as the dancer’s teacher to be “Julz.” I had to slip into my fun, energetic, and confident self. Julz the performer, the professional, and the leader.
While everyone was outside hanging out waiting to dance, I told Kathleen I needed to go inside and put on my “jewels.” She knew what I meant.
I went back inside the library and grounded myself. I closed my eyes and visualized myself putting on my “jewels” which is pulling my shit together, getting rid of any tired or negative energy.
I opened my eyes and popped into Julz, the belly dancer. I walked outside and announced to the dancers, “Ok guys, let’s get ready to have a fun show, that’s what we are here for. Let’s do it!”
I could see everyone smile and their eyes told me they were relieved to have their upbeat Julz back. I think Kathleen winked at me.
Next thing I knew, I started the music, we all locked into each others energy while I lead a gratitude dance facing each other in a circle.
We performed the best we could on a lawn with a slope and a hole in the ground. The most important thing was we had a ton of fun.
Kathleen and I performed our first public duet in front of an audience since June 2018. Thanks, covid.
Our duet was special and meant a lot to the both of us. We danced with the love we have for one and other as dance sisters. After all, we’ve been dancing together for 20 years.
After our two sets, we did a mini-lesson and invited the audience members to come up and dance with us. I put on music and started calling out what we were doing while everyone followed.
Quite a few people, men and women got up to give it a try, including my friend David. There was no pressure to do anything right except having fun.
We were all hot and sweaty since it was still in the 80s. We had that awesome post-gig buzz on again. I asked my friend and student Maria if she had fun and she said she did.
Last year, Maria was terrified of dancing, but has gotten over it. I said to Kathleen, “Get over here and give me a big, hot, and sweaty hug.” She threw herself at me and we cracked up.
The ride home was beautiful with the sun now gentle after a burning hot, sunny day. I drove with the air on and my window open.
I felt so good. I thanked to my body for allowing myself to still be able to dance after a rocky and sick period this winter.
I thanked the heavens that I get to teach and dance with a wonderful group of women, my dance sisters. ❤️
This week has gotten away from me. I intended to write about the Pride event and gig right away while I still felt that post-gig high. I felt great and had no trouble breathing during the performance like I did in the past. The day turned out so well, and I was ecstatic.
Photo credit Kat Farnham
On Monday, the high humidity and wildfire smoke had different plans for me. Without boring you with the details of an emotionally unstable person with serious diseases, I was physically and mentally punched in the stomach.
I couldn’t breathe again and had trouble going up the stairs needing to stop mid-way. I knew my lung disease would affect my life; I just wasn’t ready for how bad I would feel again.
During belly dance class and rehearsal for another gig that we have on Wednesday night at the North Bennington at 7:30 pm. I couldn’t breathe whenever I tried to dance to fast songs.
Apparently, oxygen wasn’t getting to my muscles properly, causing me to be exhausted and had to stop dancing. “Oh, so this is how it’s going to be?” I kept asking myself.
At the end of rehearsal, I apologized to everyone for having my head in the clouds and being unable to dance. They were extremely supportive and kind.
As dance sisters, we are always there for each other in times of crisis and bad days. We have a bond that most people will never experience.
The six of us are truly dance sisters, and I love each of them. In the morning, everyone sent me a message asking how I felt. How lucky are we?
I have to stay inside, which is ok. We have the air conditioning on because Nelly and Klaus can’t go outside either.
Nelly started to overheat earlier in the day because she was sunbathing. I wrapped her up in a cold, wet towel.
These types of dogs are prone to overheating and having breathing issues due to the structure of their faces.
We knew this when we got them and have to keep a close eye on them when it’s hot out. It only takes Nelly less than 5 minutes to overheat.
It’s scary; I’m glad I found her on the deck in time. She usually goes under a tree or the table for shade, but she must have dozed off. It’s really like having a baby again.
All photos were taken by Jon Katz
Here is a photo dump of some of the photos from the parade and performance. Thank you to Jon Katz and Kat Farnham for taking beautiful photos of us while we walked in the parade or danced.
Photo credits to Maria Wulf and Emily Gold
We have a busy weekend coming up. We have a birthday party on Saturday night, and my sister Jennifer is coming on Sunday for a few days.
Photo credit Christopher Wright
We plan to do a lot of cooking and talking as usual. We will be busy hosting a dinner party and a good old-fashioned cookout on Tuesday. We haven’t seen each other since the last Fourth of July; I am excited to spend time together.
Enjoy your holiday weekend, guys. Be safe, and Happy Friday! 😀🇺🇸 🍔 🌭 🍉 🎆
Nelly is a mischievous and funny puppy who loves to play as much as she loves to cuddle up to someone; it’s a 50/50 mix, exactly what I asked our breeder for.
While she plays with Klaus most of the time, she can also keep herself occupied. She is not a needy puppy and doesn’t whine; another must we told our breeder.
When she is keeping herself occupied, she likes to drag whatever she can find, either outside or inside. We purchased a customer-fit walk-through screen for our sliding door that closes magnetically and works brilliantly!
While we are outside working in our production kitchen, Nelly and Klaus have access to a portion of a fenced-in part of the yard. We can keep an eye on them with one of the surveillance cameras.
When we are working, they usually sleep inside, I put on babysitting for dogs music on YouTube for them, and it works like a charm. When I turn it on, Nelly immediately jumps into one of her beds, and Klaus climbs onto the couch. It’s a beautiful thing!
When Nelly needs to go out, she runs out of the screen and can go. They also can go outside and sunbathe on the back deck. We start early in the morning and are usually done by 1-1:30, with a couple of breaks in between to check on them.
Last week, Nelly brought her puppy food dish, the toilet bowl brush, my socks, and Marty’s shoes outside. The toilet bowl brush sounds gross, but I always clean it well and rinse it in clean water when I am done with it—no chemicals or other nasties to worry about.
On Sunday, she dragged in a heavy piece of rusty chain from 1850 that was used when they moved our house from one side of the street to the other. We find pieces of chain every now and again. They come to the dirt’s surface like magic near our house’s foundation.
I’m used to finding sticks, rocks, and big pieces of mulch in the house, but like my sons did when they were small, she found a portion of the heavy chain and dragged it in. I laughed when I walked inside; as Noah and Sam did, she was a proud little puppy showing me what she found.
We have Nelly proofed everything we can think of, but sometimes she still finds a treasure which makes me think, look what the cat dragged it. Today, after production, the toilet brush holder was in the middle of the lawn, and the brush was on the deck.
That’s it for that little stunt; it has a new home when we are working. Nelly definitely keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure. Have a great day! ☀️
I first learned about arancini when I worked in lower Manhattan. I worked with a lot of Italians from Brooklyn, Queens, and Staten Island.
The guys were all total guidos, and the girls were guidettes. They were the real deal, even bigger quidos than in Jersey.
A bunch of us went to lunch together, and I was taken to all the best spots. We had a hotdog wagon in front of our tall office building, which I went to a lot.
One of the places was called Rosarios, where I had my first arancini. It was the size of a softball stuffed with either mozzarella or meatball.
It was cut in half and topped with marinara sauce. It was huge, filling, and It cost one dollar. No wonder why I gained ten pounds when I worked in the city. I looked them up, and sadly, they closed in 2021 during covid and never reopened.
I started making my own arancini after I taught myself how to cook. They are still one of my favorite Italian food items. You don’t see them on many menus in restaurants or pizzerias, only in old-school places that have been open forever.
Arancini, which means orange in Italian, is also called rice balls. They look like oranges but taste like heaven. They are very filling, so I make mine on the smaller size.
Arancini are easy to make but are food of love. You must make and prep other things before making the rice balls. First, you have to make risotto which is another labor of love. It takes time and patience.
Next, you have to make marinara sauce, another labor of love to simmer it slowly to develop flavor. The risotto and sauce must be refrigerated overnight before you can start the rice balls. See, I told you it’s a labor of love.
I love how you can see the shadow of the spoon I always have resting on the pot. The sauce is a beautiful orange-red and is sexy like velvet.
I added an egg and shredded mozzarella cheese to the cold risotto, not from a bag, but freshly shredded. Don’t be lazy about the cheese if you’re going this far.
After it’s mixed well, I portion out the balls of rice. Next, a piece of fresh mozzarella goes into the center. Then, it’s rolled tightly so the cheese doesn’t make a getaway.
Finally, after setting up a dredging station, the arancini are coated in egg and then panko breadcrumbs. I use GF Progresso breadcrumbs. This part of the process goes quickly.
The last step is to fry the rice balls, I do mine the shallow fry method until they are deep golden brown, like an orange.
OMG!
They are drained on paper towels and are ready to eat. Serve with marinara sauce, and eat! Mangia Mangia! It is hard to imagine how good they are until you’ve had them. The key to delicious arancini is delicious risotto.
These are something I make maybe twice a year not only because they are time-consuming, but also bad as hell for you. Everything in moderation is how we live our lifestyle.
My son Noah has been telling his girlfriend Aja about the arancini and St. Cecelia’s pizza which is fried dough topped with marinara sauce and grated parmesan.
Only people from my town and a couple of surrounding towns know about St. Cecelia’s pizza. Mine is close but still not as good as the OG. A pizzeria called Jersey Boys Pizza which is near to where I lived makes and serves Iselin Fair Pizza.
Speaking of which, St. Cecelia’s Pizza is also called Iselin Fair Pizza. Every second week of July was the Iselin Fair. My school St. Cecelia’s, did the food concession. The best was the nuns pulling the dough.
The pizza, like the arancini, isn’t the healthiest of choices, so I made both. It’s like going to hell in a handbasket. Again, in moderation, we ate super healthy dinners afterward for several days.
I was happy to make this meal last Sunday for Noah and Aja, who both loved it. I also make kimchi rice balls which are different but just as delicious. Noah actually prefers those but likes the Italian version as well.
I made a side of sausage, peppers, and onions but used chicken sausage instead of pork. At least that was the healthiest thing on the plate and included veggies. For dessert, I made cannoli gelato, a showstopper of a dessert and not hard to make.
Photo credit Aja Wolfrum
Yes, this dinner was a lot of work, but worth every bit of it. Not only do I enjoy making meals like this but making them for people I love makes it even better. There is no way to describe how a cook feels when they see someone enjoy their food.
It’s been a good week; that tough day I had came and went. Every day is a new day, and I left it all behind. It’s hard to live in the moment at times, but it’s pretty amazing when you can.
It looks like it’s going to be another rainy weekend here, but I still have a couple of projects to do, like cleaning out the old root cellar and figuring out my costuming for next week.
Our dance troupe, Bennington Beledi Tribal Belly Dance, will be marching and performing at the Pride parade on June 25th in Bennington. Everyone is super excited about the event and dancing two sets. It feels great to perform again.
As in real life, I have many styles and looks when performing. The weather, the event itself, and how I feel on the day of the gig play a big part in the final outcome.
I don’t know what I’ll look like until I am finished getting ready. I am usually really happy with the final results; it’s when I overthink it is when things go wrong.
Happy Friday! That’s it from here in Arlington, VT, I picked up a hoodie today for Nelly at our local farmers market. Needless to say, we love it, and she loves being warm and cozy. 💖
Artwork courtesy of Lousy drawings for good people.
My mother passed away 1 1/2 years ago, and I haven’t received any signs, not that I expected any. I got a sign shortly after she passed from my dad.
I wrote about it finding two pennies in a puddle, one with his birth year and the other was hers.
It was him telling me she was with him. I said out loud good for them. At that point, I was still going through a lot of angry and sad emotions, but I was glad they were together.
Yesterday, I was putting some change into our change bucket, and I saw a quarter with the year 1957, the year my mother graduated from high school.
I knew it was a sign and said,” I know it’s from you mom.” There, I acknowledged it but didn’t feel one way or another
Today, a butterfly, also a sign for my family, tried to fly into the sliding glass door of the living room. I shooed it away and said, ” I know that was you.”
Other than acknowledging the sign, the one that made me speak to her was a doozy. It’s funny how the other side is relentless in getting their point across.
While I spring cleaned upstairs this morning, hey, better late than never, I went through and organized my belly dance jewelry, my own jewelry, and things I kept from my mother.
I’ve gone through Eileen’s shit so many times it’s ridiculous, so this was the final clean-out or keep. I kept some costume jewelry that I liked and started wearing. I had a box of stuff I wasn’t sure what to do with.
I opened the box I didn’t know what to do with and said, “Holy shit.” There were two silver circles, one engraved with Mother and the other said, Grandma. I didn’t buy them, so I guess she did.
I put them in a new narrowing-down box last week, but today I found them together with a white hair on them. Her hair color after her stroke. Weird. It started to make me angry.
I spoke to my mother aloud and said, “Well, Mom, I hope you now realize how rotten and terrible you were to me and how much you hurt and abused me.”
I kept going, “ I am working really hard to let go and move on, but I haven’t been able to forgive you yet. I’m not sure if I ever can.”
It’s exactly what I wish I had the courage to say while she was alive, but as a narcissist, she would not have understood and would turn the tables on me like always. Narcissists are never wrong or to blame for anything.
How do I feel? Most of the day, I felt numb, like when she died. It didn’t make me feel better even though she threw me some signs.
As I try to heal, each time I think of something she did to hurt me, and there are a million, I tie a balloon to it in my mind’s eye and let it go.
It has been working since I don’t think about the hurt as much. I really didn’t need a monkey wrench thrown at me today. It made me upset even though I woke up in a great mood and had many projects planned.
I spoke to her again this afternoon and said, “ One of my spirit guides told me not to take your behavior personally. She said it was like a business contract that I agreed to it, and we both know how that went, don’t we?”
I went on to say. “I tried my hardest to help you, even though I didn’t know about our contract. I held up my part of the bargain by always giving you another chance.”
“Guess what, Mom, you blew it. You had thousands of chances since I was nine to treat me better, but you never did, especially when it was just you and me.”
“You were a complete phony around other people that I questioned myself over and over if it was me.” “Have you found out what your sister told me before her surgery?” (She died from complications.)
I got a call many years ago from my Aunt Claire. That’s when I found out my mother was a narcissistic monster. Aunt Claire told me It was all her and not me.
She said everyone in the family knew what was happening, but no one did anything about it. She asked me for forgiveness, and I told her I had nothing to forgive.
That night on the phone with Aunt Claire, she told me the truth. She gave me the greatest gift I ever received; it meant the world to me.
I kept saying, “Really?” I thanked her over and over. We said I love you before we hung up; that was our last conversation. She passed away right after surgery which left me grief-stricken. I still talk to her and continue to thank her for that phone call.
Turns out my life was a series of tests as part of that contract I agreed to. Her stroke and living for nine years in a nursing home was another big one. She pulled every trick in the book. She wove stories made up of manipulation, guilt, and lies.
I never lost my shit or cried in front of her. At the nursing home, I would walk down the hall, crouch, and silently cry so hard my body shook.
The staff knew what was happening because they were all aware of the fucked up situation. They would let me cry in peace, or someone would come over and rub my back.
I found out I had to calm down before I tried to drive. One day, I was so upset I was almost t-boned when I turned out of the driveway. She really knew how to get to me.
She knew how to emotionally abuse me knowing I would torture myself for hours or days about what happened even after. This started at the age of nine and continued until she died.
No wonder I was very sick with ulcerative colitis since I was 14 and diagnosed at 16 with a severe case. She was relentless, always finding something to punish me for.
Thinking about all that shit makes me cry; that’s why I am trying to let stuff go. I realize I still have a long way to go, as I am crying while writing this. As in life, she got to call the shots by sending me signs, but it left me sad and angry all over again—a typical Eileen move.
I don’t know why she sent signs. The hopeful little girl in me wished she was trying to apologize, but in life, the narcissist that she was never apologized for anything to anyone. It’s hard to believe that could even be a possibility.
When I think I am starting to heal, I am not. What the fuck? It’s like she pulled the rug out from under me again. One step forward and two back.
I needed to write this today; I’ll probably lose a few more readers who don’t like when I write painful posts like this; oh well, life isn’t always a bowl of cherries.
I am mentally and physically exhausted; I completed all the projects on my to-do list. We have a sparkling clean bathroom and bedrooms. Now that I have taken care of the jewelry, I know exactly where and what I have.
I’ve never been so organized before, with the entire home. There is no more clutter, and everything has a place. No hidden garbage bags with crap or totes are filled to the brim. You know what? It feels fabulous!
Thanks so much for reading, guys. Love to you all. ~julz
*** The editing on this piece may not be perfect; I am headed to bed but wanted to publish this first.
When I was a kid, I had some favorite meals that my mother made for dinner. I say made because nothing was cooked from scratch. I grew up eating frozen, canned, or boxed foods.
Granted, some dinners required other ingredients that needed to be cooked. Others were made in the oven or stovetop, like the stuffing. Stovetop stuffing for dinner? I’m staying! Remember that commercial? I loved it.
My favorite dinners were frozen Weaver chicken croquettes or fried chicken with boxed mashed potatoes, fish sticks with tator tots, open-faced hot roast beef or turkey sandwiches with deli meat, jarred gravy, canned green beans, and the box mashed potatoes.
Something she cooked was boneless chicken with Campbell’s cream of chicken or mushroom soup. My friend, Martin’s mother, made that too. London broil was good, and we had it a lot. Shake and bake pork chops with apple sauce were another me and my dad’s favorite dinners.
The granddaddy of all were the nights she made Manwich sloppy joes. When I saw them on the school lunch menu, I looked forward all week to having them.
When I was a school lunch director and lunch lady, I found in a school lunch USDA cookbook from the 1950s and found the recipe. The first time I made it, I almost cried because it was the same sloppy joes I remembered! I was stoked, and the kids loved them like I did.
In 2013, I watched an Indian female cook on the Food Network make Bombay Sloppy Joes. I made them, and they were so delicious and flavorful. Over the years, I’ve made the recipe with slight variations and cooking methods. Above is the link to the original recipe.
My brain thinks about food 24/7, so when we were watching Indian Matchmaker this week, I started craving Indian food. I’ve mastered some easier dishes, but when we go out for Indian food, I choose dishes that are too difficult or have a gazillion ingredients.
I made the version that I call Mumbi Sloppy Joes. The name makes sense since Bombay is now Mumbi, and this recipe is an updated original version. At least, it makes sense to me. Lol.
The dish is made with ground turkey instead of beef with a tikki masala flavor profile. It’s bursting with pistachios, plump raisins, and mixed nuts. If you don’t like any of those things, don’t add them.
You can control the heat by not adding spicy peppers to the dish. I never used the fresh hot peppers the recipe calls for; I added cayenne pepper.
The matchmaker happens to be from Mumbi, and over and over, she introduces herself as Simi Aunty from Mumbi, and I always think of those sloppy joes. A cook’s brain works that way with everything.
I made a double batch tonight and froze three small containers, just enough for a quick dinner on belly dance nights when we eat close to 9 pm, just like my 2013 Facebook post.
Three bags of sugar weighs 15 lbs, and so do the objects below.
I went off the medication Humira towards the end of March and immediately felt better. Not only because I was finally getting over pneumonia but other things I couldn’t explain.
I had more energy than before I was sick and started sleeping better. I didn’t count the minutes to take a nap every day. I had a bounce back in my step.
My gastrointestinal put me on something else for my ulcerative colitis for the time being until I see a pulmonary specialist at Dartmouth at the end of July.
I’ve been to the doctor a lot over the last few years for anxiety, depression, colonoscopies, colitis issues, headaches, insomnia, and pneumonia.
They weighed me at all the doctor’s appointments. I never look at the scale, but the nurses tell me I was the same as last time, for years.
Two years ago, I tried to lose weight; I committed to trying my hardest for six months. I felt like I needed to give it one last college try. I knew I had to be very strict about everything I ate or drank, and I was.
I went back to working out in our home gym. I did cardio and weightlifting six days a week. I worked so hard that I almost puked every day.
I didn’t weigh myself for six months, but I could tell from the mirror that nothing was happening. At the end of six months, I weighed myself; I didn’t lose one fucking ounce or look any different. I felt utterly defeated and mad.
I resolved that if I were going to look this bad, I’d have to try to talk myself into acceptance. Yeah, it didn’t work. While trying to convince myself about acceptance, I wrote the post “This is me.”
As much as I needed to work hard on acceptance, I was grieving that this was the body I had, like it or lump it. So, I bought some cute dresses I wore and still wear, so there’s that. Marty still found me as attractive as the day we met, but it didn’t help how I felt.
The weight gain wasn’t from menopause; that ship pulled out of port long before this. It was upsetting, annoying, and made me depressed.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care what I looked like to myself or other people; it did bother me. I was humiliated when I saw someone I hadn’t seen for years. I was ashamed.
As much as I tried to convince myself this was the new me, I hated the new me in every way, shape, and form. I’d say awful things to myself in the mirror. I was messed up.
I still acted confident, but inside I cringed and felt sick whenever I looked at myself in a mirror or reflection. I didn’t post photos of myself because I hated how I looked in them. Before this, I was the selfie queen.
I hated how fat my face looked in these photos with Sam and Marty last November and December. I was too embarrassed to post them. I can see how uncomfortable I looked in these photos with a phony smile.
My weight gain was physically hard on my body. I couldn’t move as fast, had trouble climbing two staircases at dance, shaving my legs, and giving myself a pedicure was difficult. The weight gain was even more challenging for me emotionally.
I was the biggest hypocrite in dance class, telling women about self-love and acceptance. I was a fucking liar; I was the exact opposite of what I was telling my belly dance students.
Thank goodness I am good with aging and my wrinkles. I believe it’s a privilege to grow old more than ever, so many people don’t get to,, sadly enough. I can accept aging 100%, but I was terrified of it ten years ago.
The end of April, I wanted to see how much Nelly weighed and if she was growing since she’s such a little peanut. I held my breath and had to look at the scale to know what to subtract when holding Nelly.
To my utter shock, I lost five pounds! Wow! How the hell did that happen? I ran down the stairs to tell Marty my surprisingly good news. He was happy for me. I skipped around the house for the rest of the day. Literally. Lol.
I weighed myself a week later and lost another five pounds! I knew I was still losing weight by how my clothes fit, and my big stomach was shrinking; so was my ass! Yippee! It felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.
Besides introducing more fruits and vegetables and vegetarian meals to our diets, and drinking a ton of water over the last year, I didn’t change a thing.
No exercise, no dieting, no anything. Then we realized the weight I had gained and couldn’t lose for so many years was from the Humira. It was also why I didn’t respond to five different types of antibiotics when I had pneumonia since it was an autoimmune suppressant.
I didn’t realize how much damage the Humira was doing to my body, even though it helped brilliantly with my ulcerative colitis. I never put two and two together, I was just happy I was “healthy.”
The Humira caused significant scarring in my lungs, which I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t have pneumonia. What I thought was such a terrible thing being sick for two months, turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I still have to go to Dartmouth Hitchcock at the end of July to see a lung specialist to rule out pulmonary fibrosis. I feel so great it’s hard to imagine I have anything more severe than scarring.
I’ve lost another six pounds in the last 10 days or so and can see a huge difference. I can wear clothing that hasn’t fit in years! I can’t express how good I feel inside and out. Yes, this was a case about vanity, but more than that, it was about my sanity.
I feel fantastic since I am no longer carrying around 16 pounds! When you look at the photos at the top of the blog post, these are a visualization of what it would be like for me to carry around all the time. It’s bonkers!
My energy level is through the roof, and my breathing is better than it has been for years. I didn’t realize how bad I felt for so long. I also realized why I had a dry cough all the time.
This is tough to admit, but I have to be honest, it was pretty fucking disappointing that no one noticed my weight loss, not even my friends. It’s a night and day difference.
I am an extremely detail oriented person. For instance, I can tell when someone gets their hair cut or colored. I always compliment good things I see on people even strangers; maybe that’s why I can’t understand it.
The few people I told said they could see it after I mentioned it. Kathleen never notices anything and still couldn’t see a difference, but said, “Holy shit! That’s three bags of sugar!”
A retired nurse who now works at Battenkill Valley Creamery came over to welcome me back to the Troy Farmers Market a couple of weeks ago. The first thing she said was, “Wow, Julz! You lost a lot of weight! You look fantastic!”
She was the first person to say anything without prompting. I was grinning ear to ear. I gave her a big hug and thanked her telling her how she made my day!
No more big belly!
Why was it so important to me that someone finally noticed? Because it’s a big fucking deal to me, that’s why. It proved it was not just an illusion or all in my head. Someone finally noticed! Yay!
If I ate tons of junk food and fast food, drank lots of soda, had second helpings, and snacked all day, that would be one thing. However, it was the complete opposite in my case.
I can’t count how many times I said after pushing my plate away before I was done with my small portion, “I should be a lot thinner with the amount of food I eat.” I felt depressed every time I said it.
Eating small portions, putting my fork down the instant I felt full, drinking no soft drinks or juice, and cutting down on my drinking by more than a half didn’t matter one fucking iota.
Am I vain about how I look? My true authentic self says, you bet your ass I am. I didn’t know how depressed I was with my weight gain. It’s like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders in my head and literally from my belly to my ass. Lol.
Yes, I am cursing a lot in this piece, but it’s a painful and emotional piece for me to write baring my soul and deep dark feelings. I know I am not the only woman who feels this way.
I have the sparkle back in my eye. I started wearing all kinds of jewelry and earrings again with different outfits that made me look and feel great.
I finally felt like me again. The real “this is me,” not the one I was forcing myself to not hate, but did. I just couldn’t get over it. I felt like I lost the battle; the battle of the bulge so they say.
I felt great at the belly dance class last Wednesday and took a selfie with my friend Maria. I told her how beautiful she looked when I saw her, so I captured it. We both look over the moon happy…
Now, it’s not important to me whether or not people notice my weight loss. My friend Arthur said after I shared my good news with him and David he thought I did but never says anything about people’s weight. Fair enough.
I guess some people think that by complimenting someone’s weight loss, it sounds like, “Wow, you look great now that you don’t look like a fat piece of shit anymore.” 😂
I won’t lie to my belly dance students about self-acceptance ever again. Instead, I will share my struggle with self-acceptance, self-body shaming, and self hate talk.
Let me tell you, it’s hard af to share skrewed up shit about yourself with the world, but I know other people appreciate my saying how they are feeling and don’t feel alone.
As always, I appreciate you guys for reading and sticking with me on ups and downs on my life journey.
Sometimes Marty and I have to divide and conquer when it comes to the spätzle business, which by the way, was launched six years ago yesterday.
He went to the farmers market, and I made deliveries in Saratoga, NY, with Nelly. It was a good decision since it was cold and windy.
After I loaded up the deliveries, we hit the road. Nelly was happy as a clam in her little bed on the heated seat.
She is safe in the truck since she is harnessed in and can’t distract me or jump around the car while I am driving.
After our first stop at Healthy Living, I got her out of the warm truck to pee. When I opened the door, she was squinting at me. Squinting = she doesn’t like something. 😂
She wouldn’t pee since she is stubborn, so we went to the store five below to look at their cute doggie clothes, which cost $5 or less.
When I was looking at little fleece jackets in her size, I heard her snorting. I turned around, and she had a pair of shoes held together with elastic around her neck.
I started cracking up, and so did the customers who saw her. It was hilarious, and so was her reaction. I found her size and some puppy wipes and left.
When I harnessed her back into her seat, I put the jacket over her with the wipes, and she squinted at me again. Lol.
After we made our next delivery at the store Four Seasons, I got her out of the truck again since I wanted to walk across the street to the Saratoga farmers market. She squinted at me. 😆
I was a vendor at the Saratoga market for four years and wanted to say hello to some of my vendor friends. Nelly loved the market.
As I recall, there are many dogs at the market and lots of Frenchies. She got to meet one of my favorite Frenchies named Louie.
Louie used to run to my table and sit for a piece of spätzle every week. He knew exactly where my tent was and would drag his owner down the sidewalk.
We started heading home, and Nelly fell asleep before I pulled out of our parking space. She snored the whole way home.
When we got home, I took her out of her harness and put her down on the driveway. She squinted at me.
When we got inside, I tried on her new jacket; she squinted at me again. By now, I laughed out loud and kissed her on her little head. She is really something.
It turns out she did like the jacket because when I asked her to pose, she did, and I squinted her and snapped her photo.
It was an enjoyable and different delivery day with my little Nelly girl. She was happy to see Klaus when we were home.
The shenanigans began right away since they both woke up from a nap. She was raring to go and ran around like hell on wheels.
Since I wrote about her peeing in the house, the weather got warmer, and she could go in and out whenever needed.
She hasn’t had one accident, even when they are playing hard. I watched her run out the door, run down the stairs, run skidding to the one step down to the grass, and run like crazy until she found a spot to pee, then ran back inside.
I’m glad she finally got the hang of it; we just have to ensure the sliding door is open when they play inside.
Life with little Miss Squinty is never boring; she makes everyone smile when they see her. She really is the best and Klaus is one hell of a good sport.💕
Believe it or not, Marty and I have never visited a Japanese restaurant. We never went when we lived in Jersey, and until a few years ago, there wasn’t one where we lived in Vermont.
We did try sushi when someone served it at their house, which they picked up from a restaurant. I ate it because that was how I was raised, but I didn’t like the nori or seaweed which is used to make a sushi roll.
We watch many travel food shows and like when the hosts visit food stalls in various countries. That’s when I started craving chicken yakitori.
Every country has its own version of yakitori, which means roasted bird on a stick. It started hundreds of years ago as a poor man’s food since off-cuts and organs were used.
When yakitori became more popular with tourists and businessmen, better cuts of chicken were used. Today, behind sushi, yakitori is one of the most popular Japanese foods.
Traditionally, chicken yakitori has bite-size cuts of chicken on a skewer with pieces of spring onion in between. The skewer is cooked over a charcoal fire and basted with a special sauce called tare.
The ingredients in tare sauce are simple; soy sauce, brown sugar, mirin, and sake or Asian cooking wine. Super simple and very delicious.
After researching the dish, I made my first batch of chicken yakitori and haven’t stopped thinking about it since we had it on Monday night.
I used chicken thighs for my skewers and followed how to cut the pieces and fold them in half, forming a downward C on the skewer.
I alternated with the spring onion whites; however, I’ll use more next time since the grilled scallions were so delicious.
I made the tare sauce and marinated the skewers with half of the sauce. The rest I used to baste the skewers as they cooked.
I used a veggie grill tray that I sprayed with pan spray, and the skewers did not stick or cook too quickly.
I kept turning the skewers like I saw the food stall vendors do; I basted them after every turn.
I checked the temps and took them off the grill when they were at least 165 degrees. I was super careful not to overcook those babies.
I served the yakitori with thinly sliced flat iron steak and Japanese sweet potatoes with a garlicky, sweet lime compound butter to melt on top. The combo of the two is amazing.
When I tasted the yakitori, a loud mmmmm sound came out of my mouth. It was as good as it looked on tv!
The skewers were moist and tasty. The sauce was perfectly balanced sweet, salty, and sour with lots of umami flavor. The grilled scallions, forget about it; they were spectacular.
Here is the fantastic, easy-to-follow recipe I used to make the Yakitori.
Trimming the boneless chicken thighs and cutting them into pieces took a little time, but can be done ahead.
Threading the chicken and scallions on the skewers was fun and didn’t take long at all. The total cook time on the grill was about 8 minutes.
What else can I say about yakitori? I already purchased two packages of chicken thighs and put them in the freezer so I can make them again whenever I want to.
I know many folks like to grill but get stuck in a rut of making the same things repeatedly. Yakitori is delicious food to grill and serve, along with other skewered meats and vegetables.
Guests will love it; eating anything off a stick is always fun, from salads to desserts. My favorite is caprese skewers dipped in a balsamic glaze.
Fruit salad skewers are also light and refreshing, with endless possibilities.
Caesar salad skewers are easy to make and fun; surprising people, such a thing can be done. Here’s a link to how to make them.
My writing buddies this morning soaking up the early morning sunshine.
That’s it from here. We are in summer spätzle mode and using our spare time to enjoy the pool. The water is in the 90s; yes, it’s still refreshing, trust me.
We are also enjoying the flowers and veggie beds, having coffee cocktails on the front porch, grilling and eating on the deck, and most of all, we are all head of heels in love with Nelly.
The week of dry hot days and cool nights has been wonderful, but we desperately need some rain.
