John Burridge: food

Showing posts with label food. Show all posts

Saturday, September 04, 2021

Vacation Dream

Tuesday morning, I dreamed I had to look for something at the bottom of a pool filled with black oil. To dive down to the bottom of the pool, I had to keep my eyes closed and follow a chain through the thick sludge. I'm not sure how I was able to swim through the think stuff.

Later, I dreamed I was leaving a group of people. I stopped at the top of a kind of escalator or rope-bridge; my hands were full with juggling balls or maybe some folders. I hesitated, not quite sure what to do. Eventually, I just tossed the balls down the stair, and then took the escalator down.

At the bottom of the stair, an amalgam of B.H. (Wordo) and Mark's brother from Virginia caught up with me and told me how various folks were worried about my early-onset Alzheimer's.

I wasn't sure what to make of these dreams once I woke. I'm pretty sure during the previous evening someone was talking about aging and forgetting things -- but I do worry sometimes about aging doing a number on my brain. At least it wasn't an airport anxiety dream.

We said good-bye to the Virginia Dwyers, who were going to the beach and then to their home.

Mark and I took his niece, K. , out for lunch. The Child had been touting the virtues of Sonic Burgers to her, so she originally wanted to go there, but Mark explained that the nearest one was a forty minute drive away, and she chose some place nearer.

I must confess I don't understand The Child's praises for greasy fast food of dubious quality. Or steak houses. I'm not sure if he thinks hoi polli places are authentic, or manly, or 'Merican, because in the same breath he will express the desire to dine at upscale restaurants in New York City.

Afterward, on a whim of Mark's, we made a little detour to Mt. Fuji Restaurant. This is one of those places where "Japanese" chefs who pretend not to speak English come to your table and make onion volcanos on the grill built into your family's table. I've been there once about sixteen years ago. We drove through an impressive and newly installed tori gate, and then discovered the restaurant was open for business -- so Mark drove us back to his mom's house.

The afternoon was very laid back. Mark mowed the lawns. I cleaned out a light fixture in the kitchen.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

The Food of Life

I need to photograph my weight clinking workout sheet.

I've been hitting the gym for about six weeks. After a couple of lost pounds, my weight seems to be staying the same. I think some of my fat rolls have diminished, so I'm hoping that the muscles that are appearing on my arms account for the weight. The rowing machine continues to be fun, and the digital readout suggests that my normal pull rate has gone up from about 550 cal/hour to about 650 cal/hour.

The only down-side to the increase in exercise is that I'm having weird food cravings. Last week, I wandered through the store silently asking the food, ala Starhawk, "Is this the Food of Life?" I think the Food of Life had salt and fat. Or maybe protein, although it wasn't the bacon calling me. I settled on piccante Gorgonzola, which was a spicy mistake; I really wanted dolce Gorgonzola. Except, I think that was wrong, as well. Eating is approaching a C.S. Lewis "Discarded Image" endeavor because after the feast I don't feel satisfied.

Oh well, I guess I'll stick with the celery and peanut butter.