What is High-Fructose Corn Syrup, anyway?

It's been around for many years, but it has only been drawn to most people's attention in the last four or five years.

High-fructose corn syrup (HFCS for short) is prominent in a whole lotta foods nowadays. It's snuck into our diets and has really made a change in our eating habits. And not for the better. What is it, anyway?

I recently joined a Facebook group called The ban of High Fructose Corn Syrup in the US (http://www.facebook.com/pages/THE-BAN-OF-HIGH-FRUCTOSE-CORN-SYRUP-IN-THE-US/124366064752?ref=mf) and on a link from that I found this blog, titled "Healthy Families Don't Eat High Fructose Corn Syrup" at http://blog.banofhfcs.com/.

If you are at all familiar with Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, you will remember that in his first chapter, he says, "You are what you eat, it's often said, and if this is true, than what we mostly are is corn--or, more precisely, processed corn." How he goes about proving this premise is unsettling and ultimately scary.

Corn. And here we thought it was good for us. It probably is, in its purest form. But how much "pure form" anything are we seeing in our diet these days?

According to Pollan, corn is the major component of the feed for the steer that becomes the steak that we eat; likewise the chicken and the pig, the turkey and the lamb, the catfish and tilapia and salmon. And not only the "whole" foods we eat are primarily produced from corn--the processed foods are even more corn-filled. As one example, he looks at the chicken nugget. The chicken itself is fed by corn; modified corn starch holds the processed chicken parts together; there is corn flour in the batter coating, and it is of course fried in corn oil. Not only that, but the additives such as leavening agents, lecithin, mono-, di-, and triglycerides, citric acid and more are all derived from corn.

And that's only the beginning. Soft drinks, catsup, coffee "creamer," processed cheese products, yogurt, candies, granola bars, soups, snacks, cake mixes ... and the list goes on, to the tune of about 12,000 food items in your local grocery store. Then there are the non-food items: disposable diapers, trash bags, batteries, vegetable wax, cosmetics, and more. His list goes on. And on.

The increasing use of HFCS has been linked to obesity, Type II Diabetes, and a host of other unhealthy conditions that have coincidentally started to affect our society in the last 40 or so years ... the same amount of time during which HFCS and other interesting food additives have become increasingly prevalent in our Standard American Diet (SAD). Figure it out for yourself.

And yet, the folks at the Web site www.sweetsurprise.com will happily educate you about how innocuous this same product is. I saw a commercial on television the other night, where a woman was offering her significant other a popsicle at their romantic summer picnic. When he appeared to balk at eating something that might contain high fructose corn syrup, she explained to him that he obviously hadn't heard that HFCS is not bad for you at all--it has no more calories in it than refined sugar! Predictably, he had no real response. (He's a man, after all.)

The "sweet surprise" Web site was referenced at the end of the ad, and I decided to check it out. What I liked best on this site was learning that our societal trend toward obesity is in no way caused by increased consumption of HFCS or other high-sugar products--it's actually caused by an aging population and a decrease in smoking! That's from a scientific study, folks. This whole brou-ha about HFCS is really just a huge misunderstanding. Get the facts here.

At least, that's what they say.

I'll bet you are no more "surprised" than I was to learn that this highly informative Web site is sponsored by the Corn Refiners Association. Who, by the way, paid to have their Web site listed at the top of the search page when you Google the term "High Fructose Corn Syrup."

I realize that everyone is going to have to make up their own mind about what they eat--or decide not to eat. As for me, I've been trying to avoid HFCS and a whole slew of other food additives as much as possible. And while unfortunately I haven't miraculously dropped 100 pounds in the process, I am managing to keep my blood pressure and blood sugar under pretty good control, I don't suffer from depression, anxiety, or insomnia, and I seem to have very few health problems compared to most other people I know.

But really, what do I know? I guess if I just kept on smoking I could achieve similar results.

Comfort Food and Other Stories

So, we are winding down "birthday week" as David celebrated his big day for three days straight.


Dinner out is always a nice diversion, when you can afford it, but David's birthday is never complete without the ultimate in comfort food: his mom's chicken and dumplings for dinner, with frozen peas on the side, And for dessert, a homemade chocolate cake.


I used to find this meal quite a labor-intensive process, and I still prefer to make it on a day when I don't have to work, but, as I found today, it can be a fairly smooth and simple process, and even interspersed with getting other stuff done around the house and yard. Maybe the difference is that I no longer have a bunch of kids running about underfoot when I'm trying to make it. Hmm.


The chicken and dumplings are pretty simple, except for the getting-the-meat-off-the-bones part, which David doesn't mind helping with. This is not "health food" by any stretch of the imagination ... but I maintain it can be considered a "whole food" if you pay attention to the ingredients you use.


Cover a whole chicken (about 4-5 pounds) in a deep pan of water, and simmer for 2-1/2 to three hours. Add an onion, a bay leaf, peppercorns and some kosher salt to the water while the chicken cooks. When it starts to come away from the bones, you know it's ready. Carefully remove the chicken from the broth and set aside to cool. Skim off about a cup (or more) of the fatty part of the broth, and set it aside to cool as well. Keep the remaining broth warm in the simmering pan.


When you can touch the chicken, separate the bones and skin from the meat. Pour some of the warm broth over the top, or make a bit of gravy to pour over the chicken, and keep warm in the oven until the rest of the dinner is ready.


Mix the cup of cooled broth with an egg, a teaspoon of baking powder, a teaspoon of salt, and three to four cups of flour to make the dumpling dough. Roll it out on a clean board or counter top, and cut into one-inch squares with a knife or pizza cutter. Bring the broth on the stove to a rolling boil and add the dumplings. Cook for 20-30 minutes until they are cooked through. Serve with the chicken and some peas (fresh would be even better than frozen, of course).


After you eat all of this, you probably aren't going to be in the mood for chocolate cake for a while. Even a game of basketball didn't really prepare David and Stuart for dessert. But eventually, you will want some. Because it is awesome.


Here's the simple recipe for my Ultimate Chocolate Cake, which I mixed up and baked while the chicken was simmering:

Mix together:

2 c. flour, 2/3 c. cocoa, 1-1/4 ts. soda, 1/4 ts. baking powder. Set aside in bowl.

In large bowl with mixer at high speed beat together

1-2/3 c. sugar, 4 eggs, 1 ts. vanilla. Beat until light and fluffy, about 3 min.

At low speed, beat in 1 c. Hellman's mayonnaise.

Add flour mixture alternately with 1 c. water, beginning and ending with flour.

Pour into greased and floured pans, bake at 350* 30-35 minutes utnil toothpick is clean. Cool and frost.

Yum.


One other thing: I don't understand why people are so intimidated by frosting that they decide to buy it in a can. That stuff is full of hydrogenated oils, high-fructose corn syrup, artificial flavors, emulsifiers, preservatives, and other junk we won't even mention. Not to mention that it tastes like crap. Why would you make a good cake (even a box cake) and put all that nasty stuff on it, when it's so simple to make frosting from scratch?


Cream a stick of butter (real butter, please) and add confectioner's sugar until the mixture is thick. Pour in a couple of tablespoons of milk, a quarter-teaspoon of salt, and a teaspoon of vanilla or almond extract, and then keep adding confectioner's sugar and milk until you reach your desired amount and consistency. For chocolate frosting, add a quarter cup or so of cocoa with your initial dump of confectioner's sugar. 


It is delicious. And eaten in moderation, it won't kill you. 


Of course, I have a problem with moderation. I hope I can resist temptation in the coming few days. I've already eaten way too much applesauce cake. 


And I can hardly wait until Easter.

Yes, We Did!

Go ahead. Call me a bleeding-heart liberal. I don't care.

I am proud that our Congress has finally passed a health-care reform bill that might actually matter to our country.

What I don't understand is the polarization that has occurred due to this action. What purpose does that serve, except to fatten the pockets of the Rush Limbaughs and Glenn Becks of this world, as people continue to listen to their wild diatribes about God-knows-what?

I appreciate that our elected representatives finally did The Right Thing, without regard to the extremely loud whining of that small segment of citizens who continue to insist that they are in the majority. Of course, those people have the right to their opinions, too. But enough already. Let's move on from here. We are all in the same boat.

Admittedly, like a lot of other people, I'm not sure exactly how this will work out. However, I am quite sure that it won't be the disaster that I have seen predicted on slickly-produced television commercials and FOX News and other conservative media outlets. I am very hopeful that it will eventually make a great difference in the lives of most people across America.

People like my own children, who work hard but currently have no benefits available to them because they are considered part time or contract employees.

People like my grandchildren, who are forced to rely on a poor substitute for health care because their mother holds down two part time jobs. Their father cannot or will not get a job that will provide health benefits for them.

People like David and me, who will forever pay high health-insurance premiums due to his cancer diagnosis several years ago. And if he goes to the VA Health Center for "free" care, they will probably end up billing our regular insurance anyway.

We certainly have a long way to go in perfecting health care reform. The passage of this bill is not the end of the road, but just a beginning.

I will have more to say on this topic when I have more time to write, but I had to say a little bit while it was still in my head (and my heart).

Thank you, Barack, for getting us talking and making it work. Now, let's make it a reality.

Happy birthday to Alyssa! Here's the completed applesauce cake ... which tasted very good :-)

Apples and Dates and Nuts, Oh My ...

It's "birthday week" at our house and this year it's a particularly auspicious week because Alyssa is turning 30 tomorrow (March 21).


It was when she was about six months old and seemingly ready to eat "real food" that I was first introduced to a concept that has become one of the guiding principles of my life:


"Good nutrition means eating a well-balanced and varied diet of foods in as close to their natural state as possible."


Simple and self-evident, yes? But I've got to say that 29-1/2 years later, it has actually become more difficult to follow that concept. Everything is pre-made, "convenient," and full of even more garbage than it was 30 years ago. What is "real food," anyway?


When we were young hippies, David and I considered ourselves to be rather nutritionally enlightened. At the time, this mostly involved buying things that had a huge "no preservatives" label on the front. There weren't a lot of organic foods on the market at the time, and what was available, was usually beyond our budget anyway. Hearing about the above concept really changed our eating habits dramatically--and suddenly! I came home from the gathering where it was discussed, and started clearing out my cupboards, really reading labels and getting disgusted at the amount of "junk" we had been putting into our mouths--and were considering putting into our precious little baby's mouth.


I tried to join a local food co-op, but they were not accepting new members. So after a year or so, a few friends and I started our own food co-op. I learned a lot about making new foods and how to "translate" some of our favorite recipes into a more healthy version. And my interest in making--and eating--truly good food has increased over the years.


The pendulum has swung back and forth of course, from the militant "Carry Nation" who allowed not a drop of anything unnatural or unhealthy into my home, to a more relaxed household as my kids started school ("Mom! Everyone else thinks macaroni and cheese is supposed to be ORANGE!"). And gradually the snacks and pop and so on crept back into our cupboards and our refrigerator. But still, I felt like we probably ate more healthily than most other folks. 


When David was diagnosed with diabetes 15 years ago, we had a scheduled visit with a dietitian, whose recommendation was this: "Try to eat a wide variety of foods in as close to their natural state as possible." Really. I asked her if she'd ever heard of La Leche League. She hadn't. But there was the same idea I'd heard in 1980 being reiterated to me as if it was "news." 


So, I've re-dedicated myself to the concept, with varying successes. I do make very conscious choices about the foods I buy. I read labels a lot more carefully than I did 30 years ago. And I make a lot of things from scratch, including (most) birthday cakes. 


Alyssa's birthday cake, which I've made for her almost every year since 1981, is based on an old recipe that was in my grandmother's family. Hers had raisins and apples in it and not as many spices. So, the story goes, my dad and my grandfather decided to improve upon it. They switched the raisins to dates, changed the apples to applesauce, and added cloves and nutmeg.


At different times, I've used a mixture of unbleached and whole wheat flour (shh, don't tell the kids), made my own applesauce, and used brown sugar instead of white (which actually makes it a lot more moist and delicious). I do still make a butter cream icing to put on it, just like my mom always did. And it's just about perfect.


Here it is:
1/2 c. butter
1-1/2 c. sugar
3 eggs
1-1/2 c. applesauce
1 c. dates
1/2 ts. salt
2 c. flour
2 ts. baking soda
1 ts. cinnamon
1 ts. cloves
1 ts. nutmeg
1/2 c. nuts


Cream butter, sugar and eggs until fluffy. Sift dry ingredients; add dates and nuts. Stir in alternately with applesauce to the creamed mixture. Mix thoroughly; place in well-greased bundt pan at 325* for one hour, or two layers for about 50 minutes.

Clean Enough to be Healthy ...

I have a confession to make.

I probably don’t clean my house as often as some people think I ought to – either for my own peace of mind or to suit anyone else’s taste. But when I do, I am ruthless.

When I decide to get started, it is usually right after the garbage men have come past for the week. Seeing those empty trash cans gives me the urge to fill them up.

Where do all these pieces of paper and bits of stuff come from? This I wonder over and over as I toss them blithely into the bags, boxes, and baskets that I gather for the purpose. And why did I think, several weeks ago, that this item was worth keeping around the house for more than fifteen minutes in the first place?  


And yet, there they are. The paper chase is a serious problem at our house. We always seem to be in various stages of paperwork, bill paying, letter writing, homework, volunteer work, paid work, and so on. There are constantly piles of paper on any flat surface. And some that are not so flat.


It’s those not-so-flat surfaces that cause me trouble. Suddenly a three ring binder becomes a “surface” and equally as sudden the pile atop the binder slides onto the floor in complete disarray.

                
Each time I pick up or eliminate a pile, I vow to myself that I will not let this happen again. But two days later, there is another one. I truly believe they breed in the night.

                
I will swear that just yesterday I condensed three large piles into one small pile. And I come downstairs in the morning and the three piles have returned. What am I to think? Is it gremlins, or are they really multiplying in the dark?

               
I have a friend whose email signature line is a quote by A.A. Milne: “One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.”

              
I only wish that I had discovered the quote first. Because I do make a lot of exciting discoveries while trying to organize my scattered life.

               
I find money in the pocket of a jacket I haven’t worn in weeks – or months. I find an interesting topic in a news clipping that I can use for a future blog or column. I find birthday cards from two months ago, in a pile…and they bring me another smile the second time around.

                
So, while it can be embarrassing to admit to not keeping a perfectly orderly home, it has its moments of pleasure. And, while no one would ever mistake our house for anything out of Better Homes and Gardens, it looks fairly presentable much of the time. One thing about piles, they are easily stashed out of sight (and--oops--out of mind).

               
I have been to people’s homes where everything looked just like one of those model houses that you can go and look at in new subdivisions. You’ve seen it: a couple of pennants on the wall of the boy’s room. A teddy bear and a perfectly dressed rag doll are on the girl’s bed. A shelf with five books is artfully arranged in the master bedroom, and a tasteful spray of flowers sets on the dining room table. Shoes are tucked away neatly in a closet or arranged neatly under a bed. It looks lovely. But not inviting.

                
I wonder what those people read; what they do with their spare time. People can read my house like a book. It is always fairly obvious to the casual observer that I’m in the middle of several projects, a few magazines and at least two good books at the same time. You can tell by the inordinate number of shoes strewn about on the front porch that there are a lot of people here--either living or hanging out ... or some of the shoes are just left here by someone who was passing through.

               
And despite my best efforts to tame the shoes, they end up multiplying on my porch, just like the piles on my desk.

               
I just try to live by another motto I found in a pile somewhere. “My house is clean enough to be healthy and messy enough to be happy.”

                
So I give up. The piles, the shoes, and the kids – they’ve won out. For now.


Next time, though, I may have no mercy. Stay tuned.

                 

It's Only Stuff

There have been times in my life when I have felt ruthless about getting rid of “stuff” in my life. And as I've been reflecting on that I have come to the conclusion that it is never easy to get rid of stuff – be it your own or someone else’s.

A few years ago, I spent part of our vacation helping relatives clean out their parents’ home. It was a difficult time for them. The house had been in the family for more than 80 years. Although these were two adult women, who lived hundreds of miles away, this house had been “home” to them for a lifetime.

Now, there would be no more to come home to. They had to take back some remnant, to their own home, to remind them of what used to be.

It was interesting to see what they took. Things I would not value – things that I would personally find it easy to be ruthless with – were those things they prized most highly.

A battered soup ladle. Pieces of fabric. A sofa pillow. Hand-crafted tools. These are the things that reminded them of home, and these are what they want to take back, and remember and share the special meanings these items represent to them.

A U-Haul, a station wagon, a truck and a sedan, all jam-packed with memories, left "home" one day, while some of the memories were left behind.

I’m wondering how much soup is being made and served with that ladle these days. I hope that old ladle will see a few more kettles of soup in its lifetime, hopefully with plenty of family and friends surrounding the table.

Once upon a time, a friend experienced the near-tragedy of a house fire. I say a near-tragedy because the entire family, including pets, escaped safely. But the “stuff” that meant a great deal to them no longer exists. 

I have often thought, in moods where I am totally disgusted with the condition of my house, that it would be tempting to burn it down and start over. I don’t think I’ll say that any more, not even to myself. A morning of sifting through the ashes and the soot completely changed my outlook.

It’s easy to laugh as you toss out a Sam's Club-sized roll of 100 plastic trash bags that is reduced to the size of a soup can. But discarding cherished possessions, like what’s left of a little girl’s china doll collection, isn’t so simple. Instead of laughter, it puts a lump in your throat.

Of course, my friend claimed, “It’s only stuff…” but it was their stuff. Like the battered soup ladle or the hand crafted tools, "stuff" is what their memories are made of. And suddenly, a lot of that stuff was gone.

One piece out of an entire set of her grandmother’s china survived the blaze. But nothing was left of her daughter’s wedding dress, hanging in the bedroom closet. A beautiful home, which the entire family participated in building from the ground up, was reduced to soggy carpeting, blackened stud walls and melted vinyl siding.

When something like this happens, you know you are lucky to be spared. But that doesn’t stop the grieving for what used to be.

My mother is downsizing from her home of 35 years to a small apartment. Piece by piece, she is sorting through her belongings. Often she finds things that once meant a lot to her. Some of it she can part with. Other things she can't. Occasionally, she will hand me a bag of things as I leave her house. 

"Take it home and go through it. Throw away what you don't want," she says. "But I can't throw it away myself." 

Sometimes, I see an item that sparks a memory. I ask if I can take it home.

"You don't want that old pitcher," she says. "It's chipped." 

She's right that I probably won't use it all that often. But when I see it on the shelf, with the chips strategically hidden from view, I will remember that nearly every glass of milk I drank when I was growing up was poured out of that pitcher. And I will remember the hands that poured the milk, and the love that surrounded our family back in a time when life was much simpler. 

Yes, as I contemplate all the stuff I'm bringing home from mom's house, I realize each item will mean something else probably has to leave my house. I only have limited space, after all. But sometimes you have to make these kinds of choices.

Ultimately, all of these situations bring us face to face with the fact that the stuff of life that really is most important is the relationships we take with us. There may be some tangible things that represent those relationships – our grandmother’s china or the family bible or the pictures of the kids – but what is really important is the people.

“People before things” – it’s a motto I have held before myself often over the years. But it takes a loss of those things to make one realize how true that really is. It encourages me to reevaluate what is really important to me. What do I really need, and what would I do if I actually lost it?

When the stuff is gone, that’s what we have left – the relationships. So I need to remember to take care of those aspects of my life before I start worrying about all the “stuff.”

My Amtrak adventure

So, I am cheating this week to try and catch back up to my once-per-week posting goal. I have blogged my train trip (this does not include the meeting that I attended.) I really enjoyed traveling by train, even though it was a long trip and I'm still in recovery. Most of this was written "live" while riding the rails; I've taken the liberty of updating slightly. I can do that because it's my blog :-)

8 a.m. Friday, March 5: Eastbound, Broadford PA. I have seen some interesting sights by night. Ann Arbor is lovely at night but it's sort of pedestrian. I've seen it before, after all. There was Dearborn. Parts I've never seen, including the Mayor Guido Theater building, next to the Amtrak Station. My first surprise of my adventure was that I was actually not taking a train from Ann Arbor to Toledo--it was a bus. If I'd read carefully enough I probably would have realized that from the beginning. However, it was a decent travel bus, not a Greyhound, and my ride was comfortable. The windows however reflected stuff from the opposite side of the road so it was sort of disorienting.

Even by night, Detroit is depressing. I saw the lit-up "Golden Tower of the Fisher Building," but other than that things looked pretty bleak. The Amktrak station in downtown Detroit, on the corner of Woodward and Baltimore, is a very plain, tiny, building. I thought maybe it wasn't even a train station until I saw the small Amtrak sign on the upper corner of the building. A huge train station in downtown Detroit is abandoned, and this unremarkable building now serves what was once a beautiful city. Even Toledo's station is much prettier, inside and out. At least you know it is a train station.

The Capitol Limited left Toledo pretty much on time and we were on our way.

Got to Cleveland at some ungodly hour, after a couple of other brief stops I don't know where--Sandusky, maybe? And somewhere on the western outskirts of the city (have since learned it was Elyria). Cleveland was beautiful by night. Gorgeous buildings with plenty of lights showcasing the architectural details.

Woke up at some point early on Friday morning, realizing that we weren't moving. Finally found the rest rooms, which are pretty quaint. Hey, they work. I'm on the upper level of the train which has its perks and its drawbacks. I like sitting up high, but until just now I didn't have a window seat, because we were sort of assigned seats when we got on.

Now it’s 7:04 p.m. on Sunday, March 7. Eastbound, somewhere in western Maryland. I lost power to my laptop on Friday morning and my cord was buried in my stashed bag. Another lesson learned—make sure the power cord is in the same bag as the laptop. Now it’s just gotten dark, and I'm in the lower level of the lounge car. I got scammed by the bartender when he asked me if I wanted a glass ($5.75, and it's actually one of those serving-size bottles) or a half-bottle ($13). I asked for a glass and inquired what kind he had. Cabernet, Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio. I opted for the Grigio and he started opening this cute little half-bottle. Rang me up at $13, and I said, oh, I really only wanted a glass. He said, “I only have chardonnay in single serve bottles.” Hmm. Funny he didn’t say that when I aksed for a single serving. Oh well, it’s giving me a chance to sit in the lounge car, do a little people watching, and sipping my expensive Pinot Grigio. Gonna have to drink a lot of three-buck Chuck in the coming weeks, to make up for this one.

There is, in fact, a lot of “aksing” going on on this train. As our hostess, Octavia, announces each seating in the dining car she aks us to remember at this time, to wait to be greeted by the staff to be seated at this time. Same script each time she announces it. I wonder how many times she will read it before she realizes she has said "at this time" three times during the same sentence.

As I was saying before I was power-interrupted, the Amtrak ride is quite pleasant. As I write we are about to stop in Cumberland, Maryland, where the smokers on board will have a 10-minute break to “put another nail in their coffin,” as my lounge-car companion so aptly put it. The ride is comfortable, there would be plenty of great scenery to see if it wasn’t dark, and there is plenty to do. Of course in the coach car I had to listen to a lot of cell phone conversations. Going through the mountains, however, the service is spotty and you can’t count on being able to talk to anyone for more than a couple minutes at a time. Ditto for texting--try to send while you have a bar or two because by the time you get another mile or two down the tracks, your service may be gone.

I brought some books, and the train provides ample opportunity to do some reading—either in your own seat, or in the upper level of the lounge car. Some passengers are watching movies on a laptop or portable DVD player. iPods seem to be standard issue for those riding the train. And of course, there’s the wine.

One disturbing thing that I noticed today was the lady in front of me in the coach car. I didn’t realize at first that she had a young baby with her—probably under a year old. But at one point, she stood up and the little one was sleeping soundly on her shoulder, patting her on the back as she slept. It was adorable. All of a sudden, I noticed the mom was gone. Then, as I stood up to grab something out of hte overhead compartment and I realized that the baby was still there—sleeping soundly, with a bottle propped in his mouth. Shortly thereafter, she returned from the lounge car with food and a Corona. Hmm.

Oh, well, not my problem. Just glad there were no sudden stops and the baby didn't roll over.

I had good luck with my train connections this week, also. Arrived in DC about an hour late, and headed for the information and ticket counter to make a MARC connection to Baltimore (BWI). I should add here that everyone I met who worked for Amtrak was very, very friendly and helpful. The guy at the Info desk at Union Station helped me get my MARC ticket at the kiosk and let me know that there was a MARC train boarding at that very moment at track 15. “If you run, you might make it.” So I ran.

Picture this aging, somewhat overweight lady dragging 50 pounds or so worth of baggage at full gallop down track 15 in Washington, DC. It’s the stuff that comedy skits are made of. I made it, even though it took me most of the 20-minute commuter trip to catch my breath. Probably should acknowledge the even older lady using a cane who thankfuly kept the train from leaving before I got there.

I don’t know if it’s the wine or the weather but it is darned hot in this lounge tonight. There is a heater on, even though the temps reached mid-50s in Baltimore today. Someone should tell these people who spent all day inside the train.

In a while I’m going to shut down my computer, go grab my scrub pants and slip into some more comfortable clothes for the rest of the ride. And try to sleep.

9 a.m. Tuesday, March 9: I am eternally grateful to Alyssa and Noah who arrived promptly to pick me up at the rather dreadful hour of 5:08 a.m., even though they probably assumed I would be late. Fortunately, I was early. We actually arrived in Toledo at roughly 4:45 a.m. A good breakfast got my day started and I was home before 7:30 a.m., and working by 9:45.

Thank goodness for hot showers. And lots of Diet Pepsi. And, at the end of a long day, a comfortable bed.

I'll admit it--I'm a street walker.

One of the problems with committing to write a blog post every week (which I've failed to do after just two weeks) is that sometimes you get interrupted or called away in the middle of writing, and when you come back you just don't feel it anymore.

That's what happened last week. I had started my blog post early in the week; all of a sudden it was Friday and I wanted to finish it up ... but something just wasn't feeling right about it. Still isn't. So, I'm going with a whole new story. The good thing about Blogger is that it seems I can just start a new post and leave the other one there to "simmer," as it were, until I'm feeling it again.

Today I think I will rail on a bit about sidewalks.

Last night, I was at a village council meeting where we talked, along with the school board and a Wellness Foundation representative about developing a plan for "Healthy Communities." I'm all about healthy communities. I would certainly like my own community (myself included) to be healthier.

For the past two months--since Jan. 1, 2010, to be exact--I have made a commitment to myself to walk every night. As I've mentioned before, I walk most places anyway, since I don't have a car. But this is in addition to the "getting-where-I'm-going" kind of walking. Not excessive; just 20 minutes to a half hour.

I've gotten to like it. I've been taking the dog with me. She likes it too. So much, in fact, that she follows me around as soon as I get up from the dinner table, lest I leave without her. Sometimes, David even joins us. I think he likes it all right.

So, anyway, I'm walking more. This means I'm keeping an eye on the sidewalks around town. One of the topics we discussed at last night's meeting was "safe routes to school." Hmm. Interesting that I'd just been talking to someone (an adult) who had to walk to the high school. She gets almost there and the sidewalk ends. This is not a Shel Silverstein poem, guys. The sidewalk literally ends two houses before you get to the high school drive. In the deep snow that we have now, this meant she could trudge along through the snow or walk on the shoulder of the state highway. Neither is a really good idea.

I'm thinking it's a hard enough sell to get kids to walk to high school (how un-cool) without the barrier of nowhere to walk.

Then there's the issue of sidewalks that are there, but people have neglected to shovel them. According to village ordinance, it is the owner's responsibility to maintain the sidewalks in front of their home. This means that if they live on a corner, they have to shovel on the side of their home, too. Just because you don't walk there, doesn't mean no one else will.

Sometimes, sidewalks are shoveled, but it is a narrow pathway. Occasionally, people have shoveled early in a snowstorm, but the snow keeps falling. During the storm, people start walking through the snow or slush, and then it's more difficult to clear the sidewalk. I'm sympathetic to that; it happens to all of us once in a while. But as I walk, I notice that it seems to be the same people every time.

I also walk past many homes that have been vacated due to foreclosure. In a small town like Manchester, you usually know which houses these are. And you never know what the sidewalk conditions might be there. So a seasoned walker will use a little extra caution in front of these houses. My "extra" caution wasn't enough, however, as I walked across a driveway last week that was obviously a solid sheet of ice underneath a couple of inches of snow. I took my first fall of the season. Hopefully, it's also my last.

There are also dozens of crooked places in the sidewalk from frost heaves or whatever. Sometimes water pools there and leaves a tiny skating rink. Sometimes an unsuspecting pedestrian will trip over one of these spots. I've certainly had my share of near-misses. You know how clumsy I am.

This week, in the nicer weather, the snow is starting to melt. Woo-hoo! But the drawback is that it still gets cold enough to freeze every night. And that's not good news for the sidewalks that are below the road level, especially where there are no curbs. You could be taking your life in your hands on those sidewalks.

The last hazard of the sidewalk is the one that bothers me the most. People who let their dogs "do their thing" on the sidewalks. Talk about gross. You are walking along and there's a big pile in the middle of the sidewalk.  As I walk along with my own dog, I realize you can't always control where they decide to go. But you can pick it up and dispose of it somewhere less obvious. What kind of person wouldn't want to do that? Would they want to be the one stepping in the dog's doo?

I could say a lot more about sidewalks. But that's enough for one day. Besides, I could get interrupted at any moment. I will say this: Walking is great. But before we go gung-ho about getting everyone all healthy by walking the sidewalks of our community, let's get--and keep--the sidewalks themselves in healthier shape first.