One of my adult relatives who shall remain nameless has SES (Squeamish Eater Syndrome). I love her in spite of her affliction. As a mother, I’m familiar with squeamish eaters. Out of my three kids, only one was a real squeamer, Joanna. The list of foods that could bring on her gagging reflex was endless. The best way to get the gaggers into her, with their valuable vitamins and nutrients, was to buy a food processor and purée the identity out of them. Most children are not as bad as Joanna was and I’m pleased to report that as an adult, she has made friends with many of her childhood food enemies.

As adults, most of us have a fairly tolerant palate, but there is a line that is drawn somewhere right around giblets. That’s probably why we call them giblets and not vital chicken organs, and why we call squid, calamari, and calves, veal.

While on our summer vacation in July, I made notes about the events I wanted to share with you. This one was on the top of the list.

My husband Terry loves to watch professional football and I like to watch it with him, however, I wouldn’t go out of my way to watch every single game throughout the entire season if he didn’t care or wasn’t here. Over the years, I’ve enjoyed learning the rules of the game from him and of course I get a kick out of some of those adorable quarterback bodies in their tight uniforms.

In the beginning I had a couple of terminology misunderstandings cleared up which Terry found particularly amusing. My comment after hearing the announcer exclaim, “So-in-so is a pro bowler,” was, “Wow, imagine being a great football player AND a professional bowler!” Terry explained a pro bowler is a player who is so good he gets to play in the pro bowl (some big deal game once a year). Another time during a game the announcer said, “So-in-so is ‘playing hurt,’” and I said to Terry, “If I were that cry baby’s coach, he’d be off the team before he knew what hit him!!” Of course I learned the player wasn’t “faking being hurt,” but was actually playing with a terrible injury.

Leilani, one of my subscribers to Inner Kiddies wrote to me in response to one of my daily surprises (a free email I send out that is either uplifting, humorous, thought provoking or just plain silly. Here was the message she responded to followed by her response: Einstein said, “We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” While I helped create an unhappy marriage for 15 years I NEVER took advantage of my sense of humor as a powerful tool to change my circumstances. We can't be angry and joyful at the same time. Pick between the two today and watch your problems resolve or escalate.

Leilani wrote: “No kidding! I have a special talent. I can see the bright side of absolutely anything. I’m not an eternal optimist. Those people drive me nuts. I’m just drawn like a magnet to silver linings—even when they’re rusty.

My Young@Heart took a SHE turn with an email from a Flybaby and it prompted me to find a very funny article written by a columnist for the Seattle Times who in turn went on to become a very famous food critic in the Northwest. His article gives you the man’s view of a SHE. The article follows this email.

Dear Pam and Peggy,

Many of you struggle with disorganization as I do. Remember I am in nervous remission. But in that nervousness, I don't let my messy tendencies get out of hand. In other words my home is never more than 15 minutes to company ready (and that is for the whole house).

“Inner Kiddies, Inner Schmiddies!!! I don’t get this inner kiddy thing!!! I don’t have time to do justice to my real kids let alone some fantasy inner child in me!!! What if I don’t have an inner child? Why do I care anyway? Aren’t you just blaming your bad behavior on somebody else when you say your inner kiddy made you do it? The whole thing sounds a little psychitzo to me!!!” Jessica

It’s very seldom I receive cranky emails like Jessica’s, but when I do, Nelly (my inner child) begs to answer them. I don’t let her because I know she’d say: “Shut the fuss up!” Then we’d be in trouble for our childish outburst. When I received the above email, Nelly must have been napping because all that came to my mind was how much my life has changed since I met her. By the way, I don’t “blame” Nelly for inappropriate behavior. I address the “behavior” as inappropriate and I get to the source of the behavior which is usually that of a child. Nelly is a child and she lives within me. She keeps me young, frisky, optimistic and lighthearted and when ignored will get my attention in ways that tend to sabotage my good intentions.

All is well. Come on, you can say it. Take a big deep breath and say, ALL IS WELL. When you say “all is well” and you are bombarded with buts, those are buts that are powerless if you will do this exercise! It is something I was taught as a child by my grandfather and it has served me for well over 60 years. It will help you too. Oh, and it’s kind of fun!

First, imagine that your mind is like your home. Like your home, it has a front door and YOU are in control of whom you let in (those would be thoughts). So imagine the doorbell rings and you go to the door and open it to see a huge long line of Darth Vaders, mixed in with a bunch of Eyores and let’s throw in a big bad wolf or two. Each scary character has a different sign: gloom, doom, fear me, worry about this, what about that, I’m angry, why me, wha, wha, wha, (you get the idea). The line goes as far as you can see! Now, all you have to do is say “All is well” to the first Darth in line with his sign and he will vanish. Each and every negative character will disappear with your words “all is well” because those words are like magic on negative thoughts. You are in control of the front door to your mind and you have protection just as you are in control of whom you allow into your home. The words “all is well” are as affective on negative thoughts as a can of mace would be on an unwanted intruder.

The Vicarious Bite

My husband and I went to a neighbor’s surprise birthday party last Saturday night. It’s always exciting for me to go to this home. The couple is exotic. The birthday man was a concert pianist turned executive of a company that bottles hydrogen peroxide. He has an adorable Belgium accent and is movie star gorgeous. His wife, who is also stunningly beautiful with a tall, slim body crowned by a head of flaming, (not from a bottle) red hair, was an opera singer turned wife, homemaker and mom.

The house is enchanting. It actually looks like an Italian villa perched high on the hill overlooking its own vineyard (all the neighbors are wondering when our resident herd of 36 elk will decide to frisk among the rows of baby grape plants). The two children (nine and five) have their own quarters! The children’s quarters would suffice for most of us to live in beauty and comfort for the rest of our lives.

We arrived with our donation to the potluck, hot chili from my freezer. (I’m on a low carb diet so beans are out until I weigh 120 pounds.) I always make double batches of stews, soups and chili and freeze half. For this party I mixed three different batches (no two are ever alike) spanning three different seasons from last year. The combination was an interesting melting pot of past chili feeds. If anyone would have asked for the recipe (which they didn’t) I wouldn’t have had one.
One of our neighbors brought a homemade German Chocolate Cake for dessert. Michelle is the best baker in the neighborhood and the cake looked alluringly attractive. Nelly (my inner child) said, “We can have some can’t we?”

“No, sugar is poison, remember what we read in Why We Get Fat?”

Reality lives off-line

I’ve been on vacation for a week. One of the highlights of the respite was having lunch with one of Terry’s professors. Mr. Mott made a profound and lasting impression on my wonderful husband. (Thank you Mr. Mott.) Terry has so much respect for the man he cannot bring himself to call him Robert or, God forbid, Bob. Mr. Mott and his wife Edie are in their nineties and both sharp mentally, mobile and healthy. I asked both of them at lunch in a very nice restaurant, “Do you have smart phones and are you on the internet?” Mr. Mott uses a form of email I won’t go into, but otherwise the couple agreed that at their ages they were enjoying life just as it is without the invasion of technology. They both agreed that each day was so filled with thankfulness they are mobile and healthy there was no room for anything else.

During this vacation, I took the six days off from the 21st century and never once even looked at a computer. I didn’t answer anyone’s emails or write my weekly Young@Heart for the last week of March. I just lived in what I’ll call a techless world. Yes, I was party to using the GPS while we “Yelped” our way around San Diego and yeah, once I talked on Terry’s cell phone (which is now a very smart phone thanks to Flylady’s Robert), oh and yes, I used the computer timer on the oven in our condo we lived in for a week, but the rest of the time I enjoyed the real world right in front of me just like Mr. and Mrs. Mott.

There were times when I felt a little like a beloved family dog. Marla, Robert and Terry spent a great deal of our living room time on their thingamajig of choice while I sat and talked to myself, read a little, wrote on a yellow pad and played "retro" Solitaire. (That’s a game you play with a standard deck of real playing cards, dealt onto a real table.)