Tossed Salad or "Lettuce" Not Laugh (At Ice Cream)

Puttin' On The Ritz: As seen in LIFE Magazine, June 12, 1949

It is with minor regret that I acknowledge my diminished presence here at Careful What You Wish-- I am not bowing-out of my obligations to the site, but have chosen, rather, to dedicate increased attention to working with collage and other visual art forms.  I would like to see myself sketching, if not also creating the abstract paintings that come more naturally to me.  Whatever the medium or task, I simply prefer to spend spare moments --those in which I am not out walking in the newly-balmy breezes-- to projects not involving the hollow glow of a computer.

A major focus of meals is still the reduction of shredded romaine lettuce with dinner, which I have cut back by about half, if not more.  If I do have salad, I am always sure to top it with protein --preferably baked salmon or chicken-- and to be mindful when it is being binged on, as that is a surefire path to prolonged stomach pain and nausea.  I have more or less replaced a steamed broccoli mixture (which I also was consuming in large measure) with my old stand-by, winter squash, as this is a heavier, more starchy vegetable.  I push myself to pour chocolate soy milk and unsweetened Almond Breeze with meals for the benefit of  calcium and calories in liquid form, and also garnish air-popped popcorn with a fair allowance of powdered "nutritional yeast", as previously divulged.  The sudden introduction of summer weather in the Northeastern U.S. has once again prompted one friend to needle me in regards to the "cure-all" remedy of ice cream; he has firmly prescribed Ben & Jerry's to be portioned-out in three allotments (totaling one pint per day).  To this suggestion I defer to my therapist, who, knowing my history, has commented candidly (whilst stifling a chuckle):  "Um, not gonna happen."

Might low-sugar versions be considered as a compromise?
(Advertisement from LIFE Magazine, July 23, 1945)

Additional note:  In the spring of 2004 I was released from six weeks of treatment at the Renfrew Center of Philadelphia, an experience I entered begrudgingly at the request of university health services.  Shell-shocked, resentful, morose, l immediately sought the company of classic cinema for solace and reprieve.  One of the first films encountered, ironically, was 1942's "Now, Voyager", in which Bette Davis is herself seen as a patron of modern psychiatry by way of sanitarium residency.  At Cascade, treatment is gentle and creatively approached, consisting almost "entirely of casual conversations and loom-weaving", as observed in a fantastic essay by Matt Bailey of the film site Not Coming To A Theater Near You.  As the narrative advances, Davis' Charlotte is shown compassion and, ultimately, love; she blossoms under said benevolence and later pays it forward.  Encountering the daughter of her love interest who, conveniently, has been admitted to Cascade, Charlotte's remedy for the girl's depression is to sponsor her with rounds of ice cream, tennis, and other activities available to progressive, privileged ladies of the period.   Essentially, an attentive, stylish role model/surrogate mother as fashioned in the indelible, spitfire mold of Bette Davis is enough to restore the damaged psyche of any troubled teenager.  Funny that the instrument of her powers is a good soda fountain sundae.