No Foolin'

When The Apple takes a bite out of you:
This month I lost weight to New York's mean streets.*
(*but I'm rebounding)

Forgive my absence from these pages these last two weeks, but my dance card has been circulating in a larger arena than is the norm, with many names scribbled within its limited slots.  I am collecting myself after an all-too-fleeting sojourn in New York City that had me questioning my commitment to the rural existence I begrudgingly adopted in 2010 to reduce stress on my body and wallet.  For sixteen days beginning in mid-March I traversed the city, catering to a long list of appointments with friends and coworkers alike.  Some of these were associates from my days at NYU, while others were more recently-acquired connections --including two Facebook pen-pals I had never spoken with in person.  When not exploring the less commercial shops and streets I acted as paid custodian-caretaker to an 8th Street residence off Washington Square Park and its two feline charges, Chucho and Puya.  I had come to know Jack, their owner and area vocal coach/choral director, through private lessons in my Junior year of schooling.  In those days these spritely cats were mere juveniles, and I have to marvel at their well-preserved spirit and good health.  I was fortunate to not loose as much weight as when I spent a similar period one year ago in L.A., as I was able to eat my customary large dinner in the safe sanctuary of a warm, conveniently located and comfortable abode.  While I did not permit myself much, if anything, to eat during my full and active daytime program, Jack's stipend was enough that I could purchase reasonable portions of the foods I enjoy (winter squash, cottage cheese, romaine lettuce, vegetarian burger patties, air-popped popcorn with nutritional yeast and "lite" butter topping) as well as drinks such as Lipton's Pure Leaf™ Iced Tea, Evian water, and the odd can or two of Diet Coke.  I admittedly wasted a ripe opportunity to experiment with all manner of cuisine, given that anything and everything is available within the five boroughs proudly serving the NYC scene, but I at least managed to sustain myself in a wholly different territory to what know in Maine.  Lacking a scale, I was unable to perform my morning weight-check, a ritual gladly waived.  It is a painful measure, one I resent and fear, as it dictates how much I consume in consequence.  A high reading (or what I consider so) will influence the degree of guilt with which I take in calories, even if my body's level of hunger points to contrary desires.  I would like to forgo the regular use of one, even now that I again have access to such a gauge (a digital model tucked discreetly bedside).  It is a machine that possesses unnecessary influence over my mood and can adversely stymie positive change or development, as my internal judge does not respond well to day-to-day fluctuations, whether down or up.  If I am to pursue new pounds before making California a reality, the anguish accompanying their arrival will almost surely be magnified when seen, straightforward and unambiguous, on its unfeeling screen.  Conversely, my own eyes know now to recognize the benefits of added flesh upon an emaciated frame, and are therefore more likely to receive changes with joyful relief, rather than critical derision.  My obsessive-compulsive patterns mustn't be the cat's-paw to a lifetime of arrested dreams and good intentions.  I will not be their tool, nor remain another year fortune's fool and victim.

No, I didn't try a slice of Ray's pizza or a bagel from Katz's Deli, but I did allow myself $3 hot pretzel.