Determined To Succeed

Day fifty-one.

This morning I am thinking about demons. Demons that seem unstoppable and invincible. Demons that, no matter what, can stand up to even time itself, the supposed great healer of all. Well, there are some things that time doesn’t take away, like pain. For example, it’s been almost a year and four months already since my mom, JoAnn Larson, passed away and I still feel that moment as if it were yesterday. I still feel the absence of her on this earth and, from what I hear from others who’ve lost parents, always will. Sure, time takes away some of the immediate sting but it never takes away the memory of the pain itself, and oh, how I wish it did.

When I was a child I was so ashamed of how I was living the shame became a tangible thing I touched every day. I felt my surroundings not only around me but inside me. I became saturated by the sights, sounds and smells of where I was living. I felt the roaches crawl on my skin. I could almost feel the gritty dirt on the faded light green of the walls. I smelled the accumulated smells in the carpet in the long hallway of my apartment building floor as the building passed into decrepit oblivion – the dust, garbage, people, old food, must and rodents all part of a gigantic trap from which I felt no release. Hell, I am also quite sure I went to school smelling of old cigarettes, since my mother loved unfiltered Pall Malls and we did live in one very small room. To this day I cannot stand the smell of old cigarette smoke which does get everywhere instantly no matter what a smoker might tell you to the contrary. That is a pain from which I have been removed for more than twenty years but which still helped define me, both in good ways and bad.

The pain and shame of that place, combined with burying that pain and numbing it with X, Y and Z helped to create an addict, one that became seriously addicted to food as part of a cycle that led me to my life’s rock bottom. Then, lump on other unhappinesses, disappointments, anger, the inability to express myself, job stress, relationship bullshit and more and, over the years, the pain and shame became sentient, a living breathing demon who still inhabits parts of my brain and soul.

When you train yourself to numb things it is very hard to not numb them anymore. Food tastes good. I love good Chinese food (notice I said GOOD Chinese food, like Chicago good not Jersey/Philly so-so), I love sweet rolls (good bakery sweet rolls like my mom and I used to get on Sundays to eat while reading the paper), I love ice-cold Coca-Colas which at one point were bottles of ice-cold Pepsi, I love mashed potatoes, fried things, chocolate things, buttery things, Italian Beefs, cheesesteaks, french fries…I love it all. But I was “using,” using all that and more to numb a pain and truth which I have only recently come to grapple with and understand. Once I did that I was truly able to see food and other things weren’t enjoyable, they were the heroin I injected into my veins to make the world and its reality go away for just a little while.

That is addiction. That is food addiction. When using what is normal, everyday, commonplace pleasurable and warping it into something that not only is bad but also feeds the demon(s) born from long days ago. That is how demons can withstand the test of time.

I am doing my absolute best to curtail these demons and live a healthier, happier life. In fact I’m gonna fight the food demon as soon as I am done posting today by working out in the gym (since it is quite rainy today in southern New Jersey). Fifty-one days is truly a blessing and one on which I intend to build a foundation of good for my life and those wonderful people in it. I won’t let them down because I won’t let myself down again. Not like that. Not ever.

Time may heal some things but it doesn’t heal others. That’s O.K., because it’s what we do with today that matters. We may not be able to change what happened before but we sure as hell can control what happens today, tomorrow and in all the tomorrows yet to come.And so far I have fifty-one of them. Of all the things I’ve collected in my lifetime, days of sobriety are what I want a treasure trove of in the future.

I am so sorry this is so late today. I had an appointment this morning out of the office (O.K. actually away from the nook in my apartment from which I write this daily weight loss bloggy blog) so I was unable to post before I left. I am doubly sorry because it ended up that the meeting I went to was a waste of my time and was the most expensive cup of coffee I’ve ever had.

I paid $16 for one small cup of coffee.

The meeting I had was one of those first-thing-in-the-morning meetings where you know you will have to get ready and leave early because you don’t want to hit rush hour and be late. You also hope and pray at least coffee would be served. Thank God it was. I soooooo needed a cup.I was also getting a bit hungry. And not only was coffee being served but they had a very nice spread of soft drinks, water, bagels and muffins. It was actually fairly nice for something I knew wasn’t going to last all-day.

Well, I do not know about you guys but food at meetings is like a magnet that draws me in. The yummy breads are the flames to which my hungry wings are drawn. I most times wouldn’t even care what kinds of muffins they were, either (they looked like lemon and blueberry). I would just lay waste to them licking my chops afterward.

But something happened today which was awesome. The most and more the meeting pissed me off the less and less hungry I got. I sat silently as I looked at the three people with whom I was meeting (the third coming in with only about ten minutes left so what’s the point) and wondered to myself “what the hell am I doing here?!”

So it didn’t matter that I was hungry and the muffins looked fresh and good. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want to waste my calories on not just a breakfast I would regret later, calorie wise, but one provided from people who seemed more scattered than they should have been, especially since they were leading the meeting.

In the end, I did what was required. I shook hands and wished everyone a good day. However the taste left over in my mouth was not that of a sweet lemon muffin (which at the beginning I really wanted). It was a bitter taste, the taste of a waste of my early morning.  I walked out the door holding my slightly-more caffeinated head high and got to the parking garage.

When I approached the “pay me here” kiosk I handed over  my ticket and the young dude, who was far more interested in texting someone than working, came back and said “$16.” I nearly crapped myself. You have to be S%#@@*&g me! $16 for no more than an hour-and-a-half? Damn! Having no choice I handed over my plastic and drove out as fast as I could.

So there you have it. The tale of my morning and my day so far, and the most expensive cup of coffee I’ve ever had. However, I am so glad I didn’t give in to the food temptations at the meeting. They looked yummy, yes. They looked fresh, yes. They were available, yes. But that didn’t mean I should have them, no. That meeting may have been a waste but I am so glad I didn’t waste calories on top of my time.

I may not get my $16 recouped for the meeting but I made smart food choices this morning. And that, my dear friends, is priceless no matter what time of day it is.

P.S. – the soft drinks were Pepsi and you know I was having none of that.

A plain milk chocolate Hershey bar. That was one of my mom, JoAnn’s, favorite treats.

Today is June 9th, the one-year anniversary of her passing. It is also the last of the firsts without her physically being present on Earth (you know, the first set of holidays, my first birthday, her first birthday, Mother’s Day, etc.) and you guys know I have been thinking about this day for quite some time now, sometimes with a bit of sadness and sometimes with a smile from a wonderful memory.

And sometimes, like today, with the strongest taste for a plain milk chocolate Hershey bar.

I have shared many things about my mom with you but I don’t think I’ve ever shared with you some of her favorite foods. The foods that made her happy. The foods that made us both heavy. Hell, even the foods we didn’t have sometimes. The foods we could (and couldn’t) afford. So today I am going to celebrate my mom’s life by talking about her favorite foods (and some of my own, too). It may not be the healthiest blog post I’ve ever done but it will be fun…and slightly mouth watering.

My mom, JoAnn Larson, was always fond of saying how much she loved to eat two things when she was pregnant with me – Chinese food, and chocolate and vanilla ice-cream. She used to eat so much ice-cream in fact that she was convinced that was why my tummy is slightly lighter on one side than the other (my birthmark – a chocolate ice-cream half and a vanilla half). I have to laugh at that one given my half-white/half-black bi-racial make-up. It always seemed corny but I could never disprove it, especially since I had physical proof.

She also loved her some beef chop suey.

When my mom was kicked out of her home in Cicero, Illinois for daring to date and bear the child of a black man (gasp, the drama) she moved to Hyde Park on Chicago’s South Side. This was a wonderful place because it was so mixed in terms of it’s population. It also had the best kick-ass Chinese food on the planet from Lung Wah Chop Suey. It was there she found her love for beef chop suey (and gave me mine). My mom had it when she was pregnant with me and treated us to it all the time (when we had the money) when I was growing up. It was our fast food of choice, over McDonald’s, Wendy’s and even Harold’s Chicken. An order of beef chop suey and three egg rolls is what we used to get. Damn, those were the days.

There was also Pat’s Pizza, the pizza joint right across the street from where we lived (and where my mom established credit for us during our leanest times). I don’t know how the name just came to me (I couldn’t remember the name for the longest time) but I am thankful it did (thanks for the reminder, ma). Even if we didn’t have money my mama made sure we, and I, ate and there were many a night when we had either meatball sandwiches or a large sausage pizza. Sure there were times we got sick of it (because we had it a lot) but damn it was good, and their pizza had such a distinctive taste that when I found Al’s Italian restaurant and Pizzeria one year ago as my mom lay in hospice I cried because it tasted exactly the same. I needed that taste of childhood at this time last year.

Then there was Valois, the cafeteria-style staple of Hyde Park. This was truly a place where the melting pot of Hyde Park’s eclectic community came to make soup. My mom loved their breakfast – sausage, two eggs over easy and potatoes with white bread toast – and their lunch – pot roast, with mashed potatoes and gravy and fruit Jello for dessert (there’s always room for Jello). On Saturday’s Valois had spaghetti and meat sauce. We used to get that with a side order of “mash and gravy” (don’t ask why we had potatoes with spaghetti. Just roll with it). And many a Thanksgiving was spent there, if not at my mom’s best friend, Rosalyn’s, house, having their “traditional” Thanksgiving dinner (turkey and all the trimmings). And did I tell you this place has grits for breakfast? Awesome!!!

My mama also loved her fish, and we visited the Cafe Enrico frequently to take advantage of their “all you can eat” fried perch dinner. Hell no, it wasn’t good for us but it was damned good and damned cheap, too. In later years, when she lived with me for a while on the City’s North Side, we got fried fish and fries from a place called the Fish Keg on Howard Street. Again, not healthy at all, but some damned good-tasting food.

Rosalyn was an awesome cook, too. She’d make us fried chicken, spaghetti, greens, corn bread, beans and rice…everything. She even fried up some chicken wings and made spaghetti one night when we were so broke all my mom had was bus fare to get back and forth to work. My mom called Rosalyn in what had to be a pride-breaking moment and asked if she could make us something to eat – and she did. Thank God for Rosalyn. That night we ate and didn’t go hungry, and it was also that night I firmly remember saying to myself I’d never EVER go that hungry again. That I’d help my mom any way I could understand how to make money stretch so we’d never have to feel that poor. That was when I began my truest understanding of how cold money could be. If you have it, great. But when you don’t have it…

…but this is not a sad talk. It’s a talk about food, and no food conversation about my mom would be complete without memtioning her love of fried chicken, speaking of chicken. We used to eat at Harold’s Chicken all the time, but her first love was Kentucky Fried Chicken. For as far back as I can remember she loved (and therefore I loved) their extra crispy chicken (until they messed it all up and made it spicy crispy. ick.), mashed potatoes and gravy (noticing a trend?) and cole slaw (which I am now sure contains a level of crack cocaine or other addictive narcotic). Even when she was diagnosed diabetic in her later years I used to bring her the occasional KFC meal and sit and enjoy it with her, and she loved every bite. her and the cat, that is.

On Sunday’s we used to get sweet rolls and other pastries from the fresh bakery that was perfectly placed between where we lived and the park we went to every week. We used to get danishes, and she’d get her coffee (extra cream, no sugar) and we’d enjoy decadent sweets while sitting in the park or reading the paper at home. It was in this park I scattered her ashes almost a year ago.

Lastly, my mom loved her Pepsi. Back in the day, pop could be purchased in actual glass bottles (still the best-tasting way to enjoy an ice-cold soda) and we used to save our pennies, nickles, dimes and quarters to be able to afford a case of “the good stuff.” We’d put it right in the fridge and, when it was cold, would pop open a bottle and enjoy it together. Or we’d sit outside on the benches a couple of blocks away and enjoy a cold one on a hot summer night. Those were awesome times. And even though I have switched and am now a Coke man, I will occasionally have a Pepsi and think of my mom. For old time’s sake.

Well, as they say times change and you can’t go home again. Lung Wah Chop Suey, Pat’s Pizza and the bakery no longer exist. When I spread her ashes almost a year ago I would have given anything to have at least an egg roll from Lung Wah just to ease the pain a bit. But no dice. Or maybe that’s a good thing. Harold’s is still just as active as ever and I do have it from time to way occasional time when I visit, and there is nothing like trying to find a table in the now-double-the-size Valois for a taste of breakfast served just the same way as when I was a kid.And if I ever get a hankerin’ for pizza, I’ll always (hopefully) have Al’s.

But no matter where I go in the U.S., no matter what time of day and no matter what convenience store in which I shop I can always have the first and best thing that reminds me most, culinarily speaking) of my 0f my sweet and beautiful mama…

…that simple, wonderful and amazing plain milk chocolate Hershey bar.

Today’s weather is almost the perfect way to describe how I am feeling. It is partly sunny, but the winds are really blustery and it’s chilly (well, chilly for here – about 45-degrees or so). The clouds want to be the pretty, poofy clouds seen at the beginning of “The Simpsons” but there are also smatterings of grey rain clouds thrown in, as well. Yes, an unusual mix of the weather for a different kind of day.

It’s Mother’s Day and the first one I am spending without my mom, JoAnn. I have to say it is making me feel very tender inside, like a wound that has scabbed over on the surface but is still raw and unhealed underneath. I guess it’s always going to feel that way, and that’s OK. It just means I miss my Mama.

Today is also a bit askew because of my mouth and dental issues. It seems that I had what’s known as a food impaction. Because of the way I chew I bit off a piece of my new filling which, in turn, caused food to get down into an area between my teeth. While it was slightly infected and definitely swollen and painful (they spent lots of time just cleaning out the area to get all the ick out), it could have been and gotten much worse (like abscess worse) if I didn’t go when I did.

Needless to say I didn’t feel much like being a carnivore yesterday. Oh sure I wanted to bite down into a nice juicy burger but I was so damned scared I would do something to my mouth again I stuck with liquidy foods – soup and shakes – to get me through (Chick-Fil-A has an awesome, AWESOME, peach shake).

Today I am still going to take care of my mouth by eating softer foods but I might graduate myself to some pasta or something like that. We will see. But the primary goal is not to give in to my emotional eating today. Being that it’s the first Mother’s Day where I don’t get to pick up the phone today to wish Mama a happy Mother’s Day, I am soooo tempted to give in to the foods that we both loved so much – Chinese food (there must be some place that serves a decent beef chop suey around here, although I have yet to find it), plain Hershey candy bars, Coke (or Pepsi, since she was a die-hard Pepsi drinker), oh just anything that would help my insides feel warm and full. I know it wouldn’t take away the pain of my mom being gone but it is tempting to try to fill the void at least for a while with food.

On the other hand I know it’s wrong to think that way. I have been doing so good and am on track to lose the remainder of that next hard-fought-for pound by tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest, and I have to keep that up. I am within my “battle of the final ten” and I will win this. I also know that food is a false friend when used like that. Sure it is there. It’s there at every turn if, when and how you want it. “Have it your way,” after all. Right? But just because I can get anything served to me at any time doesn’t mean I should have it. Food, in this case, is a false friend come to stay only for a short while. One who leaves you with pounds and pounds of baggage when it leaves, and it always leaves.

So I take a deep breath and get ready to start the day. I know that the weather outside is a weird mix but, then again, so am I at times. I feel the loss of my mom but also feel and remember the happy memories we shared along the way and that makes me happy and one of the luckiest people on this earth. I also got the privilege of having our last words to each other be “I love you,” which so, so many people don’t get to have when they lose loved ones. That was truly a blessing and a gift and one I will not squander with the nearest cheeseburger – no matter how good having one sounds.

I sincerely hope you guys out there who still have your moms spend lots of good time with them today. And for those of you out there who are moms you are wonderful people with the most important job in the world. And from a son whose mom did a wonderful job I can honestly say we need kicks in the butt just as much as we need that encouragement. It may not be what we want but it is what we need. Thank you.

And in honor of my mom, who so loved going to the movies (especially sci-fi, fantasy and action movies) and instilled that love of film in me, I will end this blog today with one of the finest movie quotes ever about moms, this one from the movie “The Crow…”

“Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.”

Yes it is. Yes it is.

I love you mom, very much. And I will do my best with food today and not eat too much. Promise.

Today is Sunday, May 9, 2010. It’s Mother’s Day and, as expected, I feel the emptiness and pain from missing my mom inside my gut, like the sickly dull pain aftershock of being kicked in the stomach. And while the pain has dulled since her passing on June 9, 2009 it has by no means, and will never, completely go away. And, quite frankly, I don’t want it to.

There are so many memories of my mother, JoAnn Larson, that I want to share with you guys but I feel weird being so morose and somber on a day when others are out and about celebrating their moms or celebrating being moms (like my best friend, Mike’s, wife Ewa who recently gave birth to their beautiful son, Thomas Michael). Happy Mother’s Day, guys.

So today should be filled with happy memories, or at least memories that make us laugh a little. It should celebrate life as my mom was so full of life. She was goofy, warm, personable (she never met a stranger – ever) and disarmed you instantly. And even when I thought she didn’t understand something she came out with such insight, knowledge and advice I was amazed – no, humbled – by her for she was also very, very wise.

When I was 16 years old I attended Kenwood Academy High School on Chicago’s South Side neighborhood of Hyde Park (go Broncos). My sophomore year was an unusual one because I, as we all are when we’re 16, felt a bit adrift and therefore floated between different circles of friends that year. On one particular Friday I was invited to a party thrown by the “cool” kids. Yes, me, Bill Ivory Larson, partying with the cool kids. I couldn’t believe it. Me, at a party with liquor, music and girls. A real party. I was so excited.

Now, before I continue I will go all tangential and admit I had a fake I.D. yes, yours truly had a fake I.D. that made me 22-years-old (I thought being slightly older than the bare-minimum 21 would be less conspicuous). I got it after seeing the fake I.D. of a school mate of mine, who told me exactly where to get this masterpiece of subterfuge, this ticket to pre-mature adult hood (O.K. basically to drinking). It cost all of $8 and about two hours of my time one day after school. But I was in, baby, or so I thought. This comes into play a bit later…

Back to the story. So Friday night rolled around and my mom, who was awesomely cool, let me go to this party because I was a fairly responsible kid. Admittedly it is different for boys than girls and yes, it was a different, seemingly less dangerous time where kids could run around a bit more in an age of no cell phones, etc. No matter what, though, she trusted me to be good and not get into any trouble, at least any of the “call the police” variety.

The party was jumpin’. The House Music (slightly different than the House Music played in clubs today) was being spun by my friend, Dave, whose house we were using. His trusting but gullible parents let him “have a few friends over,” although that quickly turned into 20 or so people, all of whom were underage, and all of whom were drinking heavily…including yours truly.

As the night wore on we ran out of booze. So we all looked at each other to see who had the best shot of “scoring,” and that turned out to be me. I was pumped. Not only was I with the cool kids but I was now looked at as the savior of the party. The guy with the plan and the I.D. So a couple of people drove me to the liquor store (not the one my mom and I went to all the time for candy bars and Pepsi, but a different one) and I could feel my heart beat in my chest. “What if I get caught? Oh my God!” I was so scared but I screwed up my courage and walked into the liquor store on 51^st Street to peruse the aisles for enough hooch to keep us going all night.

I got a fifth of Old Granddad (yes, that nasty-ass Old Granddad), Jack Daniels and a few other things, including another 24-case of beer (as long as it wasn’t Coors – a house rule of Dave’s), and walked up to the counter. I felt sure the woman at the register was going to ask for my I.D., see right through it and call the long arm of the law. But she didn’t. I couldn’t believe it! She just rang me up. And even though I fully admit to looking much older than I was I was pissed because I DIDN’T get to use my shiny new fake I.D. But I don’t know what got me madder – not using the thing or being served alcohol and being a minor (something that still sort of troubles me today). Anywho, I got back to the party and drinking resumed and it carried on all night. At about 2:00 a.m. at least I think it was (I was so freaking drunk I couldn’t tell a two from a cat) I called my mom to say I was spending the night at Dave’s place. My mom was cool and thanked me for calling (I was always told to at least just check in and I did – her rules). And I crashed out by like 3:00 a.m. or so.

Saturday morning rolled around and I felt like shit. Real shit. My head was pounding so hard and I felt so sick to my stomach I wished I could have thrown up and died just to feel better. Yes, it was my first hangover and it was a doozey. Worse yet, I remembered I had to be at work in the children’s shoe store (my first job) by 9:00 a.m. that morning. There was no freaking way, I thought. As I bade my sleepy and still-drunken friends adieu I stumbled out of his place into the brisk morning air.

All the way home I was trying to puke. It would have made me feel better, as would a bullet to the head or being struck by lightning would have. I felt awful and I had no one to blame but myself. When I got home I told my mom I felt terrible (“sick” I actually think I said) and that I couldn’t go to work that day. But being the wise and wonderful mom she was she said “no, son. You are going to work today.”

And while my mom was cool, I knew she meant every word of it.

Needless to say I was a tad late getting there, which was sad given I literally lived around the corner from my job and began my day. I arrived at 10:00 a.m. and didn’t make it to noon. I was so hungover and I’m sure reeked of booze. I begged the forgiveness of my boss and went home to sleep it off.

Somehow my mom knew I wasn’t going to make it all day at work. When I got home she let me sleep, and sleep I did. I slept until like 5 or 6 that afternoon. When I woke up she looked at me not with anger but with a smile and said “betcha won’t do that again, will ya?” I smiled right back knowing instantly how much she knew I was messed up and in need of a lesson. I told her all about the party and she was so cool about it all. She looked at me after a while and asked me one simple question: “you know that’s why I made you go to work, right?” I nodded my head and laughed, and so did she. She also confessed to having a bit of a laugh at my expense over the whole thing wondering how long I was going to last at work (which, again, was not very long).

I never forgot that lesson. It was so important and special and cool and everything I needed at that time. It was a life lesson taught to me by a woman who was wise enough to know it was the only way I was going to learn the consequences of my actions, that I still had responsibilities to handle no matter how drunk I got. She taught me that people depended on me and I let them down because I was stupid. Oh, and let’s not forget she taught me I should never get that wasted the night before I have something to do the next day, a lesson I broke only one other time in my life and I was well into my 30s when I did. I’ll tell you about that sometime over a, er, drink.

When I look back at that story I smile because my mom knew going to work was all the punishment I needed to learn that life lesson. And she was right. It wasn’t the first nor the last time her pearls of wisdom were laid on me to teach me what I needed to know when I needed to know it. She was excellent that way. Excellent.

So for all you folks out there who still have your moms with you never take your mom’s words for granted. They and the lessons they teach us won’t be around forever and you’ll miss them deeply and terribly when they’re gone. And to all you moms out there, thank you. Thank you for teaching us kids what we need to know when we need to know it. It may not be what we want to know but it sure as hell is what we need to know.

On this Mother’s Day I will raise a glass (of something non-alcoholic) to my mom, JoAnn. I miss her voice, I miss her laugh, I miss her smile and I miss her words of wisdom. And even though I can’t pick up the phone and say “Happy Mother’s Day, Mama,” I hope she knows how much I love her and miss her and how much she’ll always be in my heart and always be my Mama.

It’s Thursday. Just three days to go until Mother’s Day and I am finding myself fighting food urges more and more. The only thing that seems to make me feel better is that I know I am fighting food urges and know why they are there in the first place. My name is Bill and I’m an emotional (and sometimes situational) eater.

Sometimes, food urges are situational. Like when you go to an event, like I did last week, and have tater tots for no better reason other than you have one glass of wine, someone else orders them and they smell really freaking good. Seemed like a good idea at the time, and it didn’t have tooooooo much effect on the bottom waistline (thank God). Or when I went to a meeting the other day where they were serving sandwiches, chips, brownies and my Kryptonite – Coca-Cola. I walked away but not before having just one small piece of sandwich. Just one small one, thank goodness.

But most times for me food urges are emotional. When I’m happy and I know it I clap my hands (and reach for snacks). When I’m nervous about something that’s a double whammy – not only do I binge but I mindlessly do it because whatever I’m nervous about occupies my mind and I don’t think of what, or how much, I’m eating. And recently, I’ve been wanting snacks because I am sad and missing my mama, JoAnn. So I reach for the things I used to have with her as a kid – Hostess Cupcakes and the sweet taste of a plain Hershey chocolate bar. I’ve even had an ice-cold Pepsi from time to time, too, in memory of her.

I know this food won’t bring my mom back, or do me any damn good when I’m trying (almost desperately) to bring my weight down. What I have to fight is that short-term high I get when I have these things. It’s like taking drugs, I guess. Score a “hit,” feel great, come down and want very much to have that again.

I know these feelings of sadness and emptiness will get a bit stronger as we approach Mother’s Day this Sunday, but knowing that does help. It may not help me curb ALL the urges I have and I know I will give into a few here and there. Just know it will be just here and there, not all the time and won’t be every day.

I will also take comfort knowing that the people in my life who still have their moms, or are moms themselves, will be with their loved ones this weekend. Whether it is by voice or in person, or even with just a card received in the mail. And  while some of these moms are healthy, some are not. Some moms may be beginning a fight with arthritis, memory or worst of all, cancer. To those moms and their children you have my heart, know that I am with you in spirit and I sincerely wish that all is made well soon.

And for those special people in my life who no longer have their moms I am with you in spirit, too. I have heard so many times since last June 9 how that void never goes away. The pain just dulls a bit. And I know in my mind and in my heart that there isn’t comfort food enough on this planet to feed that kind of longing or squelch that kind of dull pain. So we will be there for each other, too, toasting them in their ultimate healing away from this earth.

Damn, it really helps to talk about all of these feelings with you guys. Thank you. That, not cupcakes, Chinese food, Cokes, cheesesteaks, hot dogs or ribs, makes me feel better. Very much so.

Happy Monday, everyone. The weekend is over (as are the Grammys finally – longest awards show ever!) and now it’s time to start the week fresh, excited and motivated. Most of all I am excited and motivated by any and all newcomers to the website today. Welcome. I hope you all continue to read me, become new friends and know we are all in this weight loss journey together. If you are visiting for the first time take time and explore the website and don’t be shy about writing me to tell me what you think. I’d love to hear from you.

Yesterday I just happened to be at the Cherry Hill Mall and I ran into a dear old friend of mine, Cheri, who I haven’t seen in months. She was out and about with her 15-month-old son, Jacob, just tooling around. What a pleasant surprise it was to see her and catch up on a little bit of the old and a little bit of the new. We also had a blast watching her little one learn what walking on “new mall legs” is like in a place populated by giants with lots and lots of bags.

I got to thinking afterward how funny it is how food can work the same way. How when you don’t have a certain food for such a long time (i.e. visiting that “old food friend”) and you revisit it sometimes it’s for the good and sometimes for the not-so-good. That happened the other day with my not-so-smart splurge with a Chunky bar. You guys know Chunky? Besides the fact I used to be quite unbelievably chunky this square chocolate bar featured nuts and raisins and I ate then quite often as a child (another reason I turned into the candy bar’s namesake in physical stature). Well, the other day, on Friday, I decided to have one – for old time’s sake – and believe me when I tell you – eh, not-so-good.

It wasn’t that it was bad, but it was very much like that Throwback Pepsi I had earlier in the week. Just as much as I wanted that cool “old friend” feeling that certain foods can bring the actual foods didn’t. Sigh. And that’s OK. taste buds change. And there are many times when my fried rice is that steady “old friend” I visit from time to time when I need a taste of some comfort to ease my mind about something. For that, and sometimes that alone, my taste buds haven’t changed.

But unlike running into wonderful old friends at the mall running into certain food “old friends” isn’t as great as it should be. Quite the contrary. These “old friends” always leave you cold in the end and with more baggage than when you came for the visit (on the hips, thighs and tum tum). Ironically when I ran into Cheri I just happened to be standing directly next to the Auntie Anne’s Pretzel kiosk and I was soooooo craving a warm(ish) pretzel with gooey cheese.

But friends who support, laugh with you and feel your pain keep you from visiting “friends” who aren’t supportive and actually contribute to that pain. Did I need a pretzel? Hell no. And I would have felt worse after having it and the euphoria of the tastes left my palate. I just needed the company of actual friends, that’s all. And along this weight loss journey please know the company of all of you keeps me going and keeps me motivated just like I hope my words do you.

I’ve always been told I’m the kind of person who never meets a stranger. I’ve always liked that because I feel strangers are just friends I haven’t met yet. On this Monday I hope to add more new friends to our fold and to our journey. I hope to add more fans to the Facebook page. I hope more people find, listen to and download my blog. I hope people who want to lose weight but are scared know they have a home here, because the best trips and journeys happen when you have the company of friends to comfort you in ways false friends cannot.

So today I raise my glass (of water, juice or other healthier beverage handy) and toast you all. To all my old friends, thank you for making the journey easier. And to all my new friends I want you to know I am just like you and understand. May we all find comfort, solace, compassion, wit and companionship on the path to our ultimate weight loss goals with each other and…

…to resist yummy pretzels and gooey cheese in malls.

…to resist ice-cold Coca-Colas, Milky Way bars, beef fried rice and other kryptonite foods.

…to go out and exercise together, even if we’re apart while doing it.

…to check in with each other from time to time to see how we’re doing.

…and most of all, to stand up with each other and say I am doing this because I, like all of us here, am going to reach my goal weight because I am determined to succeed!

Well, it’s finally happened. I finally got off my plateau and dropped a pound.

All I have to say is WOOHOO!

In these battles for losing poundage this pesky little pound was hard fought but I did it and I am pleased. And today I am 236.7. Thank goodness. That was some good news this morning countered almost immediately by the heart-racing, anxious feeling you get when the blue screen of death comes on.

All I have to say is AIEEEEEEE!

(Knock on wood) All seems to be better now and I head into this weekend excited about this new downward trend that I hope continues. Especially since a photographer from the Philadelphia Inquirer is coming to take a few pictures today for an article running in Monday’s edition about my weight loss journey and this website. I am very excited.

I’ve realized something along the way – I need to keep healthier snacks in the house for times like these, when my emotions make me prone to overeating and snacking. I have to admit I’ve had to attack snacking almost as much as I’ve attacked my Coke habit (again, the soft drink not the icky powder stuff). So I went to the store yesterday and got myself several healthier snacks including some awesome looking bananas, some peaches and, best of all, some Clementines. Those seedless oranges are the perfect snack. They not only quench your thirst for something sweet (like a Coke would) but they also give you something to chew. And anyone with a food addiction like me likes to feel as though we are eating something. I don’t know WHY that is. It just is.

I am doubly glad I did because yesterday I wrote another emotional entry in my “Memories of My Mother” blog. It was about buying one  of those Throwback Pepsi bottles you’re seeing commercials for these days. I tried one in hopes I would have a small taste (literally and figuratively) of my childhood. Well, as they say, you can’t go home again and I became very sad. So sad I did what I do. I reached for food.

Although this time I grabbed much healthier snacks after a good cry, and I felt better. So as I plopped down on my couch and watched “Goodfellas” (which is an amazing movie, by the way) I felt a bit of relief that I had the foresight to get those fruits on which to snack. That I didn’t get any Coca-Cola for the house. I just reached for my darling Clementines and they were good. And refrigerated they are the best.

Last weekend I said I was going to be a weekend food warrior. This weekend I think I’m just gonna pull back a notch or two and just THINK about what I’m eating and WHEN. I will be careful in my food and drink choices and take each meal as it comes.  I am not going to predict I will be the best but will just be the best I can be at each meal. That’s all I can do.

That’s all any of us can do. So that by weekend’s end I can be happier, food-wise. And maybe, just maybe, shave another pound off the old waist in the process. I’ll keep you posted.

Have you guys noticed the retro Pepsi commercials hittin’ the airwaves? Seems Pepsi and Mountain Dew “Throwback” sodas are available through the end of February featuring the same original formulas and real sugar.

Even though I am now a devout Coca-Cola drinker I was taken back to very fond memories of the Pepsi I drank growing up as a kid, finding spare change with my mom and going to the liquor store or the corner store to get ourselves a Pepsi to split.

Back then Pepsi and other soft drinks were in heavy but beautiful long bottles. They came in eight packs and you had to pay deposits on the bottles (even more incentive to get you to bring them back to the stores). You had to have bottle openers to even open them. But no matter how much they weighed and no matter how much a pain-in-the-ass they were to carry with bags of groceries, there was nothing – NOTHING – like opening up an ice-cold Pepsi and having good times talking with my Mama.

I still remember the light cloud of white that appeared at the tops of the bottles when you’d open them. And blowing it away before you’d take the first swig made a cool “whoosh” sound over the bottle’s opening. Then the taste of it, the sweet taste of Pepsi, was like a drug. But more so it was something my mom and I did together. Finding that loose change was incredible. We didn’t have money growing up but we had fun and we could always enjoy a Pepsi together.

Sometimes we’d take bottles of Pepsi to our favorite spot on 53^rd Street in Hyde Park (the old benches at the Hyde Park Bank), on the South Side of Chicago and crack ‘em open there. Or even take them to the park. Sometimes we’d buy cans of them and sit in the Laundromat watching the old black & white TV as our clothes dried on “inferno.” Most times, we’d have ‘em at home watching TV and talking. That was the best.

Why am I telling you all that? Because it’s all of those memories of my mother that made me purchase one of those retro bottles of Pepsi the other day.  I got the coldest one I could find (which was pretty cold). And I was so excited. This was a chance to reconnect with my childhood, my Mama, and taste a sweet soda from my kid-dom. I miss my mom so much and I was just so excited to be presented with a chance to have a comfort food and think about how alive my mom was.

But, as they say, you can’t go home again.

The long-necked glass bottles have been replaced by plastic screw-cap ones. And the taste, which seemed way sweeter, was so different than I remembered. Wasn’t this the Pepsi from my late-70s/early 80s youth? It had the same logo. It claimed to be that old formula. It brought back the best memories. But the taste wasn’t the same and I was at once sad and deflated. I wanted so bad to have that swig of Pepsi and imagine me and Mama sitting up watching something on TV talking about her day at work or what movie we’d see that coming weekend.

But you can’t go home again.

So I finished the 20-oz. bottle of Throwback Pepsi and set the bottle on the table. I sat and thought about my Mama and said to myself “Well, Ma. It’s just doesn’t taste the same.” And I could hear her in my head responding “It be like that sometimes, son.”

I guess so, but I wanted to have that smile again just one more time. Not just from the taste of Pepsi but from the look on my mom’s face when we found that change and bought them. I thought about when my beloved first (and ironically last) cat, Tiger, died how I went to get some comfort food egg rolls from my favorite childhood place and how they’d changed the recipe for those, too.

You can’t go home again.

Oh well. Some things change and some will never change. But thank God for memories. They are truly what we have when we miss our loved ones so very much. It’s been over seven months now since mom passed away and I am still heartbroken over it. The world lost a wonderful and bright star that day in June but I can still hear her wonderful voice, see her bright smile…

…and remember the “swoosh” of the Pepsi bottles we opened up together.

I miss you, Ma. Here’s to you. And I hope wherever you are you are having that nice tall Pepsi we both loved so much.

It’s 10:37 a.m. on Sunday morning as I write you this entry, my friends. I know I’ve admitted this to you guys before but I want to get it out there again…

…I, Bill Ivory Larson, have a Coke habit.

NOOOOOOOO! That the stupid snorty kind. I mean the sweet, dark, ice-cold bubbly kind. The kind that follows me when I go to movie theaters. The kind that wakes me up in the middle of the night craving a taste. The kind you order with rum. The kind you might order with Jack. The nectar of the gods.

Coca-colas.

I wish I could stay away but I can’t. Of all my kryptonites this one is the strongest and I don’t know why. I have loved Milky Way bars and Chinese food beef fried rice since I was a wee lad. Hell, I even used to be a Pepsi drinker and gave that up cold turkey in favor of America’s number one soft drink.

What’s wrong with me? How is it that I can not have fried rice for now going on a couple of weeks and Milky Ways the same but yet absolutely have to have a Coke? I wish I knew. Some people get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water? I get up for a taste of the “good stuff.”

OK, I know this sounds heavy handed but it’s true. I crave this stuff. I am fighting the “Battl,e of the Final Nine” as of today (woo hoo – I lost a pound) but it’s Coco-Cola that tempts me the most. I have always said I will eat (and drink) whatever I want on my weight loss journey but I seriously have to cut back. God, I feel like a smoker who says “I need to cut back to just three a day,” or something like that.

When I was a kid I could down a two-liter of any pop (how we from the Midwest refer to sodas) like it was nuthin.’ When I was 400 lbs. It was conceivable I could do that twice in a day. As I got thinner I did cut back (and still do to tell you guys the truth) but if I “snack” I’d rather have a Coke than any chocolate, pudding, cracker or – well – anything.

Sigh. I know each of you out there has an addictive food, one that you absolutely cannot resist. Is it pasta? Indian food? Chinese? A good, messy burger? Whatever it is please know I am right there with ya’ in our “addictions.” It’s hard but we will learn to control them, too, just like we are controlling the other food and drink stuffs in our lives.

In the end will a Coke or two derail me? Certainly not. I’m just trying to keep TABS (OK, you have to excuse one punny soft drink joke) on how many I drink a day and balance that out with water and other healthier drinks. I only have one body and I don’t want my blood type to end up being secret ingredient #83 or whatever it is.