10 day detox: starvation or rid-ation

So some friends of ours have decided to do the 10-day liquid only detox...not for weight loss reasons but because they think it is a good idea to rid their bodies of all the toxins they've been packing in with Burger King and McDonald's over the last three or four decades. I completely agree. But 10 days of no food? I read that Beyonce did it right before shooting the Dreamgirls and lost 22 pounds -- because of course, super skinny model/singer types need to lose more weight. She claimed that it was not a good weight loss method but she did feel better.
So I've been digging to see what I can find.
The premise is this: toxins find ways to get in your body through the food you eat and the air you breathe and it must find a way to extracate the crap. It can do it by coming out your pores on your face, rot for years in your colon or come out with your daily bowel movement. The 10-day detox diet or "lemonade diet" helps your body grab the stuff rotting in your colon and pass it through your bowels...but more often than once a day. So that by the end, theoretically, all the bad rot is gone through the bottom end.
And what do you get to put into your body during that period? A sea saltwater concoction in the morning and throughout the day, a cocktail of water, lemons, cayenne pepper and organic maple syrup. My friend says the sea saltwater makes her gag and tastes like crap but she rationalizes that it's only once a day.
And, as many times as she runs to the toilet, she can not understand why she is still going after six days on the diet. Evidently, she had a lot of rot in her colon. I'm sure my husband and I will also as we spend most of our meals rotating the fastest food in town. Chefs, we aren't.
So the other night at dinner, we tried the cayenne lemonade and believe it or not, it wasn't so bad. I know you're thinking, yeah right. But it seems like the key to success is to keep stirring. Stir the cayenne until little round red balls float homogenously through the water. Can't let them settle 'cause a throat full of cayenne will also make you gag.
So what happens when the ten days is up? No way can you plow back in solid foods like before. The idea is to go slow with fruits and salads. You know mushy foods like bananas to help you get used to eating again. Peas, carrots, potatoes...all mushed up. Be careful of the tottler flash backs.
Anyway, so we're convinced. I bought the book. Read the testimonials. Listened to a real live participant. No problem. Sold.
Now I just have to find organic maple syrup and we'll be in business. If you don't see another post about this particular topic, you'll know I failed miserably and am sitting comfortably on my front porch swing with a pizza in one hand and a Guiness in the other.
Happy eating!

Where we rank

So where do you think we rank against the world in production, consumption, military spending, adult literacy, doctors and hospital beds...how about Olympic medals and Noble prizes? The Economist Magazine just put out their annual "how the world ranks" book and it surprised me ... a little.

I love the Economist. I'm a political junkie and love foreign/world politics. So of course as soon as I got my subscription in the mail, I ripped open the plastic cover and devoured the stats in less than an hour. Most of it is what you would expect. Germany was in the top ten in Beer Consumption. France in the top 5 for wine. African nations ranked highest in infant mortality rates and AIDS but not too surprisingly, they also ranked highest in clean air.

Ireland did not rank on the list for Top Beer or Alcohol consumption. So much for the whiskey, Guiness lovers. In their defense, I think the caveat on the stat was skewed against them. It didn't count consumption per capita but sales per capita. Either way, they claim they're up there.

Switzerland and the US tied at 28 for defense spending. If you can believe that. We spend 3.8% of our GDP on defense. North Korea spends the most at 25% and China spends 10%.
Funny enough if you compare that to how much we spend on medical care (12%) and education (5.7%), it makes me wonder how our military is so spectacular but our education system is dismal. Theoretically, it should be the other way around.

Our divorce rates are comparable at 50% (not the high 80s like my family thought) but so are our marriage rates. And our crime rates didn't even make the list! That makes me feel much safer than the news.

I'm working out of the library today since we're in the process of moving so I'll stop here. But if you get the chance to check out the stats. You should.

Give me running with the wind

So, I've decided I'm a runner.

Since I was a junior in high school, I've tried running. Just simply dragging my "wanna be eating in front of the tv" self into my blue and white Nikes seemed like it took an eternity. But eventually I'd do it and heave down the road at a lumbering pace huffing red faced and bent over. All passer bys and onlookers shook their heads in pity and had only one thought. Why bother?

My sister and I even helped start the women's track team that year; although neither of us was tall enough to do anything but long distances. And since no one else volunteered for that, the coach grudgingly agreed that we could race in two events. We'd trade off. One race I would pound around the track for four laps and she would run eight, the next race we'd switch...never coming close to breaking any records; although we may have set them for longest events in history. But we kept at it. Every Saturday was a new race, always finishing at a different line. And the next year we did it all over again. Watching the clock became an obsession. Beating the time before was essential. But for some reason, my stocky little legs would not break a 9-minute mile pace. Could be the reason it took another five years before that school finally started a cross country team.

And in college I ran in a club that more resembled an Army platoon than a club. The lead runner screamed my butt all the way to kingdom come for two years before I'd had enough. My beloved Nikes were worn through before Christmas the first year. Given that we ran five days a week, that's probably believable. By far, I was the worst runner and being the shortest at not even five feet tall, I had to set the pace during group run day. Me, setting the pace for these super macho, skinny, tall run fanatics who could all outsprint a cheetah. It made a little faster but I never broke 8-minute miles. And let me be clear. Group running is NOT my thing. And neither is running to a predetermined finish line only to have the screamer leader shriek at me to keep going right passed it. I would break down in misery as I could not eke out another step. I took a year off.

Then I ran "the loop." It was 1.8 miles around campus. Right passed my boyfriend's fraternity house so I got to wave to all my friends as a sprinted by. No jogging on that section of the loop was allowed. Occasionally my roommate would run with me and it was a nice easy pace. If I could do it in 15 minutes or less, then I belonged in a runner's hall of fame. It was thrilling to have the wind whip my hair skipping away on the pavement down roads I had known for years. People honked. I waved. I was a runner. Then it happened. Volleyball at the fraternity house one late summer afternoon. Not too many people around. Enough for fun and a couple of beers. But then she ran by. A deep voice behind me commented in an extremely appreciative tone about how that was the second time he'd seen her already. Yep, Ponytail had shown me up. She ran the loop twice. Everyday. And my boyfriend had noticed.

It became my goal in life to run that loop twice and after years of on again, off again running three miles or less, I did it this past fall. Ten years after Ponytail had impressed my boyfriend (a guy I of course quickly dumped after that), I made it an easy 3.6 miles. Two laps around familiar territory that I had not seen in a long time. That fraternity house was now owned by someone else and there were no people there I knew. But the motivation was the same. One lap was ordinary. Two laps was impressive.

Wearing down the Nike tread, pushing passed three miles. Over and over again. Even after making the two laps, I realized what I had actually discovered was that I love running. There were no cheering fans or old boyfriends around when I crossed the finish line; although a couple of trucks honked as they drove by. And I don't need to run half marathons like all of my office mates. Discovering trails and watch-free wrists increased my enthusiasm for aching lungs and sweat-clung hair. Feet on gravel or dirt or road, air racing into my lungs. An overwhelming feeling that I can run as far as I want. Oh, I still time myself to see if I'm improving but having fun with the rhythm and the scenery is much more important now than mileage. Times have gone down and distances have increased because I've understood that it isn't a chore to run. It's a blast and I love the way I feel when I'm done. All hot, sweaty, tired and all of a sudden, at the same time exhilarated and full of energy.

And now I get to run with my husband which makes it even more fun. It helps that he was impressed when I made it further than my brother the other day. Guess the competitive spirit didn't totally go away after all.

Fortress Dining

Rubble sits defeated between two towers of the Ministry of Defense building in one of the busiest sections of Belgrade, Serbia, a constant reminder that NATO put Milosevich in his place in the late nineties. They can’t afford to repair the buildings even now, nearly 8 years later. Taxi drivers blame the US and American passengers are quick to remind them that NATO drove the attack, not the US. And the response is that NATO is the US. Pretty heady stuff and all I’m looking for is the local red at the tower restaurant overlooking the Danube.

Montenegro voted to become its own independent state last year when I was here but at the time, Belgrade appeared more like an impatient sister waving her hand at the departing younger sibling finally on his way. But this year will also see the vote over Kosovo once again dominating the headlines. Kosovo? An independent state. Not likely. This is the issue wars have been fought over. If the Serbs have anything to say about it, the Kosovars will stay in the play room and share their toys with the other kids forever.

But I’m still looking for the old fortress that now houses the best view in the city. Iron lattice decorates the interior winding its way around tables and snaking across walls creating the illusion of privacy pockets. A three-tiered patio sits enough for a small army and the wind blows the sheer, white curtains through the windows making even the most cynical bow to its beckon.

That wind will blow over Belgrade again when Kosovo finally hails its independence. And one generation may demand unity while another shrugs. The fragility of the democracy needs attention, soothing, TLC. Ego may deny the struggling state what it needs. Maybe it’s best to let our little sisters find their own path. And ‘salud’ with grapes of land that belongs to all Yugoslavia.

Moving Nightmares

Are you moving? I am. Made a list. Read reviews. Tore my hair out. And we still have a month to go.

I flew to Alabama last month to make sure we had temporary lodging and a school for our soon to be first grader. The only other thing we’ve done is ship one car and buy a new one and that’s another blog. So now we own three cars for two license-carrying auto drivers and have no garage attached to a house to put them in. I’ll save that worry for when we get there.

For now, I’ll worry about terminating our rental contract, our phone and internet contract, utilities, cable, get the house ready for the movers, schedule the movers, change our health insurance, ship another car, get a rental, reserve a hotel and change our address. I did at least get a UPS box while I was on my visit so I can check that off the list.
That takes care of household items.

Now work. I am in PR and my husband is a security specialist…interesting combo, we know. Both of us will have a million things to do for work before we can leave and none of it can be done together.

Security badges, special gear, and office keys must all be turned back in. Medical paperwork and records must be up to date, which means there could be doctor’s visits and then we have to ensure we have copies of it all because our organization is notorious for losing medical records. Five types of ancillary training must be accomplished before leaving, the post office across town will make us show up to close a box we don’t have because our box is on our side of town but that doesn’t matter, we must go in person to the other post office. The education center, the library, the furnishings office all must be visited in case we have an overdue book or borrowed lamp. I have to clear my email account and don’t forget, I’m still working.

The current project is planning a summer concert. Just a little thing with three stages and anticipating 53,000 people. Right. No problem.
When's my flight out??

Not Enough Heat in Ghana

Jungles of Ghana are the land of milk and honey. They overflow with fruits and meat. There is no danger of starvation or epidemic hunger. No mud huts in this village --concrete homes and an old Mercedes. And a heat that sticks to everything. AIDS is not even a cultural factor like in other parts of Africa. Rwanda is 90% -- Ghana is less than 20. Mosquitos kill here. Malaria runs rampant. There aren’t enough doctors, medicine or facilities and they have to decide who will live long enough to receive treatment. Those that won’t, stay at home.

We are greeted by the village chief – a 37 year old man who drives a taxi for a living. With a big smile, he beckons us to sit in plastic, Wal-Mart chairs under an enormous shade tree. The area has been cleared and is flat dirt. Chief’s sister brings cold water in plastic bags, which we politely do not drink, and cold beers in sealed glass bottles, which we politely do. Chief explains that although they have enough food for everyone and that starvation is unheard of, the people in the capital, Accra, do starve. Never mind that they are on the coast where a large fishing industry booms, the city people do not have fruits and vegetables and there is no way to transport it from the jungle.

But the freshly slaughtered goat boiling in the cauldron pot puts thoughts of hunger out of our minds. A man, whose face was older than the jungle and whose mouth had seen more teeth in its day, was stirring the pot with an enormous stick. I walk over and look inside. He and his equally ancient wife take great pleasure in showing me the goat’s entrails – heart, liver, intestines and of course bellow at my face as they lift his male reproductive organs out of the broth. I need more beer.

Over the course of the next week, I took 700 photos. When the heat became overbearing and tempers soared, I took out my camera. Laughs were achieved from old women, young children, official men and every one in between when they saw their faces instantly in my digital camera. Smiles did not come before the shot like they do with American children, they came afterward – with revelation at what was happening.

Photos of doctors, nurses, technicians showed the constant stream of patients and the pharmacy that handed out something to every single person who came through. If a case was too big for the makeshift clinic, a referral was written for the local hospital. Malaria pills, pain relievers, and antibiotics were handed out by the truckload. House calls were made, elderly were seen, young children had teeth pulled. Staff ran from sun up to sun down to make sure every person was seen. Clinic halls overflowed with people and every one left with something.

But the constant asking for more or asking for something else was taxing. Exhausting. Annoying. With the exception of the Chief and his entourage, very few ‘thank yous’ were uttered. Volunteers stole from the pharmacy. Patients came back two and three times. Hands always open.

No matter how much we gave, they always wanted more. And rather than feeling like we were doing good, it started to feel like we’d never do good enough.

No need for Tiki huts 'cause the Mai Tais rock

Go to Thailand. Just go.

Everything you ever thought about tropical, beach vacations can be found in Laguna, Thailand on the Island of Phuket. Palm trees, beaches, sun, towels, loungers.

Breakfast by the waterfall with fresh pineapple, kiwi, watermelon, and every other kind of fruit found in the jungle. Passion fruit juice with egg white omelets overflowing with fresh veggies.

Lunch by the pool in a blue flower two-piece with a wrap skirt. Drinking mai tais with umbrellas and listening to the ocean kick up the sand all day long.

Thai spa hit the spot. Massages, scrubs, wraps, bamboo showers underneath the moon. The grand finale was ginger tea with fresh mango.

Dinner at the traditional Thai restaurant. Mandolin music played by two local musicians sitting on a low table by the entrance. Tables with candlelight sat on the deck overlooking the laguna.

During the day there were jungle treks and ocean safaris, elephant rides and hammock naps.

During the evening, fresh seafood. Dancing, bars, Thai boxing, shopping, music or just walking with your shoes in your hand on the warm sand.

Hands down one of the best vacation spots I've ever been to and can't wait to go back!

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www.kayak.com is the best website for finding great deals on airfare and hotels. It combs all low fare websites to show you the top two or three choices for your destination. It gave me www.asiarooms.com – a great website for inexpensive rooms in excellent resorts in Asia. All three of us made it to Thailand for two weeks for less than our income tax return checks!