This year, I’m on the same page as Arianna Huffington.

New Year’s weekend is the perfect opportunity to clean out our internal hard drives, and begin to bring more balance to our lives … How about beginning with a list of three things you thought you would do one day but, realistically, you never will. You can just declare them complete. For example, I always wanted to learn German and be able to read many of my favorite authors in the original. But the truth is, I’m never going to. So I’ve declared learning German complete and crossed it off my list. By deleting things from your mind that you will one day, some day do, you’re freeing up space to devote yourself to projects you are truly committed to.

I think Arianna has it right– and not only because I suggested the same thing last year. The passage of another year just makes me like the idea better and think of more items to add to  my F**k-It List. (the list we all need beyond the Bucket List).    Maybe it’s a girl thing—since women spend so much of our lives trying to be everything to everyone—and often, least of all to ourselves.  Instead of vowing to squeeze into my skinniest jeans, maybe it’s time to let go  considering they haven’t zipped up since I got pregnant with my first child.

Doing this isn’t as easy as it sounds.  At least not for me. I’m someone who likes to live large (not in large jeans).   I hear about someone who scaled a mountain and I think, I want to do that; I can do that—-(at this age I don’t mean a real mountain, but a metaphorical one, sometimes even more challenging).   I’m not suggesting to let go of dreams; life isn’t worth living without them.  But big plans or ideas can loom so large that they can block the view of the little things behind them— which in the long run are sometimes just as significant or satisfying.
So this year I’m down-sizing:

My house will never be in Architectural Digest but I can admire the ones that are.

The 11,000 childhood pictures of my kids will never make it into albums–but when I come across one of them, I can smile at the memory in the moment.

I won’t plant a vegetable garden–but I can go to the farmer’s market and eat what someone else grew.

I won’t ever catch up on all the information I think I should know—but I can catch up with a friend in a phone call.

I won’t write the great American novel—but I can enjoy every word of a great novel I read.

I won’t donate on a Bill Gates-size scale–but I can give of myself to make someone’s life a little easier.

I won’t visit every wonder of the world—but I can be inspired by the wonder of the world around me.

I won’t get to do all the BIG things–but I can appreciate the sweetness in all the little things….

(maybe I should plant that vegetable garden after all….)

At that time I hadn’t yet met Myra Goodman, whose knowledge and insights since we became friends have reinforced the reasons  I made that choice.  She and her husband Drew made their own choice  25 years ago— two native New Yorkers transplanted to California who decided to grow raspberries in their backyard garden.  That raspberry patch, and the organic farming methods they learned turned into EarthBound Farm, the largest grower of organic produce in the world. 

Over the years since then, research has grown too, indicating that environmental carcinogens are responsible for a far greater number of cancers than previously believed. 

A presential panel issued a report this year, recommending  to President Obama that eliminating these threats to our health should be a priority:

The Panel was particularly concerned to find that the true burden of environmentally induced cancer has been grossly underestimated….The panel urges you most strongly to use the power of your office to remove the carcinogens and other toxins from our food, water, and air that needlessly increase health care costs, cripple our Nation’s productivity, and devastate American lives.

What can the average person do in our daily lives?  Says Myra,  “There are so many chemicals around us today, and we have very little control or ways to avoid them.  Food is one of the few choices we have to limit the chemicals entering our bodies.  And studies show that the vast majority of chemicals we take in through food are found in produce.”

She recommends checking the Environmental Working Group list of the conventional fruits and vegetables that are highest in pesticides—their pocket guide is handy to download and take along when you go shopping.

Myra recently published her second cookbook….The Earthbound Cook—filled with tips and  information on how to make healthy choices for ourselves, our planet, and our kitchens—plus of course, many wonderful recipes.  And that brings up another way that my friendship with Myra has enriched my life.

Though we share a love of eating great food, I never shared Myra’s love for making it.   So what I’ve also learned from Myra is to choose a more positive attitude —stop thinking of cooking as a burden, and embrace the rewards of cooking from scratch.

Like most things in life, good food is best when it’s shared—and for me, that includes making it.   So when Myra wrote her first cookbook a few years ago, I started a family tradition.  Once a week my grown daughter would come over and together we would make a great, healthy meal for the family–from scratch–entirely from Myra’s cookbook, Food to Live By.   I had never enjoyed cooking—or eating—more.

I would love to continue the tradition with her second cookbook—except that my daughter moved; and now she’d have to drive 7 hours to get to my kitchen.   Though I’m sad we  can’t share the cooking anymore,  I’m glad for this chance to share one of my favorite healthy choices—-both in friendship and lifestyle. 

On her blog, Darryle also shares one of Myra’s recipes from her new book.

Of course when bad things happen, there’s nothing to laugh about.  Although those are the times we need it most.

I didn’t see anything funny when I was diagnosed with cancer.  I was doing too much crying to think about laughing.

I don’t remember exactly when it changed.   Maybe it was seeing my 7 year old son parading around in one of my long wigs.  Maybe it was the Woody Allen standup comedy routines my ex-husband sent me to listen to in the car.  Maybe it was when I realized that my battle with cancer would end my battle against headlice……..and one day during chemo I discovered the only thing remaining on my bald head was one stubborn little bug.

I do remember how I felt.  Powerful.  Just to be able to laugh at something that terrified me.  I realized if I could laugh at cancer, I could laugh at anything.  And I’ve used humor as a weapon in every other crisis ever since.

Sometimes, when bad things happen, there’s nothing you can do except try to see the humor in it,  black as that humor may be.

Maybe it’s not possible for everyone; maybe I’ve just got attitude.  And maybe that’s the best way to think of it.

Because being able to see any humor in negative stuff IS an attitude; it’s a choice.

That attitude maybe helps explain how a woman who lost both of her breasts to cancer could possibly make light of it by creating a collection called Boobalas.

Though many of the pieces are designed with breast cancer survivors in mind, plenty of them poke fun at the boobs I don’t have any more–by using things like kitchen timers, Hershey’s kisses, and combination locks in their place.

Creating something out of these objects and pieces of tile, with profits going to cancer causes—gives me a way to bring my cancer journey full circle.

So I hope Boobalas will give you a laugh, or a lift.  And aren’t those really the same, anyway?

Darryle Pollack is a survivor who discovered art as a way to heal from cancer.  Click here to see more Boobalas on her blog, I never signed up for this.

From the moment I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, I was focused on fear rather than appearance— especially since my breasts weren’t my favorite body part to begin with.  I liked them, but I didn’t hesitate for an instant to cut one off if it meant saving my life. Not that I had a choice—I had every possible type of cancer spread throughout that breast.

Still, it took weeks after surgery for me to work up the courage to look at the result.

It wasn’t pretty. A scar ran almost 6 inches from my armpit to the center of my chest, leaving me lopsided, with only lumps and bumps and bones and skin.

How much did one C-cup breast weigh? A pound? Two pounds? Funny enough, I tried to calculate this when I stepped on the scale.

The number I saw would have been a dream come true for most of my life.

Growing up with Twiggy as the standard of beauty, plus a father who pressed me to lose weight, I had managed to stay in fighting trim— but figured I wasn’t destined for the boyish body I wanted.

Sometimes you get what you wish for.

Only it wasn’t satisfying; in fact it was the opposite.

Every day I would step on the scale and every day the number would go down.
I weighed less than I had since maybe 5th grade. My clothes hung on me. I would have been a star at Weight Watchers.

Only this was no magic diet; it was chemotherapy. And every day I wondered—-how low would it go? How long could this go on? I managed to choke down a few protein shakes daily; but my body was ravaged; scrawny and pathetic.

Plus I had no hair—and that was the one part of my body I truly loved.  Instead of my wavy waist-length hair, I was bald; I looked like a concentration camp inmate. And I don’t say that lightly. That’s what I saw every time I looked at myself.

One day I looked in the mirror and as usual, saw that pathetic body staring back at me with sad eyes. Only this day, I made a promise to myself.

If I survive cancer I will never again complain about a bad hair day or being too fat. I will love my body no matter what it looks like,  missing breast and all.

At the time, I had no idea that I would have a second mastectomy—electing to take off the other breast to prevent a recurrence. I had no idea that I would be too thin for the standard surgery taking tummy tissue to make breasts. I had no idea that I would get implants; no idea that my body would reject them. I had no idea that I would end up with no breasts at all.

I had no way of knowing that medication would cause me to gain back all the weight I lost almost overnight. I had no way of knowing that I would gain even more, thanks to age.

I also had no way of knowing that my body would serve me so well—meeting the challenge of cancer and giving me the precious gift of life.

Since that day when I stood in the mirror wondering how low the scale would go…..

• I weigh around 30 pounds more than I did then (I don’t know exactly how much because I never get on it anymore.)
• I’m one of those women who occasionally sees a picture of myself from the early years when I felt fat; and wonder —-what was I thinking?
• My body is a long way from the ideal —too little in the places you want it—and too much in the places you don’t.

But I kept my promise.

Sure, I wish I had breasts — not to mention a waist — but I have never loved my body more than I do today.

And that’s the truth.

The image above is from my new collection, called Boobalas, which brings my cancer journey full circle.   One purpose of Boobalas is creating  a new take on body image and breast awareness—for all women, since we all struggle with these issues.  By using  humor and my story,  I’m hoping women and girls will focus on what’s most important—-learn that our bodies and breasts don’t define who we are— and appreciate them as the priceless gift they are..  Click here to see more Boobalas.

Women of a certain age, we’ve passed beyond desirable demographics—mostly not given a second glance— or a second chance.

Supposedly, we’re invisible…. presumably to fade away into the sunset.

Only someone forgot to tell us.

No one told all the women starting new careers, new businesses and new lives well after 50—including me.

No one told the two women I ran into in the grocery store.

Though we’re just casual acquaintances, the conversation shifted immediately into intimacy.

One just did a major glamification —-makeup, hair, clothes, and losing a lot of weight.

The other woman also recently shed a huge weight—-her husband of 35 years.

They’re happy.  Exuberant.  Loving life.  Loving who they are.

Most importantly—they’re not looking back.  They’re looking ahead.

I spent today grouting (the only part of making mosaics I don’t love).   After standing for 8 hours bending over a table, I thought my back muscles might never recover.  Thinking about all the things I’m doing to start my new mosaic business-– physically and mentally—at dinner I started to tell my husband, maybe I’m too old to be doing this.

Then I immediately realize— this is exactly what I want to be doing right now.  I’m busy, I’m healthy, I’m looking ahead-–not back.

As if to validate the thought,  one hour later, my back felt fine.

And further validation came the next morning when I read  a new study done by Cheerios. Most Americans feel postitive, not negative, when they turn 50—and they’re looking ahead to what the future holds.    They think 50 is an important time to focus on their health.  And 77% of Americans feel younger at 50 than they thought they would.

It’s the perfect time to Choose You.

Putting those two words together is so wrong on  so many levels.

Although food is a perfect source of nourishment and nutrition and pleasure…. for comfort, you’re better off with a teddy bear.

Personally I always found chocolate more cuddly.  

 Plus one of my mom’s most lasting lessons is that everything feels better once you’ve had an ice cream soda.

It always worked for me.  

But  my son pulled the plug on the family tradition ….and I agreed to seek comfort elsewhere.

Since I signed up for Choose You,  I’ve  cut down my sugar intake.

Although certain occasions call for chocolate.

And due to some unforeseen circumstances, lately I’ve felt the need for a little more comfort than usual.

I well know—and so does UPS— what brown can do for you.    So twice three times in the last week, I decided to go for it.

I’ll leave the details to your imagination. 

Anyway, the results were surprising.

And I can’t decide if it’s good news or bad news:   my comfort food wasn’t nearly as comforting.

More birthdays.

Those are words I truly appreciate; I know all too well that every birthday is a gift.

So I take the American Cancer Society slogan seriously.

As a serious chocoholic, I’ve always taken my chocolate choices seriously too.

My 45^th birthday was the worst of my life—because fate brought me the wrong C-word—Cancer, not Cake.

Cancer became even worse when I read that sugar was bad for cancer patients.

I cut it out of my life completely.

Chocolate stocks plunged.  Sales of chocolate dropped to precipitous levels.  I refused to acknowledge the color brown.

I forbid my friends and family– and myself– from allowing myself even a bite, not even one minuscule chocolate chip, not even on my birthday.

I felt not only depressed—but deprived.

Cancer + chemo + no cake didn’t make for much of a celebration.

6 miserable months later, I  allowed moderation—-and chocolate—back into my life.  The whole world looked brighter; Chocolatiers all over the world could smile again, and so could I.

And I realized even a bite of birthday cake might have brought a morsel of joy at a time that I really needed it.

A few days ago another birthday rolled around.   Though I didn’t have an official birthday cake, there was no pity party—I spread out my birthday for almost a week,  enjoying time with friends and family.

I also didn’t forget about my Choose You commitment…..but, yes there was sugar involved.

Because that Unhappy birthday taught me lessons I’ve never forgotten.

I choose health, of course;  and I also know there are times it’s equally important to choose joy.

I also learned to celebrate—every birthday—because no matter how old you are,  being here is always worth celebrating.

And celebrating life—with or without chocolate—  is what More Birthdays are all about.

Darryle Pollack finds joy in chocolate celebrating the big and little things about life on her blog, I never signed up for this….

As any parent can imagine, I’m beyond ecstatic that he arrived back in the US this weekend after being gone for 6 months.

He’s been keeping tabs on my progress long distance—but I thought I’d give a an official status report on his  feedback since he’s been home.

Time elasped since he’s been back on American soil:  36 hours.   Surprisingly he’s been awake for most of them.

Time elapsed before he asked whether I’ve kept up with a serious cardio program: 4 hours

(By the way, the answer was “no”.)

Number of meals we’ve eaten together since he’s been home: 6

Number of times he’s reminded me before, during or after those meals to eat less sugar–0

It’s not that he’s changed;  I have.

Without even realizing it’s happened, over the past few months I’ve developed some new habits—-healthy ones—-and have managed to drastically limit my consumption of sugar.  Even chocolate.

I’m not aware if I’ve affected the sales figures of Sees Chocolate for the last quarter.    This shift happened so gradually and organically I’ve barely noticed.    It took Daniel’s journey home for me to realize that my Choose You journey is well under way.

With apologies in advance for joking about something that’s not funny.

My son was hounding me for months to take better care of my health; and if you’ve followed my posts on Choose You,  you know I’ve been trying.  Less chocolate.   Less stress.   More exercise.

I could be the last person on the planet who hasn’t tried Zumba;  and a few weeks ago I officially vowed to go.

Who knew the universe would conspire against me by cancelling the class?

I figured it could be a sign; but I gave Zumba another chance a few weeks later,  when my friend  invited me to come to a class at the fitness club where she belongs.

This time  I actually went.  And I actually liked it.

So a few days ago I  went back again— by myself— to consider joining her gym.   Got all the information and membership forms; and while I was there,  I took my second Zumba class.

I knew Daniel would be glad that he managed to light a fire under me.

Only then the universe did it for real.

I took that Zumba class Thursday afternoon at 5 p.m.   12 hours later the gym burned down.

I doubt that’s what they mean by “Go for the burn”…..

or this:

But then I go to the framer’s:

And the dry cleaner…….

 Really, be honest—what would you pick up here—a lint roll (er) or a Tootsie roll?

 And worst of all…..

…..the dermatologist.  And they used to tell us chocolate gave us pimples….

 Honest,  I’ve been trying most of the time to give it up.

 So what I want to know…..is this a conspiracy ?

 Why do people insist on giving out free chocolate?

When the going gets tough…..it’s tough to go anywhere!