Today is Christmas, and I am in recovery. More about that a bit later. After we sent the kids out the door to spend Christmas Day with their mother, high winds blew up and our power went out for three hours. We were so glad we had cooked our holiday meal and eaten it yesterday!
I was reminiscing that in 2008, our power went out on Christmas Eve, just as I was about to make osso bucco, and we ended up going out to eat at a restaurant not far away.
Today’s power outage seems like the closing parentheses for the time period that began with the prior outage and this. It is fitting in many ways, and ironic as well.
Now, about that recovery. Hi, my name is Sheila and I’ve been on a low-carb diet since July…
I was going to be strong on Christmas Eve. I had determined to resist temptation, destined to dine only on Things Having No Carbohydrates, except for the Exception: a couple of glasses of fine Brunello di Montalcino.
I had in fact been extremely dedicated to my low-carb lifestyle since the Thanksgiving weekend: fewer than 20 carbs per day, no alchohol, practically no caffeine (we start the day with a pot of 1/4 caff-3/4 decaf and I drink one cup), no sugar, no rice, no bread, no flour, no grains, no legumes, no pasta, etc. etc. etc.
So my Christmas treat was to be the wine. This didn’t sound bad. After all, we were having a beautiful prime rib and a nice salad. Even though two of the kids were with us and Brian was to make his usual pie and we would serve yams, still I felt it would be easy to resist the carbs.
But I hadn’t counted on my stepmother who, though not present, sent presents from Tennesse: an entire box filled with homemade fudge (two kinds), chocolate covered cherries, coconut bonbons, white chocolate pretzels, and other sugary delights.
The Box of Evil sat on my countertop for five minutes after it arrived, and then disappeared. Brian was being good to me, hiding the Forbidden Fruit so that I could resist. And it worked.
Yesterday, Christmas Eve, was the day we were doing our big dinner. The decorations were up, the lights were glowing from the tree under which pretty presents glistened with shiny ribbons. Pandora’s Christmas mix was playing on the flat screen, and the smell of pies baking and roast roasting was just too much. Tiny little messages stuck to tiny little arrows were shot by an unknown presence, barraging my gray matter. It’s Christmas! they said. Eat fudge! It’s tradition! Don’t ignore tradition!
I ignored tradition for a little while longer, and then I found the candy. I claimed it was for the kids and for Brian. I arranged a small amount of it temptingly upon a festive Christmas platter. I admired it. I walked away. I came back. I cut the fudge into small pieces. I left the area.
Like a magnet, that tray of goodies kept pulling me back. I tried a couple of crumbles from the edge of the fudge. mmmm. good. I ate half a piece of peanut butter fudge. I thought it might taste like Reese’s if I added half a piece of chocolate fudge. And Daddy (who is no longer with us) loved those coconut candies– I really should have one in his memory. But that was all. I could quit anytime.
Soon dinner was ready. There should be hymns of praise written and sung for that prime rib. It was delectable, and with it we had horseradish sauce I had made all the way from raw horseradish. I wasn’t supposed to have the yams, but it was Christmas, right? I had one. By the time the meal was over I had had a million times my carb allowance, so while we were clearing the table I had a chocolate covered cherry. And a wee bit more fudge.
We opened presents; we watched a movie. Then, after all the previous indulgence, what was one slice of pie? With ice cream?
And since one of my gifts was a beautiful bottle of Lagavulin, I had to have a wee dram of that, right?
Yes, dear readers, I am still alive. I was about to burst by the time I went to bed. But I am now back on the Plan. I can look that plate of Evil right in its fudgy cherry eyes and say NO.
Because I’m going to serve it to all my friends who are coming to knit and spin with me on Wednesday. Hee hee.