Lowering that sugar high

I'm not usually one to make New Year's resolutions, but in January of 2016 I quietly committed to reduce my sugar intake. Fourteen months later, it's time to evaluate how that's going. 

And, well, it's going. 

In one area I've reduced my sugar intake by two teaspoons a day. Unfortunately, I may have inadvertently over-compensated in another area – that alluring realm of sweetened, frozen dairy products. Ever since I stocked up on discounted rocky road, I've noticed my consumption rate increase. And there's definitely a correlation between the amount of ice-cream you have in the freezer and one's daily intake. 

Nevertheless, I did reduce the amount of sugar in my coffee by half (hence the two teaspoons per day). This was not easy. I liken it to gradually building up your resistance to poison by consuming a safe, minuscule portion daily, gradually increasing the dosage over time. Only in reverse. I gradually reduced the amount of poison, if I may call sugar that.

Don't get up in arms. If I really believed this, I'd have to stop being human. Sugar is an integral part of our eating culture, much like salt in ancient times. We can't avoid it anymore than we can avoid texting lol (yes, that's pretty funny, lol). 

But sugar is not as good for us as we once thought. Nutritionists used to say the big killer was fat, not sugar. Some went so far as to encourage eating candy instead of fatty foods, claiming these were empty calories, like eating rice cakes or Styrofoam (pretty much the same thing). Turns out that whole anti-fat fad, if you can call it that, was based on faulty research; a 1958 study linking fat with cardiovascular disease in different countries was conveniently selective in its evidence. New research suggests fat does not create fat any more than Donald Trump speaks truth. It may happen sometimes, but not consistently. Eat enough of anything and your girth will grow. 

And it will grow a lot faster if you load up on sugar and carbs. Carbs aren't inherently bad except that we typically remove all the good things – the bran and wheat germ from grain, for example – so that they aren't so good. 

Oatmeal. Because it's the right thing to do.

The not-so-good carbs are in almost every one of our meals and nearly impossible to remove. Is a dinner without rice, pasta or potatoes really dinner? I think not. Is a sandwich a sandwich without the bread? Just not possible! Everything we eat is a minefield of processed, refined, sugary goodness. It leaves us with nothing but vegetables and boiled eggs. (I guess you don't have to boil them, you can fry them in the fat of bacon if you'd like.) 

Changing habits is no easy task. For myself, it began by reducing the amount of sugar in my coffee. I also no longer drink a whole can of pop at a time (still haven't figured out what to do with the other half). And my 100% natural whole-flake oatmeal has become so full of nutritious garnishes, like walnuts, ground flax, hemp hearts and blueberries, one wonders how it's even possible to digest.     

But I'm doing it, almost every day, and maybe I'm even enjoying it. That's what I keep telling myself. 

The ice-cream helps, too. As with any paradigm shift, it's one small step at a time. 

Our love toilet broke

This Valentine's, I have one sound piece of advice: Don't go out and buy a toilet. 

Better yet, don't go out and buy a cheap toilet. 

It's a bad idea, probably in more ways than one. 

Yes, it could be an indication that Valentine's Day is not quite the special day it once was in your relationship. To be clear, it wasn't our intention to buy a toilet on Valentine's. It just happened to be that we were out and about that night. We had the romantic dinner, now it was time to tend to practical matters (or maybe there was no romantic dinner). 

In any case, we needed a toilet. Ours was having some major issues. It required a good three flushes to get things down, and when it's your ensuite bathroom, it becomes mission critical. 

The woman at Home Depot was more than helpful. She wasn't enjoying a romantic dinner either, which made us feel better. She sold us a cheap toilet for a good price... too good a price. 

The problem with cheap toilets, I learned later, is that they're defective. Or they can be. Or they will be. Over time, you see, the defect becomes more and more pronounced. 

It's like in any relationship – our defects become more pronounced over time. The way we load the dishwasher or don't load the dishwasher. The way we don’t hang up the tea towel the proper way. They way we nag. Okay, the way I nag. 

Don't be fooled into thinking it's always the wife that nags. Husbands do it, too. I have a long history of nagging, so much so that I wonder how she still lives with me. It's usually the small things that bug me most, which is completely the wrong message I should be sending my daughter. There's a book called, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff," which I should really read. It could help me immensely. 

It may help me from yelling, "Dishwasher!" every time my wife tries to wash a glass or plate by hand. I know! Terrible! Why on earth would you waste your time washing a dish when the dishwasher is patiently waiting to take it off your hands?!  

Then there are the times when I cook, which I confess, are few and far between. But Sunday lunch is typically my responsibility and so I cook what I know: eggs and bacon. Now you wouldn't think this should cause much stress, but my family knows to leave me alone when I'm cooking in the kitchen. If the eggs don't finish at the exact time the toast pops out of the toaster, my life is over. And flipping the eggs... Oh my goodness, I never thought flipping fried eggs could be so difficult. But there's rarely a time I flip them without the yoke gushing out of at least one of them. 

"I'll eat that one," my wife says lovingly, as I chuck it in the garbage.  

Sometimes I wonder how I became this way. Then I go home and spend some time with my parents. I don't want to pick on them, but soon the whole genetic inheritance thing becomes quite clear. I should also mention they've developed means to deal with their foibles like laughing at oneself and not taking oneself so seriously. I'm not at that stage yet. 

My point is (there may actually be one... I'm thinking...), you can't solve all your personal problems by being in a relationship. 

And for goodness sake, don't buy a love toilet this Valentine's.  

Examining the utility of football

 On this, the eve of Super Bowl Sunday, I'm reminded of something my wife once said to me: "You only get excited about two things: cars and football." This warranted a moment of self-reflection. 

It really got me thinking. I began to wonder if it's possible for me to get excited about other things. Now just to be clear, I'm not sure how excited I get about cars; I might obsess about them, but I'm not sure if excited is the best word. But football, yes, that's another story.  

It's not like I don't enjoy doing other things. I like playing badminton, for example. I don't typically yell and curse when I miss a shot though, like when our running back fumbles the ball AT THE FIVE YARD LINE in the biggest game of the year. I don't throw my racket to the floor and chew out my partner like I might our quarterback after he throws an interception AT THE MOST CRITICAL TIME OF THE GAME. No, I don't do that when I play badminton. 

I also like watching my daughter dance. But it's not like I jump up and down and holler when she makes a nice move; nor do I wave a banner in the air with her name on it and blow an air horn in the ears of those in front of me. But I still find it entertaining. 

I like watching a movie with my lover (just to be clear, I mean my wife, but to prevent the overuse of "my wife" and to protect her identity, I will now refer to her as my lover, my eternal love, my cupcake, etc). Again, date night's great but it's not quite the same as football. I don't obsess about "the night" for a week in advance, reading all the reviews and analysis on the movie, placing bets on what may happen in the plot, preparing what I'm going to wear and what we're going to eat (popcorn and orange Fanta, of course). I still enjoy it though. 

I hate to blame this on gender, but I really do think it's a guy thing. Guys have a remarkable ability to focus on only one thing at a time. It's this brilliant one-track mind that allows us to enjoy sports like football as though our lives depended on it. 

When I watch, I lose awareness of my surroundings. My daughter may be hanging upside down from the ceiling, but I won't notice unless she falls in front of the TV. And she knows to never do that. In fact, my family knows I need to be left alone. Especially if it's playoffs, better to shut the basement door and let me be (maybe throw me a snack every now and then).  

I must confess, the mood swings are tremendous. I don't think I'm bipolar, and I apologize for joking about this serious condition, but someone observing me on the couch might wonder if I've skipped my meds. 

The highs and lows are a killer. Especially the lows. It took me a month to get over the Roughriders' Grey Cup loss in 2009. Don't even talk to me about that game. Or the Packers' overtime loss to the Seahawks in 2014. These are events that tipped the balance of my fragile mental state. 

I am getting better though. My team lost in the conference game two weeks ago and I didn't plunge into depression. I didn't break anything, nor did I yell at my kid much. I was really proud of myself. 

It's a ray of hope.  

And maybe, just maybe, one day I'll get excited about something other than football.