Xylitol

 I have been trying a number of sugar substitutes. 

My chiropractor suggested a product called xylitol. Try to say that out loud—doesn't it look and sound terrible? I resisted for a long time based on the name, and also based on how much I dislike artificial and alternative sweeteners. 

Have you tried stevia? I wanted to like it, but no—not one bit.

Anyway, I ordered a number of alternative sweeteners from Amazon. I got the xylitol, coconut sugar, date sugar, date syrup, and, just for jollies, pomegranate syrup.

I tried the xylitol first to get it out of the way. I put it in my tea- it’s a one-to-one serving size to sugar, and even though I prefer honey in my tea, it wasn’t terrible.  I would even say it is better than sugar (in tea at least). Interesting. I learned it is made from birch tree sugars and is slightly better for you than sugar, having fewer calories.

Next I tried the date sugar- seems like it was just dried and powdered dates. It tastes good (if you like dates) but doesn’t really melt in hot water, so I had a layer of date sludge at the bottom of my tea cup.  Weird.

Next I tried the coconut sugar. I don’t know how they make coconut sugar, but it looks like dry brown sugar and tastes much like caramel and/or molasses. (Both of which I love.)

Needless to say, the coconut sugar is the winner for tea.  tea. Not that it is much different from actual sugar in caloric or nutritional value- except that it is perhaps less processed. I haven’t even tried the date or pomegranate syrups yet. 

Are you okay?

 Have you ever wondered to yourself if you have a subdural hematoma?

I clearly watch too many CSI/pathologist-based shows. I don’t even really know what a subdural hematoma is. It’s a brain bleed—I just looked it up. I do not have one.

I know this mostly because they are deadly; my accident happened two weeks ago, and I didn’t hit my head when I fell. I feel fairly certain it is just a regular hematoma.

Here’s the story: I usually send my youngest daughter out to fetch the mail, but I guess I was feeling sassy or something, and I decided to venture to the bottom of the hill myself. Having a house on a hill seemed like a good idea when we looked at the house, but there’s that whole walking up and down the hill thing too—don't get the wrong idea—it's not a big hill; there are maybe 12-15 steps down to the mailbox. I’m just lazy.

It had just stopped storming, so I carefully stepped over the large mud puddle at the bottom of the steps, over the curb, and into the street so that I could inspect my mailbox’s innards. When I looked inside, there were TWO hand-addressed envelopes (it’s a big day), so I was pretty excited. I plucked the mail out: two letters, a few flyers, and some junk mail. I was totally absorbed in the contemplation of what I might find in those two letters. I had one letter in each hand, with the flyers and junk tucked in behind my treasures.

No longer remembering the violent storm that had recently flooded the streets, I stepped right into the big puddle at the bottom of the stairs.  Everything started happening in slow motion. I felt my foot lose purchase in the mud. I felt the mud ooze up past the sole of my sandal. I felt the slight twist of my body as I began to lose balance—I tried to self-correct—alas, it was not to be. be. Down, down, down we went, my letters and me. I saw the pavement rushing to my face, and by instinct I pushed my arms out to catch myself from face-planting. I landed with the heels of my hands first.

Once on the ground, my first thought was, “Are the letters okay?” The letters were in fact just fine, still clutched in my iron fists of letter salvation. My next thought was, “I wonder if anyone saw that." Finally, I figured I should roll over and inventory my injuries. So, like a little piggy enjoying her slop, I just rolled over in the mud. I lay like that for probably a full minute, hands still clutching the letters, arms high holding them out of the mud.

I had fallen on my right side, my abdomen landing on a paving stone, my knee hitting the step, and my big toenail got a bit too involved with the curb for my liking. I had a scratch on my left wrist and a scrape on my right knee, but overall not too bad.  I spent a bit more time contemplating how to get up off the ground without further injuring myself—it involved some scooting, then up on my knees, then a full-moon situation to the street.  I was wearing a dress (which I had hiked up to my waist as I maneuvered my girth out of the puddle). Fear not—I was also wearing bright purple shorts.  

It wasn’t until the next day that I felt the full impact—it's been a while since I fell that hard. My arms and shoulders were so sore from catching myself, my back and side were a mess, and of course my knees and toes . . .  I got a pretty deep-looking bruise on my side, and don’t you know it? A little pea-sized lump under the bruise. I can’t confidently say it was my first hematoma, but it is the first one since I heard the word “hematoma.”

I’m fine now—the bruise is gone from my side, and my back and arms are feeling good—but I do still have that little lump.

Throw me the candy!

 So, my oldest daughter plays saxophone and has joined the high school band this year.

Have mercy! I was never a band kid, but this band thing is INTENSE! School hasn’t even started, and she’s been in band camp for three weeks already! They got her started so that she could march in the 4th of July parade.

We have six high schools in our district, and all the bands marched.  Not all the bands march their freshmen, but hers does.

I have made all efforts to avoid the 4th of July parade for many years—it's freaking HOT in TX on the 4th of July. But since she’s participating, I am compelled to sit through hours of people walking and cars and trucks, etc., crawling by with bored-looking drivers—all the while trying to unstick myself from my camp chair and wipe away the perspiration before it drips into my eyes.

For a long while, I had a hard time trying to figure out why parades seemed so fun when I was a kid. The truth was my two kids were not happy with the situation and would have much rather been watching TV. Here are some ideas of why the parade was not as entertaining as I remembered.

1. The most important factor was nobody was throwing anything at us. When I was a kid, we always sat on the curb, as close to the action as possible, because for sure every float was going to throw candy at us—maybe even little trinkets like plastic bead necklaces or toy soldiers or even pencils or pens. What’s not to love about people throwing candy at kids? I now know it is probably a safety hazard, not to mention candy would melt as soon as it hit the pavement, and it would probably cause a big mess later; the whole place would be invaded by fire ants and we’d all suffer with highly unpleasant blisters- but still CANDY.

2. There were no grown men dressed as Elvis riding tiny motorcycles in tight circles and figure-eight patterns. Bummer.

3. There were no grown men wearing fez hats driving tiny cars in carefully choreographed patterns, honking their tiny horns and waving at us and throwing candy.

4.   

Fortunately, there were also no (or very few) clowns.  

Do you have parade memories? The PA town I grew up in had a big Halloween parade. I remember one time the trees were beautiful with bright orange and yellow and red; we went to the Halloween parade, and it started snowing!

When I was in high school, I lived in Fort Myers, FL.  Its claim to fame was that it was where Thomas Edison would go for the winter. So, capitalizing on that, they had a Christmas parade of lights. It was a big deal. Every float had to have electric lights. People would go out and strap their lawn chairs to signposts weeks in advance to save their spots.