Hello everyone! It’s been a while – last you heard from me, I had joined Weight Watchers and was losing weight (and a bit of mind, come to think of it). Well, the good news is – I’ve lost 28 pounds. Yippee! The bad news is — I haven’t been able to keep up the WW meetings. The long winter didn’t help when icy streets actually made it treacherous to continue with the local meetings. And then I switched meetings — but found it was not compatible with my particular needs (needs? I’m Italian – it’s eat or feed someone quick!) So, I’m winging it, so to speak, for the rest of the summer and will re-join a weight loss program in the fall. I’ve kept up my weight loss commitments, mind you, with the occasional indulgence of an ice cream cone. Okay, a cookie. And, um, a piece of cake. But just one piece! I know, I know — that’s how it all starts. A teensy piece of cake, a smidgeon of a cookie. And so it begins. Trust me — I’m super diligent, and I don’t want to gain back what I’ve fought so hard to lose.
I’m facing my biggest challenge — visiting The Motherland this week! Yup, heading out to Italy, Parma, to be exact, for cooking classes (stop snickering, you know I’m going to eat the pasta) and a tour of the Barilla Pasta institute.
© sattriani – Fotolia.com
I know, you feel my pain, but I’m actually looking forward to speaking Italian (with a Canadian accent, no less!) and just soaking up the ambience. While I’m there, I’m going to blog my experiences and will share everything, warts and all — starting with my flight. Last time I flew to Europe, I felt like I needed a shoe horn to get out of my seat it was so crowded. And long. The two lovely ladies sitting in the same aisle kept insisting I was Lebanese. Seriously? Canadian! I kept correcting. No, no Lebanese. Italian! I tried in desperation, but they would have non of it…and spoke to me most of the way in another language, which was okay in a weird way. At least they held my hands when we hit turbulence.
Coming home I upgraded myself to first class (they had a sale!) and seriously — once you go FC you can’t go to the back of the plane. Ever. Again.
Thanks for keeping me company on my little sojourn! And as they say — when it Rome, do as the Romans do, when in Parma — learn to make pasta!
Tanti baci!