Digital Paintings

While in the newfie chat forum, I began to learn how to use the software; Paint Shop Pro. With the many photo manipulations to tease in the threads, to making cards or avatars, I soon began to try my had at digital Painting.

In my first attempt, I was reunited with my first love; my Art.

“First Love”


Mincemeat Cake

2 eggs

3 cups mincemeat

1 can eaglebrand milk

2 cups mixed fruit etc etc

2 1/2 cups flour

1 tsp soda

Lemon Crunch Squares

38 crackers

3/4 cup flour

3/4 cup butter

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup coconut

1 tsp b powder

*reserve 1 heaping cup of crumbs, press 15 min bake 350

Center filling:

3 eggs frothy

1 cup sugar

1/4 cup butter

1/4 cup lemon juice

2 tsp zest

*Heat , stir 5 min til thick

Bake 20 min brown

Carrot Cake

1 cup sugar

1 cup oil

3 eggs

2 cups grated carrot

1 1/2 cup flour

1 1/3 tsp cinnamon

1 1/3 tsp soda

1 1/3 tsp b powder

1 tsp salt

Date Oatmeal Turnovers

3/4 cup shortening

1 cup b sugar

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla

1/4 cup milk2 cups flore

1 tsp soda

1 tsp salt

2 cups oats

1/4 cup flour for rolling out cookies

Refrigerate dough for 30 minutes

Date Filling

1/2 lb dates   1/2 cup sugar   water


2 cups Flour
2 Tbsp W Sugar
1 tsp Salt
4 tsp Baking Powder

1/2 cup cold Butter or Margarine

1 Egg, beaten + milk = 1 cup liquid

In a bowl sift flour, sugar, salt & baking powder. Cut in cold butter. Make a well and pour in liquid.
Mix to form a ball. Knead then roll out and cut.
Place on baking sheet.
Bake at 400 for approx. 15-20 minutes until golden brown.

No longer a Victum

In recognizing my addiction to food, I recently joined a Food Addiction Group. Although all of our stories are different, I am finding very valuable info and support within the group.
I recently seen them post of a “Writing for Recovery Basics: Food Addiction” Course. (
I knew that writing in a journal has helped me thus far so I wondered what I would learn diving into writing about my relationship with food.
It took me quite a while to do the first lesson; I took the advice given though and took as long as I needed.
I highly recommend the Series. I found it quite enlightening. Something I much needed to further me along in my recovery of food addiction.
I thought I would share the writings of my first Lesson with you.
In the first lesson, I had to get some crayons and choose a color that reminded me of my childhood, write about how I felt about the color and what memories came from it. I also had to smell it…sound odd? Well read on, and see what I found out in doing it…..

I pondered as I looked into the crayon box. “Hmmm, shall it be blue or purple?”
In thinking of my childhood, I pulled out purple. Instantly I thought of my purple fuzzy socks just like Donnie Osmond’s. I smiled as I remembered the huge poster in my bedroom and the album with the song,” the Twelfth of Never”. Isn’t it funny what comes to mind with just a color.

I thought of my first and only pair of jeans; purple, with a peace sign patch. My striped bedspread my Mom had made me; purple. The more I thought of it, purple was quite prominent when I was 10-13 years old.

I then thought of the turmoil of that time in my life.
A time filled with pain and emotion, both of which I repressed for many years. That was a time when my Mom took us kids and separated us from my Dad and Grammie.  In not being given any explanation as to the why, I knew; children hear and sense more than a person realizes, the only thing is , they take and warp their own reasonings into the situation.

After a short time, Mom & Dad did get back together. So much was going on, a very defining moment in my life that has caused a lot of pain & confusion which resulted in many behaviors & thought patterns that weren’t the best.

As I put the crayon up to my nose and took in a deep breath, I could smell the waxy strange smell. Yet it seemed familiar. Immediately I remembered coloring when I was a young child. I was around four, maybe five… coloring with my Grammie. This made me feel warm and happy. It is amazing how smelling a waxy crayon evokes such memories.

I tried to think of any moments during that same time in my life that I might have binged. I could not think of one. I remember the treats; Mom & Grammie baking quite a bit. Going to the stores with Grampie who would buy anything for me. I would scrounge for empty bottles too, to be able to go to the corner store for a bag of penny candy. Wait…I can remember eating apple after apple… My Mom said the family use to go through a 50 lb bag of apples in a week…perhaps there was a wee bit of binging when young?
Food definitely was a reward or punishment at our house. Growing up I was to eat everything on my plate or I would get no dessert. There were times my lips never touched the final course and the desire for that cake grew stronger…. feeling that restriction triggered me big time.

I feel my unhealthy eating habits began when I was young and progressed over the years. I remember name-calling and the slurs about me being “fat”…. I hated that word.
I felt very alone, sad, unworthy, shamed, unloved, and different. I was never good enough. I hated myself and kept people at a distance because if they got close enough, they might hate me too.

So as I sat with my crayon, I thought back as far as I could to a time where I would have binged. Surprisingly it was around the same time of my adventures in purple land, actually the latter part when I was 13.

I had taken over a paper route that my brother once had. He had made a fair amount of cash doing it, so naturally I thought I would try my hand at it.
I would go to the News office after school to pick up the papers. It made me feel good that I had a job to make some money, to have in my pocket. I finally didn’t have to beg for money from my Mom when I wanted to buy something.
Yet somehow, saving it was not my strong suit. A habit carried out for most of my life.

I had a habit of stopping off at a store on my way to deliver my papers. I would buy something; any kind of junk that caught my fancy. I sometimes would buy a huge bag of BBQ chips that would have three medium sized bags in it. I would neatly pack them in my news bag and open one of them.

As I walked and delivered my papers, I would indiscreetly put my hand into my bag, pull out a few chips, and stuff them into my mouth as fast as I could, so no one would see. I so remember that feeling of hiding, the shame, yet I continued over and over, I couldn’t stop. The ever pleasing, rather euphoric spicy salty flavor across my lips I can almost taste as I type this. By the time I finished my route of 48 papers and began my trek home, I was getting into my third bag.
There was always something in my bag, filling that empty hole inside me.

When I got home, I was alone. I would turn on the TV, and then go scan the cupboards and fridge for anything possible to eat. I would sometimes pull out the frying pan, heat up some oil, and fry off half a bag of French fries. Pile them high on a plate with lots of salt and ketchup and gobble them down as I watched the soaps. I was in heaven.

I didn’t eat slow though, I ate like a pelican, it’s a wonder I even tasted anything but oh how the smell of French fries today still sends off a feeling of euphoria. I’d watch the clock, get up, fry the rest of the bag and devour them too. I would clean up, hide any evidence, and wait for everyone to get home for supper, that I would have cooked and had waiting. I lived in fear, guilt and shame.

Funny, up until now, I had totally forgotten about how I ate. I knew I was an emotional eater but never really classed myself as a binger. I was in denial, hiding even from myself.
Amazing how this revelation has made a shift in my thinking. I have always blamed myself for everything. I wallowed in my hopelessness. I felt powerless.
Knowing that my emotional eating wasn’t considered an eating disorder, I always felt something was wrong with me, that there was no help for me; I was a defect, unworthy of help.

Those feelings always seemed to be in the background, ready to surface in my down times, which ended up sabotaging my attempts.

I now know, I DID have an eating disorder… I DO have an eating disorder.
I can take back my power and do something about it. That old thinking was wrong and keeps me in the victim cycle, which is detrimental to me.
I believe this shift will help me immensely in my recovery. I know I will still have my moments; those old neuro pathways need some re routing and fine-tuning.
One Day at a time….

I will no longer remain a victim.


Winkin, Blinkin and Nod

This piece was written when I had examined my own fears while growing up.  I  learned there were some things that just didn’t get talked about in our home and how I coped in a dream world and used food to escape.
This is written through my child’s eye….

All nestled in my warm bed, with dreams of “Winkin’ Blinkin’ and Nod” I laid there safe in my cocoon.
I had sailed in that wooden shoe many a night through the starry skies. In wonderment, I would fish the beautiful sea in adventures far and beyond.
As I was casting my golden net that night, I heard a mumble in the distance. I could not quite make out what the disturbance was in the skies so clear. I strained with all my might; I laid down my net in the mist and put my head against the dew.

My eyes flickered as my subconscious struggled to hear what my ears were taking in, and then suddenly I was awake. I froze in the stillness of my room.

Something was happening. Did I do something wrong? Daddy was downstairs and was really mad. He wanted Mommy, but she would not go down. I saw her rush into Grammie’s room. Was she scared too? What was going to happen?

I covered my ears, as the sounds got louder. The cracking of splintering wood echoed through the silence of the house. My heart was beating out of my chest as I quietly pulled the covers over my head; trembling as I held them tight.
Soon everything went silent. I waited.

I then stepped into the wooden shoe and sailed away into the mist once again.

I woke the next morning with the warmth of the sun shining on my face. I smiled as it shone through my curtains and danced on my wall. Caught in its reverie, I stretched my arms and smiled. I sprung out of bed and got dressed for school.
I could hear Mommy in the kitchen downstairs and the smell of toast wafting up the stairwell made my belly rumble.

As I made my way down to the landing, I turned. I stood horrified at the scattered wood that lay at the bottom. I then remembered the disturbance in the mist last night.
I wondered if I would be able to get down.

Slowly, I edged my way, being careful with each step; for some were half-gone. I hugged the wall for support for the banister was doing a balancing act all on its own. Daddy sure was mad again.

I worked my way through the rubble and finally went into the kitchen. Grammie was sitting, drinking her tea. Quietly I sat down. I eyed my big brother who was intently eating his cereal and my little brother grinning as he ate his peanut butter toast.
I swallowed hard as I looked up to see Mommy put my bowl of cereal and milk in front of me. “Eat up now so you won’t be late for school.” she said.

As I picked up my spoon, I sprinkled sugar like moon dust over the miniature universe I had in my bowl. I dove into the Milky Way and thought happy thoughts of my adventures last night with “Winkin’ Blinkin’ and Nod”.

Many things can transpire in a child’s mind, which can form false truths and form behaviors that may cause more harm. This dysfunction can continue on into adult life and affect life in many ways.  It is very much a repetitive occurrence from parent to child. through many generations. Until a person knows better, they can’t do better.  The affects of alcoholism touches everyone in a family, I am thankful for AA and Al-Anon for their 12 step program where healing can  begin and change made from a childhood of trauma & pain.