Diana Hansen-Young

So the sugar craving's going. . . as someone said it would. . .

Walked to Costco today. 5.3 miles. So I see:

So what IS the problem? What IS in the mug?!

And he's right, the sugar craving is going. . . .

Question about painting. . .

From time to time I get questions and photos about paintings from my past; I thought I'd answer on the blog, so that others with similar questions can find answers. JAMES S sends photos and asks what is it? Print, original, and the story?

So, James, this is an original watercolor on D'Arches 300 lb. cold pressed smooth hand-made watercolor paper from France. I did this in 1993 (as you can see from the signature) - so that makes it 19 years old -- one more year, and it officially classifies as "vintage" on Etsy or Ebay!

James sends me a photo of the dedication on the back: TO HARRY - 1993. Unfortunately, over the 19 years, I have Forgotten Harry. Harry, if you are reading this, oops! Sorry! I often dedicated pieces to people, especially when they were to be given as gifts.

As for the model, I probably used over 200 women of Hawaii as models from 1966 to the present time. I don't remember her name, but she would have been traditionally "hapa-haole" - a mix of Hawaiian, Chinese, Japanese, Filipino, Samoan, or haole. I asked friends, neighbors, relatives, the check-out girl at Star Supermarket -- when I saw a face I felt I should paint, I asked, and usually took photographs and worked from those (no one had the time or the patience to model live!)

End of Today's Lesson, James!

Mysterious mug continues to be mysterious. . .

What was in the mug? Broccoli, cauliflower and asparagus?

Those were on the plate, much to the dismay of the cats. Stay tuned.

The nuttiness of no sugar is waning. . .

. . . i only crave ice cream like 12 times a day.

So I'm on a three-day-work-binge, meeting a deadline, and hooray hooray, I just finished and came up for air. There are papers everywhere. Celebrate! Celebrate!

So I have a mug of. . . . of. . . . . so say it's a mystery mug. . . of . . . mystery. A mysterious mug. No sugar, but still mysterious, and celebratory.

And I'm putting away The Mystery Tome I've been working on. . . eh, voila! The end of the day! And the Lady lights up on the horizon. . . and it's time to fold up shop.  Tomorrow I will shovel out the stacks of paper garbage, kitty litter and do the dishes. And walk. C U Then.

So it's Mother's Day. . .

And every year I realize how lucky I am! Two darling dumplings, Write and Writ.
So I do a quick walk across the Manhattan Bridge early, before Writ arrives from DC via NJ with DS to meet Write and BH. We walk down the street to SC, an Australian Fusion restaurant and eat a delicious brunch. Writ has brought a bag of vegetables; my fridge is so stuffed that the cauliflower leaps out at me every time I open it. Write has left a beautiful batch of luxurious hand cream on my laptop.

All afternoon I clean the Augean Stables; the pile of legal crap in the middle of the room is growing exponentially, and it all needs to be done now. At 6:30 I take off for another quick walk. Only 10,000 steps today, about 4.2 miles, then return.

Thanks, Write and Writ, for making me the mother of all mothers.

So I find a vintage pin today that says. . . . .

How coincidental is that?

Day 11. No sugar. The craving seemed to subside until I went through the farmer's market in Union Square, where all I seemed to see was Maple Syrup, Honey, and rhubarb-strawberry pies.

Cut walk back to 3 miles; need the body rest, and it was close to 80, and the unexpected heat drained away the energy. Came home and started to read Charles Duhigg: "The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do --" it's absolutely fascinating. Like the Gary Taubes book, "Why We Get Fat: And What To Do ABout It" - I can't put it down. Beginning to understand why the cue/routine/reward of eating sugar -- and then the withholding - has created a craving - Duhigg is absolutely on point.

So now there are vegetables call to be  cooked. . . found RAMPS at the farmer's market and I am going to experiment. . . I had to ask what they were.

All Ramps aside, tomorrow's Mother's Day. I'm ready. I'll wear my Pin with Pride.

Day 10. No sugar. Criminal thoughts dance in my head. . .

So I'm walking 4.5 miles today wondering Why? Why? Why am I doing this?  The answer may have been obvious earlier, and later on this evening, but right now. . . So I end up at the Grand Street B Train station in Chinatown, where I stand on the platform watching a sweet little old couple . . . . . . .with a bag from Tai Pan Bakery. . . full of. . . . . PASTRIES.
If I grab the bag and run . . . criminal thoughts dance like sugarplums in my head. . . they share a slice of green tea sponge cake . . . I fixate on the crumbs on the subway platform. . . what rat will enjoy them tonight? Other eyes are watching. . . could I make it out of the station? 

She has a cane. She'd club me to save her sponge cakes.

Say; who had this nutty idea about no sugar, anyway? Whose fault is it that I am fixated on that bag? I look around for someone to blame for my addiction. It's them. Them.

.Instead of pushing them in front of the train and making off with the sponge cakes, I sketch and watercolor them. Now their gluttony is preserved for all time and eternity.

Fitting punishment. The nerve.

Striding Through the City With A Sketchbook . . .

. . . 13,24 sugarless steps, 30 flights sugarless stairs, 5.87 sugarless miles. . . down 6th Avenue, cut over to 5th Ave, thru Washington Square, crisscross to 9th, back to 2nd, back to Broadway, down to Canal Street, Chinatown, and hopped the Q home across the Manhattan Bridge.

And the sun set, and I'm home, and waiting for the Empire State Building to light up. . . there she goes. Green. And it's enough. If this is all there is, it's enough.

Yikes! Even carrots are a no-no

So another day without sugar, and I'm refining my no-sugar-ness. I dutifully look up glycemic index and see that carrots are basically a NO GO.

Visions of baguettes, bread, Pastrami on Rye, honey (oh my I am a honey fiend) doughnuts (which I don't like anyway but now can't have them so I love them) and other things swirl around my head. Carrots? Carrots? Et tu, Carrots?

Egads. Spoken.

one week without sugar

wow. just coming out of the fog. read an article in The Daily Beast from NEWSWEEK, by Gary Taubes - talking about the sugar thing. And: went down three pounds in a week. Same calorie count, walking upwards of 5 miles a day, but it's the sugar, stupid. It's the sugar.

Felt foggy and tired. Truly out of it, spacey. Last night, slept 14 hours. This morning, starting to feel somewhat normal. The urges still wash over me; I can't imagine what it's like to be addicted to something worse than sugar, but maybe this is the worse. I don't know. I just think: this will pass in a little bit, and try to distract myself. But it's a palpable thing.

This blog is fairly b0ring. I will spruce it up once I get past the sugar thing. More for me than anything. I need to remember this.

It's the sugar, stupid.