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Posts Tagged ‘treats’

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Chino and me. Spring 2012, Count Basie Theatre, Red Bank, NJ.

Last year around this time I worked with an actor who was better motivated than anyone I have ever worked with. And it wasn’t by the director’s powerful encouragement, or by his own ego, or by audience accolades. He was motivated by his very favorite thing to eat.

His name was Pacino, but I called him Chino (or ‘meshuganah’, as apt a nickname for this actor as any), and there he is above. The show was The Wizard of Oz, and I had precisely one job: Him. Specifically, getting him on stage for all of his cues, receiving him when he came off stage, and keeping him safe and happy in the meantime. To do this I armed myself with fattening little dog treats which I sometimes called Scooby snacks*, and which he loved to absolute distraction. Sometimes before a show I’d entertain the humans by holding a treat a foot above his head, moving it in a circle and saying, “Pirouette!’ He would twirl on his furry little back legs and then I’d give him the treat. He could smell them in my jeans pocket and shamelessly scratched at my jeans with both paws to try to unearth more.

Right before a cue I’d have him sniff and lick at the treat I had tightly in my fingers. He’d become 100% focused on it. When I heard the cue, I’d throw the treat across the deck and let him go. He would chase the treat and catch it, Dorothy would pick him up, and we were golden. When he came off to me, I’d give him another one. My goal was to get him used to a routine so he would trust me and so he’d keep doing what I needed him to do. He was always good for it. Always.

When it comes to maintaining a healthy weight, treats obviously have the potential to be our undoing. Given Chino’s undying devotion to his Scooby snacks, it was no different for him. His owner told me I needed to be judicious in giving him snacks because he needed to lose a pound. (When you only weigh nine pounds, every ounce counts.)**

But the other side of Kryptonite is power.*** Wisely harnessed, really incredible treats—including food—can get us from point A to point B. And since by saying that I’ve already dragged political correctness to the curb with the recycling bins, I’m going to emphasize again: It’s okay to use treats, food or otherwise, for motivation as long as they’re administered with care. Here’s how:

1) Treat yourself on a regular basis. You’ll be happier and have fewer cravings this way, I promise. Yes, eat right most of the time; yes, get your body moving; yes, avoid Testarossa shopping if you can’t afford toothpaste. But don’t deprive yourself of good things, in good doses. Life is supposed to be fun. If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong.

2) Reread those last two sentences and put them on sticky notes all over your house, your car and your Burmese cat if necessary.

3) Create a list of extra-special treats that can help you get past a goal. Chino’s job was very physical; he worked hard for those Scooby snacks. He was twirled around while sitting in a basket, handled by eight actors along with me, and worked more than a dozen shows. Think about what you have to hurdle over next Tuesday, and make the treat fit the crime.

4) Give yourself another treat after you’ve slain the witch. And make it good, and don’t apologize. Earn your own trust. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Gratuitous personal story: I’m looking for a full-time salary and wanted to answer an ad yesterday. I knew baking the below would be the stick of firecracker in my back pocket I needed to do it. So I baked it, and it was: hot homemade cornbread topped with my current darling, Irish butter. We have lovely little dalliances a few times a week. Then we give each other a chance to miss each other. I don’t believe in rushing romance.

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*Someone at Wizard of Oz told me this was actually a sly drug reference from the mid-1960s TV show. It’s safe to say Chino really was addicted to his Scooby snacks, though, so it turned out to be a pretty accurate choice of words.

**Once I accidentally dropped his Tupperware container of treats right in front of him, and he went after them like a S-400 anti-ballistic missile. Not a shining moment in my backstage career.

***’High levels of green Kryptonite radiation can cause normal humans to mutate and acquire superhuman abilities.’ –Wikipedia FTW, baby.

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This is the most trying time of year. No doubt. As far as sunlight goes, we’re on the other side of winter; if we can make it through January, we’ll be out of the woods. But the landscape here on the U.S. east coast is still dreary, and the air is still bleak, only to get bleaker before daffodil season. As the days begin to lengthen, the cold begins to strengthen, as the saying goes. Now what?

Well…as long as we still have a couple of months until springtime (a groundhog’s yet-unknown prediction notwithstanding), I vote we pass the time by having fun. And by that I mean having treats—experiencing something every day that guarantees us a smile. Making a point to doing this at least until daffodils do it for us.

Treats can be food, but there are dozens of others I can think of. They’re personal, to be sure; an hour of Grand Theft Auto on the upstairs TV, with the door shut behind you, may spell bliss for you. For someone else, it’s a Sunday nap, cat curled up next to you, sunlight streaming across your legs, the sound of the radiator popping and hissing.

A treat is anything that makes your heart swell, anything that makes you want to splash around in it like Labrador in a kiddie pool. A color. A sound. A smell. What makes you feel 100% in the moment?

Photography does it for me. Four out of five senses gratified in one fell swoop. I get a bang out of putting on my snow boots now and trekking around, looking for beautiful low light or color or patterns in a wet sycamore or snow.

The beach, just a couple of blocks away, is desolate and gorgeous in winter. This shot was taken last February, in the late afternoon light.

This time of year offers more challenges for photographers (and athletes, and all outdoor types), but I have also found opportunities not to shoot the same old thing, not to be cliche, when the light and landscape are so spare. The same stuff you walked past last August doesn’t look the same now. It’s kind of cool.

In Scandinavia, people crave winter. They wait for summer to pass so they can jump into the winter sports they’ve either invented or perfected: skiing, ice skating, ski driving, or ski-joring—that’s fastening your big pooch to a harness, tying a belt around your waist, putting skis on, and letting him cruise you around the neighborhood. Apparently there are groups springing up here in the States, devoted to this most awesome idea. And after a day out in the elements, the Norse have a sauna—their lifeblood.

Doctor Who is a nighttime treat for me, a new one (okay, yes, I’m a late arrival, mock me). I borrowed DVDs of the modern series and am enjoying Chris Eccleston’s impish grin, the cheeseball special effects, and hearing Billie Piper say things like, “Nine-een-ay-ee-seven” (1987).

Back to food, because 1) I can’t veer too far from that topic for long and 2) cooking treats, and eating them, get me through these winter days pretty well.

I know many of us are trying to ease back from holiday overindulgence now, but that’s not I’m talking about when I say ‘treat’. I mean eat healthy most of the time, and allow yourself something yummy from time to time. Being good to yourself is good.

Tonight I’m writing this while checking on my vanilla fudge, which is cooling on the counter. It’s a gift to bring to a party tomorrow, and the smell in the place right now is rich and sweet, warming up this winter night.

Then there’s teatime. A centuries-old institution based on having a civilized treat in late afternoon—why did we ever diss this notion? I love my version: eating really high-end bittersweet chocolate buttons in the teeny cloud-covered bowl I got at a Ben & Jerry’s in D.C., and drinking milk through a straw stuck in the carton. Anglophile I may be; civilized, not so much.

My neighbor, in his late eighties, makes himself blueberry pancakes in his small, not-even-slightly-updated kitchen every Sunday morning without fail. Endearing creature of habit that he is, I suspect he has done so since the mid-fifties when he moved into town. He knows treats are there for the taking, and he makes a point to incorporate them into his life every day.

Life is supposed to be fun. If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong. Even in the winter.

It’s getting late, and the vanilla fudge is finally done. Here it is in the fridge, where it will wait in the cold and dark until morning. Just like us.

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