Weighing in on those tantalizing triggers

OK, I admit it. Self-control is not one of my strong personality traits. All I can say is it's a good thing I never became addicted to nicotine or alcohol, or I'd be sitting here with a cigarette in each ear and two in my mouth, and a stiff drink clutched in each fist.

I've finally decided that since I can't lose weight on my own, maybe paying for a weight-loss plan might keep me honest. Last night, I went to the first meeting. We discussed eating "triggers" and the leader listed them on the flip-chart. You know: boredom, stress, loneliness, depression. I was embarrassed, so I didn't mention my main eating trigger: breathing.

Maybe I should have had dinner to deaden my hunger before the meeting, because each time she listed a trigger on the chart, I pictured its outcome.

Bothered by boredom? Something spicy and exotic is the answer. Tortilla chips with sour cream and salsa, pita chips with hummus and salty green olives ... they'll take you away to a place not so white-bread boring.

Is stress or depression your problem? Try some comfort food. Hot cinnamon rolls slathered with butter; macaroni and cheese (heavy on the cheese). You're back in childhood, where the only cause of stress and depression was long division.

As you can see, the effect on me of listing eating triggers wasn't what the leader had in mind. Why can't triggers bring up a picture of carrot sticks and a glass of refreshing ice water?

How did I evolve from one of those cavewomen who spent all their daylight hours gathering roots and berries just to keep the belly-button from rubbing the backbone? I prefer taking the coward's way out and blaming society. Society's responsible for everything else bad in our lives ... why not overeating?

After all, food's an important part of so many functions. We go to a wedding, shed a sentimental tear at the joining of two souls in holy matrimony, then scarf down a meal that starts with champagne toasts, lingers at Chicken Kiev, and ends with a towering cake topped with rich buttercream frosting. We celebrate another year of somebody's life with cake and ice cream. We welcome a new arrival, either infant or neighbor, with a casserole. We offer comfort with what used to be called "funeral meats" ... nowadays, usually another casserole.

Even day-to-day life is intertwined with food. A baseball game means hotdogs. Family DVD movie night calls for pizza. Playing in the snow is followed with hot chocolate loaded with tiny marshmallows. Summertime boating and swimming are accompanied by a picnic, at which fried chicken and potato salad are sure to make their appearances. A brisk autumn afternoon spent raking leaves and clearing dead vegetation from the garden calls out for a big pot of hot chili and a skillet of cornbread. A warm, leisurely summer afternoon was meant for tacos and lemonade, or good old-fashioned strawberry shortcake topped, of course, with whipped cream. Think what buttered popcorn does for a movie, to say nothing of what a cup of Red Rose and a decorative little plate of Pepperidge Farm cookies does for a good book.

Part of my problem is that I love to cook. My cooking career started out slowly. I didn't spend much time in the kitchen at home, so when we got married, my poor husband was stuck with a bumbling beginner.

After we'd been married a short while, he mentioned that some stew would taste good. In the freezer compartment of our tiny fridge there were two steaks from my folks' farm. I dropped the frozen meat into a pot of water, added potatoes and onions and boiled the stuff until there was no semblance of taste or texture left, and served it for dinner. He never asked for stew again. Even much later, when my new Betty Crocker cookbook helped me prepare her Good Brown Beef Stew with Dumplings, he took the first mouthful cautiously.

I don't think anyone would have gained weight on my original Disaster Stew, or many of my other cooking fiascos. But as the years went by, my cooking improved ... way too much.

Now that I'm finally a good cook, my expertise joins my lack of willpower to compound my problem.

So I'm going to have to learn a new lifestyle. Instead of pointing to food, my triggers will have to jump-start something else. Boredom will mean picking a subject and learning everything I can about it. Depression will mean exercise. Stress will lead to a long, fast walk.

I'll love my new life. Honest, I will! I'll learn to enjoy nonfat milk. I'll view butter as a greasy blob, not a miracle substance that would make even cardboard tasty. Maybe I'll even turn into one of those before-and-after success stories who bore you crazy boasting about how they lost that last, difficult 4 pounds.

Yeah, right! Oh-oh, here's another one of those triggers ... anger. For this one, I think I'll replace doughnuts with beating a sofa pillow into submission. Not just no-calorie, but fun!

* Donna Scofield is a freelance writer whose articles, columns and short fiction stories have appeared in numerous national and regional magazines. The longtime Yakima resident is retired after working as a secretary and office manager in Yakima School District elementary schools. She has raised two sons and two daughters.

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