Inactive Pie Eating in California

I am in California, helping my oldest daughter, Sophie, with her three little ones while she is between au'pairs. Before I launch into my lack of progress on the eating and exercise front, I would like to lay claim to starting the fad of naming little American girls Sophia/Sophie. My Sophie is 39 years old and at the time Joe and I named her, I truly was unaware of anyone under the age of 70 in the U.S. that shared that name. My Sophie (full name Sophia) is the essence of the name, with dark chestnut curls framing a beautiful heart-shaped, pink-cheeked face. She has dark skin, which shocked me when she was born, because I come from a family where most babies are blond and pale. To complete this perfect archetype of a Sophia, my Sophie has beautiful deep blue eyes, and voluptuous, womanly body. Once, when Sophie was about a year old, Joe and I stopped to get gas, and the gas station attendant spotted Sophie in her car seat, and said, "Your marriage must have been made in heaven, because your daughter looks like an angel. " When my Sophie was about 8 or 9, Bette Midler named her daughter Sophie, and started a trend that could be analysed as a model in social networking. This year Sophia/Sophie is one of the top five most popular baby girl names in the U.S. I guess I shouldn't mind, but it bothers me when I hear a mom call her blond, straight-haired daughter Sophie. And now my two other beautiful daughters' names--Lillian /Lilly and Rose/Rosie are becoming popular too. What is a mother to do?

So I am now in Northern California helping the original Sophie and her handsome Italian husband, Federico, with my beautiful, smart, and funny grandkids. I had hoped this would be the occasion for me to get back on track with exercise, but it has been unusually cold and depressingly gray ever since I arrived. Today I discovered a high school track nearby, and a patch of blue sky appeared sheepishly overhead for about 15 minutes right before sunset, so maybe tomorrow will be the day. I also really need to stretch too because this damp, Bay Area fog gets in between my vertebrae and deposits shooting pains and miserable twitches.

Despite some half-hearted efforts, my eating has also not recovered from Christmas excesses. Three days ago, I went to the local World Market and they had my favorite Christmas treat--British deep-filled (Joe once misread the label and berated me for eating "deep-fried" pies, as if the real butter crusts weren't bad enough) mini mince-meat pies on sale for 75% off. I once met a woman who told me she lived near the factory in Britain that makes these little wonders, and she said that the whole town smelled wonderfully of simmering raisins, citrus and brandy.

I bought ONLY one box of 6 and put it on top of Sophie's refrigerator along with the other goodies she keeps out of the kids' reach. No one but me knows it is there. Now, every time I go to her house, I eat just one. But one mini pie is enough to throw off my blood sugar, and make me crave sweets throughout the day, so I am also consuming the occasional organic, biorythmically produced, compostable (I am in Marin County) double-decker ice-cream cone, or three to six pieces of personally-selected See's candy. So when will I stop this self destructive behavior? In three days, when those yummy little pies are gone.