Food and Trauma

Not hurricane and wild fire trauma, just regular life trauma.

When I've felt overwhelmed and anxious before food has always played a role. I've not always given in and binged or even always chosen poorly. But it's always been part of the situation.

Not this time. I'm filled with fear about this trip my family is on, fearful that I'll lose my husband and children as they decide that the don't want a white wife or mother. It's irrational, I know, but it's there.

But weird thing; no food trouble. Not ugly starving, not frantic hoarding, not even baked pasta with four cheeses. Just simple pintos and brown rice and beans, zucchini and herbs from my garden; lots of fruit for extras. Good stuff.

And it's not been a struggle or a fight. I've hardly even given it thought. I just noticed that I was eating pretty clean. And I feel good.

Divine intervention?

Well then amen and hallelujah and thank you thank you thank you.

Clean

I had a bad weekend. Camping. Beer. and CHIPS. Nasty combination.

So, like we clean the house after it gets messy, mow the lawn, weed the gardens. This week is about eating clean. Fruit for breakfast. Vegetables for lunch. A simple protien and a dry vegetable for dinner. No sweets, no alcohol. Good fragrant tea. Good books, bubble baths, long walks in the woods.

This is a good way to recover from a weekend of eating unkind foods. Recovering with kindness. And, it feels good, too.

Peace and love.

...and on it goes....

I actually considered writing on this blog the words "seems like the food is going pretty well" and damn it if I didn't have to just go and prove myself wrong with a tortilla and some cheese! But ha, one tortilla with some cheese can't really undo a good month. And it has been a good month. I must be a little shaky today because I was doubting whether things were moving in a slimmer direction so I got on the scale. Yes. Slowly, but yes, we're dropping weight. Being older--well and hell, being Scandinavian means that things are still distributed in ways that make me unhappy. I really think I'll need surgery to ever have a flat stomach! But I don' t really care. I am learning so much and it's so good in so manyways.

I've been reading both Writing Yourself Right Sized by Julia Cameron and Love Yourself Thin (re released as "The Love Powered Diet) by Victoria Moran. Victoria told me a few days ago (well, yes in the book, but still....) that the best way to get through the hard feelings, the BIG feelings is to sit with them, to let them happen and wash over you. Stuffing not required--stuffing YOURSELF not required. Victoria has taught me a lot over the years with her good books, so when she said that I would not die from it, that the pain would subside before it did me in well, I beleived her. At the end of this last good run of a class, a lovely RE Sunday, the kids' fabulous play I figured I'd crash and I did, but I didn't know what a crash without food would be like. It was brutal. Really brutal. But I sat with it. There were no carbs or sweets or anything to cushion those feelings. I did find myself pretty laid out by the despair, but then, it cleared. It did. I cleaned the bathroom. I read. I listened to David Wilcox, and it was OK. It did lift. Victoria was dead on right. And I kind of feel done with those particular feelings of despair. Moved on. Wow.

So, no, I'm no swimsuit model, but I'm a humbler me, a more real me. A quieter me of all strange things. Still work to be done, like those sneaky tortillas that jump you when you think you're OK, but clearly a little further down the path. Good. Good stuff.

Writing the wild things

I've been following the practices, or at least the ones I've read about so far from "The Writing Diet, Writing Yourself Right Sized" by Julia Cameron. This is good stuff. Not that I like the thought of "right" sized, like there's a wrong sized? But there is a better size that feels better and is healthier. For me there is.

I love the writing. I'm finding myself awakening at 6:15 even before my alarm goes off, I guess at 6:14 and 55 seconds then? I wake up just so I can write. And then I walk. The other morning a fog was just lifting and clearing with the good strong spring sun. I saw these white orbs in the grasses. Then I noticed them suspended in the trees. Spider webs outlined in droplets of water left behind by the shimmery fog. It was beautiful. When I get to the bridge over the creek the smell is wet wood and sweet grass and bay trees. I know that a little fox or a raccoon or even a little deer has probably bounded out as I came around the bend. They watch me from the bushes, waiting for me to walk on so that they can drink and sun again.

It's beautiful.

The writing yourself right also invites a daily food journal. I haven't kept one for a long time, and I've been really resistant to it. But it's good for me now as I right myself. It's like a sailboat being upside down in the water and taking some leverage to right itself. I'll have nice deep pull in the water again. But for now I need a little push, a little help. I bought a lovely little red journal and some of those liquidey lovely pens to write with. And while I'm yet to do a full day, I'm making progress. Progress is good.

So far it's been a clean week. Yes, it's Monday but Sunday counts, too. I had dismissed what the impact of such a radical turn in goals would mean. I'm digging into old scripts and old losses. It is extremely hard. I'm longing for a church, a religious community that could help me through this. But I signed away my church and my religious community when I signed on for the job. I knew it, went in with eyes open. It may not have been the very best idea though. Not for me. Not for a person who treasures church and the ritual and the weekly filling.

I miss sitting and being led. It could be that I planned my time off poorly this year and that two of the four weeks I was to have off wound up being weeks on for one reason and another. It could be May. May is hard. It could just be that it's hard to give up your church when you love chur ch.I do love my work. I love it like I love the air and clean sheets and hot baths. I love it with my skin and bones. Deep. Soul stuff.

But it's a hard time. And taking care of myself is hard when I'm responsible for so much.

Things are good though. I love the walks. And I love the writing. For the last two days my new love Noodles has come with me. Oh, having a fur ball to love. And for now, the food is clean. It's good.

The next thing I really must do is to plan some time off. Some time off that includes a Sunday. Some time off that includes a Sunday, and a dog, and the water and writing and a walk in the early morning before the fog has completely left the valley. Some time.

The morning after

I have the worst hangover. I feel just awful. No mind altering substances, just food. Food's clearly worse for me. Today I turn 42, that's really "in your 40s". But that's not it. I'm letting go. Letting go of dreams and hopes and plans and a future I thought was the right one.

Thing is? It turns out that it wasn't the right one. I thought I had an academic future, that when the kids were old enough I could go get my master's degree and think about a professional future. But I am taking a class. And while many, many people can do this. I cannot. There are not enough hours in the day to study and work and be a good mother. Not with my husband gone three of the last four weeks for work. Not with the kind of job that I have that eats time like the plant in Little Shop of Horrors. Not if I want my kids to grow up in a house that is not run by chaos.

The funny thing? The academic part isn't the problem. I'm not a traditional learner. I'd have done much better back when you learned your practice or your craft from a real person, over years yes, but by doing and modeling. Text books make me want to cry and research? Oh my god, it's horrible. But I can do it. And I don't even really hate it. But I hate being so pulled in so many directions all the time. And I cannot do it and be who I really am. So, I'm not going to. But it has a long term impact on what I'm going to do with my life. That means a different future. That's scary. That feels awful.

So, what do we do when we're scared and feel all alone in the world? Reach out to friends? Go for a walk in the woods? Write? NO! We eat Salt and Vinegar chips and chocolate and bread with butter. Of course!

Of course.

So today, I am on my knees, praying a big huge "please" prayer. "Please help me eat with love today, just today. Amen."

Amen.

Sometimes when I try

Danger, danger, danger! I have an upcoming event, you know an event. Something I'd really like to go to looking nice, looking my best. You know what that means. Looking.....thin. I'm trying so hard not to let it spin out into the mushroom cloud of compulsive not-eating. Sometimes when I try hard though it's the worst.

My husband has been asked to be on a panel of adult adoptees for a discussion following the movie "Adopted". He really is a good person to sit on a panel. He's intelligent, articulate, a powerful mid-life man that people (read white adoptive parents) may listen to more than other folks who may be on the panel. But his story isn't pretty. Our story isn't pretty. It's horribly painful. And the scary thing is that there are parts of the prep for this panel that sound just like the beginning of the long slide to divorce mediation and separation from five years ago. I'm trying to trust and hold love and light in my heart and hands. But oh ouch. And scary.

So, if this event goes off, and I get to go and sit in the audience and listen to my husband try to be careful and kind in talking about this painful issue in his life; I hope that I can focus on supporting him and loving him and holding myself in care, too. But it might be a tough couple of weeks as we bounce along facing these things again, facing the pain of the past, trying to find a way forward in forgiveness and love. And the food might be tough.

I started my "Morning Pages", writing three pages of stream of consciousness stuff. We'll see how it goes. So far so good. The other thing that "The Writing Diet" asks so far is a daily food journal. We'll see how that goes, I am not sure I want to focus on food, but for now it might be good to do. Or maybe I'll have to write down everything I eat for the rest of my life--a years long history of bananas and yogurt topped with granola. That's so exciting, like glue drying. And I still can't find a good yoga class, but I started running again. Yes, my back hurts a little more but it hurts if I don't run, too. So I might as well run a little.

So I guess the answer for now is to hold on and try to keep a balance between the very busy days and the fear. And to try to live into the love and the light. And to keep cheese and tortilla chips and white pasta in check. Still so much better than the days of drive thru and ice cream. Life is this funny long process, and I guess we just never do get it just right. Just right enough is all I'm hoping for.

Eating like no one ever loved me!

Last week was not a good week. I thought I was doing OK with food and self care, but in hind sight? Bread with butter is not actually self care. Sometimes I can talk myself into the stupidest things! It's not a big deal, and I'm doing OK, but wow, when that circle talk gets going, I can really ride along.

I don't like living without my spouse in the house, and when his leaving is preceded by big fights, caused of course because he's leaving, I really have a bad time of it. When he got home last weekend and we were de-briefing about the week I told him "I ate like no one has ever loved me". I didn't even notice that that's what I had done, but once the words were out, I realized just how true it was. But hey, I caught myself. And that really is everything. Not being perfect. But catching the imperfections, offering care, kindness and forgiveness and movin' on.

I was a little worried though. So I did actually step on the scale. Five pounds down since the last time. OK, it's not good to step on the scale, and I'll try not to, but I admit. It was a relief to get some outside affirmation that I didn't just put on a huge amount of weight. After all, I talked myself into believing that bread and butter is self care. Come on, I'm a pretty fast talker. I might have gone out and bought a larger size of jeans without telling myself. THAT might have been why they still fit.

OK, not all sane, but not all insane either. See? Good stuff.

So for this week, I really am taking care of myself. I decided that it's a clean eating week, all whole foods, no processed foods (LIKE BREAD!) and lots of good tea. I thought it was going to be a less busy week, but it turns out it's just going to be a different busy week. So, brown rice and beans and fruit and veggies and oats and tea. Good stuff, mister. Good stuff. All of it.

Adolescent Gorillas

It's been a turmoil-hurricane in my life this week. My husband's gone to his new job and this is how life will be now. I've got a whole extra piece of life that has added a huge pile of busy days and work and a load of emotional baggage from 20 years-ago to deal with. And I live with adolescent boys.

When I was pregnant with those same adolescent boys a decade and a half ago give or take a few years, I came to a realization. Mother nature has designed pregnancy well. That last month of being pregnant is so uncomfortable and inconvenient and awful, frankly, that you will do anything to be done being pregnant. Like say--give birth.

I think maybe adolescence is the same in some ways. The last few years of it becomes so intolerable that you will do anything to be done with it. Like say--let your son move away and go to college.

It's not really that bad, but my three sons are like these teenaged gorillas:



And it is getting old. My oldest son will likely move out after next year. So things are as they should be. He can go show his teeth to other young men out in the world and decide who is the strongest or the smartest or who has the most earning potential.

I am aware that I need to find some ways to take care of myself even more just now, and the time has evaporated.

Prioritize. Organize.

And be kind and forgiving with the imperfections. I can always count on the imperfections.

Blessings from the path of compulsive eating

Oh please will someone come to my house and bop me on the head. I'll even hand you the big plastic bat. My gosh.

I just bought a shiny, new diet book.

But I heard it on NPR, it must be good! (can you hear the whining?)

It all started yesterday when I was getting ready for the day, listening to NPR, making a tofu-pepper-onion-scramble with sliced bananas and blueberries on the side. There was this report on Morning Edition "Diet Books: Fat on Profits, Skinny on Results?" I started thinking back over the different books and programs I've done and which ones worked and for how long.

There was Weight Watchers last year when I thought I was fixed from the big food problems and was now a normal person. I saw that what normal people did when they wanted to loose a few pounds was to go to Weight Watchers. Now I know many people love ww, by best friend for one, who is now a size six for the first time since childhood. Good, glad it's a good fit. Thrilled for you! But for me all that focus on food was exactly NOT the thing I needed. It re-energized the food compulsions, granted I was compulsive about points and low points and managing it, and the scale. But still, compulsion. I lost 20 some pounds and while they didn't all come back, the compulsion is still not calmed down. It was not good, I am not a "normal" person when it comes to food.


Six years before ww there was "Body for Life" and this was good, I learned a lot about exercise. What I remember most was the 12 week program with six days a week of high intensity working out. You alternate strength training arm days and leg days with core work every day, and interval cardio. Lots of cardio. I didn't miss a work out the whole 12 weeks, but then my husband was in the throes of getting ready to leave me, so I might have had some outside push there. Oh and the free day! One day a week--FREE! No exercise and you eat anything. That was nice to fit in things like real peanut butter. I lost 20 pounds--the last bit left from the big loss and was down to a solid size 6-8 after this one--for five years holding onto a size 8-10.

About three years before that I lost the most weight and it's stayed off. I read "Love Yourself Thin" by Victoria Moran, which I think she's about to re-release. I became a vegetarian and began to know the spiritual connection between the food we put in our mouth and the food that becomes our blood and skin and brain cells. I lost about 40 pounds. I had self defined "clean days" not her word but mine, when I ate only food that really still looked the way it had looked when it grew. This was good stuff. The current recovery from Weight Watchers has brought back the biggest piece I learned with "Love Yourself Thin" I wake every morning and pray "thank you for helping me let go of compulsive eating", because even though it's been bad, it's never been as bad as it used to be.

Sometime before that was "Thin for Life" which taught me about low fat substitutes. That's about all. I lost 20 pounds and gained it right back.

Before that I had stabs of weight loss--one week sprints of eating almost nothing and losing 10 pounds. Yes, I still wish for those moments sometimes, but like you might wish for the revisiting of a night with a man that is really bad for you, I know it's not good. In high school I took diet pills and drank tons of diet coke, but I was never thin or healthy.

I remember being put on a diet as a small child. Maybe age 5 or 6? I know my mother was trying to save me from the pain of being a fat child, but to be served yogurt and carrots when all the other kids at daycare were eating cheesy noodles was humiliating. I still sometimes play that scene when I'm feeling really low.

When I look back over the hills and valleys I can see it has been a long and fascinating journey. I'm lucky that I don't weigh 300 pounds. I'm lucky that I don't weigh 200 pounds. I'm lucky that I can shop at regular stores on the regular size racks. I'm lucky to have beautiful friends and a fabulous family. I've been very lucky. I feel deeply blessed.

So why? Why buy yet another diet book? Well, I wasn't going to certainly. I was going to look at the link on NPR's website and link to it here in my blog in this history of diet books and programs. But I read a little of Julia Cameron's introduction to her book. She's the woman who wrote "The Artist's Way" and along with "TAKE A YOGA CLASS" orders from God, I've been hearing "WRITE MORNING PAGES" orders being whispered--Julia Cameron's plan in "The Artist's Way" and as it turns out, this new book. Maybe it's my inner spirit, or my subconscious. But I don't think that's any different than God. So I bought it.

We'll see how it goes. I don't want to be on TV in a bikini (have you seen Valerie Bertanelli?) I just want my back to hurt a little less. I want to move a little easier. I want to be a little more fit. And I want to let go of using food for anything other than you know, feeding myself.

May it be so.

Four Weeks

Can you hear that Bare Naked Ladies Song? It's been, one week....




well. It's been about four weeks since I weighed myself. I thing Geneen Roth is on to something, here. It does feel free. I am almost ready to paste a "126" on my scale, she says if you really need to see some number on the scale well then paste it there. Somehow I've always wanted to weigh 126 (I'm 5'8") and don't think it would be healthy at all, but what the heck? Why not? Lately though, I have found myself chewing things and thinking "now, why am I chewing this and just how did it get into my mouth?"

That's not so good. Where I'm trying to catch myself is right at that very moment. No shame, no blame, no taking a second bite. Just awareness that it doesn't feel good to me to eat something I didn't mean to. A breath. Noticing how it feels and trying to learn from it. I guess it's a part of taking care of myself, not doing things that make me feel bad.

That is so far from eating a cup full of chocolate chips to deal with stress. Rock on, Kari.

Mindful March was OK, I still have a few things to deal with from Forgiveness February. April? Awareness April. Noticing. Awakening. Maybe it's Awakening April.

Whatever it is, my husband is probably going to be starting his new job today, if the negotiations go well with HR. Then he'll be gone for two weeks starting next Monday. Then he'll be gone for two weeks at a time all the time. I am very sad about it. As thankful as I am that he will have work (likely), I will miss him. The key to functioning well is probably being tidy and organized. Those are not my strengths. Either one. So, it's time to grow a little and get things settled with a good strong schedule.

For some reason the answer to all of these questions seems to be "yoga class". I love when I get those Holy Spirit pokes. "Hey, take a yoga class. Hello, YOGA class. Woo Hoo, find a yoga class...."

OK, I guess I'll go find a yoga class and then I'll mess around with Google Calendar a little more to see if it can manage my schedule for me. Like the guy who put the motor home on cruise control then went back to the galley to make a sandwich. "What? I put it on cruise control?"

Blessed Monday!

Food on the Road

We had a lovely time in Hawaii, it was really nice. Yes, we missed two "Red Eye" flights trying to get to Europe. We toyed with going in and out of Amsterdam to get there, but when we calculated the taxes in and out the trip suddenly cost $1,500 more. Yep, No. So an hour before we were ready to leave to go to Amsterdam our heads came down out of the clouds and we pulled the plug on an international trip. It just cost too much money, there was no "free" going on there.

So we sat at the kitchen table and said "so kids, what should we do?"

"Let's just go to Hawaii"

"OK"

So we pulled out the jeans and sweaters, stuffed our suitcases with swim suits and sandals and shorts, called for a rental car, shifted our free hotel points for a hotel on Waikiki beach, grabbed our Hawaii maps and we were ready to go.

We flew over first class--they hand you Mai Tai's when you get on the plane in first class. And there are no taxes, if the flight is open, it is free. Wahoo!

The last time we went to Hawaii it was two weeks after we decided not to get divorced, after we moved back into the same house, after all the mess. This was three years ago. And I was thin, not the thinnest ever, but pretty happy with how I looked.

This time, I was not as thin, but maybe it's the age, maybe it's the shift in perspective. This time I knew I was one of the moms on the beach. I was there with my sons who are nearly men; of course I'm a mom on the beach. And it was fine. Good even.

I enjoyed the sun, loved the snorkeling, held my face to the gentle breeze and just relaxed into this good body that takes me places, is strong and healthy, is a part of me. But it is not the measure of me.

And the food was fascinating. Our lovely luxury hotel (free with points) had a cook to order breakfast, with good options for the Asian tourists which usually hold true for vegetarians, too. We ate big, huge breakfasts--miso soup, rice, tofu, poached eggs, tons of fruit. They had cook-to-order omelets. It was free! Eat lots! Good.

And there was an afternoon Manager's reception with free cocktails and snacky food. A couple of days that's all we really ate. Being out of our normal routine let us eat when we were hungry, and even with all the activity we were not very hungry very often. Two mornings I woke up after having no dinner and I was only mildly hungry.

How often do I eat by the clock? Pretty often here in my real life! Good lessons. Good stuff.

Now, it's time to start taking these things I've learned and moving toward fitting into the clothes I want to fit into. I think I'm ready to do this without compulsion, or disordered eating. Taking care of myself with kindness and a gentle touch.

Jinxed!

I thought saying here in this little blog where we were trying to go would be OK, that it wouldn't JINX the flights. No one really reads this blog, it's just for me. No aggregators, just a few subscribers (little wave to you three!) and you all are friends anyway.

NO! I was WRONG! The flight from Los Angeles to Minneapolis has filled up, FIFTY more people in the last day. I remember working the phones for an airline and sitting in that "Confos" room calling people who's flight had canceled, sometimes at midnight. I can't figure out if a flight from LA today has canceled, or they've changed to smaller planes or even if something originally scheduled out of Orange County has canceled? I don't know. What I do know is that our London books and Harry Potter research are worthless. We're not going to London. We can't get to Minneapolis or Detroit or Atlanta or anyplace domestically. And the only nonstop to London is on British Air, and they don't let us fly for free!

So, we are going out of Seattle, someplace. I'm not saying where! Don't make me tell you.

Or we're driving to Vancouver! Whatever!

But know what? It's not even making me want to eat. Now that is good. Very good.

Happy Dancing O-s of JOY!

Did I tell you what I did for my little O.D.D. girl? I went out and got the food for her that she really wants. The one her grandmother always kept for her, and poured into the pale green bowl with the spout. The food that no one else here eats and that is a little expensive.

I bought Cheerios. Just plain Cheerios--nothing fancy.
The first bowl made me laugh out loud. "It's like eating little dancing Os of JOY!" I told my family. This week I ate them for breakfast and lunch three days. Just with skim milk and no sugar. It made me downright giddy. Takin' care of yourself might be like that! Who knew? Well, now I do, and since you read this, maybe you will too.

Off to try to get to London on Sunday, through Los Angeles, and Minneapolis. Love stand by flying. Just love it! But wouldn't it be fun to go to London for three days with the boys?! Yep.

And, I'm just about to accept a new volunteer job. It's been a huge honor to even be asked, and I think I can do a good job, so we'll see when it comes time to say Y E S what I do, but I think I will.

Opositional Defiant Disorder and the Inner Child

Mindful March is making me mildly mad, maybe. I've been working hard on paying attention. Noticing things, being you know.....mindful. Interesting things come up when you pay attention.

When I don't eat, I get hungry. Now I know that normal people notice this every day all the time, but me and my sisters with disordered eating eat because we're stressed, or bored, or because you know, it's time to eat. Or because someone made coffee cake or put out chips and salsa. Or because we decided not to eat, so then it's all we can think about.

But you can just wait until your body says "hey, need some food here". How cool is that? It's all built right in. Love that.

And if no food is available at that second, you can be hungry for a while without death being imminent. I know. Shocking. Just shocking.

I've been reading enough of the Byron Katie information about "The Work" and watching enough of the videos on her website that the first two of the four questions that make up "the work" have started to appear in my mind kind of automatically, without even thinking about it. When I'm pouting about something, or nattering away at a worry or fuming about some sleight I'm sure someone has made and this question comes along "is this true?" my inner child answers. She's a pistol, that inner child. And surly. And I think maybe she has Oppositional Defiant Disorder.

"Yeah-hunh, totally true" she says. Hands on hips. Chin out. Eyes blazing. She is sure that whatever horrible thing the grown-up me thinks is going on is the whole truth.

It's a good thing. When I lived in that body, back all those years ago, that little girl was meek and mild and always, always, always the good little girl who made no trouble and was completely selfless, putting everyone else first every time. No wonder she wants to eat all the time, it's the only control she has over anything.

But then the second question pops into my head. "Is this really true?"

Then the little girl has to be honest. She defers a little to the older me and usually, almost always in fact, she has to admit that at least part of whatever horrible thing I'm thinking isn't actually true. The stories are complicated, and there are lots of reasons. Lots of truth.

Other things are good, too. Mindful working out has meant three big increases in the amount of weight I'm lifting, and I've been on a good solid schedule for a few months, really if I look back. The running makes my back hurt, so much so that it hurts all the time now, whether I'm running or using the cross trainer. I even had a dream last night about sleeping carefully so I didn't hurt myself more. So I'm on a home based anti-inflammatory and icing regimen and probably should buy new shoes, too. But I've found this setting on the cross trainer that (excuse my language) kicks my ass. Totally. But it's good, sweaty, hard work. The weather here has been stupid with more snow than I've seen in Seattle in our five years here. So the outside walks have been limited, but spring is bound to come for real, and more walks will come.

So it's all good. Maybe some love and attention will bring that O.D.D. little girl around. And all will be well. I just gotta keep paying attention.

Bad Day

Maybe it was the diet soda I drank yesterday. Or maybe it was the snow that fell and looked like a movie set with snow dumping from big overhead bins with fans blowing it around. Or maybe it was just life.

I had a bad day. From morning coffee to climbing into bed at noon and dreaming awful dreams about my husband leaving me and "end of days" inspired epic trauma, to hours of cooking a "meat pie" I couldn't even eat because I don't actually eat meat, it was just a bad day.



Sometimes I think about my grandmother who struggled her whole life with depression, how did she even make herself get out of bed? I have seasons of darkness, but not a lifetime. Poor woman. She had electro shock therapy and whatever they could try to do with drugs for her "nerves". I wonder what would have happened for her if she'd lived a few generations later than she did.

It's OK. We'll call it a day, and end with a wicked hot bath and a little silly TV all piled in the big bed. The kids' fighting makes me cringe but I like them close anyway.

And with Scarlett O'Hara inspired optimism, I'll fall asleep and know that after all, tomorrow is another day.


(just have to watch from 7mn.....)

Less

I have the best job on the planet. I work with children I adore, adults whom I respect and care deeply about, volunteers who are devoted to the same ideals I am and when I go to the Religious Education Council meetings, one of my very favorite two-year-olds in the world hangs out with me. Yesterday the little one insisted I couldn't braid her hair. Then life would have been perfect. Since I have only boys when a little girls let's me braid her hair I am in a pure and blissful heaven.

Everywhere, we're minimizing. Making do with less. Loving living in less.

Yesterday we agreed to a budget for RE that adds $7,000 in funding for staff over what we had last year. And our budget still comes in under what we asked for last year. We cut. Hard. But we put our money where our values are. Where our beliefs are. In people.

This is happening in our family too. Today we made homemade pizza with dough from scratch, using only ingredients we already had in our house. It was f a b u l o u s.

Then we watched Religilous. And hung out. People before things.

The food issue, the disordered eating has just settled--I am thinking that I might be crazy later, I might go over the edge again. Of course. But somehow the deep, painful, unreal stuff has lifted and the life that used to roil and rage underneath is calm, and kind of pale pink and it's floated up and joined the regular life. Wow.

Tomorrow we go spend the day at a Habitat build for our congregation, and my good friend is going to be at the build, too! Oh fun. Fun fun fun.

Simple. Good. Less.

March comes Marching

I really liked "Forgiveness February". It helped me focus and keep on moving forward without a distracting food based-weight based measuring stick.

So, what for March?

Minimizing March?

Mindful March?

Mucho Margarita March??! No, not that one.

I'm really feeling into the minimizing move right now. I know that people are scared about the economy and the future. Me? I don't think that there is any person on the planet that is more worried about what the future will bring. There are people who have gotten the bad news and are worse off, lost jobs, foreclosure, bad bad things. We are just here in the foggy mist of unknown future, shaky job, less savings that we should have, and wonderful young men who are all three days away from going to college. I'm scared. My dear husband is scared. We are canceling and cutting and saving pennies every place we can. Well, until the next round comes and we cut the boys' Tae Kwon Do and the YMCA and all meat and everything but rice and beans.

So we're minimizing. Less of everything. Less driving, less lights on, less stuff, less complication. Less going. Less doing. More being.

I think this is it.

Mindfully Minimal March. Mmmmm.

And if we still are in this place of worry at the end of March, well, at least we won't have gotten bad news yet. There is much to be thankful for. Mindfully. And minimally!

All good. It's all good.

Forgiveness February.....final week!

It's been a good month. I'm not two dress sizes skinnier, but who the hell cares? I've learned so very much about myself this month. And I feel so much better. I feel so much more like myself. I finished the Geneen Roth "When Food is Love" book, and it's just helped me see things about food and life and myself so much more clearly.

Then I went to a workshop, and watched one of the women that I really adore in the world tell the story of her life and her professional journey. I got to sit by her at dinner. I got to tell her that I love the way she just radiates a calm loving energy. And she told me her secret.

It's "the work". And the book was already on my shelf. Hot dog, I'm on it. Here's what I want to learn next. Already things are just settling in a bit. I'm not as scattered, frantic, worried or stressed. I'm just relaxing into it. Stepping into my real life, the one that's been here all along. It's a pretty good life.

The food is still going well. I have two new things I'm loving. One is Cookus Interruptus, a great video blog created by a local professor at Bastyr University where food is medicine--this is no dry cooking show, it's gut busting hilarious. I'm using recipes and learning things about food and cooking.

The second new thing is NEW PLATES! Not new new, Goodwill new. They're a little smaller than regular dinner plates, so small portions seem like a monster meal. Oh I am so easy to trick.


I love them. Aren't they cute?

We're on a new plan here at our house called "downright absolute panic about the economy and our finances". Jobs are not a sure thing, and as much as I don't think I'm going to lose my itty bitty salary job, I'm not at all sure about my husband's job. So we're trying to squeeze all the extras out of our life. Luckily we've been flat broke before, so we know how to do this. Healthy food is cheap food and the Y isn't on the hit list yet, so far so good.

Wish I observed giving something up for lent, I would kind of like to practice that. Maybe Mucho Minimizing March? We'll see...

All Alone, ha!

I am so excited to go stay alone in a hotel for two whole nights. Funny, I love my family, I love my husband. It's good here in my home, and it hasn't always been so I really get how lucky I am right now.

But alone! In a hotel room!

I'm headed to our big local area meeting, all of Idaho, Alaska, Oregon and Washington meet up and have colleague time, work time, enrichment. I didn't find a roommate because my son had planned to come with me. But he's missed too much school from being sick and traveling for his big volunteer job. So, I'm on my own.

Last summer I stayed alone some of the week I was in Ft Lauderdale. There is nothing like focus to be able to take care of myself. When no one else is in the room it's much easier to get up at 6:30 and do a good half hour of yoga. And I'm bringing good food to eat in my room in the little hot pot. My budget is really gone for this trip, so I have to be cheap, but wow! Good food! Peace! Quiet!

Not that I don't like rooming with people I love. My friend from Rhode Island and I had the very best time rooming together for a few days in Albuquerque this fall. That was heavenly, too. But in a different way. Good, fun, fellowship and friendship.

But ahhh... alone. Sigh, I simply cannot wait.

(note to self: may wish to arrange for more time alone in real life without hefty hotel bills....)

Morning Glories--Open

It was a tough night. I am almost done with the book I've been reading "When Food is Love" by Geneen Roth.

And the little skin between the pain that is so well cushioned by bread and my heart was getting raw and rough. I know I said I could handle the pain, it's like labor. Release and let go and it won't hurt so much anymore. Name it. Say "this is fear" "this is sadness" "this is loneliness" "this hurts and I'll be OK".

But ow!

I wanted the sticky buns at rehearsal this morning. Oh did I want them. And peanut butter toast, aka; crack. Want, need, oh you know deserve.

So I didn't. I held on to my heart. I asked my heart "so what's up, are you hungry? for food?"

My heart kicked the dirt, hung her head and said. "No"

So I ate an apple, and two clementines. When I came home I made lots of vegetables and tofu because that's what we do when we take care of someone. We feed them food that they love, we cook it with praise for them, we choose fresh spinach and crispy peppers, we squeeze limes, we sit down and eat with the good chopsticks. I packed up the left overs, no there was not enough for a meal, but I packed them up anyway.

I held the image of an opening morning glory in my mind, and pictured it opening above my heart.

Opening. And no, it doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. And yes, it is good.

It's been so long since I've seen the ocean

Well, if you count the sound, I saw it last night I guess, soaring over Elliot Bay on the West Seattle Bridge on my way to a board meeting. It's my favorite line from the Counting Crows song "Long December". Except for the line "If you think that I could be forgiven, wish you would"

Good line for Forgiveness February.

Two big things wiggled their way into my heart and up to my awareness last night. One was this Maya Angelou quote

"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."


and one was from a narrative in the "When Food is Love" book. It was the story of a woman who was over 400 pounds and saw Geneen Roth on Donahue (!) and knew that there must be a better way. She said something about being lost from her homeland of people who understood her language (the language of disordered eating) and she found her way back to health. Or to health for the first time in her life. Yes, she said, it was hard when you let the pain come instead of pushing it down with food, but if you could open instead of clench, it didn't hurt so much and it passed easier.

I can do this. It's like giving birth. If you can open during the contractions, not clench, not brace yourself, but open it's easier and it works better, too I think.

Peter's birth was a simply beautiful birth. I wish for every woman to give birth like this; quiet, music, strong contractions that feel like the ocean, and a deep connection with the earth. As I labored in that room of love and joy I visualized the morning glories that I'd planted along my garden fence opening to the sun.

I still have seeds from those plants.

I can open to this, too.

Keep Spinnin' Round

I remember when my middle son was learning to roll over. He'd wake up in the middle of the night and roll over, then roll back, roll over then roll back, roll over then roll back. Then he'd plop his head mindfully back down and go right back to sleep.

This is how he's always been when he's learning something new. He does it over and over and over. Sometimes he still looses sleep over it. Luckily our days of a family bed are long since passed since he's taller than I am now, so his lost sleep is no longer mine.

But the other night I was the one awake in the middle of the night rolling over and over. And over.

I had been sound asleep for a few hours, it was the dark night and I could tell it was not going to be a quick turn. I was nattering on something big. So after about an hour I finally just got up and ran a steamy bath. And I picked up my book. I've been reading Geneen Roth's old book "When Food is Love" in little tiny bits. Sometimes literally a paragraph at a time. This night I soaked in the tub until I was totally sckrunkled-up and wrinkly and read almost the entire book.

It's hard to explain what happened next. But I felt like that baby who had practiced enough and was finally going to go plop my head down and go back to sleep. Reading the book is amazing. She sees inside my head and even more than that, she understands what's going on in there way better than I do! It's a big web of childhood, and acceptance, and love and care and food and trying, trying, trying to do it all just right. At one point in the book she tells the story of deciding to stop dieting, to just take care of herself and give herself what she wants until it becomes what she needs because she's taking care of herself. So she goes to her Wednesday night Weight Watchers meeting to tell the leader her plan. And the leader tells her that the ONLY way to fight a weight problem is to watch everything you put in your mouth for the rest of your life. I laughed out loud.

That's just the thing. That leaves it a weight problem. And you have it forever. And you fight it forever. But I know that there has to be another way.

I think I can see it. Forgiveness February is good.

There has got to be another way.

Falling Apart

Today I'm falling apart, but it a very good way. I've been reading Geneen Roth's "When Food is Love" little bit by little bit. This morning I was reading about how compulsive eaters (in control or not) often have this feeling that we don't deserve ....whatever, fill in the blank. The larger cookie, to go on vacation where we want to, to have the things all humans need and deserve. We have soaked in the feeling that to be good enough we have to heroically give everything we can. Then we just might cut it. That's my take on it anyhow. And of course we all know in a head way; no one else can ever fill that "good enough" pit of despair. It is for us to fill ourselves. My heart and soul is still trying to catch up with my head.

Sitting with this little bit this morning I remembered a lecture by my 4th grade teacher. She was frustrated with the class, and giving one of those lectures I hear myself give some times, not totally well thought out but clearly from a place of true emotion. I vividly remember her talking about how we all thought that we had to look out for number one. I had no idea what she was talking about. What did that mean? As I tried to fit what she was saying into some semblance of meaning it dawned on me. Other kids thought about their own needs and wishes and desires FIRST. They didn't think about what would be the best for the popular girls or the powerful boys or the overwhelmed teacher. They thought about what they wanted.

I was shocked. I remember feeling dizzy. How could this be? It was not at all a part of how I operated.

And so it makes sense that the one way I could sometimes feed myself, and take care of myself was to literally feed myself. To fill myself up. To secretly give to me.

It helps to know. Helps to get past just the blame and compulsion and obsession and the pounds and points and sizes.

Then I went to Geneen's blog and read this post about her cat's death.

Oh dear. I miss my sweet old Emmadog. What a love. But the love is still here. There is so much good in this world. And a good dog with big love leaves a big hole. It's worth it. But it's so hard just now.

Then, I have learned, anything worth doing is sometimes hard to do.

February=Forgiveness

I've been reading Geneen Roth's book "When Food is Love" and for the last few days I can only read just barely a paragraph at a time. They all seem to be bringing everything awful just right to the surface.

The good Scandinavian in me says "push it down, don't look! Here, have some lefse and let's do something else!"

But I am looking. Granted, only a sneak peek at a time, but I'm looking for little bits of time so that I can see. You know, actually see what's coming up.

And what I'm seeing is that it's time to let some of this go. I've not had a particularly awful life, not at all. Things have been pretty OK. But I am a little orchid of a person in some ways; I am outstandingly, overwhelmingly, heroically sensitive about everything. Princess and the Pea? Oh that's me. And I'm really amazingly good at holding a grudge. If there were grudge Olympics, I'd win a gold medal. And the silver and bronze, too.

So here I am sensitive, grudge holding person who uses food as a weapon. Of course I wail on myself the most. There are concentric circles of blame and grudge. A bulls eye with me in the center. Should have had more education when I was younger? Oh stupid me. Could really have done a better job managing finances for the last 15 years--yup, I am awful at managing money. Should have, could have, why don't, come ON. It just goes from there, my husband, family out further and further until there is even Jimmy Carter, come on he really should have been a better president.

This brings us to Forgiveness February. All month I am going to forgive everyone. Starting with me. Loving forgiveness. My dear husband who we all know is the most amazing man on the planet, and if you don't, well trust me, I do know it. And my dear mother who was a fantastic mother and still inspires me. Everything bad that I think has happened to me is nothing, it's over. It's done. I did the best I could and so did everyone else. And even Jimmy Carter. Him, too.

Forgiveness February. Bring it on. I'm gonna clear all the log jams so the love can just flow down like water.

Turning Days

It is almost February. How on earth did that HAPPEN?!

I'm finding that eating real food, good food is feeling pretty good. I must be an actual adult if feeling pretty good is enough.

The trip to Minnesota was OK. I accidentally at a boca burger with fries at Denny's our first night there. But eating dinner at 11 pm is always going to be trouble. It could have been worse, I could have done it again the next night. I haven't stepped on the scale but my jeans still fit, and I need a belt, so it's good.

The food difference is amazing. Brown rice with a poached egg for breakfast feels good all day long. Miso soup is manna. Some things I learned from Weight Watchers are not completely crazy--I still like the light english muffins. Blueberries in yogurt is a fantastic treat. And enough water is important.

Hope the days continue to turn and that the sun comes up again and that all is well, everywhere.

Mazes and Cheesy Noodles

Life is like a maze. Sometimes you are going, and going and going and getting just plain no where.

I think parties, and traveling and life make it so hard to eat well if I'm tired and overworked. One or the other--hey, OK. But pile things on and the camel's back snaps. And then there are the cheesy noodles with the little crust of bread crumbs. Mmmmm. Cookies I can skip. Cake? No thanks. Even the loaf of bread at the meeting last night, not a problem. But cheesy noodles? Oh yeah baby.

Things are not calm here. The in-house Inaugural Ball-potluck style and a trip this weekend to visit family and friends in Minnesota have brought just enough extra chaos into the mix that it's hard to get up early and meditate, it's hard to get to the Y, and it's harder to set myself up for food successes. But it's not impossible. And a little cheesy noodles in a person's life are a good thing! One little helping is fine. And that's where we are now.

Life is not set up to always offer successes. I'm not like Siddhartha before the awakening. I'm awake, I'm awake (stop shaking me now, please). No one has scrubbed my world of sick, old and dead or even of cupcakes and the damned tortilla chips. It's a path. A maze.

And really when I think about it, living in this maze that is my life is not at all a bad thing. Not bad at all.

Pause...hit Pause!

No, I am not putting my personal growth and development on hold, nor my fitness. Or even my health. Nope.

Maybe just a pause.

It's not totally intentional. Just life and some three hour spans of insomnia, and other things that make me feel like sludge. No, I don't know what sludge really is, but it's a fantastic word.

Other things like fighting with my spouse. No, not real fighting. Just that discussion that is the same one we've had for 15 or 20 years. If one of us had the presence of mind to actually record it someday we could stop at the beginning of a disagreement and exclaim "HEY! Get the recording, we don't actually have to do this, we can go out for coffee while the discussion happens without us!"

I have every confidence that it has nothing to do with the hours there in my bed, waiting to fall back asleep for hours and hours. And having to actually function the next day.

OK, it has everything to do with that.

Sleep is the biggest drug of all, I am totally addicted and if I don't get it, I do go a little bit ballistic.

But I have to pull out the gratitude journal and remember so many things more than the three I make myself write every day. (yes, warm slippers can be on the list 46 days in a row)

Now, the things I eat when I'm in a bad place are things like toast. TWO slices. And the potato soup instead of the vegan chili.

OOOooooo! Trouble!

I remember when it meant fast food drive thru and pints of ice cream and so much food that I really didn't feel anything. Thank God that isn't what this is. This is swimming through fatigue and eating brown rice and spinach and mushrooms for breakfast with a poached egg over the top because I know that there will be BREAD around later in the day. Come on. I rock.

I am grateful that I'm OK. I'm grateful that two days ago it was almost... (shhh, don't say it too loud) easy to run a mile and a half straight through. I only got a little hot. No big deal. I'm grateful that my husband and I can even joke about the recording of our discussions. Grateful for intelligent children, and good friends and jobs and food and firewood outside, just in case. Grateful that I had a wonderful dog for so many, many years. Grateful that I have friends who trust me enough to come over and do their laundry and throw their children in the big bathtub and hang out with me while they deal with their septic system issues.

It's good. It's only a little pause. I'll sleep again someday. It will all be good. And really it's so much better already, I'm wickedly grateful for that.

Spirit First, the rest will follow

Oh I am so sore, who thought that was a good idea to lift all that weight yesterday anyway? Geez.

No, it's good. All good.

I've been wondering why I have been able to stay focused on health and healthful eating through this loss and grief. Today I mentioned my loss of Emmathedog to a handful of my friends at church. Someone asked me when it had happened, and I was so choked up, I could hardly tell them. Maybe I really do need the pity party where you split a bottle of red wine, watch "My Dog Skip" and just give in to the sobbing.

But I keep eating well, really well even. And the workouts continue. I hope it is that good Emma spirit cheering me on. Or maybe I have some weird complex that allows me to do big things when the chips are down? Like going back to school in the middle of huge marriage trauma. Or like the first time I lost a chunk of weight (not the first time it stayed off, though!) my three kids and one of the neighbor kids I was watching all had the chicken pox. And I-- OK get this, I gave away the leftover Halloween candy. In the middle of four kids with mad itchiness.

I should have a psychological evaluation.

Maybe it's that stoic Norwegian blood. Maybe it's just weird. But I am currently pretty centered about the self care and nurturing. The Geeneen Roth book "When Food is Love" is still blowing my mind. I think I had to get this old and this ready before I could have heard the messages about self care for real. And we'll see what happens, but for now it's good.

Next step, I think, is to add back in the morning meditation and yoga. I have been OK about the yoga with the real reason being that my back hurts if I don't get in at least a little yoga pretty consistently. But for a long time I did a small meditation before the yoga and I did it almost every morning. I am a kinder, calmer human if I do this. Sometimes I work my way through a book of poetry or meditations, using the poem or the reading as a place to begin the meditation. I light a candle, open a window to hear the birds and smell the fresh air. And I sit down with myself. It is good. So good.

The other thing I have to add in to this mix is the additional cardio. I was walking the path by my house on the non Y days in early December, but then we had snow and ice and rain rain rain, so much so that Pooh would have had to come and rescue me in his ship "The S.S. Pooh Bear" and the walk would have ended badly. Spring is on it's way here to the Pacific Northwest. I should get back outside. The path winds past a few huge stumps from the days when this area must have been logged, or cleared for farms and they have big rain forest looking trees growing out of them. There is moss, and ferns and lots of bunnies which probably means coyotes. I hear them calling at night. Being out under the big sky is so good for my spirit. But even on the days when I can't walk that path, I can put in 20 little minutes on the stairstepper that I have. I mean, come on! It is not that hard.

So, this week meditation added first, because my goal is mind and spirit first and body will follow. And then we'll see if more cardio can come along after that. Maybe I could even do the little Old Lady Shuffle that passes for my "running" outside. Shocking. Run. Outside?

Time for another bribe, don't you think? Maybe some cute workout pants. Mine are from 1999 when I first worked at the Y.

These are organic cotton from Gaiam.

It IS fun at the YMCA

I've been a YMCA-person for most of my life. When I was a little girl, my dad and I were in a group called "Indian Princesses", what a horrible name, idea and misappropriation, but it was a YMCA group with dads and daughters spending time together which was good. Then I went to a Y day camp called Kici Yapi--again an awful name and misappropriation, but again, a good camp where I learned to swim and canoe had my first contact with good education about nature. Then in high school I went on four Adventure Canoe trips with YMCA Camp Menogyn--the last one thirty some days canoeing across Manitoba, ending in Hudson Bay.

When my kids were little, about 10 years-ago, I got a job at the Y so we could have a discount on the membership, and we've been Y members ever since.

So, I've been working out in one way or another for those 10 years. Even during times when I've gained weight, I've had a pretty consistent routine of working out. I've had a bunch of different trainer sessions, every time we moved to a new Y, I would take advantage of the "free" trainer session and orientation. It's been good, I've learned a lot. Sometimes opposing things, but mostly really good.

But it's funny, when I'm really motivated I can do pretty much the same workout with a hot intensity, I sweat, I hurt afterward, I'm focused. I look like some mad woman. And when I'm on the unfit end, I'll beg off when the family goes, I'll lollygag, I'll go slow, lift less, choose the recumbent bike--OK, not really! But it's the same kind of way I eat; less mindfully, filled with resentment. No fun.

Today I ran a straight mile and a half, I know it's nothing compared to what a lot of folks do, but I haven't run that far straight thru since I was 35, six years ago. I think I lifted more weight than I have in a long time, if not ever. I was focused, intense, driven. I was on!

And it was fun. I love my YMCA. I don't live near one, so split my visits between two different ones, but the one I love best is the older, smaller, funky one in West Seattle right near the church I serve. Today at that funky little Y I saw a board member from my church, and the girl who used to give my kids a hard time about working out when they had had their teen orientation at the OTHER Y. I saw the local UCC minister, the administrator of our school, and faces that I just see there regularly. The swim team has their swim-a-lap fundraiser tonight and I remember working that, and covering the 2am shift on the overnight swim party, too. I remember going to this Y when we first moved to Seattle and my kids had to pass a swim test to go in the pool, now the oldest just finished his lifeguard training in that same pool and was, that day on the spot, offered a job. The kids went to child care when we were first here, and a few years later our middle son took babysitter training in the same room. It's been so much more than a gym.

It's like hanging out with family. It's like working out with family.

A funny world.

And I'm glad I know the Y, glad I have it, so thankful that it's there, that it's been there.

Simple Days

It's been almost a week since the dog has been gone. And yesterday I completed a very competent and orderly grocery shopping with no moments of getting lost in the store. I'm starting to miss her in a less physical way; I'm not looking for her every time I move from one room to the next, or waiting for her on the stairs or expecting to feed her the bits of leftovers any longer. But I am starting to miss her with that inner keening that realizes that she is really now and forever gone.

She was such a good dog. I miss her so much.

And I cannot imagine what I would do if I lost a person from my family. It makes me think that someday I should work as a chaplain. Empathy is me, right now. Sorrow softens me. A wise UU blogger said it better, and I couldn't agree more.

Somehow in the midst of all of this I am feeling pretty healthy. I think it's the pledge to care for myself as Emma would want me to. It's good. I haven't run for a long time, tending to like the high calorie count numbers that come from the same time on a cross trainer, and the meditative walk on the trail. But I know in my heart of hearts that the run does more for me to crank up the muscle mass build and the fat burn. I mean, come on. I sweat more! Isn't that the real test?

So I hit the treadmill and decided I'd just run a mile. It's humbling to be on a treadmill surrounded by my children and husband who can just start right out with a run, no warm up, but it's OK. I muddled through.

And it wasn't even too hard. Just a mental game. "Yes, you can do this. No you are not going to die. Yes this is how working hard feels. No your butt doesn't look any fatter running than walking. Really, you are not going to die." So, guess I'll go for a mile plus something today. It's bit by bit, little by little. Split pea soup by grilled salmon. Taking care of yourself and being kind, even when you're sad. Mile by mile and all.

One pair of jeans from the "no" pile fits again. I can tell that this is the point when in the past I've had a love affair with losing pounds as noted on the scale. I've rushed to see the latest number, breathless to know. Elated with the new number. Excited to feel good and successful. It feels like no one has ever been so successful or powerful. It's easy, in this flush to keep going, the pounds seem to fall off. It's quite a rush.

But this time, I'm trying to stay away from the scale. No "numbers rush" for me. I want to just be a little slimmer, a little calmer, a little more centered. I'm fine here, just me, just as I am. And I want to fit into my clothes a little better and not stuff feelings down with a nice warm piece of buttered bread. I want to eat buttered bread because it tastes good, and one piece is enough. OK, maybe two.

Oh please, may it be so.

Five Questions, no answers

Speed blogging during a little lunch break......

I am finding that I do not work well in the midst of grief. I miss my dog. I would like one of those jobs with "personal time" off! Not that I couldn't take it right now from other folk's point of view, just that it seems impossible with the launch of winter classes and all that needs to happen. Maybe it's good to have this good work to do, and just work a little slower with a heavy heart. When do you stop expecting to see that sweet dog face at every turn? Ever?

Yesterday was Oprah's big launch on the "Best Life Series". I found myself nodding through the whole show. Yep, I was once almost cocky, too, thinking that I had the whole thing figured out. Years of having most of the weight finally off was a sign, right? I knew what to do. Nope. Not me, or Oprah. The show also seemed to fit right in with the first chapter in Geneen Roth's "When Food is Love". Food is always there. It's reliable. It never ever shows up late, or lets you down or leaves. And the result is always the same. The real way out is to care more for yourself than you care for the food. To learn to rely on yourself. To trust yourself.

I also finished "The Memory Keeper's Daughter" last night. Same message there, no one can complete you, you have to do that one yourself. Happiness? Yep, only you. Only me.

And there was homework for the Oprah show. Five questions to answer:

1. What are you really hungry for?

2. Why are you overweight?

3. Why have you been unable to maintain the weightloss in the past?

4. What in your life is not working?

5. Why do you want to lose weight?

Bob Greene, Oprah's trainer, said that if number five's answer has anything to do with finally being happy that you are doomed. I can give that one an "amen". Doomed. You either never get there, or you get there and discover that it didn't work.

That's a big homework assignment. I hope I get extra credit for posting it to my blog. (smile)

Next Life

I just got back from the grocery store, I was out to buy the fixin's for making granola for a yogurt parfait sale tomorrow at church. So, while I was there I figured I would pick up a few things for the family, too. But yesterday was my dog Emma's last day alive. It was a good day, it was time and it was awful and beautiful. And today at the store I couldn't find the peanut butter. Really, at the Fred Meyer I go to four times a week.

I'm a little lost without my sweet dog as a touchstone in my life.



She was the best dog, ever. You know what it's like if you've had a dog that you loved, and if that dog lived for you. She was my dog, oh she was all of ours of course, but she followed me everywhere, and she would sit looking out the window for hours waiting for me to come home. She snuggled like only a 40 pound fur ball can. This was love. True, full, selfless love. I miss her.

I am taking it as a sign. Since Emma isn't here to love me in person any longer, I guess I had just better learn to follow myself around and adore myself. If I was worth the devotion of the best dog on earth, then I must be worth my own time and attention. So, I'm on a mission.

I am going to learn to treat myself like my dog would have liked to treat me.

This plan includes fantastic and wonderful food, in people sized portions. It includes long naps and longer walks. There must be cozy fires in the fire place and delicious books that just simply must be read. It has a class or two to improve my mind and fun evenings with friends. There should be good camping trips to beautiful places and hours and hours of writing time. Fine tea, freshly ground coffee, small bits of excellent creamy chocolate and the right wine to go with all if it, too.

And gentle, loving, adoring care every single day.

I have gotten two books in the mail from my ordering spree from Amazon, now: "Love Yourself Thin" by Victoria Moran (she's recently updated it and it will be published I think this spring--but even this old one is excellent) and "When Food is Love" by Geneen Roth, which I have not yet read, but her blogs are wonderful. I signed up for the Oprah "Best Life" series of webinars. I've been a downright regular at the Y, me and my spiffy new shower shoes by the way, yeay me. And even with the loss of my dog, I'm doing OK with food. I really want to just stay a nice normal size, just a little bump down from where I am right now.

At the maze-like grocery store trip, I picked up the new People magazine with it's requisite "HALF THEIR SIZE" article. It has a little blurb about Oprah and her recent weight gain, and it also had a photo gallery of her during her ups and downs. It could be me. I'm so ready to just slow the curve and actually just settle in at a nice, normal weight. Normal BMI. Room for a little chocolate, a lot of walking, some margaritas with friends. And no food psychosis. Happiness. Fulfillment. Spirit. Focus on real life, and not food or points or calories. Just life.

It's what my dear old dog would have wanted.

The spirit sprawled under the pile of unmatched socks

I cannot believe how much time and energy this closet renovation is taking. No lie, hours and hours and hours from both adults in the house and while the closet looks fabulous, the stuff that used to live there but got evicted is all over my bedroom.

My house has no storage.

It's a problem, but not a big one!

What blows my mind is what I put up with for five whole years in this set-up with this closet. Really, my clothes were stuffed in these little shelves behind the door of the walk in closet, or piled on top of the highest shelf where not even my super tall brother-in-law would have seen them. And it turns out that I had half the hanging space of my husband.

The thing is? Looking at it, I had no idea that I had an inadequate set-up. I had no idea that things didn't make sense given how many clothes I have in comparison to my ruthlessly weeding husband. I had no idea that there was a problem.

For me this is a big, huge, flashing, neon sign and it says: "You Do Not See Yourself As Important!"

Yep. Or maybe I'm learning to. A little bit at a time, and maybe that's the skeleton key that opens all those doors, and even some of the windows that hold the key to healthy life.

The bad news? I think we have to put my dog to sleep, and no one who has loved this dog could do anything but fall apart for a good long time if that's what we have to do. She's been my other half for ten years; old when we got her, really old now. The kindest being who ever walked the earth.

Maybe I'll go hide in that clean closet for a while.