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.