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.