Worth

If you have something that is worth whatever it takes -- you are a most fortunate person.

Knowing what something is worth to you gives you a great deal of power.

Knowing allows you to dismiss what goes beyond its worth to you and carry on beyond all understanding for that thing that is worth enduring both heaven and hell for.

We've all seen the person who sacrifices everything for their job, or their image, or their children, or husband, or wife, or whatever it is that they value more than anything or anyone else in the world.

To be on the outside of that can be painful. Knowing that your relationship, or business, or priority is not as valued by another as it is by you does not diminish it's place in your life, but chances are pretty good you will still not convince an outsider of its importance.

Value is personal.

It does not make the sacrifices less painful. It simply makes them unquestionably necessary.

Reflection

The subconscious slinks into our dreams filling our back packs with rocks. Stones of sorrow that do not exist in the real world, but which we are afraid to put down because maybe they should be.

In the morning we try to wipe the crud from our eyes, baptizing our faces before the mirror and reflecting on the differences between the Muses who counsel us into greatness and the Trickster who leads us astray.

I look into your eyes and I see the reflection of oneness drawn by kindred spirits seeking out their own kind, drawn like amalgamated quick silver back into the oneness none of us ever leave. And I marvel at how closely you remain true to that oneness even as you plod along a way full of cracks and crevices meant to test you.

It is difficult to walk that line between honor and truth and fear and darkness. Darkness, like all bullies, calls so much more loudly.

If you could only see the reflection of your truth in my eyes, perhaps I could lighten your load by either carrying some of your stones for you, or throwing them away completely.

None of us see ourselves as we truly are and I don't know if that is a blessing, or a curse.

This magic moment

I am good at imagining things.

I can look at an old dilapidated house and see how it will look all fixed up. I can envision an artistic project and bring it into fruition. I can follow this current eating plan and imagine how I will look when I reach my imagined goal.

So what happens when it turns out that last goal may be way out of reach? I have plateaued. I have not lost a pound in two weeks despite eating less than a thousand calories a day like I have for six months.

Despite losing 75 pounds, my weight is not within the normal range for BMI. My waist is not under the number of inches necessary to avoid the dangers of diabetes and heart disease. Although I can wear pants that are actually half the size I wore six months ago, I have only gone down one or two top sizes. There IS room for improvement!

I look fine. I feel great. I have energy to burn. I am evidently just supersized for life!

I've stepped up the exercise some, but there is only so much the bones and ligaments in my feet will tolerate. I'm not giving up, but it looks like I better learn to live with this weight.

It is hard to do that. I am good at working towards things: my next trip to visit Bestest, finding my new perfect chair, paring down my accessories, -- I like a goal I can sink my hopes into and this particular one seems to be coming to a halt.

This is the moment where I quit dreaming of that size ten and start looking for cute 2X sweatshirts. It is hardly the success I have dreamed of for six months, so I guess that is my new goal . . . being happy with what is.

Best chance

 
Disguised as well meaning advice, advanced advice, in depth advice, expert advice, or a hundred other names, extremes are the things that will drive me crazy.

Bestest tells me do what you can, moderation is more easily maintained, some is better than nothing.

People who have spent their lives being fit tell me, you look great, be careful of extremes.

But the crazy makers throw out words they can't spell about subjects they know a little about and try to sell me machines to improve my chances.

In truth, my chances of succeeding are better if I'm not butting my head against a wall when I can't achieve perfect results.

I've never been perfect and I'm not likely to start at my age, but I can do better.

The Absolute

Children know who to turn to for direction. Mother, father, grandmother, nanny, there is always someone who has the final say, whose word must be trusted to be right on all fronts. The one who has absolute finality over a world that seems big and mysterious, wonderful and sometimes cruel.

Adults turn to spouses who may, or may not, let them down; to teachers, professors, confessors, best friends, or even much loved pets, because we need someone we can bounce ideas off of, ask questions of, debate, or argue with -- even cry with. There must always be an absolute.

A replacement for the teddy bear who soaked up our tears as toddlers. A replacement for the comfort of knowing somebody-knows-for-sure of our childhood. A replacement for what we all know does not really exist, An absolute, unequivocal authority can never not be.

Ultimately I know there is no such thing, except for that which I give it to. In dire need of comfort I listen to the wisest ear who listens to me.

I absolutely need this.

Revelations

I like scary movies.

But I realized tonight that I do not like all scary movies, which shouldn't be a surprise. Hardly anyone likes all of anything, but this was more specific. I realized I do not like scary movies of a very particular sort.

I like movies about kids and seas. I like rustic landscapes and I like movies that delve into emotions. Mostly.

I do not like movies about evil children who lie. It pushes all my buttons - trust, faith, belief in the basic good in people - and more.

I was watching The Good Son and was so acutely uncomfortable that I finally paused it to see how much longer it would go on. It was only half way through when I realized I didn't have to watch this movie all the way through!

I have both the ability and the right to fast forward, or stop as much as I like and that is okay.

There was no reason to torture myself by making me watch the whole movie! I wanted to see how it ended. I was cheering for the mother to drop the bad kid and terrified she might not.

I don't know why I have such a visceral reaction to this movie, but I'm glad I finally realized no one was making me watch the whole thing. The best part was fast forwarding to see how it ended.

Love, right?

We are hard wired to believe love is what we learn growing up.

If someone feeds us, clothes us, teaches us right from wrong and is there for us to go home to, they must love us. Right?

Probably true, but that individual can only teach us what it knows, so if anyone screws up along the line, the legacy can be passed on in all kinds of convoluted ways.

We grow up with a voice in our head that says all kinds of things and we take it to heart because it comes from  --  Love.

I mean no one who loves us would intentionally give us bad advice. Right?

The trouble is we internalize that advice whether it is good or bad, because we don't know the difference when we are growing up. We are children! We are vulnerable and unformed and blank little slates just waiting to be filled in. Right?

Well, yes and no, but the problem is nature, who seems to realize that our best chances of growing up alive are if we conform and obey and learn from those caring for us. If mother says run. We run. If she says eat. We eat. If she says we aren't pretty if we think we are -- then how will we ever know if we are pretty or not?

Love is a voice that must be edited after a certain age. If it is not, the world's mental and emotional health is at risk of turning into a bizarre game of telephone.

I need a magician not a tailor

One of my pet peeves is the way women's clothes are sized. Men buy shirts by collar size and sleeve length. They buy pants, by waist size and leg length. Women are expected to cram themselves into sizes like 8, 10, 12, 16, etc. They have petites and talls now, but that still leaves a lot of room for differences in leg and arm length.

I am five foot, six and three quarter inches tall, which used to mean I needed tall sizes for length in the arms and legs, but not any more. The average woman I have coffee with is five foot, eight inches. Tall begins at 5'8" now.

So, why when I look up how to find out if I am small, medium, or large boned, do most of the sites give three wrist measurements?  Going by those I am beyond huge! Today I discovered an article, written by a reputable source that said if you are under 5'2" these are the wrist sizes to use. If you are 5'5" there are others and over that there are others. That makes a lot more sense, because I have known tall, narrow, skinny people who are 6'6" tall and wide, stocky, people who are not even five feet tall.

It turns out I am a pretty normal medium boned woman who is thirty pounds over weight. I have no trouble believing that.

It still doesn't solve the clothes dilemma. I want to buy blouses whose collars fit and whose sleeves reach my wrists.

Anger management

I looked up today and the woman in the mirror looked like my mother. Of course she was sitting across the room, but the similarity did strike me.

In truth I am nothing like my mom. I am taller. I don't have auburn hair. I don't wear it curly. I am ten years older than she even lived to be.

Those are the physical differences.

Emotionally we are nothing alike either.

She sort of prided herself on not being an intellectual and yet she was certainly no dummy. I never saw her attempt anything she really didn't conquer. Except her temper.

Looking at my family from a distance I see that anger is a recurring thing, whether passive aggressive, or outwardly expressed, it runs through us more than any gene for hair color, or eyes. I think, though that it is a learned trait, an inability to cope with reality in mature, intelligent ways.

Maybe you can learn better ways of dealing with life, or maybe you just have to be old enough to outgrow all that stuff. Or maybe life just changes enough as you age that it goes away on its own.

Anyway, today I looked in the mirror and saw my mother peering over at me. I wondered what she might be thinking.

Walk don't run

It was warm enough for me to walk in just a long sleeved shirt today. That is rare in January, in Illinois.

But really walking is still a novelty for me. I started in 2010 and then stopped again. Now I walk at the mall, at any commercial establishment, and even in the parks when I can summon up the interest.

Up until now I really didn't have to do anything except stick to my eating plan and I could still expect to loose 2-3 pounds a week. Last week I only lost one pound and plateaus are becoming more the norm than the exception.

I don't want to stop losing weight yet, but long range "plans" don't really work for me. Instead of motivating me, they tend to depress me and give me an "excuse" to quit. I think the only long range plan I can really benefit from is that I don't want to gain this weight back, so anything I do to prevent that is good.

If I just go shop-walking at the mall, that is better than sitting in a chair all day. And the longer I move, the better it is. I have to give myself credit for every little thing.

Today I was able to go out and actually walk at a good clip for a mile and a half. That delights me!

It is the variety that keeps me going. Joining a club or gym would never work because I am not a social walker if it means conforming to someone else's schedule. I also don't like the repetition of using a track over and over. Novelty sparks enough interest to get me up and moving and that's about the best I can hope for in the long run.

Er . . . walk.

Nightmares or . . .

Sometimes it's hard to tell where the nightmares begin and life ends, or vice versa.

Last night the fire alarm in our building went off around 2 AM. At first I thought, I don't smell smoke, I'm not getting up. Then I woke up enough to realize that, "The fire alarm's going off!"

I jumped out of bed. Forgot all about my plans of what I'd take with me if there was ever a disaster and looked for Annabel. She was nowhere to be seen, so I put on my coat and rushed out with only my coat.

My neighbor was out there holding his little shih-tzu and looking shell shocked. It seems that even though he has no handicaps, his apartment is set up for a person with any sort of disabilities. He and his dog were suddenly assaulted by strobe lights and insane noise. He didn't even have a coat with him. After it became obvious the building was not going to burst into flames, I held his dog while he ran back in and got his coat and hat.

Two fire trucks came blaring out after what seemed like ages. The firemen ran through the building then tried to turn off the alarm. When they could not do that, they went through the building again. In the meantime I noticed two ambulance vans had pulled up nearby. (Maybe to pick up the people dying from shock and cold?) But after 25 minutes they announced we could go back inside.

I went back to sleep amazingly quickly once I got warm then at five o'clock our power went out! I reset the clocks and went back to sleep again. I got up around eight, washed and cut strawberries and blueberries and put together a big fruit salad with all the bells and whistles for our book club brunch and just as I finished, saw the email that said our hostess had the flu! It was cancelled.

I decided to make breakfast before meeting my daughter, but as I began to cook the power went out again! And I have an electric stove.

Eventually I did eat and met my daughter, who took the fruit salad for her and my granddaughter. We spent a fun four hours together, but there was a long period there where I wasn't sure if I was having one long extended nightmare, or just an unusual spate of bad luck.

Patience

I am not a patient person.

I know that would surprise people who saw me as a preschool person, but that is part of the job description when working with toddlers. They still live in a world that moves a lot slower than the rest of us are used to. They need time to understand, play with, taste and savor things if you really want them to internalize those things.

Out here in the big world, my world seems to work on double time.  People at stoplights and stop signs seem to wait interminably long times to me before they go.  My computer feels like it's in slow motion much of the time. Meal times take years to come around and pounds melt off me like snow melts off icebergs at absolute zero.

I cannot tell you how often I would like to reach out and press fast forward!

(But then I do it on a movie and miss the whole climax, which I suppose is exactly why I can't do it in real life.) I'd be a thousand years old by now.

Or - gulp - long gone.

Procrastination is the thief of time (and sanity)

I am often amazed at the way I let little problems hang over me until I am so overwhelmed that I consider not doing something I really want to do rather than dealing with it.

The perfect example are things I like to do with a group of friends here. We get together for all kinds of things, but only when it involves going to someone's house and taking a dish to share do I shy away.

In the beginning I also avoided places that were difficult to find parking places for, or in another city or town, now it is only food.

I don't know why that is. I have been cooking for well over fifty years, but lately it's been a problem. Book club on Sunday is a brunch. I loved the book, but until Bestest gave me the idea of taking a fruit salad, I was thinking about not going.

Even then I have mulled it over so long that you'd think I was feeding some allergic head of state at a chef's convention -- not friends at a book club. Tonight I finally looked up fruit salad in the American Test Cookbook and found the perfect salad. Simple, sweet and made with fruit I love.

I am instantly excited about something I have been dreading for weeks. It makes me wonder why I didn't just look in there earlier?

But that is me. I guess.

Never fear

There is a lot to be said for positive thinking.

People who don't understand that think, oh, Pollyanna! That's good for kids or people who don't think, but not us intelligent adults.

People who do understand that realize, I am the mind behind my world. Better for that world to be pleasant than otherwise.

It's not all make believe or drugs. It is conscious thought choosing to find a better way.

Don't worry, the real negative stuff, the what seem like insurmountable problems will find their way through. You will still have to think about and think through the tough stuff.

You just won't be walking around like Pig Pen in a constant cloud of dirt.

Bizarre

Bizarre is not the same thing as talented, or intelligent, or creative.

I see people who seem to be encouraging their child to be weird -- not just themselves -- not unique -- just annoyingly bizarre. And I feel sorry for those children.

Children don't only know what they are taught. They know when people make fun of them. They know when they are odd man out. They know when they are different in a bad way that hurts. And I don't think any parent would intentionally set out to put their child in that position. Yet I've seen it done by well meaning people more often than you might want to believe.

Their kid is normal. He or she is not a genius, or prodigy. And that should be okay. Most of us fall into that category, but for some people it evidently is not enough. They create terrifying little creatures who are told they are geniuses and, because they don't know what to do with that they feel they must do something bizarre to prove it.

And so we lose a perfectly wonderful human being who might have done perfectly normal every day things in some beautiful way, because someone mistook bizarre for brilliant and misled their child.

Bloomers

People grow in more ways than I could ever imagine.

What breaks one person makes another and although we can help one another, in the end, I believe each of us must find, or make our own destiny.

Every person reacts in such a unique way to the almost over abundance of variables along life's way, that trying to mold another's path is probably a very dangerous thing to do.

The way can be salted with incentives, but they may be the very things that cause a person to stray off that path and choose another.

I've noticed there are early bloomers and late bloomers. Sadly, too, there are those who never find a way to bloom.

But once someone does bloom?

I suspect it is like being kissed by the angels. Suddenly they become more successful, more appealing, and just plain happier.

Good thoughts

I have a habit of sending a wish, or prayer, or good thoughts, whenever I notice the clock on all matching numbers, like 2:22, It's just a good way of remembering those I love.

My most common and fervent one is that all my children be healthy, wealthy and wise (the most all encompassing one I can come up with.) Sometimes I am more specific.

With that in mind, today I feel like all my children are in better places than they have been in a long time. I attribute that more to their choices than my good thoughts, but it feels good no matter what.

No mother could ask for much more.

The best

I am attracted to empathetic outgoing, secure people. I suspect everyone is to some extent. They make us feel good and safe and they are generally both interesting and fun to be with.

Go a little bit in either direction and those things begin to fade.

Very insecure people tend to fall into two categories. Those who fade into the shrinking violet wallpaper and those who become obnoxious attention seekers, flirting with everyone in an attempt to appear secure and witty, or becoming bullies afraid to let go of control.

And then come the what? Extraordinary secure people? The ones who just know they are the cat's meow (and that is one prize winning, showcased Persian cat.) These can be so charming! Or they can be tiresome, it really depends on how they think of themselves (or perhaps of me and others.)

Given my upbringing and natural tendencies I know I can easily find myself in the shrinking violet bouquet. I walk a fine line between being unseen, unheard and overly solicitous, or feeling obligated to control everything.

But I am also an actor at heart. Ready to grab the reins and lead the class, all the while knowing that I am really only an impersonator, someone pretending to be confident, beautiful, smart and outgoing.

It's the best I got.

The truth is

It used to be that some people thought everything they read was gospel. If the book said go left at Disney World, by golly that's what they did! Now some people feel that way about their computer.

The truth is -- I can find something online, or in a book, to back up nearly anything I want. It doesn't mean it is true, or accurate, or right -- it's just there.

I've used this to my advantage so many times in the past. It made me feel better about being over weight. Actually, it let me convince myself that it didn't matter if I was over weight as long as I was happy.

The truth is -- I am truly happier when my feet don't hurt, chairs are big enough for me to move around on in airplanes and at movie theatres, and my blood pressure isn't pounding in my ears.

I've read all the ads, seen all the commercials, followed all the posts on Facebook about easy ways to lose weight. I've tried most of them too, but the only ones that seem to work in the long run, are eating less and moving more.

The truth is -- I had to find foods I loved that made that possible and then find ways and times to eat them that worked for me. Mostly I find the old adage, "doing not doing" to be true. Not eating a lot of food was the best way to go, both in type and quantity.

I'm always hoping this is the time that works.

The truth is: It will only work as long as I keep working at it.

One moment in time

I never thought I would find myself too busy socially, but I actually had to cancel tomorrow night. It's cold and my hibernating instincts are moving into high gear.

Besides volunteering in the afternoon at the school library, I have been out every night for a while and I am looking forward to just staying home.

And . . . vacuuming the apartment every single day, followed by a trip to the dumpster is taking its toll.  I never realized what a physical job it is to try and vacuum every square inch of my tiny apartment daily -- until now.

Tonight, though, was wonderful. I went to see The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) and it was so much fun. We participated. We laughed. We clapped. Time flew and five ladies said good-bye in a frigid parking lot before dispersing to various and sundry destinations. Going to plays is getting to be a habit with us. This was our second and we are planning on the next one in March.

Life is good. I don't feel like I am wasting a minute any more and that suits me just fine.

Moving along

The possibility of bugs in the house makes me a tad neurotic. I've been busy vacuuming and vacuuming and vacuuming. In between I'm washing towels and sheets and quilts and spraying some surfaces. I'm also wearing a rut between my apartment and the dumpster as I empty my vacuum and get rid of anything I can that might be a flea carrier -- except Annabel of course!

Actually the way I understand it, is that she will attract fleas and then they will die on her now that the vet has doused her in some kind of flea insecticide.

I have also introduced a small humidifier/mister that may help with winter dryness. 

My new lifestyle has made me more conscious of how I feel and whether that is from losing weight, or eating healthier, or getting more exercise I have no idea, so I don't want to take any chances of ruining that.

Everything seems to have changed.

How I look and feel. How my apartment looks and feels. My closet is paring down to the essentials, as are my drawers. My refrigerator is filled with fresh vegetables and my counters are covered in avocados. Somehow I even have more floor space, although how that can be I don't understand, but I could put another substantial chair in here now.

Tonight I am going out for dinner for the second time to an unknown place, but the menu looks like I will be able to maintain my current diet there and afterwards we are going to see The Post.

Now, as long as I am able to skate home on the ice afterwards all will be well!

Consumed

My cat has fleas.

No I'm not tuning my ukelele. I'm vacuuming my carpet. Every day for seven days, because Annabel really does have fleas. I don't know how. She never leaves the apartment, but the vet confirmed there are fleas on my cat.

They poured some medicine on her head to kill the ones eating her and my job is to make sure there are no breeders on the floors. Ugh.

Who would ever think the living habits of tiny beasts would interest me, but I am consumed.

Lost -- one twelve year old

I have lost 71 pounds. My son wrestled in the 65-70 pound weight level when he was a seventh grader in junior high. That means I have lost one small twelve year old off of my body! If you asked me to pick up that amount right now I don't know if I could do it. My kitty litter comes in thirty pound bags and it is all I can do to pick one up and carry it into the bathroom.

All of this really doesn't mean anything, but it helps me visualize the amount of weight I have taken off. And . . . It means I have taken 284 pounds of pressure off my knees! That is daunting, four pounds of pressure for every pound of weight a person carries. Or . . . 105 pounds of pressure off my feet (70 x 1.5= 105). Once, when I was twenty one, I weighed 102 pounds, so that is one whole person off my feet.

Imagine trying to pick up this amount of weight and carry it around the block, or even just around the house. It would wear me out and that is exactly what it has done for years. I am not getting younger, I am just doing less work hauling me around my life.

Eating food I love makes this life style easier, but fewer aches and pains certainly reinforces it.

It hasn't really made a huge difference in my clothes yet, but it has made some. In grown toenails are no fun, but ingrown clothes? Pretty cool.

Simply fascinating

There is always a part of me that loves simple. The less complicated anything is, the more satisfying it often feels to me. I like life reduced down to the lowest quality common denominator.

Quality is the key word though.

I would rather have one really good pair of earrings, or gloves, or jar of face cream, or coat, or shoes, or towels and sheets, than twenty so so ones.

The idea of living in a compact place with exactly what I need really appeals to me.

It isn't exactly financially prudent, because it does mean pairing down on an almost constant basis, but it means that what I have is useful and generally appropriate.

Looking around my apartment today gives me a sense of peace and well being. I am starting out the new year with sorted out books, clothes, bathroom supplies and linen.

Small houses appeal to me, but I am long past wanting to climb ladders to bed. I get up two or three times a night to go to the bathroom, so it better be on the same level I sleep on. Otherwise I think I would be shopping for the most compact place on earth. The idea of murphy beds that convert between sleeping and desks fascinates me and wet bathrooms seem like the perfect solution. I would love a home that slips, slides, folds and rotates!

Rawr

How much winter can you put up with before you need the space heaters?

How much snow is enough to keep you at home? Alone?

How many baths must you take to keep breathing through your nose?

How much frustration can you endure when flights are cancelled, plans nixed, dreams ruined?

If you can survive all these things and still find a reason to smile, then:

You're RAWWWRSOM!

Stressed

I feel good.

I am having great dreams. (Honestly, I dreamed I was the queen of England and had three castles all together in one place.)

I don't feel stressed at all.

Yet, I am constantly fighting off a cold sore. Usually a little Lysine and they are gone, but not lately. Tonight when I went to brush my teeth I could feel a new one popping up.

I guess I have been a little concerned about one thing today, but I didn't think I was internalizing it like this.

Bodies don't lie though and cold sores are my body's way of saying it is feeling stressed.  I don't need litmus paper, or lie detectors, or even anyone else's opinion. All I need is that little tingly burning sensation right at the corner of my lips.

And when I die and when . . .

I look in the mirror and almost don't recognize the person sitting in my chair, but I know what she thinks, how she feels, who she is and sometimes I don't like her.

Sometimes I do, though, and I think it is time I really embrace her because that is who I really am.

I am tired of trying to be what a mother is supposed to be, or a grandma is supposed to be, or a sister, or a friend. The bestest friend I have in the world knows almost exactly who I am and he treats me better than anyone I have ever known in my entire life. And that goes from birth to now which is a very long time.

A very long time to keep trying to find the right role, the right way to be, the way that will make everyone think I am a good person. If I am not a good person in my own right then I don't think that's ever going to happen.

I am still learning, still trying, still searching, but I think that is who I really am.

I am a person who wants to keep learning, keep changing, keep living until the day I die.

And when I die ... then at least I will have lived an interesting life.

Accommodations

I have started this year with an incredible sense of well being and space.

I live in a studio apartment. It is big for a studio, but smaller than a one bedroom. Yet, it seems to have grown larger over the weekend. I suddenly appear to have room for another chair, so company and I could both sit in comfort.

My closet can now accommodate the extra Christmas decoration I bought this year and my feelings appear to be accommodating a feeling of elegance all around.

For reasons I can only guess at I feel the same sense of hope and well being I haven't felt since 1974.

My apartment looks more together. My wardrobe, though small right now, is looking good. Even my dreams have had an elegance and hopefulness to them, although they still contain some confusion as to why that would be.

I am trying to make room in my mind to accommodate all these wonderful, surprising feelings. It is a good way to begin a new year.

Teach the children

Life is only what we make it.

If all I ask is to be used and that makes me happy, then that is as it should be, but if my voice speaks of it in monotones and sorrow, if my joy is only in telling others how I am used and mistreated, that does not sound like happiness.

Happiness comes from within. It is up to me to find the joy in living.

Taxi-ing children from place to place, dropping them at one fast food place and another, walking zombie like through the days of my work serves no one. Children don't know any better unless we teach them, so if  I want to taxi them around, I should, at least, join in and play with them at these places, eat with them, teach them diversity and joy.

And remember I can do all of this without taking them anywhere.

There is no to do list for joy. It is experiential.

Share experiences. Share healthy habits. Share love that cannot be bought with money.

Life is only what we make it.

Teach the children that.