Prepping for New Resolutions--PLEASE!!

It's almost that time. . . New Year's, the time to reflect and make resolutions. I hate New Year's. It always makes me depressed. The same blasted resolutions each year makes life seem futile.

I was reading Refuse to Regain--a post by psychologist Barbara Berkeley, called How Is Your IBM Doing? IBM is an acronym for Intake Balance Mechanism. She's using it about eating and food, mostly about sugars and starches. Of course, it's an interesting concept to apply to all of life, don't you think?

Anyhow, in her post, she talks about NOWs (never overweight people) and POWs (previously overweight people) and SAD (the Standard American Diet), but I didn't see an acronym for currently overweight people. (Afterall her site is about Refusing to Regain.) I commented on this. Surely, she wouldn't call us COWs, nor SOWs (still overweight people or struggling), so I guessed maybe just "OWs"?? That fits, I think.

She says, "Neither do I believe in many of the accepted theories about how we gain weight." Nor do I. I just, as of yet, don't have the thinner present to reckon with this. . .

So I have a few days to get ready to think about the new year. What I will and won't put on myself. Think specifically. Maybe think in only 2 week increments. . . Put more on actions than on rules. . .

Must go. . . told Dad I was going to get a shower 45 minutes ago. . .

More Ahhhh. . . .

Another ahhhh day. I took vacation days while my dad is here for the week. We're sitting around--Dad reading a Ken Follet book; Hubby roaming aimlessly about, now playing the piano, now doing laundry, now God knows where, but not with his feet up in the room with us--he is just not a good relaxer.

Guess I need to get around and dressed. Hubby wants to go to the store. I want to get ingredients to make cassoulet one night. I love the rosemary with the white beans. . . and the garlic. We'll also splurge on Beef Wellington one night.

I'm looking forward to having some time to enjoy all my X-mas books. Hubby got lots and lots on my Wish list: a few books by This American Life writers, as well as Roy Blount, Jr., Bailey White, and Hate That Cat--a kind of sequel to Love That Dog, by Sharon Creech. He read both of them aloud to me and Mom on X-mas night. Such lovely stories. And my sister read A Christmas Memory aloud to a roomful of people the weekend before for our X-mas exchange. Hubby gave me the DVD version with Patty Duke that I am looking forward to watching.

My oldest stepson's family was really great about giving me gifts from my wish list to inspire me to get back on track: Half-Assed by the Pastaqueen and a Moosewood cookbook and a pair of Thorlo walking socks!

I gave Hubby several books about walks around Atlanta, and he's committed to getting a puppy! The stipulation is we have to read the two raising puppy books first so we will know what we are doing. We are strongly leaning toward a golden doodle.

I haven't taken pictures yet, but seredipitiously 2 of our Santa ornaments fell off the tree during gift distribution. They both fell on their backs, legs and arms sprawled as though they fell into an exhausted, baby-in-the-cereal sleep.

Ahhhhh. . . .

It is 11:10 AM on Christmas Eve.

For many many Christmas Eve's in the past, this was the time when my table would be set and decorated and we'd either have a few guests here for brunch or be waiting for the first ones to arrive.

I had been feeling a bit sad about the loss of this tradition. This year my office's holiday schedule felt very stingy. We get only tomorrow off--and only New Year's Day off-not the days after nor today, the day before. It was making me feel cranky and a bit persecuted--never mind that it was happening to all the rest of the people not getting the holiday either. Thankfully, I have paid vacation days.

But right now, I'm sitting with my feet up, laptop actually on lap, listening to Christmas music, with the tree lit (thought the day is now bright enough for the lights to no longer have much of the required backdrop for best viewing). And, you know what? It may not be the tradition, but right now it is feeling pretty good.

I've been sick. I need the break. I need the relief in my head from the anxiety of this crazy economic time. Is anyone else experiencing anxiety from all the layoffs and lack of shopping and mortgage issues? My overall feeling is just this impending doom and hearing over and over in my head, "what to do? what to do?" Cutting back on Starbucks isn't going to be enough. . . .

Brushing that aside. . . sweep . . . sweep. . .

Here are a few random holiday memories, feel free to share yours too!

Memory 1
I remember one Christmas in Missouri at my Grandparents' house. My sister and I had gotten walkie talkies for Christmas. It was snowing lightly. Two of my uncles took off in the neighborhood in different directions, each with a group of cousins in tow. Up hills, down hills around corners, it was like a 20-year early (more?) premonition of the cell phone commercials: "Can you hear me now?" So much giggling, for such mundane conversation over the wires. . from David St. to Leroy, to Masters Drive. . .

Memory 2
Our first Thanksgiving in Boston was my first one as an "adult," where I didn't go to my grandparents'. It made me very sad. Hubby & I awoke to a foot of snow, feeling grateful then that we'd bought a duck to cook and didn't have anywhere we needed to drive. The field across the parking lot from our apartment complex was a big plane of ice--a solid, crunchy layer on top of the snow. My sweet Katie dog was light enough to stay on top. To her delight, when I crunched through, little balls of ice cracked from the surface. One piece skated a bit away from us. . . and that was the start! Ice hockey! I'd throw an ice puck and she'd run across ice and slide, spinning tail first to catch it, then poof! Head first into a snow bank. Hubby said he could hear even the echos of my laughter from inside our apartment. We played for hours.

Memory 3
One Oct. my friend, Karen , and I took a road trip from Boston to her home in Turbyville, SC then to my mom's in Atlanta. While in Turbyville, I got a glimpse of one of her family's Christmas traditions.

All the way down 95, eating bologna sandwiches in the car because Karen was determined to stop as little as possible, she told me stories of her elderly cousins Lurleen and Dicey. Yes, their real names. I'm not sure if they were her mother's cousins or her grandmother's or maybe not even true cousins at all.

A few days into our visit--after the surreal night at Grandma Reena's who was watching Lawrence Welk when we came in, who lived across from a cotton field, and whose house was the darkest I have ever been in at night with absolutely no ambient light, we took a drive to Lurleen's and Dicey's.

As we passed the kitchen, we spoke to the cook who came in every day for them. Were we going to stay to eat fried pork chops and black eyed peas and greens for lunch? To my surprise and dismay, Karen said no. . . we didn't want to intrude. (One of the things I love most about Karen is how she intrudes into families. . . )

Dicey & I sat on Dicey's double bed, and Karen sat next to Lurleen's side on her bed, which she never left anymore, and that was directly across from Dicey's. It was one of the largest bedrooms I've ever seen. There were 2 bedrooms, but the sisters had always shared one.

We chatted about Karen's family. And she told Lurleen and Dicey stories about me--spats we'd had in the car ride down (she claimed I drove like Mr. Magoo--oblivious to the devastation I left behind me); how she'd eaten the last pieces of bologna at my house before I could say anything--even though we were leaving hubby without a car for more than week; how her niece had sucked me in with tall tales about baby chickens on their chicken farm.

After lots of laughter and some tears from both joy and sadness, Dicey asked Karen if she would be able to come back for Christmas. Karen apologetically told her no that she didn't think she could afford another visit so soon. And while we expected a sad response, instead, Dicey clapped and brightened and said, "Well then, you get your Christmas Lipstick now!"

"Oh, you're in for a treat," Karen said to me.

Bags removed from the closet had their contents poured onto Dicey's bedspread. Piles of tubes of lipstick. Every color. Every name. Every brand. Pick the one you like, Dicey tells us. Some like 'em bright, some don't. Take the one you want.

Karen tells me this is what they've always done, these 2 sisters. All year they collect lipstick. Enough lipstick for all the women in the family, all ages of females--girls and grands. Mostly all Southerners, and a few displaced ones, like Karen and now me. They can't afford more, but they want to give this. This bit of a lady's indulgence, this bit of seduction or church polish, this bit of bonding between only women.

Holiday or Detour? Part II

ARE YOU LIKE ME--A MAX--SOMEONE WHO VIEWS THIS TIME OF YEAR AS A HOLIDAY?

OR ARE YOU LIKE MY SWEET HUBBY--A GRINCH--SOMEONE SEES IT AS A MAJOR DETOUR FROM HIS DESIRED LIFE?

HUBBY'S PHILOSOPHY: CHRISTMAS, & ET CETERA. DISTRACT HIM FROM HIS DESIRED DESTINATIONS
(For my philosophy, read part I)

Hubby does not view this time as a holiday, rather for him, it is a big detour--and all the aggravation detours bring.

The first Christmas tree Hubby & I put up together wouldn't stay in the stand, and kept falling on his head. I guess this was a BIG sign; one that I missed!

I'm not saying he's not generous, he is--very. I'm the one who gets curmudgeonly, feeling like people don't even know what I've given them, much less appreciate the time I took, the money I spent, or the great deal of consideration I made in the purchase. I'm the one who gets sad and unattractively annoyed about the people in my life who are eternally disappointed with gifts because they think I should be able to afford so much more.

He's quite childlike in spirit and fun. He draws the cutest teeny pictures on my gift tags and signs gifts from all sorts of inventive people (the mechanics for Santa's sleigh, for instance). And he's always saying he wants to socialize more and be around more people--as well as do cultural things, like go to concerts and plays--those very things we do more of during these holidays.

Despite these efforts, the holidays fill him with angst. They are a big detour from the clean, well-lighted life he leads. For one thing, he hates the mess. He has zero patience for the clippings of gift wrapping. He obsessively insists on carefully placing each gift under the tree so it doesn't look haphazard. He gets physically anxious to have the leaf in the table any days after the leaf-requiring event.

The "holidays" also create a detour from the simple, comforting routines in our relationship: hanging out watching TV, shopping for groceries on the weekends, eating lunch out on Sun. As well as the newer things. . . me cooking dinner--carefully selecting our healthy meals; me keeping up with the laundry. He fears for my health and for the backlash he'll be a victim of after the holidays if I get all depressed about gaining weight. These are not unjustified concerns.

He worries about the money. His work slackens in Dec. & Jan. and the economy is really frightening right now. My company just laid off people and my old company in MA is completely closing its doors. And more than that, he really has an "I-hate-to-shop-on-demand, and I don't believe in this consumer-pushed gift-giving crapola" attitude. It largely comes down to being aggravated that he is culturally compelled to buy for others. My husband, the Christmas Rebel.

I admit that I let the spending go out of control. I tried this year. . . but . . .it's hard. . . But even to me, in cases where I buy from lists or feel forced to find a gift for someone I am completely uninspired to give to, it starts to feel a bit ridiculous. Why should I buy you what you want and you buy me what I want? Why not just buy it for ourselves?

Or worse, why are we just exchanging checks? Are these gestures so necessary to sustain our relationships? This year I tried to remedy some of those negative feelings by not getting so caught up in buying the exact same amount--package or money wise on people. I've tried to focus on one thing at a time, so the demands felt a little more spread out.

We've decided to go ahead and just give some people money--a huge step (cop out?) for me. They haven't seemed to help Hubby. We've often done more creative money-free things for each other, but not for the extended families. . .

The problem is, it's bigger than all this. He won't admit it, but this detour just represents the most fearful thing in this life--that time is running out. (Not so unlike ol' Ebeneezer's biggest fear, eh?)

Since the cancer, this has only been amplified. His fear seeps into me. . .the panicked eating and depression I went through during and after his treatment. He wants a straight course to get to the things he wants and any detour is panic causing because he is not sure of the path.

He doesn't have the confidence that he knows how to get there on his own--that he is talented enough. He thinks he needs me like a child thinks he needs training wheels. It's not that he just wants us to be together. . .or he would be more willing to take my holiday detour. He'd shop with me, watch TV in the room where I wrap presents, chat about menus. Instead he stays at home, blocked by the detour of the holiday, feeling abandoned as I wind through the holiday maze.

He sees this as a detour of the focus on him. A focus he is panicked about keeping. Like if he looks away--if I look away--he will disappear. He's not unhealthy. Not on his deathbed. He's just always feeling like he's sliding down the chute instead of climbing up the ladder and the game is coming to a close. And it leaves me lost.

I feel like my delight in the holidays crushes him, like that first tree. A time I want to feel closer makes him bruised. He's angry; I'm defensive.

It will be fine, I know that. . . until it resolves. . .we'll fill in with Falalalalas.

So how do you see Christmas--as a Holiday from the routine? Or a Detour from your goals or directed course?

Holiday or Detour? Part I

I AM LIKE THIS. ARE YOU?

OR ARE YOU LIKE THIS? If so, you're like my much beloved hubby.

PART I MY PHILOSOPHY:

THE WINTER HOLIDAYS ARE JUST THAT--A HOLIDAY FROM USUAL LIFE

I'm one of those people who likes Christmas. And Thanksgiving. Not so much New Year's. . .

I like visiting with family--at their houses or mine. I like entertaining for friends. . .figuring out the recipes, the right combo of foods that will blend and compliment each other; the right combo of complexity in recipes, some that are super simple, some that are more complex. I like deciding on how to decorate the table, using dishes that basically only get used for this season. I even like accomplishing some de-cluttering --removing that stuff that usually just sits around the rest of the year.

I like setting up my collections of Santas and snowmen and birds for my Christmas tree. I can't help myself; I pick out new things to add every year.

I like the holiday music. I like hearing 18 different versions of the same Christmas song, especially if they are quite different instead of just a little different. (Who couldn't be struck by the jubilant rhythms from Black Nativity?)

One the the greatest things I've ever heard was our friend Mark singing the bass part of Handel's Messiah at the church he sings for (he's one of those HIRED singers); I was so amazed at the beauty of his voice, I nearly wept.

I love the communal holiday excuse that makes it OK to sing aloud--that everyone sings along. Once in New England, we went to RI for this outdoor Christmas festival. . . it was cold. . .but people were in Victorian costume on the sidewalks singing, ringing bells. . . just like out of Dickens. It was like a sugarplum dream come true.

I love A Christmas Carol. I own Scrooge and The Muppets' Christmas Carol and watch them both more than once a year. I watch other TV versions if I find them. It's the same with It's a Wonderful Life.

In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, every time I see the dog Max (I admit I had to look up his name) on the back of that sleigh with his tongue hanging out, I at least smile--but I'm more apt to have a hearty giggle.

I adore the music from A Charlie Brown's Christmas, even though my friend, Anma said it was the saddest, saddest music and that she always found the Peanuts specials depressing because the background behind the characters is so dark.

I love Gene Autry's Christmas music and can't get beyond thinking that a child's holidays would be bereft without it.

I get a great deal of pleasure shopping for gifts for people I love. These are the easy ones: buying for people who need a lot of things but can't afford them or who spend on others first (who usually don't need it as much )--like MY MOTHER; buying for people who appreciate anything I pick for them and who squeal with delight--just in the gift selection process I am taken back to warm and happy times--like for My SISTER. I like picking out small cute or beautiful things to surprise people who aren't expecting anything from me.

I love colored lights. During the holiday season, even a red stoplight on a midnight blue sky somehow seems more beautiful and vivid to me.

I love fat Santas.

I like Christmas shopping in a light snow, and I am heart warmed by stores that gift wrap for free.

And I love the little surprises and elegant delights that make up stocking stuffers. My favorite will always be the little bottle of White Shoulders perfume my mom gave me one of last years my parents were still together.

I consider Thanksgiving and Christmas and the time in between and until New Year's a holiday. I'm not saying I get the whole time off from work. . . but it's a holiday from my usual life. I fill in all my spare minutes with shopping online, looking at catalogs & sales papers, creating lists--people to send cards to, things to do, grocery items--wrapping gifts, decorating, and shopping. It's tiring. But I like it.

I debated this year whether I should really do these usual things or if I should toe the line and stay focused on going to the gym and the pool and planning and cooking healthy dinners. All that is new enough for me that I can't really fit it in and have a holiday. I decided I would feel worse to give up the holiday. The holidays invigorate me and cheer me. They get me ready for January--the only real winter month in Atlanta. (Thank goodness!) I need the color and songs of this holiday to make it through the bleak midwinter. And there have plenty of years where I didn't have the energy and spirit to get out of depression to feel this energized for celebrating.

I talked to PhD about it. She advised taking the holiday in chunks--not abandoning all healthy eating and behavior, but paring back on it. In the last week, with the laryngitis, I've been less than stellar at following her advice, but still. . . I felt this huge burden of anxiety leave me when we talked about it. I mean, it's either let myself have the holiday, or let myself have it with a HUGE, weighted burden of GUILT on the top of it. This year, I tried to let go of the guilt. I'll take the consequences--good and bad. Or at least I'll try to. Because after all, 'Tis the season . . .

My Christmas Gifts to You

These are some of my favorite books. They are really for people of all ages. I often give them as gifts to people I love.


A Christmas Memory, by Truman Capote. I've linked to my favorite illustrated version.

This is the kind of story where you know from the first paragraph that you will love it. Every word is so carefully chosen.

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.

I want to write stories like this that set such scenes. And with lines that put you so in the very moment with like this last one, " . . . it [a dilapidated old baby carriage] has winter uses too: as a truck for hauling firewood from the yard to the kitchen, as a warm bed for Queenie, our tough little orange and white rate terrier who has survived distemper and two rattlesnake bites. Queenie is trotting beside it now."


Love That Dog by Sharon Creech. This is a story in verse. You'll fly through these little journal sketches by a boy learning about poetry for the first time as he experiments with the form himself. It's wonderful and touching. Hubby & I read it out loud together.


Another of my favorites is a story in free verse: Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse. Here's its wonderful beginning:

As summer wheat came ripe,
so did I,
born at home, on the kitchen
floor.
Ma crouched,
barefoot, bare bottomed
over the swept
boards

This one is just as delightful, but more work to read: Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, by Annie Dillard. I give this away much more selectively. It takes concentration. So the good thing is that each chapter stands alone as a thoughtful piece. I read this with a Unitarian church group--a delightful experience.

Anything by Bailey White! My favorite story is "Something Like a Husband" in Mama Makes Up Her Mind. These stories are beautifully tight in miraculously few pages. She's great to listen to as well, and she has several audio cassettes.

Zippy by Haven Kimmel--this was a gift from one of my best friends. It is laugh out loud funny. I don't think I ever finished reading the last 10 pages or so because then it would have been over. Zippy is now one of my favorite characters--right there with Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, Ellen in Ellen Foster, and Frankie in Member of the Wedding.

A Bit of Holiday Spirit

Snowman in our MA home

My fav: roly poly
An attempt at homemade

More snowman in MA

I've had laryngitis--3 days with barely a whisper. I'm still hoarse, but so improved!

Last night we had my editorial team over for a party. I did lots of cooking. Turned out pretty good, I think. The best was one of the simplest: crostini (just a sliced baguette, baked until golden) with caramelized onions on top and dollop of goat cheese. Yummy.

I am so relieved to have it behind and on to the next X-mas venture. That means shopping for family (my Mom's asked me to get her a new bible. . .) and getting the package ready for Scott.

Has anyone else had trouble with Amazon? They claim they keep delivering packages to my doorstep that aren't there. (And yes, I live in a safe neighborhood.)

Twenty Years Off

Thanks to The Grandpa via Gran for leading me to this quick little quiz that instantly took 20 years off my life without a single pill, shot, or exercise:

You Belong in Generation Y

You fit in best with people born between 1982 and 2001. You are cooperative, flexible, and adaptable. You know the world changes quickly, and you're eager to change with it. You are socially responsible, forward thinking, and open minded.

What Generation Do You Belong In?

I've always said my life didn't start until I was 24--when I was in graduate school, got my first car and my first apartment. I guess that's the generation I synced in with. . .

I like these ideas thought--open minded, forward thinking, ever adapting. .

Your Creativity Requested

I’ve lately been quite overwhelmed with concern for my cousin Scott who is 35 years old. The short story is that this past summer Scott was getting chemotherapy for testicular cancer and subsequently had 2 strokes.

Right before his cancer treatment started, his wife was laid off. After the 2nd stroke and the lack of return of Scott’s ability to talk, he lost his job. He had a morning radio show, was district manager, and was up for a promotion to regional manager—his voice was his career. The nurses couldn’t believe the tapes that his friends brought from the radio station were Scott. All he can say now is gibberish—boos, blips, peeps--no formed words.

Scott & his wife have a delightful 4-year-old daughter. Due to the intensity of Scott’s therapy schedule and limited functioning, his wife has not yet looked for new work. Plus, her mom (she’s an only child) broke her hip last month, so she is in a nursing home near them—they tend to her needs twice a day.

One thing that particularly tugs at my heart is that Scott did all the major caretaking for their daughter—bathing, soothing, entertainment, and cuddling. He was the family's main cook and housekeeper too. After the first stroke, he couldn’t make any sounds at all. They were avoiding letting his daughter see him. After a particularly bleak day for him, though, they brought her in to the hospital. His first vocalization was when he saw her, he said--like a vocal sigh-- “Aaaaahhhhhhh. . .”

Now, my aunt tells me that Scott can’t be left alone with his daughter because he can’t communicate with her to stop if she is doing something dangerous. It breaks my heart.

Equally heart breaking is the struggle Scott’s wife is going through—learning to be mother and father and “man of the house,” while feeling all the fear and anxiety that anyone would when faced with the potential loss their spouse—and when their spouse is already “lost” to them in so many ways. She’s having to face all this without being able to really communicate with the person she most relies on for help—Scott.

Scott has an amazing attitude and spirit. Like his mother--my favorite aunt who provided me and my sister a haven so many times from our strife—he is continuously optimistic. I saw him in Sept. when I was in MO for a family funeral. He was completely bald and couldn’t speak, but had magnificently communicative expressions and a big smile.

He pantomimed to me how anxious he was to get back to chemotherapy. The doctors didn’t know then that there was any connection between it and the stroke—he hadn’t had the 2nd stroke yet. He hadn’t been ricocheted back to step 1, losing the progress he’d made walking, using his arm, and learning to talk.

Now, in Nov., they do not think he will likely ever regain use of his hand & fingers. He has learned to mimic a few 2-word phrases, but he can’t use them appropriately. He doesn’t know the days of week or the month. He can’t drive. . . their lives have flipped upside down. They are hopeful, positive, but REELING. Who wouldn’t be?

As you can see, I have many, many thoughts and concerns about this. I want to do something to help, and nothing seems like enough. I don’t live near enough to make a real contribution (he’s about 7 hours away from me).

The only thing I’ve decided is rather than contribute to families or kids through my work or other charities this year, I’m going to scrape together any extra gift-giving funds to give to Scott’s family.

So I’ve been thinking about gathering together a package to send to them that will include a number of gifts. Depending on how quickly I can get this together, it may be like Advent boxes—1 for each day in Dec. up until Christmas Eve. Or it may be a 12 Days of Christmas thing—from Christmas day to Jan. 6. Or since Scott’s wife is Jewish and they usually have a "mixed" celebration, I could start it on Hanukkah, which starts on Sun. Dec. 21 and goes on for 8 days (until the 29th).

Anyhow, I think I’d like the last box to have a Visa or American Express Gift Card of at least $50 for them to use on whatever they need groceries, gas, utilities, daycare, etc. I know that’s not much, but frankly, it’s more than I usually do for them.

I want to fill the other boxes with fun things for them to do together or that will inspire them or offer them some kind of support or relaxation or get away. I’ll probably be lucky to stretch another $50 across these, so I need to be creative. That’s where you come in. . . Can you help me be creative?

Here are a few ideas I’m circling around:

• X-mas mugs with the ingredients for cake in a cup you can make in the microwave
• Instant hot chocolate with extra real marshmallows to put in those holiday mugs for another day
• A CD with "I Feel Good" on it--with instructions to play and be ready to dance (Know any other upbeat songs to add to it?)
• Some urls to look at fun things on the Internet (I will make sure they are still connected)—here’s the one I have in mind http://www.dennyweb.com/singing_horses.htm Do you know any others?

I'll need lots and lots of creative ideas that aren't too pricey to pull this off. . . please put your creative hats on and share your ideas with me.

{HUGS}

The Possibilities of the Cornucopia

I've long found cornucopias a thing of beauty. I like seeing them filled with beautifully colored fall vegetables and fruits--or with flowers.

I think the concept of a "horn of plenty" has a generous ring to it.

So it caught my eye the other morning when I was on the elevator at work and the word cornucopia came up on the ever-playing Internet monitor on the wall near the door. (It's taken the place of people staring at floor numbers as they ride up or down.)

I learned something about cornucopias that I didn't know.

It turns out the idea of the cornucopia came from Greek mythology. When Zeus was born, his mother sent him to Crete to be cared for so he would be hidden from his father, Cronus. Cronus had a bad habit of eating his offspring. The daughters of Melisseus, king of Crete, nursed & raised Zeus. Their goat, Amalthea, provided milk for the toddler god. Zeus broke off one of the goat's horns and gave the horn the power of becoming filled with whatever its possessor desired.

It was that last line that struck me. Whatever its possessor desired. Or, as Merriam Webster's says "an inexhaustible store" of whatever you desired. . .

Wow. What would that be for me if I got to choose, I wondered? I found images of some things that came to mind--cornucopias filled with chocolate candy and overflowing with cash.

Then I started to think of less tangible things. . . self-confidence, drive, stamina, life. Would it be a waste to have it supply me with things that I already strive for--tolerance, patience, perserverence, kindness.

Instantly, I start to think things like, what's the use of me having endless life if hubby doesn't? Or if it doesn't come with good health? Can the horn supply us both?

But if it's capable of being more than self-serving, shouldn't I be asking for something more Miss USA-like--world peace? (What would it take for world peace to re-establish itself every day. . . is there a difference in an abundantly filled cornucopia of peace as one that is dwindling towards emptiness?)

One source I found definitely connected the cornucopia with food--saying it was Zeus's promise that whoever had the horn would never starve. I think of Star Trek The Next Generation--where they just ask the computer for whatever food or drink comes to mind ("Earl Grey, hot."), and it appears. Or I think of the Japanese story of Yam Gruel, where the peasant wishes for his favorite delicacy, yam gruel, every day, and he gets his wish and it lasts until just the thought of it makes him sick. (If I didn't have to spend time shopping or paying for food, what more could I be doing with my life?)

Moving beyond food once again, I think of Robin Cook's book Brain, the story of a woman who loses all sense of humanism for her desire to have continuous orgasms.

What do I desire to continuously be replenished that I would never get sick of or that would start to seem like not enough? Some desire that wouldn't take over some sense of my own independence or verve? Some fulfillment that would only make me more sustained or bolstered without making me more lazy or greedy or complacent?

I come up empty. So many possibilities that I can't decide.

If you were the possessor of the horn, what would be your desire to have it be filled with? Over and over again in an unending supply, something you'd want in an inexhaustible store? What's your quick answer? How does it change if you give it more thought?

Music Requests: Share Your Favorite Exercising Tune

I'm one of those people who likes to listen to music when I exercise. Sometimes I prefer that to a buddy (sorry, Hubby). It helps me set a pace, get to the place where I can see through my "third eye" to focus, improves my mood, and in ideal situations lets me bellow along or hum. I sometimes prefer different songs for walking outside versus on the treadmill, and different ones for elliptical vs bike.

I've put a few of my old standbys at the top of my playlist on here. I admit I heard the first 2 at the gym; I'm not very good at finding newer music. They are:

• I kissed a girl.-Katy Perry (just like the beat!)
• Clumsy Fergie (makes me want to move my shoulder)
• Diamond Road--Sheryl Crow (I hum along with the chorus)
• Bring It Down to Jelly Roll--John Fogerty (It makes me want to punch my arms in time)

Would you please share with me the names and artists of your favorite exercise tunes? Don't worry about whether or not they seem like the kind of thing I'd like. . . you never know!

Thanks in advance!

Get to Know Me Better

Hubby & I agree that the descriptions to these 2 quiz answers do a pretty good job describing me. I am a Bran Muffin and a Beagle! Enjoy!

You Are a Bran Muffin

Some people have accused you of being all work and no play. And that does describe you most of the time. You are very career oriented. When you're not working making money, you're working to improve yourself. You have very little room in your life for fluff. You want to live as good of a life as possible. You are competitive and driven. You like to surround yourself with other motivated people. While you are a go-getter, you are by no means self centered. Quite the opposite. You are a caring, together, and stable friend. You are grounded enough to be there for people.

What Kind of Muffin Are You?

You Are a Beagle

You are good natured. You enjoy spending time with people and animals. You have a wild, independent streak. If you're left to your own devices, you get in trouble. You love to eat and enjoy food of all kinds. If you don't get enough physical activity, you tend to have a weight problem. You are very stubborn. You don't like authority, and you tend to do your own thing no matter what.

What Breed of Dog Are You?

My Advice to Friends on How to Get Physical, Part 1

Thanks to Dr. Barbara Berkeley of Refuse to Regain for her inspiration for this post today. On her post, she makes this request. . .

Until I was 35 years old, I never even considered exercising. My only exposure to sports was the occasional volleyball game we played in gym class. The idea of sweating was abhorrent to me. I can’t exactly tell you what happened to change all that.
So here’s the problem I need help with. Every day, day in and day
out, I see weight-loss patients who don’t want to exercise. They simply can’t imagine it. Although I suggest to them that they find exercise that they can fall in love with, they mostly wind up walking on a treadmill. Then they stop. I so much want to find the answer to this puzzle: how do I motivate people to try exercise? How do I get them to fall in love with it?
I think that the answers lie out there with you, dear readers. What would you tell a friend? What kind of program would you suggest they start? Or what did a friend tell you that finally got you to consider getting physical? This information is not trivial.
If we can figure this out together, we can make real progress in changing lives.

Suddenly I was flooded with thoughts. As I said to Barbara in my comment, “This is a heartstrung topic for me--something I've long struggled with. And it's a longing of mine to help children, in particular, who aren't active--but also adults, including myself.”

I was a kid who hated gym and physical activity. As early as first grade I remember trying to get out of recess! In second grade, I remember suffering great humiliation when the gym teacher singled me out to shoot hoops with a lighter weight volleyball instead of a basketball (he was actually trying to help me!).

I’ve never caught a ball in a glove or hit a ball with a bat. I was never in any after school teams. I never went to a school dance.

I chose my major in college because it didn’t require any PE credits!

I left my first few Weight Watchers meetings crying (when I was really young) because when they mentioned the need for activity, I would feel hopeless, like weight loss was out of my reach. I could go on and on and on . . . but you get the picture already.

So now, I am not fit. But I am getting fit. I still have never caught a ball in a glove, but I have a different appreciation for my body. And I do workouts and am more active. Mostly, I have worked on changing my identity, which of course takes time, with lasting results!

Here are a few of my tips and advice for you, my friend, based on my journey so far.

1. Don’t worry yet about needing to fall in love with exercise. If you’re like me, you’ve hated exercise for so long that someone telling you this is as alien as telling you to go find an alley rat and bring it home as a pet or go dig up bugs, cook them, and eat them. It feels that scary, gross, and foreign to you. It wouldn’t matter if all your neighbors had rats or freezers full of bugs.

2. Do start noticing and appreciating the human body more—a) yours and b) other people’s.

*** To do #2a, try this--stretch. Stretching makes me become conscious of deeply buried muscles in my body in a really cool way. And you don’t even have to get up.

Put one arm over your head and act like you are grabbing a rope. Feel the stretch in your back. Doesn't it feel good? Do it with the other arm.

Also, sit and bend at your waist. Reach out with both arms in front of you--reach and pull that imaginary rope. Doesn't it feel good to feel muscles you aren't usually conscious of?

*** To do #2b, try this. Gawk a little. You don’t have to be crude or obvious. But start taking notice of other people’s bodies. I found that not only did I not look at my own body before, but I didn’t really look at anyone else’s. The body is pretty amazing. It’s like a machine with lots of complex moving parts.

I remember going to see the play Chicago and being awestruck by how long, lean, and muscular the women’s legs were. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

Once in my gym in Boston I was staring so long at this woman who was stretching (she could sit in an invisible chair and cross one leg and hold it forever without even shaking and she could hold the pose of her legs over her head and toes touching the floor), that I let water from the cooler flow over the top of my cup onto the floor.

I watch women in the locker room smoothing lotion on their legs after
a workout. I neglect this with myself. . .

3. Do get over your critical and holier-than-thou attitude about athletes, if you have one. I did. Throughout school I thought athletes were stupid. I resented the special privileges they got. I thought they were vain and shallow. I had to work to get more tolerant. They are just people with physical interest and talent. Like I have an interest in reading and a talent in academics. Some athletes are vain, some are not. Some are nice, some are mean. Just like everyone else.

4. Don’t deprive yourself of the benefits of physical activity any longer. You deserve to feel the benefits of moving your body. So what if your flab bounces in exercise clothes? Or you don’t even have “exercise” clothes? So what if you are breathless really quickly? You deserve to be in the gym or at the pool or wherever like everyone else. And it may surprise you to realize that no one is looking at you. It may surprise you even more when they even treat you just like any other exerciser--because that's what you are. And most exercisers focus on themselves and their own results.

5. Do consider exercise especially for large people or beginners. Here are 4 things I’ve done that were pivotal for me.

*** I spent some time checking out NAAFA, the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance. I particularly found Pat Lyons book, Great Shape, The First Fitness Guide for Large Women helpful when I was a true, sitting on the couch, exercise phobe and pre-newbie.

***I was really inspired when Oprah worked with her trainer—the first trainer Bob—Bob Greene in Make the Connection. She wasn’t fit and she pushed herself to try basically everything! And he made it clear that everyone needs to exercise at their own levels—a pushed level.

*** I’ve been a longtime fan and less consistent participant in water aerobics. It tends to attract larger people (It is highly unlikely that you will unlikely be the only fat person there in a bathing suit—and I’ve been to at least 4 gyms—public and private--in 3 states—North and South, so I’m pretty reliable.)

Not only does the water make you feel lighter, it makes you feel invisible—like you’re covered up to your shoulders! You can try moves there that you could not, would not ever do on land—like balancing on one foot. One of my favorite stretches is in the water—opposite hand reaching forward from the leg that you’ve stepped (or kicked) back—it gives a great full-body stretch. Try it you’ll like it.

***Another HUGE transition for me was going to a rehab facility fitness center instead of just a gym. I worked out with people in wheelchairs, blind swimmers, and people recovering from stroke or heart attack. We all had different needs. We all inspired each other. Some of them were athletes. I needed my doctor to write a recommendation for me (due to OA in my knees), but it was so worth it! Plus, personal trainers were a lot cheaper there!

I Accept All TLC

I've been fighting the flu bug. I'm not dying. But I've had a sick stomach and high abdominal cramps. Seems like it should be over by now.

I decided this AM that I would 'try' Starbucks. I miss it. And, it being a lovely day, I went outside instead of through the mall to get there.

Despite the sunshine and the breeze and the pansies, along the way, I was beating myself up about how I am not--have never been--very good at pushing myself when times are low. I starting listed negative words that suit my personality: crybaby, scaredy cat, self-pitier, egomaniac with an inferiority complex.

Thank god it's a very short walk to Starbucks.

I got up to the counter and the guy (not one of the ones I know by name), said, "Hey! What's wrong with you?! You aren't your normal vibrant and cheerful self!" I told him I wasn't feeling very well today. He suggested I have tea instead--on him. Suggested green tea with lemongrass and honey.

It was like a little star rising inside me. His kind words. (I obviously don't come across as an Eeyore to everyone I meet!) His warm and generous gesture.

I'll take it. I deem that it is not self pitying to accept all TLC that is offered to me.

The Difference of a Single Letter

I don't think I've been this excited waiting for something that I ordered to arrive in the mail since I collected cereal box tops and mailed them in for the special offer.

It seemed like we never collected all the boxtops we needed before the offer expired. So my most prized cereal box collectible was a record that you cut off the back of the box. A 45, no probably a 78. (Well according to the picture--imagine my delight upon finding it--it was a 33 1/3?)

It was Sugar, Sugar by The Archies. I kept it for a very long time. As I recall, it played pretty well. I can't hear the song without feeling this surge of 6-year-old pride.

Somehow, this time, though, I had managed to collect enough boxtops, so I was waiting for the arrival of a hand-held little movie projector. I vividly remember the distinctive click, click, click it made as you turned the crank to watch the movie, even though now I don't recall what that much anticipated movie was.

The next time I saw a hand-controlled movie projector like that, though, I clearly remember the story. I was at my gynecologist's office--getting my first birth control--a diaphragm. The nurse brought in the same type of little hand-held movie projector that I had ordered with box tops. It made the same click, click, click as you turned the crank to watch the movie. She told me to watch it as many times as I needed to to understand how to insert the thing.

I held it up to the light. When I turned it, click, click, click, this woman would come into view and put her leg up on chair, click, click, click. Then you could see her squeeze the diaphragm between her fingers and move her hand to insert it. You could run it forward, click, click, and backward, click, click, click, so you would see her do it all in reverse.

Your could play it fast, clickclickclickclickclick, or really slowly to make sure you got all the details. . . click. . . click. . . click. . . . . . . .click. . . . . .click. . . I think she inserted it in different positions, lying down and sitting as well as standing. I remember feeling self-conscious about the clicking, like the doctor's staff was listening to me through the door, wondering when the girl would finally "get it." Being afraid if I stopped clicking to practice inserting the thing that the nurse would come back in and surprise me mid act!

By now, you're probably wondering what the hell I've ordered . . . some brown box from some euphemistically named company.

But! It's a MizFit bracelet. I want a talisman, something to remind me of my new identity and goal.

How the one letter makes such a difference. That's what immediately drew me to it. No longer the misfit:

• Who cried with my sister over the cruelty of the poor misfit toys in Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer
• Who felt a special connection with the song Different Is Hard from one of my favorite childhood movies--HR PuffinStuff
• Who was already too heavy to ride on a big wheel when they came out
• Whose mother bought polyester fake denim material to have elastic-banded pants made because I never fit into jeans
• Who wore long-sleeved shirts underneath short-sleeved shorts in the winter time because sweaters weren't for fat little girls
• Who sat practically on top of the blackboard because I couldn't see but felt like a freak by needing glasses
• Who was alone in the house with my sister, still waiting for our parents to get home, when other kids were going inside for dinner
• Who got teased over my lack of athletic ability and confidence
• Who felt misunderstood by my neighborhood friends who weren't in "college prep" classes and who claimed they could tell I was smart just by the words I used
• Who cred even harder when my mom tried to soothe my pained adolescent and teen self with the words, "It's lonely at the top."
• Who was told when asking for the application to work as a waitress at Red Lobster that the uniform was a mini skirt, did I still want to apply?
• Who always ended up sitting through the boyfriend talk, the "if only you weren't so fat. . . " chest crushing, brain numbing talk (until the last boyfriend. . . my husband)

Click to Watch WitchiPoo Singing Different Is Hard

Now, it will be MizFit. What will MizFit do? I can't wait to find out. The bracelet will be my amulet. My superpower cape. My identity bracelet of my new self. (Dare we compare it to my transformation of "becoming a woman"?!) Oh, let it arrive; let me arrive. . . here she comes. . . MIZZZ . . .

23 Flights Down "Is" a Workout!

Who would have thunk that walking DOWN stairs would feel like exercise?

I mean I knew that walking down stairs had a tendency to exacerbate knee problems (which I believe is one of the reasons stair machines only go up), but I didn't realize how many muscles you use. . . well I didn't until yesterday's fire drill when we had to descend 23 flights, that is!

Today my legs are sore! Mostly my hamstrings, a little quad, a little glute. And! It hurts to climb up the stairs--that's when I feel those quads.

It was quite an experience. First of all, if I'd only been seconds faster, I would have been on the elevator going down to get a Starbucks. . . but nooo. . . I was seconds too late.

The alarm started going off and I could see this man standing wearing an orange vest holding the mechanical room door open. I said, "Did you do that?" He said yes and that it was a drill and we could decide ourselves what we wanted to do.

Well, I KNEW what I wanted to do--I wanted go back to my desk! Alas, two of my direct reports were standing right next to me so I also knew management would not take kindly to my less than a MizFit response!

So to the stairwell we went. Next, it turned out that somehow I was the one leading the pack. (There is only one floor above ours, and it's the same company.) Everyone was behind me. . .no one in sight in front of me. Not exactly my most comfortable situation, as in I had lots of free floating anxiety about my speed, noise of my breath filling my head. etc.

Comments were made about me leading the pack, and I offered in the most non defensive, even voice that people could come in front of me if they wanted. . .but no one did, so I guess I was moving steadily enough!

The first problem was (well besides the free-flowing anxiety, the awareness that I am so broad that it would be difficult in the narrow stairwell for someone to walk next to me, and the fact that my sleeve kept getting caught on the top of hand rail--all of which I'm pushing aside in the "oh well" category) that the stairs started to get this moire effect. . . so they look like they are moving a bit, and that made me a tad dizzy.

The next problem was when we got to the 5th floor, my legs started getting tired. . . (the woman behind me said she had "noodle" legs).

When we finally got outside, my shoulder hurt too from gripping the handrail to drag myself down obviously! YOWZA!

Then we had to walk down hill a few blocks to our meeting spot (and you know what it means if you walk down hill. . . you gotta come back. . .).

It turns our our little fire drill gave me at least 16 minutes of aerobic steps on my pedometer. (My pedometer is such that it logs aerobic steps after you've moved continuously for 10 minutes. So if you only walk 9 minutes, you get a 0 aerobic reading.)

When I told Trainer D, who I thought might tease me or feel sorry for me, she said, "HOLY S*--that's a lot of steps!! Good for you!! You might not have been able to do that last year." And it's scary and a tad humiliating to think so, but she may be right. . .I think my knee may have given out. Yeah for me!

So here are some stair descending facts--all sources may not be equally reliable:

• Climbing actual stairs (versus a stair climbing machine) applies the force of twice your body weight on the way UP. On the way down, it's the force of 7 times your body weight. ( http://www.fitstep.com/Library/Info/Cardio_equipment2.htm)


• Stair steppers don't do a great job of mimicking climbing real stairs, so there's little crossover effect. (http://yourtotalhealth.ivillage.com/diet-fitness/stair-climbing.html)


• Walking down stairs or even downhill reduces blood sugar levels more than walking uphill. (http://www.fitsugar.com/864075)


• As I thought, going down stairs can be hard on your knees--because it uses your leg muscles in "an eccentric or lengthened position"--and it's easier to trip. (http://www.fitsugar.com/864075)


• Walking down stairs can burn up to 388 calories/hour. (http://www.livestrong.com/thedailyplate)


• The intensity used for going down stairs is similar to the intensity of a brisk 4 km/hour walk. (http://www.eorthopod.com/public/patient_education/4557/no_time_for_exercise_take_the_stairs.html)


• To be safe when descending stairs or walking downhill, bend your knees when landing. Don't step down on a straight, locked knee. (http://www.healthline.com/blogs/exercise_fitness/2007/07/better-exercise-on-stairs.html)
  

Searching for a Direct Route

I met today with PhD again today (I don't have a set weekly appt yet--just trying to hit as many 5 PM appts as possible.)

She is really different than any other therapist I've worked with. Like today, I came in and she said, "I have 2 questions for you as a theme to our session." I've always directed sessions with therapists before--talked about what was on my mind, what I wanted the theme of the session to be. At first I was a bit taken aback. But I just went with it.

After I got home, talking about it with Hubby, I realized the difference. This isn't my typical counseling--it's not a focus about me and the events in my life--and thankfully, that's not really what I need right now. Instead, I'm getting what I signed up for--weight counseling. She's provoking my thoughts based on her expertise and experience. It sounds really basic, but it's taken (obviously) a few weeks for me to figure this out--and to appreciate it.

So today's 2 questions were:

1. What would it take for me to get really directed and focused on losing weight? For instance, are there things I'm doing right now that are distracting me that could be delayed? Am I doing something to stand in my own way?
2. What am I doing to really push myself?

My interpretation of #1 is what can I do to make my weight loss journey more directed--less full of detours and roadblocks and stalls?

And that right there is kind of a flash for me. When I lost weight before, my goal was to lose a significant amount and keep it off for a sustained period to prove to myself that I could maintain weight loss. (Because there is no worse feeling than to lose 15 or 20 pounds only to immediately start regaining--usually gaining more.) So I did that. I lost 60 pounds and maintained it for 6 years.

Now, the truth is that I don't believe I can get down to a "normal" healthy weight in the recommended BMI. It's never been part of my experience. So to be directed about it feels really scary and likely lots of effort without the intended reward. So my belief in myself is definitely an obstacle. I do know, though, that belief often follows actions, not vice versa.

And as far as #2 goes, PhD suggested I set some rules up for myself to make it easier initially. For instance, she suggested I set rules about what restaurants we eat at for right now and what kinds of things I order. I've done that kind of thing before. But the difference I want to make now is to set the "rules," not so much as dos and don'ts but as identity statements.

When PhD talked, she talked about what her old self did--eat everything on the buffet--to what her new self does---pick 4 or 5 items. Her new self stops eating when she feels satisfied and is mentally satisfied and comfortable visiting with her friends even if they continue to eat.

My plan is not to write "rules," but to write identity statements. Then I can say them to myself as necessary until they become part of me.

Here are a few starters:

• I am a walker. I take the long way around to get somewhere. Like on my coffee breaks, I go right so I can do a quick "lap" around the circular stairwell, then back to the left so I can catch a breath of fresh air outside.
• When I eat lunch out, I prefer salads or veggie options.

More to come. . .

WHAT I DID TODAY TO FEEL PROUD

I bought little halloween ceremic planters, filled with little candy sticks (sticks with little chocolates on them), for my team at work. Of course, I bought one for myself too. My justification was that tomorrow there's a party at work for the kids. But this morning as I was putting the bag in my car, I thought, I can't have this on my desk--those little candy bars will be too tempting. . .first just one. . .

So on my drive in, I kept thinking, who can I give the last one to. . .?

I had someone in mind, but saw another woman first. When I gave it to her, she said she was "overwhelmed."

And! I'm really proud of myself that I didn't tell her the whole story.

Coming in for a Landing

I am done circling. I have seen the orange beacons guiding me to land. Hallelujah! I made several decisions in the last few days.

First, I've decided to use Weight Watchers points as my tracking guide instead of counting calories, which I had been giving thought to. I didn't really found any good calorie counter (I wanted a widget like my fitlink widget.). The food tracking guides I've found--Sparkpeople, Calorie Balance Diet, FitDay.com, and Nutrition Day--seem to have some good elements and I may give pieces of them more of an in-depth look and trial run, but ultimately, thinking about using them felt like work. Plus, I took a quiz on one of them about calories and realized I don't have a lot of stored calorie info in my head. But I do have lots of Points info in my head, so why not make it simple and go with what I know.

I did download Nutrition Data's widget--see it on the right toward the top. You get some interesting data about how well a food will sate you--keep you feeling full.

Next, I've decided to try using lists on this site in a sidebar to post my planned menu for the week. (I have a nice post it note Weekly calendar that I use for this on my fridge.) The menus are typically the big pic--not the detail.

So for the detail, I've decided to use this spiral bound index card notebook I got. This is where I will track my daily points and the details of what I eat. I chose the index card notebook because it will work well with a recipe box I used to use. In it, I have sections based on points for meals--like 5 point breakfasts and lunches. This way I can pull existing menus into my notebook or tear out a good menu to file in my box.

Back to counting points. I want to give myself a daily points range, which was the way the plan was set up when I had my success, not have a single point value and 35 extra points. I think I did better and was less likely to overdo on a day when I had a range and set a goal of a daily average of points.

I also plan to focus on whole foods, not processed or packaged ones. Though I do have several frozen entrees in my fridge. . .and I bought a couple of 100 calorie packs. . .but I want those to be the exception not the rule.

These are decisions I've been waffling on for a while, so I feel good about being more directed.

I also made a promise to PhD to push myself more physically. My commitment was to climb the 2 flights of stairs in my house sequentially 3 times a day. I need to build my endurance because all my Christmas decorations are in the attic so I need to be able to make the trip multiple times without keeling over! Last year we had Thanksgiving dinner at our house, so I had my nephew & his wife, and my niece and brother-in-law haul stuff down for me in multiple trips. This year we're going to my sister's . . .

I have to tell you I abhore stair climbing. Hubby's been good--dreaming up things he'd like for me to get for him--or bring to him--from his 3rd story office. Somehow this makes me feel less self conscious about huffing and puffing in front of him--it's like we're both in on a secret. I know it will get easier.

Psalm

You are amazing grace.
You are a precious jewel.
You—special, miraculous, unrepeatable,
fragile, fearful, tender, lost,
sparkling ruby emerald jewel
rainbow splendor person.

—Joan Baez

Using a Stool to Mount

I have never been very good at hoisting myself up.

As a kid, I would try over and and over to push with my arms on the ledge of the pool and pull myself up like my friends did. In between the times when the lifeguards made us get out, my friends would work with me, coaxing me, demonstrating, pulling on me. I could never leap up. I always had to rush over to the ladder before the lifeguard would get pissed with me for still being in the water.

It was similar situation in the lake. My friend and I would spend the whole day howling and laughing and spitting water as we tried over and over again for both of us to be on the float at the same time. She would get up on it. . . and well, then came the splashing and falling and splashing. . . of me, not being able to hoist myself up on the float.

Then, there was the horse in High School PE during the gymnastic section. I couldn't vault over that damn thing. I'd run and jump on that spring board, place my hands on the top of the horse, and WHAP my knees would slam into the side of the horse, or tap the top of the horse. The teacher would have me try an extra time, slowing down the line of cellulite free, would-be gymnasts who even looked good in the one piece, zip up, bloused maroon & white gym suits. Then, she'd have me stay after they went into the locker room, trying again and again.

I really don't think she was trying to torture me, I think she just thought I was so close.

Girls would come of of the locker room already changed into their regular school clothes. They'd start singing for me. . . "Just what made that little old ant, think she could move a rubber tree plant, any one knows an ant can't move a rubber tree plant. BUT SHE HAD HI-IGH HOPES, SHE HAD HI-IGH HOPES. . ." I think they were trying to be encouraging. I never knew whether to laugh or cry.

Eventually--about a year later, I think, I did make it over the horse. . . but after a few successful, esteem-soaring jumps, I landed on the leg and badly sprained my ankle. C'est la vie.

I've never been very good at hoisting myself up emotionally either.

I don't respond well to criticism. If you want me to improve, praise me. I'll lick your floors clean if you tell me I'm doing a good job.

But if you tell me I suck. . . I'm likely to turn with my tail between my legs, lie down in a dark corner, and stay there whining and licking my wounds long after they are visible. It's not a pretty picture to share, but it's pretty accurate.

So this week, I felt like I was down. And, once again, I was not doing well at hoisting myself up. Each time I didn't do well--didn't exercise or eat quite like I wanted--just made me sink lower and give myself a reason to keep failing.

So today, I talked about it with the PhD. And I opened my eyes to a couple things about myself. (And this was good because I hadn't felt like me and the PhD hadn't been getting very deep or making much progress and what I felt most after our visits was frustrated and lonely for my last PhD--but that's another story.)

So, the most memorable, pivotal response she had for me when I said I was having a bad week was that I had to be basically a bit obsessive to follow through with my weight loss goal. Obsessively stick with it; obsessively plan; obsessively shoo away saboteurs and temptations. And that made me realize how slack I've been. In fact, I said, "sh*t, I was really hoping I could be kind of loose about this. . .!"

But she's right. I can't be loose. Because when I'm loose I have to get back on again and again. It's not so hard to stay up once you're on. But getting on and off is really hard.

So, here's how I've been loose:

• I hadn't quite committed to a food plan. I've been using Weight Watchers points as a guide--keeping the point counter on the kitchen counter and checking things. But I haven't tracked points. Nor have I tracked calories. I need to decide what I'm doing and do it.
• I haven't been writing down what I eat. I mean I was checking the points. . . but without writing it down, I don't know when I've reached my limit. I want to find some kind of great food tracker, like I have fitlink.com for my exercise. . . but I haven't been very successful at finding a widget to add to my blog. Anybody seen any?
• I haven't been very dedicated to decisions I've set. If I set an appointment at the gym with Trainer D, then I need to just make that a closed issue. No more consideration of whether I'm going or not. Do I feel like it or not? Am I too busy at work or not? It's an appointment, it's set. No more thinking about it.
• I hadn't set a weigh-in schedule. I was weighing. . . some. . and hoped I could be loose about it. But who am I kidding? PhD says I need to pick a day and a time and weigh and tell someone what the results are--she suggested herself as a good person to tell. (I asked her what she'd do with the info. . . all ready to tuck my tail and turn. . . )

There's more. She didn't bring up the idea of catastrophic thinking, but it came to mind. I don't have the official definition in front of me, but the idea is that you let a small that that's gone wrong allow your mind to catastrophize into all the things that could go wrong or give the small thing too much credit/attention so you have a reason not to go on.

When I was re-hashing last weekend and the week to PhD to show her how bad it had been for me, it occurred to me. . . I really hadn't been that bad! But I felt so bad about myself, I just let myself keep spiraling downward. It was an excuse to give up and stop being diligent. Ouch. Another not very pretty picture.

It's weird; it's like I'm too hard on myself and too easy on myself all at the same time. I'm too easy on myself because I have this loose approach and act like a baby who doesn't want to feel any discomfort when things get challenging. But then when I have the smallest slip, I beat the crap out of myself.

So, that gets me to thinking about a time I was successful at hoisting myself up.

It was with my B'ham trainer. He had me use that machine where you rest your knees on this bench and do pull ups. You set the weights as a counterbalance. That is, what matters is the difference between your weight and the weight you select on the machine--that difference is the weight you're pulling against. So you might set the machine's weight at 195, but if you weight 210, that's just 15 pounds that you have as resistance.

Being that I'm a big girl, my trainer would set the weight on the machine high. That machine scared the hell out of me at first, but I got where I'd humph and puff and grunt and pull myself up. After one fairly audible session when my face was likely beet red and sweaty, these two older women came up to my trainer and said, "Why do you give her so much weight! It's too heavy!"

My sweet trainer didn't explain because he was too polite to embarrass me. So his explanation to them was, "She can handle it. She's strong." I could handle it because it was all about the counterbalance!

I similarly have to find the right balance between being firm with myself and gentle with myself--perhaps in completely reversed ways than what I'm used to.

And while I'm learning. . . there's this. I was watching some weight loss program recently--it could have been the Half Their Weight show by People magazine or it could have been the Biggest Loser. Anyway, the woman being profiled had lost a lot of weight. And she said one of things that made her the happiest was that before when she rode her horse she always had to step on a box or a stool to mount. But now that she had lost weight she could get on her own horse by herself.

The message I took away, though, was that she kept riding--even when she needed an assisted lift. Without that assist, sometimes you just can't get up. And like I said, no matter how I get there, it's easier for me to stay up than get up and down. . . so my message to self? If you need help getting up--take it. Then try to stay up until you can get up and down easily on your own.

I've Seen the Devil

My mother used to say if you heard someone call your name when no one was there that it must be the devil.

I've heard the devil, and he is not calling my name. He is telling me to eat fried chicken.

He whispers for me to stop on the way home from work to eat something in the car quickly so my husband won't know.

He tells me the lunch I brought isn't very exciting. He blocks my vocal cords from ordering my turkey burger on whole wheat bread and moves my hand to add a layer of "real" mayo to the golden brown buttered bun it arrives on.

He taunts me that my exercise last week was useless since I didn't exercise over the weekend. And he convinces me that my eating out on Sat. night and munching freely from the bread basket as I waited hungrily for our guests to arrive is worthy of my completely throwing in the towel on reframing my identity.

The devil hits my snooze alarm so many times that I feel uncompelled to get up because I have lost sight of the fact that there are events and feelings and aspirations in the day that are worth being awake for.

It must be the devil who suddenly fills me with incomprehensible angst about working out with Trainer D. Only the devil could allow me to sit at my desk standing D up like a rejected date, pretending I have too much work to do to reap the benefits of a workout.

I have seen the devil. He looks a lot like Colonel Sanders and Mrs. Winners and Popeye (of Popeye's chicken) and especially like the Church people (of Church's chicken). [Ahh. . .you Yankees are spared the various forms of the devil that we have down South.]

The problem is, I don't believe in the devil.

I believe the devil and god are both within me. I believe stories of the devil are best used to explain how we become separated from the good within us--the god within us; that is, the best part of ourselves.

I've long been interested in the word genius for this very reason. The OED shows that in Latin, the word genius usually meant "The tutelary god or attendant spirit allotted to every person at his birth, to govern his fortunes and determine his character, and finally to conduct him out of the world."

I love this idea because it doesn't keep any person from being able to experience genius. It makes life about tapping into our genius. About tuning into our guiding spirit. About determining our character.

Sometimes upon hearing the devil, I give in. Sometimes I do what my friend used to call "white knuckle it" through. Both are hard and not wholly satisfying.

Sometimes, I make a good, last minute decision, which my PhD calls using my window of opportunity (a healthy decision before the window slams shut).

Sometimes, like tonight, I falter a bit, but before I hit the ground hard, I share a bit of the devil's words with my hubby. Not the words, but their tenor. "No, nothing happened at work, today." "No, I don't know what's wrong." I don't say I'm hearing the devil call my name. But I say enough to make my need for help be known. I reach out. And because he loves me, he usually reaches back. And that's what I believe is necessary oftentimes to tap my genius--by reaching out and connecting with others.

And the real genius is being content with that, and embracing the transcendence that comes with shared love--not listening to the devil murmur. . ."You should be able to get through it by yourself. . ."