Moving on

I have been seeing a life coach (wow, how new age of me...) to help me with my life style change (read - diet) for the last 6 weeks. I know I have long had issues with food. Some connected with childhood abuse and some with long standing misconceptions. While I have finally gotten the food thing down and lost 29 pounds (yea me!) I still "run to comfort food" when stressed. So I started talking about the stress brought on by moving to NC, a crazy MIL who wants to run my life and the painful loss of family. I am at a loss when she wants me to consider moving away without my husband.

I just find that so impossible to consider. Make a list of pros and cons, she says. Why? Why can't she help me find ways to understand this new place, new way of life without cutting and running? It seems because that's what she is doing. She is in the midst of a divorce and she just told me she's moving to Florida in 6 weeks. So I guess she thinks this is the only way. I just can't see it that way. Ok, maybe I wish a quick demise for the MIL (hey, she's old and had her life) but I am smart enough to understand moving back to Portland will not make me happy. In fact, if I went without Joe it would probably push me over the edge. It's obvious to me that the family and friends I thought lived for me and I lived for them have moved on. You really can't go home again. Especially when there is no home to go to.

Joe has made me a home. In so many ways, he has been there when no one else has. He reads my thoughts, finishes my sentences and worries about my health. And yes, he pisses me off, keeps the dang seat up and has the weirdest eating habits known to man.

Joe and I want to move to Oregon. We are going to talk about it and if we decide, it will be together. There is nothing wrong with standing by your man. Especially when he stands by you.

It all sounds so easy. Not eat carbs or sugar for 2 weeks? No problem! Eat more vegies? Easy! Develop a healthier life style? Ok! Check, check and check.

I started the South Beach Diet a month ago. I have lost 22 pounds. Some of them more than once. I do love the plan. Well, with the exception of the not eat carbs and sugar for 2 weeks. The idea is to wean yourself off them, reintroduce only the good carbs and continue with the weight loss. I had PLENTY of really good food to eat and heck, this should not be a problem. It's only two weeks, right? Well, I have yet to make it the full 2. Most I have done is 8 days. Which, I have to say, I am thrilled with but this isn't horseshoes and not close enough. On one carb binge that lasted 3 days, I supposedly gained back 11 pounds. I say supposedly because I know there isn't a way to do that unless I ate thousands of calories each day, and I didn't. Just a bunch couple of slices of bread and jam one day. An all out attack on a Chinese Buffet probably accounted for 3/4 of it. So, I would start over again. And again. It was a bit scary to see how easy I could unravel. And how almost zombie like I felt eating whatever it was I had sworn I would forsake.

I know I feel better, even having lost this little bit. I can't imagine how I will feel when I reach my goal. Still, I can hardly stop thinking about it all. Ciabatta bread, yellow layer cake with chocolate frosting, blueberry muffins, pasta ala Vodka, Whoopie Pies, biscuits - dare I go on? I have read somewhere that lab mice become more addicted to sugar than cocaine. The only surprise about this is that someone found it surprising.

The only surprise to me is me. In the past, once off plan, heck why get back to it? This time, I have. And I have tried to figure out how to change things. Tonight, we were asked out to dinner. They drove to the Chinese buffet. I thought well, there has got to be something I can eat within my plan. So I had a pile of steamed green beans and a pile of sauteed shrimp. It worked. Did I want the dumplings, the rice, the sauces, and the fried everything? YOU BETTCHA. But, I was tired of starting over and over. I want to MOVE ON. (I feel a political reference here, but I will save that for another time.)

I find so much pleasure in finding other ways besides food to find fulfillment. Detaching myself from the very real chemical addiction of food is about the hardest thing I have every had to face. Not since childhood have I felt such a loss of my own identity. So uncertain about what the future looks like. What I will look like. But I know I can't turn back. This really feels like my last best chance. So, I will grab at it with both hands and hold on.

Make it mine.

Make it me.

The start of something new

I am fat. Really fat. I don't think that changes the fact that I am really nice, interesting and wildly creative person. However, to many it means I am (pick one) - disgusting, invisible (how this works, I am never sure,) weak, stupid, worthless and I could go on but even I get the point. I have been heavy since I was a very young child. I remember my father spanking me for sneaking cookies to bed. In high school, my mother attempted to bribe me with $2K for a new wardrobe if I just lost some weight. Right now, I would give $2K to be THAT weight again! I have broken furniture, missed out on travel, not been invited to events and generally avoided life because of my weight. I have had complete strangers ridicule me in public. Why is it acceptable to tell a stranger on the street "you don't need that ice cream cone?" There is no "well just don't eat so much" or "just stop eating when you feel full" or "you just need will power." If anyone says "just" to me, i know they have not an f-ing clue.

For many years, I didn't let it phase me. Sure it hurt but it was also my protection. If I was fat, then I didn't have to deal with so many hurts and fears. As a child, I experienced two very profound experiences. One I recovered from. I caught my foot in the spokes of a bike while riding on the back of a friend's banana seat. It was months, years of surgery, inactivity. To this day, I have scares and problems. The one from which I never really recovered was an assault and I still won't pick at that wound. Both have shaped my image, my inner belief system and my self worth. Now, as an adult, I find myself often feeling like that child. Lonely, ignored and misunderstood.

The difference is, as an adult, I can do something about it. And I am going to start something, but in a different way than I have tried in the past. When I think of all the plans, programs, books and therapists I have gone to to try (and I mean TRY) to lose weight, it boggles the mind. I usually have a reason why it didn't work. Weight Watchers (hated the cheer leading and the smarmy upbeat,) Optifast (lost weight and my hair.) Weight Loss Clinic (tried to drink my calories.) Hypnosis (he was creepy.) Jenny Craig (icky food.) Smart for Life cookie diet) (ALWAYS starving.) And so on. Maybe it had to do with the scar I would not pick at. Problem is, none of these programs deal with the scars and wounds of the soul.

I am going to deal with it now. I found a psychologist to work with and a diet plan I can eat. I am going to try and document it here. Mostly for me. Shit, no one reads this anyway. But it helps me. While I want support and have it from my friends, I don't want the condescending help I have experienced from so many that don't have a f-ing clue what I am going through. Don't give me "positive energy" or "I dreamed you lost weight" or "just - (fill in the blank.)" Unless you have been here, before you want to even suggest anything to me, go read Frances Kuffel's "Passing for Thin." Then we will talk. I am not sure why I get so angry when approached with the soft, "spiritual" approach. It must be because I find those people to be self-serving and mostly uninterested in the other person. Their phoniness pisses me off.

I am doing this for me. Not for my mom. Not for my husband. Not for the stranger that won't look me in the eye. Not for the customer who looks a bit worried as I huff and puff up their stairs. Maybe, I will do it for the person who assaulted the child. It would be good to stand up and be strong.

So the journey begins. I wish my sister was here to call out to when I get lost. But, she helped me other times on this road. I will just know she is around the corner. I know my husband loves me and wants me to grow old with him. He wants to help but isn't sure how. I love him for all the silences and words to follow.

No bargains, no bribes; just a promise. It's about me this time. No one else.

Big Boned

I am reading "Passing for Thin" by Frances Kuffel. This comes on the heels of someone I know "trying" to help me with my weighty battle. She told me she dreamed I had lost all the weight I wanted and was finally happy. So now, she is sending me her positive thoughts so I can use them to help me reach my goal. I wanted to throw this book at her and say, here's your postive thoughts sweetie. I am not sure why her comments made me so angry. I am not sure if she will ever understand. I am also not sure I can do what Ms. Kuffel did by losing weight, twice. I so want to but it's so so very hard. I am going to stop now and pick this up again. I have to think and then maybe think again.

No more apologies or backing down

The huge health care bill passed last week and I am THRILLED. Not only will I have a chance at someday actually having health insurance again, I am thrilled the Dems in Congress actually grew a pair and voted as if they mean it. And I am NOT going to be wishy washy about it! Not gonna try and appease my Republican friends by not taking a side, or voicing my opposition to the shitty way the Republican members of Congress are behaving. By the way, I AM AN AMERICAN who is proud of this government. Proud that people I don't know will take a stand for me and try to help me. Not line the pockets of some insurance giant or KBR or Halliburton. Me and my friends, who every day skirt around medical problems because we don't have insurance. My friend Cynthia called me this very morning. She has an ear infection. She wondered if I had ever used vinegar and water to cure one. She can't afford to go to the doctor and her county doesn't have a health clinic. So, she is going to do without the antibiotics. Now, I have heard from some that it's "easy" to get help. Why there are lots of places, they tell me. Not that they have tried, mind you. They have premium plans with their companies, don't you know. I don't understand what is fearful about this health care bill. Ohhhh, "they" say... Government is going to get between you and your doctor..... ooooohhhh. Have you ever dealt with an insurance company? They are firmly planted between you and your doctor and have been for years. They dictate how long you can be in the hospital, what meds and how you can take them, what tests you can get... on and on. Plus, they can't be voted out! So don't give me this Chicken Little Crap.

And while we are at it, if you don't like it so much then all GDR's (God Damn Republicans), must give up Medicare, Medicade and any access to the new health care plan. If it's so offensive, then fine, don't use it.

Oh and by the way, no need to "take back the country." We already did. From the greed, corruption and just plain dangerous people who were in charge for way too long. I am a real American and I sponsored this message.

Beautful Day

Happy First Day of Spring! I would bottle this day up if I could. Too lovely for words. So I am off to throw balls and things for the dogs to ignore.

Peeps and other Peeps

I have many many things I need to accomplish today. It's 6pm and I am sure I still have time, right? So, instead of finishing my company books, sending out bills, working on Easter crafts for the shop and special orders (see, I do have things to do!) I am looking at pictures of peeps. Have you SEEN the strange things people do with these rather common little piles of fluff and sugar? What, exactly about a shaped marshmallows makes people go manic? The Washington Post has a Peep Art Contest. Here is the gallery for 2008 and 2009.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/gallery/2009/04/10/GA2009041001975.html

Then I found these gems -


Peep Art




Peep Olympics

Jesus of Peeps

Kind of puts a whole new spin on "playing with your food."

Happy Mardi Gras. Happy Fat Tuesday.

It's a snowin'

Gizmo /Murphy

/ Rookie

The snow moved in on Friday night and hasn't left yet. The girls are getting a bit of cabin fever. 4 inches of snow would be a delight to walk them in but the inch of ice on top makes things a bit dicey. So they have been confined to running around the backyard. I am sure they have sniffed every corner of the yard by now.

I spent the time (when I wasn't opening the door to let them in/out) making Easter cards (I will post them soon,) fabric yoyos for another little craft and reading a new book. Oh and working on business paperwork (yuk.) The book is "The Girl with Glass Feet" by Ali Shaw. The reviews said it was "fantasical" and I could not agree more. I have to say it kind of freaks me out thinking about having glass feet. I have enough problems with my own feet as they are!

Joe has actually ventured out to run calls. One to open someone's car and another to open a building to the owners to check on their animals. He didn't have any problems on the roads other then the "Looky Lous" out checking the roads and driving 10 mph. STAY HOME IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE IN BAD WEATHER!!!

I am headed back to my chair by the wood stove. Take care.

My latest work

A while back, I saw something in a genealogy magazine that got my creative juices running rampant. It was a simple frame with the pictures around the edge and the family name framed inside. I loved the idea. My collection of old photos has grown so the first one I did was family oriented with photos of different time periods. I shaded the photo edges with sepia inks, then painted the frame out with black paint. I settled on a quote in the center and printed on fabric. I have since designed 8 different collages. Here are three.





The "Sisters" frame has been the most popular and I just did the military one yesterday.
Joe suggested I offer custom frames with designed with personal photos. I am thinking about that.

I hope you like them!

I miss my sister

Today would have been my sister Theresa's 56th birthday. She died last year after a 5 year fight with ALS. It's still so hard to believe she's gone. That's her, holding me when I first came home.

When I was growing up, my sister was EVERYTHING to me. She was smarter than I was (no really, she was) and knew all these great people. I learned so much watching her, being with her. How to sing O Come all Ye Faithful in Latin. How to laugh at everything. It was Theresa who taught me what it meant to be a woman, she who listened when I cried about boys, taught me how to cook for a crowd, how to be a hostess, gave me advice (solicited and unsolicited) about anything I needed to know. She is the one who woke me when my father died and we cried together. I basked in her love.

And then, I screwed up. I left Portland in 2004 and while I won't take the time now to explore all the reasons (some of which I am not even sure about), I made her very angry at me. She turned her back on me and dropped me from her life. I think she knew nothing could have been more painful to me. Shortly after I left, she was diagnosed with ALS. I went back to Portland when I got married and had a reception. She went around the party telling my friends she was sick, but never told me directly. I left Portland hurt and angry and confused. I tried over the next couple of years to throw out little lines to her but I had NO IDEA what to say or do to work on the rift.

So finally, in 2008, I told my husband I had to see her. I had to talk to her even though she needed a machine to help her talk. We scrapped together the money and made reservations. Three days later, I got the call she had died. Too late, too late. I even missed a last good bye because she was cremated before I could get to town. The pain was so physical, several times I wept as if I would break. It hurts almost the same today. I think others tried to comfort me when they said, "don't worry. She never said anything bad about you. She never talked about you." They missed the point but I didn't. A nun came up to me after the service and we talked a bit about it. She asked me how I knew Theresa. I replied I was her sister. She looked a bit puzzled and said, "oh I didn't even know she had a sister." Other people felt they had to share how great it was to be able to spend time with her before she died. How glad they were to be a part of her grace. I know that grace was beautiful to behold. I was too late, too late.



I have tried to learn from all the pain of the last few years. Sometimes, I feel I know the meaning, other times I still want to cry. Preferably in her arms. If you are willing to listen to me now, then please, run to that person you have lost for whatever reason and say I love you. Moments really can't be had again.

I miss my sister.

Happy New Year

I saw the Blue Moon on New Year's Eve and knew it was a good sign. Of what, I do not know but I will wait and see.

Don't you just want to howl when you see such a perfect Moon?

Quote for the Day

Humor is merely tragedy standing on its head with its pants torn. ~Irvin S Cobb

Southern Moments

There are so many Southern Moments, I don't even know where to start.


That's what I call those events and occurrences that are unique and only found South of the Mason-Dixon line. When I moved to North Carolina 5 years ago, I was often mesmerized by things that other people took for granted. Maybe they felt the same when they visited my beloved Portland, OR but I was sure this place was just - different. A Southern Moment is spotting a sign for the gas station that sells fried Bologna sandwiches and has a notary public on duty. Or knowing the holidays are here when the local tire store builds a 20 foot stack of tires in the shape of a Christmas tree and dresses it up with lights and an angel on top. Or the Ballet dancing to square dance music with a square dance caller and denim tutus.

My first contact with a "real" Southerner and a real Southern Moment was on a road trip. Joe and I were driving from Raleigh to Disney World. It turns out Joe actually knows Mickey Mouse and we were invited down to visit the park with said Mickey (sans head and feet. More on that another time.) After the stop at Cracker Barrel (heaven on the interstate), I was feeling a bit sleepy and ready for a nap. Joe was fiddling with the radio and setting the cruise control on the sweet spot. I think he saw it first because it took several seconds for it to register with me. Up ahead on the right was a rather impressive tower of smoke coming from a large patch of flaming grass.


"Wow," I said. "That looks dangerous." (OK, I am the master of understatement.) "Give me your phone and I will call - HONEY WHY are WE pulling over?!"


As if by magic, our vehicle slowed to a crawl right behind the burning patch of roadside. "We're gonna put it out," Joe said, rather matter of fact, as he leapt out the door. Like duh.


Joe was a firefighter in his younger days and I guess you never get that out of your system. Oh and he was a Boy Scout too. So his natural response when he sees any type of emergency is to stop and help. He also knew it would be an hour or more before any emergency crew would be able to make it to our spot. By then the fire would have doubled or tripled in size.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Drag your feet in the dirt and push it onto the edge of the fire. Work towards the center."

Oh, ok.

I pushed and slide dirt, doing a kind of sideways moon dance. The flames weren't very high but the patch was about 20 feet across and about 10 feet wide. Joe starts to curse that he doesn't have a shovel or a pick in the van (there is one there now!) After a few minutes, another car pulled up next to us and a head popped out the passenger window. Did we need some help?

"Yes," Joe called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the fire. "We need something to push the dirt. Got a box, or a shovel or something? Anything?"

Not another word was said as the window rolled up and drove off. I guess they didn't have anything.

We worked steadily towards the center of the fire and found the still burning piece of tire tread. A big rig must have blown a tire and that started the flames. I felt my shoes getting hotter and my lungs fill up. It wasn't unbearable but it wasn't a picnic either. Finally, the flames were out and enough was covered to make Joe feel we could call it quits. It wasn't until we were back in the van that I finally got a good whiff of myself. I smelled like ash and burning rubber. Ew ew ew.

"We have to stop at the next rest stop. I can't stand this!" I whined.

That was the plan, he promised.

Just a few miles down the road was the "Welcome to Georgia" visitors center. Perfect. There was the promise of big clean bathrooms and maybe even real paper towels, not just air blowers. I am not even sure why I felt these things were critical to my well being. I had no idea how I was going to defunk my clothing but anything was better than smelling like an ashtray. The ladies room door had big red stenciled letters over chipped forest green paint that read "absolutely no smoking. " I laughed and hoped my shoes had stopped smoldering. Inside, I stood at the sinks and stared at the mess in the mirror. Maybe I should have hauled in my suitcase but that seemed like so much work. Cranking out a long strip of stiff brown paper toweling, I dampened some and started wiping it over my hair and clothing, hoping it would pick up the smoke and soot. How strange this must have looked to others was obvious as I glanced in the mirror again and saw the maintenance worker intently watching me.

I tried to explain. "I know this looks funny but I am covered in smoke. We stopped to put out this brush fire and I smell. We didn't have anything like a shovel or - " I stopped dead, realizing how stupid it sounded and the woman just said "uh huh" and pushed her cart out of the room. "No really, there was a fire." I called after her.

I washed what I could and drenched the rest, hoping to take some of the smell out. Another sigh came with the hope that we were close to our stopping spot for the night.

A rather tall, well dressed middle aged woman stepped out of the stalls and steered directly towards me. "Are you the woman who put out the fire?" She asked in a warm, Georgia peach accent. She was the ideal modern Southern woman, or at least my stereotype of one. Her traveling clothes were expensive, pressed and new. Her hair and make-up perfect. The accent was out of a movie.

"Yes, that's me," I said.

She rather boldly approached me with a smile and said "I have seen what roadside fires can do. I want to thank you very much. As a native Georgian, I so appreciate what you have done."

I stumbled out that Joe had been a firefighter and I just followed him. I didn't really know what to say, but it made me feel rather wonderful that our little act of heroism would not go completely unnoticed.

"Well, thank you again," She said. "It was really good of you to do something like that." She exited the restroom and I thought she sort of glided out with smooth Belle gait.

Suddenly, I didn't feel so strange with my semi-dripping hair and ashes clinging to bits of clothing. Hey, we did some good! And people were so nice! I left to find Joe and let him know we had done good in the eyes of a real Southern Woman.

As I was recounting my experience, leaving out a few of the more messy wet paper towel things, I could see the woman from the corner of my eye. She was obviously telling her husband about her encounter with me. Then I see her pointing at us and both were intently focused on us. They turned to approach us and I can hear her ask, "Now, where was this fire again?" as she walked up.

"It was about 3 miles north of here. " I felt rather effusive and buoyant at the moment and gave Joe a squeeze.

"OH," The woman exclaimed. "NOT in Georgia." She turned abruptly and they rather stomped back to their car.

I guess South Carolina can burn. It's a Southern thing.

First Impressions

Joe and I love going to the city of Morehead City on North Carolina coast. It's an old town on the inlet with shops to poke around in, docks stroll on and view the ships sailing in and great seafood.

On one visit, we stopped by the public docks to watch the sunset. It was bright but rather cold. We shared the parking lot and dock with only a flock of seagulls. They didn't seem to be very interested in us (we obviously had no food) and we were rather thrilled to just walk among them. Joe made some reference to "The Birds."

Then Joe noticed the number of birds with only ONE LEG. Dozens of them! Hopping around but not flying off. It was almost like they were stuck to the ground. We wondered, was this a North Carolina thing? Were we at a bird sanctuary for injured fowl? We had never seen so many one legged birds! Should we ask someone? Report it?

Then one bird within a yard or so of us, slowly lowered a leg that was tucked up under it's feathers and retracted the other. Joe and I just looked at each other with a rather dumb expression that said "good thing we didn't say anything to anyone else."

I still don't know why the birds did that (and if you do know, don't feel like you have to tell me.) It did teach me something about first impressions. A lesson I continue to learn. I thought about the birds the other day when I ran across a quote by Plato (not someone I quote often.)

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

I am not sure what battle the birds were fighting; maybe cold, maybe lack of comfort. I do know I am glad to have walked among them and enjoyed their company.