Going into October and changes

It's been over a month since I last blogged. Loads of changes in September, many of which I don't feel like going into detail over. My dgd was diagnosed with a congenital ailment that affects her adrenal system. Not life-threatening blessedly but still serious. And at the same time dh has been on a roller coaster over his job. His contract officially ends today and although he's received a new contract letter it's written in very "if there is work, there is a job" terms. Bleagh. And after multiple tests, the gastroenterologist has a partial answer for my health issues. Diverticulosis. Like dgd, it's something I will have to watch for the rest of my life, but it is not life threatening. Could escalate into diverticulitis but the key is eating more fibre. So, since the diagnosis two days ago, I have been trying to do it.

But I haven't been doing very well at it. I thought I was eating fibre but at the end of the day yesterday the total amount on my tracker was 13 g!! When the minimum should be 25. Aagh. And even at that my stomach was cramping quite a bit from the extra fibre. Did drink some herbal digestive tea and that helped tremendously. Within half an hour my stomach settled down. So this morning I had 14 g of fibre at breakfast (smoothie) and that's gone down okay so far.

Yesterday morning I hiked for 2 hours up and down hills at the Santa Fe Ski Hill--gained 900' from 10,200 to 11,100. We climbed Aspen Peak with a beautiful view of Santa Fe Baldy. I was happy to see that my buddies from the "NOT the Mountain Goat Hike" I lead on alternate Wednesdays all came to this one. And we shared a car going up so that was fun, especially as last week I "lost" a "friend" who led me to believe that only passive people would want to be friends with a person like me. These women are NOT passive! It was a tough hike as Dave's hikes usually are. I always choose to be the sweep because I like to hike at my own pace and this time there was a woman who really struggled with the climb and the altitude. So I stayed with her, watched over her. At the end of the hike, she was sitting on a picnic bench writing in her journal and saying aloud "Today Valerie saved my life." Well, not quite, but it still felt good especially after the last two weeks of this month. That's two lives I helped this past week--I helped another woman find a doc in this town (hard to find one who takes Medicare) and it turned out she had a serious infection that needed immediate treatment. So she was really grateful too. I write this to remind myself that despite what my former friend thinks (get past it Valerie) I am not a terrible person.

Photos from yesterday's hike:












The final photo is a view of Santa Fe Baldy (12,000') taken from Aspen Peak. The aspens are in the middle part of their glory. Another week or so and colder weather and they will have dropped their leaves. Just as beautiful as the Eastern colors in my opinion.

Distracted by hummingbirds

I get up on weekday mornings at 5 a.m. to drive dh to his bus. Sometimes I return and crawl back into bed but most times I stay up. This morning I felt very reflective as I pulled into our parking lot. The colors in the sky were lightening from deep velvety midnight blue to a light royal purple. The moon, full yesterday, had lost its hard edges. I was listening to a beautiful CD we have called "Heavensong: Music of Contemplation and Light." My favorite pieces are "The Prayer" and "Alleluia" both of which I listened to as I sat quietly in the car, no one else awake, no lights in the condo windows. It was 52º out, a reminder that Fall is coming.

I had planned to do some planning and writing this morning before going to a 9:00 a.m. Nia class. But as I was sitting in the livingroom Cleo suddenly got very still and started making "ack ack" noises. I looked up at the window and this is what I saw:

I was so excited! I had bought the hummingbird feeder a few months ago and hadn't put it up. I guess I was a bit self-defeating thinking that perhaps these tiny birds wouldn't fly all the way up to the third floor. But I was wrong, as we so often are when we self defeat. As you can see from these photos, they did indeed find their way up to the third floor and for the past hour have delighted both Cleo and myself.




And I find yet another reminder about my healthy, mindful eating. I found this entry in Wikipedia for hummingbirds: "Like bees, they are able to assess the amount of sugar in the nectar they eat; they reject flower types that produce nectar that is less than 10% sugar and prefer those whose sugar content is stronger. Nectar is a poor source of nutrients, so hummingbirds meet their needs for protein, amino acids, vitamins, minerals, etc. by preying on insects and spiders, especially when feeding young." (Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hummingbird)
I make my hummingbird nectar with a 1:8 ratio of sugar. So they like that. But they don't eat only nectar as the article says. They inherently know what to eat to sustain them. And they can't gulp their food of course :) So those are two reminders for me today--eat those things that are GOOD sources of nutrients and sip, sip, small bites, small bites.

Reflections on chewing and other "things"

I noticed two things yesterday as I was focusing on chewing my food more completely. One is that I tend to take too much into my mouth at once. Somewhere along the line I have lost the notion of "sipping" a drink be it herbal tea, herbal coffee, water, whatever. I take great gulps and end up with so much liquid in my mouth that I have to swallow some quickly. The taste slides across my buds so quickly that they say "Hey, what was that? If you want us to notice food you have to give us more time." The same with food. I took a bite of chicken at dinner last night and it filled my entire mouth. So I chewed and chewed and chewed and felt like Bossie the cow.

However, this leads to the other thing I noticed. That once I DID have food or drink in my mouth for longer than one millisecond, I started feeling impressions about it. The taste, the texture, and, more, the feeling that what I was eating was nourishing my body. When the food whizzes down the gullet that fast, there's no sense of what it is actually doing for my body. But the mouth is the beginning of nourishment. For example, this morning I had two apricots at breakfast. They were soft and juicy. My first sense as I bit into one was of coolness, of moisture, then of denseness. As I chewed the apricot, I felt the pulp releasing its goodness. I think as I pursue this I will start realizing more and more about food; seeing it in a different way. Oh, and conversely to a "good" sense of food, last night I popped a piece of fresh--at least I thought it was fresh--mozzarella into my mouth. But as I began to chew I almost gagged. It had gone off and I couldn't get it out of my mouth fast enough. Now if I had taken just a small piece I would still have realized that it was off. And it wouldn't have filled my entire mouth with that sour taste.

Now for the other "things." I read a lot of pop psychology books. I use the term "pop" because I don't read textbooks (sorry Sue.) Rather, I read what someone has distilled from a textbook. For example I read Hollis to try to understand Jung. I read the Franklin Covey folks (Covey, Smith) to try to understand how to apply my religious beliefs to my life in a more effective way--that is, that I can attain the type of inner peace and happiness that the Lord spoke of.

I have been off-and-on reading Geneen Roth's "Women Food and God." I mentioned that in a blog several months ago and I still haven't finished the book. It's not a page turner for me although what she says is good and worthwhile. The issue is that I have been reading other books at the same time and ironically they all say the same thing as Roth is saying. Even "Eat Pray and Love," which I read for my book club, reminded me of Roth, reminded me of Hollis, reminded me of a book on the enneagram that I am also currently reading. What they all say is that we are not just our bodies. That within us, around us, dwells divinity. They use different terms and advocate slightly different approaches--although all agree on meditation/stillness/prayer--b
ut basically they all say that there is something more to us (and, no it's not 30 pounds) than we usually focus on. And if we can somehow touch that divinity by becoming more aware of ourselves, what we think and what we do, we will become more at peace, have more self esteem, etc., etc.

And so I come back to chewing. In the act of chewing I become mindful. I think of what I am putting into my body. I say a prayer of gratitude for food and drink.

It is truly amazing how life can become more whole and we see life's pattern when we stop and chew.

Turn toward the light

I read a snip somewhere recently that caused me to think: "When you turn toward the light, the shadow falls behind you." In this photo, taken on a solitary hike this past Tuesday, I was facing away from the light. And when I looked at the shadow on the ground, I thought of that quote. I thought about how when we are down we talk about walking in shadow and how it literally is a "turning away from the light." The light of our own being, the light of God and so on. Hmmm. Just one of the many things that occur to me when I am hiking.

To reassure all of those wonderful friends who encouraged me to keep moving and keep hiking while I wait for the test results, yes, I am hiking more than ever. I feel best when I am hiking actually. I wonder how I can have anything wrong with me when I can hike so far and so strongly :) And if there is something "wrong" it surely is a way that I can put things to rights. I am not losing any weight from it, in fact this week I have gained two pounds. But that's not why I hike anymore anyway. I hike because I love it.

On the same hike where I took the photo above, I also snapped the vista that was in front of me:


and then this tiny beautiful miracle of butterflies "nesting" on a wildflower:


Seeing the big picture and the small, that's another one of those blessings that I have gained through hiking. Sometimes my mind is far away in the past or the future, puzzling something out. But then I see something and I am back in the present, glorying in the wonder of the world and remembering to be grateful for the now.

Gathering Parade 1

Eat Love Pray

In honor of the book I am feverishly trying to finish before my book club meets tomorrow night, I am simmering (not boiling) some fresh spinach & ricotta ravioli for lunch. I am currently in Elizabeth Gilbert's "Italy" phase of her year-long journey.

I am enjoying but at the same time wondering why I have never written a best selling novel about my various journeys. Well, the simple answer is that I am not a professional writer with connections to the publishing world where an editor would say "Oh, wow, can't wait for your manuscript about your trip through the UK! Send it to me right away!" That's not to put any blame on anyone else. Nope, if I had really had the guts, the passion, to get published, I could probably have been. Or at least have made a valiant attempt so that I could sit here now and say "I just don't have what it takes to be a writer." I can't say that. Many people who read my blogs or my e-mails say I am a wonderful writer. So did professors when I was slogging through my various degrees. No, I have what it takes to be a WRITER, I just don't have the drive to become a PUBLISHED writer. I wonder if I ever will.

As I read Gilbert's book, I think about my own journey to the UK last year. Much of it is on this blog. The difference between what she has written and what I have--so far--is that she writes about EVERYTHING. Every little minutiae, every conversation and observation. That's why her book is a few hundred pages and my blog is barely 50. And she writes about things that I would not really want to bare to the world. I like to stay in safely historical or impersonal terms. I keep my interior feelings and thoughts about people to myself. For the most part. What inspires me about her book, however, is that there are many things that I don't write about that I could, that I would probably enjoy writing about. If I would let myself :)

Short trip to Taos

This past Friday dh and I decided to take a trip to Taos. We intended on doing a morning hike along the rim of the Rio Grande Gorge and then looking at Mexican tile for our old dining room table and also looking at a back cushion for a living room chair. As Taos is an hour away and the highway to Taos is twisty and very dark at night, we decided to book a b & b overnight. After reviewing various comments on TripAdvisor--SO helpful nowadays--we decided on the American Artists B & B.

On our way to Taos, we remembered that there was another tile place just past Espanola so we turned in there. Although they had plenty of Talavera tile, the patterns seemed too busy to me for a dining room table. But we DID find a really nice buffet that will complete our small dining area in the condo. We put a deposit on it and said that we would be back for it next Saturday as we will need to have the back of the Escape completely empty to fit it in. Back in the car, we realized we had taken over an hour at the store and it was now almost 11 o’clock. Rather late to be starting off on the 7.5 mile hike I had originally planned. So we found a different trail that was only 2.5 miles round trip. It was indeed quite hot and dry. About 90º but there was at least a lovely breeze. And it was fairly flat as well. Here are some photos:

This is the usual warning on trails in our area--don’t leave valuables in the car. We were the only car in the parking area when we first came. I unzipped my hiking pants so that they became shorts and was just starting off when dh reminded me that we were in rattlesnake country. Ulp. But I decided not to zip back up again, relying on my poles and watching carefully where I was stepping. The only reptile we saw during the hike, however, was a lizard.

The cliffs around the gorge are mainly basalt as you can see from the lizard photo and the photo below.

I am not a geologist so I can’t tell you much more about basalt than that it is a volcanic rock. Besides, this isn’t an essay on geology anyway. After about .75 mile traipsing along the rocky trail and avoiding the cacti, we came up to the rim and were able to look down on the Rio Grande (big river in Spanish in case you didn’t know.) We were so hot and it looked sooo inviting that if the gorge hadn’t been so steep we might have clambered down and stuck our feet (or more) into the water.

We continued on for another .75 mile, this time passing through masses of chamisa. It is getting ready to flower in another month. It’s beautiful when it does but also unfortunately one of the many New Mexico plants I am allergic too. Pass the Claritin please next month because I am not going to stop hiking.

When we arrived at the end of the trail, we had a fantastic view of the Rio Grande winding its way through the gorge. It flows through Colorado, New Mexico, Texas and Mexico before it empties into the Gulf of Mexico. As with many waterways, it isn’t as “mighty” as it once was because of dams and diversions, but it is still beautiful.

We sat on the edge of the gorge for as long as we could stand the heat. There was a nice bench there but it was made of some kind of composite material--black--that felt like a frying pan. So we retraced our steps and I was very glad to see the car because (1) the clouds were building toward another monsoon and (2) there were four hawks (or maybe vultures) circling above us. I wondered what they were so interested in--us or something else. I really didn’t care to find out.

We headed into Taos and went to the other tile place. What a selection!! It took us over an hour to agree on the tile pattern. I have taken a photo of it laid out on a table there; quite anxious to see what it will look like when dh glues and grouts it.

After our selection, we celebrated with a late lunch at The Trading Post, our favorite restaurant in Taos. Then we hit Starr Interiors, a lovely shop that sells weavings from the Zapotec Indians. After another long consultation with each other and with the store owner, we chose two pillows. One is a simple bear design and the other is a long red pillow that looks beautiful on our guest bed. Now all we need are guests :)

Very tired by now, we headed for our b & b. We discovered that we had actually stayed there before many years ago. Just as we got our things inside and were relaxing on the portal, thunder boomed and forks of lightning lit the early evening sky. We sat out and watched the rain come down, the cooling of the air very welcome. Then we went inside and while dh did one of his quick sketches, I finished off an English mystery, fighting to stay awake to read the resolution. The rain drummed on the roof, as good as any lullabye.

The next morning, I awoke to George, the peacock cum alarm clock.

The storm had passed, the air was fresh and clear. In the distance, the mountain was still hidden behind low lying cloud but by the time we'd had breakfast the clouds had dissipated.

We drove north from Taos to the ski area and hiked a little way along Manzanita Canyon.

It was all uphill though so we didn’t go very far on it, only about 1.5 miles or so. The trail itself was going to be 6 miles and once again we just didn’t feel up to it. But we WILL return because the views from the top are supposed to be magnificent.

The wildflowers were beautiful.

On the way back home we stopped at the small, quaint village of Arroyo Seco. Took a photo of the “historic” church of La Santisima Trinidad, built in 1834. Old for the United States but compared to the churches I saw in England, “modern.”

A bright entrance to one of the shops in Arroyo Seco:

And so we returned home to Santa Fe with our purchases--except for the buffet which we will be picking up next Saturday. Saturday night we had another huge storm at home. It almost sounded like it was hailing and the thunder and lightning were extraordinary. But Sunday dawned clear and bright again. The clouds are gathering once again though so I wouldn’t be surprised if we didn’t have another storm tonight. It really has greened up the desert!

Easy as falling off a log

One of the worst things about gym when I was in high school--apart from those ugly bloomers we had to wear--was the balance beam. I hated the balance beam. I feared the balance beam. Even the one that was only 6 inches off the floor. We had this gym teacher who thought we should all be part of an Olympics gymnastics team. And sneered at me when I would jump off the beam after just a few inches. She quickly relegated me to the sidelines while she focused on the girls who were nimbler and more confident than I. Thankfully, I wasn't alone on the sidelines and after high school I didn't take any other kind of exercise class until i was in my 20s. (Exercise classes in the early 1970s weren't as popular as they are now.) I did attempt a ballet class, fulfilling a childhood wish of taking ballet. But when a friend of mine called me a dancing pear because the only ballet costume available in the store was yellow I lost confidence once again. And then there was yoga, which was so relaxing that I kept falling asleep. But that's a whole other story.

Today, my subject is logs. Specifically, logs and stream crossings. Many of our weekly hikes take us across streams. Remembering my balance beam trauma, I was very hesitant about stream crossings. I would look to find the narrowest part, the one that avoided logs and rocks and where I could just leap across (leaping is also not my forte but preferable to balancing.) Once I acquired hiking poles however I began to be more confident about the crossings. Still cautious, but learning. So when this past Monday's hike promised 12 stream crossings, I wasn't overly worried. We hiked what is called Tesuque Creek, about 7.5 miles round trip. Our leader, Ann, had mapped out a moderate hike, not as steep as Dave's hike the Wednesday before (pictured below.)


And, although it rained a fine mist, the hike was thoroughly enjoyable. I was reminded of hiking at this time last year in Scotland except this time I wasn't hiking alone, I was with a group of very congenial people. All in our 50s--well, actually, the guys were in their 60s--all comfortable with the pace and the company. Yep, I was feeling pretty darned good about my fitness level. After the 9th stream, the woman ahead of me said "We're really getting the hang of this." And, realizing in the back of my mind that I could jinx myself, I still said "Yeah, it's great."

Then came crossing #10, pictured below.


We had actually crossed it before. We were on our way back. We'd stopped to take photos by the rock face. Here I am, not exactly elegant (don't you love the chin strap?) but happy.


I started across the log. Kay was close behind me which Ann and I agreed afterward probably wasn't a good idea. It's best to cross one at a time across a log. I was at the end of the long log, transferring my weight to the short one when the log shifted under my feet and I overbalanced. And fell backward into the shallow stream. Hat and poles went flying. Luckily my backpack broke most of the impact and I only ended up with a bruise on my arm and a slightly sore and wet bottom. We still had another half hour left on the hike so by the time I returned to the car I was pretty well dry thanks to the thin hiking pants I wear. And my pride was bruised a bit too. I always seem to fall or trip on hikes. Never hurt myself but every time it happens I once again feel like that ungainly "dancing pear." Which of course I am not--ungainly that is. I do a LOT of hiking and walking. I may not be tall (I am 5'3") and willowy but I am strong. And I can be elegant too--here's another photo of me in my hiking hat, dressed up this time.


I guess my point is that we are all multi faceted. How we appear can and will change depending on circumstances and we create those circumstances. I laughed off my fall and finished the hike. 7.5 miles in 4 hours is pretty darned good. It certainly felt great. I hiked again the next day--just a short 1 hour--and yesterday I walked along the Arroyos trail for 45 minutes. I love walking, I really do. I feel so happy after I am done. I don't necessarily feel happy when I look at myself critically and self consciously. I mean, I look at that first photo of me and think that the chin strap looks like a double chin and do I look fat and my face looks tired....

Stinking thinking as someone once called it! Did any of my fellow hikers look at me like that?? NO! So I think I need to stop being so darned self conscious. A woman on my hike on Tuesday--a beautiful woman in her mid 60s--said she's stopped looking in the mirror because she can't believe the old woman she sees in there is her. What IS it with us?? I look at her and see a beautiful woman. She looks at me and sees the same. Enough picking ourselves apart already! And enough with obsessing over the scale too. Less obsessing and more focusing on being healthy, eating healthy. And with that, I am off out for another walk....

The Important Things in Life

I am sitting at Tucson Airport waiting for a plane back to Albuqueque for the second time this month. I flew in on Friday night, went to dgd's ballet recital last night. And we are coming back next weekend--driving this time--for dsil's 30th birthday celebration. Several friends think I am insane but then those who have gc and who know about those "Kodak moments" understand. Especially when I look at these photos:





And someday when my dd is attending her dgd's ballet recital, I hope that she nudges M and says "Remember when Grandma came to YOUR ballet recitals?" And, who knows, I might still be around in body (a healthy one I hope!)

How I spent St. Patrick's Day

As we met at our hiking rendezvous this morning, Dave confirmed that it would be a snowshoe hike. The idea of snowshoeing had put several people off so in the end there were only three of us, me, Dave and David. Here we are starting off. The snow in the valley is quite deep, over 4'. You get an idea of it from the snow on the fallen log.


At first Dave said we were going to snowshoe in the valley but, as always seems to happen on Dave's hikes, within a few minutes of nice, leisurely shoeing, he said "Hey, would you like to try going up this hill to get into the sunshine? Val, you said you'd like the sun." Ummm, yeah I said I'd like the sun but I didn't realize that meant climbing a nearly vertical 200' slope covered with 4' of fluffy, cottony snow that had little stability. I didn't want to be a wet blanket though so I said I would try it. And try it I did. Digging my shoes into the snow, feeling my feet slide back, my poles sink deep, it was exhausting.

Finally after about 10 minutes even Dave admitted that perhaps it was a bit much. So I slid back to the valley again and we resumed the nice, leisurely, swish, swish pace. The valley was in shadow for the first 30 minutes and then we saw patches of sunlight filtering through the Ponderosa pines.

Dave mistook my eagerness to take a photo of the sun to mean that I wanted to climb again. He and David were chatting away in front while I was mindfully walking in the back, meditating on how wonderful it was to be in this place, to have my body responding to the movement. Then all of a sudden up they started. Once again I struggled to find purchase with my feet. I was worried about doing a Beckham--tearing my Achilles tendon or something as my feet strained to push upward--but Dave blithely said "Relax your feet, feel your weight sink through them into the snow, into the earth." Dave, the tai chi aficianado. But, you know, he was right. When I could get the rhythm--unfortunately I often lost it--it made a huge difference and I did feel a part of the earth.

We made it up to where I took this final photo

We were actually looking at four different slopes with valleys between each and then finally the wide valley and far in the distance one of the Sandia peaks. (I think--my sense of direction is still lousy and I didn't have my compass.)

I was worried about going down but Dave reminded me to "feel" my feet and the weight shifting from foot to foot. Made it most of the way down with only three tumbles. Another 20 minutes of level snowshoeing and we were back at the car. Started at 8:30, finished a little shy of 11:00 a.m. Perfect.

My feet and backside were soaking wet so I made a quick stop at WholeFoods for thinly sliced corned beef--tasted almost like Montreal smoked meat without the fat--and colcannon. Colcannon is a mixture of creamed potatoes, cabbage (WholeFoods used kale) and is SO yummy. Not so great for my IBS but on St. Patrick's Day I didn't give a darn.

By the time I got home though I was chilled and my left foot was hurting. A hot bath helped the chill and the IBS but an hour later, my foot was hurting more. I still had to go out to visit someone and to the bank but as I made my rounds the pain grew worse and it was hard not to limp. When I got home I knew it was time to spend the rest of the evening with the foot elevated, the gas fire burning in the kiva, Celtic Woman playing on the stereo. Physically, between my painful foot, painful gums (still hurt from the dentist "stuff" last Friday), and painful cold sore, I feel, as my mother would say in a mell of a hess. But spiritually I feel terrific. I kept up with Dave, I did the climb and nothing is actually broken. I will be fine tomorrow!

Being a child again

This morning's hike was such fun! Eight of us piled into three cars and drove up Big Tesuque. Some of us (me included) didn't have our snowshoes with us but we had yaktrax (cramp-ons) so Dave decided that those with the snowshoes would go ahead and pack down the trail and the yaktrax folks would follow.

As usual, the first half hour was tough; I always have difficulty starting. Thoughts go through my head of turning back and waiting in the car. But I continued on and was grateful that one of the fellows was quite slow too; it gave me plenty of time to stop and breathe. But after the half hour I got my rhythm and the hike became its usual wonderful experience. It was a bit cold--30º--and it started to snow but we were sheltered from the wind in the trees. And I had enough layers on that I was very comfortable. We climbed about 500', up to 10800' and then we went off trail--as Dave likes to do--and that's when it became more difficult. These photos show us at that point.





First, it started snowing harder and those of us without snowshoes started punching through the snow. The snow was about 4' deep in places so when we sank, we sank up to our hips. Although it was difficult, it was still so much fun. We became like kids again, rolling in the snow and laughing as we sank. Even one of the snowshoers slipped and fell in a spray of snow.

But it eventually became too difficult and we turned around and started heading back down. By the time we arrived at the cars, about 5 inches of snow had accumulated and the temps had dropped to 25º. It normally takes us about 30 minutes to drive down the mountains to Santa Fe but because of the slick, windy roads, it took us an hour. The drive home was even worse. My car almost did a 360º turning left on one of the side streets and 15 minutes later a truck almost plowed into the back of my car at a stoplight. I was SO relieved to get home!

I've spent the afternoon relaxing by the gas fire, reading a book and feeling VERY happy to have had 2 hours of fun in the snow!

Don't eat standing up

I have a vivid memory of a Friday night when I was 16 years old. My mother had died a short while before and dad and I had started a routine of going grocery shopping on Friday night, after he came home from work. Sometimes we would go out to dinner afterward, sometimes we would buy t-bone steaks to cook at home or bring home a BBQ'd chicken. Now, BBQ'd chickens in Montreal are wonderful. You can get a bit of an idea if you buy one of those hot roasted chickens at Smiths or Albertsons but they still don't quite compare with Montreal BBQ'd chickens. You could also order BBQ'd chickens to be delivered to your home, rather like pizza. The most famous was St. Hubert BBQ--but I digress.

Anyway, this particular Friday night we'd bought a chicken. And as I was standing in the kitchen, ripping open the foil bag and smelling the delicious aroma, I started tearing pieces of it off. Dad, coming into the kitchen, said in that sharp censorious voice he often had "For goodness' sake, don't eat standing up!" Now, this wasn't the first time I'd eaten standing up nor would it be the last. I had a habit of eating that way, as well as eating sitting down. Which is why I was the "chubby" one in my family. But I did and do most of my comfort/mindless eating standing up. Often in front of an open refrigerator. When the rest of my family was sitting around the dining room table talking adult talk, my adolescent self would sneak into the kitchen, open the fridge door and filch leftover desserts, sometimes squirt some whipped cream into my mouth. Occasionally mom would call "Are you in the fridge?" So you can see that my sneaky eating was hardly a secret. Shameful, but not a secret. And I find myself sometimes doing the same now, after dh has gone to bed. Except that I'm not chubby anymore. But if I start eating standing up too much more, I could be on my way again.

I write this because yesterday was a particular case in point. I was feeling sentimental, feeling like I wanted to get in touch with my "motherly" self. So I decided to make a chocolate cake from my stepmother's favorite recipe. Chocolate oatmeal actually. I went to the grocery store, bought the ingredients and came home and got started. Now prior to this I'd had a pretty good eating/exercise day. Except for the two chocolate chip cookies I had eaten at breakfast. Standing up, just after I'd wandered into the kitchen from bed. But I'd resolved to put that behind me. Somehow my mind didn't compute that putting chocolate chip cookies behind me and making chocolate cake later in the day didn't quite match up.

Anyway, I put the cake in the oven and forgot that I live at high altitude--7200' to be exact. High altitude baking apparently requires some adjustment and, true to the warnings on the website that I read afterward, my cake fell a bit in the middle, leaving a cookie type crust around the edges. As it sat cooling on the counter, I nibbled the edges off. Standing because I was making dinner. And then, as I beat the buttercream icing--another requirement for my stepmum's cake--I started "tasting" it. And then scraped the bowl. When I think about it, I probably consumed about 200 calories standing there. At least. Who knows because it wasn't a "portion" it was just a finger full here and there, here and there. A spoon full. And later in the night when I was up far too late, I went and had a rather large piece of the cake. I ate it as I walked toward the chair I was flopped in, watching an old Law & Order.

My point is that eating standing up doesn't USE more calories. Not appreciably. So there is no advantage to eating standing up as opposed to sitting down. And the advantage to eating sitting down is that it takes more effort. You have to find a bowl or a plate, you have to put the food in/on. You can SEE what you are eating, you have that space between stimulus and response as Covey would say. You have that extra time to say "Wait a minute, do I want this? How much am I eating here?" And if you want to go ahead, you have the opportunity to sit down and savor what you are eating rather than shoving it furtively into your mouth, hoping that no one will notice.

Don't eat standing up. It's a habit that's worth breaking.

Love of reading continued

Well I have now finished the fourth book of the mystery series that has recently hooked me. I only have one left although, luckily the author is still very much alive and hopefully working hard at her next one. It will be a long wait and I am almost reluctant to finish this last.

I so wish I could write like that! What satisfaction there must be in being able to immerse one's self into a whole other world when you want to, a world where you can control the characters, the action. I have heard though that some authors say that occasionally the action runs away from them and they end up writing something they never intended to. But that too would be part of the excitement; not knowing where an idea is going to take you.

Every time I read a good book I think "Why can't I do that?" The main reason is that I can't sit myself down for long enough to create a story line, characters, etc. And I admit to being intimidated by reading books that have so much richness to them, so much depth. Is that part of this modern world where so many of us have become observers instead of participants? At least I have a toehold in this "writer's world" though by posting to this blog every so often. Maybe all of these posts will eventually become a novel....

I love libraries!

Dh and I decided at the end of 2009 that we would cut back on our non-essential spending and make 2010 the year we grow our retirement funds. Not that we intend not to enjoy life and only look to the future. People know me better than that. No, it was just a matter of taking a look at where and how we were spending money and making each dollar count.

Now I am a bibliophile. I love books. I used to work in bookstores. Which was like an alcoholic working in a liquor store--not a good idea. I normally cannot walk into a bookstore without leaving with at least 2. Books are expensive though. And sometimes even though the first couple of pages of a book were interesting, the rest was only so-so. (Actually sometimes I've read books that started as ho-hum but then got really interesting. It's hard to tell.)

Anyway, I decided I would start using the library more. So whenever someone told me about an interesting book, I'd look for it in the library. I was amazed at how many times the book was right there or else I could put my name in and I'd get it within the week. It's silly, really for me to say I was amazed. I mean, I've used libraries before. Lots when I did my degrees. But I'd got lazy and impatient. Too used to just going to the bookstore or ordering online.

This is saving me lots of money. I've read 4 books that I might have bought otherwise and enjoyed 3 of them. And now I will finish this blog and go pick up the book I borrowed this morning. Mmmmm!

Rambling

This morning I was musing about family relationships--specifically parents, grandparents and siblings.

My parents were 40 when I was born and my grandparents and aunts were, accordingly, older as well. My sister was 10 years older too. So, as far as taking care of relatives went, that was something I never really did. My grandparents and mother all died by the time I was 16 and my dad was very robust up to his death at 87. He made his own decisions on his care together with my stepmother. I lived in another city, 8 hours' drive away. I was a single parent with responsibilities to a young daughter. I don't regret that I wasn't "there" for my Dad. We had a mutual understanding that I was to stand on my own two feet and so was he. We talked on the phone weekly and my daughter and I visited him every 6 weeks for long weekends. We created a lot of memories over those years, good ones. When he became too feeble for my stepmother to manage at home, he made the decision to go into a lodge but he actually died barely 6 months later. I think he chose that way and, up to the end, he was lucid and made his own decisions. When the docs pressed him to have an operation, he said "I am 87 and I have had a good life. Give me painkillers and let me be." Both my stepmother and I supported him when the docs wanted us to override him. I am glad that we did. He left this world the way that he wanted to.

My sister died at 48 but she lived in another state, had her own family and I was only able to visit her a few times in the final year of her illness. I wish we'd lived closer but it just wasn't feasible. Still, we mended fences in that final year, gave mutual forgiveness for silly things we had said and done to each other over the years. I am thankful that we both faced up to the fact that her time on this earth was over and that letting everything but love go was the best thing to do.

As both Mom and my sister died young of cancer (Mom 56, sis, as I said, 48) I have felt that these last 20 years have put a responsibility on me to live well as they never had a chance to or didn't have the knowledge to. Mom could have taken better care of herself; sis put her career ahead of her health. Dad took very good care of himself; is it coincidence that he lived to be 87 and was healthy right up to the final 6 months? Do I want to live to be 87, as my dad did? I really don't know but I do know that I want to live as he did--independently, making his own decisions, and not require Laurie to bear any kind of burden. I want her and her children to remember me as I do him, lucid to the end, choosing his own path. I would rather that they didn't have the memories I do of my mother and sister, suffering and wasting away.

I want them to have their own friends and their own lives because the normal--hoped-for on my part--course is that children live on past their parents and so they need their own support system after I am gone. I will be only a memory, I won't be able to be there as they encounter more things down the road. I do miss my Dad terribly. The other day I was sorting through a box of old cards and photos and came across a Christmas card he'd written and I felt such an intense longing for his wisdom, his love. But I have him in my heart, I am thankful for that. And I miss my mother and sister and wish I could have had them longer. But it wasn't to be and, again, now the responsibility lies with me to make my own way in life, to create memories that I can hand on to my daughter and family that they can pick and choose from.

One thing I've been realizing as I sort through my memorabilia, and as we sorted through my m-i-l's memorabilia last year: the memories that my family will cherish in the future will be of their own choosing, not mine. The things that meant a lot to me may not mean a lot to them. So it's pointless, sometimes, to hang on to things just because "I am keeping them for my children." Once they are old enough, ask them if they want it, and if not, and if you don't want it, let it go. Sure they may be sorry in the future, but probably only in a passing way. At least that's been my experience.

Nope, we have to live for ourselves, not for our parents, not for our children. Our parents chose their lives and the greatest honor we can accord them is to be the very best that we can be in our own lives; to live our lives to the full. Our parents gave us the gift of life. It is our responsibility to care for that gift wisely and well. Ditto our children.

So in terms of health--I've finally got there--we ought to live according to the healthy principles that we now know, in our generation. So my mother stuffed me full of food when I was a child as a sign of love. That's what SHE knew, but I know better now. And my sister decided that a hectic career, flying hither, thither and yon, skimping on sleep, eating haphazardly, was more important than taking care of her health. She chose that, but I don't have to. Not because I want to live to be 87 or because I fear the future, but because I want to live healthy NOW. I want to take advantage of all the beauties where I live now. I want to run and not be weary and walk and not faint. I want to swing my grandchildren around in the park and play with them and not sit on a park bench waving at them or have them see me lying on the couch--NOW. I want them to hear that Grandma has gone hiking, or have them go hiking with me, NOW and into their teens and 20s I in my 60s, in my 70s, maybe in my 80s. I can prepare for that NOW. I want to sit in front of them and eat healthy foods and them to see that healthy foods are fun and delicious. NOW. That it's the conversation and love and play that's as nourishing as the food.

The future will take care of itself if we take care of the present.

And that's my soapbox for today :) Now if only I can get rid of this cold....