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....