I keep a bowl of apples and other fruit on my desk. It’s a quick snack that keeps me out of the vending machine (which is really just such a tight fit, anyway) and on the straight and narrow.
Read more in Thursday’s Nashville.com!
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I Know Better!
I know what I supposed to eat and do to feel my best. Likewise, I know what I’m NOT supposed to eat and do. And yet…..
Last week found me with bread in my mouth and ice cream in my freezer. I was reminded (with no small degree of discomfort) that it doesn’t take much of the bad stuff to get those cravings all cranked up.
Read more about it in my piece on Nashville.com
Being Honest (And Stocking Up on Windex)
Judgement. Finger-Pointing. Like Mississippi and Alabama pointing at each other and saying, “Well, at least I’m not on the bottom of THAT list” or “At least I’m not the worst at this other thing.” Growing up, I really used to think that sometimes (okay, I still do. I hate to see my home state on the bottom of every.single.list.) Every great now and then, I catch myself thinking unkind thoughts about someone else, which is not okay – not at all. It’s a personal flaw that I detest. Still, it’s imbedded in my character in spite of my best efforts to root it out. I don’t know that I will ever completely eradicate it – I’m pretty sure I won’t. However, I am equally sure that I will never stop trying.
Why?
Well, because, friends, I live in a great-big-giant glass house, that’s why. I’ve made some colossal mistakes – some publicly, some privately, some recently, some antediluvian. Some of the mistakes were collaborative efforts, some of them all mine. Regardless, I’ve screwed up. It’s essential that I take responsibility for my own mistakes, accept that others make them as well and allow for that.
When I don’t meet the expectations I’ve set for myself, I am thoroughly annoyed and a whole lot of self-castigation goes on. “What were you thinking?” “Why didn’t you…?” “You should have known better.” I’ve got a full repertoire of disparaging phrases I use on myself. Guess what? Every single one of them is worthless.
There is course correction and there is criticism….and there’s a big difference. While I have to own my mistakes, the healthy way to do that is to identify them and plan ways to avoid them in the future. If I slip and make the same Ben and Jerry’s mistake again, then I refine my course correction. I don’t waste my time and my energy feeding the negative recording with those Phrases of Condemnation (you have to read that with sort of an echoing voice to get the full effect).
It’s so much easier to ignore my own flaws if I’m busy pointing out those of others. But. at the end of the day, I don’t have a right to do that and the process helps no one. It doesn’t make them any better. It certainly doesn’t make me any better nor does it make the world in general any better. It’s a gigantic waste of time that increases only the negative energy around me and, generally, my own level of dissatisfaction. That’s directly against what I’m trying to do and who I’m trying to become.
I’m trying to increase the levels of positive energy around me to ultimately become a better human. It’s that whole Scouting thing – leave a place better than you found it. I believe that should hold true whether the place is a campground or a room atmosphere. I should leave it better than I found it, or at least no worse.
To do that, I have to open my hands, drop the of pebbles I’ve been clenching and replace them with a rag and bottle of Windex. Throwing rocks isn’t my job and it’s not helping me accomplish anything. Cleaning the windows, though? That’s moving in the right direction.
Tone Loc, Tone Up
Dead serious, I went to sit up this morning and I heard Tone Loc singing Wild Thing. Well, specifically, I heard this line: “Yo love, you must be kiddin'” and my abs were singing it to me.
For the past three nights, I’ve hit the gym after work. As I mentioned on Tuesday, I have done a poor job of taking care of mySELF and maintaining healthy habits. I didn’t even believe my own excuses anymore; so, I stopped making them. Even so, working out at 4:30 AM may be okay for the First Lady; but, it is just not the time for this goddess to get up and get sweaty. So, if I’m not going to do it early, then I’ll just have to do it late. As a result, I find myself walking into the gym at 8:30 or 9 PM. I give it a hard hour or so, then go home and pass out.
During my Tuesday night chest/shoulders/back routine, it occurred to me that I want something that I know I cannot have. I want to feel as strong as I did before my knee surgery, but I don’t want to put in the work to be that strong. It’s impossible. My rational mind knows that. My irrational mind was just being a loud mouth. It’s been known to do that.
Before my surgery, I was in the best shape of my life. I was healthier than ever! I could do sit-ups and push ups. I could run and climb. I asked my body to do things and my body did them. It was the most amazing feeling EVER. I want to feel that way again. I want to be able to get up from a seated position on the floor without grunting, groaning, heaving or rocking for momentum. I want to be able to lift my body weight using just my arms. I want to run without gasping for air. I want to feel strong and, in feeling strong, I want to feel young. That’s probably the core of it right there. I don’t want to feel like a middle-aged woman whose body is gaining downhill momentum.
Because I slacked on my training, I lost ground. I did not go all the way back to square one, thankfully; but, I lost a significant amount of ground and I’m paying the price to make it up right now. The price is in sore muscles – REALLY sore muscles. Well, sore to the point that my abs were singing, You must be kiddin’.
Nope. I’m not kidding. I’m going to continue to get up, continue to move, continue to push myself, get stronger, and get healthier.
Aging is inevitable. Body function deterioration is inevitable.
Inevitable, but, it doesn’t have to be today.
Someone is Always Watching
Most parents I know work very hard not to be their parents and I was no different. I tried not to be my mother and to make different mistakes than she did. When I worked at American Eagle, one evening, I saw a visibly exhausted mother leave an aircraft with her toddling daughter. Rather than drag the child along demanding that she “keep up” (like most parents did), this woman smiled and charmed her daughter. She skipped and made it a game that only the two of them could play. They were embarking on a grand adventure to get their baggage! How exciting!
I wanted to be that mother.
When my son was really small, there were only the two of us there and I wondered how I would remember to make an adventure, to care for his nature and to remember to be that mother. After all, there was no one there to watch me. I thought that there was no one to stand there and keep me from letting my impatience or frustration make mistakes. But I was wrong.
There was someone there. There were actually two someones there – the Older Me and the Older Jaegar. Both Older versions of our Younger selves bore witness to every choice I made – good or bad. Recently, the Older Jaegar has mentioned a few of the bad choices and he’s right. I failed in those cases and I could just kick myself for those failures now. If I could. But, I can’t.
How much easier would it have been if my Older Self had stopped my Younger Self from making those mistakes to begin with? I didn’t always stop to think it through.
I’d love to tell you that I’ve licked that problem; but, I still don’t always stop to think things through. I certainly didn’t think through the consequences of eating bread and ice cream last week! My blood sugar was vaulted into the stratosphere, only to plunge into the Mariana Trench…..over and over again. The wheat and processed sugar created cravings and hunger pangs that were nothing short of miserable.
When I made my food choices last week thinking, “Nobody will know,” I was lying to myself. This Week Self saw the whole thing and has filed several Dietary Police reports already. I shudder to think of the actions to follow! If I had stopped to think how guilty I would feel over the mini McDonalds ice cream cone, I’d have skipped it. I didn’t, though. I was too busy ripping the seats out of the car looking to find spare change to buy the evil little frozen treat.
I didn’t think of the Older Me and how she sees just EVERYthing. I didn’t think of how she would scold me and stare condescendingly. I didn’t think it through.
I challenge you: remember that you are NEVER alone, even when you’re alone. Older You is always watching and that you will have to deal with her at some point. What do you want from her: praise or condemnation?
If it’s all the same to you, next time I’m going for praise.
What’s Your Job?
No, really. What’s your job? Your role? How many of them do you have? Mother, sister, writer, junior partner, girlfriend, crazy cat lady. Those are just a few of mine. Notice a glaring exclusion? I didn’t until I read this Oprah interview with Michelle Obama. In talking about working out at 4:30 AM, the First Lady said, “Well, I just started thinking, if I had to get up to go to work, I’d get up and go to work. If I had to get up to take care of my kids, I’d get up to do that. But when it comes to yourself, then it’s suddenly, “Oh, I can’t get up at 4:30.” So I had to change that. ”
That made me think of my most important job, the role absolutely no one else can perform for me…..that of self.
I am the only one of me (stop thanking the saints under your breath. I can hear you and it’s rude.) All of the other roles come after the one of mySELF. If I don’t care for Self, if I don’t exercise and feed my body, if I don’t feed my heart and my soul, who else will? Who else even can?
Although I couldn’t find the original interview, I found another FLOTUS quote that said, “Women, in particular, need to keep an eye on their physical and mental health, because if we’re scurrying to and from appointments and errands, we don’t have a lot of time to take care of ourselves. We need to do a better job of putting ourselves higher on our own ‘to do’ list.”
I met with Ambrose for a few minutes last week. He owns a personal training company and is incredibly passionate about helping people motivate themselves to achieve what they had always wanted, but hadn’t really thought possible. He takes a person’s drive to be better and turns it up to eleven. As we were talking, I told him about the demands of my job and how I have not found a regular time to hit the gym. I’m something of a creature of habit and I haven’t been able to form a routine. But, even as I was saying the words, I heard that FLOTUS quote about changing her thinking in my mind. I even shared it with Ambrose who was buying none of my excuses anyway. He loved the quote and I felt like a jackass for even trying to float them to start with.
I don’t treat my health like part of my job. I don’t put myself high enough on my priority list. I am neglecting mySELF job. Ten to one says that you are, too. But, if you’re not, how do you do it? How do you make that time for yourself and keep yourself on task? How do you change your thinking to excel at yourSELF?
The Love of Link
This morning started like most others – with a body slam.
I am a crazy cat lady. The crazy part might be debatable, but the cat lady part is all kinds of true. I love my two big, black dogs; however, in my heart of hearts, I’m a cat person. After I had to put down my 19-year-old Isabeau, I didn’t seriously consider getting another cat for five years. Then, my son brought this adorable grey kitten home. We named her Boudicca – Bodhi for short. Then we found out that this fearless she was a he and we named him Bodhidharma. Still Bodhi, this ferocious jungle kitty now tips the scales at about 18 pounds. He’s a monster, but he’s no body slammer. That would be Link.
Last summer, three adorable, fuzzy heads poked out of the flashing around my air conditioner – feral kittens. I had been feeding the parents (Mommie and Black Kitty) for weeks and was relieved to finally see the kittens I suspected existed somewhere. I got to know the kittens who became Wallace (with his brave heart), Smudge (a little grey puff ball) and Link (with his over-sized, pointy ears making him look like the elf from the Legend of Zelda).
After Smudge disappeared, I took Wallace inside to socialize him with my other three pets. Even with Black Kitty and Mommie around, Link looked bereft without Wallace. When the two played through the glass of the front door, my heart broke and I doubted that I had done the right thing bringing Wallace in. But, I had done it to save him after the dogs nearly killed Link. They caught him in the backyard and were in the process of dividing him when I pulled them off. A few anxious days passed with no Link to be seen. I was just sure the kitten had died of his injuries. I literally sat in my car and sobbed when I saw him in the trees afterwards.
My feral colony eventually numbered at least fourteen individuals (I told you – crazy cat lady) when my sister came up to help me trap them for spay, neuter, vaccination and release. We caught The White Queen, Twin, Mommie, Raj (who later became Lucy), and we caught Link. We re-released all but Lucy and Link.
I worked on socializing them with morsels of progress. Then, one day, after weeks of hissing, spitting and swiping, Link just decided that I was okay. He’s not a gentle kitty and is still easily frightened, but he trusts me now. He often sleeps alongside my leg and he body slams me for affection last thing at night and first thing in the morning. The White Queen, Mommie and Twin show up each morning and night for food. Black Kitty has been gone for months; Lucy still won’t be petted. But Link, well, Link is my love bug.
I am humbled and honored that this once frightened little guy trusts me, seeks me out to give and take affection in his little kitty way. What a privilege to have his or anyone else’s trust! Too often, I take that for granted.
Now, twice a day, I am reminded with a ten pound body slam.
Powerful Poetry
I included To This Day by this poet Shane Koyczan in Thursday’s post. He is my new favorite poet. Okay, I didn’t really have a favorite one before; but you know what I mean. I don’t have anything to say today, I just wanted to share this with you and give you a “Wow!” for your Saturday.
The Crickets have Arthritis by Shane Koyczan
It doesn’t matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who’s faith tells him God’s hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I’m either always too hot or too cold. Doesn’t matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he’s 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don’t have to ask what he’s got.The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they’re trying to make him feel at home because he’s going to be here awhile.I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I’m thinking any minute now he’s going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I’m scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he’s been watching me and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit. So I look away like I just made eye contact with a gang member who’s got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he’s going to give me my life back the moment I’ve got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, “Cigarette?”
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He’s got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot and he can put them all in context. Like, “See, this is from a shooting range”, and “See, this is from a weird girl”. I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can’t handle more he hits me with another story. He says, “See, this is from my father” “See, this is from my brother” “See, this is from that weird girl” “See, this is from my mother”. Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn’t apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, “The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for.” And he says, “The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you.” He says, “Ice cream can’t make everything okay.”
And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he’s going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. “Are you scared?” Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he says, “Fuck yeah.” I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he’s got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil’s sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, “Please don’t tell my dad.”He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don’t have the heart to tell him, I tell him, “Not lately.” and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn’t know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I’ve never seen in someone who knows they’re dying. And I’m trying so hard not to remind him I’ll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he’ll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I’ve been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he’s the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, “It’s gravity that’s been getting us down.”
The truth is: there’s not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there’s too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there’s a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can’t find answers is because the search party didn’t invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don’t always get a reply.
But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I’m going to remember you kid. I’m going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I’ll say, “See, there’s bravery in this world. There’s 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that.” So hold your breath, the same way you’d hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you’ve got nothing to sell?
People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you’ve got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a ‘hard work, hang in, hold on’ mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I’ve had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we’d be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God’s hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try.
I don’t often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, “This is for you.” I half expected him to say, “See, this is the first one I grew.”
Nutrition on a Budget
Frankenfood is cheap and you can use coupons to buy it. Good thing, too, since anyone who eats it regularly is going to need that money later on for medical bills!
Harsh? Yes. But, the truth ain’t always pretty.
I generally shop by circular; but, I rarely coupon for food. Popcorn and cereal are about the only two foods I regularly buy that come in a box and might possibly have coupons somewhere in the universe for them. In my town, we have several grocery stores – Food Lion, Kroger, Walmart, Super Target, Publix and Aldi. Let me just tell you right now…I love me some Aldi – even if they don’t take coupons! When I get ready to shop, I gather all the circulars, and make my list based on what’s on sale. Beside each item, I put the price from each store listing iit in their circular. (I know. 1. it’s weird, and 2. It takes a long time. It saves me a ton of money. So, there.) I take that list and a cooler and head out to start my shopping.
Grocery shopping to me is a game. How much can I get for how little? It’s similar to super-couponers only I’m not using many coupons and I’m buying real food. I start at Aldi, go to Food Lion, then Kroger, then Publix. The giant discounters get in the mix every great now and then; but, their prices are rarely competitive enough for them to make the trip worthwhile. Typically, they’ve got one loss-leader; but, I’m not battling the hordes for one thing.
The reason I shop at Aldi first is that, even without coupons or sale items, they normally beat all of the other stores prices – even their sale prices. For instance, yesterday I stopped by on my way home. I got kiwi fruit for .20 cents. Plantains were .39 each. Tuna in water – .69 a can. Large eggs – 1.19 a dozen. Mangoes – .49. Fresh asparagus – 2.99/lb. Zucchini – 1.00/lb. Fresh ground chicken – 2.89/lb. For less than $65, I got enough fresh fruit, vegetables and meat for two adults to last for two weeks. Okay, I may have to run back for some salad stuff; but, their prices, I can fill in that gap for around $10 next week.
When I’m doing my regular shopping, after I finish at Aldi, I head to Food Lion, then Kroger, then Publix because that is how the pricing rises. Food Lion tends to be less expensive on regular pricing, then Kroger, then Publix, although each of those stores does have some specialty item that I get only there. Kroger has a great store brand of natural peanut butter and Publix has some different vegetables in their extensive produce department.
I realize that super couponers may get off cheaper than $20 per person a week; however, they are not doing it buying real food. And canned sauces, boxed dinners, frozen pizza and other Frankenfoods are going to cost us all a great deal in the long run. I think it’s much better to pay a little extra now, enjoy real food AND the benefits of better health!
So, use the coupons on your soap and toothbrushes. Buy your food for real.
I’ve Been Called Worse By Better
My friend Jane used to say that and I just loved it. I would repeat it even if I didn’t believe it. I am now healthy and strong enough to say it with conviction.
That wasn’t always the case. I was uncomfortable in my skin, self-conscious, and easily embarrassed, although I hid it pretty well. If you didn’t know that my fat was my armor, you would never have suspected.
I was talking about this blog to friends the other day and realized that I sounded a little like, well, a zealot and that some might find that offensive. I often feel like a zealot, truthfully. I have rediscovered how great it feels to give my body the nutrition it needs to perform well. I’m excited about that and I believe that everyone should be eating nutritious foods to improve their health and well-being. I do not believe that everyone should diet to fit an imposed and distorted definition of beauty. If you are overweight, healthy and feel comfortable in your own skin, I applaud you! If you are not….
Yesterday, a friend posted a meme on Facebook that said that there are worse things than being fat. I believe that completely. It is far worse to be dishonest, mean, cruel, and a host of other things. (I looked for the meme and couldn’t find it again. If you posted it, send it to me!) What I found instead is this video shared by my friend Allison. (Thanks, All-is-on!)
If your fat is your armor, they were wrong.
The Daily Doty 