You know? Some of us are just a little different from the norm – half a bubble off plumb, you might say. But whatever we are, I really believe we should strive to be the best version of that. Take this kid for instance – he plays the accordion. The accordion. Oom pah pah and all that. Can you imagine the jokes and teasing this young man has had to put up with?! And yet, he’s taken his half bubble off plumb and done this with it. So should we all!
Category Archives: Thought Patterns
What’s going on in my head
What It Is
On Friday, I said that I believe that my adventure in changing my menu to one full of whole, plant-based foods will be more fun if I just accept the foods for what they are rather than trying to make them be something else. Cashew and almond milk frozen desserts are better than ice cream to me; but, no amount of wishing is going to make vegan lasagna taste like my Nannie’s with its pounds of meat and cheese. If I try to compare the two, the vegan version is going to come up WAY short. Every. Single. Time.
As I thought more on the subject, I concluded that this may actually be the key to genuine contentedness – accepting things for what they are, I mean, although lasagna is a good route, too.
Looking back, I believe that the times of my life when I’ve been the most discontent and the angriest were when things weren’t going the way I had envisioned. I had this idea of what I wanted and I kept trying (unsuccessfully) to make my reality fit the ideal. Obviously, this endeavor was doomed to failure from the start and I found myself constantly annoyed by the failure.
I never wanted to be a single mom. I wanted the whole picture book family thing with a houseful of children. There were times in my son’s life when I was angry that I didn’t have that. Fussy, teething baby? Guess who’s going to soothe him. Nasty diaper? Guess who’s turn it is to change him? Cub Scout camping trip? Guess who’s sleeping on the ground. As a single parent of either gender, it’s always your turn. You’re always the one up to bat and in the batter’s box. You don’t get a break and it can be frustrating. In addition, my dad and I made great memories growing up and I wanted my son to have those same kinds of memories. I was often angry that he didn’t and wouldn’t.
However…..
It would be nothing short of a lie to say that I parented alone. My family were great. My parents, my sister, my niece, my cousin Jeanna, my aunt Judy, both of my aunts Barbara and many, many friends were there for him and for me. And, because there were so many of them, he got so many more perspectives. Before his second birthday, he’d been to four countries on three continents. He has lived all over the country and has survived one of the biggest natural disasters in the history of the US. As he told me recently, “We’ve been through the shit together, Mom” Even with my wasted energy, we had plenty of adventures and made lots of great memories along the way.
Looking back, the only thing I would change would be my own attitude. I would fret less about what we didn’t have and enjoy more what we did. I would have built a few more blanket tents in the living room and a few more bonfires in the yard. I would have been (and resolve to be) more content with what it is, which is a great and wonderful life.
Going Pro
I’ve always been a big fan of Oprah Winfrey. She seems to be so Pro. She’s pro-women and pro-African-American; however, I’ve never seen her be anti-man or anti any other race. Ellen is the same way. They offer positive entertainment and social commentary without being pulled into the slough of Anti.
Which reminded me this week that Pro is a much better place to be. Why can’t we all be more pro?
If I’m pro-woman, does that mean I must be anti-man? No. If I’m pro-cat, does that mean I must be anti-dog? No. If I’m pro-equal rights for homosexuals, does that mean I must be anti-heterosexual? Are you kidding? If I’m pro-Nashville Predator, does that mean I must be anti-Chicago Blackhawk? Okay, bad example because actually, yes. Yes, it does.
Still, you get my point.
I believe that our media has taken a cultural bias and turned it into a monster. It’s easy to point out the negative. It’s easy to point out what’s wrong and to be angry about it. It’s difficult to effect change. It’s difficult to offer up solutions. It’s difficult to build. Destruction is so much easier!
In fact, it’s the second law of thermodynamics: in energy exchanges, disorder increases. Even on our most basic chemical level, we are designed to destroy.
I look at the world around me sometimes and am overcome by a feeling of helplessness in the face of all of the hatred and bigotry. In this week’s news the increasing disorder is everywhere and it’s based on an issue that I’m not qualified to make any social commentary on. So, what can I do? With four cats I can barely keep up with the increasing disorder in my own home! In my little house in Tennessee, what can I do to make the world a better place?
I can watch my own mouth.
I can say and do things that are edifying for me and for those around me. I can refuse to fall into the blame cycle set by the media. I can keep myself out of the slough of Anti (where I’m sure they must have Rodents of Unusual Size, devouring those hapless enough to wander in). And I can encourage those around me to stay out of the slough, as well.
Is it a little like sticking flowers into gun barrels? Perhaps. But, at least the guns are silent.
And that’s a start.
A Friend for Ellie
Trey and Ellie were my two BBDs – big, black dogs. As you know, I had to help Trey across the Rainbow Bridge in February and we are all still adjusting to a household without the old man – Ellie especially.
Ellie came to live with us several years ago when I had to go out of town for a conference and asked my sister Chele if she would come and stay with my son while I was gone. She said that she would, but that she was fostering a bitch with five pups that weren’t weaned yet. Barracading the family in the kitchen was easy; so, I told my sister to bring them on with her. “But,” I said, “you listen to me and hear what I’m telling you. I don’t care how cute those puppies are, they are all. going home. with you.” (See how I never said anything about the mama?)
So, my sister arrived with this painfully skinny black dog and five of the cutest puppies EVER. I had them all named within five minutes, much to Chele’s dismay. (I didn’t realize that you weren’t supposed to name foster puppies. It makes it harder to send them to new forever homes.) Anyway, I named them all and we got everybody into the house where I inquired about the mama whom they called Princess.
She had wandered up to some guy’s house. He started feeding her and thought he was going a great job since she was getting so fat – then she dropped five puppies. Knowing that my sister is a soft touch with the canines, he contacted her and dropped the whole family off with her. Chele said that while the dog would let me pet her, she would not come to me and that she was head shy. This mama dog was just heartbreaking! So thin, she looked like her bones were about to cut through her skin. And she was, indeed, head shy, but after a few minutes she walked up to my chair, sat next to my feet and put her head on my knees. Yep. She picked me. What was I supposed to do with that?!
Now, we already had Trey who had become destructive since the death of my previous cat – the 19-year-old (some say possessed, I say precious) Isabeau. He wasn’t too keen on the puppies (especially after they tried nursing on him. Poor guy flipped out over that! One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.), but he loved having Princess around. Since she had been a stray for some unknown period of time, she was very fearful. When Trey tried to play with her, he frightened her. However, he was patient and sweet. Eventually, she came to trust him and they were wonderful playmates even after we renamed her. (There is only one princess in my house, honey. Moi.) So, Princess became Ellie and our home to one BBD became home to two. Until this February.
Once a month, my friend Kent comes to stay with me for a few days. He brings his BBD puppy Khaleesi with him. Last month was the first time he came and the first time Ellie met Khaleesi. And did those two girls ever have a wonderful time! They played outside all day every day and came in exhausted every night. I knew that Ellie would enjoy having a friend, but I underestimated how much. When Kent arrived on Wednesday, Ellie saw Khaleesi through the window and she, who never goes out the front door without my permission, bounded out the door as soon as it was open, joyfully greeting her friend on the sidewalk before the two of them went running through the house, out the back door and into the yard to play just like the little girls that they are.
I have no intention of adding to my horde and, with four cats to play with, Ellie is a long way from lonely; however, it’s great that she can have play dates with someone her own size. And, for the next several months, every month, for five days, there will be play dates and a friend for my Ellie girl.
Didn’t We Have This Conversation Already?
Do you have that friend that starts talking about their current problems and, while you love the person dearly, you just want to stab your eardrums out so that you don’t have to hear about it….again?! After all, it’s the same thing over and over – my boyfriend’s a jerk, I’m broke, my nail polish keeps chipping, I hate my hair, etc., etc. Ugh! You love ’em, but you’re just plain tired of hearing the same old drama.
I don’t have many friends like that and I suspect it may be because I AM That Friend.
When I feel like I’m being That Friend, I often just stop talking. I get tired of hearing my same old drama myownself; so, I just quit saying anything. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve had a few friends actually say something to me about my silence – you’re not writing, you don’t call, you don’t text…wassup?
It’s wonderful to have Those Friends! (Some of you are recognizing yourselves right this very minute, aren’t ya?)
The truth is that I’ve been stuck. I haven’t found the motivation to keep me eating healthfully and I certainly haven’t found the motivation to use that gym membership. I’ve been eating WAAAAAY too much sugar, too much processed food, too much white flour, too much oil, too little fruit, too few green leafies, and too few non-starchy veggies. I haven’t been back to the gym since the last time we talked. This is not the way to get back to feeling healthy and strong. I’ve needed a plan and a whole lotta help coming up with a viable one since the ones I was coming up with were lasting about as long as a snowball in Hell.
So. I ordered some books from Abebooks.com (my most favoritest online book source). They’ve arrived. I’ve finished one and am working through the second. They are the Forks Over Knives books. One is a how-to companion; one is a solid, four-week plan to make permanent lifestyle changes; and, one is a cookbook. All of them are based on the Whole Food, Plant Based lifestyle that has been shown time and again to help adherents lead much healthier lives. Rather than treating the symptoms of a host of illnesses with prescriptions, the practitioners of the WFPB lifestyle are finding that their illnesses are gone. By giving their bodies the tools that they need to repair the damage done by years of eating the Standard American Diet, those people are finding that their vascular issues, diabetes, even some cancers are either cured or significantly improved.
With all of the cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure and heart disease in my family, I want to get ahead of the game. As I told you, I want to be Adventure Gram! I want to take my future grandchildren hiking, climbing, kayaking, sightseeing, all kinds of fun things and I can’t do that if my body won’t let me. I want that, yet I’ve been struggling with motivating myself to get there.
Maybe I should have shared that struggle with you rather than retreating into myself like I do. Maybe it would have helped one of you and maybe it would have helped me to share it. I didn’t, though, because I felt like I was being That Friend. By keeping the struggle in, I felt more isolated, which didn’t help anything. I’m betting some of you have done the same thing with similar results.
Well, now, I’ve reached out for help from experts who know scads more than I do. I’m using their knowledge and experience to develop a plan for adopting a healthier lifestyle. I’ll share that will you – even on those days when I’m That Friend.
Becoming Real
I saw this quote for the first time this week and it so accurately describes my feelings today that I share someone else’s words rather than my own. It hasn’t been love that removed all my hair or made my eyes drop out, but you get the idea.
“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.
‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’
‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’
‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit
The Quagmire of the Subjunctive Mood
When my niece was about three years old, she suddenly experienced horrific separation anxiety from my sister. The toddler would cry inconsolably saying that she “didn’t want a stepmother.” Since my sister was healthy and not thinking of divorce at that time, she was puzzled at this sudden, very real, very dramatic fear of her daughter’s. Then, one day, I was watching Cinderella with Shelby and….
Bingo!
Think about it for a minute: Cinderella’s mother dies, then, years later, her father dies. Bambi’s mother dies. Snow White’s mother dies. Aurora has parents, but they send her away for her own safety. Neither Ariel nor Belle’s mothers are ever even mentioned. Mufasa gets trampled. Yep, the happiest place on Earth makes movies where parenthood is a seriously dangerous occupation. Being a Disney parent is like being a Cartwright girlfriend on Bonanza – it’s the kiss of death, honey. The writers have already shot you or given you TB before you even show up in Virginia City. You may as well go ahead and get Hop Sing to brew you up a big, ole bowl of hemlock. You know you ain’t gonna be around for next week’s episode.
I saw the new live-action Cinderella this weekend and while I liked the movie a great deal, it reminded me of the little Shelby’s fear of what might have been. This reminded me of an interview with Phuc Tran that I heard on NPR this week. (It’s very thought provoking. If you haven’t heard it, I suggest that you do so. If you’re a grammar nerd, my suggestion is a strong one.) Tran talks about how the subjunctive mood in English allows us to consider and fret over all sorts of things that might or might not be. His parents’ Vietnamese language doesn’t have a subjunctive mood; so, his parents, aunts and uncles think only of what is or what isn’t. They don’t create worry about possibilities since their language doesn’t have the capacity for it. I had never thought about that – about language allowing us to create our own worries. Of course, it also allows for creative thinking and great progress when we imagine what might be; but, I think that it is the source of as much anxiety as creation – at least for me, it is.
What if I can’t get this weight back off? What if I can’t change my habits to include exercise? What if I never find what I’m meant to do? What if? What if? What if?
That kind of thinking has me burning up the gears on the hamster wheel in my head; but, it’s getting me nowhere. The 12-Step Programs all say to take it one day at a time. Stop borrowing trouble. But, how do I do that when I’m setting goals? Don’t I have to consider and map out the possible hurdles between me and the goal? Of course, I do. Developing a strategy to achieve my goals is the only smart thing to do. However, the problem comes in when I focus too long or too intently on the hurdles. That focus is likely to end with my mental feet getting stuck in the quicksand of the what ifs. Then I sink.
There must be a way to avoid getting stuck. Zig Ziglar says you can and successful people do it all of the time. They recognize and plan for obstacles without getting caught in the consideration of them. How do they do that?! I don’t know. I’m still working on getting the sand out of my shoes.
And She Kicks It Wide of the Goalposts
It is my goal to be positive in my thoughts and utterances here. It seems that all of my positive charges are used up at the moment. So, rather than give you all the negative static in my head right now (see what I did there with the electricity metaphor?) I’ll just wish you a very happy Friday eve!
We’ll try it again tomorrow.
Health Information Spin-Doctors
I saw an article last week about adrenal fatigue and was intrigued. I read it and was even more intrigued since it seemed to explain why I’m so exhausted all the time these days.
Then I did some more research.
Turns out that adrenal fatigue isn’t a medically defined condition. Now, as you know, I do not believe that doctors are either gods or the end all and be all of everything; however, I think that they’ve spent an awful lot of time studying the human body and can be good resources. I also believe that this Information Age is just as easily the Disinformation Age and anyone with an idea or product to sell can create a condition for their idea or product to cure. The symptoms of adrenal fatigue are really just the symptoms of exhaustion…..adrenal fatigue just sounds so much better. Right?
Hospitalization for exhaustion or bed rest for fatigue sounds awfully Lindsay Lohan, n’est pas? It sounds like you’ve been out partying too much, you’re secretly in rehab, you’re having a nervous breakdown or you’re just a wimp. I mean, the Mormons walked across the country pushing wheelbarrows, for crying out loud. What do any of us have to be exhausted about?
Well, actually, we have a lot.
I don’t think that anyone can deny that this is a very stressful time to be an adult in the United States. The news tells us that the country has recovered; but, I talk to an awful lot of unemployed or underemployed people who have not seen that recovery. Paychecks don’t go as far as they used to. For instance, I now make the same amount of money that I made 20 years ago – not the same amount adjusted for inflation, the actual same amount. However, the cost of living certainly isn’t what it was 20 years ago. That causes a tremendous amount of stress for me. That kind of stress will just wear a body out; but, it still sounds kind of wimpy to say that I’m suffering from exhaustion, doesn’t it? Makes me sound like some silly Victorian female suffering a fit of the vapors on my reclining couch. But, if I’m suffering from adrenal fatigue, well, that’s a whole different kettle of fish, isn’t it? It’s not that I can’t handle the stress, it’s that my adrenal glands are letting me down. Damn the luck! Wimpy glands.
Okaaaaaaay.
Here’s what I found most amusing about the condition – its prescribed treatment: get plenty of sleep, drink plenty of water, exercise regularly, and eat a balanced diet including lots of fruits and vegetables. That’s really the prescription for everything, I think: obesity, arthritis, high blood pressure, and, now of course, adrenal fatigue.
It’s hardly earth-shattering. It’s hardly revolutionary. It’s what our grandparents knew and what we also know, if we’re honest with ourselves. It’s just that simple.
And it’s just that hard.
In our stressful, fast-paced world, we want an immediate solution. We want a pill. We want someone else to do the work for us. We want an overnight miracle. But, it just doesn’t work that way. We have to prepare our meals. We have to make healthier choices. We have to do the work and take care of ourselves.
And I, for one, have got to get started right this very minute.
Where Did My Wagon Go?
Take a look at the picture above. Look closely. See me anywhere? C’mon! Really look!
Nope. I’m not there on account of: 1. I’m old, but I’m not that old, and 2. I fell off that wagon several miles back, honey! All kinds of falling off the wagon been going on here.
As you know, last week was just a hideous one and I fell off the healthful eating wagon. I ate a lot of garbage during the week and managed to mess up the healthful choices I made by either eating too much of them or eating them with a dressing or cheese that negated the good the nutritious foods were doing me. If I were an alcoholic, I’d have been in the gutter. I binged in the same way, particularly when I realized that it was time to let Trey go.
A few times I caught myself eating things that didn’t even taste good to me and, in fact, kind of made me feel sick to my stomach. But, I continued eating them, anyway. It was almost as if I was using the food to punish myself in some way for not being able to help my old friend. I remember doing something similar when I would quit smoking, but fall off the wagon and have one. Often, I would then smoke so much that I would literally make myself sick – give myself nicotine poisoning – to punish myself for failing. (Am I the only one who does this? I’m pretty sure I’m not; but, if I am, don’t tell me, okay?)
This morning, I’m paying for that. I feel awful. I feel like I’ve got the chips and salsa sweats. My whole system feels clogged. My sinuses are wrecked and I don’t know if that’s from two weeks of sobbing, emerging airborne allergens, or food allergens. Maybe it’s a little of all three. Whatever the cause, I’ve worked up a roaring case of vertigo. Yep, I ate a bunch of garbage and now I feel like it.
As I’ve shared with you before, I believe very strongly that it is crucial that we allow ourselves to feel our grief and to work through it. Although there are varying opinions on the number of stages of grief, most agree that there are at least five: 1. denial and isolation, 2. anger, 3. bargaining, 4. depression, and 5. acceptance. Gorging like Henry VIII is part of my stages one through four. Making myself sick is actually part of stage three for me. Although progression through the stages is never smooth or one-way, I am moving closer to acceptance. In acceptance, there is the continuation of the life that does go on.
So, for that life, today I will buy new walking shoes, then Ellie and I will go for our first walk without Trey. Where we all once walked several times a week, we haven’t walked in many months because of my work schedule and Trey’s hips. It’s time for us to start that part of our lives again. It will be sad for me and if you see me walking at the park, I’ll likely be crying; but, life does go on and we – and our wagons – go on with it.
My wagon is my will and it’s been with me the whole time. While I didn’t ride it or use it, it never left me. Now, as I choose to adjust to a new normal without one of my fuzzy children, I’ll climb back in that wagon and ride it awhile.
The Daily Doty 