Set Free

100 Miles Per Hour

In January, I went to see my doctor to check in on my "Don't Let's Call It a Diet" progress. I told her I feared the possibility of reaching a mental plateau and felt it would be a good time to make some sort of change in the program. I wanted to join a gym, but I also wanted to continue my commitment to doing this process in a healthy and non-injurious way. You see, I have a tendency to go 100 miles per hour at everything in my life, and I have a history of injuring myself, and injury tends to tank an exercise program, and you get the picture, I'm sure.

My doctor recommended a highly-supervised gym at which I was likely to find myself one of the youngest participants. After a few weeks of failed attempts to fax the doctor's permission form, I finally went in for an evaluation January 31st. For several weeks, I followed the slow-moving progression of the weight-lifting program. It coincided with a frustrating weight loss plateau, but I reminded myself that I was in it for the long haul, a life change, not a race. No need to go 100 miles per hour, right?

Then came a week in which several things happened to coincide. We had two big snowstorms, and I had to do all the shoveling since Pure Luck was away. The snow was very heavy, and we got rain at the end of the storms, making the snow wetter and heavier. Next, Molly hurt her shoulder running in the snow and needed lifting into and out of the car. She weighs 95 pounds. That's a lot of dog. Finally, feeling heroic and immortal, I pushed myself at weight-lifting.

You can hear what's coming, can't you?

I hurt myself. It's hard to say whether any one of these situations was the culprit; it may have been a combination. It probably was. I didn't have a choice about lifting Molly, nor about shoveling the snow (and I did take help where I could get it), but I did have a choice about the weight-lifting and must admit I hurried myself unnecessarily.

So, for the past five weeks, I've been suffering a range of symptoms starting with back strain/pain and quickly involving numbness, tingling and at times, pain, in my arms and hands. During the Big Event Cruise, I added hand and wrist edema to the bouquet of symptoms. That swelling, which I hoped was related to the heat, has not diminished since I returned home. I guess I'll be going back to the doctor. I have to wonder if going to a chiropractor (one of the doctor's suggestions, in addition to massage and seeing an osteopath) was not the best idea.

For the moment, I have limited strength in my hands and wrists. Knitting is out. The gym is out. And I have an overall feeling of having pulled myself too hard, the shock of recognition that the 46-year-old body is not as strong as the 46-year-old spirit. And perhaps the spirit needs a break, too, needs to not go 100 miles per hour, needs to relinquish the attempt to be as perfect as possible at work, at life, at motherhood, at discipleship, at all the things that feel most important.

And I just hate that. It's hard to let go of the idea that I need to continually prove myself. When I played the Six Word Autobiography meme in other people's comments, I found myself writing something like "Proving I Am Not a Mistake." I do know this goes back on some levels to my history as an adopted child, but it has become a habit of mind.

It's much harder to break free of our own mental constructions than to break free of circumstantial constrictions.

I have tried to do it by getting that running start, by going 100 miles per hour, but right now I think it may be time to sit still and do nothing, to simply sit still and be.

Abstain or Moderate?

It's been on my mind since last summer. There seem to be two roads to weight loss, two philosophies among the programs that generally seem to work for people: abstinence and moderation.

I grew up in a political household, and I often heard my father labeled as a "moderate." I'm not sure what this meant to the people who called him that. I'm guessing he was really pretty liberal for his time and place, but people who liked him wanted to call him something less frightening to those at the other end of the scale. To me, being moderate came to mean being someone who did not jump to conclusions based on other people's opinions; it meant being someone who considered all the ramifications and came to a sound decision.

This was based totally on my dad, so I had no idea whether it had any basis in political reality.

It occurs to me that I might want to look up "moderate" in the dictionary, since that was so often my dad's advice. Here goes:

1 a: avoiding extremes of behavior or expression : observing reasonable limits <a moderate drinker> b: calm,   temperate
2 a: tending toward the mean or average amount or dimension b: having average or less than average quality : mediocre
3: professing or characterized by political or social beliefs that are not extreme
4: limited in scope or effect
5: not expensive : reasonable or low in price
6of a color : of medium lightness and medium chroma

You all know I've been using Weight Watchers as my food guideline and support system since late last June, and it's clearly a program that promotes moderation, as in #1a. (It's also #5 compared to many weight loss programs.) If you pay attention, you learn portion control. And if you listen to the leaders I'm hearing, you get encouragement to figure out ways to still have the things you love, but to learn to limit them appropriately, whether that means having that Dairy Queen Blizzard once a summer instead of every day, or rewriting your favorite recipes to make them fit, or even recognizing that there is some other way to get the effect that food had on you.

Because, seriously, food has an effect on us. As Pure Luck suggested, I'm a different person when I've had a little chocolate. Some people struggle with salty snack desires, but I am more inclined toward sweets. Not that I wouldn't have eaten your corn chips, mind you. But once I saw how many "points" they cost and compared them to other things I would rather have, they ceased to be tempting.

Ah, temptation. What's your tipple? I love baked goods. I love chocolate. I've considered certain kinds of candy to be my best friend at difficult passages of my life; wrap chocolate around caramel, and you have a bar of dangerous bliss.

A moderation-based plan allows for those blissful moments. I enjoyed some Fun Size Milky Ways back around Halloween. I calculated the points, and I did not go crazy, and I did enjoy them. If I had eaten more, I probably wouldn't have felt too great. The trick, I guess, is knowing what that limit is not just in terms of points in a calculator or words on paper, but in how you feel inside.

I'm not much of a drinker. I think I can count on two fingers the number of times in my life I've had more than two drinks, and even two drinks is not more than a once a year occasion.  I didn't drink at all for many years when my children were young, and I didn't miss it. I know what one drink feels like, and I know that halfway through a second drink is a point of silly gleefulness, and at the end of the second drink is a crash through the floor into an uncensored attitude toward the world, which is all very amusing if you are my husband and already planning to drive home, but not so great if you wake up the next day and think, "I wish I hadn't eaten so much dinner" or 'Why did I think *that* was a smart thing to say?"

I have it figured out where alcohol is concerned. What I want to know is whether I can get to that place with sweets. Because at the moment, although I am all over the portion control, I find myself terrified by the thought of abstinence from sweets, even for one day.

I've been going along telling myself it's okay, that as long as I don't go down the road of a binge, or even if I recover well from bad eating and pull it back together. But my resistance to living without sugar worries me, especially the adamant nature of my thoughts when I wonder about being abstinent rather than moderate.

Abstinence, by its very nature, is extreme, right?

I decided to look this one up, too.

1: voluntary forbearance especially from indulgence of an appetite or craving or from eating some foods
2 a: habitual abstaining from intoxicating beverages b: abstention from sexual intercourse

Voluntary forbearance: it doesn't sound so extreme when you put it that way. It sounds like a discipline.

It's not the big piece of cheesecake or the Christmas desserts or even the Thanksgiving pie that worries me. I think my days for regularly eating big desserts are most likely behind me. It's the daily desire for "a little smackerel," as Pooh would put it. Moderation would say, "Have those little smackerels, dear, just know what they are and how they fit into the overall day." Abstinence would say, "Learn to live without them, dear. You don't really need them."

The underlying metaphorical question is this: what am I trying to sweeten? Myself? My experience of the world? My busy schedule? Or is it so habitual that the root desire is indefinable or even irrelevant?

The Shape of Things

  Self Portrait 022208 
  Originally uploaded by revsongbird.

I'm trying to get to know my new face and body. It's rather like learning the landscape of a new person in your life. I remember looking endlessly at the faces of my babies, memorizing every square inch, noting which way the cowlicks spun on their little heads, what sort of flecks of gold were in brown eyes, and could they be called hazel, really?

I used to think of my face as round, but what I meant, I suppose, was fat. I thought that even when I was not fat. I've told the story before about looking at my high school yearbook, at an informal photo of a group of girls standing next to a car in the school parking lot. I recognized Anne and Pam, but I couldn't place the girl standing with them. Who was that skinny thing?

(Um. Oh. That would be me.)

When I met my birth mother, I couldn't see any resemblance between us, but when, a few years later, I did Weight Watchers and got down to the lowest weight of my adult life, I began to see the similarities in our faces.

Two of my children resemble me strongly, but I have a harder time seeing similarities with Snowman. He has his father's blue eyes, amazingly. (How is that possible? Perhaps Bill Nye the Science Guy will answer.) But in taking these pictures I discovered that, like him, I sometimes smile with only half my mouth.

As I lose weight (and I want to let you know I broke through the plateau and lost almost 5 pounds this week, I'm sure attributable to some sort of metabolism "reset" that comes from the new weight-lifting regimen), I am trying to see myself in fresh ways. I'm looking at the progress I'm making not as a crisis response to a life emergency but as a change in how I approach the world. I'm learning to love new tastes and hoping to love myself.

Parts of me feel hardier than others, and parts of me show the use of childbearing and the strain of expanding and contracting. I'm trying to know those parts the way I didn't know the girl in the parking lot. I'm trying to love the shape of things, the shape of me.

Higher Ground

I’m pressing on the upward way,
New heights I’m gaining every day;
Still praying as I’m onward bound,
“Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”

Lord, lift me up and let me stand,
By faith, on Heaven’s table land,
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.

I've been inhabiting, a little grumpily, a plateau for the past few weeks. It was predictable, I guess. In every journey there are course corrections, right? But as I see in the near distance such marks as the number that will get me my 50 pound Weight Watchers prize (a little disk to add to my WW keychain), or the possibility of actually weighing what it says on my driver's license, I am eager to move on to the next phase and take little consolation in being a full 50 pounds lighter than I weighed at the doctor's office last summer, in finding my new size 14 jeans are already a bit loose, in laughing at the enormity of the pair of size 20 jeans I saved as a reminder and knowing I wouldn't have been able to wear them last June, because I am determined, and not moving forward contains the risk that I will feel I'm failing, and in my life, that fear of failing has usually contained the temptation to stop altogether.

My heart has no desire to stay
Where doubts arise and fears dismay;
Though some may dwell where those abound,
My prayer, my aim, is higher ground.

The good news is that those sorts of thoughts, of quitting, or of being overly impatient with myself, have not come into play.

But that doesn't mean it's not disappointing when I've been both active and scrupulous about tracking and pretty darn good with my food choices to see the scale go from .6 down to .8 up to .4 down, for a net loss of .2 in the past few weeks.

I know these circumstances would have driven me half-mad in the past.

I want to live above the world,
Though Satan’s darts at me are hurled;
For faith has caught the joyful sound,
The song of saints on higher ground.

So I remind myself of the loose jeans. And I remind myself of the wedding and engagement rings now so loose that my Valentine gave me a sterling band to wear until it's the right time to have them resized, and I remind myself that my blood pressure has gone from 148 over 98 to 98 over 60, and I keep doing the same things I've been doing. I go to a meeting and listen to my leader, Old and New Friend as she sings a song of the weight loss saints, and I come away encouraged.

I strive to be noble about the whole thing. The weight loss will come again. It must, right?

My mantra has been "Building muscle will surely lead to burning fat and losing pounds." I know already I'm changing in inches, from the way my clothes fit better or don't fit anymore.

I remember that when I despaired of having success in my husband's absence last fall, a classmate at WW said, "Would it be the worst thing in the world just to maintain while he's gone?" I hated having to say it would not be the worst thing. I like to win, you see. I like to be the best at everything. So much of this process has been about letting go of that "I win or I quit" brand of perfectionism that has haunted me all my life.

I want to scale the utmost height
And catch a gleam of glory bright;
But still I’ll pray till Heav’n I’ve found,
“Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”

Lord, lift me up and let me stand,
By faith, on Heaven’s table land,
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.

I'm striving to be conscious. And it strikes me that the tableland is a kind of a plateau, a place where you can really stop and look around you, sit and contemplate, get your head together for the next step on the journey. Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.

No Mo Mocha Update

As regular readers will recall, I decided in a moment of nearly incapacitating insanity to give up mochas for Lent.

So, it has been 8 days now, and I have both remembered the dispensation for Sundays, complete with a visual memory of Ruby with what must have been a giant bottle of Pepsi back in our high school days, and gotten back on the horse promptly the next day. And, no, I did not consume two liters of mocha on Sunday. And yes, it tasted really good. And yes, I do believe it had mood-altering effects, although I'm not sure it was responsible for my sermon being, as my music director put it, "a home run."

But in the meantime, on the weekdays, I have been seeking the appropriate coffee substitutes, because Songbird runs on coffee of whatever kind. I've been measuring half-and-half into my little Oxo measuring cup. I can live with 2 tablespoons in a cup of coffee and feel pretty darned satisfied (1 point, in case you're counting).  But the beauty of the mocha, or any latte, is that in the nonfat milk form it helps fulfill the daily requirement for milk or other dairy that is part of the Weight Watchers program, and it's really pushing it to count half-and-half in place of your lowfat or nonfat dairy products.

So I returned to my favorite coffee purveyor and amazingly found a new drink I like, although it's not quite the same as the "Grande Nonfat, No-Whip Mocha," the order that spools off the tongue so musically. In the Star$$ the other day with Pure Luck, I ordered my new drink.

"May I please have a Tall Skinny Vanilla Latte?"

It was as if I were hearing it for the first time. I turned to Pure Luck and said, "Yes, it's a Straight White Girl's drink."

He chuckled.

Tall
Skinny
Vanilla

Sigh. I somehow feel I'm capitulating to the patriarchy, but I couldn't exactly say why.

Gifts

It's the cutest thing I've ever seen, a tiny little measuring cup in Tablespoons and ounces and milliliters.

At Weight Watchers this morning, the leader, who was long ago my next-door neighbor stay-at-home-mom pal, and who I hope is a rediscovered friend, showed us all this darling little slanted measuring device, cleverly marked in red for this dangerous Valentine season.

She mentioned that it had x's and o's (the company that makes it is Oxo) and asked what those might stand for? (Yes, Weight Watchers is sometimes like the Children's Message at church, but whatever works. And what she does works.) Hugs and kisses, we answered, and she heard my voice and made eye contact and asked which was which, and I answered, and she put the little cup in my hand and moved on in her talk.

I brought it to her at the end of the meeting, thanking her again for her support when I was having a hard time earlier in the week. She told me to borrow it this week, and we made plans to meet for coffee to renew our friendship. The loan of the cup is a wee gift, and I enjoyed seeing what 2 tablespoons looked like (enough for a cup of coffee, as it turned out), but her return to my life feels like divine intervention, and I am surely grateful.

20 points

I would like to give you a sense of what 20 points looked like on this cold January day.

First, since it was dark out and cold, getting out of bed was less than attractive. I dawdled through getting ready for work and did not fix breakfast here. I left the house with a Fiber One Bar (2 points) and picked up my favorite coffee, a Starbucks Grande Nonfat, No whip Mocha (4 points, 3 of which are required milk points), as well as a bottle of water (24 ounces, which is three of the six cups of water I'm supposed to drink).

It's a big cup of coffee, but I stretch it out across the morning and don't usually finish it until close to lunch time. It is a joke how many times it goes into the microwave for reheating at the office or at home.

In the car, on my long commute, I drink about a third of the coffee, eat the bar, and get through about half the water, which I leave in the car.

Today I came home for lunch, and in the car I ate an apple (1 point) and drank the rest of the water bottle. Once I got here, I had half a can of Progresso Light Vegetable and Noodle Soup (o points, Lord love it), a Weight Watchers bagel (2 points, a much better deal than the average bagel, and they are pretty satisfying) and a tablespoon of cream cheese.

I had a meeting over coffee, and I must confess I had a short nonfat mocha, unusual for me in the afternoon, but there it is. (2 points)

At home while fixing dinner and feeling peckish, I had some microwave popcorn of the 94% Fat Free variety (1 point).

I had planned to cook garden burgers, but there turned out to be only 2 so I had a Weight Watchers frozen meal, Salisbury Steak with Asparagus (4 points) along with a big salad (0 points for the lettuce) with homemade vinaigrette dressing made from 2 teaspoons of olive oil, a teaspoon of red wine vinegar and a smidge of dijon mustard (2 points).

That's 18 points.

After we got back from an event at the school, I had a Weight Watchers Giant Cookies and Cream bar (2 points). The beauty of those is that not only are they only two points, but they are good enough to enjoy without being so good they are a binge trigger.

I'm still working on today's water, which is unusual for 9 p.m. I usually drink it all earlier.

I often worry that too many of my vegetables are lettuce and too many of my fruits are bananas, but today I also had asparagus and an apple. Good for me!

This really felt like just about enough food. I am trying to stick to the 20 points without using weekly or activity points until my week "resets" on Saturday. It feels good to be a little abstemious after the cupcake frenzy of earlier in the week.

We usually go out to dinner on Friday night. There are a couple of places that have items on the menu I enjoy and can actually be sure of the points. One is a chain (Applebee's) and the other is a local place with a menu section for those counting calories. That section was a recent discovery, since I used to order the same thing every time we went there without looking much at the broader menu. They do an open-faced turkey melt with sprouts and tomatoes on one piece of bread, with fat free honey mustard dressing, that comes in at 350 calories. The cheese is really good and worth the points once in a while. They serve it with a mini-salad and steamed broccoli, and it's quite filling. I can have a balsamic vinaigrette (and there i have to estimate the portion) or more of the fat free honey mustard dressing.

This whole thing takes a lot of planning, which is to say it takes a level of consciousness that feels pretty rigorous.  One thing I have realized since coming off the cupcake high/low is that I spent a lot of time unconscious, for many years.

So, one more day of 20 points, and then I can loosen up a little. Thanks again for your support!

Oh, and I stopped at Old Navy today and bought a smaller pair of jeans. :-)

Thank You

Dear friends,

Thank you so much for your comments on yesterday's post. I'm not sure whether it felt riskier to hit publish or not to do so. After many months of managing well, this was the first significant lapse I had experienced. I've spent some time evaluating the "whys" and "wherefores," but what feels more important is to get clear about how to bring a lapse to a halt.
Here are the things I did:

• I told the truth, out loud, to another person, in this case Pure Luck.
• I put into words just how crummy I was feeling about it.
• I recorded the food I had eaten, which was not easy, and I realize now there were things I didn't remember.
• I wrote it down where y'all (and the world or a slice of it) could see, which makes it feel more honest.
• I went to a Weight Watchers meeting even though it was not my usual day.
• I resisted the urge to eat "one more thing since this day is ruined anyway."
• To set myself up for success today, I planned out all my food first thing, and I stuck with it. My weekly points are all used up and then some, now that I remember everything more clearly, so there will be three 20 point days unless I manage to get in some activity (wasn't possible today).

There are so many bright notes about how far I've come to this point, I am motivated to keep it together. But I also can see how dangerous the vicious circle of sweets is, especially when the high-fat, high-sugar items are in the house. I'm not used to having them, and my body reacted like an addict's to the drug of choice. This should come as no surprise. Baked goods were my drug for many, many years. There are definitely times I've had a little piece of something in the past seven months, but always under more controlled circumstances (at an event, for instance, so the food was not in my house).  When I'm with people, it's different. I'm busy interacting.

I want to say that I ordered Julia Cameron's book today, suggested by Katharine, although the chances I'll ever write three morning pages a day by hand are slim given my tendinitis and bad penmanship, but I am interested to read what she has to say.

I also took WideningCircles' advice. I've been telling myself there was no need to buy a new coat since anything I buy now will be too big next winter. This means I've been going around in a non-fitting fleece cape or a way-oversized barn coat, and neither of those does much to reinforce my attitude. So tonight I looked at the Petite coats for sale on the Talbots website and ordered this one.

Thanks again for your words of support. Apparently it takes a village to free a bird.

Yours,
Songbird

Writing It Down

I had a little meltdown on the "Don't Let's Call It a Diet" front that has me looking at how much like a diet it is going to feel from now until the goal is reached. The magic of the Weight Watchers plan is the way the points adjust as your weight decreases. The activity points become worth less because people who weigh less burn fewer calories than people who do the same activity while carrying more pounds. It makes sense. And heavier people need more calories just to meet basic needs. That also makes sense.

Every time a person drops into a lower "decade" of weight, one of the daily food points goes away. The last time this happened, I felt a bit rebellious, but this week, when confronted with the wee number of 20 points per day (around 1000 calories, although this calculation depends on fiber and fat grams, too), I somehow fell off the food-tracking planet and enjoyed several Williamsburg Orange cupcakes made by The Princess and her cousin for a little family gathering the other night. By which I mean I ate one then, but they were still here on Sunday. And Monday. And today. And somehow writing them down felt impossible, and the bad feelings of binge-i-ness overwhelmed me.

"What's the point?" I asked myself, in classic self-defeating style.

Well, what is the point? The point is learning to live in a more healthy, less unconscious fashion, but there I was behaving incredibly unconsciously and launching myself straight into a classic downward spiral.

I guess the good news is it felt uncomfortable, and that led me to confess my sins to Pure Luck while we were out for a walk. He tried to reason with me. God bless him. He tried to reason with me, but I had to finish spewing all my disappointment and shame before I could hear a word he was saying.

I have admittedly been off-kilter due to the diminished exercise opportunities of the past few weeks, really the past month (too cold, too icy, my ear hurts, etc.), some of the reasons legitimate, but some embroidered because it's so easy to fall out of the habit.

That worries me. I would hope that six, almost seven months, of living differently would be at least the foundation of a set of new habits, but apparently it's very easy for me to lose them, very.

I came home from our walk and did a really hard thing: I wrote down all the stuff I ate on Sunday and Monday, as best I could reconstruct it. Let's just say, for those of you who comprehend the WW system, I have only 2 weekly points remaining to last through Friday. But I wrote it all down. I wrote it all down as best I was able.

Is that good enough? For those of us whose version of perfectionism is "perfect" or "self-destruct," it's hard to say it is. But it's all I have for right now.

What's Next?

I went to see the doctor this week, to check in on my blood pressure and get her advice about how to stay with my life change efforts. After a hiatus (planned) from tracking my food points and a hiatus (unplanned) from regular exercise, I need a little help getting my attitude back in order. I did return to tracking on January 1st, and whatever weight I gained while enjoying the Tastes of Christmas is off again, but my enthusiasm for focusing on this process seemed to be about equal to my excitement about exercising outdoors in sleet or rain. A very busy work schedule over the past ten days did not help, nor does my chronic Eustachian tube problem, which is worse in this kind of weather and particularly aggravated by spending time outdoors.

Happily, the visit to the doctor encouraged me in three ways.

First, she is delighted by my overall weight loss. It doesn't matter to her that I merely maintained over Christmas, because being down 20 pounds since the end of September and 45 since the end of June is what matters. That served to remind me that while living a new way on a day to day basis matters, I need to remind myself of the long arc, too.

Second, my blood pressure looks great. (Or so they tell me. I would have liked to see a number lower than 130-something on top, but they were rhapsodic that it was over 70, instead of the 92 we saw in June and the 82 of September.)

Third, when I got on the old-fashioned scale, the nurse first put the bottom line weight at a number that was too low, and that reminded me that I look better than the numbers might suggest I should.

We talked about all that and more. I indicated that I knew I looked good in clothes but felt a heavy awareness of what lay beneath them.

She suggested it was time to join a gym and start doing some work with weights.

There is a special gym at the University of Southern Vacationland, about a four block walk from my house, that caters to the not young and glamorous among us. They do a fitness evaluation, teach you to use all the machines and basically set up a workout plan for you. I belonged to that gym for about six months when The Princess was a baby, and I remember people stopping me and saying, "You look great. Have you been working out?" It's a little pricier than joining one of the chain gyms, but I'm going to try it for three months and try to get there three times a week. I'm waiting for a call back about the date for the evaluation, but it looks like it will be next Friday.

The doctor mentioned what weightlifting would do for my endorphins, and after my last post, I'm sure you would all agree that getting some action in that area would probably not be a bad idea.

Meanwhile, it's cold and rainy out there, and I'm looking forward to the foot soak event in a few hours. It's a good day for remembering the long arc.

Six, Ten, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Seventeen Days

Six--In six days Snowman will come home for Christmas vacation. I am excited to see him, but frantically working on a project that I cannot describe here and afraid to estimate the actual hours it will take versus available waking hours.

Ten--In ten days I drive to Non-Contiguous New England State to retrieve #1 Son for his last Christmas break in college ever. (Slight fainting. Rallying.) The project for him? Not yet begun. Estimated hours, etc., as above.

Thirteen--A busy Sunday. Worship in the morning, big family evening with singing, recitations, the Out-laws, etc. Potential emotional minefield. Trying to prepare.

Fourteen--Christmas Eve. Need I say more? Organizing home and worship at a distance of 35 miles feels like a lot. A lot.

Fifteen--Christmas. Even though my children are older, it troubles me to consider how little I have actually done to prepare for the holiday thus far. I hope it's not too late to shop online.

Seventeen--The day I leave for Mississippi. I am motivated to leave with a sermon in hand, to maximize time spent with my dear hostess, but you can see what lies between this day and that one.

In this year of alternative (which is to say non-food) coping techniques, I am feeling the pinch and the stretch and the overwhelm in a different way.

I am feeling them, instead of numbing them.

It's weird. I hope I'll succeed at it, and I hope I'll forgive myself if I do not.

At the Nature Preserve

We were walking one of the trails at Posh Neighboring Town Nature Preserve this morning, and I saw a place where three roots peeked out through the snow, and I decided to leap over them.

Pure Luck said, "What are you doing?"

"They just needed leaping over," I told him.

If you had told me six months ago that I would ever feel like leaping over anything, well, I would have thought you were a little crazy.

But this morning I happily plodded through mostly unbroken snow on a side trail and ran up hills on better-worn trails and felt absolutely terrific. We rarely get snow in December that doesn't melt away quickly, so the woods and the snow and the dogs and the feeling that I could breathe and rejoice were particularly special. It felt like Christmas in the woods this morning, the Spirit of Creation lively in the bodies of people and animals and trees and streams.

Last Week at the Clergy Retreat

Last Tuesday our new Associate Conference Minister held an Advent Retreat for clergy.

I made art!

And my friend, Tall Country Pastor, took pictures of me. I must admit to being surprised at how I look.

I guess I'm getting somewhere.

(The sweater? Pure Luck's young cousin told me I looked very "now" in it when I wore it on Thanksgiving.)

Let All Things Now Living

I had my Thanksgiving dinner last night.

It was a funny little meal. Pure Luck requested a Festive Holiday Meat Loaf, which I provided and to which he and the boys tucked in with enthusiasm. For The Princess and for me, there was Festive Thanksgiving Turkey Meat Loaf (made with 99% fat free ground turkey and darned if it wasn't good! recipe below). Mashed potatoes, delicious Rosemary bread, a big salad and a store-bought apple pie finished off the menu.

But the most important ingredient was the company. I relished sitting around the table with my three children, who are so grown-up now, wondering if #1 Son will be with us next year (who knows where he might be living or what he might be doing?), marveling at how together Snowman seems, and enjoying the way The Princess holds up her end of the conversation now, pausing when the boys tease her but then plowing ahead to make her point instead of getting upset and flouncing away as she might have a year or two ago.

This year it's their dad's turn to have them for Thanksgiving, so they are moving about slowly, getting ready to join him this morning.

We've had a breach with a member of the extended family, to which I believe I have alluded, one that brought about the inevitable end to most of our joint celebrations, and I'm beginning to realize that this is better for everyone, though I did not like the way it happened. I came to the hard realization that you can't cling to the old and move on to the new without losing your momentum. Find some aspect of the old that you treasure and carry it along, surely, but do not cling.

I liked having the big family holidays, liked it for my kids, liked it that my former husband's family wanted me around, or seemed to want me. And some of them do. But it makes no sense, more than ten years after a divorce, to continue permitting the other side of the family the power to reject me one more time, whether actively or passively. How much was that dynamic a reflection of my desire to "win" my divorce? To be the best, most beloved ex-wife ever? I'm not sure exactly what I thought I might gain. In this matter my own agenda remains hidden even to me. I can only say, on this particular day in this particular year, that I know the way things are now feels healthier, if painful.

Pure Luck and I will be off to his great-aunt's house, over a river or two and down a long country road. We'll visit his mother's grave. We'll hear some family stories and wonder just how much bigger those young cousins can possibly grow! The relatives will invite him to watch the football game, and he will decline, and they all know this, but they ask anyway, because they are sweet people.

I'm thankful today for my new family, in all its configurations, for a second chance at love, for children who bore up through loss and change and have become reasonably whole human beings, for dogs and cats, for friends nearby and far away, for work I love, for a life partner who accepts my foibles and has enough of his own to keep things interesting.

I'm thankful for love.

Wherever you are today, I hope you are feeling thankful, too.

Festive Thanksgiving Turkey Meat Loaf

1 package 99% fat free ground turkey (about 20 ounces)
1.5 cups fresh whole wheat bread crumbs
1 large egg
1 cup skim milk
1/2 large onion
1 cup raw carrots
2 tsp dry sage (or use fresh if you have it)
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce

Chop the onion and carrots into fine pieces, or process in food processor (I did this and it worked beautifully).

Mix all ingredients well in a large bowl.

Bake in 9X5 loaf pan in 350 degree oven for 1.5 hours.

Cut the meat loaf into 6 pieces, 3 points each. (I kid you not. I used the Weight Watchers online tools to do the calculations.)

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

A Word to the Wise

Just because you earn 23 activity points doesn't mean it's a good idea to use most of them for dinner. Just sayin'.
Logily yours,
Songbird

Imaging a Mother

Last night, my new therapist gave me the following homework:

 

I want you to spend a few minutes before you go to bed at night imagining a mother who loves and accepts you completely. She can take any form you want. And in that form she will cradle you and love you, just as you are.

 

Okay, sounds easy enough. 

Except, no. Not so easy. Absolutely terrifying. I go home, and I look at my allotted points for the day and I begin to tell myself that this would be a great opportunity to use some of my weekly “flex” points, the “splurge account” as some Weight Watchers folks call it. 

And I know in that moment why I want to use those points and how it differs from a planned “splurge” event. I try to get my mind on something else. I don’t succeed. Finally, I eat the little dessert treat that is certainly within the confines of the overall weekly plan, except that it wasn’t part of a plan, it was a reaction to an emotional challenge. And I came home feeling afraid of that challenge and looking for a way to numb the feelings. 

Yes, it’s better to choose something that I can “count” and make room for, but I really don’t want to be using food this way. I really, really don’t. I wasn’t physically hungry. I was emotionally unsettled. 

After eating the little dessert (3 points, so again, not complete craziness by any stretch of the imagination), medicated by even its relatively small amounts of sweetness and fat and chocolate, I decided I wanted to go to bed early. When it was time to do the homework, I blacked out. I wish I were kidding. I’m a person who takes time to fall asleep, but I just went unconscious. When Pure Luck came to bed later, I woke up and tried to do the work then, but again, blackout. 

In a well-lit room, it didn’t seem like such a hard thing to attempt, except that it did, but I knew it shouldn’t be—dig that, it “shouldn’t” be—but I have to admit that it was, it is. 

I’m reading a book about a woman who worked the 12 steps through OA, and I am rebelling against the idea that a person has to eliminate sugar forever, and there are definitely days that I plan on treats—no, really, I plan for them in some small measure every darn day—but there is a difference between planning them and “needing” them as I did last night. Isn’t there? Or maybe there isn’t. Maybe I’m medicating a chronic emotional condition with a low daily does of sweets and only noticing it when there is an acute flare-up. 

This troubles me. I want to believe what is taught at Weight Watchers, that you can learn to live with food in moderation, eating the things you love without going around the bend. Moderation sounds so much kinder and more humane than abstinence. 

But after last night, I am questioning myself. 

And it's all about the mother, or perhaps I should write The Mother, my dysfunctional relationship with the Cosmic Nurturer and the earthly ones, too. In my mind, I sense a glimpse of what that Mother might look like, who She might be, but in my body I twist away from the thought and wonder where are the cookies? For I nurtured myself that way, with the cookies and the glass of milk, an escape from real life in the 3rd grade and the 4th, from that time until now, evading the torturers--Shame and Guilt and Fear and Self-Loathing, those Four Musketeers of misery and dissociation, the Knights of the Blackout, the Servants of the Cookie Mother.

I guess I'll try again tonight.

On not buying donuts

I really love a good donut.

There's something so satisfying about their fatty sweetness.

I haven't had one in a long time, and I'm not exactly tempted, but as I get "clean" I am realizing what an important role they played in my life.

My now-retired therapist, in a conversation about moderation, said to me, "The problem isn't one donut, it's six at a time."

Considering that I can count on the fingers of one finger the only time I ever ate six donuts at a sitting, I knew that while she meant well and might be right in theory, for me she was wrong in practice. I am five feet tall, and little people such as myself simply cannot afford much in the way of donut frequency.

And I believe, looking back on my life over the past few years, that I was fueling myself on donuts. On the way to work, in too much of a hurry to fix breakfast first? Pick up coffee and a glazed stick (which once was known as a glazed cruller) at Dunkin' Donuts.  Feeling fretful on a Tuesday afternoon or uninspired when it's time to settle down to the sermon on Saturday morning? Swing by Tony's and pick up some molasses glazed. Coming home late after a meeting, with a long ride ahead and no dinner in the tummy? Hit the drive-thru for some mind-altering comfort food.

It's not that I can never have such a thing again. After all, armed with the so-called "nutritional" information, I can determine the Points in a donut and eat it and stay on program.

A glazed stick has 8. I get 22 points per day. Just sayin'. It's a lot of points. Could it possibly be worth it? I've spent 6 on a Chocolate Chip Muffie at Panera. I've done it more than once. Maybe thrice. But I doubt I'll do it again. It just wasn't worth it in terms of fullness.

Because it's all about the fullness, I realize. A full enough stomach helps a person forget who they are missing or what they are lacking or how poorly they are really caring for themselves. The right amount of doughy heat in the belly grounds the anxious person like weights on a hot air balloon.

Except that it doesn't, really.

I still have those times when meals have been postponed by work, when I'm missing my husband, when the sermon awaits, when the daughter disputes my value as a human being, when the world seems impossibly cruel and my belly feels utterly empty. I've learned to make other choices, and by that I don't mean carrot sticks. I've figured out substitutes that take off the edge without derailing the changes I am making in my life.

I wish I could simply never feel any of those things again, that the big bed upstairs didn't seem so empty and that soft words might be spoken rather than typed in a little box. But the solution is not to be impervious. The solution is to be accepting of the feelings, and caring toward myself. And I haven't had a day in the last four months when the answer appeared to be a donut.

New Shoes

  No Shoes for Molly 
  Originally uploaded by revsongbird.

I have a new pair of shoes. Molly doesn't understand why I want to cover my feet, although she thinks the little pom-poms look delicious.

The Princess thought these shoes were pretty ridiculous. I ordered three pairs of flats from Old Navy and offered a pair to her, since we wear the same size. She was relieved to learn this was not the pair I had in mind.

She doesn't understand red shoes that look like a cable sweater.

That's okay.

I've been buying new shoes because, as the "Don't Let's Call It a Diet" life change proceeds, I am shrinking into new sizes of clothes but don't want to spend too much on any one size along the way. Yet one must have clothes and one must celebrate achievements.  I've lost over 30 pounds since going to Weight Watchers on June 30th (a little more from the number I weighed at the doctor on June 26th). I have two new pairs of jeans both two sizes smaller than the jeans I would not have dared put on my body in late June.

And I have some new shoes. A few pairs. Um, okay, perhaps "several" would be a more accurate description.

This time last year I wore clunky shoes. My feet hurt, I didn't want to think about what impact my shoes had on my outfit or how I looked in my clothes. In fact, I mostly wanted to ignore my body and attend to what I considered to be "higher" things.

I used to joke about my father that he could not manage practical matters because he was "too busy thinking great thoughts." As much as I loved and admired my daddy, and as much as I love him still, ten years after his death, and as much as I value becoming more like him in some ways, that is not the one.

I feel myself, gradually, becoming more grounded. I like it. Oh, there are still plenty of tricky situations to negotiate, mostly the interactions with MYSELF! I'm having no trouble kindly saying "no thank you" to more corn chowder at a church function. The folks at church have been affirming and supportive as they watch me, as one said last Sunday, "melt away."

Their transition year has become my transformation year.

How am I doing it?

I'm following the Weight Watchers Flex Plan, learning to comprehend portion sizes and finding that it's possible to eat the foods I love in appropriate amounts at appropriate times, with some trade-offs. I've learned to do without half-and-half, not because I can't have it, but because I've decided I would rather use my "points" for other things.

I budget in some sort of treat every day, sometimes two.

I have managed to keep up with activity while Pure Luck has been away, even if it's not as regular or as extensive as it was when he had me out walking nearly every day.

I have practiced patience with myself and my middle-aged body and have therefore avoided any lasting injuries. When my knee hurt on the Health Rider, I changed up my exercise for a while, and when I went back to it I adopted a more moderate pace. I've done the same thing with the elliptical, keeping the resistance at the lowest level so I don't throw out my sacro-ileac the way I did last year.

I've turned to friends for support, and I hope I've let them know how grateful I am for it.

I've pondered the challenges of moderation.

I still have a ways to go. It's been a long time since I was the size I am today, and it feels good, and it is hard to picture what I will be like when I reach the neighborhood of my goal weight. I have figured out where to buy clothes that are proportioned correctly for me, and that is great both for my appearance and my morale.

Last night I dressed for an event at church in a new pair of flats, my new jeans from Lane Bryant and a silk sweater from Talbot's Woman Petites department. The Princess said, "I've never seen you look this good! You're beautiful!!"

That was great for my morale, too. Even if she doesn't like my new red shoes.

The Challenges of a Long Day

This week I dropped a nice little chunk of weight, to my pleased surprise, and that also meant adjusting to fewer daily points in Weight Watchers Flex Plan. Now, there are additional Weekly points and you can earn more points for activity, but the daily points are the baseline. I tend to eat the Activity points I earn (you have to use them on the same day), but try to steer clear of using too many of the 35 weekly points (which you may use in whatever quantity on whichever day). I'm not sure about the math/science portion of this transaction. Should I be eating those weekly points spread out evenly? Not sure.

Today was a very long day. I left the house at 8:10 and worked pretty much straight through to 8:45 this evening, then drove home, arriving at 9:30. I did come home and eat a lunch that had both a hot component and a decent-sized salad. I then packed peanut butter and jelly on a bagel to take with me, knowing (1) I had gotten my five fruit and vegetable servings already, and  (2) I would be in the car a lot in the late afternoon and a bagel would be easy to eat on the road.

Now, at 9:30, this road-weary bird with a minor lingering headache could certainly have been at risk of making unwise choices. I had already used my daily points and .5 of a weekly point. What could I eat that would be satisfying and binge-proof and light on points? My day already included a chewy granola bar and a 100 calories packet of itty bitty graham crisps. It didn't seem like even a 2 point sweet item would be a great idea, though that is where the mind runs at a late hour on a tiring day.

Then I remembered them.

In what we like to call our Zans for Cans, I had two cans of Progresso Light Italian-Style Vegetable soup. I'm not a huge fan of canned soup, but this one, if you stick to one serving, counts as 0 points.

0  POINTS?

Yes, it's true. The soup is fat free and high enough in fiber (that's the formula they're using to calculate the points) to count as 0, if you stick to one serving (one cup, in this case). Also, it turns out it tastes good.

So, my late night snackage:
1 cup Progresso Light Italian-Style Vegetable Soup            0 points
5 cups 94% Fat Free Microwave Popcorn                                        1 point

Favorite Moments of the Morning

1) I said these words: "I twisted and turned, I pondered and puzzled, and I asked for advice I did not take."

There seemed to be no reaction to this, and I prepared to move on, until someone laughed out loud and a ripple of appreciative laughter spread throughout the congregation.

2) As I stood shaking hands, someone asked, "Has anyone ever told you you're good fertilizer?"

3) At coffee, she made sure I knew it was a compliment.

4) I noticed my brand new pantyhose are bagging at the ankles and realized the problem: the size is too big!

How was your Sunday morning?

Losses

Molly is quite lame at the moment. She does not want to get up and walk around. I had a hard time getting her to go out in the backyard this morning, and an even harder time getting her back inside. This was true last night as well. She stayed in her cool spot under the forsythia until late in the evening.

When Molly was a puppy, about 9 months old, she was diagnosed with bilateral hip and elbow dysplasia. At that early age, she already had arthritis in both elbows and one hip. We took her to Tufts' Vet hospital for a Triple Pelvic Osteotomy (to shore up the better, non-arthritic but also dysplastic, hip), followed three months later by arthroscopy on both elbows. She really had a great recovery and four excellent years following the surgery.

But this is not the first time since she turned 5 last February that we are seeing more lameness. She takes Metacam, a Non Steroidal Anti-inflammatory (NSAID) each day as well as Dasuquin, a chewable form of Glucosamine and Chondroitin intended for dogs.

Every time I see her laming around, and particularly when I see her walking with one paw in the air, as has been going on this past week, I wonder how much longer we can keep things together. There are some other options, I learned last time: pain-killers that are in fact narcotics, which I hate to start using with a 5-year-old dog, or perhaps trying acupuncture, which is practiced by one of the vets formerly affiliated with the vet we use.

I'm feeling guilty because I don't know if this lameness is due simply to aggravation of arthritis or an actual injury. I wish I had taken her in to be checked last week. But these things usually pass with her.

I find the idea of losing her absolutely terrifying, in part because I feel it's so likely that her eventual end will be euthanasia. (In fact, I dread it so much that I left this sentence out and had to come back to type it.)

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of my father's death. October 8, 1997, was a day I had been dreading as it was the first occurrence of my wedding anniversary after my divorce. I woke up feeling a little sorry for myself, planning a morning of moping and a little studying of Church History while my children were at school and preschool. My father, far away in Virginia, woke up that morning and felt unwell, tried to reach his lady friend to take him to the hospital and couldn't, so called 911. They delivered him to a hospital that could not respond to his aneurysm. He could not be transported because the journey to the proper hospital included a tunnel, and they could not get him stable enough for the ambulance ride. I never got to talk to him, to tell him I loved him, to see him and touch him and be present for him.

And although I was saddened, I was not surprised. From the time my mother died, four years earlier, I had a sense that I would not have the same opportunity to be with my father when his life ended. Like our Old Man Cat, he did his best to hide his ailments, something my mother could not do as metastatic melanoma ran its course.

At the same time I'm working so hard to lose weight, I am aware that I am holding on tight to other things, creating a mental climate of containment, and the two are in obvious conflict. I'm strategizing, or trying to, when it feels "safe" to grieve for the Old Man Cat. I'm learning to live with just one other person for the first time in 21 years, and it's a major shift even if a temporary one. I'm pondering a very different way of being in ministry than I imagined five years ago or even one year ago. I'm sorting through both the outer and the inner closets, deciding what to give away, what doesn't fit anymore, what fits but does not flatter, what is marred beyond repair and ready to be discarded, once and for all.

Some of that feels like loss, and it makes me a little anxious about holding on to the things, the roles and the relationships I know belong in my life, but over which I do not have complete control. You may, for instance, strive to be a different sort of mother than you believe your mother was, but some other configuration of temperaments and interests and life circumstances may lead to similar feelings of distance or aggravation or dissatisfaction. You may understand yourself to be in love with a person who ceases to love you. You may love a dog or a cat, knowing full well that they will not outlive you, and still find yourself shocked when the possible becomes reality.

When I lost a baby in 1992, a loss complicated by my feelings of anger with God and a mixture of relief and guilt about the decision to end the pregnancy in the face of a bad prenatal diagnosis, I found it nearly impossible to grieve. It was so much easier to find a place in my mind to put the feelings, and to close the door on them. I'll get back to these later, I told myself. I'll go to the beach and sit on the rocks and look at the ocean and cry then. But I never did that. Instead I began to draw tighter and tighter boundaries around what I designated as "safe" territory, the places where my feelings were not too frightening and too powerful and too potentially destructive to allow myself to feel.

I'm trying to make room for those feelings, but I must admit I am still a bit cautious, still inclined to set them aside the way you might a bill you can't afford to pay this week and put in a "safe place" on the kitchen counter, and then cover with a magazine or a book or a box of dog treats.

A Note about Dinner

Sometimes the real cheddar is worth the 3 points.

I'm just sayin'.

Check Engine, Redux

Some months ago I wrote about the Check Engine light on my car, and at the end of June I finally followed through and went to the doctor.

It has been fairly obvious that my efforts since then have been successful on the weight front, but today was the time to re-check my blood pressure. It had risen to 148 over 92, and that was the major caution raised by the doctor in June.

Today it was 132 over 82.

I can't tell you how relieved I was.

We talked at length about the ways I've been taking better care of myself: going to Weight Watchers, making time for exercise, deliberately slowing down wherever possible. The doctor indicated that the weight range given by Weight Watchers was a little lower than hers and gave me a range to show them as being acceptable to her. It gives me a goal that actually feels reachable and maintainable, since I remember being in that range for more than five minutes at some point in the past.

She gave me referrals for a new therapist. It's amazing what sort of things come up when you are making big life changes, and I would like to have someone to talk to about them.

Finally, we made an appointment to meet again in early January, to see how things are going.

I think she's a very good doctor, and I will do my best to continue being a very good patient.

Weighing In

Because of my personal and work schedule the past couple of weeks, I haven't been to my usual Weight Watchers meeting, or been able to stay for a class, but this morning I got to one. In the past two and a half weeks, despite travel, saying goodbye to Snowman, no days off, Pure Luck's departure for work and the various losses I've been contemplating, I have also lost more weight. Although I would have liked to be with "my" group to say it, I was happy to share that I had met and passed my 10% goal!!! I got the brass keychain (a prize for hitting 10%).

Also, even though she never met me before this morning, when she saw my eyes well up with tears of joy after the weigh-in, she hugged me. Nice woman!

I've done this by tracking religiously and making activity part of my life most days and drinking my water and working hard on the five fruit/vegetable servings every day.  When I have an emotional day -- and yesterday would be a perfect example -- I eat things that I can count and track, and I move on the next day. I was hungry and a little sad on the way home at midday, for instance, and I stopped at a convenience store where I chose the 4 points worth of Fig Newtons over the many, many other choices that had the potential to feel, if not be, catastrophic.

There is a huge difference in how I feel and look at the 10% mark. I'm now setting some short term goals: another 10%, and an intermediate number that I weighed in the summer of 2001, the least I have weighed in the past 10 years. I've determined a reward for reaching that 2001 weight (new lingerie!), and I would imagine by the time I reach the next 10% it will be time for some new clothes.

Meanwhile, as soon as fall really hits, I'll be wearing things I bought five years ago that have been tight and way-too-tight pretty much ever since I started working in parish ministry and stopped taking care of myself. Some of the clothes are loose now, while others will actually fit and look good for a while.

This 10% celebration will be a pedicure! I'm calling to make the appointment now.

Not a Clothes Hanger

At the church yard sale last spring, I came home with one of these for $10. It looked ridiculously easy to use, but as it turns out it's ridiculously hard at first, instead. However, I have conquered it, and am happy to say that I can keep it up for 20 minutes at a time. I've been following that with 10 minutes on the elliptical, for a whopping 5 Activity Points.

Fitting in exercise in Pure Luck's absence will be a challenge. The dogs have been uncooperative the past two afternoons where any sort of energetic walking is concerned. By the time I got home from a church meeting last night, I was too tired to do machines or anything else.

This upset me. I have gotten used to exercising, and I feel sort of icky when I don't, but there is only so much energy in a day, not to mention only so many hours. I typically feel stressed during Pure Luck's work assignments, and I am determined to handle this one better than others in terms of caring for myself.

This afternoon I told him, well, as long as I stick to my food plan, I guess I can make up for the exercise later. I was trying to make myself feel better, and he was supportive.

But...

I fear a slippery slope.

So tonight, after an Open House at Renowned Middle School, I forged ahead. Some show about Grey's Anatomy kept me company. Also something about models. Remind me to bring a DVD to the den next time. TV is depressing.

(This is not my den, by the way. It's somebody's eBay image of the same piece of equipment. For which they want $99. I believe I scored.)

A Solid Pound

Yesterday's back-to-school errands took The Princess and me to various sporting goods stores, looking for a new pair of "Chucks" and some gym pants. We agreed that those places feel like Mars to us. At one I picked up some little barbells, you know, the pretty and colorful ones. I was shocked by how heavy five pounds felt! My first thought was how weak I must be to think so, but my second thought was how strong I have been to carry so many extra five pounds-es on my frame.

I attend a Saturday Weight Watchers meeting, but I don't know if I will be able to get to one on my trip to Land o'Lakes Arts High School, so I scooted to the Weight Watchers Center this morning to at least weigh in. I was pleased to have lost what the WW guy called "a solid pound."

It was June 26th when I had the Come to Jesus moment with my doctor, and June 30th when I joined Weight Watchers. Since then I have laid down 21.4 solid pounds (a little less at Weight Watchers, since I believe a few pounds were shocked off in those first few days!).

I'm thinking about what I will be able to pick up, now that my own weight is lower. Maybe I'll go back to the store and get some pretty barbells--but I'll probably start with two pounds!

Salsa Chicken

Tonight Snowman saw his dad and grandfather for a going away meal, so we had our last family dinner before his departure last night. For the occasion I invented Salsa Chicken, and it was a big enough hit that I want to share it with you.

Ingredients:
4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, halved (3 points for each half breast)
1 jar Newman's Own Black Bean and Corn Medium Salsa (1/4 cup has 0 points!)
1 onion, chopped (0 points)
8 tsp. olive oil (optional if you want to use Pam, but I wanted a healthy oil serving with this, 1 point per teaspoon)

Sauté onion in the olive oil over medium heat in a large frying pan until wilted (or charred on the edges, in my case). Add chicken breast halves and brown lightly on both sides.

Pour salsa over chicken breasts and simmer on medium-low until chicken is cooked through.

The sauce thickened as it cooked and it worked really well in a tortilla. I bought white corn tortillas (small) that were 1 point each, and I enjoyed eating two filled with my portion of chicken (1/2 breast and about 1/4 cup of the sauce), for a total of 6 points. The whole family enjoyed this meal, and I had to go back to the kitchen and warm up more tortillas!

My family continues to be supportive of my efforts at activity and food-planning, and I am grateful to them. In ten days we'll enter a six week Girls Only Zone, as Pure Luck heads off to work, and I'll be interested to see how much cooking goes on versus how much sushi we pick up at the store!

Reduced Fat

The joke was on me this morning. I measured out my Fiber One and cut up my half banana, then discovered the only milk in the house to pour over it was 2%. All the skim milk was gone. #1 Son is a big milk-drinker. All we had left was the milk intended to put a little weight back on our skinny Snowman before he leaves for Land o' Lakes (doctor's orders).

So here was my breakfast tracker:

1/2 cup Fiber One cereal -- 0 points (which seems ridiculous, but that's how they calculate those high fiber foods; tastes a bit like twigs)
1/2 large banana -- 1 point
1/2 cup 2 % "reduced" fat milk -- 1.5 points!!! AARGH!!!!!! (Skim would have been .5)

2% milk tasted roughly equivalent to the combination of skim milk and half-and-half I have used so many times as a comfort measure. I ate it, but I didn't like it.

Hey, I didn't like it!!!

(Thank you for your suggestions on last night's post. I'm going to respond to them when I get back from a walk.)

Comfort Food

It occurs to me that if you grow up watching your mother break up a whole package of graham crackers into a bowl and pour milk over them as a reaction to stress, it's no surprise that your own comfort measures involve sweet, milky food.

I've wondered sometimes if I might have been fed too much as a baby, chubby babies being an okay thing, or if one overlong wait for the satisfaction of a bottle might have set a vicious circle in motion.

One thing I know without a doubt is that bowls of sweet cereal with milk have been a self-comforter in my life since I was a child. Loneliness or a fear of abandonment or a general feeling of not being nurtured seem to be the key emotions raising this desire in me. I could tell stories of a refrigerator that had only skim milk, and a bowl of cereal that didn't seem "rich" enough and the addition of a splash of half-and-half to make it satisfying, but would the story come from 2007 or 1987? Either, or any year in between.

There have to be other ways to self-soothe, but I don't know what they are just yet. This means I am in an uncomfortable zone, experiencing the feelings but not using cereal or whatever else as anesthesia.

Have I mentioned that my 16-year-old is leaving soon for boarding school?

Yeah.

So there have been some late evening or middle of the night moments of dread (vague anxiety or specific morbid fears), and I have been struggling through them, which means feeling miserable until I finally am so tired I go back to sleep. That does not happen quickly.

I will say that Pure Luck gives a good snuggle to a person who is feeling unsettled, but it doesn't seem fair to wake him every time this happens. And his work will take him to the same faraway mitten-shaped state that is home to Land O'Lakes Academy, so this is something I have to learn to cope with myself.

Do you have self-soothing strategies that are healthy? I would love to hear about them.

It's So Much Easier To Do This Now Than Later

It is unusually humid here in City By the Sea, 93% humidity already at  7 o'clock this morning. It's Saturday, and I was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep a bit longer, but I knew if there was going to be a walk, it would be better to walk early in the day. The temperature is still fairly low (mid-70s), but due to reach the high 80s. We put on our shoes and socks and got out the door.

As we started off, I said to Pure Luck, "Please keep reminding me it's easier to do this now than later."

"It's easier to do this now than later," he replied.

As we rounded the corner, I said, "Hey, did you hear that it's easier to do this now than later?"

"I just said that."

We continued on in this fashion, and as sweat broke out much earlier than usual, I amended my remarks: "It's SO much easier to do this now than later."

This is of course true of many things in life we might be inclined to procrastinate. On the terrible occasions, for instance, where life events conspire to put off the writing of a sermon until Saturday evening, I know these words are true. When I discovered a set of flannel sheets, which never received high laundry priority and rested for a long while in the basement, had been used as a substitute litter box, I was reminded again that it's easier to do this now than later. The rescue of the sheets, if possible, will likely involve an expensive gallon or two of Nature's Miracle. Buying new sheets sounds pretty good at the moment. Sometimes later is too late.

What might you be inclined to resist that would be so much easier to do now than later?

Where Did This Day Go?

It was fun to cook dinner last night, and we went on from the yummy beans to an evening playing Carcassone, with everyone being so funny that I had tears running down my cheeks!

Today, on the other hand, I worked 12 hours (not including commute), and I have no impressive dinner recipe to share.

I also earned approximately 1 Activity Point today, for going up and down the stairs at church a bunch of times and breathing to stay alive. Driving the car, sitting in meetings or in people's living rooms, sitting and writing: these are not exactly the world's most aerobic activities.

I would have walked, even late as I got home tonight (9:40), but I drove home in a spectacular electrical storm and pouring rain.

The weight loss part of the journey is coming slowly. I have been warned that the peri-menopausal woman, such as myself, will find it harder. I'm trying not to obsess about it, just working on being conscious and patient. It's not easy, but it's not impossible, either.

It was a really busy day, jammed with close encounters of a deep sort. There were no regularly scheduled meals other than breakfast. I think back to how many of these kinds of days I had, January through June, and I can see why I jammed things into my mouth unconsciously.

The good news is, I didn't do that today. I came home hungry, and ate a later dinner than one might wish, and I certainly didn't manage five fruits and vegetables (more like 3). But I drank my water, and I can count my points, and tomorrow is another day.

Refried Beans

Tonight for dinner we had refried beans and rice, and I went to some trouble to work out the Weight Watchers points for this very satisfying meal. It's one thing to figure out how to make myself a measured portion, but I've been sort of enjoying working out how to cook something for everyone and know what my portion ought to be.

Refried Beans for 5 or so

2 cans (16 oz. each) Fat Free Vegetarian Refried Beans (I used Bearitos)
1/2 jar (8 oz.) chunky Fat Free Salsa (I used Newman's Own Medium All Natural Chunky Salsa)
1 onion, chopped
2 and 1/3 cups frozen corn kernels
7 tsp. (that's 2 tbsps + 1 tsp) oil (the healthy ones re: Weight Watchers; I used olive because we have it, but sunflower would have been great)
Chili powder (to taste)
Garlic powder (to taste)

Saute the onion in the  oil until wilted, then add the frozen corn, seasoning as desired. Add the salsa, then the beans, and heat through.

A scant cup will be 3 points (I know, unreal, isn't it? But beans are chock-a-block with fiber, don't you know.)

Serve over rice (2 points for a half cup).

I offered both regular cheese for skinny teenagers and 50% Cheddar for me (2 tbsps for 1 point)

That's a 6 point dinner, friends.

I had a big salad alongside and used my other teaspoon of healthy oil on that along with a few spritzes of Caesar flavored Salad Spritzer (flavorful in a slightly elusive way).

A Turn in the Weather

It's cool enough that I wanted to close the window here by the kitchen table, where I sit with my laptop and my old man cat and a bowl of little hemispheres of watermelon (1 point).

This morning I went out with a friend and colleague, The Wise Cellist, and I remembered how challenging it is to order breakfast in a restaurant while counting points. That abstemious breakfast of Fiber One (1 point for a half cup), half a banana and a half-cup of skim milk is not usually on the menu.

Now, in the past, I might have said to myself, "Well, it's only once a week, the clergy breakfast group. I'll just have what I want and count the rest of the week." Or I might have planned to count but felt depressed by the total (two poached eggs, English muffin, somewhere in the neighborhood of 8 points including the skim milk in my coffee).

But today something in me seemed to turn just as the humidity and temperature and barometric pressure have this evening. I counted up and went from there. When I had to manage dinner on a small number of points, I fixed a big salad. I did not have to resort to the additional weekly points, although I certainly could have. But I wanted to see if I could do it without them. And I am pleased to have met the challenge successfully.

This is a small moment in the greater scheme of things, but I find hope in this change of attitude toward not only food, but toward myself. I ate pretty freely at camp (there was no way to get the fat free milk or healthy oils that are the lynch-pins of Weight Watchers), but not crazily, and heaven knows, I was far more active than I am on the average sedentary day of ministry. The wild singing after every meal wasn't just good for tiring out the campers! I missed my weigh-in on Saturday, because we weren't back until well after the WW Center closed, but I would say I feel pretty good about how I'm doing. Tonight's walk was two minutes short of counting for 4 activity points, so I am pleased with how well I maintained the fitness I was working on before camp.

For those of you also seeking wellness, how is it going?

Uphill Both Ways

Sometimes it's hard to be content with where you are.

I'm trying to be excited that I earned 5 activity points today, 2 for using an exercise machine that resides in our guest room and 3 for a walk this evening.

But Pure Luck climbed a mountain, and took a walk with me later, too, and his activity points for today, were he calculating them, would be 37.

Somehow I feel like the child whose grandparent walked to and from school uphill both ways.

I'm supposed to be working on the positive self-talk this week, but it's not going very well. I find I am grappling with the disconnect between saying positive things and trying to change everything about my physical life, which suggests the old ways were, in fact, negative. It has been suggested by wise heads in my life, both professional and personal, that I could certainly take pride in the way I have tackled this attempt at turning my life around.

On that note, I can walk up hills that left me winded just last week. They are wee hills in my neighborhood, but they are definite changes in the landscape. I can even walk faster while moving upward. I guess that's an accomplishment.

(You *guess* that's an accomplishment?)

As I said, not very good at this.

How It's Going

I wanted to give you an update as I finish my vacation on the life changes that began when I started walking in May and continued after my doctor encouraged me to make some dietary changes, too.

Physically, I feel much better. I can count as victories:

1. Zipping