Between Reflection and Resolution

I love prime numbers because they are divisible only by 1 and themselves. They are the mathematical equivalent of what I’d like to be: one with myself while living within a diverse and sometimes complicated family, circle of friends, city and world.

I’ve been absent from the blogging world for six weeks, partly because of the demands of school, the holidays and family, and partly because every time I sit down to write, it’s like trying to clear an ice jam with a canoe. Sometimes I have so much to say, but I don’t have the words. Rather than stress, however, I keep in mind this Buddhist saying: “Between the stimulus and our response is the space in which lies our power and freedom.”

I just happen to be living within that space between Christmas and New Year’s, which is, as it is for so many, a week of reflection and resolution. Resolution as in I don’t commit myself to anything profound or unattainable. The only exception was the resolution I made the last week in 2004 to lose weight for the last time. Profound, yes, but it was attainable. Usually I resolve to tweak certain strengths or reach a little beyond my comfort zone. I don’t plan specifics, but I stay mindful to the opportunities to do either or both when they present themselves.

As this prime number year of 2011 comes to a close, I am thinking about the more than a few things that tweaked my strengths and challenged my comfort zone these past 12 months. Here, in my little canoe chipping away at an ice jam, are a few of the biggies:

1.     The aftermath of my brother’s seizure in June. Stepping into someone’s life and making medical, financial and other personal decisions for them because they trust you to do the right thing is daunting, to say the least. Marty is doing better, but his short-term memory is still only about 10 percent. We’ll see what 2012 holds for his recovery, but in the meantime, he’s in good spirits, is independent for the most part, and has never lost his positive outlook. Like he told me, “I can either complain and be angry and make everyone around me miserable, or I can say, ‘This is the way things are right now. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not enamored with my situation. I don’t wake up and say, ‘Yahoo!’, but I am thankful for the fact that things aren’t worse.”

One of the side lessons I learned in all this is the importance of a medical directive and appointing a power of attorney to handle your personal matters just in case. Without that piece of paper naming my other brother and I POA, I shudder to think who would have been “named” to represent Marty’s best interests. I resolve in 2012 to get my paperwork in order. 

 2. The ways I’m learning to MacGyver my way around arthritis. Like John Lennon said, just because you can’t do something the way you’ve always done it doesn’t mean it still can’t be done. Or something like that.

3. Grandbaby Maelie Julianne, born in February. 

 4. Going back to college for a second degree, only this time I have to think with my left brain. This was one of those dreams that found me, but because it tapped into several of my fears (science, math, rejection, heights…campus is on a hill), I didn’t pursue it very hard. But it refused to go away and things fell into place without much help from me, so I figured it was the universe saying, “You asked the question and I’m just giving you the right answer. It might not be what you wanted, Ms. Scardy Cat, and you can live with it or not. It’s your choice.”


5 . The Butler-Freeport trail. You can learn a lot about yourself pedaling your bike alone. 

6. East End Community Ministries and my volunteer work in its food pantry, the soup kitchen and Meals on Wheels. Best. Job. Ever. 

7. Starting down the path of the M word (*eyeroll*). Oh estrogen, how I miss thee! 

 8. Stopping a gain and maintaining between 140-145 pounds. 

9. Accepting my weight.

10. Accepting my weight.

11. Accepting my weight. OK, so that’s on my list of resolutions for 2012.

My little canoe of words will be here in January, chipping away at the ice. I’ve missed you all and our interaction here. I’m glad we chat on Facebook, though. Join us, if you haven’t already.

I’m excited about 2012, and my hope is that it holds promise and hope for you, too. Be a prime number. Take care of yourself. Eat smart, move often and make sure someone has your back if you should fall ill. Or as Garrison Keillor says, “Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”

Happy new year!

Love Is All Around Me. It’s Everywhere I Go.

Last night was like Christmas Eve. I fidgeted all evening like a 5-year-old waiting for Santa, watching the clock move slowly to bedtime. I don’t usually wish time away, but I couldn’t wait to wake up, work out, shower, and drive to Shadyside to meet my friend Debbie at church, a place I’d not been to in years (church in general, that is). And like an extra cherry on a sundae, after church I was meeting another friend in the Strip District for lunch, a friend I haven’t seen in three years. A friend I met 20 years ago when neither of us knew the sorrowful bond that would forever unite us in the Grief Club. More on that later.

I haven’t set an alarm in more than 10 years. If I want to get up at a certain time, I tell myself before I go to bed, “Wake up at ___” and I do. I’ve done this with 100 percent accuracy all these years. Today I woke up at 5:30. I laid wrapped around my body pillow thinking of all the possibilities today held. I’d take communion for the first time in eight years. How would it feel? What would I pray? When I was a regular church goer, especially at my childhood church, I would stay an extra minute at the altar, kneeling, and praying in such synchronicity with God it was like the only time the world made any real sense to me.

I took communion in other non-Lutheran churches where the host and wine were passed around to us in the pews. There was no invitation to the “table” and I’d get distracted by the proper disposal of the little plastic cup rather than sink into prayer the way I did at the altar. (This is not in any way, shape or form a criticism of alternate forms of communion. I believe these kinds of “rituals” that we are introduced to in childhood become what we prefer, and so if those of you who take communion seated in a pew were asked to walk to the altar, I can imagine that would feel kind of weird and disconcerting. Just saying.)

At 6:00, I reached over and opened the top drawer of my nightstand and dug out my iPod. I wanted to listen to Tara Brach’s weekly Buddhist teaching – my “church” the last four years. She talked about right speech and how if we really pay attention to the words we speak and the intention from which they are derived, how revolutionary the changes would be in how we relate to each other. I thought about God and my lack of communication with God via the traditional mode of prayer and what God might think when I stepped up to the altar later and took the host and the wine.

But first, I had to work out (another form of church for me). I rolled out of bed and immediately put on my workout clothes, a habit I’d gotten out of the last several months. When I have my spandex and t-shirt on, it’s like I’m obligated to work out. If I sit around in my PJs first, I make all kinds of ridiculous excuses not to work out. Like the 2-minute transformation from pajamas to workout clothes is a mental climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

I had a little breakfast (a protein pancake ala Joy Bauer, only cut by 1/3) and some leftover steamed broccoli. I did the dishes and then crawled back in bed to read “Eat Pray Love.” (Am I the only woman who hasn’t read this yet?) When the food settled, I went into my spare room, which is equipped with everything a guest needs: a bed, a recumbent bike, bench, weights, and a Duplo Lego set, small bongo drum, tambourine, recorder, color crayons, color books, a Dora the Explorer pop-up book, and a stuffed giraffe.

The workout was great. I sweat. I caught up on my Health magazine reading (I’m up to September). I jumped in the shower; got all clean. Dried off, put product in my hair, put on my makeup, then reached under the sink for the blow dryer and my brush. Only there wasn’t a brush. I’d left it at BF’s.

‘Oh crap.’

I was going to a church I’d never been to, meeting people for the first time, then seeing a friend I hadn’t seen in years…and I had no brush to tame my curly hair? Temporary panic.

Then I felt something I hadn’t felt in…ever. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It was just hair. I’d deal with it. Perfectly quaffed hair wasn’t what I was about today. (In fact, it doesn’t need to be what I’m about any day, but that’s another blog.) I was meeting friends, meeting new people, taking communion, talking to God. What did hair have to do with any of it?

I dried it, straightened it as best I could, threw on some hairspray and looked at myself in the mirror. “Meh…it is what it is.” That’s what my daughter Cassie would say. She’s a much older soul than me. I threw on a dress, some tights and a pair of boots, grabbed my purse and walked out the door, feeling that same Christmas Eve anticipation.

The church – St. Andrew’s Lutheran – is a place Debbie had been to a few times and liked very much. The fact that it was Lutheran (the tradition in which I grew up) was a big bonus. Both pastors (both female) saw us sitting in the almost back row (that’s what Lutherans do) and introduced themselves. Very welcoming.

I was surprised how quickly I recalled the words and the melodies of the liturgy. We even sang “Crown Him With Many Crowns,” a hymn I could sing in my sleep, familiar like a Beatles’ song. And when I went up for communion, it was like sitting for a moment in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by sacred things. I prayed a lot in that room. Some happy prayers, some not so happy. Today’s was a thankful prayer; thankful that I was there even though I was unsure what to pray. I suspect I’ll figure it out in the coming weeks and months. I like St. Andrew’s very much.

After the service, I drove to the Strip to meet my friend Ed. I’d parked on Smallman, which meant I had to pay $5, which I’d forgotten I’d given to St. Andrew’s.

Called Ed.

“Hey, I’m here! Where are you?”

“I’m on 18th.”

“Um…I only have $2 and they want $5 for parking. Can you come find me? I’m near the church.” I knew he’d know what church.

“Sure! I’ll be there in a few.”

I made small talk with the parking attendant. A nice kid, maybe 19 years old. Hell bent on his $3, though. Can’t blame him.

A minute later, I saw Ed across the street, waiting for traffic to clear, and it was like I’d just seen him yesterday.

“Hey!” we said in unison. He kissed me on the cheek and asked how I was before pulling out his wallet. What a gent.

We talked non-stop to Primanti’s, which is NOT a diet/nutrition-friendly place. But when Ed comes to da’burgh, he needs a cheese sandwich piled high with coleslaw and French fries between white bread. Oh wait, they do add a slice of tomato to every sandwich…LOL. I confess I ordered a cheese sandwich, too, sans the coleslaw and fries, with an egg on it. I ate half and it was good, especially dipped in Dijon mustard. Hey, I worked out and I’m human! *grin*

He drank an IC and I drank iced tea and we talked every second. We walked down Penn Ave and I bought roasted edamame at the Macaroni Company. I hesitated buying the one remaining lavish in the Mediterranean market, but strolling the store I decided to buy it, just as a woman dressed in skinny jeans and boots and hanging on to the arm of what I assume was her preppy husband grabbed it and I felt like I’d been rescued from a refined white flour coma.

“Oh no!” said Ed.

“Believe me, it’s for the better,” I told him.

We wandered into a bar and had a few drinks and talked like only we can. Ed’s wife died 15 years ago this week; a woman I am so blessed to have called my friend. Ed and I have long wandered in a trench of grief, all the while reconciling it with our “normal” lives. He gets me. I get him. We are both happy, well-adjusted individuals, but underneath the surface is a commitment to love that we can’t let go of. When someone dies, the love that brought you together doesn’t die. It’s not like divorce. The contract remains in place. Whether it’s a child, a parent, a friend or a spouse. The contract we make with that person from the time we meet is permanent. There are no outs. Not even death can separate the love. But we live with it. We integrate it into our lives.

Ed and I said goodbye a few hours later. He was traveling to the place his wife died to honor and salute her on Tuesday morning at 9:30 a.m., the time of her death. I left, filled with the strength of my late husband’s love, and drove home feeling so blessed (yes, blessed) by the presence of God in so many forms: Debbie, the church, the Eucharist, Ed, our conversation, and the recognition that I am not alone, even when I feel most alone.

Love is…all around me. And my wish is that it surrounds you, too, this Thanksgiving week.

I’m Not All That and a Side of Iron

I thought it was about time I dug my head out of a book to let you know I’m alive and well and up to my ears in quizzes, exams, foods lab, papers, and all kinds of analysis (read: math *cough*). I’ve been exercising my right brain more than my body these last few weeks, but it hasn’t been all work and no play.
There was Gettysburg:

I climbed this tower, despite my fear of heights.

Colton and I climbed Big Round Top where I stopped to climb into one of the stone fortresses lining the mountainside. It was eerie and sad to think about the men who’d fought and died in that space.

The tower and the fortress were spaces I could only have experienced from a tour bus or in books and photos when I was at my heaviest. Every time I add things to my list of things I can do now that I couldn’t do then, I thank and honor the woman who made the decision to lose weight nearly 7 years ago.

Halloween was successful:

Police officer Claire

Pirate Luca

"I don't want to be a monster!" Mae

I consumed only one small roll of Whoppers malted milk balls and one (only one) candy corn, which Claire shared with me after I begged a little.

I’ve also watched three seasons of “Mad Men.” Don Draper is my non-caloric eye candy reward for working so hard in school. Yummy!

I also completed the second part of the 3-day intake analysis assignment I first wrote about October 5 (see “Knowledge is King & Breaking Bad…A Tale of Bread Addiction”).

We were asked to take a look at the complete nutritional picture, not just the energy nutrients (carbs, protein and fats) from the previous assignment. What did I learn? That I need a big serving of vitamin D, with a little iron, fatty acids, and B12 on the side. Oh, and a sprinkle of thiamin and niacin on top. Hold the sodium.

We were to write about where we were lacking and how best to improve our diet without supplementing. I won’t bore you with the report I wrote, but here are the highlights.

My essential fatty acids (Omega-3 and Omega 6) intake fall short of the DRI (daily recommended intake). Because I don’t eat fish (although I did try fish oil tablets a year ago and did not tolerate them), I need to pay closer attention to my consumption of flaxseed and walnuts, and use sunflower, safflower or soybean oils in my cooking.

Thiamin and niacin will get a boost if I eat more pinto beans, soy milk, and tofu, and I can improve my vitamin E intake through an increased intake of seeds and nuts (which will help with the Omega-3 issue, too).

Because of B12s importance in maintaining nerve cells and a whole lot of other things, I need to improve my average daily intake. On the day I recorded a cup of soy milk and a serving of cheese, I exceeded the DRI by a fraction. On the two days I didn’t eat these, my B12 intake was miniscule at best.

My biggest vitamin concern is vitamin D. I am at 27% of the DRI. Given its relationship to calcium and phosphorus in maintaining blood concentrations of these minerals, 27% is clearly not adequate. While I’m sure I get enough vitamin D during the summer because I spend a lot of time outdoors, this isn’t the case now. I need to rethink my egg-whites-only diet mindset and begin to consume more yolks with my morning omelet and look for products that are fortified with vitamin D, particularly in the winter. The only way I can drink cow milk is in a Starbucks latte and I’m not paying for one of those every day. So I bought a container of cottage cheese. I only like cottage cheese as a dip for potato chips (no, I’m not kidding) and on lasagna, but I’ll give it a try by itself. Mixing it with fruit will…trust me…only make it worse for me.

Regarding minerals, I’m pleased with my calcium, magnesium and potassium intake. While the 3-day average had my potassium slightly lower than the DRI, on a broader average, my intake of potassium-rich foods puts me above the DRI most days.

Where I’m lacking is iron. My iron levels have been low most of my adult life, except when I was taking a multivitamin with added iron. I stopped taking supplements a few years ago, and while my doctor hasn’t been too concerned about my lower-than-normal iron levels, it doesn’t mean I should ignore the fact that I consume less than 50% of the DRI for iron every day. According to our text, “Vegetarians need 1.8 times as much iron to make up for the low bioavailability typical of their diets.” Again, increasing my consumption of soy, legumes and seeds would help, but so, too, would cereal such as cream of wheat, a favorite of mine from childhood. I have begun to consume wheat products again on a very minimal level, but I will give the cream of wheat a try a few times a week to see if my levels improve when I see my doctor in early December.

It was an enlightening assignment, to say the least. Not that I’m going to go all hog wild and stress myself out to get it all perfect, but knowledge is power, and I’ve got the power to change a few things to improve my diet. Why not? I might discover I actually like cottage cheese by itself.

The “Old Girls” Reunite

I was six months pregnant and watching the “Price is Right” when Johnny Olson said, “Lisa Hanson, come on down! You’re the next contestant on The Price Is Right!”

‘Hunh,’ I thought. ‘I wonder if that’s Lisa from home room.’

When we graduated the year before, I left the city and married a farmer and Lisa went to design school in California. There are thousands of Lisa Hansons in the country, but the woman running down the aisle to join the other three players was none other than Lisa from homeroom. She even won her way up on stage! She played that fill-in-the-check game and won a grandfather clock.

I laid on the couch and wondered what she’d do with a grandfather clock. She was 19, going to school, and I doubted she lived in a place that could accommodate something so big.

Fast forward 25 years. I'm standing on the “Oprah” stage with 19 other guests and Oprah announces she's giving us our choice of a Life Fitness elliptical, treadmill or home gym. Holy wow, I was excited! I wanted the elliptical, but I thought, ‘Man, that thing is HUGE. What is that? Nine feet long?’ I lived in a small house with three large dogs.

‘Where will I put it?’

I thought about Lisa and the clock and started planning.

‘I’ll put it in the dining room if I have to.’

There was no way I was NOT going to have that elliptical.

It was love at first stride. The two burly men who delivered it and set it up asked me test it and I was hooked, like a first taste of chocolate. For three years, that elliptical kept my alter ego – the Queen of Excuses – buried in a closet. I had no reason not to exercise on snowy days, rainy days, I’m-too-busy-to-go-to-the-gym days. She was housed in our former den (fondly called The Zen Room), which I’d also turned into my office, so I saw her all the time. She looked over my shoulder as I worked, reminding me many times a day of my commitment to fitness.

Then a year ago I moved to Pittsburgh and I left the old girl in my ex-house with my ex-husband because my apartment is the size of a toaster. My recumbent bike, while a godsend, lives in the second bedroom where I don’t see it on a daily basis. It doesn’t call my name or challenge me the way BFF elliptical did. Without her, my alter ego escaped her closet prison and my serious cardio regimen went from five days a week to two…at most. True, I rode my bike a lot this summer. Hiked, too. But it wasn’t the same kind of workout I was used to when elliptical and I were BFF.

Thinking I needed a few extra bucks in the bank, I put BFF up for auction on eBay a few months ago. A man in Texas wanted to buy her, but I wasn’t about to ship her that far. In fact, I didn’t want to ship her anywhere at all. I realized I needed her more than I needed the money. (Ironically, she’s the most expensive thing I own. Obviously, I don’t own much…LOL…and I’m happy with that.)

BF knew how much I was missed BFF and we discussed how we might bring her to live in his laundry room. He has a trailer. And bungee cords And rope. And really nice biceps.

This is us arm wrestling. Clearly I didn't win.

What if we broke up, I asked. He assured me he’d give her back to me. Can we get that in writing, I asked. He laughed. I was serious.

So we drove up to my ex-house yesterday and loaded the old girl on the trailer, with the help of a neighbor. I’m sure BFF got a few looks on routes 66 and 28, but soon we passed a ping pong table on top of a Kia, which probably deflected BFF’s popularity.

Given the shape of my shoulder, I couldn’t offer much help unloading BFF. She weighs 250 pounds, but she’s got wheels. BF rolled her down the ramp and into the laundry room with no more than a few grunts. He got BFF leveled and I hopped up on the pedals and took her for a test drive. I was seven minutes in when my thighs said, “Um…what the heck? We were quite happy without her.”

Exactly, thighs. You got complacent.

Today, my goal was to ease into the workout, just as I did when she arrived four years ago. Twenty minutes tops. I turned on my Nook to read more “Wheat Belly” and plugged in the iPod because I knew I’d need some “foot” to keep me going: Chickenfoot and Switchfoot.

At my peak (back in the day), I could do level 9 or 10 for most of my workout. Today, I spent a good five minutes at level 1 before pressing higher. Level 2, level 3, level 4…yowza!

Me after 30 minutes. I was dripping stinky sweaty.

I normally feel “the zone” around 12 minutes. You know, that zone where you stop feeling fatigued and your thighs stop aching and you groove to your heart rate and breath rate. This morning, I didn’t feel the groove at 12 minutes. Or at 15. Or at 20…which was technically my stop time. But I kept going, wondering what it would take to get to the zone, if I would. Finally, at minute 25, I felt the easing of my thighs and that less-fatigued groove. I didn’t want to push it, though, so I rode the groove for another five minutes and stopped at 30, confident I would improve as the weeks go by.

Make no mistake…I will. My goal is to stride on BFF at level 9 like it’s 2009. It will take awhile. It will take a lot of work. But the old girls are reunited and it feels so good.

And by the way, if you know Lisa Hanson from Armstrong High School in Plymouth, Minnesota, class of 1981, please let her know I have a question to ask her.

Needing and Sharing Comfort Food: It's Human. Dump the Guilt.

Well, it’s time to fix another body part. It’s like I’m in a “Surgery-of-the-Year” club. The dues are pretty high, but what can I do? I need functioning joints if I can get ‘em.
This year, it’s my left shoulder. I didn’t injure it, but due to my “loose ligaments” and arthritis, I tore the supraspinatus muscle, which is part of the rotator cuff, as well as the biceps tendon a few years ago. I was able to rehab with physical therapy and chiropractic (see “It’s All One Big Huge Freaking Circle”), but then in April, I mowed my lawn and made a mediocre problem a bigger problem. I literally tore the crap out of that supraspinatus.

Every night I sleep against a pillow fortress (BF calls it The Great Wall of China) which elevates my arm enough so I can sleep with minimal pain. However, the last few months I’ve been awake most nights at 3 a.m. with a burn in my shoulder so hot I could supply enough energy to keep my town in electricity for a week. (This, in addition to hot flashes, makes my nights really interesting.) I get up and take 2-4 Advil with a glass of soy milk or a piece of cheese because if I don’t, the Advil will eat my gut. Too bad NSAIDs aren’t a weight-loss aid…

In addition to the muscle/tendon tears, I found out today that my biceps tendon is not where it should be and needs to be “moved back into place.” Hmmm… Sounds like fun. Doc will also clean out the arthritis. Afterwards, he’ll stitch and patch me up, put me in a sling, and send me home where I won’t be able to shower or wear a bra for at least a week. Can’t wait. And I wasn’t even a bad girl this year! Santa better treat me well…LOL

Oh, I kid you. It’s not all that bad. It could be a lot worse, I know that. And I could also choose to drown my sorrows in food, which, for a moment, I thought about doing.

As I posted on Lynn’s Weigh on Facebook: “I saw my orthopedic surgeon today and I admit, my first thought after getting into my car after the appointment was, 'I want to eat.' Granted, I was hungry, but I wanted to eat something to console myself. I thought about it and was grateful that I recognized this feeling and met it head on. It didn't stop me from getting vegetarian dolmades at my favorite Greek restaurant, but I understood why I wanted them. And not only are they awesome comfort food, they're not horrible for me, either :)”

I took my dolmades and a Greek salad over to my daughter’s house, where she and the g-babies were eating lunch at the dining room table. I sat down next to Claire and opened the Styrofoam container of dolmades. We all chatted while they ate their chili and I my pieces of grape leaf heaven. Then I opened the container of Greek salad: lettuce, feta, red onions, tomatoes, olives and peperoncini.

“I done, Mama,” said Luca and he got down from his chair. I thought he was going to go play, but as I talked to Cassie, the little munchkin crawled under the table, climbed up on to my lap, grabbed a piece of lettuce and ate it. “Mmmm…” he said.

Claire then said she was done, too, and started eating my salad. Who knew salads were finger food? They also ate the pita that came with the dolmades (I’m still gluten-free! Three weeks in and I feel great!), dipping them in the Greek salad dressing that is so absolutely fantastic I wish Greek Stop bottled it. But the don’t. And they won’t. So sad.

Anyway, my salad was gone and they were still hungry, so Claire went to the fridge and dug out a bag of spinach and dumped a bunch into the Styrofoam container so she and Luca could continue to graze. It was wild watching them eat lettuce and spinach, leaf by leaf. When they were done, Luca was covered in dressing and very, very happy. Claire was a little more neat, but she still had olive-oil hands, and after she washed them, proceeded to dry her hands on my jeans, laughing so hard she almost peed herself. Who knew Greek salad could get you so high?

I did! That’s why it, and the dolmades, were my go-to food when I got the shoulder low-down from Doc today. Comfort food – when used in moderation, and particularly when it’s shared with people we love (Thanksgiving and mashed potatoes, anyone?) – is OK. Dump the guilt! God knows I spent years during my weight loss/maintenance feeling guilty for eating food that soothed my soul. I’m so over that.

I did a little search-a-roo on the Internet and found a few recipes for dolmades that I will attempt to perfect before my surgery in December so I can make them (with my one good arm and an assistant) when I need comfort food during rehab. I’m going to try a vegetarian version of this recipe from Food Network or this one from Living and Loving in LA or both!

How do you respond to your inner “You need comfort food NOW!” voice? And if you choose to eat a comfort food, which one or ones are your go-tos?

Guest Post: An Update From My Brother

My brother discovered a love of writing about five years ago and has written more than 200 essays. However, Marty's "voice" has been silent since June when a series of seizures left him with substantial memory loss (click here to read more about this). Since then, many of you have asked how he's doing, and I'm thrilled to let him tell you himself. The following is Marty's first essay since his brain injury. I couldn't be more proud of the progress he's made.

“I have no yesterdays – only today”
By Marty Haraldson

A person reading the title of this short essay might say that I have written that incorrectly. It should read, “I have no ‘tomorrow’ – only today.” We are never guaranteed tomorrow. But on the morning of June 23, a Thursday morning, things for me went from normal and everyday to extraordinary and life changing. It was on that morning that I lost my yesterdays and started struggling to recall the events of each “today.” Now, if I do not record the events of each day, those events fail to become memories.

It was a Thursday morning. It was trash day in our neighborhood. That meant taking the garbage can and the recycling container down to the curb early in the morning before going to work. I did just that. That’s the last thing I remember doing for the next three weeks. After walking back into the house, I apparently suffered a “rapid succession of un-witnessed seizures,” according to the medical report. These seizures caused a neurological memory loss and a psychological memory loss. I spent the next two weeks in the hospital and a third week in a care center.

This event makes it difficult for me to learn new things and remember new things, even simple things. As far as remembering what I did yesterday or the days preceding, I cannot remember unless I have a written record of what happened. If I fail to write down what I did yesterday, where I went yesterday, or whom I saw yesterday, I’ll most likely not be able to remember it. I’m embarrassed when I walk into the offices where I once worked for 30 years and not remember everyone’s name. It bothers me, too, that I cannot remember all of my neighbor’s names. Even more embarrassing is when I cannot remember my own phone number or my home address that I’ve had for 20 years. It’s then that I realize and accept that something is really wrong with me.

When the doctors and therapists say my “possible” recovery may take a very long time or that my recovery may not be “full” or “complete,” I must prepare myself for that possibility both physically and mentally. I cannot live with blinders on. I’ve always taken on life and responsibilities with both eyes wide open and given it my all. There’s no reason for me not to do the same in my present situation.

I realize that this is not what I asked for. I’ll now be living on disability income. My life now moves at a considerably slower pace. I’ve been accepted as a volunteer at the S.T.E.P. program in my city where I’ll be helping with their food shelf program. My truck and I will be put to good use to help those in need. I hope to get back to my former self, but much has to happen before that is possible. Until then, I’ll make the best of what God has allowed to happen in my life. I hope you, too, allow Him to make the best of your life!

Stirring The Mud. Settling The Mud.

When I grow up, I want to be as kind as my grandson, Luca. (“Sure!” is his standard response to questions.)

As happy as my granddaughter, Maelie (who, despite cutting what seems like 40 teeth at the same time, still puts on a happy face).

And as unaffected by what others think as my granddaughter, Claire. She wore her Captain America costume to the park yesterday, which drew some looks from adults and children, but she could have cared less.

In the meantime…

I want to live by the quote I heard today from Tara Brach’s dharma talk, “Learning to Respond, Not React.” This isn’t verbatim, but the gist is this: Can I sit long enough in a moment/feeling to let the mud in the river settle?

“Buddhist teachers compare calming the mind to letting muddy water settle in a glass. The water goes clear in its own time and there’s nothing you can do to hurry it up. In fact, if you try to hurry it, you’ll only stir up the mud.” From Buddhismand Gardens

It’s hard sometimes to see the forest for the trees, only because I don’t see my life as a forest, just as I forget that I function better when I swim in clear water as opposed to the muddy mess I create when I kick up sediment from the bottom of the river of my everyday life.

The following is going to seem a bit disjointed, but bear with me. I promise to bring it all together at the end.

I remember when I first contemplated a career in nutrition. I was with Joy Bauer in the Today Show green room (seriously, I’m not making this up OR bragging…this is really where it started). My then-husband, Larry, a biochemist, was talking to her about her education. Joy has a bachelor’s degree in kinesiological sciences and a master of science in nutrition. She’s studied a lot of chemistry. She and Larry had a LOT to talk about.

Being an English major (read: a right brainer), I knew I was in for a challenge. The only science I had to complete my BA was human biology, which turned out to be the most challenging class of my college career. I got a B, even though I was on the cusp of a C. Why? Because I have a difficult time with absolutes and memorization.

I’ve always challenged absolutes. I’ve always been able to defend – in a liberal arts kind of way – why I believed 1+1=3. Math and science, however, are unyeilding. They don’t bend for some awesome new insight into Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “Young Goodman Brown.” Carbs are carbs, lipids are lipids, amino acids are amino acids. Hormones and enzymes do what they do. Mutation is often a precursor to disease. How could I retain all that in my right-brain head?

Yet here I am, a few years later, in school again, taking two nutrition classes, a foods lab, and a class about what the dietary field is about.

To get to this place, I had to let the mud settle.

I’m on day four of my no-wheat challenge. I’m feeling…eh…better. The first few days were rough. I couldn’t stop thinking about bread and chips and every other wheaty-thing I’ve consumed since I grew teeth. Is it withdrawal, as Dr. Davis said might happen in “Wheat Belly,” or is it a placebo-type effect? There’s definitely less fluid in my joints, and I wake up feeling “thin” in my stomach, as I used to a few years ago. But is it due to no wheat? Or am I riding a wave of menopausal denial?

The mud’s still settling on this.

Here’s something you are NOT going to like. I hate it. I hate that I did this. And I’ll rectify it, but I need to say it here: I stiffed a server last night. Why? Because – first reaction – I was mad.

I took Luca and Claire to Bob Evans for their favorite ice cream sundaes. They were all kinds of energetic and I was tired and the server was clearly not in a good mood from the moment she said hello. That doesn’t excuse my choices. I’m just laying out the scenario.

Fast forward 20 minutes after the sundaes and hadn’t seen our server, I decided we’d go to the cashier to get our tab. The kids were still behaving well, although understandably they were a little restless. (“Up, Grammy!” “When can we go home?” Things like that. Nothing loud, nothing intrusive. Just a lot of child energy surrounding the Grammy nucleus.)

I asked the cashier…three times…to ask our server for our tab. Ten minutes later, the manager handed me a receipt and simply said, “Here you go,” to which I responded, “That took a LOT longer than it should have.” He looked at me like my head was screwed on backwards. I rolled my eyes, gave the cashier my debit card, signed the receipt without adding a tip, and walked out feeling all kinds of justified.

The mud was stirred up.

I dropped off the kids at their home. I complained to my daughter and son-in-law. Then I sat in the emotion of the experience as I drove down Route 28. What was really going on? Surely some server’s lack of attention wasn’t causing the anxiety and restlessness I was feeling, although it was easy to blame that. I didn’t give it much thought again (still feeling justified) until I woke up this morning and listened to the Tara Brach talk on responding and not reacting.

Clearly there are other things at work here. There are more trees in my forest than I realized. But seeing myself for the challenged, confused, and driven individual I am no longer scares me. My feet have the power to stir up mud. They can also acquiesce and float or tread water as I wait for the mud to settle.

Right now, I’m floating. No doubt my feet will stir up the mud again sometime this week. It’s what we do. We stir and settle, but maybe not settle as much as we should.  

I *Heart* October

I love fall. It's my favorite time of year, especially with that "extra" hour we get when daylight savings ends.

I won't bore you with a lot of words. I'll just bore you with photos :)



Fall means:

Pickled beets from BFF Sharon in Kansas. Beets good.

G-baby Claire was born in October 2007. Grandma Julia and Grammy Lynn have no problem sharing.

Autumn Leaf Festival and fire truck rides!

Claire wants to be a firefighter. Or a police officer. She can't decide.

I always wanted to be a fire fighter. I blame "Emergency!" and Randolph Mantooth.

Handing Luca over to a firefighter so I could jump down. Nice bra strap, Lynn.

Papa Larry, Claire, Luca, Me, BFF Pam and her son, Alex waiting for the fire truck rides

What's a carnival without rides!

Claire is adventurous.

Luca? Not so much.

But he does love a piggyback ride.

And Grammy loves the bike trail. It soothes my soul. And reminds my thighs who's boss :)


Thank you for indulging me. I adore fall, even more so because of the months that follow. Fall has always been the time I gather my "memory nuts" to keep me mentally sustained for January, February and March.
 
Tell me about your fall. I hope it is treating you well and providing you with the fuel to help you through winter. Unless, of course, winter's your thing :)

Knowledge is King & Breaking Bad…A Tale of Bread Addiction

I’ve been counting Points for nearly 7 years without giving much thought to how my diet breaks down in terms of fat, protein and carbohydrates. I lost counting Points, I became a vegetarian counting Points, I maintained counting Points, I gained some counting Points, and I’m losing once again counting Points.

Then along came the class “Fundamentals of Nutrition” and last week’s 3-day Intake Analysis assignment, and it was like someone opened the curtains in a dark room. All my nutritional info tumbled out on the screen and it took my eyes a few minutes to adjust and my brain to assimilate. It was the darndest thing.

Being a vegetarian, I'm asked a lot, “How do you get your protein if you don’t eat meat?” I’ve been a little concerned about that myself. Obviously not concerned enough to actually track my food intake, but I wondered. Apparently my concern was for naught. I exceed the recommended daily intake of protein for a woman my age and size by 30 percent! I take in a solid 61-80g of protein per day, well above the recommended 54g.

How, you ask? Here is a list of my top 15 as it pertains to my 3-day intake. Keep in mind this does not include other protein sources such as legumes, oatmeal, and peanut butter as this is only a snapshot of three days.

Fage yogurt – 15g

Soymilk – 5.1g
Homemade Curry Carrot-Leek Soup – 5.67g
Roasted soybeans – 7.57g
Genisoy soy chips – 7g
Asparagus – 4.37g
Egg whites – 10.79g
Sargento reduced-fat Swiss cheese – 7g
Homemade vegetable soup – 4.11g
Ak-Mak crackers – 4g
Homemade horseradish hummus – 3.16g
Crimini mushrooms – 3.74g
French bread – 3.76g
Cabot 75% reduced-fat cheddar cheese – 9g
Veggie burger – 7.13g

When combined, my spinach salads weigh in at over 15g of protein. My salads always include some type of protein (cheese, beans, edamame) in the 7-10g range, and together the vegetables contribute another 5-8g.

This analysis confirmed for me once again why I became a vegetarian: I like to eat. A lot. I’d rather obtain 15-20g of protein by eating a bigass salad that takes me 20 minutes to consume than eat a 3-oz piece of white meat chicken that’s gone in a few minutes or less.

Other things I learned: I’m smack dab in the middle of the recommended daily intake for each of the macronutrients. Approximately 53% carbs, 15% protein, and 21% fats.

Speaking of carbs, a friend recommended the book “WheatBelly: Lose the Wheat, Lose the Weight, and Find Your Path Back to Health” by William Davis, MD. Davis is a cardiologist who makes the argument that cutting wheat out of our diets drastically improves blood sugar levels, decreases risk of heart disease, and – of particular interest to me – reduces the pain of osteoarthritis.

I started reading “Wheat Belly” yesterday while sitting in an Irish pub in downtown Lancaster. I was dining alone, so I brought my Nook. I was enjoying a glass of wine (yes, it was 1:30 in the afternoon…*grin*) and had ordered a chicken and bacon salad sans the meat. The greens and veggies sounded awesome, as did the accompanying avocado slices and gorgonzola cheese (I’m a freak for bitter cheese). I wondered if they’d serve it with bread. The thought wouldn’t have crossed my mind a few weeks ago, but I’ve been giving serious consideration to going wheat-free, thanks, in part, to my friends Debbie (who recommended the book) and Lori at Finding Radiance).

Sure enough, on top of the salad was an amazing looking whole-grain-something kind of breadstick with little seeds in it. I wanted to eat it sooooooo badly, to dip it in the roasted tomato vinaigrette and take in every last bite until I was in a temporary psychedelic carbo-coma. But I didn’t. I ate all but one avocado instead. And to think, I used to be afraid of avocados! I mean, come on…avocados are nothing but fat, right? Run away! Run away!

But avocados are NOT the food to freak out about. Avocados are rich in poly and monounsaturated fats, the “good guys” of fats. Not that it’s wise to overindulge on the good guys, but eating avocados was a better choice than the god-only-knows-what’s-in-that-breadstick breadstick.

I admit…it was rough. I’m so completely and utterly devoted to wheat it’s sick. Yes… sick. I want it all the time. Some people easily control themselves, and I do control myself most of the time, but it’s a fight every day. The craving has me in a stranglehold, baby. (OK, now I have Ted Nugent in my head.)

So…what to do, what to do? The answer is obvious. I need to cut out wheat for awhile and see how I feel. Be my own science experiment. This will take some planning. I don’t do cold turkey well. If any of you have ideas, please pass them along! If you limit or have eliminated wheat, how did you do it? How do you feel when wheat-free?

As to the nutrition assessment, I learned a lot from the analysis assignment, but I’m not going to quit Weight Watchers. Counting Points works for me and I’m not in the mood to reinvent the weight-loss wheel. But I highly recommend that those of you who count Points, or anyone who doesn’t know their dietary intake numbers, to track their food intake in a program such as SparkPeople’s nutrition counter or Calorie King’s Nutrition and Exercise Manager. Know your numbers! It’s pretty darn empowering. 

“Pack your bags!. We’re going on a guilt trip!”

When I was in North Carolina last month, I bought a notepad with this cover:

Know what I use that notepad for? My grocery list!

Yesterday on my Lynn’s Weigh Facebook page, I posted a link to this article: “Middle-aged women happier with moderate exercise.” I wrote:

“I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I do much better when I'm not killing myself with vigorous exercise and yet, I feel so guilty for not exercising like I used to.”

Reader Michelle posted this response: “I don't get the feeling guilty part. Why do something that doesn't make you feel good?”

Guilt, among other definitions, is “self-reproach for supposed inadequacy or wrongdoing.” I don’t know why guilt is easily absorbed by some and rejected by others. All I know is that I don’t remember a time when I haven’t known self-inflicted guilt. Guilt in the form of having let someone down. If I didn’t make my bed, I let my mom down. If I didn’t get an A on a test, I let my teachers down. If I hit a pop fly into right field, I let my softball team down. And whenever I gained weight, I let myself down.

Over the years, I’ve grown a thicker skin, something less porous. I can better discern those actions that are “worthy” of guilt and those that are unproductive self-flagellation. Better, but not perfected. Food and exercise are those precarious areas in which I am most vulnerable to the kind of guilt that produces feelings of “inadequacy and wrongdoing,” largely because their effects are physical. If I gain weight, I’m not only letting myself down, but also a community of people who have followed my blog over the years.

So what’s a more proper response? Michelle has me thinking that it’s probably not guilt *smile* Guilt is counter-productive and paralyzing. A better response would be….? Hmmmm…. A commitment to improvement? Mindful investigation about how a certain exercise makes me feel? An acceptance of the way things are now as opposed to what they were four years ago?

Yes, yes, and yes.

I found this quote recently: “Hard though it may be to accept, remember that guilt is sometimes a friendly internal voice reminding you that you're messing up.” I’m messing up when I don’t feed my body right and when I don’t move it the way it is capable of moving. And "capable" has changed over the years. I used to hit the cardio really hard, but my arthritic joints said, "No more!" and I had to dispense with the 90-minute workouts. Yet, despite the reduction in pain due due to more moderate exercise, the guilt remains.

Guilt is one of the hardest emotions to wrap our arms around and let go of (when appropriate).
But with a little introspection on this rainy day, the fog is lifting and I’m seeing guilt for the inappropriate response it is.

How much happier would we be if we approached our bodies with care, acceptance and wisdom rather than guilt? Mess up? Yeah, we’re gonna do that sometimes. The best solution? Self correct. Don’t dig out the knotted cords.

Thinking Ahead Leads To Headache

I’ve been in this “last time” weight-loss/maintenance mentality for nearly 7 years (how crazy is that?). Enough time to sit back and recognize cycles. There are times when I’m all in, no holds barred. There are times when it takes everything I have to stick with it. There are times when I’m, “Eh…whatever.”


For instance, I’ve learned to not look ahead at the assignments on the syllabuses for my courses because I get so dang anxious about all the stuff I have to complete before the end of the semester, even though the end of the semester isn’t until mid-December! My teachers didn’t cram every assignment into one week because they know it takes time for students to take in every aspect of a particular course. They don’t expect us to know how carbohydrates are absorbed until we know what the heck a carbohydrate is. They don’t expect us to know how to prepare a complete meal for 300 people until we know how to order and figure (using math…of course…which gives me a headache) the proper amount of food needed (“as purchased” vs. “edible portion”). Looking ahead only gives me sleepless nights. Who needs that?

When I read the following blog from January 2009, I was reminded to “stay with the drip,” to stay present. So I am posting it here again…probably for the 10th time, since I seem to be reminded of this often...to remind myself that I am losing 10 pounds the right way and I’m learning dietetics the right way. Slowly. In order. In the moment. I hope it will speak to you, too, whether you are losing, maintaining, studying, raising children, taking care of someone, or otherwise needed in some capacity. Breathe. What else do you have to do right now? 
“With dripping drops of water, even a water jug is filled.” Dhammapada 121-122

How many times have you read an inspiring quote like this and said, “Yeah…I’m going to remember that,” only to fall back five minutes later into the same old same old?

This quote, though…I need to give this quote props. When I read it on Tuesday night, I was distracted by the sound of water dripping in the kitchen. Thinking I’d left the faucet slightly on, I ignored it and figured I’d check it out on my next visit to the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard “splat, splat, splat” and I knew it wasn’t the faucet. We were having an ice storm, and what I found was water dripping from a leak in the roof.

I dug out a bowl and a towel and laid them under the drip. Water dripped slowly with an off-beat cadence for another few hours. Eventually it stopped and the bowl had filled to a few inches. I could have dumped it into the sink, but then I thought, What the heck? and watered one of my plants instead.

What a little serendipitous outcome. If my original plan had been to gather enough water from this roof leak to water my plants, I’d have been ticked off at all the time it took to gather a few inches of water. But my plan was to merely save my kitchen floor from a mini flood. The bonus wasn’t foreseen.

But isn’t that what a “diet” is? A bucket and towel and only one hopeful outcome? But when you stick to it, that rudimentary plan reaps far greater benefit. That’s what most people who aspire to lose weight miss.

I remember when I weighed 300 pounds and all I wanted was to lose weight IMMEDIATELY! As in RIGHT NOW, the moment I decided to join Weight Watchers. But it didn’t work that way. Not everyone gets that because right now, Weight Watchers centers and gyms all across the country are filled with people wanting a torrential wave of weight loss rather than a slow, steady drip.

But as so many of you reading this know (and I realize I’m preaching to the choir, but with the hope of reaching a few new eyes), weight loss is a slow, steady drip. Four years ago, when I started this journey, if someone had told me I’d still be grappling with weight issues after the big loss, I’m not sure I’d have kept it up. But plugging along month after month with the drip, drip, drip of a pound here and a pound there, it wasn’t (and still isn’t) so bad.

What I’m saying is, stay in the moment. Day after day. Count your calories, Points, fat grams, carbs, whatever, but stay with it. Stay with the drip. Your bucket will fill up eventually (and your ass will diminish). Be patient. Be still.

And remember, roofing contractors don’t usually work in the winter. You’re on your own.

Are You Your Own Priority?

“Woke up. Fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and had a cup…” and that’s where my life stopped being like the rest of the song today. I don’t smoke and I didn’t go into a dream. I did, however, read the news. Oh boy.

Today I’ve spoken aloud three times: to the clerk at the liquor store, the clerk at the grocery store, and a guy standing at the ATM. Our conversation:

Him: “It sometimes does an upgrade thing at 3:00. It usually only takes a few minutes.”

Me: “I’ll come back later.”

My conversations with the clerks were shorter. “Credit, please” “Paper,” and “Thank you.”

I’ve grown accustomed to days like this. Accustomed and desirous. I need days like this – totally disconnected from oral communication and human contact – in order to focus on school and my goals…daily or long-term.

The woman ahead of me in the grocery store checkout bought $194 of groceries. Said she’s feeding two sons and a husband. I used to do that. Feed kids and a husband. My weekly grocery bill was crazy, too. As she paid her bill, I looked in my basket: one nectarine, two plums, one leek, 10 ounces of mushrooms, a package of spinach, a head of red leaf lettuce, two crowns of broccoli, two bananas, a bulb of garlic, one mango, one red pepper, three plum tomatoes, a loaf of light whole wheat bread, a dozen brown eggs and a container of grated parmesan cheese. Total: $27.57.

This morning I took a 102-point exam in Foods and a 30-point quiz in Nutrition (got 29 out of 30!). I printed out all my assignments, wrapped my head around more math, watched another episode of “Mad Men,” and washed the dishes. Oh…and I steamed and ate broccoli with parmesan sprinkled on top; ate a piece of bread with jelly because it just sounded so darn good; sautéed snow peas, carrots, garlic, onion, zucchini and slivered almonds in a little sesame oil, soy sauce, ginger and red pepper flakes, and served it over quinoa; and I’m thinking a spinach salad is what’s for dinner. Maybe popcorn. I don’t know yet.

Right now I’m drinking a glass of Chardonnay and staring at my Dietetics textbook. Chapters 5, 6 and 8 need to be read by Saturday. Foods, Nutrition, and Assessment need my attention, too. So does my diet. So does exercise. So do my grandkids and my children and Colton and my plants.

You know what I mean. I have no doubt that all of you have similar responsibilities and priorities, all within a household of what seems at times to be a dozen people. You have my infinite respect and awe. I know what that’s like because I was there once myself. And I was rarely my priority.

So I ask you, how do you make yourself a priority amongst the chaos? How and when do you focus on your food plan? It’s not too hard when you’re one person, but when you’re responsible for two or five or more…it’s not just a matter of waking up and having a cup and catching the bus and going home. There are infinite other things tugging at you, wanting your attention. You have many more conversations within the day than simply, “I’ll come back later.”

I look forward to your answers.

A Tale of 20 Pounds

I couldn’t wait to see Denny yesterday. We met for breakfast at King’s in Kittanning, even though we were hoping to find some dive in East Brady, which probably exists, but not on Google.

Denny’s a long-time friend of ex-Larry, and they’d been on a “Sideways”-ish tour of the NY and Canada wine country over the weekend. Denny is also my friend, and the thing about friends when you get divorced, they either pick one side of the couple to side with or they throw their heads back and say, “I like you both. I’m not gonna choose or get in the middle.” Denny’s that friend.

When I walked into King’s, Denny was seated in a booth facing the entrance. When he saw me, he stood up, gave me a big hug, and said, “Hey, I was expecting that waif of a woman in a pink shirt! Your face is fuller. You look great!”

What I heard: “Damn, Lynn, you gained weight again!”

The last time Denny saw me I looked like this:

This is what I look like now:

My lowest weight was 125. I am now 145. Twenty pounds in two years. The gain has stopped, and I know why it happened (surgery, menopause, divorce, move, stress), but still…

I sometimes want to be that waif again.

At least I think I do.

And yet….

1. When I gained 10 pounds last year after my knee surgery, my body felt better. I have severe osteoarthritis, and when my body-fat levels were low, I was in a lot of pain. I’ve not been in as much pain at 145. Hmmm….

2. I like my current food regimen and I don’t want to change or reduce amounts at this point. I eat healthy foods, I’m still a vegetarian, but I’m no longer a food Nazi. I police myself, don’t get me wrong, but I let a baguette or full-fat cream cheese or a piece of my daughter’s banana bread fall through the cracks sometimes. I confess: I’m human.

3. This gain has stopped (I’ve stayed the same weight for 3 months) and I’ve fell in love with exercise again. It was a rough summer. My brother’s seizures and my pending school schedule had my undies in such a bundle there was no way to detangle them. Now that things have settled down and I have a better understanding of what’s what, my exercise schedule and nutritional intake are front and center again.

I learned that in times of stress, that when I stay focused on my health, my principles will not fail me. In the last three months, I’ve made the best decisions I could and stayed conscious of everything I put in my mouth. My food plan – culled over the last six years – has become rote. And that is what I think is the key to success. When the diet you choose becomes second nature, and you allow for some latitude and yet reign yourself in when you go too far, you are there. You get it.

My body has a few more curves than before. I’m no longer a waif, and that sometimes makes me sad. But I feel better physically. I’m strong and I look…eh…well, I’m still working on that positive. I look OK. I fell in love with being skinny. Waifishly skinny. That’s a psychological thing I’m still working out.

Today I was driving down Route 28 on my way home from Claire’s taekwondo class. A man – who I’d guess was in his late 60s – driving a late model (1980s?) black Jaguar passed me, and he was wearing a safari hat like the Man in the Yellow Hat from the Curious George books. There was what looked like a book mark hanging from his rear view mirror. He was singing. I imagined the book markish thing was some kind of saying or verse that he liked that kept him grounded. I thought about what mantra I might hang on my rear view mirror, what words would remind me that I am OK here in this moment, at 145 pounds, happy to be alive and singing in my car.

I’m open to suggestions. What mantra do you live by? What words give you strength?

September 11...

I concluded today - after two weeks of no bike riding - that riding my bike is the number one stress reliever/mood lifter/mind clearing activity I engage in. It surpasses (and please don’t laugh or judge) sex, cooking, and watching reruns of “Frasier.” Spending time with my grandkids is usually really awesome, but sometimes I leave my daughter’s house needing to de-stress, so technically they don’t qualify. Riding my bike always relieves stress.

On today’s ride, I encountered five new things. 1. A woman riding a horse; 2. A Blue Heron. 3. A couple smacking down a dog toy from a tree branch 10 feet off the ground. They used a very big branch and their Golden Retriever was very anxious to have his toy back. I slowed down on approach, and just as I was going to pass them, the man whacked the branch successfully and all was well in their world; 4. This lovely red mushroom:

And 5. This tree:

I discovered it when I parked my bike on a ride back in May and went hiking down the stream that runs concurrent with the trail. I love the bend of this tree and its moss. I imagined it was the the kind of tree the Victorians leaned against to read “Jane Eyre” or “Age of Innocence.” I visited it again today and thought, ‘Hmmm….I need to bring a book along next time.’

I’m feeling less overwhelmed than I was last week because: A. I discovered once again the importance of a to-do list; and B. Prioritizing. My school schedule is a normal school schedule, but the difference between in-class and online classes is that I have to do the “Xeroxing” myself.

Remember how you used to sit in rows in class and the teacher would hand the first person in the row a pile of papers and he or she would take one and pass it back? In online classes, you have to make your own copies. And not only do you have to make copies, you have to determine what’s relevant. Your in-class teacher always did that for you, right? I don’t know what to learn, so I’m learning it all.

Today I experimented with a bean burger recipe and it turned out…well…not so good. The remnants will become sloppy Joe’s tomorrow. I made hummus, too. But the thing that remains with me today (and is in my head more often than I can say) is what happened 10 years ago.

As I listened to Bruce Springsteen’s CD “The Rising,” I – as millions of us in the U.S. and around the world – remembered the uncertainty, the fear, and the incomprehensible grief and loss and confusion of that day. What stays with me the most is the will and the bravery and the ultimate loss.

I don’t know if we’ll ever wrap our brains around that day. Certainly we’ll never understand it. But what I owe every life lost that day is to appreciate and understand the precarious nature of life. To appreciate a tree, a mushroom, or a bike ride, grandchildren and children, and even people we encounter in traffic. I mean, heck, we’re all trying to live our lives as we know them in this moment, same as the folks who died 10 years ago today in NYC, PA and Washington.

I hope you can value your life, at whatever weight you are, and know that you are loved and would be sorely missed if you weren’t here anymore.

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

Saturday's Alright For...School

It’s been 15 years since I spent Saturday mornings in a classroom. My alma mater – Augsburg College in Minneapolis – offered a weekend program for working adults. I went to school on Friday nights, all day Saturdays and Sunday afternoons every other weekend for four years to get my degree.

I loved Saturday morning classes the most. My kids spent the day with my sister or my parents, so I didn’t have to worry about daycare. There was no traffic, so the I-94 loop around downtown was a breeze. And I could listen to NPR without hearing “Change the station!” from the back seat.

Today (a Saturday), I went to my first Foods lab at my new school, Community College of Allegheny County. It’s there in the photo below, just up and across the highway from Heinz Field (home of the Steelers and Pitt Panthers), which is in the lower left corner.

Foods is a class I’m really going to love. I know my way around a kitchen, so I shouldn’t get too lost. Wait until I take chemistry and biochemistry, though, then you’ll hear some definite groaning and requests for sharp objects to stick in my eye. Thankfully I’m friends with my ex, Larry, who has his Ph.D. in? Ah….biochem.

I’m taking four courses this semester (12 credits), two of which are Fundamentals of Nutrition and Nutrition Assessment. In Fundamentals, I will have to track my own diet. In NA, I will track the diets of three other people. I admit *hanging my head* that I’ve not been the best at tracking my food intake this summer. I start out great most mornings, but by evening, I’m like, “What did I eat this afternoon? Fruit? Yes? Just pop some popcorn for dinner and call it a night. I can’t think.”

This convergence of getting my food mojo back and taking classes in nutrition and food preparation will screw my head on straight again. I didn’t lose it completely; it’s just that the mojo took a hiatus this summer after being thrown that curveball called brother-with-brain-injury.

I admit *hanging my head again* that prior to June 23, I was pretty cavalier about the role emotions and time constraints played in planning, executing and maintaining a healthy diet. I subscribed to the edict: YOU come first. YOU decide what goes in your mouth. YOU are in charge. While these platitudes are true on the surface, they don’t always apply to every situation.

When you’re busy caring for someone else, you don’t come first. When you’re in a rush and pressured to get to this appointment and that, you’re not always focused on what you put in your mouth. Sometimes a cheese sandwich on whole wheat bread is the best you can do in the moment. “Could you throw some lettuce, onions and cucumbers on that, please?” was sometimes my best effort to get in my veggies. Yes, I’m in charge of myself, but autopilot Lynn is still in training. In the six years I’ve been losing /maintaining weight, I’ve not been as crazybusy/stressed as I have been the last three months. I’m adapting. And learning. And forgiving myself for my transgressions…for the most part.

So….Saturday mornings. Driving to the city. No traffic. I get time in a kitchen with people who seem to be fun, including the instructor. And I can listen to “On the Media” with no one yelling for me to change the station. Just like old times.

Can you dig it? Yes, I can.

"...it's just a moment of change..."

Hello, my name is Lynn, and I write this blog. You wouldn’t know it, given my 2-week absence, but life got (and still is) really crazy. Let me catch you up.

Two weeks ago I went back to Minnesota to catch up on my brother’s health. Marty is still recovering from the series of seizures he had June 23, which left him with short-term and working memory loss. Caring for Marty was the purpose of my visit. Caring for me happened in the spaces in between.

 My care came from, in no particular order:

 • Jack, who is BFF Pam’s 8-year-old son and the one who gives up his Vikings bed when I stay overnight. Since he learned to talk, Jack has asked the most *interesting* questions. My favorite one from this visit: Lynn, do you have handcuffs?

•  The fire pit at Pam and Mike’s.

•   Sand cranes. There were two standing near a swamp early Sunday morning when Pam took me to the airport.
•  John, my high school boyfriend. Our friendship has endured for 33 years. My daughter Cassie calls him her “Should-be Daddy.”

•  Time alone with my mom.

•  Time alone with my dad.
•  Dinner with Mom and Dad. It was fun to hear them talk about their Hawaii years. Dad was stationed at Pearl. They were married there, and Marty was born at Tripler.

•  The fabulous grilled veggie sandwich at TJ’s. (Thank you, Adele and Jackie, for taking me there!)
•  My brother Matthew’s home-grown tomatoes, potatoes, cucumbers and poblano peppers.
•  Lunch with my niece Michaela.
• Yana, from Israel, whom I’d never met before I walked into the JC Penney’s salon in Maple Grove. She cut my hair and waxed my eyebrows and made me feel pretty again.
• The two pairs of jeans I bought at NordstromRack. Not only were they 70 percent off, they fit perfectly. Unheard of!
• The kind man who sat next to me on the flight out who talked me through take off (my least favorite part of flying).
• Listening to JT Hodges at 6:30 a.m. while getting ready to go home. Click on this link and listen to “Hunt You Down.” That man is seriously yummy *smile*
• Having the entire row to myself on the flight home.

• Lunch with Cassie after I landed. It’s the first time in 4 years (since Claire was born) that I’ve had her alone for more than an hour. We went to Mad Mex, where she ordered fried ice cream for dessert. (Here she is sawing through the deep-fried tortilla. She had 700 calories to spend after spin class that morning.)

• Finding – 30,000 feet above Lake Michigan – my desire to write again. I thought I’d lost it this summer. Now that I’m back in school full time, I might not write a blog as frequently, but at least I know I still have the desire *grin*