I Can Do This!

French Beaded Sunflower

French Beaded Sunflower

Have you ever taken on a project that you’ve never finished? I’ve done it many times, especially when it comes to art and writing projects.  I spent several years making French Beaded Flowers using a symphony of tiny glass beads in a rainbow of colors.  Then the day came when other things captured my interest and I stopped working on more than a dozen beading projects that I had started. They’re all waiting for a day when I get the urge to pull one of them out and begin again.

I’m like that.  Always finding things I want to learn about. I wade in and out of the water, starting and stopping every time I find a new passion.  It started years ago when I went to a summer weaving workshop to learn how to make my own cloth which I turned into various items of clothing, throw pillows, and whatever else struck my fancy.

That led  me to learn how to spin wool from a neighbor’s sheep into yarn. Hooked,  I bought my own small flock of Romney Sheep and Angora goats to supply me with the raw materials I needed.  What followed that? Why, natural dying of course, using plants to bring color to the yarns I was spinning.

I’ve spent other lengthy periods of time writing poetry, working in photography, and painting. And I never forget that my garden is a work of art, always in progress.  All of my passions are part of my life in one way or another and have combined to make me who I am today, a person of many interests who is rarely bored.

I’ve always been interested in healthy living, cooking, and food.  As a small child, my daughter Lisa, asked Santa to bring her Wonder Bread one Christmas. I baked my own bread at the time in an old wood burning cookstove. She said it  wasn’t as good as the bread she ate when visiting her friends.  She was anemic for a while and my son Mark, had digestive issues. I was always attuned to health problems and  when Bill was diagnosed with ulcers, we became a three menu family, with me eating whatever I had to make for the others.

French Beaded Poppy

French Beaded Poppy

Over the years I’ve continued to keep abreast of the news as it pertained to living a healthy lifestyle.  My diet has always been fairly healthy, depending on what the latest medical wisdom of the day was. I was always confused by what the powers that be were touting as the best way to lose weight. I just kept on gaining.  When I was married I wore a size 4 wedding gown, but over the years graduated to large sizes.

I tried being a vegetarian, but I had a major drop in energy and began having some digestive issues along with major cravings for meat.  I tried a low to no-fat diet. My weight  only crept higher and I was always hungry.  I gave up eggs when the heart people said that they were bad for you and continued to bake bread using the best whole grain flours when whole grains were said to be the only way to go. I still felt low on energy. I couldn’t get rid of my brain fog or my aching joints and sore muscles.

I went gluten free two years ago and started feeling better immediately.  I lost a little bit of weight but that stopped as I tried to take care of my carb cravings with dark chocolate and gluten free cookies made with a variety of other grains.  I began reading about the paleo diet and began experimenting, leaving out most grains. I filled up on veggies, meat, eggs, fish and fruit and again started feeling better.

A month ago, after watching my daughter successfully finish a 21 day sugar detox, I decided to follow in her footsteps.  What a difference it’s made.  I knew I was a sugar addict, but I wasn’t eager to give it up. Now I’ve lost 10 pounds.  But even better than the weight loss is how good I feel.  I have more energy now than I’ve had in years.  My thinking is much clearer and I’m not as forgetful as I was.  And food tastes even better than it did before.

It was initially daunting. My addiction to sugar and carbs brought on craving that I had to try to take control of.  But within days I felt a difference.  Yes, there were still cravings.  My favorite food of all is fruit … berries, peaches, pears, apples, bananas, grapes, cherries.  For 3 weeks I could only have 1 green tipped banana, a green apple, or a grapefruit per day.  I didn’t miss the lack of grains as I’d already stopped eating those.  I didn’t miss beans as I’m not that crazy about them anyway. I loved all of the veggies with a small portion of meat, eggs, or fish for protein. I learned how to make “banola,” a granola made from nuts, seeds, an egg, and green bananas. I made my own ketchup and Bill prepared homemade mayonnaise,  something we used to do but gave up on when life got overbearing and too busy.

French Beaded Wild Flowers

French Beaded Wild Flowers

There were days when it was hard.  I had headaches, felt a bit light headed, and wanted some berries or figs.  But I made it through and surprisingly, I haven’t strayed off course much.  Yes, I’m eating a bit more fruit, but not in the quantity I was before.  I’ve had a few sips of wine and wondered what I needed it for.  So far chocolate or pastries haven’t tugged at me and hopefully won’t anytime soon.  I have given thought to ice-cream, but so far haven’t fallen for it.  I’ve found a few recipes that use no sugar, so I’ll be giving those a try.

This change in eating habits isn’t something I want to drop along the wayside like some of my art projects. I love the way I feel.  I like that so far I’ve conquered my need for large doses of sugar.  When an occasional craving pops up, I just keep repeating:  “I Can Do This!”  Sometimes it takes saying it only once.  Other times it takes ten or twelve times before I believe it.  But in the end the cravings stop and I go on with my day, knowing I CAN it.

Before, After, And A New Challenge

Before

Before

Now that I’ve gotten myself through the renovation, it’s time for another challenge.  Yes, it’s done except for one drawer that should be delivered today if the road conditions are okay after yesterday’s five inches of snow.  As you can see I’ve attached before and after pics of the master bath. The new tub  is fabulous for a nice soak on cold winter days. While I like to read or listen to books on tape as I soak, Bill plays his harmonica filling the house with wonderful, bluesy music.

While all of the hammering, sawing, and chaos was happening, I found myself diving for comfort food to sooth my nerves.  Since I’m gluten free and avoiding most grains, there were no cakes, cookies, and and I had no kitchen to make my usual treats made with almond flour. So I packed in the dark chocolate bars, ate things like ice cream when we went out to eat, which I usually refrain from, and generally experienced almost constant sugar cravings and crashes.

After

After

Yes, I’m a sugarholic. Like a good portion of the rest of us in this country, I love sweets.  Once I’m on a sugar kick there is no stopping me.  If I bring home a pint of ice-cream it probably wouldn’t make it until day two.  If there is a chocolate bar sitting somewhere in the vicinity it won’t last long either. Anything that is sweet is my comfort. Especially when I’m stressed.

The rest of my diet is great.  I long ago gave up soda, chips, most processed foods. I haven’t bought a bag of refined sugar sugar in years, using honey, agave nectar, and maple syrup for cooking. But sugar is sugar. I eat small portions of meat and lots of fresh vegetables and fruit.  Berries are the best, along with clementines, and in the summer peaches, cherries and grapes.  All organic if possible.   I’ve tried being vegetarian, but found I need animal protein to keep my energy up and my immune system in good shape.

Last week I had a hard day when there was nothing sweet in the house to munch on.   I was craving sugar all day long. I was jittery, anxious, and couldn’t concentrate.  I’ve been through it before and the only thing that can fix it is to omit sugar from my diet and be very patient, because it takes time to get over the hump. I made a promise to myself to stop buying the ice-cream, dark chocolate bars, and anything else that would continue to keep me needing a fix. I piled on the fruit instead. Apples, grapefruit, bananas, berries, fresh or dried. I felt better but was still craving anything that would deliver a dose of sugar quickly.

Over two weeks ago my daughter, Lisa, who suffers from the same addiction to sugar, decided to go on a 21 day sugar detox program. I’ve been following her progress and been impressed with how she is doing.  She has just under a week left to go and I’m looking forward to seeing what she will do once she is done.  Will her need for sugar come back if she adds a piece of chocolate back in once in a while?  Or will she continue to keep tabs on herself and continue to live without the cravings?

I don’t know the answer to that, but she is has so inspired me that I’ve decided to give it a try myself.  This coming Sunday will be day number one for me.  I have a dinner party and a lunch to get through this week with friends, but once day one rolls around, that’s it for sugar for the next 21 days. In the meantime I’m testing recipes for snacks that I can have and cutting back on the amount of sweet stuff now to prepare myself.  I haven’t bought a bar of chocolate in week and haven’t had ice-cream in a while.  I just made a batch of Banola, from the recipes that go along with the program. It’s good and very satisfying.  It’s granola made with a variety of nuts, seeds, cinnamon, vanilla, and just barely ripe bananas as a sweetener. There are no grains or sugar in it. I’ll eat it out of the jar for a snack or add it to plain yogurt at breakfast with some cut up green apple.  Last night we tried the Shrimp Pad Thai with zucchini noodles. So delicious. Those added to my own stash of grain and sugar free recipes should keep me happy for the next three weeks.

I think the hardest part for me will be giving up all of the fruit I’ve been eating. Green apples, green-tipped bananas and grapefruit are the only fruits I’m allowed to have during the detox period. But I’ve found that most anything worth doing isn’t terribly easy at first.  It’s just another thing to try to keep myself healthy and feeling good.

Wish me luck!  I’ll be posting posting on my Facebook page about my progress from time to time. I’m looking forward to seeing how I do after the 21 days are up.

Oh, my writing is coming along well.  I’ll be going to a writing conference in May and hope to have a manuscript to bring along for critique.

Grieving

Winter, February 13, 2014

Winter, February 13, 2014

Lately I’ve found myself lost in grieving the unusual number of deaths that have touched me during the last month or so.  It started with Pete Seeger, who became a part of my life when I met my husband. Bill played the guitar, sang, and was deeply immersed in the folk music movement in the sixties and seventies. Pete was one of his heroes and his voice could be heard in our home every day through recordings or the words Bill sang. When Pete died, my daughter, Lisa, noted that she had grown up with him and indeed she had. Pete was an important part of the antiwar and peace movements in this country and we all know his role in politics during and after the McCarthy hearings. He was a great man and thankfully we have his music to keep us company as we travel down our own paths. To pay homage to him and other folk heroes of his time, we rushed out to see Arlo Guthrie, live here in Charlottesville last week. Arlo celebrated both his father and Pete through song and story telling. I was rolling  in the aisles with laughter and tearful, remembering those good ole days.

When Philip Seymour Hoffman died days later, I was in shock. I had seen him live on stage several times and appreciated his range and versatility in the roles he played both on stage and in film.  He was my favorite actor of all time. I last saw him in “Death of a Salesman,” as Willie Loman, on Broadway a few years ago and he was brilliant. When I first heard that he had died of a heroin overdose I was angry.  I thought, “What a waste. How could a man who could bring out the the deepest of humanity through the characters he portrayed so perfectly, be so stupid?”  But then I remembered my own time of learning about addiction when I discovered that several of my family members were addicted to alcohol and drugs. I spent time in rehab supporting one of them and religiously went to  ALANON, trying to wrap my head around the idea that some of people I loved were addicts. Those were life changing times for me that I’d forgotten about as I tried to make sense of Hoffman’s death.  But, he was just another human being with a disease and no better or worse than the rest of us.

On a more personal level, one of Bill’s high school classmates died a week or so ago. He like Bill, was in his seventies and akin to the rest of us entering old age, we expect to see old friends occasionally moving on to another world. It was not a pleasant piece of news, but it is the way life is and another reminder of our own mortality.  I felt comforted to see so many of Bill’s friends come together via phone to reconnect and celebrate an old friend’s life as well as their own.

During the snow storm last Thursday more sad news came as our neighbor across the street died at age 95.  It was expected.  He suffered from congestive heart failure. He was a beloved music professor at UVA, and is deeply mourned by his family and untold numbers of friends and students who studied with him over the years.  As a neighbor I will miss the occasional walks I took with him around the block and our wonderful conversations. Boots always made others feel as though they were the most important people in the world. He never forgot that I was working on a book and just a few weeks ago, when Bill went over to help lift him out of a car, he asked Bill how my book was coming along.

The hardest news of all came a few hours later from a friend telling me of the death of one of the members of the meditation group that I had once hosted at my home. I was stunned, especially because he died of an apparent suicide.  He was a lovely man in his forties, and though I didn’t know him all that well, he was for me a very special person, someone I enjoyed being with and deeply respected. He always had wise words to share at our meetings and I’ll always consider him an important teacher.

At the memorial service held for him on Valentine’s Day evening, I sat with two other members of our group. We sat in silence, sharing our tears, not one of us able to understand why he took his life.  As with Hoffman, using heroin to escape his demons, J. must have been a victim of some unbearable pain that he could no longer live with.  I can not judge him for what he did. He, too, was just another human being like you and me. I can only be grateful that I had the opportunity to know him and to share discussions about life with him.

Death is simply another stage of life. We all must face it and though it scares me, I, like everyone else, confront it over and over again every day of my life. We are born each morning into a new day, and die each evening as we fall asleep with the day coming to its own end. I’m still learning to take each day as it comes, cherishing each moment, grateful for having known all of those around me, sharing sad and happy moments in time.

Getting Back Back To Work

The new sunroom.

The new sunroom.

The distractions of home renovation are beginning to ebb.  Just a few more items to finish up and I’ll be happy to say goodbye to the workmen who have worked to fulfill our wants and needs.  For the most part all has gone well, but I’ll be happy for them to leave me to my privacy and my home, without the sounds of saws, hammers, clouds of dust, muddy footprints, water spouting from the new tub with no way to turn it off, and the continual presence of those who don’t live here.  The original time estimate of four weeks is now becoming six and though I do not like to wish away time, I will be extremely happy when it’s over.

What has probably frustrated me most over the last weeks, has been my inability of keep up a regular writing routine.  There were constant interruptions and an inability to focus on my work.  Over the holidays I celebrated the fact that I’m close to the end of the first draft of my book, with only a few more chapters to write. I knew that keeping up my regular writing schedule of two hours a day would be in peril while the work on the house started, but I was unprepared for the complete shutdown that took place as I waded through the ins and outs of recreating a home that is comfortable and helps to keep me happy and healthy.

The other side of the sunroom still missing the drawers.

The other side of the sunroom still missing the drawers.

This past week I was able to get started on a new chapter of my book and was hit once again by how the tiniest of memories can come to the surface, when I least expect them, giving me answers to questions I’ve contemplated for a long time. One of the things I do that my husband questions me about almost every day, is that I’m always saying, “I’m sorry.”  It doesn’t matter whether it’s something I’ve done or not, my response to whatever the problem is always, “I’m sorry.” I’ve spent hours wondering where in the world those words came from and have continuously tried to stop saying them. But after many years, they still slip out of my mouth in the unconscious way that habits have.

As I started delving into the spiritual journey I’ve been on throughout my life, I came up with the answer I believe I’m been looking for.  As words about my early Catholic experience seemed automatically to appear on my screen, I wrote the following:

“I was extremely disturbed by the idea of having to go to confession every week inside a small, closet-like box, to tell a strange man dressed in black a list of things I had done wrong.  I could not see his face through the screen between us and knew I had never met him before. On the occasions when I was forced through that terrifying process, I often made up sins just to satisfy what I thought the requirements were. It didn’t seem to me that telling a white lie to save myself from embarrassment or punching my brother out for blaming me for something he had done, seemed trivial and not sinful enough.  Afterwards kneeling in a pew and doing penance, I usually spent my time wondering if the prayers I was told to say  but couldn’t remember the words to would really make a difference in whether or not I would be forgiven. So just to be on the safe side, I would repeat, “I’m sorry,” over and over again for all of the horrific things that I had and hadn’t done.”

So there was my answer to the mystery of those two word, “I’m sorry,” that seem to be such a large part of my life.  I still say them, but at least now I know why I say them and can laugh at myself for my folly. I did quit smoking many years ago, so perhaps with time I’ll be able to quit the “I’m sorry” addiction, too.

Do you have any small, crazy habits that drive you nuts? Do you know how they got started?

Shouldering My Shoulds

DSCF0623A few days ago as I was working on my memoir, I wrote, “Though he has broad shoulders, I should not lean on them as much as I do.”  Seeing the words “shoulder” and “should,” just one word apart from each other stopped me in my tracks. They are words with different meanings. Their spelling is alike, except for the “er” in shoulder.  And they are very much related, especially in the way we use them today.

I  looked up the meaning and origin of each word. According to the Merrriam-Webster Dictionary, the word should comes from “the middle English word, sholde and the Old English word sceolde.”  One of its many uses is “in auxiliary function to express obligation, propriety, or expediency.”

Shoulder on the other hand “in Middle English is sholder from Old English sculdor; akin to Old High German scultra.”  We of course know it to mean the part of the body between the neck and the tops of our arms. It can also mean to carry a burden or to push through.

I first heard the expression, “Don’t should on me,” years ago at one of the first Alanon meetings I went to.  Dealing with my mother’s alcoholism and another family member’s drug habits, I went to those meetings to find my way through the maze of how to live my own life while being a family member with concerns about my loved ones. My mother-in-law had also been an alcoholic when she was alive and I’d successfully made her into my worst enemy by telling her that if she really loved her son and her new grandson, she shouldn’t drink.

It was years before I learned that “should” doesn’t mean anything when it comes to addiction, whether it’s to alcohol, heroin, or food.  Addiction is a disease that is genetic and runs in families.  It is a biological urge that is difficult, if not impossible to overcome.

I have always been a “shoulder.” Should is a frequent part of my speech no matter who I’m talking to, and especially when it comes to myself. “I should go to the gym four times a week, I shouldn’t eat too much dessert, and I should be more patient,” are always on the tip of my tongue. It was a family pattern I grew up with. I was constantly being told I should or shouldn’t, as in “You shouldn’t be seeing that boy. You should be seeing someone closer to your own age.”

I’ve also been one big “shoulder.” I’ve carried a lot of stuff belonging to other people on my shoulders so that they would feel less pain. I’ve always hated watching people, especially my family and innocent creatures like dogs, cats, and horses suffer. So in order to keep those I love from painful predicaments I often try to carry their baggage for them. When it came to my parents, I was their go-between when they fought. I became the family “fixer” who knew just what to say to calm everyone else down, while I broke apart from the weight.

I’ve been known for taking the reins when someone falls off their horse and lies on the ground broken and in pain. I took my mother in during her last years, caring for her as best as I could, often at my own emotional expense. I know now that I shouldn’t be carrying anyone else’s baggage but my own. But it’s still a tendency and I’m working hard at being less prone to that way of life.  I’m being fairly successful, though now and then I find it particularly difficult to pass up taking in a stray dog or cat.

The pinched nerve in my neck/shoulder area is almost 100% better. I think it had something to do with a should.  The one in which I said I should have my first draft done by October first.  Well, it’s not going to happen and that’s fine by me. I’m learning to listen to my body when it tells me what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

Are you a “shoulder?”  If so, what makes you want to take on the weight of the world?