autumn ramble

Yesterday was a perfect afternoon for an amble. At the end of a pretty steady week at work and multiple evenings of meetings, a stretch of the legs seemed like the perfect transition back to life. And it was. 

Autumn on the west coast doesn’t have the same vibrant intensity of the Eastern maples, elms, and … whatever other deciduous trees they have that we don’t. It has it’s own beauty though. A softer beauty, perhaps, but one alive with texture, soft colours. In my twenty-minute meander I saw more life than I’ve seen in a long while. 

A tree at the edge of a school yard is bright with green leaves and red apples. This neighbourhood was once farmland, and the reminder of those days makes me smile and wonder what life was like then. Across the highway the hillside is singing with frogs. I can’t see them, but their voices transport me back to the soggy rainforests of Jamaica when rain has eased the heat of the day and the treefrogs are rejoicing in the wetness. 

I enter the trails of Cuthbert Holmes Park and am struck by the wide variety of berries in white and multiple reds on high trees and low shrubs, not to mention the late purple black stragglers on the blackberry brambles. I imagine the Thanksgiving centrepiece the red and white would make. I am not the only one captured by the berry bounty - a fat grey squirrel is munching down on a bush of crimson globes that look to be bursting with juice and flavour - when I stop to photograph him he pauses in his meal, but quickly decides that the reward of the pincherries(?) is worth the risk of my presence. 

Cuthbert Holmes Park is popular with dog walkers so there are always people and pets to greet on their way. One gentlemen had two of my dream dog - the most perfect golden retrievers. Well behaved, beautifully groomed, friendly, but not overly so. 

From the bridge crossing Colquitz Creek I’m surprised to see a male mallard duck, though he’s far enough away I don’t stop to watch for long. Around the corner and through another abandoned orchard I startle a feral bunny. This part of the city is full of them, though oddly you are more likely to see them on from the highway than in the park. I suppose the park is their territory where they usually move before I get near enough to see them. This was a small one. And fast. The poodle approaching from the other direction missed out on a good chase. 

With that kind of life to observe, the walk passes quickly. I run my errands, head back to the mall entrance, and see the day has turned from bright sunshine to steady rain. That is another feature of the westcoast autumn - as a trade off for the duller foliage we avoid the flooding, freezing downpours of the east coast, though our weather changes in a moment. I could wait it out, but - as my dad? mom? grandpa? - used to say, I'm not made of sugar - the rain won't melt me. Other walkers, mostly still with their dogs and much better prepared for the weather than I am, continue to greet me on the paths. 

I get back to the bridge, and Mr. Drake has been joined by a small group of friends who look happy with the rain. Personally, I don't have the same ability to let water roll of my cotton-clad back and by the time I near home I’m looking forward to flannel pjs, a hot tea, and a quiet evening in. And I can't stop smiling. Even here on the edge of the city the healing powers of nature are able to weave their magic.

Shmita, or easing into peace

I no longer believe in the cult of busyness. When I hear people ranting about how busy they are, I feel sad. I know I used to do that - I used to take pride in the amount of activity I undertook, not the results that activity produced. 

Jamaica was a huge opportunity to see something different. My experience of Jamaicans was that people work very hard - those in poverty have to hustle just to survive, and they sell their wares for as many hours of the day as they can in order to get up and do it again the next day. Of course I spent more time with middle-class Jamaicans, who I found similarly hard-working and with the same sense of 'hustle' about them - not the hustle of a con artist, but the hustle of a star athlete. Maybe it comes from living in a society where you don't expect the anyone to step in and rescue you. 

The flip side of that was that I never heard a Jamaican complain about being too busy to enjoy life. When it's work time it's work time, but there is still room for family, for getting together with friends, for dancing and music and playing in the water. Of course my knowledge is limited by time and selective exposure, but it was enough for me to see how false and empty our claims of busyness are. 

Since I've been home - and not going to work every day - I've had a lot of time to reflect on what I want in life. I want more of some things and less of others. I have a plan for accomplishing both the more and the less, and I believe it's necessary to have one to have the other. 

I read once that having crammed bookshelves meant I had no room for new knowledge/wisdom to come into my life; that was when I began letting go of books. I still hold on to ones that I find value in, but my practice before had been to hoard every book that came through my doors. After selling off/donating the ones I knew I wouldn't look at again, new books began to slide in - different books. Books I might not normally have read. Books that showed me something new about myself or the world. Having less meant having more. That was a valuable lesson.

Havi Brooks' blog recently introduced me to the Jewish agricultural practice of shmita, which I know as letting fields lay fallow for a year. It's essential to the health of the land, and - for a commercial farmer - it's good business. It allows a period of refreshing. Just like the sabbath, shmita occurs in a rotation of 7 (on the seventh day God rested, and that practice has been instituted by most major religions). One year in every seven a field is to be in shmita/fallow to allow it to rebuild, renew, stop output and be refreshed. Generally when the field is replanted it produces more than it would have without the year off. I've been following with fascination Havi's experience of instituting a shmita year in her life. 

I landed in Jamaica physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. I'd had few days of rest, let alone reliable periods of it, in months/years. Even 'play' felt exhausting. That is not how I want to live my life. When I have space in my schedule for the people I love I also want to have the energy and the clarity to be truly with them. 

While I think about what it might take to create a shmita year like Havi, I've decided to take it on in bite-sized chunks in the meantime. I'm reinstating the sabbath. To me it is a similar idea - to be consciously unproductive and allow space for renewal, reconnection, growth, rest, peace. 

Starting tomorrow and until September 5 when I'll reassess, from 9 pm Saturday to 9 pm Sunday I am going to be offline.* I will not do work. I will not 'just fit this one thing in.' I will not do research related to a client task or a work project or a story I'm writing. If I create, it will be strictly for the joy of creating and not with another end in mind. I will not purchase anything during those 24 hours. I will only drive if it furthers recreation and connection. These are not laws and commandments - these are dams built to keep the swells of busyness and striving at bay. 

I can already see that this is going to take something. It will require a bit of thinking ahead. Instead of putting chores off until Sunday I will need to remember to do them during the week or on Saturday. I have a lot that I want to do and be and create in my life - for that to happen I'm going to have to make a little more space. Shmita/sabbath is part of that. Not that it is a means to an end, but because it is an access to living at a pace that makes sense to me. 

I'm grateful to Jamaica. I'm grateful to Havi. And I'm looking forward to the fun, challenge, and opportunity of my summer of sabbaths/shmita/peace. 

* Offline as in not browsing aimlessly, not blogging, not Facebooking, not tweeting, not instagraming, not watching TV, etc. Offline as in call me, or text, and let's be together without distraction. 

sometimes it's okay to read the comments

Yesterday, as I was walking home from a fabulous brunch with a friend, I noticed how loose my shorts were, how strong my legs are, how tall I was walking, and that I wasn't out of breath. I have been in Jamaica for 6 weeks now and part of my transit from home to work is walking at least 15-20 minutes on either end of the day.

I often walk more when I have places to see, things to do, and (apparently) crêpes to work off. It may not be a lot of activity to some people, but it's a hell of a lot more movement than my body was getting at home. I also eat more fruits and vegetables here because on a volunteer's stipend eating local and in season is not only a nutrition choice but also an economic necessity.

That's me in the middle at age 14 automatically hiding my
stomach when a boy I was crushing on was nearby, never
mind the threat of a camera. 

As has been my reality since I was about 12 years of age, I think about my weight, my body shape and where those are in comparison to where they have been and where they could be a lot more of the time than I should. But I don't have a set regimen to change that and - PLEASE HEAR THIS! - I do not want one.

I eat foods I love, that I can access, and that I can afford. Often that is fresh watermelon from a vendor on the street corner, and equally often it's peanut M&Ms. In order to avoid possible gluten-poisoning, I mostly ask for salads as my side instead of a starch, though a couple rounds of fried bammy with scotch bonnet hot sauce never go amiss. I have dessert if something looks like it'll work for me, though that's rarely the case. But I am not intentionally depriving myself of anything. My eating is healthier than at home, but could still be much cleaner. I'm good with that.

The change in routine and food availability means that clothes I brought assuming they'd fit once I'd been here a while now fit, and clothes like the aforementioned shorts are getting noticeably loose - as in "does that woman have a butt at all - how do her pants stay up?" loose. In light of all that and the body-positive way I was feeling as I walked home yesterday, imagine my surprise when I got to my apartment complex gate, said hello to our security guard (and I use that term VERY loosely) only to have her reply:

"You look like you've put on weight since you got here."

Ugh.

I don't believe she was being rude. There's a vast cultural difference here from both the Canadian standard of beauty and the Canadian taboo of commenting on people's bodies - even the bodies of total strangers. Jamaican women of my age and younger celebrate their bodies and walk with confidence. Even if they have a poochy belly or flabby arms they wear much more body-conscious clothing than most Canadian women do, and for the most part they do it looking composed and confident, not trashy. It's inspiring.

I have had comments on my legs, my shoulders, and definitely my body in general. I've been told I look very strong, called 'champion' and a whole lot of things I - thankfully - couldn't understand. I've also been told I look - at least in my face - like Natalie from Facts of Life. I've had a co-worker comment on how much sugar I eat, point out how much fat is in cashews, and ask if I eat buttered popcorn flavoured rice cakes because they are fat free (no, I eat them because they are buttered popcorn flavoured, gluten free, available here, delicious and a great carrier for cheese!).

I believe that in her world the guard's statement was an observation, not an insult. But I carried it the rest of the day. I could take my shorts off without undoing the fly, but despite evidence to the contrary I still carried her comment all day.

In the meantime, I posted pictures on Facebook of my trip to Ocho Rios last weekend, including this one of me in a bikini at Dunn's River Falls. I have never worn a bikini before; I have worn a bikini top with board shorts, but only once very briefly and only in an 'audience restricted' area. This was me, for 4 and a half hours, with potentially hundreds of strangers seeing and assessing me, just as I was seeing and assessing them.

That's not what this picture shows. This picture is of me

• having an absolute blast doing one of my favourite things - namely playing in water
• fulfilling a promise to myself to be daring
• wearing what I wanted to wear because I wanted to wear it
• not letting decades-old doubts stop me
• having the most fun I've had yet in Jamaica
• feeling great about myself and my life.

The problem is, when I posted the photo to Facebook I added a caption that referenced not the joy in my face but something about not being the fattest woman I'd seen in a bikini that day. I discounted my own joy and freedom after the fact. I squandered the power of that moment. The comments that followed have varied from "if a country can cure body image Jamaica is it" (maybe, maybe not - see paragraph 4) to "you look great" to "who cares how you look, you're clearing having fun" and a recommendation for great looking suits for 'curvy girls.' 

The truth is, I am not curvy. I am overweight. At what I consider my ideal weight I have very few curves, a long 'athletic' profile (broad shoulders, narrow hips, a straightish waist) and basically no butt at all. When people include me in discussions about this dance class or that new store for 'curvy women' I want to tell them, "I'm not curvy; I'm overweight." As a euphemism for fat, curvy fails.

I am not obese. I am overweight. I can shop in any store I want to and buy 'regular size' clothes (well, not pants that are long enough, but that's a problem I like having). And I am overweight. When I am again at my goal weight, the body mass index will still consider me overweight. And at some point today I had a eureka moment and realised that my percent body fat is a fluid and inaccurate measure of who I am. That realisation has somehow released a lot of very old angst for me. 

I don't know exactly how much I weigh right now, but I know how differently my clothes fit. I know how different my legs look. I know I have definition in places I didn't know definition was missing. I also know that I have weighed up to approximately 30 pounds more, and down to approximately 30 pounds less in the past 4 years.

I know that - and I'm not going to pretend this isn't a consideration - there were men interested in me at every point along that spectrum and I still hated my body. I know that at either end of that spectrum I wanted to hide my stomach. I know that because of an auto-immune disorder sometimes my bloated belly will not reflect my overall health no matter what size I wear. I know that no matter how many sit ups or crunches or burpees I did (if I was someone who did sit ups and crunches and burpees) I would always have a stomach with multiple scars, poorly reattached muscles on one side, and a road map of stretch marks.

But most of all, I know that having a rich, full life of adventure, not being stopped by what else is going on around me, smiling, laughing and jumping in with abandon when opportunity knocks, and valuing more essential things about myself  is sexier than lady abs could ever hope to be. 'Big ups,' as they say, to every single person who helped to get me here.
__________________________

PS: If you think I want diet and exercise tips, please re-read the post. You couldn't be more wrong.

here's to a fabulous 2014

Back in December STG posted his 2014 goals over at The Mountain Bike Life. Due to busy-ness, forgetfulness, etc, I only got around to reading them now. I was going to reply there, but decided this might be a better place to post. 

So without further ado, here are some 'off the top of my head' ideas of what I can do in 2014 to enrich my life (though really I stand by what I wrote on January 2):

• Pursue peace
• Sing regularly, publicly, happily, freely
• Have a girls' get away weekend with my bestie
• Take a retreat - creativity, writing, spirituality, whole health - something
• Get back to my 2010 weight
• Resume a regular yoga practice 
• Ride bicycles - with and without Rivers ;-) 
• Ride a new bike park
• (Of course, what I really don't want to say is that I'll eat better. Let's let that one sit for now.) 
• Add a new stamp to my passport
• Create writing income

Happy New Year, or whatever. ;-) 

heal

They say that time heals all wounds. That what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But they don’t know about those slow suppurating wounds, the ones that fester under the surface, the ones that you peel back the skin on to keep alive. They don’t know the patient perfection of digging underneath a scab, the slow ooze of fresh crimson. The pleasure of pressing firmly on the purple-blue bruise, of keeping the ache present after its cause has left.

Time passes and it takes more and more effort, dredging up the pain, digging, pressing, peeling. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps we heal in spite of our own best efforts. But some pains are too exquisite to let go.

more than the sum of my parts

I saw this quote on Pinterest yesterday, and at the time I thought - hellz ya, that's right! I choose not fat!  Yee haw!! 

But this morning I had second thoughts ... I've fought my weight most of my life. I've done more diets than I can count - doctor recommended, maternally supervised, ridiculous, reasonable, and everything in between. And yet, despite all that time money and food weighing, I've spent the vast majority of my time since puberty hating my body. I've picked up sports. Sworn to exercise regimes. Bought gym memberships and yoga passes and sporting equipment. And I know I'm not alone in this. I'm not even an extreme example of this. 

My perspective on being fit and healthy and feeling great about my body is that it's at best a life-long struggle and at worst an exhausting, self-depleting wild goose chase fueled by self-loathing. That even in those rare moments when I actually like my body, I will live in constant fear of losing that control, gaining back the weight and fat, and going back to hating myself and my body. 

So, what if I just refuse. What if I refuse to weigh my food? What if I choose not to count my calories? What if I don't track my exercise calories? What if I eat what my body wants when it wants it? What if I don't assign moral quality to the foods I choose and to myself for choosing them? 

Here's the really radical idea ... what if I accepted that the man I love loves me as I am. That my body does it's job pretty well despite some wiggly bits. What if - dare I say it? - I just enjoy my life and my relationships and the rest of who I am and stop thinking quite so much about the space I take up physically? What if I just enjoy my life. That can't be that hard, right? 

Maybe it's even as easy as riding a bike :) 

Riding bikes makes me smile.

streams of sweat and consciousness

I unfurl my mat in that familiar funky room and a tumbleweed of cat hair and dust skitters away from it. The cat has been gone 6 months; the mat has sat waiting even longer.

I sit in that hot humid air, wondering if I'm up for this and knowing that the only way to get 'up for it' is to be there. My yoga mat admonishes me to 'breathe,' and I remind myself to keep coming back to that for the next 90 minutes.

A man walks past in inappropriate shorts. His 'half-mast' status loud and clear and understandable in a room of nubile, half-clad mostly women. Just breathe. 

I think of Freckles, who bought me this hot pink hot top 2 Christmases ago. I think of Mrs. Lady who got me back into this hot room, and of Waggner who made it work closer to home. I think of The Dish - a friend I haven't seen in too long who greeted me in the studio foyer - her hug warm and sweaty and oh so welcome. 

I struggle, and I breathe. I bend, and I breathe. But the air doesn't seem to be working. 

Second half of class at last arrives, and I crumble to the mat in a sweaty heaving savasana. The first few poses are wonderful. And eventually the teacher's words fight their way past my constant mental noise. She says "go immediately to your stillness" but I hear 

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am God.

Be still and know that I am God.

Light and melodic and connecting me to all of my family and to my faith and to all that I'm afraid to let go of trying to control. Something shifts, and I no longer know if the wetness on my face is sweat or tears. I lay there for most of the rest of class, no longer hearing. And knowing only my grief, and the gratitude for being here. 

me day

I had an epiphany yesterday - it isn't anyone else's job to put me first when I consistently refuse to do so myself. I don't mean 'put myself first' in a self-indulgent or narcissistic way. After this past Spring I've been feeling so depleted, yet I've thought that somehow or other I was just going to get better without my doing something about it. It's been scary for me, and frustrating and exhausting for the people who love me. 

So, I took a preventative sick day today. Now that life is returning to a somewhat reasonable level of balance I can do some recuperating ... starting with sleeping in and taking care of myself for the day. It turns out it's harder than I thought to take a day off and do nothing. I slept in somewhat, but only about half an hour, so I declared that I was just not going to get out of bed until 10 am. Awake or not, I was staying in bed! I played with games on my iPhone, chatted briefly with STG - who also happens to be home today - and eventually headed out. 

The beach was calling. All I packed was my journal, my camera, my keys and my wallet. Unfortunately, all I wore was shorts and a tank top and the day was not nearly as warm as it had looked from my bed. Quick change of plans - I walked about in my neighbourhood, somewhat protected from the wind, and did something I have meant to for a while: buying fresh cut flowers from a stand just a few blocks over. 

From May to November the garden and the stand at this house bring me so much joy when I wander past, and this was my first time having the right change in my pocket to buy ... crimson peonies, royal cornflowers, sunny yellow and white irises. I generally keep freshcut flowers on my table, so I had to laugh tonight when BB1 said "I don't make a habit of paying any attention to your flowers, but those are pretty impressive. " I think he's right.

I did other things today that I don't usually do - I made myself three good meals to share with BB1. I sat by the water and watched the seagulls cavort. I kept my acupuncture appointment instead of giving it to Josh when his got mixed up. But at the end of the day, what makes me smile is the flowers. 

It's amazing to me that something so little can make such a difference to my day. Fresh flowers. The sun on my face. The smell of the beach. Writing in a journal instead of typing on a computer. Watching a seagull survey the world. Very little things bring me joy and a sense of myself. 

I'm going to try to remember this day ... and to have a lot more of them. I don't do anybody any favours when I'm so wiped out I can't function. A part of being who I am means being able to take care of the people I love, and that's going to require a little more in terms of  taking care of me. 

h - healthy

Advent is not a time we often think about our health. The period between December 1 and New Year's Day, or if you are American between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, is one we salivate over all year. Parties and dinners and receptions. An over-indulgance here. An evening on the couch there. And rushing about, eating on the run, skipping sleep. None of this really adds up to the most wonderful time of the year being great for our bodies.

Except, this year I thought I'd do something a little differently. Since November 25th I have, with 3 delicious exceptions, only eaten fruit, vegetables and lean meat. It turns out that fruits, vegetables and lean meats include some of my favourite foods - roasted root vegetables, spaghetti dinner made with spaghetti squash, fruit smoothies, bison steak. Those who know me know that giving up dairy for a month (all of my exceptions have been dairy temptations I didn't resist) is even bigger than giving up sugar for a month. But when I look at what I am eating, it's hard to feel like I'm denying myself anything.

Ideally I'd like all this, and it really is quite a radical change for me (I've saved about a present's worth in on chocolate already - a bar a day at $1.50 to $3/bar = $22 - $45 dollars), to result in an instaneous flat stomach. But instead what is happening is a slow shift in my body. Not huge pounds dropped, but visible definition in my arms and legs. The reappearance of small bone structures that had gone missing (I keep playing with my collar bones - they're kind of cool) . Energy. Vitality. Steady emotions. Glowing skin. Restful sleep.

The idea was that, aside from Christmas Day when all bets are off, I would continue like this until New Years Eve. But I'm so enjoying the way I feel that I think I might just consider this a permanent change. It's been pretty easy. Yes, I will always love sweets. And L'homme can expect that I will beat him soundly in a nacho-off soon! But I've learned that I can do quite fine without the my supposed comfort foods, and the days of snack food comprising most of my meals are over.

Now if only I could convince myself to walk to work on rainy days!

just one thing

There are a great many blogs out there that I enjoy - some I've listed on the side panel, some I pop over to when I think of it. Some I click when I see the link on Twitter. Some I stumble down a rabbit hole, read voaraciously and can never find again. But there are only two blogs that I have delivered to my email so as not to miss an update, and the king of those is the handsome and erudite Jonathan Fields.

Today Jonathan addressed one of my pet peeves - bucket lists. It's not that I have anything against bucket lists per se. It's just that in the last year or two they seem to have become so commonplace as to be cliché (and there's nothing I despise more than a cliché). Too often they are either, as Jonathan addresses, a someday/maybe kind of experience. Or, the worse offence in my opinion, they are simply an occassion for pretension to being learned, being adventurous, and being accomplished. They are yet one more modern expression of self-indulgence. I've rarely seen a bucket list that says something like "I want to be the kind of friend someone can say anything to and know it is safe," or "I want to comfort a grieving widow just by listening to her stories," or, "I want to inspire someone to finish or return to school."

This may sound like sour grapes, to some, and I'm sorry if you hear that. I've actually had some pretty amazing experiences in my life and I look forward to a great many more of all sorts. But as much as I love being a world-travelling adventure, it doesn't define me, and writing out the things I am looking forward to experiencing won't inspire me to do them any more than buying organic produce inspires me to eat well (what's with that??).

/End Rant/

You can imagine then that when Jonathan's post titled "The Bucket List Lie" arrived in my inbox, I was already a believer. My favourite blogger blogging against my pet peeve? This I had to read! Although I'm less convinced than Jonathan that few people manifest the items on their bucket lists, we're on the same page overall. Even if people do cross off some items, I still see the medium as fundamentally flawed. And that's where Jonathan comes in. Never one to condemn without offering a solution, Jonathan suggests a great alternative: the List of One:

... make a List of One. A single, meaningful action you’re going to take before the end of the day to move you one step closer to a single, deeply meaningful quest.

Don’t go to bed tonight until you’ve completed your List Of One. And done one other thing, made your List Of One for tomorrow.

Do this every day for a month, long enough to begin to inculcate the habit.

If it feels manageable, turn it into a List Of Two. And so on, and so on.

Execute on your list consistently over time and you’ll begin to make magic unfold. Not “someday,” but everyday.

The timing is perfect. I had been looking for a personal challenge to take on in November that would move me closer to my goals of being healthy, wealthy and wise. And since I have a tendency to take on 14 things with vigour and then give up, and REALLY wanted to avoid that this time. The List of One is simple. Elegant. Perfect.

Just one thing. One act of love and generosity. One moment of self-care. One item crossed off the list of things I normally ignore. One step in the direction I intend my life to go.

So I declared my One Thing for today and went for it. I half succeeded, and felt the joy of playing. And I will play again tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. Just one thing.

Now, if you could do Just One Thing tomorrow, what would it be?

When You're Right You're Right.

I had a surprise house guest this week - someone who for 12 years has known, loved, cajoled, supported, and calmed me. I don't really even have a 'category' for who he is - family of choice is the best I can think of.

Anyway, among other encouraging, wonderful things Glassboat had to say, "I swear I've never seen you this small!" was the most repeated. I argued with him of course. I know I've lost weight. I'm doing quite well at it, without really feeling like it's a big effort or like I've ever been deprived of what I want. I'm feeling better about things corporeal. But, I also know that I've weighed less, that my stomach has been firmer, and - my piece de resistance - that the Calvin Klein jeans with the button fly in my closet, the ones I bought in triumph in 1999 when I was at my goal weight, the ones that have moved with me 4 times in hopes that someday they could be re-worn, aren't even close to fitting me.

The last time he said "You really are smaller than ever." I said, I can't be, there's no way those skinny jeans fit and I wore them constantly in Prince George. I can tell just looking at them they dont' fit. He just said, "I bet they do." And we dropped it.  

So this morning I tried them on - now that he's gone and I can be right in private. I thought, what's the worst that can happen? I already KNOW they don't fit, so I can't really be that disappointed. And, maybe they are closer to fitting than I think. 

I dug them out from the 'seasonal' stack, where they rest beneath a couple hoodies I've inherited from my BBs and a pair of apres-ski fleece pants I have in case I ever ski again. They are lighter coloured than I thought. With a definite 1999 waistline and unshapely straight legs. I'd also forgotten that somewhere along the way I'd worn out a knee and patched it with black fleece. Yowsa - I think I even taught in these! They are definitely not wearable, even if they did fit. And, unlike every piece of denim I've bought in the past 5 years, they have no stretch. Not even a smidge of give.

But still, there's no harm in trying, right? And, I have the great motivation of proving Glassboat wrong (because doesn't everyone want their compliments discredited?). One leg in, and they felt okay. A woman can actually tell one leg in if it's worth keeping going or not with jeans. A second leg, past the formerly troublesome thighs. Still going. Oh my gosh, the button fly was always so hard before. But ugg that high waist is snug and unforgiving (and horribly unflattering! Hello, soccer mom! BLECH!)

Yep. They fit. They do not flatter, but they fit. In fact, they are loose! in the butt and thighs. Much less so in the waist, though there's no unsightly pulling at the button fly. But I could definitely sit and stand and walk and 'wear' them (with the appropriate tummy hiding top).

Often in life it's hard to be wrong. This time I couldn't be happier. :) I'm sure that when I tell Glassboat he'll be happy to repay me with a grinning 'told ya so.'

Deliciously Dull & Temporarily Chaste, or Fun with Homonyms

I promised the other day a deliciously dull update. In fact, I’ve never been so excited about having ‘nots’ in my life. Instead of feeling like these spaces are emptiness, all I see is freedom and choice and the ability to create what I REALLY want: Being Healthy, Wealthy & Wise.

So here are my THREE FREE’s for the rest of 2010:

Sugar Free

So far so good. It’s day three and my only symptom of withdrawl was actually because I wasn’t drinking coffee, which was an oversight, and not part of the overall Freedom plan. And, to be honest, my version of sugar-free and yours may be vastly different. I am eating as much fruit as I can – much more than I normally do. That’s because fruit has enough sugar to satisfy my cravings, but also a whole lot of other benefits I need that Dairy Milk bars – no matter which variety - simply don’t deliver. Fibre, vitamins, texture, flavour, fun. Dried fruit, fresh fruit, fruit smoothies. Yes, overall this likely doesn’t impact my blood sugars (which are just fine, thank you very much), but it does impact my overall feeling of health and vitality. And for a girl to go from 2-4 sugary snacks a day to fruit is a pretty big move. Especially when it just occurred to me, once the drama queen was adequately silenced on Friday night, that I don’t need sugar. I just don’t. All done. As my body uses up the sugar I've already over-loaded it with (something like a year's supply for a smaller nation, in the last 4 months) I'm sure I'll ease back on the fruit as well. But for now it's a good start. A balanced start. [committed sugar-free until July 18; will re-assess then]

Over-Draft Free

I have an overdraft on my chequing account. And it has been at least 10 years since I considered that over-draft anything other than ‘my money.’ Yes, I get charged both fees and interested when I use ‘my money’ to that extent, but it seems like my money none-the-less. Well, not anymore. For the first time ever, I’m excited about my budget. I’m excited about figuring out what it will take to replace the furniture I want to replace, how much I’ll have to save and by when to take myself to Paris, if there’s room for a family trip at Christmas. I have a fancy spreadsheet on my laptop that tracks actual spending v. Budgeted amounts and calculates both bar graphs and pie charts (I am such a sucker for colour coded charts!). And I have a simple, fun & always accessible app on my iPhone (based on the book & program Wealth Watchers http://www.ewealthwatchers.com/) that calculates my daily disposable income based on my fixed expenses, then tells me each day if I’m over or under that day’s allotment. Over time it averages, gives monthly totals, etc. And it too is colour coded (colour coding is clearly the secret to financial freedom). So really this promise is to track my spending every day and live to my budget; but I needed it to be 'free' and one benfit will definitely be losing the over-draft habit.

Man Free

Which, as we learned on Friday, goes hand-in-hand with my commitment to being drama free (or at least forcing the drama queen back into exile when she tries to regain her throne). And while I’d been toying with this idea, or resisting this idea, or wondering why on earth someone would want to do this since I ended my relationship with Cowboy in February, I made the decision over a week ago. And then I waffled. And then I thought that if I didn’t say anything to anyone I could just pretend I’d never made the promise to myself. And then I faltered and life got messy. And then I realised that the promises I make to myself are the ones that matter most. So, for the next 6 months and 9 days I am going to be dateless-by-choice & temporarily chaste. And no, those two things don’t necessarily go together (if you are a parent or son of mine, I’m sorry – this paragraph should have had a warning).

I have been discovering about myself and observing some behaviours I am not all that fond or proud of. And I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging myself, but, well, I haven’t yet learned how to respect myself and request the respect of others when all I want is for them to love me, to really really love me. Or how to show up as just me in a relationship instead of trying to gain information and evidence for who you would like me to be. Miss Lady suggested it long ago, but she's young - what does she know. And I could never quite get the idea out of my mind. And then last week while perusing the blog of a co-21.5.800-er I found a kindred spirit who'd been there, done that, an reaped the benefits

So for 6 months and 9 days I’m going to learn. Not through more trial and error, but through treating myself with respect and re-learning (maybe for the first time?) what I offer in a relationship. It’s already making a difference – last week I had dinner with a friend I’ve had a crush on for years, and instead of wondering what he was thinking ABOUT ME, and if I laughed too loudly or not enough, and if I’d made all the foods he likes, and ME ME ME ME ME I could just be with him and chat and laugh and get to know him as a person instead of wondering which trap is best to catch this particular prey. It’s oh so freeing not to have that in the space!

I thought of all these things choices while laying in my bed Friday. And then I slept through the night for the first time in months. I woke up Saturday full of energy and ready to focus on other people. And I spent the weekend mostly off-line and doing things I love. And I slept all night Saturday. And all night Sunday.

This low-drama life is something I could get used to. Who knows, if this keeps up I may even stop over-filling my schedule!

That's right, I shun Canada's #1 export for fun*

It's been a challenging day in my little gluten-free world. Maybe if I wasn't already feeling ill for going on 48 hours I wouldn't have even noticed. But today I noticed. Big time. I get tired of having to read every fricking label. To announce to the server at every fricking restaurant what my health concerns are, and then cross my fingers that a) they convey the details to the kitchen staff and b) the kitchen staff knows what's required for me to safely eat my meal. And it's not just food. It's anything that touches my skin as well - moisturizer, body wash, tanning lotion, hair products, make up, etc.

Somebody who really aught to know better recently joked "you're taking this celiac thing a bit far aren't you?" and it ruffled more than one feather. I really do, I believe, try to be responsible about it for myself, be grateful that since my diagnosis I've felt better than I did in the last 15 years, and not expect other people to have to take care of it. But days like today I just want a fricking break. I want to put saltines in my chicken soup (trust me, rice crackers are NOT the same) and eat a Mars bar and use the locally made shampoo Cowboy bought me. I want to indulge in being sick without worrying about making myself worse. Or having other people make it worse.

Incident 1: I'm looking for a new hair product like one I used to love but that has been discontinued. I stopped by a salon, told them what I was looking for, and then without reading the label gobbed a proferred sample on my hand, rubbed it around, and then scrunched it onto the ends of my hair. And then I read the label. It included Hydrolyzed Wheat Protein and I said "Oh, I can't use this I'm allergic to wheat." To which the 'helper' replied "well, I'm allergic to wheat and I use this all the time." Oh, really? How super for you. But I break out in a burning, itchy rash, so how's about NO! So I went and washed my hands and have just put up with the itchy neck for the rest of the day.

Incident 2: I phoned Air Transat, who offer a whole wide variety of special in-flight meals, to pre-order our breakfasts coming and going to Puerto Vallarta. I choose for Cowboy and I from the "Club Class" menu, and then mentioned that my meal needs to be gluten free. Oh, quelle surprise, but I have to choose between the Club Class meal I'm entitled to, and the economy class gluten free meal. Which the 'helper' felt she needed to repeat 3 times - because really, who wouldn't choose to have the $5 meal instead of the $3 meal even if it means being sick for days after, right? And when I said that it really is more important that I be well for the trip, she said "well of course, I understand." WTF!!! Do you really think I was ordering the gluten-free meal for fun? Do diabetics have to explain why they order special meals? Do people with peanut allergies have to argue for safe food?

Yes. I'm annoyed. I'm scared about travelling for 2 weeks and having to make all my normal requests to people who may or may not speak English. And, when all else fails, I have printed out in Spanish restaurant cards, because nothing says "I'm low maintenance" like a transliterated, laminated card explaining your health concerns.

I guess, if I was going to be honest, the label for today would be pissed off & whiney. But I've pre-set them so forthright will have to do.

PS - Wheat isn't actually even in the top 10 of Canadian exports, but apparently I'm also feeling dramatic.

Living a Life I Love

*NOTE: September 8, 2009* I've just imported this and about 17 other posts from an older blog that was private - basically I wanted a support system for creating the things I really want in my life. Only only letting a few people know what I wanted didn't work. So here they are, in all their glory, edited to reflect what I REALLY want.*

This blog is my way of sharing about my promises to myself on the journey of creating a life I love. There are specific things I am committed to creating in my own life, and I'll be tracking my progress towards those goals here.

The basic element of a structure for fulfillment is really a journey: I am at A and want to get to B. The structure outlines the various ways in which I can get from A to B. You know you have a great structure for fulfillment when it is fun & inspiring & when you can see multiple avenues that would have you get where you want to go. So where do I want to go?

• Lose 37 pounds
• Support BB2 in getting a job
• Double SCW Ink income
• Return to teaching
• Be lit up about my relationship (a.k.a. Love the one I'm with)
• Discover & support whatever BB1 wants
• Publish one item every month