two kitties/small city

Sense and Sensibilities.

I have returned from a three-day silent retreat at Bon Secours convent in Maryland. I came with zero expectations. I have done enough of these to know that what I want will be quickly pushed to the side in favor of what really needs to be Seen.

It was a very beautiful place. I loved the bare simplicity of the room (before I messed it up.)

Everything seemed just right. A beautiful view out the window.

Once the rustle of settling in quieted down, I could hear the sound of the little waterfall underneath my window. And that sound made me instantly unhappy.

If you visited my home in Montana, you don't need me to tell you why. But if you didn't, let me tell you that there was a beautiful creek and waterfall underneath our bedroom window that lulled us to sleep every night.  It took me a little longer (but actually not that long) to figure it out.

And so it continued. A long weekend that I came to think of as "The Noticing Project." The small stuff. That wasn't always small. You can live in the most beautiful place on the planet and not have the smallest love you need. You can live in a very small place and have so much it can hardly be contained.

 

One Year Later.

I spent much of this week reflecting on the difference between last year and this year. It's been exactly a year. How could the two kitties have known what to do, right then? To pose in front of the chair we always sat in, typing and reading and blogging? Because it really was The End. 

Up until now, it has been almost impossible for me to separate the decline of my mother's health from the viability of that marriage. When I came home from this visit two years ago, right after my Mom received a confirming diagnosis of dementia, I was sick with flu, the tendon in my left foot had ruptured and I was limping, exhausted.  Arriving home, I looked to my then-husband for support but didn't get it. He asked me to do something small and when I refused, crying from tiredness, he replied, "You do NOTHING." 

I cried for three days straight. Harder than I've ever cried in my life. I rented an apartment, a P.O. box, I prepared to borrow money from my sister, I begged my priest/friend for prayers and he said a Mass for me. Tears come to my eyes writing this because I cannot believe, on reflection, how cruel that statement really was.  A statement about all he really thought about me and what value I had in his life. Up until then, I could still believe that he loved me. And yet I would not leave for another year. 

I would spend the next year just going along with everything. I was beyond broken-hearted. I had given up. I decided I would simply take the joy where I could find it. I lived for the kids and I would not be the only woman in the world that was doing that. 

In Miami last week, I ran into an old friend who recently accepted a new position. She's so visibly happy, so alive in this new job. Talking about that she said that she had become so used to just making it work, creating some beauty within the boundaries of a greater dysfunction. I understood exactly what she meant.

I finally made my decision in a moment when I realized that, for the rest of my life -- even though I would give up everything I thought, believed, wanted, accomplished --  it would not be enough to soothe him. And that was my purpose there - to be whoever he needed me to be in the moment. I played a guessing game every second and when I figured out the game was being rigged so I would fail, I quit. Last night, reflecting, it occurred to me that good marriages don't survive on love. Love helps, love is a good thing, but I think what makes a good, long, marriage is the respect you have for one another. 

When I left he did not fight it. He said he did not blame me. He said in the lawyer's office that he had always liked the "status" of being married. He gave me a hug before I drove away. We agreed we would always be able to stay in the same room for our grandchildren. We were supposed to stay friends. I went home to the next thing - to help my sister pack up my Mom's office. We literally throwing the vast majority of her life's work into the garbage.  My mother had compromised so much of life - friends, family, even her relationship with her children - to do that job. And yet at the end of the day, she wasn't even here to sort through it. It went into the trash and no one cared. It was a big, sad, moment for me.

Somewhere in the middle of that office packing, February of last year, my ex-husband's daughter called to tell me what he'd said and done in the last few days. I was gone. There was no one to take the hurt out on. That's the only reason I could think of to explain why he'd written hurtful things blaming her and the family for my leaving (...NO...). But if you wanted to hurt me, that's what you'd do, right? You'd hurt the people I love. You'd try to ruin relationships. So much for the goodbye hug in the driveway. He would not attend his granddaughter's graduation, but he'd send a box of useless kitchen items to me via a family member also attending her church reception. A way of being there, in the way he wanted to be.

Last week, February 2012, I came back from my mother's exhausted. Being with her, trying to be present emotionally through all of this, trying to make plans and changes to a more appropriate level of care - it's always draining. No matter what, we're always chasing behind the rapid progression of her dementia. Two weeks ago we weren't sure she was ready for the memory unit, now it seems obvious. We were making early plans, now we're behind.

While you're there, you do what you have to do. Time with friends was difficult to schedule and I quit trying when I realized what a bummer I was. So I tried my best to bury my own emotions and dipped into stores of energy I didn't know where there.

Back home, I kind of melted. Not into tears,but into a sort of shapelessness. I went about my life as usual - a little exercise, lots of work -I was all there without really being all there. But I didn't have to be. John was home this week - entirely unusual - and without really talking about it, he made me three meals a day, tons of coffee, figured out some critically important stuff for the booming spray business and did the laundry.  I apologized for myself and thanked him profusely, and felt guilty for leaning on him so heavily, but even so, I knew I didn't have to. Being supportive is his nature. 

Such a contrast. 

Yesterday, I noticed that I was actually different. Not just divorced-different, get rid-of-your-stuff different, but happy different; got-choices-different. Been-gone-one-year-and-I'm-already-in-three-international-magazines-different.

John and I drove into DC to see a play. I confess that in a solid year, I have not been into the city. Not really. Twice to the suburbs - once to see friends and once to buy underwear. But not once downtown. And this play was seriously downtown. We drove past my college, and the monuments, and across the beautiful bridge. I was excited to see it all. Right then I realized I was cured. I am ready. I can go back now. Somehow I know, and I don't know how I know this, that I will not be leaving here again. That on Monday, I'm going to call a monastery nearby and see if I can spend a few days in silence and in thanks.

And that I will not be writing about that old sadness any more. 

My Mom in better days, wearing a jacket she bought in Bigfork. Just four years ago.

Home.

When I was home in Minnesota, I had the chance to see a "hard rime"  - the water droplets from a warm fog freeze onto the sides of objects as temperatures drop overnight.

I spent two weeks there. I felt like a page turned. Someone flipped forward in the book of adulthood before I'd finished what I'd started.

I call Minnesota "home" for lack of a better explanation. I've lived many places but since Minnesota is where my sister is, that's my home of sorts. Though we are only in our early 40's, I'm starting to think about where we retire - I don't want to be far from her.

Next, I flew to Miami for work. Miami is another home. I have many friends in the city and I have begun to realize how much I miss life there. I was very, very tired and cut the trip short and was sorry to do it. The sunshine was just right. Everything was in bloom. I was happy to see my friends, who I have been working with for many years now.

The trip back to DC took forever. Nearly twelve hours after a series of delays after three long weeks on the road. 

At 1:30 a.m., the pilot had a clear approach for the descent into the city. We floated over all my old favorite places. My college, the Mall, Arlington National Cemetary - the quiet, dark, place in the sea of lights. I spent most of my adult life here, it looks like this time it will be for good.

The question is - how to keep all the other "homes" - Edinburgh. New York. Minnesota. Montana. Oregon. Miami - as well?

2011: Year in New View.

My sister shared this link with me and I like it. First sentence, "Even if you didn't reach all the goals you set for yourself this year, you still had many successes." I decided to give it a whack, a follow-up on my annual review.

 

Make a list of all the things you learned this year:

Galloway's running method; how to bake with ground flax (versus eggs); a great deal about Actors' Equity union; how to tile a bathroom; how to hang sheet rock; that I'm severely allergic to poison ivy; that there are very good reasons quilters do things the way they do; it's not my job to make everyone in the room feel comfortable; Quickbooks. I might add to this list over the next few days.

 

People you met and connected with:

Zannestar, my long time blog friend; inspiring new theatre people at a big conference; reconnected with several folks from high school, but on a grown-up level. The Grand Poobah.

Blog and websites you were featured on:

Refinery29.com; thecollaredsheep.com, any of my own websites (of course).

What helpful books did you read:

SHED by Julie Morgenstern - not just organizing, but getting things sorted so that you are in position for the life you want to have. Engine 2 Diet. The Verbally Abusive Relationship by Patricia Evans. Elegies for the Brokenhearted by Christie Hodgen. The latter is a series of short stories - so wonderful. I had to take a month off reading after I finished it so I could digest what she had done.

 

What did you do that was totally out of your comfort zone:

I rented an office after ten years of working from home; I started a new business; moved to a new town; drove cross-country by myself.I put in ad in a national magazine for my old and new businesses.

 

New items you created:

I made a baby quilt.Developed a series of retail products and a new website.Started a work place advice column.

A new skill you learned:

Vegan baking.

The number of new followers on Facebook, Twitter, and your blog:

I think I have 300+ followers on Twitter this year; maybe 50 on LinkedIn; maybe 50 on Facebook; and I'm not sure about the blogs. This blog was only shared with a handful of old followers; new ones are welcome, as they find it organically.

 

How many blog posts did you write:

 Not as many on my personal site, but I tried to write more frequently on my work blog.

 

Places you showed your art:

Uh....

Shows you applied to and got into:

None.

I included those two questions because (perhaps) next year I will have different answers.

 

Your revamped studio space:

I like my new studio. It was a bedroom that J converted for me. We sprayed the whole thing white and I bought a drafting table at a garage sale. It has a really nice, sunny feel to it. Especially in the morning. My black cat loves to spend time in there. When she hears the door open she runs upstairs and jumps on my chair. In the summer, she positions herself in front of the air conditioner becuase she likes the air blowing on her. I like being close to water to clean brushes (I didn't have water in my Montana studio) and a bathroom. Looking at these old pictures, I'm also glad I have heat and the pesticide truck isn't screaming through every two days spraying carcinogens all over my projects.

Art-Based New Year Resolution

I've been mulling over a 365 Challenge a la Cathy Cullis for a few weeks now. I thought for awhile that I might do an abstract watercolor painting-a-day. Or a collage/journal entry.

But then I decided that it was enough to just make the commitment to be in there. Every day. Without imposing any rules or restrictions; just being and doing. Maybe some days I will simply sort, toss, organize. Others? Pick up unfinished projects or start those I've always had planned. Or something totally new.

I went in today for a couple of hours. Cutting a path toward the back where my table sits.

Lots going on in here, as you can sort of see. My camera is in the car and it's too cold to go get it. J would totally go get it for me but he's doing paperwork and watching football and I don't want to bother him with one more thing today since I already made him a) nail a window shut to keep the wind out; b) pour some orange house paint into a smaller jar for me so I could take it up to the studio; c) meet me at Books-A-Million for coffee; and d) put up my IKEA lamp and then "go get a cat" so I could see how the kitty would react to the new light. (He did go get the kitty; she does like the light.) He went to the store and cooked dinner, did the dishes, and then moved my car to a better parking spot  - but that was on his own initiative so I am not counting that stuff on my list of demands. Still, I'm not really in a position to ask him to get get anything else right now.

But back to the 365 project. Still haven't recovered from the move, in studio terms. Lighting is a problem all over the house - our wiring is from the 1930s and it was never brought up to the third level, i.e. the ceiling of this room.Which doesn't explain the bare light bulb situation, but I actually prefer the bare bulb to the shade the came with this [inherited] lamp. So.

There is crap everywhere. I have pieces of paper I've saved for collage for ten years. TEN YEARS. This 365 thing means that if I don't use it by the end of the year for something; anything...it goes. Unless it is really special - like my handmade cyanotypes. The paper that was packed in a Crate and Barrel mail order package I received nine years ago? May not be a keeper.

But no matter - I will eventually get it sorted. Because I'm going to be working in there every day this year. I putzed around in there today. Cleared off the side table and then made it messy again; painting the sides of a set of collage boards (orange) I've been working on off and on for...oh...three years at least.Painted the inside of an old drawer white - in preparation to make it a shadow box. An idea I've had since 2004. I've had all the stuff since at least 2006. I just have to execute it.

These orange-sided collages are pages from an old book on ocean life, stitched with neon embroidery thread and then waxed with orange crayon; glued to board. Not sure what happens next. Some gold leaf text, I think.

I made J hang up the gold museum frame with the scissors on it (ooh, forgot to include that in my list, above). I made it awhile back; just an old thing I had in my Montana studio. This way, I know which scissors are for art vs. sewing. Museum frame = art scissors. "Ophelia" painting hangs to the left; she is being looked at and thought about. Next layer is probably white over her skin.

I started this painting a couple of summers ago. I promised to sell it to a playwright in LA when it's finished. That was in June. I've done a few things to it but not sure what I want to do next. Wax and hair is tempting. Not even sure if the playwright cares anymore. Whatever - for now I will just leave it in a prominent place so I can meditate these important questions.

Finally, I hoovered.

Better pictures (and grammar!) next time, I promise.

The Portal: SHED by Julie Morgenstern

Sometime after my move, I started following organizing guru Julie Morgenstern on Twitter. Reality set in after I closed out my storage unit and put all those boxes in my office, my art studio, and my new home.

Up until then, I had followed a careful plan J. developed to keep me from getting upset. You see, each time I visited the storage unit I would wind up crying. The amount of stuff was physically overwhelming, for one; and for two, it represented so many expectations about my life that were now disappointed. Leaving the way I did, things were just flung into boxes by the movers - vitamins were as likely to be packed with shoes as they were with other vitamins. Everything had to be touched.

And it was certain that jags of sadness would be random. I did pretty well until I came across fabrics the girls and I used to sew their quilts - T.'s "Mod/Punk" duvet cover and T.'s quilt she made for her freshman year of college.  I love them so much, you see, and we had so much fun together. (I know now that we will continue our fun times.)

There was a part of me that could have just closed the door on everything and walked away forever. But I had thousands of dollars worth of art supplies in there; even I couldn't do that.  J. 's strategy was a good one: 1) H. was not go to the storage unit by herself (we learned by experience it wasn't good; 2) He had me stay outside storage unit and then brought 2-3 boxes out at a time for sorting - Good Will or Home. 3) We brought only 5-6 boxes at a time back home and went and got more when those things were put away. 

Finally, the unit emptied to the point where I tired of paying the rent. We brought it all home; and it's been chaos ever since.

I avoided the office for weeks until I finally acknowledged that it was just like paying rent on another kind of storage unit; it had to be dealt with. I'd "channel" Julie Morgenstern when I go in (and the FlyLady) and I'd spend the first fifteen minutes of every workday dealing with stuff. It helped that my sister and I had cleaned out my mother's office earlier this year - basically every piece of paper she'd ever saved went in the garbage. Her life's work if you want to think of it like that. I flung lots of stuff.  The office is in the home stretch. I can finally go in there and not feel overwhelmed. I have one box of tax files left that just need to be put in a file drawer.

Home is a different story. The art studio (see above) has gone through waves of improvement but is now at a standstill. The door is closed most days because I can't bear to work on it and it's too messy to work in. Every time I try to find something; something else falls down on me. The same with my closet. And I've given bags, and bags, and bags, of things away. But there is still much to do. I'm collapsing two modern-size homes into one Civil War-era row house. I have five coffee makers. A $400 dog bed and no dog. 

After interacting with Julie Morgenstern on Twitter a little bit, I went to her website and found a book called SHED. This book is FOR ME. For people burdened by their attachment to things because they belong to something. Morgenstern says,

"...submerged in that pile of stuff, is an old, no longer relevant belief system that you are still holding on to for some reason...all of the stagnant objects and behaviors in our lives represent something to us -- someone we used to be, or wanted to become, something we once believed about ourselves or the world, or a different time in our lives. The clutter becomes a very literal clue to that old belief system; something tangible you can examine and expunge." 

 That's totally me. It's more than just getting rid of stuff. It's figuring out why you are holding on to it and then identifying what needs to be let go of so you can move forward.  I've always thought of objects having "pollution;" the anthropology of....my Grandma used that basket (see basket on right hand side of photo above); Gay gave me that fruit bowl...that's a photo of Kathy's  baby...I have to hold on to it. 

After reading my relevant sections, I was surprised to find that one of the things I really wanted at this phase in my life was career success; above and beyond what I've had in the past. I was always working at less than my capacity in Montana; trying not to be too smart and greatly limited in my earnings because I lived with someone who [simply put] was threatened by my education and thought what I did for a living was a waste of time. Though I managed to keep working and do reasonably well, I felt like I parked my broken down potential at the side of the road six years ago and never went back to tow it home.  

I have been telling myself this summer that I just need a few new projects to get motivated but the reality is, once I acknowledged to myself that I wanted to be successful at my career - not just in money terms but in recognition for my intelligence - I snapped into focus. Morgenstern says to evaluate objects in your life according to their ability to support your goal. I pushed paper through my office on Friday like it was on fire because I suddenly had achieved clarity about what each thing meant relative to my future. 

On the way home I stopped by a consignment store and dropped off a bag of clothing I've been driving around since June. Believe me, they could barely contain their enthusiasm for my designer duds. And I have two more trash bags full to give them on Monday. It helps that I've lost a little weight, but what helps the most is just the full frontal acknowledgment that I don't want to wear those clothes anymore for what they represent. Expensive? Maybe. But I guess I've been doing that, already, in a passive-aggressive way - wearing two or three outfits I bought at Kohl's this year - but perhaps it really is o.k. to just get rid of most of it and start over; keeping only what I really want and purchasing the items that fit my new home and my new life. 

Which seems to be about keeping it relaxed, creative, happy, and productive. Versus stressful, chaotic, and overwhelming to manage. And I still have my girls. I posted on Facebook the other night that I feel like I've stepped through a portal: I don't want to wear the same things; I don't eat the same food; I don't write the same way, even. But I feel like I'm a better version of myself. That's a very good thing. 

So....my closet and art studio are next. 

Fall in Winchester, VA.

I keep telling my mother how much I'm enjoying the Fall weather. My reasoning was that Montana had mostly conifers and, though we had some color, we didn't get this. Gentle, warm, sunshine; crispy leaves; cold nights.

And it stretches on for what seems like forever. In Montana and Minnesota, Fall could be just a handful of days if Mother Nature changed her mind. There was usually a little snow in Montana by Halloween. 

I find that I am always making time to get OUT IN IT. I've been running in the actual outdoors; taking walks with J. after dinner; and walking to my office instead of taking the car. In my mind I'm always mapping places to go walk in it. This afternoon, I'm thinking of going running on a trail that goes through one of the Civil War battlefields. Other runners on dailymile.com tell me it is really beautiful right now.

Last weekend, my Mixed-Media Artists group met at a member's studio for an oil painting workshop. He opened up the doors and we went outside to paint in the sun. It was a perfect day for me. Glorious farm beauty all around, warm sunshine, and a goat or two. 

My old friend Beth (who has been my friend through every version of my mistaken life) came with me. Afterward, we bought apple pies at a farm market and went to an antiques store. It was a perfect Fall day. 

I enjoyed the painting, but I have to say the best thing that happened to me that day was the beautiful weather...and seeing a goat climb a tree.

It just occurred to me last night that my experience of Fall has been more distant than my years in Montana. Before Montana I was in Florida, after all. And before that I was in Scotland which also had a very, very brief season.

I had one Fall in DC (sandwiched between Scotland and Florida) but that was just after 9/11 so I don't think it counts. (We were all so depressed and sad that I doubt anyone noticed the colors.) 

Which is a long way of saying it's been probably fifteen years since I've really experienced this. It has always been my favorite time of year. And I'm loving every minute.  

What [Can] You [Can] Live Without?

The poison ivy continues. The oils are still on something in this house and are giving us rashes ON TOP OF our rashes. Yesterday, I went absolutely postal. I tore the house apart, starting with the bedroom. I super-cleaned and laundered everything and then went even deeper.

I opened my dresser drawers and I put a plastic bag right next to me. Anything unflattering or uncomfortable. Anything stained or with a small hole? Gone. Doesn't matter if its is potentially wearable in the art studio or for gardening. I'm not wearing it and I don't have room for it anyway.

As I sorted, it seemed to me that "potential" is the hoarder's advocate. "I might use it. It's still good. I've always wanted to..."

But even a gambler knows that if a bet that if it hasn't paid off for two decades...I've moved some scrap pieces of paper in and out of four different homes for a collage that's never been made. I try to channel my sister: WWKD with this? She'd throw it the fuck away.

Moving from a big house to a small one brings my hoarding problem into sharper focus. I have four brand-new coffeemakers and two french press pots.  In a big house (with three out buildings, a 2nd home and a storage unit, besides); you could easily have 35 blank canvases and not realize it.Those same 35 blank canvases stacked up in your art studio, with no other place to put them? Hell.

Engine 2 Diet: Week 4 Update.

Me and my sister, at the top of Pitamakin Pass in Glacier National Park in Summer '08.

 

I spent the first part of this week feeling pretty sorry for myself about my lack of progress on the Engine 2 Diet.

I also thought I had bed bugs having recently returned from Ohio which [we have since learned] lists four cities in the Top Ten for bedbug infestation in the nation. We came home and washed everything -- some things more than once -- and then both went into a black hole of despair about our future. I was covered with red bumps that looked like bed bug bites. Did we bring the bugs home? Would we ever get rid of them? Would our friends distance themselves from us? Why was *I* getting bit but not J.?

And then my arm started to swell up. It was the arm I had outside the hotel blanket when I was watching The Office on my iPod while J.  slept. How could I not feel them crawling on me? Were they living in my hair?! I decided to bite the bullet, spend the $200 bucks and go to the doctor. Where I learned that...basically, I have a really bad case of poison ivy which I picked up weeding my own yard. And when J. finished the job a few days later, he also got it. Which we learned when his rash appeared a few days after mine.

So, that's just a long, overly-dramatic way to tell you the story about how I wound up on Prednisone. My immune system (not just my feelings!) power-react to everything and the swelling on my arm wasn't making any visible sign of slowing down. And once I wound up on Prednisone, I knew I was fucked. I've had to do steroids before and I know the drill. No chance I was going to show any real loss on the scale this week. ONCE AGAIN, I was going to have to measure my progress in some other way.

But this time I was bitter about it. I'd put in lots of effort this month and after the first week of smooth sailing, it wasn't easy. I wanted more - I wanted to lose a WHOLE pound. Maybe even FIVE like the other gals on the Jonnyogoesvegan.com wagon. I jumped right back into the black whole [sic] and wallowed in the confirming evidence that no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to change what has happened to my body over the last five years.

And I admit, underneath all of that is the feeling that someone else is to blame. That I don't deserve this. That I was never sick or fat before I met him and that this is some unwanted legacy of that marriage I have to take with me. Or that I should be able to control how I look, and feel, and that my health situation would change if only I could be better, stronger, faster at whatever it is I need to do more of to make it work.

But even with all that going on in my mind? You know, I've always felt awesome on steroids. Even Lupron. I was doing 90 minutes of cardio on Lupron before my last surgery. It's nice to get a window into what it would be like not to have excess estrogen. But I digress. Once the steroids kicked in and the rash got a little less painful, I went back to the gym and had tons of energy. That is the point about the steroids....they got me out of the black whole and back to the gym.

So there I am, on the Stairmill, huffing and puffing about my various disappointments (like being denied health coverage for pre-existing conditions) when I caught a woman out of the corner of my eye using one of those "bikes" you pedal with your hands. What kind of person does that for a workout? I looked, pretending like I was checking the clock, and saw that she was a paraplegic. (My gym is part of the hospital and has an integrated rehabilitation program.) Her wheelchair sitting empty next to the hand-bike, and she was doing her thing while I was moaning, on both my legs, on a Stairmill (which is a tough workout, people), about how pathetic my body was.

Tssssss! [finger sizzling the air.] That's one for God, who took a moment to burn some sense into me.

I went home and read a post on a cooking blog called In Jennie's Kitchen about peanut butter pie, a woman who had lost her young husband very suddenly the week before, and how he was the light of her life and that light had, without warning, been snuffed out. And so I resolved to be the partner that J. deserved, every day.

Tsssss!

And then I went back to my Jim Loehr book and read more about Old vs. New Stories and I resolved that I would take Loehr's advice; that I would no longer hand my power to someone else and allow them to decide how I feel about myself. I'm responsible. I can't control everything about my health, but I can control how I respond in mind and in my everyday actions. My very first specialist told me this, five years ago. He said, "You've got to be that crazy lady who gets up every day at 5:00 in the morning, every day of the week and pounds it out at the gym. In other words, you've got to be Lou Schmelber*. 

I took his online quiz and saw my answers - that I was working hard, but I was NOT pushing myself to my absolute max in my workouts.  I was telling myself I wasn't well enough to be an athlete; that I was scared to try running again post-tendon rupture; and that I was trying hard enough as it is. All bullshit.

And I know this because while I was doing my core workout, I looked down from the balcony into the therapy pool and saw a woman doing *her* workout. She was a quadraplegic. Her head was held out of the water by a special floation device. She had two therapists - one to move her legs and one to hover close by her head to make her feel secure and give any additional support that might be needed to keep her safe.   What a gift for her and for both of them to be able to help.

Can she change? She is always trapped inside *her* body. Then I took in how beautiful she looked. How toned her muscles were; how healthy her skin was. I was struck by how much was required to make sure this woman could spend an hour in the pool;  and how often that had to happen to preserve her flexibility and keep the muscles from atrophy. Yes. She changed. Broken by a trauma to her body. And then slowly she got better. And she keeps changing and getting better, though it may not be as visible or as rapid a change as someone else's.

Tsssss!

And it hit me. Things are different. If I look at it that way, I have moved my needle.I have moved it in some very significant ways. I realized that I was scared, angry, and resentful about my health but when I watched that woman in the pool I knew it was time to let it go.

In the past 28 days my taste buds have changed, I've gone from someone who couldn't stand the food she was "supposed to" eat for breakfast to a person who looks forward to breakfast every day; Rip's Big Bowl with unsweetened almond milk. I ran out of kale and spinach and I was unhappy about it. Never thought I'd say that about kale, but it's true.

I smile every morning when I wake up because I feel free of egg whites and chicken breasts. I don't have to eat birds. I don't have to eat what I don't enjoy. Vegan or no. If I don't like it, I'm not going to make myself eat it. There are too many other good, healthy vegan choices out there. I'm not going to cut soy shreds out of a plastic bag; I'm not going to eat seitan.

In the past 28 days, I've figured out my new kitchen, where to buy healthy foods in my new town, and gotten in the habit of treating my food preparation as a priority. I've gotten in the habit of packing a cooler for lunch and bringing it along on car trips so we have healthy snacks. I've gotten in the habit of freezing extra portions, combining leftovers into beautiful soups and making very simple, delicious meals on a pretty reasonable budget.

In the past 28 days, I have noticed that my blood pressure is dropping. From 120/80 to 102/78. I may be able to do without the diuretic, I'm not sure yet. Zero aspartame or Splenda in my system means a lot less water retention; it means that my hands don't hurt as much. I think the better foods that make me happy mean *I* don't hurt as much.

In the past 28 days, I have learned that my new/old love is a more supportive partner than I ever imagined, and I already thought he was awesome. He never once complained about the vegan thing, he only did what he could to help. On our trip last week, he let me choose all the restaurants. He sniffed my kale salad and asked if he could have some. He ate at home for 30 days (probably a record for him) and never brought a sweet inside this house. He loves having the fruit around and couldn't name a single vegetable he doesn't like. He booked a hotel room with a kitchen and packed all my vegan food into the car. I tell him I've joined a hiking group and he thinks that's awesome and encourages me by saying I will enjoy it. He doesn't do it all because someone was watching and he wanted to look like a great guy, he just IS a great guy. And I know that more than ever, now.

And over the past 28 days, I've realized that it will take me longer than a month to move the needle again, but even if I can't see it, it IS moving. If I throw it out a little wider, I see:

That in the past six months, my health is trending in a positive direction. I'm down 50 percent on one medicine, possibly ready to dump another; I've lost six pounds and not gained it back.I belly laugh every day. I know that someone really, really loves me and wants the best for me. I used to never be able to imagine the future; now I am making plans, with excitement for the smallest things, like snuggling under a blanket when our old, poorly insulated Civil War-era house turns cold in the fall.

I know that even though I had to leave my family in Montana and Oregon, and that leaving hurt us all so much, I can still have a great relationship with all my grandkids, T, T, M, L, and D and their parents too. We can decide how WE want to be, and we've decided to be good to each other. That means a great deal to my health and happiness.

As I finished up my run today, I realized that I was running faster and longer than I was before my tendon injury 18 months ago. I'm doing Jeff Galloway's program, via the iPod app. (Love that app. Best $2.99 I've ever spent.) Music is great, his voice is soothing, and in week 2, I'm running faster than I ever have. My foot doesn't hurt at all. I started out thinking I couldn't run but I wind up doing it without looking at the stopwatch, going faster and faster, and I feel awesome when I'm done. Like.

And a shout out to my Bend-based trainer Mary who made my core super strong during the 18 months since my injury. Mary also really helped me recover from multiple abdominal surgeries and did so with unfailing encouragement and support. Even when I told her about the dog thing and then went back to him and stayed for ten more months, even though I probably shouldn't have. She protected me in her way, and I still keep her card on my fridge, as a kind of holy shrine of protection.

Three years ago, when I was 37, they induced a chemical menopause with Lupron and then gave me a double oophrectomy and full hysterectomy. Five months after my surgery, I hiked 18 miles at 7800 feet; the scariest hike I've ever done.

Three and a half years ago, aged 36, my ovaries started to fail. I dreamed of starting a "Vagina Hotline" where women could call in and just complain to someone who gave a shit. I hiked 10 miles to Iceberg Lake with the family.

Four years ago, I had a tumor removed from my right breast. My body was still making too much estrogen. The surgery didn't work. That summer, I hiked 21 miles in one day.

 

That's me in the cowboy hat.

Four and a half years ago, I had my ovaries "drilled" --don't watch that if surgery grosses you out ---  and took 12 advil a day to cope with chronic pain from endometriosis being fed by all that excess estrogen my ovaries were making. The only place I felt comfortable was in my bed. I couldn't wear high heels, or exercise, or even take many walks, because it caused too much pain in my abdomen. I bled 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for two years.

So, when I zoom out on the needle a little bit, I can see there was always pain, but there was always strength and a measure of recovery. Often hard won, and done alone, but recovery just the same.

I can see the needle has moved this time for good - I'm better, stronger, faster. I don't have all the answers, maybe I didn't lose any weight this month, but that's o.k., eventually, I will. In the meantime, I think I'm floating.

And that's what I've learned during the 28 Day Challenge on the Engine 2 Diet**.   

Thanks to all of you, my friends, for being so awesome through all this stuff.

And a special thank you to fundraiser Sue K., though she will probably never read this, for giving the Vagina Hotline at least a half a second thought for our local [Montana] hospital's women's wing.

*All names have been changed to protect the privacy of said exercise fanatic.

**I'll totally weigh and measure when I'm done with the steroids next week. I swear.

Dating at 40 and 47 PLUS Hammie Photo Shoot.

J. travels for work and is away most days of the week. His time at home is determined by whether or not some manufacturing company needs their pollution control system repaired and so...impossible to predict.  In my previous lives, time alone meant time to relax and recover and the time to do the things *I* wanted to do. There was never enough time alone.

Now, y'all know I keep busy with all my work and activities, but I find myself in uncharted territory. I genuinely miss him when he's gone. Things are fine in the big picture, but the need for that missing hug or laugh isn't entirely met by reading a book or stitching on something.

This summer there have been some especially long stretches apart, with time at home limited to a bunch of hurried home repairs or trips to buy more house paint. The day after he put in a new kitchen sink, J. watched nature shows all day and said, "I just need a day, you know?"

And I understood what he meant. We needed to have some fun. The last six months have been about hemorraging cash, I've been trying to stick around the house, work, and basically...do nothing. No meals out with friends in DC, no travel, no art classes. So, for the first time in a good long while, I rode along with J. to his job in Columbus, Ohio.

It's been fun. We rented a car to make the drive. Some kind of big, American thing with leather seats and XM Radio. It would be a six hour drive, point-to-point. We'd pass through Virginia, West Virginia, Western Maryland, Western Pennsylvania and then Ohio all in one afternoon. As we crossed the state line into West Virginia I told J. that it was my first time in that famous state of Deliverance. He looked over and put his hand on my knee, "I'm glad it was with me, baby."

Lots of good time for talking. I asked him a whole bunch of stupid, hypothetical girl questions like, "If we had met in Winchester and were just dating, what kind of dates would you take me on?" (Because we never really "dated," 20 years ago or now) I can't remember what all he said but he told me that on a first date he'd just ask me out for coffee. Cool. I love coffee.

So, we pull over in Cumberland, Maryland at Burger King for restroom break. It was kind of a weird town. Cumberland has seen better days - economically speaking - and the folks who are left behind are well...kind of odd. In a geographically isolated way.

So, we're sitting in our rental car in the Burger King parking lot when this dude walks by. And there is something not right about him in an Of Mice and Men kind of way. He's a little too big; his belly is oddly distended; his arms seem to hang a little too far. And sure enough? When he walks by the car, he lifts up both his monkey arms, hinging up at the elbows and flaps his hands at us. At just that moment, we are backing up the car and we're so gobsmacked by this guy that J. slams the rear end of the car into a light pole.

We check it and drive away but as we drive, we realize it's more than just a scrape. The car is not just scratched, it's f*cked up. It squeals and jerks and wobbles and people seem to be giving us a pretty wide berth, which suggests that all that squalling is also throwing off a few sparks. It isn't safe to drive. Long story short - two hours later, we have loaded all my vegan food, art supplies, work computer, and papers plus all of John's tools, computer, and suitcase into another rental and we're back on the road to Ohio. (Today, we're a little more relaxed knowing that his work has insurance that will handle this. Awesome)

Also awesome. Last night? We kinda went on a date right here in Columbus, Ohio. I worked all day in the hotel room and then when he finished up, we went out together. For fun, like.  In the car on the way to the [vegan-friendly] Starliner Diner, I told him he was being a sport about all this vegan stuff, and I really appreciated it. And this is what he said,

"Baby, you're trying to do something for yourself, and I am glad to be supportive of that. Just like I know if I wanted to do something you would try and support me. I would have gone to that other place and eaten the all vegetable earth food and been glad to do it."

Which may not seem like anything to you, but it was a big deal for me to hear. I don't think I've *ever* had that and I know he genuinely meant it. So I'd appreciate a moment of silence in honor of that.

I enjoyed my grilled veggie cheeseless pizza at the Starliner and J. liked his steak burrito with black beans and rice. Dinner and drinks for two: $23. Can't beat that. After dinner, he took me to Jack's Aquarium and Pets. I told him, "You know, I'm pretty much a sure thing. You don't have to take me to a pet store." But it was really fun. It was Old School, family-owned, and you could reach in and pet everything. Score!

I liked these sparkly goldfish.

These little crabs were cute.

The albino African frogs seemed restless and unhappy though.Like maybe a fish tank in central Ohio isn't the life they've dreamed of.

We enjoyed picking up the hammies.

Just trying to capture the cute-ness.

And then we walked over to Starbucks and had a coffee. Stopped at Lowe's and held hands in the "Tool World" section while he looked for a part. It was a perfect date.