Steve and I both have some choices to make. Or rather, Steve has a choice, and I hope to get the option to have a choice. That’s all I can say so far.
And my nephew, Shawn, is in the ICU right now. He is (let me do the math — 2007-1979= 28) 28 years old and the father of three. He is in the hospital with fluid on the brain. I don’t know a lot, but prayers are welcome.
He went in after feeling dizzy. Thanks.
We learned about blogs today. If you are part of the CWP and looking at my blog, here are a few blogs I ask my students to look at.
I am sitting in a room at Ferris State University since my writing workshop, the Crossroads Writing Project, began yesterday. This week the days go from 8:30 a.m. to about 8:15 p.m. So why am I writing in my blog? Ah, because it is Sacred Writing Time, which I really love. Basically, you are given time to write. There is a writing prompt, but you don’t have to write from the prompt. Yesterday, I used the prompt. Today, I’m not sure yet. Today’s prompt is…
“No act is bad or good, it is the intention behind the act which makes it so.” — Ratangit
I wanted to spend at least part of this four weeks writing more on my memoir, Fat Man’s Daughter. That is not a very good sentence, by the way. Anyway, with the prompt in mind, plus the idea to write about weight-related things… my actual writing from the prompt will now begin. Aren’t you lucky?
OK, so it hasn’t actually began yet. I’m thinking. And before I started typing, I was sitting here with my chin in my hands. And then I realized I should be writing this thinking process down because that is part of what makes writing prompts valuable.
And I think I’m a bit nervous about doing this writing prompt thing out in the public. And really, that is just strange because I write about stuff here in raw form all the time. But this is different. The title says so. It is sacred writing time. Sacred. But I think that refers more to the time than to the actual type of writing. It’s the butt in the chair theory. The first step in writing, is to write, and to do that, you need to spend the butt time. I’m doing butt time..
OK, back to the prompt. What was it again, “No act is bad or good, it is the intention behind the act which makes it so.” – Ratawhoever. See above if you really must know.
Diets. Breaking diets. Eating. People trying to feed you when your watching what you eat…
6:03 a.m. according to the clock in the kitchen. The coffee is brewing, and I’m putting on my tennis shoes as Steve does some stretches. He straightens up, and I stand up with my laces all tied, and we head for the front door, ready to take our morning exercise. We walk by the refrigerator, and I am reminded of doing something very similar the day before.
Only then, I stopped at the refrigerator, pulled open the door, and grabbed a Hershey’s Nugget from the freezer. I had it unwrapped and popped into my mouth before I realized Steve was objecting.
“I thought you were trying to lose weight,” he said.
“It’s a tiny candy bar,” I said. “A treat.”
“Your the one who said she wanted to lose weight,” he said. With him still reminding me of my intentions, we walked out the door, climbed into our truck and drove to a Little League game.
But that was yesterday. Today, we’re up and walking out the door. The freezer door stays shut, and I have my tennis shoes on. The world is just waking up, but Steve and I are already outside, stepping from the gravel of our driveway to the pavement of our road.
We turn right and walk. I’m grumpy. I had a strange depressing dream, and the images are still in my head. I talk to Steve, seeking advice about an upcoming meeting I have. We strategize. We plan. We dream. We talk. At 6:20, we turn back around and head back home. As we approach our driveway, I notice the tingling of my legs. Little darts tingle up and down, not painful, but just a reminder that these muscles need to be worked out more often.
As we walk down our driveway towards are front door, I’m silent. I’m assessing my body. I can feel the layer of sweat curving along my back. My legs continue to tingle. My right ankle is stiff but the limp is gone. I climb the few steps and enter my front door. Inside, I grab a coffee cup and my creamer. Steve didn’t stop in the kitchen. He went into our bedroom as I pour the creamer in my cup and then add the coffee. I carry the cup to the bathroom and set it on the counter. I get in the shower without taking a sip. It was too hot.
When the shower is over, I take a couple of sips, but the coffee is starting to cool. I pour out the half cup left in the bathroom sink and continue to get ready for the day.
If I intend to lose weight, that’s good. But what do my actions say about my intentions? I know I can talk the talk when it comes to weight loss. I can be brutally honest about my weight. I no longer hide my body from my self even though I want to. Walking is a good action that supports my intention. Pouring creamer that runs 60 calories a spoonful isn’t such a good action now is it? Tossing out most of the coffee? There’s another good action, but it wasn’t my first choice. If the temperature had been right, I would have drank that cup full of calories. At the end of the day, when I balance my good actions with my bad actions, which one wins? I could line up my acts on a scale, but I really don’t need to since all I really need to do is step on a scale. How much weight did I lose or gain this week? Bad actions wins again.
Just the other day while out in the backyard with my husband and father-in-law, I noticed our shadows as they fell across our lawn. I compared my shadow to my father-in-law’s as he stood near me. When I saw the difference — how wide my shadow was compared to his — I turned sideways to make my shadow smaller. Even sideways, I notice that my shadow is still wider than my father-in-law’s. He is ahead of me, talking to my husband, and instead of joining them, I turn away and walk towards the camper. As I walk towards the camper, my bulky shadow dissolves into the camper’s shadow. I hope they didn’t notice. I hope I’m the only one who watched my shadow be gobbled up by the camper’s shadow along with my secret — I’m fat.
If my intentions are to lose weight, what are my actions?
OK, that last question probably isn’t needed. And that last paragraph belongs somewhere else — it’s good, a keeper, but not right for the rest of this piece. I need to find a place for it. Or at least the idea.
Obviously, I’ve quit writing and I’m in editing mode. Thinking about the audience reaction and trying to do some crafting. I started this naturally, and I was going to stop because I thought the Sacred Writing Time was coming to an end. People are starting to move around and talk to each other. The door to the room keeps opening and closing. We’re coming out of our deep thought mode. Most of us have done our writing and are now taking care of housekeeping items — breakfast, bathroom, coffee refill. It’s 9:30 am., and there is another 15 minutes scheduled for Sacred Writing Time.
I stretch and grab my writing bottle. No coffee today. I’m trying (and it isn’t easy with writing or weight loss) to keep my actions in line with my intentions. This morning was a good start. Instead of driving over from the dorm, three of us walked. It was about a 15 minute walk, and by 8:25 a.m., you could start to feel the beginning of what the forecasters promises will be a 90 degree day.
I stopped writing. I scroll back up and reread what I’ve written. A change here. A change there. You’ll never know. The original is lost before I know it. The actions, the motion of my left hand to hit “control save” is automatic. It takes me a moment to realize that I hit the control key with the save button, and the s with my index finger. Time is up.
On Monday, I leave for a four-week writing workshop. I’ll be home on the weekends, but I’ll still be gone four to five days a week, and I will live in a dorm.
Today I have to pack, and I am worried about what I will wear. I want to be comfortable, and I’m not sure what the temperatures will be, but I suspect it will be hot. And possibly rainy.
And it’s not like I have a lot of options to select from. I would say that I no longer fit into a majority of the clothing in my closet. And yet I don’t want to buy more clothing because I want to lose this weight.
But I did go shopping the other day, and it just made me feel bigger and fatter. I left the store feeling very down and depressed about my size.
It has been months since I lost any additional weight. I tend to fluctuate between the same five pounds. The thing is I can tell when I am at the highest rather than the lowest. With just those five pounds, my body feels differently. Yet why haven’t I lost any more weight?
I’ve done some exercising but not as much as I should be doing.
It’s always been so easy to hide my excess weight before. People would be surprised to hear how much I really weigh. But now they aren’t surprised. I look fat too.
I know what it takes to lose weight — exercise more and eat less, but I have a hard time doing that. My biggest problem is that I don’t know how to figure out calories and portions for food I make at home. I wonder how much I really am consuming, and I have no way to figure it out. How many calories is there in two pieces of toast with butter and peanut butter spread thinly across the toast’s surface? Why peanut butter and butter?
This week I have been thinking more about exercise short cuts than real loss. I investigated the new diet pill — Alli. It sells for $44 for 60 capsules at my local store. The bottle contains 60 tablets, and the instructions say take one pill with every meal. It warns against taking more than 3 a day. That means the bottle contains less than a 30 day supply. Plus there is all the nasty warnings that go along with it. I’m not (desperate enough) ready to accept “uncontrollable bowel movements” as a side effect of any weight loss program.
I also logged onto lapband.com to find out about that. You need to have a BMI higher than 40, which I don’t. Or, you can have a BMI 35 or higher (I do) along with a severe medical condition (I don’t).
I guess it’s up to me, along with diet and exercise. When will I think I’m worth it to do something? Why doesn’t the weight just come off? Shouldn’t thinking hard about losing weight burn some calories?
Will this new realization that I am fat spur me into losing the weight? Fourteen pounds is not enough to lose. I am behind in my goal. I wanted to lose a pound a week. I should have lost 24 pounds by now. Remember when I was ambitious enough to think maybe I should aim for 2 pounds a week? What happened to that motivation?
Ten pounds. I can do it, right?
Steve and I started walking again. And we were talking about how I was going to be able to keep walking next week at the workshop. It goes from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., and in my off hours I have other commitments such as grading student work. Will I be able to find time to walk? I am going to try. This has always been my downfall — I fill my schedule so much with things that require just sitting that I don’t get the exercise I need. This is how I gained my weight in the first place.
Yesterday, I told my husband I loved him. It wasn’t unusual for me to do so. I tend to tell him the phrase several times throughout a day, and I don’t think it loses its meaning when it is said so often. It can be said so many different ways.
He didn’t respond with his usual, “I love you.” And I prodded him, reminding him that is what he is supposed to say.
He smiled, and told me that I know he loves me without him telling me. But before he finished his sentence, he added, “But I know you like to hear it too.”
Which made me think about how we say I love you. I find it very easy to tell my husband, and I do several times a day. And he tends to tell me often too. We both say it easily and frequently to the other. Sometimes he says it, and I respond. Sometimes I say it, and he responds. Sometimes, when one of us teases the other, we’ll say it as if it is our ticket to allow us to tease because it is. I love you, you love me, and so we can pick on each other. We can press buttons no one else can, and the result is laughter not pain.
I used to tell my children several times a day too, and more importantly, they used to tell me. But now they are bigger and it isn’t always cool to tell your mom that you love her. I still get it at bedtime, most nights, but sometimes I have to steal it. I like to grab Autumn and Amanda and squish them into a hug and noisily press my lips to their cheeks as I squeal about loving them. It makes them laugh, and the “oh Moms” are there too. I’m loud as I proclaim my love for them, holding them against their will.
And I realize I got my smooshing hug methods of I love you from my own mom. I’ve adapted it a bit to make it my own, but it is at its core my mom’s technique. My mom gives bone-crunching hugs with her lips planted against your cheek. This happens at least twice — usually upon first seeing you and when you separate again.
My children haven’t moved out yet, and I give out my smooshing hugs when an unsuspecting child least expects it, although most probably happen while standing next to our refrigerator. That may be because the children are moving by, either on their way to somewhere or just coming back from somewhere.
At least I didn’t acquire my dad’s method. Whenever mom would attempt to kiss him when anyone else was in sight, Dad would make this disgusting noise deep in his throat. That’s right, my dad would attempt to bring up a loogie. And yet my mom kept kissing him.
Or maybe I did mix in a bit of his method after all — the one he used with me. When I tried to kiss Dad, he had a slightly different reaction. Instead of hugging me, he’d trap me in a headlock. I would struggle against him to free my head. Just as I was able to pull my head free, my dad would throw open his arms and tell me he let me go. Do I remember my dad telling me he loved me? I can’t remember a specific incident. But I have several letters he wrote to me when I was a freshman in college. In every one of those, he closed with, “I love you,” although sometimes it was, “I love you, kid.”
My father-in-law doesn’t say I love you, but he tries. Years ago my kids taught him sign language for I love you, and he will make this sign to you. Only he always does it backwards, with the sign facing him rather than you. He can talk to me about how my mother in law will never say it, but that she does love me. But he never talks about how he can’t say it either. Instead he gives you the backwards hand sign. Or he tells you “I wouldn’t trade you for two mules.” I like that he tries to say it, in his very unique way. And even without the words, he definitely shows it. I just wish at least one time, he would tell my husband with words and not just actions.
My mother-in-law doesn’t say it either. But even though she can’t always find the words, she isn’t very good at hiding her feelings. When she is mad, you know. And when she is happy, you know. And you know she loves you, even when she doesn’t say it. I think the first time I realized it was when I heard her talking about me to someone else. She was bragging about me. I heard pride in her voice. For a long time, I think my mother-in-law didn’t think I was good enough for her son. I can’t clean to her standards. I didn’t put undershirts on Autumn when she was a baby. The list of things I did wrong was long. But now she is more accepting about the things I can’t do well, or maybe my cleaning skills have improved just enough.
When it comes to “I love you,” is it always the old “Actions speak louder than words?” Or sometimes, do you really need to hear the words?
MyFitnessPal - Free Weight Loss Tools
Check out my Weight Loss Bucket List!
