talking and sweating and talking and talking...

So it's a two-blog-day, but I just have to share.

About two hours ago:

I head to the gym. In the locker room, I put on my gym shorts and they're t-i-g-h-t. Blech. No matter, I say, press on!! I do, and head to the elliptical machines upstairs. Soon I'm puffing away, reading the October 23 issue of the New Yorker. (Brad Leithauser has a heartbreaking poem in there, by the way. DO NOT READ IT if you or someone you are close to has lost a child. Or maybe you/they should read it. I have no idea. But if I had lost a child and I was working out and came across this poem--titled "Son"--and read it, I would have lost it right there. Totally. Writhing in grief at hte foot of the elliptical machine. Of this I am quite sure.)

Two undergrad blondies are puffing away on each side of me. The one on the right is leaning on the bars of her machine in a way that makes me want to scream "you're cheating, you stupid wench, and it's bad for your back" but I don't, I hold back, return to my reading. The next thing I know, the one on my left is dialing her cell phone. I hear "Hi Mom," and then "how are you feeling?" and then "I got your package. It was soooo funny! *giggle* I miss you!"

I look around. Does anyone else see how ridiculous this is? The girl's cell phone is pink, for goodness sake. She keeps talking. Fifteen minutes pass. I'm sweating and smelly. Twenty-five minutes. "Well I don't care, it's not my fault," I hear her say.

Folks stroll by on their way to the drinking fountain. I see them look at annoying pink cell girl and then look away. I know I can't expect them to take action and wrench the phone from her manicured fingers, but I wish someone would.

Oh, how I wish someone would.

falling, and getting up

This morning I dug out the scale from underneath a box of winter clothes. I remember putting the box on the scale about a month ago. At that point, I was in my "scale avoidance" period, coming off of an obsessive bout of weighing myself almost daily. For whatever reason, the happy medium of weighing myself weekly was unattainable -- it was either every day, wincing when I saw nothing change or the number go up, or complete denial of any information that disclosed my NUMBER. My NUMBER, it seems, was ruling my life. I did not like that feeling. So I robbed the NUMBER of its power and relegated it to a dark place underneath a pile of shorts and tank tops.

But this morning, I knew it was time to face the NUMBER. So I grabbed the scale, placed it prominently in front of the dryer, and stepped on. The horror. I was not surprised by what the tiny red LED screen was telling me, but I wasn't exactly happy either. In fact, I was crushed. But here's one good thing: I didn't let myself stay crushed. I thought "well, now you know. And here you are right back where you've been how many times? Three? Four? Five? So what's it gonna take?"

I know that first and foremost, it takes belief in oneself. It takes loving oneself enough to want to live a healthy life. If I were a pie chart, and red was the color of my self-love, I'd have a half eaten pie. This is no earth-shattering statement, because I've yet to find a person on this earth with a single-colored, whole pie. Imagine a statement from your fund advisor, and then imagine an overly-diversified portfolio. That's the image I'm holding out to you. See that one, he's got sliver of an orange slice for a hang up about his nose. Next to that, a golden slice for that beer belly he's been sporting since college. There's a huge purple slice for the quiet hatred of his body proper, and the remaining teal, blue, grey, brown, green slices...they're just more snapshots of further body betrayal.

I had this thought after driving home from a birthday party last Friday: My life has to change. It's not that I'm headed down a road to ruin, but I'm not convinced that it would take much for me to detour into that. The truth is, I lost my feeling compass long ago, and though I've managed, at times, to experience great joy and great sorrow in equal measure, the emotions are short-lived. I don't let them loiter for long. Sometimes I chalk this up to my battle with depression and the choice--a brave one, a hard one--to ingest those little half-pills that reuptake my serotonin, and wonder when the day will come when I choose to leave them behind. Sometimes I think that I come from stock that is so adept at not dealing with hard emotions that my default position, the one that comes most naturally, is to shut down completely. I am the sprinkler nozzle at the end of the hose that knows the water is coming but will allow only a trickle. This is necessary for my survival. No amount of therapy has changed it, though I have sat through hour after hour of excruciating disclosures and felt like my heart was going to drop out of my body onto the floor. Yes, I've learned to let go when I'm in a room with a professional that I trust. But it can't last too long. I can't bear it. The dominoes, they fall and fall and fall, and before I know it, I'm nine and sitting on the lap of my male babysitter, and he's kissing me.

See? I start with the scale and end with sexually inappropriate behavior. It's annoying how that happens. Annoying and inevitable. So I have to accept the inevitability and squelch the annoyance. I have to open my eyes wider and see what great gifts are before me, ready for the taking. No one is holding me down, force feeding me that Reeses cup. I've dragged around this body long enough, and I am willing it lighter, stronger, faster. I'm willing it whole.

gifted

The photo at right was taken at the Denver Botanic Gardens two days after our wedding reception...it was such a stunning day...


So yeah, we cleaned up in the wedding gift arena. I just pulled four mini loaves of whole wheat banana bread from the oven--the mini pans were a gift. Last week, we experimented with our new Crock-pot and tried preparing the terribly prosaic Presbyterian/Methodist/Lutheran chicken dish (so tell me, what was the denomination of your Campbell's soup, rice and chicken casserole?) and it worked for the most part, though I think it's more of an oven dish...this version lacked the crustiness that forms along the edges, which I love. I think it might work if we cooked it on low for six hours or so, but given that we were working with boneless chicken breasts, I fear that by the time the rice had absorbed all the liquid and crusties had formed, the chicken would be so rubbery it would take on the character of a super ball. Mmmmm, chewy.

We also received a panini press, a tomato knife (how can any kitchen be without one?), a gorgeous 10 inch Calphalon omelette pan, and a Weber charcoal grill. New dishes, napkins, napkin rings, skewers, decorative serving plates and platters. An ice cream scoop. Art. A handknitted throw (you rock JJ. We were beyond touched). Poetry. Our very own poem. Champagne flutes. Bottles of wine. I knew couples cleaned up when they got married, but I never imagined cleaning up this much.

I should be writing thank you notes. I must write some today. We're doing them in stages so as not to incite massive hand cramping. We are thankful, awesomely so. S. and I feel touched by magic, actually, and though might sound cheesy and dramatic, so many wonder-filled and touching things have happened to us around our marriage that no other word will suffice. Magic is all there is. And it's just right, tinged with the otherworldly and the unexpected. It covers us and warms us like that beautiful handmade blanket, and we don't want to move for fear that this bliss will end.

And of course it will end. That's just the way life goes, like one endless roller coaster that affords you tremendous views, heart-stopping speed and moments of abject fear. For now I'm just enjoying the view. I'm cooking my little heart out and trying to figure out where the hell we're going to put all of our marital bounty.

And I keep thinking about having a baby...

i made a corned beef sammich with Carl Buddig lunch meat

and a sad sad "multi-grain crescent" roll from the bulk bins. I made this sandwich because I was hungry, but also because it was the only thing that made sense to me after spending the morning stumbling around post-veterinary trauma wherein we said goodbye to our sweet little white cat. Eating processed lunch meat doesn't really make a lot of sense after holding the body (not soul) of your pet because your loved one can't take it anymore and because she wants you to have your goodbye (even if that sweet spirit already left).
my Carl Buddig lunchmeat sandwich was not disappointing, nor was it fulfilling. It was an opportunity to get some needed calories and to try to ground myself by sticking something relatively comforting in my mouth. It was all I could do. The mustard and sweet pickles helped, as did that smidge of mayo. And now I am done.

from fajitas to cake to ale and back again

Time to catch my breath.

The wedding celebration/reception was amazing. We danced, we cried, we ate yummy cake...it was better than Cats. WAY better. My entire family was here and they seemed to have a great time, and just that made my year. I will not soon forget all of us on the dance floor getting jiggy to the Talking Heads' classic, Once in a Lifetime.

So now it's all about refocusing. I have been so off the healthy eating wagon these past two weeks that I fear getting back on is going to take some monumental work, but I can do it. Winter is kicking in, so I'm carb-ing up...I can feel my body craving bread, pasta and the like. Last night a somewhat stale jalapeno cheddar bagel warmed for 15 seconds in the microwave was pretty close to edible Nirvana.

Something about marriage makes me feel invincible. Open to so many possibilities. I married such an amazingly kind, generous, funny, talented, gentle, beautiful woman. I feel so lucky. Love deepens, love blooms. Hoaky as it all may sound, I remain the blushing bride, and hope the color does not fade from my cheeks for a millenia.

Here's to the future...good health, good lovin', and the neverending warmth of friends.

Now where's my lunch?

i'll be baaack

...just a note to say that life (and wedding reception planning) have hijacked my ability to do anything but try to stay sane and not turn into a drooling, weeping mess, so i'm on a brief blog hiatus. Never fear, I WILL be back as soon as this celebratory week passes...after all, I'm about to spend time with my WHOLE family, so I'll have lots of fodder for this particular forum.

carry on the psychic gains and the weight losses, all.

be well.

foho