The Delightfully Healthy Blog

This Happens

every year about this time.  I go into hibernation mode.   I keep thinking about posting.  I even come up with something to write about occasionally.  But actually sitting down and writing it never seems to happen.  Usually, I beat myself up about it.  I fill my head with 'shoulds' and start to feel bad.  Then, I sigh and accept it.  Then, slowly, I come out of it.

And here we are. 

I have been busy, though, knitting gifts. 

These* scarves are for some very brave kids who have aged out of the foster care system and are putting themselves through college.  I hope they'll like them.

And I hope all of you had/are having a wonderful holiday!  I'll see you next year...

*Actually, ChuckieT begged to have the one on the right as his gift, so...  I hope the other two will make two people a little warmer and a little happier this winter.  And now that I know about this great program, I'm already gearing up to knit more for next year.

Pause

I've discovered something.

You know how we're being told, and admonished, and screamed at hysterically to wash our hands as often as possible?  For at least twenty seconds?  Like every time we touch anything at all?  Which, along with not touching anything at all, least of all our eyes, nose or any other part of our faces, is supposed to help keep us safe from the dreaded Swine Flu?  It is even suggested that we sing the Happy Birthday Song, or the ABC Song, so that we'll lather for a sufficient amount of time to kill all of the nasty germs we've inadvertently acquired in the thirty minutes or so since we last washed our hands.  Well, while Swine Flu Mania is turing us all into Howard Hughes (yes, I do have face masks and rubber gloves on hand), there is an up side.

Washing your hands while singing Happy Birthday or the ABC Song, or even while slowly counting to 20, gives you a 20 second break every time you do it.  A pause for your paws, if you will.  Plus, who can think about anything stressful while singing the ABC Song?  Call it your Inner Child Meditation.

Now, as we all know, meditation can ease stress.  And easing stress can help boost your immune system.  It's a win-win situation. 

So skip the hand sanitizer when you can.  (It only works so many times in a row, anyway, before it becomes useless for a period of time.)  Use good old soap and water and sing a nursery song.  Bet you'll smile!

Simple Things

I have a tendency to complicate things.  You're shocked, aren't you.  Well, it's true.  It's often what's at the heart of procrastination, for me.  Because I have a big, complex idea in my head, and so I think I need to have lots of time and it will be hard and, well, big and complex, to accomplish whatever it is.  So then I don't start.

Sometimes this tendency results in overkill.  For instance, I can't just put granola in my yogurt and call it done.  No, I have to add flax seeds.  And raisins.  And almonds and maybe walnuts.  And some cinnamon.  Possibly some chocolate chips, if I'm feeling feisty.  And maybe some fresh fruit.  Same goes for salads.  Lettuce, tomato, cucumber?  Please!  I'm just getting started!  My morning smoothie (about which I will tell you more later), has at least six ingredients on any given day.  At least three of them are there because they're good for me.

Anywho.

Last night I got hit with the simple stick. 

I even said to ChuckieT, don't get too excited about dinner.  It's pretty simple.

Will it taste good?  he asked.

Oh, it should be tasty, I replied.  Just not particularly fancy.

That's all I need, he said.

After dinner he said it was possibly the best pasta I've ever made for him.   In fact, he insisted that I blog about it, so I would have it written down.  So I wouldn't forget how to make it for him again.  That's pretty high praise from ChuckieT.

Easy Cheesy Pasta

This is pretty much my take on caprese, which you will immediate see when you read the ingredient list.  A word, first, about those ingredients:  make sure they are as fresh and high quality as you can find/afford.  That's the trick to simple, I'm learning.  At least in cooking.  Buy good stuff and let it do it's thing.  In other words, have faith.  (Hmmm.  I think I've just had an a-ha moment.)

Ingredients

Rotelli pasta, enough for two people (I prefer whole wheat - I think it adds more flavor)
Pine nuts
2 cloves garlic, chopped
Olive oil
A hefty handful of fresh basil leaves, julienned (that's a fancy word for sliced into strips)
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
10-15 grape tomatoes, sliced in half
2 1/4-inch slices of fresh mozzarella, cubed
Sea salt
Freshly ground pepper

Directions

Cook pasta as directed on the package, drain and set aside.

In the now dry and empty pasta pot, turn heat to medium high and toss in a handful of pine nuts.  Stir around until they begin to brown and/or smell nice and nutty.  Remove and set aside.  Pour in 1-2 tablespoons olive oil and turn heat to medium-low.  Add garlic and sautee for 30 to 60 seconds.  Add herbs, turn off heat and stir to coat.  Add pasta, tomatoes and mozzarella, salt and pepper, and another drizzle of olive oil.  Stir.  The heat from the pasta and the pot itself will wilt the herbs and melt the cheese.  Scoop into bowls, sprinkle with pine nuts and serve (with a fork, if you're me; with a spoon if you're like ChuckieT).

The only downside to this recipe is that we didn't end up with leftovers for lunch.  It was too good.  You might want to cook double the amount and hide half of it away.  Seriously.  Hide it.

Troubles

I've been trying to write a post about the power of positive thought.  It was to be an in-depth look at some of the arguments for and against.  It was supposed to be a way for me to become clear about what I thought.  Positivity has been coming up a lot lately - on a blog I follow, in Barbara Ehrenreich's new book, in all the media attention thereto.  (BTW, I haven't read Ms. Eherenreich's book.  I did see her interviewed on The Daily Show, though.)  Then, last night I got more bad news.  I am positive I don't like that.

There are now four people in my life who have been diagnosed with life-threaghtening things.  And many more who are affected by these diagnoses, as I am.  I feel as though the wind has been knocked out of me.  Four times. 

And to keep myself from sinking down underneath the sadness and the fear, and setting up residence there, I need to list some things I am grateful for, and which are going well.

1.  I have a loving husband who is with me in all of this.

2.  I am healthy.

3.  I have two adorable dogs who make me smile - sometimes in spite of myself.

4.  I have a job.

5.  I have a new knitting group, where I get to just sit in the company of like-minded people and ply my craft.

6.  I have great friends, who will listen when I need to talk, and let me be silent when that's what I want.

7.  I am a Reiki Master.  There is something I can do.

It does help to write this list.  If this is what is meant by positive thinking, then yes, I subscribe.  I'll leave the science, the cause and effect, the blaming-the-victim arguments for later.  Thinking about good things, positive things, in the midst of all of this helps.

Tomorrow, ranting and screaming and punching inanimate objects may be what I need.  We'll see.

Seen in Passing

The twins occupied a small table in a cluster of them in an alcove of the concourse.  They wore bright clothing meant for thirty-year-olds over their skinny, old-lady bodies, and their identically dyed and styled hair formed mod red helmets over identical faces bold with mascara and lipstick and rouge.  They clutched identical cell phones, into which they each held forth, wheeling and dealing and generally showing the world how it was done.  Old age was given no quarter here.

I fantasize that they were real estate agents.  Or possibly casting directors. 

Sometimes New York offers up its essence like that.

October Sunday

The weather is so perfectly Northeastern Fall today.  Crisp, sunny, clear.  Before I prune my basil I just had to photograph the delicate, brilliant tangles.  It's not your basic sweet basil.  It's something I found at the nursery this past Spring, called Dwarf Dark Opal Basil.  It has a very interesting flavor.  Mustier, and more exotic.  And the color of the plant is just gorgeous - dark green though to rich, pale purple.  No wonder it's used as an ornamental bush as well as a cooking herb.  Anyway, enjoy!

 

 

Hot Tat Soi

My wonderful friend Claudia invited ChuckieT and me to lunch to meet her parents on Saturday.   She had the brilliant idea of making the event a snack-fest.  Salsa, gaucamole, carrots, celery, cheese, peaches.  It turned out to be quite a spread, and the company was even better.  There was lots of laughter, lively conversation and dogs and cats running around endearing themselves and having a great time.  (Well, the dogs were running around.  The cats were mostly napping and/or hiding.  They think my dogs are weird.)  Sometimes, when I'm trying to explain how things other than food can nourish us, I'll ask the person I'm speaking with to think about the last time they had a really memorable meal.  What was it about the meal that made it so great?  (Usually, we're talking memorable in a good way, although it could work the other way, too.  But I like to keep things positive whenever possible.)  The food itself is often pretty far down the list.  The company comes first a lot.  The atmosphere.  The reason for the meal - a celebration, a commemoration of something, a reunion, perhaps.  When we feel relaxed and happy.  When we like who we're with and where we are.  When no one is checking their watch so they can rush off to the next thing.  That's when food can taste the best, and our bodies can digest it well.  It's those things surrounding the meal, that are also feeding us, that make it all work so well.  Of course, really good food doesn't hurt, either.

This was one of those memorable meals.

As it happened, so far were we from rushing off that we didn't finish lunch until nearly dinner time.  Which meant that I didn't need much for dinner.  Since ChuckieT and I had decided to rent a movie (Away We Go - I HIGHLY recommend it!), and I felt the need to eat something green, I fired up the oven to make one of my favorite things:  roasted greens.  I look forward to roasting season all year.  Usually I use kale, which is hardy and strong and comes out nicely crisp.  But what I had on hand this time was tat soi -  a lovely, spicy little green that I hadn't heard of until a few years ago.  What the heck, I thought.  What's the worst that could happen?  As it turned out, the worst thing was that I thought for a minute or two that I had simply sauteed some greens in the oven.  A little on the overkill side, but not bad.  Then, at ChuckieT's suggestion, I waited a little longer.  Bingo!  Nice half-crispy, half-chewy little clumps of deliciousness.  Ahhhhhhh.  The only downside was that there wasn't more.  Greens shrink A LOT.

Roasted Tat Soi (or Kale, or Collard Greens or Bok Choy or...)

Ingredients

1 container/bunch/head  fresh tat soi or green of your choice
Olive oil to coat
Sea salt to taste

Directions

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.  Wash greens and dry them thoroughly.  Tear into bite-sized pieces (if necessary) and place on a cookie sheet or roasting pan.  Drizzle with olive oil - not too much, or the green won't crisp - and toss to coat.  (This is where I use my hands and get in some gratuitous skin softening.  Great for the cuticles!)  Sprinkle with sea salt and place in oven.  Roast for 5-6 minutes, toss, then continue roasting until most leaves are crispy - at least at the edges - but not burnt.

Eat with fingers, fresh out of the oven, while enjoying a movie of your choice.  Feel virtuous that you're not eating popcorn or milk duds.  Then forget to feel virtuous as the salty, roasty flavor makes your mouth all happy.

Street Sign

Love and Hope

I was reading, as usual, when my roommate got a phone call.  She came out of her room and said "Turn on the TV."  I did.  We didn't have cable; only one channel could still reach us.  We stayed there, open-mouthed, watching, for the rest of the day, the day after and the day after that as the World Trade Center towers fell again and again and again.  We watched until, slowly, we began to realize that it wouldn't help anyone.  A week later I got sick and threw up for the first time in at least 10 years.  I remember thinking to myself,  'I've got to let it come out.'

In the aftermath, the City was quiet, solemn, stunned.  People actually looked at one another, and in their eyes was reflected the multiplied pain of swift and irrevocable change.  Words were out of place, but there was a silent connection between strangers that hadn't been possible before.  Amidst the terrible loss, a small green shoot of hope pushed out a tentative sprout.

ChuckieT and I were just starting out then, beginning to fall in love.  (Talk about your love among the ruins...)  He took me out soon after, to the Met where we looked at the Egyptian exhibit, walking among the enormous stone monuments.  The immensity of all that could be lost suddenly caught in my throat.  I think I reached for his hand.   I know he held mine.  Afterward, as we walked down the avenue, we passed a glass-fronted restaurant. Inside some National Guardsmen were having a meal.  They were suddenly ubiquitous, coming from all over the country to stand on street corners and in train stations in camoflauge uniforms, holding enormous guns, amplifying the anxiety in the air.  

The restaurant happened to be one of ChuckieT's favorite places, and he told me he just needed to go in for a moment and talk to the hostess, I should wait outside on the sidewalk.  He wouldn't be long.  I said okay, wondering if he was planning some kind of surprise.  When he came out, I asked him what was up, but he didn't want to tell me.  Except that, being me, I wouldn't stop asking.  I was teasing him, trying for a little normalcy.  Finally, he said with a shrug that he had paid for the Guardsmen's meals.  Just like that.  As if it was a completely normal and unnoteworthy thing to be that generous, that outward-looking, that kind.  I was stunned.  He saw nothing unusual in his gesture.  He was just grateful for their sacrifice, he said, like everyone else.  But I knew he was unlike anyone else, and I was (and still am) profoundly grateful for him.

Yes, I thought about leaving New York City after September 11, 2001.  But my heart was already finding its home here.  And the beauty I witnessed here, the coming together, the acknowledgement that we were all human beings, all connected in that way that survivors are, it gave me hope.  Obviously, there was nothing in any way beautiful or uplifting or hopeful about the attacks themselves.   Or the horror and loss that they caused.  But the spirit of the people here.  Their refusal to simply give up.  Their willingness to reach out and help their neighbors and even strangers.  That was something to see.

Yoga Yay

I've been feeling pretty good on the reflux front.  My recent flare-up seems to have been tamed by natural means and I've been pretty pleased with myself.  Then last night I felt the familiar grumbles of IBS.  Sigh.  It wasn't only my bowels that were threatening to become irritable.

My plan had been to go to the gym when I got home.  But plans change.  I ended up needing to walk the dogs, since ChuckieT was detained at work, so I decided to take them on a nice, long walk, hoping that would help ease the stress going on in my intestines.  (There was bloating involved.  Need I say more?  Well, I don't need to, but...okay, okay, I won't.  Just picture sausages and...okay.  'Nuff said.  I promise.  Really.  Anyway...)  The problem with that plan is that my Pug likes, no NEEDS, to stop at every tree, every bush, every sign post, every fire hydrant...there's really not a lot of forward momentum involved.  So, while the walk helped a little, it wasn't nearly enough.  But now it was too late to go to the gym. 

That's when I spied my yoga mat standing forlornly in the corner. 

My poor little mat.  I have been neglecting it lately in favor of the fancy treadmill, elliptical trainer and weight machines at the gym.  But it doesn't judge.  It is patience itself.  Though I thought I might have heard a sigh of relief as I spread it out on the living room floor.  Or maybe that was me.  Because after a few sun salutations I was already feeling better.  I was disappearing into breath and movement, feeling my muscles stretch and contract, my whole body elongate and begin to let go.  Then I turned to kundalini and did some simple head and body rolls - moving twists, essentially.  And something inside me shivered all over with happiness, like my Lhasa Apso does when she knows she's about to be fed.*  Why do I keep forgetting how good yoga makes me feel?

Baby step of the week:  Add in at least one sun salutation per day.  (Yeah, I know, who can stop at just one?  But baby steps, remember?)

What would you like to add in this week?

*Speaking of my Lhasa Apso, she is my official Yoga Dog.  She comes right to the edge of the mat, lies down, and stays with me for the whole session.  Then, while I'm relaxing in Corpse Pose, she lays her little chin on my thigh, reminding me to let go.  I'm relaxing and grinning just thinking about her.  Although, to give my Pug his due, he's really good at Down Dog.

Alias

I've been thinking about various things as I get more in to blogging.  Things like privacy, and how much information is too much information.  I'm a pretty private person who has nonetheless spent her life asking for attention; first with acting, then writing, teaching, counseling.  Now blogging.  I've always been a bundle of strange dichotomies.  Or just strange.  Anyway...

I've gotten tired of refering to my husband here as "my husband."  But, in the interest of protecting his privacy, I didn't want to use his real name.  So, the other day, I asked him what he wanted his blog name to be.  He took about a nanosecond to think about it, then said "ChuckieT." 

It fits.  And so it is.  Henceforth, my husband's name is ChuckieT.

Welcome, Babe!

Green and Gold

Yesterday was my first completely heartburn-free day since my reflux resurfaced.  Phew!  Thank you aloe vera, kombucha and eating lots of greens!  Today has also started out well.

I'm still working on the emotional/life part of the imbalance that caused the reflux, though.  I found a website today that I found pretty interesting:  torihartman.com.  Tori Hartman is a psychic and spiritual advisor, and she has created a deck of  cards to help people manifest the things they want in their lives.  Yes, yes, you say, you've heard it all before.  Next I'll be touting The Secret (which I have seen, by the way, and from which I did take away some valuable lessons, in amongst what looked to me like an awful lot of desire for Stuff.  Not least of which is the idea of focusing on what you want, rather than what is wrong, since the nature of energy is to follow whatever you pay attention to). 

Keep an open mind for a moment.

I clicked on an ad for Tori's site that offered a free reading.  I think things like that can be fun.  I've been known to read my horoscope for fun, too, although since I was born on a cusp I have two to choose from, so it can get a little confusing.  Anyway, so I clicked.  I was instructed to think of a question, and the question I thought of was "What is the next step I can take that will lead me to my true path?"  That is the question I've been struggling with lately, as I sit at a desk day after day to which I feel shackled by the Almighty Dollar.  You know the desk I'm talking about.  It's called The Desk of Security.  Also known as The Desk of the Steady Paycheck.  It's a desk that can look all innocent and even, sometimes, exciting.  Enticing.  Look at the shiny nameplate!  Ooh, free pens!  Then you sit down, and the clamps come out and you start thinking that you will never be able to leave now, because nowhere else will you be compensated in so abundant a manner.  If you leave, you will surely perish!  There is absolutely No Way you can make this kind of money doing anything remotely soul-satisfying, especially in This Economy, so just buy some drab-but-office-appropriate clothing and sit yourself down.  Would you like a cup of coffee?

Okay, rant  digression over. 

So I closed my eyes and mentally repeated my question, and then I clicked.  When I opened my eyes, the screen was green and showed pictures of plants with roots, and lots of grass.  I got a little shiver.  I like grass.  I like plants.  I like to fantasize about moving to the country.  Eating greens makes me feel good.  I was thinking about adding more wheatgrass to my diet just yesterday.  My hand may have trembled a little as I clicked on the box that would tell me what green meant in this context.  Here's what it said:  "Green is unconditional love.  The softness of grass is about personal commitment to what one's heart tells them.  It is about honoring your growth, and the growth of others."  Um, okay.  Yeah.  That fits.

Then I clicked on the Inspiration box:  "Grass says that the time is right for you to move on from anything holding you back from full self-expression... Be different.  Be unique...  [I]t is time to grow!"

So, all signs point to getting off my ass and getting on with doing the things that fulfill me and help me to grow.  Great!  Now I just have to figure out which of those things will support me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed, so I can kick off those aforementioned shackles and leave The Desk behind.  But wait!  I'm a cautious type.  I am not about to go running off willy-nilly on Green's sayso.   I clicked on the 'free reading' button one more time, with the same question.  (Tori's instructions say that that's okay, although I will admit that I was being a mite skeptical.)  This time I came up with Gold.  Like, you know, money.  As in, fix your relationship to money and the rest will follow.  Oy.

Go ahead and try it yourself.  Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer:  No, I do not know Tori Hartman, nor am I any kind of spokesperson for her.  Today was the first time I'd heard of her. 

Language and Power

I write periodically about language and it's power, and as a writer I'm hyper-aware of word choice and what it can do to make meaning clear.  As I embark on my journaling adventure to help heal my acid reflux, I'm beginning to notice what the words I use say about how I'm feeling about where I am.  How powerful (or not) I feel.  How clear (or not) I am about what I want and where I want to go.  I'm listening more closely to my inner voice.  But what about the words I use in my daily life?  How am I expressing myself to others?

This article on Care2's site has given me a lot to think about.  It's about the difference between 'I'll try' and 'I will,' 'I want' and 'I have.'  It's about listening to myself, as well as listening to those around me.  I encourage you to read it.  It's not that long, and it's truly packed with food for thought.

This week I'm going to practice making stronger language choices.  I'll start with a baby step, of course.  I know me well enough by now not to bite off a whole mouthful before I've learned to chew properly.  I'll start by noticing what words I'm using now.

Here goes.  I can do this.  I will do this.  I have a clear path.

What I'm Made Of

It was 4:30 a.m.  I was asleep.  Really, profoundly and deeply asleep.  Then it happened...

My pug dog was anxious.  He stood up on the end of the bed.  He whimpered a little.  I probably moved in my sleep.  Then he began that little tap dance that pugs do, when they're anxious or excited, that staccato prancing in place.  He whimpered some more.  I woke up.

Why is the bed shaking? I wondered.  Then, Oh!  Something's wrong with Inqy! 

Thinking like a loving but sleepy mother, I gathered him in my arms and lay back down, whispering a few soothing words, hoping desperately he didn't have to go outside.  It occurred to me to wonder, briefly and somewhat resentfully, why this hadn't awakened my husband.  Then I shut my eyes and hoped everything was now calm.  But of course it wasn't.

Inqy lay for a moment or two, then got up again and went to the end of the bed, whimpering and dancing a little more frantically.  He paced the edge of the bed, looking for his step so he could get down on the floor, but it was dark and he couldn't see it.  Grudgingly, I got up and lifted him down.  By now all my senses were alert.  I peered into the inch or so of space left by the mostly closed bedroom door.  I strained my ears.  No light.  No sounds I could hear over the hum of the air conditioner.  But dogs can hear much better than we can, can't they?  What if someone was out there?  If I just let him out of the bedroom, what would happen? Should I go charging out?  I didn't have anything to use as a weapon.  What if I closed the door?   I did the best possible thing you can do in a crisis situation:  I stood frozen in indecision.

Before I could make up my mind, someone walked down the hall.  In the barely perceptible light, I distinctly saw the outline of his legs.  There was someone in my apartment!  I was about to be killed!  Probably he had a gun!  What should I do?  What should I do?  Oh my god!

Here's what I did:  I yelled "Oh, sh*t!" before I could stop myself.  Then I ran to the bed to wake up my husband, because, you know, burglars are definitely his department.  Maybe he would know how to save us.  Or at the very least, he would know he was about to get shot.  I mean, you wouldn't want to sleep through that, would you?  Anyway, I reached over to shake him...and he wasn't there.  I was alone in the room with the two dogs.  One of whom was very upset, and one who had yet to fully wake up.*  I gathered my courage and what was left of my wits and I called out my husband's name.

"Yes?" came his answer, from the hallway.

I flung the door open.  Inqy ran to my husband.  I shouted over the pounding of my heart.

"Ohmygod!  Ohmygod!  You scared me to death!  I thought for sure you were in here with me!  I thought someone was in the apartment!  Holy sh*t!"

To which my husband replied by apologizing, then laughing, then apologizing for laughing.  Then he got into bed and went to sleep.  I was up for a while...

Yep.  I'd be the first one picked off in the horror flick.

* Okay, yes, the fact that my other dog was sound asleep, not perturbed in the least, should have been a clue...

ESB

A taxi passed while I was waiting to cross the street this morning.  It had a cab-top billboard on it that read "Take me to ESB."  It wasn't until I looked at the picture on the billboard that I realized that "ESB" meant Empire State Building.  It appears they are trying to make a 78-year-old building seem hip. 

I won't go into a rant about kids these days and how they're destroying communication with their texting-speak, or anything, but it makes me wonder, what are we losing?  Language is such a powerful thing.  Words contain images, thoughts, ideas.  Acronyms, hip as they may be, are just a series of letters, which take extra brain power to decode, leaving less time to think about the meaning of the words for which they stand.  (At least for middle-aged brains like mine.)  Like, what does it mean that New York is the Empire State?  Is empire-building bad or good?  And is a cheap clothing store like Strawberries made classier by being in a building with so much history (not to mention architectural interest)?  Will my flimsy tank top last longer? 

Are we really moving so fast as a society that we can no longer take the time to say Empire State Building, even while on vacation?  Even when that vacation's itinerary includes a trip to said building?  Can we take the time, then, to gaze from its heights in wonder?  Or do we just snap a bunch of photos and slap them up on FB (Facebook) under "Views from the ESB" and move on to EI (Ellis Island)?  Mark it all TBSTL (to be sorted through later)?  

What ever happened to experiencing your experience while you're experiencing it?  (And talking about it in full, thoughtful, even languid sentences?)

Phew.  All that from a taxi-topper. 

Message of the day:  slow down, people!  And, you know, think about stuff.

Cocoon

You may have noticed (or not), I haven't been around.  I even did that thing I hate, where I promised something in a next post, and then never posted it.  I hate over-promising and then under-delivering.  It makes me feel like a failure.  All self-sabotagey and stuff.

Anyway, here's what's up.  I've been unable to write.  Not physically.  I didn't break a finger or anything.  But mentally, emotionally, I haven't been able to sit down and put words together.  I've been reading like an insatiable banshee.  But putting my own thoughts together has been a no-go.

At the moment, however, things feel like they're changing.  Like I've been in some kind of stasis, frozen in amber or something, that's only now, really slowly, beginning to lift or melt or crack. 

In the meantime, there have been layoffs and re-shufflings and all kinds of OMG-we're-all-going-to-perish kinds of stuff going on.  Not to me, personally (except for the re-shufflings).  For which I am extremely grateful.  But part of me wishes the Universe would just kick me in the ass already, since I can't seem to do if for myself.  (And if I could, I could probably make a lot of money in the circus.)

But here I am, left to get my own self moving in a healthy and right direction.  Only my compass is still buried in the amber or molasses or whatever I've been stuck in.  So I'm not sure who I want to be when I grow up.  (That's the trick inherent in knowing exactly what you want to do with your life when you're a teenager, apparently - you end up going through adolescence all over again as an adult.  And sometimes over and over again.  And some of the things you decided were the Thing were great for getting you to the next thing, but some of them you know aren't really the Thing, and are just place-fillers while you get ready to making a living doing the Thing, and really aren't supposed to last very long or be how you identify yourself, and yet, six years later, here you still are.  Not quite able to let go.  All cozy-comfy in the security blanket of a regular income and Paid Time Off.  And then other people go out and get what you think it is you want, and you feel all bad and jealous and bad for feeling jealous.  And so you whip yourself into being all happy for them and inspired when you really just want to crawl in a corner and cry for while.  Or hit something.)

Anyway.

All this to say, the blog will be taking a new direction.  Not sure what that will be yet, but stay tuned, if you want.   It should be interesting.  (Notice the title of the post?  It's hopeful...)

London: Hyde Park

There are few things that relax me more than wandering through a park with no schedule.  In fact, wandering through a city with no agenda, no schedule and no demands - yeah, that's part of what made my trip to London so fantastic.  When I'm walking, my mind starts to release whatever's been pent up.  Ideas come.  Stories peek out.  Problems begin to find their solutions.  Stress loosens its grip.  I love to walk, and I don't do it enough through my own city anymore, so it was like finding a little present that had been tucked away in a pocket.  A piece of myself that I hadn't realized I hadn't been using. 

With all the walking I did while I was there, my body began to let go of things, too.  I'm looking for ways to keep that up now that I'm home and forced to sit down for most of the day.  I started with walking to the train station this morning instead of taking the bus.  Which had the added bonus of waking me up.

But back to London.  A curious bird kept walking over and staring at me while I sat on a bench in Hyde Park eating my lunch.  As soon as I got out my camera, though, he walked away (of course).  But later, he was back.  What are you lookin' at? he seemed to be saying.

He had friends, too.  (That's the beginning of the Serpentine in the background.)

These roses perfumed a ten-foot radius.  Aaaaaahhhh...

Playing with my macro lens.  Does anyone know what these are?  They make a cool fairy forest up close like this.

Sans lens:

Wellington Arch.  The sky was cooperating in this shot, don't you think?

And a tribute to a princess.

Next up, Kensington Gardens and an elfin surprise. 

London: Thoughts at the Tate

I've been in London.  No, I didn't see the Queen, but I stayed near her palace (Buckingham, that is.)  I love London.

I don't have pictures to share on this computer, but they will be forthcoming soon.

One of my main goals while I was there was to get to the Tate Britain (the pre-1900 collection - most of the post-1900 works are at the Tate Modern), to see the works of J.M.W. Turner.  His works, to me, are like pure emotion, the way music is pure emotion.  They are like frozen crescendos.

My notes, written in their presence:

J.M.W. Turner.  Rage.  Light.  Ecstacy.

Man vs. Nature.  The insignificance of same.  Blah, blah, blah.  But how does it make you feel?  Sublime.  Awed.  Bubbly in the chest.  Like seeing grand and sweeping music frozen on canvas.  Like seeing myself.  My insides.  Light and dark and crashing.  Almost, I want to weep.  [Okay, I got a little carried away.]

Breaking the haze.

*  *  *

I went to visit John Constable's work, as well.  The two were so competitive, how could I not?  His work reminded me of dark fairy tales (are there really any other kind?).  I kept looking for the ogre in the idyllic woods.  Maybe it was because the day was cloudy, and the Tate relies heavily on natural light.  But it seemed to me there was a sadness inherent in his work.  I'm not sure I've noticed it before.

*  *  *

Being in the company of Masters brings my own creative urges to the forefront. 

I know all the platitudes about creating one's own life and making one's own luck.  And persistence winning the day.  And also that it's better to be safe than sorry.  I think that last one is the one around which I've been building my life lately.  And I am safe.  As safe as I can be in this uncertain world.  But I'm also a little sorry.  Being back in a city where I was young (I spent a semester there as an undergrad) reminds me of what I was like then.  Naive, yes.  But adventurous.  And creative.  And I thought I would spend my life being creative.   Which I have done, to a certain extent.  But I've been concentrating too hard on the safe part.  Holding on to steady paychecks and nice clothing.  I didn't used to be like that.

I didn't think in terms of what was possible then, only what I wanted to happen.  And so a lot of what I wanted materialized.  Can I make that happen again?  I'm going to try.  Perhaps a few visits to the Met are in order.

Springsteen Rocks!

Awesome.  That is what I have to say about the Bruce Springsteen concert I saw this weekend.  Utterly and completely awesome in all senses of the word.

The man is 59 years old.  He played for 2 1/2, maybe 3 hours.  And by played, I mean gave every last drop of himself to everything he did onstage.  Non-stop.  He's in far better shape than I am.

More importantly, he is the embodiment of doing what you love and loving what you do.  And sharing that love in the most generous way.  In the midst of his concert, he stopped to announce that he (and we) was there to build a house.  That we were going to take all the anxiety and fear in the world, and build a house of peace and joy.  We would take all the hate and build a house of love.  That by rocking the house down, we could transform our world.  That by pouring out the madness, we could create sanity.  And that by having a incredibly good time, we would win no matter what.

I've always liked The Boss and the incredibly talented people he's spent his life playing with, but now I think I love them.  A lot.

Wha?

Apparently, the world has turned upside-down, and winter is now on its way back to the Northern Hemisphere.  It is currently in the low 60's.  Scarf and glove bitter, unless you move very quickly.  I mean, I love Fall, don't get me wrong.  But it's nice if there's been a Summer first...

ETA:  The New York Times says it's currenlty 55 degrees outside.  It's the middle of the afternoon.  Sigh.

Have Food and Sex Switched Places? Discuss.

"What happens when, for the first time in history, adult human beings are free to have all the sex and food they want?"

That very interesting question is answered in a long but worthwhile article by Mary Eberstadt entitled "Is Food the New Sex?."  Ms. Eberstadt compares the morals associated with the having (or not) of sex as recently as 50 years ago with the morals we now impose on food.  It's a fascinating read.  Enjoy.  Discuss.

January

I find January to be a difficult month.  The excitement of the holidays is over.  I'm tired.  It's cold.  It's dark.  We're told that it's the beginning of a new year and we're supposed to start new things and have new energy and it doesn't feel at all like that could be true.  It's the middle of Winter, for goodness' sake!  Some years are easier than others, but this January hit me with all of its frosty and desolate force.  It sucked my energy from me and made me want to curl up with a book and stay there until Spring.  And, in large part, that's what I did.

Maybe it's a form of Seasonal Affective Disorder - although there is a part of me that welcomes the early coming of the darkness in the Fall.  Specifically because it means I can draw inward as the light fades away.  But that's a discussion for another day. 

Anyway,  I prefer not to think of myself as having a disorder.  I prefer to listen to my body.  This year it told me that what I needed was rest and replenishment.  The voice of my Midwestern upbringing tends to argue with me when my body requests some downtime.  It flies in the face of the Work Ethic that was instilled in me as a child.  Never put off for tomorrow what can be done today and all that jazz.  And so I feel guilty and greedy and, well, bad, for lying around reading instead of doing something "constructive."  But here's the thing.  I've learned over the past several years that it's my body that's usually right.  And that it has its own rhythms.  And so if I can trust it enough to give it what it asks for (all of which is constructive in its own way), eventually I will come out the other side, and begin to want to do more things again.  It's a huge lesson for me.

Maybe next year I can welcome January for what it has to teach me, instead of seeing it as a Siberian plain to cross.  Anyway, I'm glad it's finally February.

Various and Sundry December Thoughts

It's December!  How did that happen? 

I spent this weekend remembering how great it is to just sit around the dinner table and talk.  I got to spend time with people I don't see very often, and it made me wonder why I don't see them very often.  So I'm going to make an effort in the coming year to make more time for friends.  Which really involves being better at planning and time management.  Because, as I discovered last month, there really is time to do everything you truly want to do.

So, now, onward to the holidays!  I'm making a lot of my gifts this year.  Which isn't as pitiful as it sounds, since, if I do say so myself, I am a pretty good knitter.  So it's a win-win situation.  I get to spend time doing something I love for people I love, and my friends and family get beautiful hand-knit items to keep them warm this winter. 

I've got some other suggestions for homemade gifts (some involving little or no skill of any kind), and enjoying the holidays without spending a lot of money, coming out in my December Newsletter.   You can sign up by typing your email address in the bar on the left, or follow that link to my archives (although you may have to wait a while to see it show up there.  I'm really not sure how it works).

How are you celebrating the holidays this year?  I'd love to hear more suggestions!

P.S.  Thank you all so much for your encouragement last month!  And welcome, Jena!

Not only am I a NaNoWriMo '08 winner, but I wrote a novel.  I am a novelist.  Whodathunk?

I am a Winner!

I have surpassed the official 50,000 word challenge.  And I did stop to celebrate.  Boy did I!  I don't think I've been able to wipe the smile off of my face yet. 

This has definitely been (and continues to be) a November to remember.  Not only have I written most of a novel, but I am truly part of a group of people that have all done, or are stilling working on doing, the same thing.  I know I keep saying this, but this month has really brought home to me the power of community.  Without the people in my writing group, I would not have been able to do this.  And without the encouragement of all of the other people in my life (even the ones who looked at me like I had two heads when I told them I was planning on writing a novel in one month), it would have been much, much harder.  So thank you to everyone!  Writing may be a solitary endeavor, but that doesn't mean that writers need to be solitary people.

Here's the great part, for us introverts.  My writing group is made up of people from all over the world.  We meet on line.  So, in order to interact with them, all I need to do is sit in my room and type.  But oh, what that typing brings.  It's hard to describe the level of caring and support and learning from each other and growing that can take place when people sit in their rooms and type things for other people to read.  Messages of hope and frustration and commiseration and celebration.  Sometimes all it takes is for someone else to say "you're not alone.  I'm stuck at the moment, too," for the sun to come out again.  Connections, people.  It's all about connections.

Hooray for the internet, and all that it brings!

Okay, sappy interlude over.  I now return you to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Lessons from NanoLand

First of all, thank you thank you thank you for all your encouraging words!  I have written just under 20,000 of my own on the novel, on my way to 50,000.

Writing a novel, or at least lots and lots of words, in a month is teaching me more than I was ready to believe was going to happen.  Here are some highlights:

1.  Time management.  Wow, yes.  There is time to do anything, in any life, no matter how busy, if it's something you really want to do.  Of course, in order to take advantage of the pockets of time I'm finding, I have to let go of perfection, which brings me to lesson number two.

2.  Let go of perfection.  Let go of any judgment at all, really.  Just go all Nike and do it.

3.  Get lots of support.  I couldn't be doing this unless there were people cheering me on.  Not at all.

4.  Be ready for anything.  I'm not the kind of writer who has an outline and lots of character profiles and a graph of how the novel is going to go.  I wish I were!  But I'm not.  I sit down and start typing.  Part of the rush, for me, is being able to just see what's going to happen, as if I'm a reader, rather than the writer.  Sometimes stuff happens that's not even close to what I thought it would be.  Staying open for it is key.

Okay, has anyone noticed anything about these lessons?  They're not just about writing a novel.  They're a pretty good way to go about living.  Find the time to do what you love, let go of perfection, get support, stay open.  Check, check, check and check.  To which I feel compelled to add, make sure you're properly fueled for the journey.  (Sorry, I couldn't help it.  I am a health counselor, after all.)

Off to write some more (no, alas, Joie de Vivre, the words on my blog don't count).