The Gym Synthesis

What I’m about to describe to you feels vaguely pretentious. But I tell you, it’s as far from it as we can get. I joined a gym in the beginning of March, a month away from my birthday when I always feel like I’m getting old and I need to do something drastic. I realize joining a gym isn’t a drastic change in a life, but getting my butt off the couch and to that gym on a regular basis is. Anyway, everything is going great I’m getting to the gym after work 3-4 times a week for the most part and I am physically feeling a lot better. But at some point I realize that I can’t just keep going in and doing the same thing over and over again because I’ll get bored and stop making all of this progress so I sign up with a personal trainer.

Already, I feel pretentious to mention that I have a personal trainer. It seems that only movie stars or people with a lot of money have a personal trainer… and there’s a good reason for that. Personal trainers can be quite expensive. Somehow I talked myself into employing the services of one because I am not a gym rat and left to my own vices likely would make much slower progress. My personal trainer, who I will call JT, is a 19 year old all-star football player type but a genuinely nice guy.

When I started up with JT he asked me what my goal was, I said I of course want to lose weight, but I want arms like Michelle Obama. He just smiled at me in a way that made me wonder if he knew who she was or even what her arms looked like. I’m sure he would have carried on his marry way if he did or not. So the basic plan for each one hour session is I come in and we work on a muscle group (arms, legs, or core) until I’m utterly exhausted and unable to further use said muscle group.

Yesterday it was arms and shoulders and as I’m struggling through a third set of incline pushups he declares “It is my goal for you to do a full push up.” I can’t help but think, “Well, good for you.” I have never in my 28 years done a full push up and never really had any goals to the contrary. And then I am suddenly aware while doing weight assisted pull ups that he is likely to reach his goal dragging me kicking and complaining the whole way. After all, isn’t that what I signed up for?

An Ode to Bacon

There are few foods in the world that feel sinful to consume. Bacon is one of them. Think about it, the fattiest part of the pig sliced into strips and fried until it's crisp for our consumption. It's so bad, that doctors will tell heart patients to stop eating it all together. But it tastes so good.

Hubby and I are making Migas (Mexican scrambled eggs), among other things it has four slices of crisp bacon in it. We have been using a common grocery store brand bacon, thin slices and mostly fat. We got a new brand of bacon when we were last grocery shopping, the slices not only looked thicker, but they looked meatier so we figured it would be worth a try. This morning when I plopped four slices in to the pan I knew we were in for a treat. These were were like slices you would get from a butcher shop, not prepacked in the deli section at Winco like the other ones. As they were cooking they barely shrank, a good sign of their hearty, meaty nature. When they were done cooking the slices were crisp, but substantial enough to not fall apart when you bit into it. Truly a a delightful change in our Sunday Migas.

So, I thank you Daybreak Bacon for giving me a bacon I can truly sink my teeth into.

5 Dirty Words

Caught your eye, didn’t it? I know it caught mine. And no, it’s not what you think.
Like most Portlanders I tend to have an eye toward conservation: I take public transportation to and from work, I combine trips when I’m out driving around, I recycle, I even compost.

In the first part of May, MINIGirl and her family took a trip down to Southern California so I had the opportunity to “sublet” her parking spot in the garage next to our office building for a week. In the two and a half years I have worked in that office I hadn’t once driven myself to work. In fact I frequently extolled upon the virtues of taking MAX to work daily, and for the most part those still hold true.

After the week was over I gave MINIGirl her parking pass back and went back to my daily commute on Max. I hated it. I’d had a taste of freedom and now I was locked back in to the schedule that the MAX set for me. So I began to think to myself: “What if I drove to work everyday?” But logic hits me upside the head noting all the money I save by taking the MAX, and how virtuous for the Earth it is. So I quietly take my seat on the MAX and contemplate what another few months of light rail commuting would mean.

In between podcasts I looked up at the posters that line the walls inside the car and I see one from TriMet: “5 Dirty Words: POLLUTION. Fact: 4.2 tons of smog-forming pollutants are avoided every day by leaving our cars at home and riding TriMet.”

GUILT. Pure and simple. How selfish of me to want to shave ten to fifteen minutes off of my commute home and contribute to global warming.

If you would like to read the rest of TriMets 5 Dirty Words look here.

Spring Fever

Around Portland the signs of Spring are popping up every where, a robin hopping around in my yard looking for worms, the cherry blossoms bursting out. Even though it’s only February I can’t help but start planning my garden and imaging it bursting forth with produce. I was reading my Father-in-law’s blog this morning and it made me yearn for my quiet time in the garden every morning while I water and check the progress of the plants. That quiet alone time is something that I don’t get much in the cold of winter when I barely want to crawl out from under the covers to start my day. It feels like it takes me just that much longer to get my mind in to the start of the day.

My Spring fever has likely been sparked by the tendency of Oregon-in-February to have a few weeks of really nice weather giving the rain soaked city a teasing taste of the seasons yet to come. Never the less, my garden line up for this growing season is shaping up nicely. I already have some spinach seeds planted and they started poking their heads through the soil over this past weekend. I have on order three tomato plants and two bell pepper plants. I have also decided to try to grow fingerling potatoes for the first time. My strawberry plants from last year are already starting to come back and I’m likely to start my herbs seeds this weekend.

Welcoming the End of 2009

I keep saying that I can’t wait for this year to be over. What a horrendous 365 days this has been. I’m done, ready for the good things to start spilling in. Therein lies the rub. At some point I have to stop counting the bad things and tallying the good things, and when the bad things seem to start piling too high I need to look back at my list of good and hope that they balance out. Because in reality if I let myself get thrown off, if I allow the scales to become unbalanced then what view of my life am I left with? I have to remember to see all of the trees in the forest, and the beauty of the forest as a whole.

I'm just sayin'

I get so frustrated with people who leave voice-mails at my office with message like: “This is my tenth phone call and no one has called me back.” So, knowing that it’s something I can help out with, I call the person back… and it just rings and rings and rings. How would they know if someone has called them back or not if they don’t have a voice mail system for me leave them the information they need. Or, better yet why don’t they call during the business hours that I leave in the out going voice-mail so that I can help them out then? Help me help you. Sheesh.

Tigger

It can be frightening, really, if one stops to think about it for a moment about how brief a pet’s life is when compared to the span of a human’s life time. When I adopted Tigger from Hubby’s mom back before he was hubby the thought never entered my mind that she wasn’t always going to be there with me. As years wore on and my life’s circumstances changed she was always right there, a static and predictable aspect of my home life. It seemed though, that there was always room for more love in my life. Anyone who knows me will agree that I’m an un abashed animal lover and if I could I would open my home to many more than I currently have. Which is why when Hubby and I moved in to a house we adopted a dog, and then six months later another cat.

I feel a bit guilty, in retrospect, for being selfish and bringing more animals into our home, but at the time I couldn’t have known how Tigger would react. With the two other animals in the picture and vying for Hubby and my affections Tigger became more reclusive choosing to spend her time alone in the sleeping in the bay window or on the back of the couch in the other room rather than in my lap or on the cushion next to me. We joked that she was just becoming a crabby old lady cat, but I made sure that her spot next to me was available at night, and most times she took it.

A month ago Tigger started throwing up every two hours or so and acting very lethargic. It wasn’t like her at all, and it worried me. Hubby and I drove out to the emergency vet hoping it was something easily cared for. After two hours and inconclusive x-rays we drove home with her still sick and instructions of hopefully care for her to make her better.

The next day Hubby came home for lunch to check on her to discover that she was still throwing up regularly. He took her back to the emergency vet to have blood tests done. Her blood pressure was so low they had difficulty drawing her blood, but what little they did get confirmed that she had developed feline diabetes and her body was essentially shutting down. I was at work, crying my eyes out trying to decide what to do. She was my baby, she had always been there for me even if she didn’t know why, and here I had put her life in question because I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe that’s just my guilty conscience talking.

In the end my amazing boss drove me to the emergency vet so I could be there with Tigger and Hubby and make the decisions necessary. Ultimately, it came down to five days in the veterinary ICU and a lifetime of two insulin shots a day for her or end her suffering. If money hadn’t been a factor I would have done anything possible to make her healthy again. But, as it is with everything in life there are no guarantees. And as I held her, and looked down at her I asked her what she wanted. Unquestioningly, I know she wanted us to let her go. So, we did.

Ultimately, she lived a good eleven years and was a very happy spoiled cat for most of them. I know we made the right choice to let her go because it was what she wanted. I still miss her terribly, but I know she’s in a better place now.

Holly Hobby

I often wonder if I have too many hobbies. When I was younger just about any craft that you put in front of me I would instantly become infatuated with. Often my mom would take me to Michael’s and we would wander the isles and I would say, like most children, “Oh Mom, can you get that for me?” She would take one look at the drawstring bag, or the beaded necklace, or piece of doll house furniture and respond “You could make that.” Now at this point in my life, fifteen or more years later, I don’t know if she was saying that as a way to get me to stop asking her for something or if she honestly believed that I could make everything I wanted. To this day, I still hear those words ringing in my ears when I go shopping.

I explored many, many crafts in my youth including: sewing and quilting, scrapbooking, cooking, baking, making miniatures for my dollhouse, flower arranging, writing, drawing, painting, collage, decoupage, gardening, and beading or jewelry making. I still practice a few of these hobbies to this day, and I may have picked up some new ones, and part of me is thankful for my Mom’s voice ringing out that I could make anything I wanted.

Now when I walk through a craft store my mind reels with all of the things I could make - oh that charm would look great on a beaded necklace, oh that fabric would make a nice skirt, etc. Truly, it’s a dangerous thing for me to walk in to a craft store unattended. I am glad though, that I have learned the importance of the reality check, because really I could make all of those things I want given the time and money. However, seeing as I have a full time job with an hour commute each way and a husband with three pets that don’t take too well to me ignoring them for long periods of time.

So I’m left with a mere few choices for my creative habits, but that’s okay with me. It is far less expensive, far less time consuming, and far less crazy making if I limit myself to the number of crafts I do. On the other hand, I can’t limit myself too much or I find myself crying out inside for a creative outlet. As it is with all things, hobbies come down to a balancing act.

A "Material Girl" I'm Not

Day one of the month of June and I already feel summer in the air. I feel like we hardly got spring first but that’s just fine with me. I love spring and summer in Portland they’re nothing like what I grew up with in Sacramento – it just feels like there’s so much more life in the heat of summer here.

With the heat of summer comes a change in wardrobe. Everyone sheds their big wool coats, knitted scarves, and rain hats for sun glasses, strappy sandals and short sleeve shirts. Now, let me get one thing out there, I am not nor have ever been what you might call a girly girl. I like to think that I’m in touch with my femininity but not obsessed with it. To be completely honest, I haven’t really been too concerned with fashion until the last year or two and even then I’m all for function over fashion. I won’t pin-point all of my evolutions here for you, though if asked I could likely tell you.

I don’t know if my evolution in to femininity is a result of me growing up or a result of the world in which I live and work. Given, I put more energy in to how I look in my office setting than I do at home or with friends. I find that if I have extra money I would rather spend it on a dinner out than a new pair of shoes. That doesn’t mean that I don’t look at a nice pair of heels and think “Damn, my legs would look nice in those.” I may think that, but I likely won’t be able to bring myself to spend over $50 on an item of clothing. Heck, I spent $20 on the cocktail dress for my company holiday party last year, and then another $10 on jewelry and I’ve worn the outfit three times. Though I can’t tell if that is just being frugal or me thinking that fashion isn’t worth all the money people put in to it.

I can’t put my finger on what makes me feel how I do. I just know that I am not “a material girl” or “high maintenance,” I do know that I like to feel like I look good but don’t feel like I have to be fully “done up” to go grocery shopping. I’m sure I could go on for pages about the evils of the fashion industry, but I won’t waste anyone’s time with that.

In the end I think what this all means is that I’m growing more comfortable skin. I think that’s all really anyone can ask for.

John Cleese, How Do I love Thee...

I was prowling the internet, as I am want to do from time to time, and I discovered that John Cleese has his own blog (I don’t know why I am so surprised by this, all the kids are doin’ it!), and I found this lovely jewel within its webby pages penned by Mr. Cleese:

Ode to Sean Hannity

Aping urbanity,
Oozing with vanity,
Plump as a manatee,
Faking humanity,
Intellectual inanity,
Journalistic calamity,
Fox Noise insanity,
You’re a profanity,
Hannity

Oh, my heart jumps in my chest. I’m sure Hannity has had that joy of such an easily rhyme-able name for the entirety of his life, but you can’t say he didn’t bring it on himself!

I’ve been a Python fan from the moment I knew of their existence (Holy Grail is one of my favorite movies!), and enjoy John Cleese whenever he includes himself on a film (see: Rat Race), and when he would make guest appearances on TV shows that I already enjoy. I seriously need to have a look through his IMDB credits and have my very own Cleese film festival.

I must also admit that my radar had been raised for him recently as the Python boys recently started their own YouTube channel. Truly I have needed something lately to make me giggle, and that’s just the ticket.

NaNoWriMo is taking it out of me lately… even after my little venture off to the coast to write for four days. On schedule to break 40k words tonight (3 days worth of writing ahead of schedule) and if I’m really good I’ll get this thing blown out of the water before turkey day hits.

I'm The Saddest Sicky You'll Ever Meet

I don’t like getting sick. Truly, I don’t know many people who do (“Oh wow that cold looks awesome! Can I drink from your glass there?”). But as hubby points out regularly, I am down right pathetic when any type of illness strikes me. I’m not the “suffer in silence” type.

Two weeks ago I had some stomach bug that caused me to pray to the porcelain gods for most of the night, and ultimately took the next day off of work – which I never do. Hubby was sweet and brought me water so I didn’t get dehydrated, and came home for lunch with a container of chicken noodle soup and crackers from our local grocery store. Ultimately it blew over two days later much to my relief and everything was hunky dory.

This past Saturday night hubby and I had our long awaited Halloween Pirate Party. Hubby had kicked his cold for the most part so we seemed all ready to go. Everything went great and we had good food, dirk, and excellent company who could have stayed long past midnight if I hadn’t all of a sudden been felled with the symptoms of Hubby’s cold at the stroke of midnight. Luckily there were only a few revelers left, and I think me starting to clean up may have been a sign for them to exit. Yesterday morning I woke up much later than normal to Cleo whining to be let out and feeling as if I still had a pillow over my face due to the lack of ability to breathe, my throat on fire, and my head buzzing like an angry anthill. My response: groan like I’m dying.

I spent most of yesterday on the couch or in bed bemoaning my fate and wondering if I should call in sick to work again. Ultimately I decided that since I wasn’t really dying I would go to work and go to the store on my break to get some medicine. This morning while getting ready for work, and generally feeling bad for myself I found a set of Dayquil liquid caps in my medicine cabinet that may or may not be more than a year old, I took them in the hopes they would help. As of this moment don't feel nearly as horrible. I'm just hoping the phone doesn't ring all that much today, I don't know how much talking I can do with this sore throat.

What I do know, is that I'm going to be stocking up on the airborne the next chance I get, because I can't really afford to be so pathetic.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream…

I usually remember my dreams. I don’t remember them so vividly that you could ask me about it the next week and I would be able to tell you the details, but sometimes there will be a dream that will stick with me for a bit. Last night I had a dream like that. I can’t remember all of the details of it, but one part of the strange conglomeration of ideas stands out above all else. I remember in the dream sitting at the edge of a lake in the middle of a forest, at night, I am partially in the water, and there is a steep drop off just past where I am sitting with another woman who’s face I never see but I am happily chatting with. My two “kidnappers” are diving farther out in the lake looking for coins, but can’t seem to find any. To my surprise I look down at the bank of the lake where I am sitting and notice all of these silver flecks shimmering in the moonlight. As I pull them out one by one I realize that these are the coins the two men are looking for. There seem to be millions of them as I start throwing them in a mason jar I had at hand. The whole situation seems strange to me. Of course it’s strange, it’s dream world.

As I said earlier, the two men diving were my “kidnappers”, but I didn’t feel as if I were being held hostage. And the coins I was collecting (which I thought were all quarters but ended up being a mix of silver coins, mostly dimes)? They were going toward my $10,000 ransom.

I always try to glean my own answers from my dreams. But this one caught me off guard for two reasons: one I hadn’t experienced the elements in it before, and two it has stuck with me for most of the day making me feel like it is important. I was silly and looked at dream analysis websites, none of them lending a helping hand toward what I felt the interpretation might be. So, I’m just going to let it simmer and perhaps the meaning will come to me… or I will go slowly mad trying to figure it out.

Thoughts on Smaller/ Simpler Living

Some time just after hurricane Katrina happened a blog I read regularly wrote a post about a company called Tumbleweed Tiny Houses. The thing that interested the blogger at the time, having just been a Katrina survivor and losing just about everything she owned to the storm and flooding, was that some of these houses were small enough that they could be hitched up to a car like a trailer and driven away. The thing that interests me is that people actually live in these tiny houses full time. In fact Jay Shafer, the founder of Tumbleweed, lives in one of the smallest house models coming in right under 100sqft of living space.

I don’t know what it is exactly that I find so attractive about these tiny homes. It could just be a novelty or a cute idea to me, but it could be something else too. I was thinking this morning about it and while I know I could never live in a home as small as Jay does – especially with a dog, two cats, and oh yeah my husband. I think the novelty of it for me comes down to living in just the amount of space you need. Here in the US we’re all about bigger is better, but what happens to all of that space you aren’t living in and using on a regular basis? It ultimately becomes wasted space, a decorated show room that you need to dust and clean but never really use. I’m a pack rat. I always have been. I know a lot of the stuff that I have I may never use again but I still keep it around because hey one day I just may need my high school chemistry notes. Ok, I’m not that extreme, but I know people who are. With such a small amount living space it force me, at least I hope that it would, to minimize what and how I consume.

There are many reasons to down size your living space, including what I mentioned before. Ultimately the largest reason is an environmental one. How effective is it for one person to live in a 2000sqft house with all the trimmings? The same person would likely do just as well in half or less space, but our American imperialist attitude is to conquer the space both with ourselves and the things we own. You don’t see that in Europe, you don’t see that in Asia, heck you don’t see it in Canada, because they tend to take advantage of the space they have not the space they believe they are entitled to. But I digress. Ultimately if we all lived in a smaller amount of space then that would leave more for the natural world, and because we are consuming less to fill these spaces it’s better for us environmentally and economically.

Does the written word remain?

I have been part of a fairly active book club for almost a year now. The book we are currently reading is The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. The main female character, Clare, is an artist. In one small portion of the story that I just read she talks about the strain between being an artist and being able to support yourself and also allowing time to nurture your artistic side. It’s a difficult balance. I struggle with it myself and still haven’t found a way that works for me. I frequently feel as if my artistic side it starving because I don’t take the time to write or sew or doodle any more.

The last few years I have endeavored upon a writing adventure known worldwide as National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). What is NaNoWriMo you may ask? NaNoWriMo happens during the month of November and participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel from scratch (more about it at nanowrimo.org). This is a mighty feat, one which have only attained once in the four times I have attempted it. To be honest, it’s my own fault. But I had a good excuse. I always have a good excuse for not doing the things I love. Mostly I’m sure it’s just pure laziness. And that’s why I continue to kick myself. The one year I did complete the goal I was working part time, no more than thirty hours a week, and was living mostly alone. Having more free time allowed me to concentrate on that 1700 words a day goal.

Now that I am working full time, have a 45 minute to an hour commute on each side of my 8 to 5 work day. I feel like I barely have time to do the things I need to do let alone the things I want to do. With that in mind, I frequently find myself not working on the artsy things I enjoy doing. Like sewing or writing and even art on occasion. I suppose this blog is a decent substitute for my lack of writing otherwise, but there is no substitute for thrill of creating something new and exciting that I am truly proud of.

So then the dichotomy remains. I will continue to create in spurts when the moment catches me just at a good point where I have enough time to follow through with it, or I will continue to not create at all. Sometimes I wish I could have the best of both worlds.

Slowly Going Mad

I like to read – probably not as much as a lot of other people, but I do enjoy it. I am always surprised when a book affects me in a profound way - because it does not happen to me all that frequently. This is likely due to the fact that I use reading as an escape rather than a reality check.

I just finished reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. If ever I identified with a book and a story line, it was that one. It wasn’t so much the plot itself but the emotional down fall and the realization that you don’t really want to be who society and your parents have prepared you to be. The main character, Esther, finds herself slowly dissolving from society’s expectations of her and floundering to find her own definition of self.

All in all, I came away from The Bell Jar being glad that I read it because of it’s place in literature, but being depressed by it because the story reminded too much of my own struggles.