Posts Tagged ‘healthy-living’

Long Days

February 28, 2018

And tomorrow will be another one.

I was asked yesterday by the mom to come in two hours before my scheduled time tomorrow.

I said yes.

They have been having a rough go of it, three sick kids.

The oldest boy had to call out of school today with an ear ache.

A trip to the pediatrician and it turns out he has an ear infection.

Meanwhile, back at the house, I had the baby strapped to me pretty much all day, he’s still so sick.

And at the doctor’s office the pediatrician was super concerned bout the little lady bug, who has now officially been out of school for ten days, and it turns out she has a severe lung infection.

The mom has also been sick, so the doctor ran a test on the mom to see if she’s got the flu bug that has been so vicious.

Negative.

Thank God.

I don’t know if I could have handled hearing that she had the flu.

I am healthy as fuck.

I rarely get sick.

I had a cold about a year ago.

And I’ve had a couple of instances of food poisoning this year.

Once from sushi and once from oysters.

Neither one was fun, the one from the sushi was horrendous and I won’t be going back to that restaurant again.

But.

I haven’t had the flu.

I did do the flu shot at the beginning of the year and I’m super grateful for that.

I don’t really know if it’s all that effective with the strain of the virus that has been going around, but I’m glad to know I have it.

Could just be the placebo effect.

Could be that I have pleaded with God to not let me get sick.

I am far too fucking busy for that.

So.

Tomorrow I will have a ten-hour day at work.

Gratefully I don’t have clients on Wednesday.

When I get off from work I will be coming home and making soup.

I didn’t have a chance to do food prep for the week, lunch prep, I did dinner, and I’ve been eating salads at lunch.

Which is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but with it being as cold as it’s been, I prefer a nice hot bowl of soup.

Today, though, I have to say it felt pretty good to have a big salad.

I eat really clean.

No sugar, no flour, and a few other things that I pretty much eschew.

But I don’t graze, I’m not typically a big salad eater.

They tend to be a last resort for me.

I like to have a meal cooked and hot for my lunch, especially, having a warm lunch at work really helps me be grounded.

But.

In a pinch, I’ll do a salad and I had hit up Rainbow yesterday after supervision and I got lots of good salad fixings to carry me a few days into the week until I could do some food prep.

The salad today seemed particularly to hit the spot.

Because.

Well.

Yoga.

I was, and am, very pleased to say that I finally made the 7 a.m. yoga class at my studio.

My therapist was out of office today, so we didn’t have a session, and although I love the family I work with, I was loath to say anything about having any extra time, I decided rather, to go in at my regular time and to allow myself some yoga this morning.

It was great.

My favorite instructor taught the class and it was small.

Saturday and Sunday there were at least thirty people crammed into the studio.

Today.

Not so much.

There were just three of us and the instructor.

And for the first time.

The guys outnumbered the girls.

Three guys and me.

It was pretty awesome.

And there was lots of hands on instruction and attention and it felt good to be in my body and I was very happy with it.

So happy that I pretty much pledged to be there again next week.

It turns out that I have enough time to do the yoga class before I go to therapy.

I have to plan out somethings, have my clothes ready, and all my bags and folders and books and meals and what have you packed, but I can do it.

I can do the 7 a.m. class, get back to the house, take a quick shower, dress, do hair and makeup and get out of the house in a timely enough manner that I will be able to be on time for my therapy session.

I am pleased as fuck that I can fit it in.

I even discussed, fingers crossed, with my instructor the possiblility of the studio doing another morning class.

He’s all about it.

And the owner, in an e-mail recently, had mentioned that they were considering it.

On Thursdays.

Which would be perfect for me.

It would literally mean something almost every day of the week before work, but it would also mean staying flexible doing some good self-care and getting more exercise, which I have been craving.

So.

Yeah.

It felt pretty good to eat a great big salad after doing a 7 a.m. yoga class and going to work and being a really good nanny.

The baby took two very long naps on me and was either being carried by me and sitting right next to me the entire day.

He craves being held.

It makes so much sense, just the comfort of being held, it is such a nice thing.

I miss it too.

I have that same craving.

I suspect many of us do.

I sense, though, that it will come to me again.

Patience I tell myself.

Patience.

Just be patient.

Baby girl.

All good things to those who wait.

 

 

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Hello Gorgeous

March 10, 2014

I said to myself this morning as I looked in the mirror.

That is not my typical response, just so you know.

I felt and still do feel, really pretty today.

Perhaps it was the sleeping in.

I could not believe I slept in so long.  It wasn’t until nearly lunch time that I realized that I had not actually slept in.  It was Daylight Savings time.

Oops.

I still felt good.

Really good.

I went for a bike ride along the beach.  I got some grocery shopping in.

Actually, a lot of grocery shopping in.  I went to three different stores–SafeWay, Noriega Produce, and Other Avenues.  Each had something I needed to get and I really want to stay with this habit of prepping my food for the week.

It is so helpful.

I actually have opened up my fridge a few times and was tempted to take a photograph of all the goodness.

Homemade chili in Mason jars: grass-fed, organic ground sirloin, browned with organic onion and garlic, hot soaked red and white organic beans (navy and kidney) black olives (I know chili does not typically have black olives, but the version I like the best is my mom’s, shocker, and her’s does include black olives and celery), fire roasted tomatoes, cayenne, chili powder, sea salt, Spike, black pepper, organic beef broth.

I also made a pot of brown rice and then packed it all up, froze two batches of it and canned the rest.

Then there’s organic Japanese sweet potatoes, carrots, the rest of the celery, Earth Balance, Nancy’s Organic plain, non-fat yogurt, organic low-fat string cheese, bottled water, Stumptown coffee in a jar for iced coffees–it’s going to be warm this week–unsweetened vanilla almond milk, organic Omega 3 brown eggs, Veganaise, lemon humus, organic strawberries and black berries, and left over Tom Yum soup from Thai Cottage.

It’s a pretty looking fridge.

I remember once a friend coming over to my house in Madison and being shocked at the amount of food in my fridge, and I was living alone at the time.

My fridge then probably looked something like this: cheese, big block of medium or mild cheddar, gallon of milk, mayonnaise–Hellman’s, the big jar, not the small one, I mean why, sliced turkey sandwich meat, potato bread or maybe wheat bread, but probably potato I liked how soft it was, tomatoes, pickles, iceberg lettuce for the sandwiches, beer, couple of growlers from the Angelic–the Bitter and maybe the Nut-brown, but probably the Bitter, Framboise, eggs, white potatoes for baked potatoes, sour cream, bagels, cream cheese, white tortillas, butter, in the freezer, ice cream, ice, vodka, frozen fruit for making frozen margaritas, on top of the fridge, lots of booze, good stuff, you know, top shelf, I liked to entertain.

In the cupboards boxed cereal, Bisquick, flour, sugar, brown and white and powdered, baking chocolate, white chocolate, cherry preserves, fruit in heavy syrup, chocolate chips and nuts for baking, baking soda, baking powder, maybe oatmeal, but not for breakfast, for baking, table salt, molasses, heavy corn syrup, popcorn.

I was a Midwestern kind of gal.

Now.

Not so much, but there are shades of her still here, and I like that, I don’t need to change that, I can just recall fondly when I would make fried chicken and potato salad and corn on the cob with gobs of butter and salt and chocolate cake and drink a big cold glass of milk with it all.

Then.

A cigarette and a beer or a soda.

I liked Coke.

Not the powder.

That came later.

Part of being pretty is taking care of myself, I know that now, I can see it clearly and as my food continues to be clean I am feeling really good and that to me is noticeable.

Plus the warm weather today did not hurt in the least.

It was glorious to ride my bicycle outside, to run errands, to sit and eat the meal I prepped for the road, had a 6:30p.m. commitment at Church and Market, that I ate with a bottle of sparkling water outside the Church Street Cafe.

Used to be that when I was out exercising I would use that as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted.

I remember going with my ex-boyfriend to the gym, he did not need it he had the metabolism of an angry hummingbird, and then after going to the McDonald’s on East Washington and eating a double quarter-pounder with cheese meal and yes, please supersize the fries, with a coke, easy on the ice.

Blech.

So happy I don’t do that to myself anymore.

It’s Spring around here and I am feeling fit and sassy and sexy and gorgeous.

And it’s ok to say that.

I don’t often acknowledge myself as being attractive.

I could today and I am going to let myself have that feeling and take it with me to bed.

I don’t know what the morrow will bring, so revel in these moments while I can.

I have a tendency to see myself differently, I don’t know if it’s body dysmorphia, could be, I am not one to self-diagnose, but I do know that I don’t have a good perspective on what I look like.

I look like me.

I tend to think that I look like how I feel.

I felt good today, sweet, well rested (even if it was just a trick of Daylight Savings, it worked), and pretty.

Happy.

Serene.

I mean, not much happened, but that’s an ok thing too.

A long bike ride, a home-made meal, sunshine, the swell of the ocean waves as they crumbled over themselves.  I saw a dolphin leap through a wave as I was cycling to the grocery store.

How’s that for scenic?

The ride to the grocery store is along the ocean, I take 46th to Lincoln, hop over to la Playa, then ride along the bike path to the SafeWay.

It’s like when I lived in Paris and I got to see Sacre Couer every time I went to the post office or to hop on the Metro at Anvers.

I live a damn good life.

Maybe that’s it.

My life is gorgeous.

Either way.

I will take it.

Maybe I Need to Do It

September 25, 2013

Backwards.

I just had this thought as I was scrolling through the pages of the Ocean Beach Yoga schedule.

A yoga studio that is a block away from my house.

So, let me count all the wonderful things that are within blocks of where I live.

Number 1 and the big one really, Ocean Beach, namely, uh yeah, the Pacific Ocean–three blocks away.

Number 2 a Muni line, the N-Judah–half block away.

Number 3 Golden Gate Park, two blocks away.

Number 4 a whole foods community co-op–one point five blocks away.

Number 5 and it could be six as well, Trouble Coffee and Java Beach Cafe–half block and two blocks away, respectively.

Number 7, lucky number seven? A yoga studio.

I have all my urban needs met–coffee, organic food market, train (if I am not on my bike the N-Judah is fantastically handy), and a yoga studio.

I have a lot, if not all my nature needs met–the ocean, the beach, the park.

I really have it all.

So, I am going to start acting like it.

The job interview for another nanny gig does not hurt either.

I got a referral from a friend for a friend, who happened to do graduate studies at UW Madison!

We spoke today and her family’s needs may not be a great match for my availabilities, but it pointed out to me real fast, that I won’t have a challenging time finding work.

The challenge is to not live my life as though things are not happening.

To keep my pennies to myself like some miser.

There is that idea that I was writing about last night, the why would I want more if I don’t want what I have?  But this, this is slightly different.

If I continue to hold onto the idea that I live an impoverished life and there are certain things, like yoga, I can’t afford, than I will continue to live a life of deprivation.

Instead, I can drop that idea, open myself to the obvious abundance that is surrounding me and have some faith that if I take a month’s worth of yoga classes I won’t not be able to afford rent.

A month of unlimited yoga is $130.

I can so afford that.

I absolutely can.

In fact, I am absolutely going to.

I don’t even have to start out that crazy, try a week and see if I like it.

I have some ulterior motives, as this week has shown me that I do have some qualms about my body shape and size.

Not so much my weight, just more that I could use some toning and sculpting and I would like to knock off that last bit of weight I put on before I get naked with someone.

I am guessing that will eventually happen with the Mister.

He moves slow, but I don’t believe that will be for much longer.

When his work lightens up I want to be there.

And this is more for me than for him, if it’s for him at all, which it rather isn’t.

See, he likes me, he’s attracted to me, I have evidence, he’s told me and nobody kisses someone like the way he has kissed me without being attracted to that person.

The man has braces on, not bifocals.

He can clearly see what I look like.

In fact, he’s known me for years, so he’s seen me at some pretty unhappy sizes.

What I look like is not going to be some surprise.

How I feel about myself will just be for myself and will boost my confidence, make me feel better about being a nanny, being physical fit to deal with the babies is actually a good deal of my work, my body has been sore and I could use some work.

Yoga.

Yoga.

Yoga.

And I love how a yoga body looks.

I have always wanted one.

So, why in the world should I not go and get one.

I can’t afford to deprive myself of something that will make me happy.

Plus, despite the beautiful weather, there will come a time, and it is in the not too distant future, when the rains will come.

November.

I can feel you sneaking in, the fall equinox just happened, I noticed the day today was shorter, and the rains, they do come.

Grey, wet, no sun.

Seattle, quit ya bitchin, San Francisco gets as much if not more rainfall.

I remember one year it was unusually bad and it was something like 43 or 44 days in a row of non-stop rain.

Even a light rain season, is still a rainy season.

And for a lady with clinically diagnosed depression, seasonal depression, and clinical anxiety, exercise is the only way to keep me off antidepressants.

I have been off meds now for just about two years.

I want to stay that way.

So, yoga, I think so.

I also said yes to meeting someone for tea next week Tuesday, although I said no, uh, I am busy, er, yeah.

Then I went to the bathroom, admonished myself, came back and said, “yes, of course I will be happy to have tea with you next week,” I have known her in an acquaintance kind of way for years, but now that I am in the neighborhood, well, damn it, I need to get to know the people.

It is a challenge.

Life.

Love.

Being myself, it is all a challenge.

But there are moments, like earlier, when I was sitting on the bench in the Panhandle with an 8 month old baby sleeping on my chest and a 16 1/2 month older toddler happily playing with leaves and acorns and a sand bucket.

The wind pushed my hair off my face, I could smell the invigorating smell of Eucalyptus, the sun was warm, the bite of autumn just a nibble and not a gnaw, the green of the grass, righteous.

I looked up at the trees and breathed in the smell deep and full.

I looked down at the baby and knew I was lucky and blessed to be trusted with his small self.

I looked at the toddler who was happy and busy and smiling and chatting with me and the dogs and giggling and squeaking (he has “squeakers,” they are retarded cute, making a little rubber ball squeak noise every time he walks.  I seriously want to do a Flash Dance Montage of him stomping his little feet in the shoes, I die every time I think about it) and know I am loved.

“Up, up,” he says to me and cuddles on me now.

I became his person at Burning Man, no going back now.

I looked inward and saw I was at peace, content, serene.

The taking care of me part looks a lot like  doing the opposite of what I tell myself.

“You can’t afford that!”

I can’t afford not to.

So, yoga, here I come.

Trying, one day at a little time to do it different.

If my brain tells me no you can’t.

My action will be yes, yes, you can.

 

 

Financial Independence

July 5, 2013

Was the theme for today.

I worked three jobs.

Yes, that’s right, on our nation’s biggest holiday (to drunk drive, over use drugs, intoxicate oneself with bbq sauce, and get sunburned, oh and lest I forget, blow shit up) I chose to work.

I could have had today off, but I was available to nanny and as my employer is Canadian and also chose to work, I said I would.

I was not remiss to miss the holiday laze about.

In fact, I was quite content to work.

I felt more myself then I have since, well, since for a long time.

I did not feel like over eating, I did not feel like sugar, I was solid in my body and grateful for it, I also went and covered a commitment tonight to that effect and felt really grounded to be once again in a fellowship of like-minded folks.

I got to be of service to the family, I had sweet just me and M. time at the park, not once, but twice today.  And I was asked to pick up another shift for the mom tomorrow.

Thereby eradicating the shifts that I lost due to weird BART transportation issues.

I probably feel more at ease as well as I am no longer at the nanny gig, but at another house sitting gig.

Which makes number four since I have gotten back.

I got the sweetest text from the people I am helping out, the microwave popcorn has been thrown away, please help yourself to delicious farmer’s market veggies we got!

Yay for friends.

Not that it would have kept me from sacking and pillaging if that was where I was at, or going out and purchasing a checking out session.

But I didn’t need to, I don’t feel compelled to, and finally, despite not really being at home, I feel at home.

This time last year I was working in the bike shop, on my own, and I was contemplating the days and weeks and months leading up to my departure to Paris.

And that happened.

And now I am back.

And it’s been two months since my return.

I went away to find that I most like it here of all the places in the world.

I love San Francisco.

It’s home.

I may live other places, but I think this is it, I think I am here for a while.

I won’t say I am never ever leaving, because I know better than that, I will say however, that I am stopping from running away from the place that most feels like home to me.

The place I feel safest, most loved, most wanted.

I am grateful I got to go and I will go and visit Paris again, that is just an absolute.

But I am here to stay.

As the dusk falls and the fireworks are ramping up I am happy to be inside up in the Castro Hills, at my second job of the day, typing away and sipping ginger tea.

The cats are fed, the fish are fed, the girl is fed, my heart feels full, and I feel safe.

I also feel a great deal of acceptance, for myself, my experiences, and my process.

And I hesitate to say it, but I finally feel just fine with me exactly the way that I am.

I don’t need to lose more weight, if I do, cool, if I don’t whatever, I just don’t want to be compulsive with it again, that was scary and untenable and rough going.

I like my hair (yes, I am still debating glitter extensions, but I am not going to color it or cut it short again, I really am digging it long).

I like my sense of style, which San Francisco may be the only place on Earth where I don’t feel that I stick out (ok, maybe Burning Man, but that did start in San Francisco), there is always someone rocking an odder outfit that I.

I feel at ease with my sexuality and I know what I want.

I could use a man to share that with, but you know, that will come, well, when it’s supposed to, for whatever reason, a lot of which I don’t always write about here, something has recently shifted and I do feel ready to really, actually, well, you know, date.

Heaven’s to Betsy!

I don’t feel like I need to improve anything or change anything.

I like my jobs, I love my charges, I like doing the work for the design firm.

I love being able to hang out again with my friends, my God, I missed them much more than I realized.

I freaking love having access to good coffee again and I like that I am allowing myself to buy it.  Stumptown is expensive, so is Four Barrel and Ritual and SightGlass, but I deserve good coffee and I shall have it.

Speaking of deserve, now that I am not bloated and gassy, yeah, I know probably too much information there, but hey when you’re lactose intolerant and then decide to indulge in the ice cream that’s what happens, I am getting a few new clothes this weekend.

It is time to do the jean shopping.

I am not going to hold off waiting to lose weight.

Fact is, I sort of surrendered to the idea that I am the perfect size already.

The perfect weight already, just for today.

Because I will never go buy myself a nice pair of jeans or a pretty dress if I am always waiting to lose another five pounds and frankly I can get obsessed about a number on a scale.

I am not my jeans size, I am not the number on the scale.

I am me, my actions, my dreams, and the way I go after them.

That is my independence today.

Free to be me.

There ain’t nobody else out there quite like me, so why not embrace it?

You Are Going to Do What?

March 2, 2012

I still cannot believe I am going to actually attempt to do this, but here it goes.

I enrolled in the City College Clerical Accounting Certificate program.

Huh?

What am I thinking?

Fact.  Not thinking.  Just doing.  Just checking out.  Just seeing if what if all my ideas have been utter shite, and it’s time I try something else.

Let see what programs have I applied to and gotten turned down for?  Or what places have I investigated and it has not happened to go my way.

The list over the last seven years is actually pretty impressive when I look at it.  I have been searching and seeking and trying to “figure it out”  for so long I don’t even realize it sometimes.  I have looked at veterinary school.

Then I went and worked at a specialty veterinary hospital.  That did not work out so well.  You are probably not situated, emotionally or mentally, if you have nightmares about the head orthopedic surgeon in a bloody gown and dead German Shepard’s lying on tables in surgical suites.

Also if the smell of blood makes you nauseated, probably not a good fit.  Oh, and dog shit.  Thanks, but no thanks.

It would seem that veterinary school is probably out.

Also out, the teachers certification through State.  Why?  Because despite being told that I would make a fantastic teacher, and I still believe that, I don’t want to take out student loans to make less money after becoming certified than I do before.  Does not compute.

What else?

Oh yeah, let’s count the number of MFA programs I have applied to in Creative Writing–two.  Let’s count the number of times denied–two.  Also denied, the Stegnor Fellowship at Stanford and another writing program I applied to, for which I cannot recall the school or program.  I applied to Stanford, State, and San Francisco University.  Nope, nada, nothing.  OR zip, zero, zilch.

Either way did not get in.  John Ater wisely points out that I don’t need an MFA to be published and he is correct.

I do however need a job to pay the bills while I continue to pursue publication of my works, whether it is a book idea or just my blogging.  Until the financials works out for my writing to go legit as a career, I need a little more cash in the till.

Make up school did not work out either.  No funding to go.

Nope, what has thus work out for me, nothing of my own ideas, that’s what.  I ended up in a bicycle shop.

It feels anit-intuitive to go after book-keeping knowledge or certification.  But then again, the program is free.  Let me repeat that, FREE.  I can take the course load, which will last one year, and when I am done I will have a Clerical Accounting Certificate (I can be a book-keeper or an assistant, or who knows what, but better skilled than I am now).  I will also be certified through Quick Books.

Not only is it free, I was accepted, and taken on despite the courses having already started, they took me on.  I was not turned down. I filled out some paper work.  I walked into City College just looking to ask a few questions.

Fifteen minutes later I walked out enrolled in this program.  I have no idea how that happened.

These are skills I can translate into making more money.  These are small career changing things that I have to be willing to try to do something different.  I need to expand my ideas of what I can or cannot do.

I need to set my alarm really fucking early starting Monday.

Classes start at 8 a.m.  Fortunately, the classes are held on the Mission Campus.  OH, about an eight minute walk from my house or a three-minute bike ride.  They will go until 10:30 a.m.  Then I will make my way to work at 11 a.m. and work until 7 p.m.

Monday through Thursday for one year.

I can do that.  I was just working a job that was 50 hours a week.  This will be similar.  I can do it.  And if I find I can’t then I can drop out of the program.  But I have to find out.  I have to do something different.

I also checked out massage school, that one just came back to me, totally forgot about that.  So in seven years I have wanted to be a massage therapist, a creative writing professor, an elementary school teacher, a veterinarian, and a make up artist.  In between the applying and the investigating I was a legal secretary, a waitress, a produce whole sale distributor’s customer rep, and a nanny.

I have done and seen a lot.  I have gotten to try on different hats.  I have been good at all the jobs I did.  And I have not gotten fired from any of them.  Pretty good stats.

None of them fit.

What’s another hat?  I am just going to investigate.  I am going to practice not having contempt prior to investigation.  I don’t know where this is leading, I don’t have a clue.

Which may be the best thing for me, to not have a clue, to not have pre-disposed ideas,  like accountants are dry boring pencil pushing folk.

Myth.

Look at Frolic, my friend at Burning Man.  He works for Burning Man in their accounting department, he’s a fun-loving, creative guy who works for Burning Man and plays cello in professional orchestras throughout the state.  That is not an accountant in my mind.  He’s having a lot of fun.

I want to have fun too.

This may lead nowhere, but the investigation is worth getting up a little earlier for a few weeks.

What I have already told myself that I would not sacrifice is my writing.  That stays on the table.  The blog continues.  Even if it means I just blog about accounting and Quick Books.  You don’t like it, well, too bad.  My blog, my topics.

It means that I still get up early and I write before I head out into my day.  I can do that.  It is a part of me.  The process of putting pen to paper must continue.  If I want to be a writer  I must continue to write.  And perhaps the schedule will help me to  square a little time away to myself on the days I am not in class to push on ward with projects and submissions.

I met with Carolyn today before work.  I met with Jennifer after work.  I will meet with Stephanie on Sunday.  These commitments are the most important ones to me and I know that just by showing up and being useful I will maintain an emotional and spiritual equilibrium in the face of unknowns–or numbers.

In the end, who the hell cares what I do to pay the bills, as long as I am happy, joyous, and free.

Nothing else is important.

Nothing.


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