Posts Tagged ‘life journey’

Working My Way Back In

July 7, 2014

Slow like.

I got up earlier than I wanted to.

I am practising for the upcoming week, my impending, doom, dum, dum, doom, drum beating in my head, of resuming work.

I have been out of my job now for a month.

It has felt like some odd dream that was lasting forever and then suddenly, today, I woke up.

Tomorrow life resumes its previous shape, though slightly altered.

“Look at those pink shoes!” She exclaimed, “I have never seen you out of your Converse,” slight pause, “unless you are wearing sky high platform heels.”

I am a creature of extremes.

I am out of my shoe comfort zone, but more comfortable for that, my ankle needs more support than the Converse can give and so, enter my Saucony Jazz sneaks in pink with lime green and pink shoe laces.

My feet look like candy colored slippers.

Excuse me while I gnaw on a green and pink taffy pull of lace.

I wrote a lot this morning, ate a nice breakfast, made my bed without the boot on or use of the crutches–both have been regulated to the back of the closet, where I wish them to stay forever and ever amen–with my foot wrapped up in an ace bandage to provide some extra support.

I made small plans today.

Went up to St. Annes and hung out there for an hour and was told I “lit up the room.”

Which made me smile.

Truth be told, I am a touch maudlin and a bit at a loss to express how this past month has took hold of me.

Perhaps it is just the waking up in my own bed this morning, rather than the one in the bedroom at the cabin on Lake 26, Town of Swiss, outside of Danbury Wisconsin, where the loons woke me up and the light through the pines needled itself into my heart.

I was sitting on my back porch having an early’ish dinner and the sun had finally plowed its way through the fog and clouds and I noticed a red splotch on my wrist, then another and another.


Poison ivy?

My best friend had pointed it out to me and described it quite well and I knew to avoid it, but I had gotten swept up into the blueberry picking madness, that at one point had me sitting in a patch like a little brown bear stuffing berries atlernately in my mouth and then into the bucket–a Cedar Crest ice cream pail–hazily waving away the flies and gnats that were descending upon me.

I had my snack and then, man, oh man, was the insect world having its meal.

The rash was not a rash, I realized, no itching, couldn’t be poison ivy, nope.


Mosquito bites.

“Moquito” the littlest one said, dropping the s off the world in his soft lisp voice.

The first time I heard it I thought he was saying “mojito” and did wonder for a brief moment is his mom and dad had suddenly taken up with the ubiquitous drink rather than the craft beers which are more their style.

Though they both drank more Klarbunn fizzy water than anything else during the time I was there.

Speaking of which, I had forgotten how tasty that little beverage is–black cherry Karbunn sparkling water, I’ll take a case of that to Burning Man, yes please.

The nice thing about “moquito” bites is that if you can muster the will to not scratch at them, they will stop being itchy after a few moments.

But once I start the itching, it won’t stop until I have a scab and miracle of miracles, I was so distracted by the wild blue berry bushes I was pillaging to have not taken the time to do anything other than swat them away when I noticed them.

I shall return to work tomorrow with some red spots, a weak ankle, and a mind somewhat turned inward, perhaps more than I would like.

It feels as though today I got a bit introspective and a little sad too.

Is it enough to sit and listen to the hush of the ocean as it stirs through the air, the whistle rustle of thick black oily raven wings beating the sky, the bright purple wild geraniums in the yard dancing in the light breeze, is it enough to just notice these things?

I have an old fallacious idea that down time needs to be planning and doing time.

I am experiencing some chargrin that I have not done more with my time.

The alternative thought is that I allowed myself to heal as best I could without putting pressure upon myself to magically will it better.

The push to self-improve has not been as self destructive as it has in the past.

That is not to say that it isn’t there, it is, and it too, a dull roar smash of sounds that whirl in dust devil dervishes in the back of my head, with a occasional voice breaking through the jumble to admonish me for the lack of being further ahead with this aspect of my life or that.

I know my purpose though and I met it today and I let myself just be slow and have a simple day.

After St. Anne’s I went to the farmers market at 9th and Judah and bought four perfect, heavy, just ripened to perfection, yellow organic nectarines.

I had one today after lunch and cannot remember a better one in my life.

It was so good I put down the book I was reading to sit and savor it with complete and total concentration.

Yellow nectarines are my favorite fruit.

When they are just so.

And they are not often just so.

Not too ripe.

Not too under ripe.

Have to be yellow.

White ones are gross.

Cannot be a peach.

I dislike the fuzz and the textural difference is such that it really does drive me bats.

Peaches and nectarines are not the same.

One golden moment of bliss.

I also got organic broccoli and cauliflower, a deep purple burgundy red cabbage, a bunch of sweet organic carrots, and a pound of organic brussels sprouts, then I caught the train back home.

I made beans and rice to take to work for the week and also a large chopped red cabbage salad with carrots and broccoli, a small apple, cauliflower, olive oil and apple cider vinegar.

I wasn’t too fancy.

I don’t have fancy in me today.

Some slight sadness still lingering.

But I know it is enough.

This life by the sea, the sound of love cradling me deep.

I don’t have to know where this is going, just that I am well enough to put myself back up on the path.

The sadness will pass and before long this will be jus that time when.

I sat for a long time and was still.

And love came to me when I was least looking for it.


You just can’t pass it away, it’s love.

And love comes eager to stay, 

It just works out that way.

It’s Almost Friday

March 21, 2014

It’s almost time to dance.

Oh Jesus.

I am ready.

I am ready.

I need to shake it out and shake it hard and let my hair down, and probably put it back up because I will get hot, then let it all go.

I am going to tear it up.

At least that’s what it feels like right now.  Tomorrow, well tomorrow, I could be punked out and my energy may be low and maybe, it’s been known to happen, I won’t be feeling it.

But I will go anyway.

Because I bought tickets.

I was ruminating earlier that sometimes I have to purchase something to go and the guilt of having paid for it will be the motivation.


I paid $18.05 to go dancing (tax, etc.) online.

I better go.

I want to go and that should be enough impetus, but sometimes it is not.

I was talking about not riding my bicycle as much when I get my licence and how that has played out in my head as an anxiety producing thing about not getting enough exercise and the person I was checking in with asked what kind of exercising I like and  I said swimming.

Then she told me about a friend of hers who pays to be in a league and shows up for swim practise.

Swim practise!

Can you imagine at the age of 41?


I am a good swimmer and I do enjoy it and that’s an option, especially with having a vehicle to get me there and back.

Sometimes I am loath to go do something physical because I know afterward I am going to be on my bicycle and I am not up for the commute.

Though, truth be told, I have noticed that I am faster, quicker, and more agile on my bike of late.

I have dropped a pound or two and I can feel the lightness in my body and I can see more muscle tone in my legs and in my upper waist, my lower waist is never going to be what I want it to be, unless I get surgery, which should the money ever happen I might.

I will always, as long as I do what I am doing today, just for today, have loose skin on my body.

And instead of wishing it away I can be profoundly grateful for the visual evidence of what I used to weigh and how hard it was to get through the day.

How stressful it was to hike up Bascom Hill in Madison.

I hike up a great deal of hills in San Francisco, once a week a really steep one, pushing my bicycle up ahead of me–why I will get to climb it tomorrow–up Noe to 19th, and I don’t need to pause for breath three or four times.

I had an old friend tag me in some photographs from days gone by when I used to work at the Angelic Brewing Company, where I hit my top weight, maybe 282 lbs, maybe more.  I didn’t get on a scale for a long time after that and I believe I could have been heavier, but I wasn’t about to find out.

I know that a few years later I had dropped down to 250 lbs.

I know that because I weighed myself at my black belt test.

I was a 250 lb 29-year-old woman getting her black belt in Shaolin.

No wonder I wasn’t fucked with.

Well not much, I remember one of the bartenders, Kurt, joking about how we should turn off all the lights and jump out at me to see how I responded in the dark brewery.

Ah, no thanks, friend, no one needs to die.

Then I managed to get down to 214/215 lbs when I moved here to San Francisco.

Courtesy of a little dietary aid.

Er, I mean, a little bag, or two, of cocaine.

I remember a dear, dear friend asking me if I was using coke to lose weight.

Well, sort of, I admitted, I loved that I wasn’t hungry, but I couldn’t, at that time, admit that I was just plain old addicted to the shit.

Then I stopped.

And wow did the weight come back.

I ate to stuff all those feelings and stuff myself I did.

I bounced back up to 275 lbs, maybe more.

After that I did a lot of restricting and white knuckling, then one day someone suggested I try something else and after a couple of false starts I found a solution that works for me.

And I got right sized.

Which is not to say that I got to the size that I want to be at.


Not at all.

What I got was a certain kind of freedom from obsessing about what that certain size should be.  I got a perspective that allowed me to see that every day, no matter how heavy or light, I was exactly how I should be and that change was going to happen and I might get bigger or smaller depending.

But I would always be right sized.

I believe that’s called humility.

So, when the brain beats me up and says my body is not as attractive as it could be, I get grateful for all the evidence to the contrary, I worked really hard to be the woman I am today and I am gorgeous.

I am not photoshopped, I have wrinkles, I have laugh lines, I have saggy upper arm skin and loose skin on my tummy, but I also have that as evidence I can look at every day and see what an amazing woman I am, how much effort I have put in, in small little steps, to be where I am at.

And where I am at is wearing a sleeveless size medium dress to go dancing in tomorrow night with a pair of leggings and some Converse.

Because although you might not think that my upper arms are sexy.

I do.

And flaunt them I shall while I get my groove on the dance floor.

Because being content in my body is the sexiest statement I can make.

And I am hella sexy.

Just watch me break it off tomorrow.

Because, it’s on.

%d bloggers like this: