Well it looks like I will soon be a dog owner. I have now officially rescued the little dog. She is currently on a ranch with the Humane Society people. She has been to the vet and had a check up, shots and was spade. She is not pregnant. She has had pups in the recent past. I never saw or heard any puppies. I shudder to think what may have happened to them. They also gave her a bath. What I thought was caked mud is sap, from that tree she lived under. The sap will not come out of her coat. It will have to wear off. Humane Society people say she is indeed house trained. (Mark is relieved.) She will walk on a leash but attempts to tow you along. She gets along with the other dogs. All in all, "A great little dog," says the dog walker. I wanted to call her Mollie. The Humane Society people are calling her Mollie Bea. I am touched.
Mark is less than thrilled, but resigned. "I knew the moment you started feeling sorry for that dog we would eventually own her." I was never that sure. I am grateful to God for how it all worked out. (Rest assured I am not a criminal.) I am not sure what we are going to do with her. We have two sides of a fence, not four. But with winter coming on I don't have to worry too much. For the frozen season she will be an inside dog who goes for walks. She can stay where she is until we move in. H.S. people say she smiles all the time.
Can you believe it? I will have a new dog and a new house in the same month. I am kind of shell shocked. The cats hate me already. Whomper Dinky will, I think, get along with Mollie Bea. Rocket Socks will sit on top of things and stare at me reproachfully. October promises to be an interesting month.
I am going to start painting kitchen cabinets this eve. The job is awful but I will not gripe, the cabinets are MINE.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The First Supper
We were measuring stuff last night at the new house when comes a knock at the door. I was feeling bad about fence encounter earlier in the day and was also exhausted. I did not want to talk to the sellers about the fence. I assumed it was them as no one else knew we were in the house. Lo and behold it was a couple from church we had met once. Turns out they live just up the road from us. They said they were the unofficial Welcome Wagon and invited us to supper. I was tempted to turn them down as I am not crazy about socializing with near strangers. But this is a new phase and old things are passing away. I accepted. We had a wonderful time. This couple were delightful, and they offered to help us CLEAN AND PAINT AND MOVE. Offered us the use of their pickup! I was overwhelmed by their generosity.
This is a direct answer to prayer. Why am I so surprised? I expect disasters. I do not look for blessings. A new day is dawning. I am choosing to expect blessings. I will be alert for them. If I can spot a potential problem at forty paces I should also be able to perceive the hand of God in my life.
Today I will be cleaning and buying a garage. Oh, and door locks. Fence looks good.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Markovian Theory: The next new health craze to sweep the country will be "clarified" water...
This is a direct answer to prayer. Why am I so surprised? I expect disasters. I do not look for blessings. A new day is dawning. I am choosing to expect blessings. I will be alert for them. If I can spot a potential problem at forty paces I should also be able to perceive the hand of God in my life.
Today I will be cleaning and buying a garage. Oh, and door locks. Fence looks good.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Markovian Theory: The next new health craze to sweep the country will be "clarified" water...
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Done Deal
Gad what a mess. We now own a house but it was a close thing. I made difficulties. Loud difficulties. I have been castigated my whole life for my attention to detail. "Picky, fussy, anal retentive, nervous, irritating, worrier, complainer, and holier than thou are just some of the labels I've had pinned to me. I can't help it. It is how I am made. As a nurse this quality made me very valuable, and it drove people crazy. But, I know the devil is usually to be found in the details.
We were signing the pounds of paper necessary to purchase the house when something caught my eye. We were signing about improvements to the property. The new vinyl six foot fence was not on the form. I asked why. No one knew. The real estate agent excused himself to go to the restroom. I refused to sign anything else until he returned. Then I asked point blank about the oversight. He hemmed and hawed and didn't answer. I said, "This deal will stop right here until the fence goes on the land improvement page." More silence. Now the bank person, title person and lawyer (Mark) were looking at him. Bank lady offered to hand write the description in. Real estate agent stopped her. "You can't put it on there because they don't own the fence. It is on the seller's property." More silence. All was suddenly clear. I was very angry. I did not yell or cry or have a fit. I made eye contact with the real estate agent and said in clear loud tones, "So you lied to us? And you were going to let us buy the house thinking the fence was on our property?" "Buyer beware," was what he said. At that point Mark quietly said, "We have an initial contract which states that the fence was to be built on our property. Now we will not buy the house and apparently we will have to sue the sellers for breach of contract." Agent came unglued. No, no, no let's not get the sellers involved he begged. (Sellers were not present. They are to sign at 4 pm today.) This little misunderstanding was all his fault. What could he do to make it right?
We got three thousand dollars off the price of the house. We signed. That damn fence was never ours or ever going to be ours. The sellers had always intended to put up their fence on their property. The agent bald faced lied to us. FOR NO GOOD REASON. We made it obvious from the beginning we wanted the house. Fence or no fence. Also turns out there are no keys for any of the door locks. I asked a couple of weeks ago why the house was never locked. He told me because the sellers were always going in and out. Today I asked for the keys. He then said there were none. I asked why he hadn't told me that weeks ago. He just looked down at his shoes.
This guy used to be the chief of police in our little town.
Was a long morning. We have a house. I am going out and purchase locks just as soon as I finish typing. I hope soon to be excited. Right now I just want to sit down and cry. Change is hard, and good things are worth fighting for. And, shock of all shocks, I am capable of fighting. First the dog and now the house.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
We were signing the pounds of paper necessary to purchase the house when something caught my eye. We were signing about improvements to the property. The new vinyl six foot fence was not on the form. I asked why. No one knew. The real estate agent excused himself to go to the restroom. I refused to sign anything else until he returned. Then I asked point blank about the oversight. He hemmed and hawed and didn't answer. I said, "This deal will stop right here until the fence goes on the land improvement page." More silence. Now the bank person, title person and lawyer (Mark) were looking at him. Bank lady offered to hand write the description in. Real estate agent stopped her. "You can't put it on there because they don't own the fence. It is on the seller's property." More silence. All was suddenly clear. I was very angry. I did not yell or cry or have a fit. I made eye contact with the real estate agent and said in clear loud tones, "So you lied to us? And you were going to let us buy the house thinking the fence was on our property?" "Buyer beware," was what he said. At that point Mark quietly said, "We have an initial contract which states that the fence was to be built on our property. Now we will not buy the house and apparently we will have to sue the sellers for breach of contract." Agent came unglued. No, no, no let's not get the sellers involved he begged. (Sellers were not present. They are to sign at 4 pm today.) This little misunderstanding was all his fault. What could he do to make it right?
We got three thousand dollars off the price of the house. We signed. That damn fence was never ours or ever going to be ours. The sellers had always intended to put up their fence on their property. The agent bald faced lied to us. FOR NO GOOD REASON. We made it obvious from the beginning we wanted the house. Fence or no fence. Also turns out there are no keys for any of the door locks. I asked a couple of weeks ago why the house was never locked. He told me because the sellers were always going in and out. Today I asked for the keys. He then said there were none. I asked why he hadn't told me that weeks ago. He just looked down at his shoes.
This guy used to be the chief of police in our little town.
Was a long morning. We have a house. I am going out and purchase locks just as soon as I finish typing. I hope soon to be excited. Right now I just want to sit down and cry. Change is hard, and good things are worth fighting for. And, shock of all shocks, I am capable of fighting. First the dog and now the house.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Monday, August 27, 2007
Cold Feet
Up to my thighs now. We are supposed to close on the house tomorrow at 9:30. I keep hoping something will go wrong. I like the house, I am tired of being a renter and...I hate going back into debt. I am afraid of going into debt. No sugar in the house yesterday to eat. I ate a whole jar of salsa.
I have prayed for guidance about this house. I have prayed the process would be halted if is not God's will for us. I am about all prayed out.
Fears
1. I am afraid we will not be able to make the bills each month.
2. I fear the discipline/deprivation of a budgeted life.
3. I fear some big disaster that we will not have the money to cope with.
4. I fear the feeling of a self induced financial mess and the attendant guilt.
5. I fear making another costly mistake about money.
6. I fear the humiliation of being broke and and in debt.
7. I fear I will have to go back to being a nurse.
Well it took six tries but I finally got to the real fear. I will have to go back to work. Not to any job but to the high paying soul killing career I know so well. The career in which I become a walking corpse that smiles. I would rather be actually dead.
"What you resist you always draw to you." From Mentor Mary. Gad. Okay time to practise what I preach. I am going to sit quietly and let the worst care scenarios wash over me. I will dive head on into the fear. I am afraid of fear. But the only way out is through.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
I have prayed for guidance about this house. I have prayed the process would be halted if is not God's will for us. I am about all prayed out.
Fears
1. I am afraid we will not be able to make the bills each month.
2. I fear the discipline/deprivation of a budgeted life.
3. I fear some big disaster that we will not have the money to cope with.
4. I fear the feeling of a self induced financial mess and the attendant guilt.
5. I fear making another costly mistake about money.
6. I fear the humiliation of being broke and and in debt.
7. I fear I will have to go back to being a nurse.
Well it took six tries but I finally got to the real fear. I will have to go back to work. Not to any job but to the high paying soul killing career I know so well. The career in which I become a walking corpse that smiles. I would rather be actually dead.
"What you resist you always draw to you." From Mentor Mary. Gad. Okay time to practise what I preach. I am going to sit quietly and let the worst care scenarios wash over me. I will dive head on into the fear. I am afraid of fear. But the only way out is through.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Never Ending Pain
Why do I assume present pain is going to be permanent? Lack of faith at the outset, but deeper problem than that I think. I read somewhere during the past week that almost all chronic overeaters are incapable of envisioning happy endings.
When beset by unpleasant circumstances I am immediately overwhelmed. I feel crushed, squashed down, incapable of meeting the problem, and certainly unable to see beyond it. And yet I am known as a genius at problem solving. I come up with an almost instantaneous plan to meet whatever adversity I encounter. My quick thinking has saved many a day for myself and others. But during the crisis I imagine it will never end and I will be called upon to endure the present pain forever. Hence the eating. I eat to relieve the stress and pain of what I perceive as an intransigent problem. Guess what? The pain never lasts.
Do you suppose this is from a childhood of blows I couldn't ward off? What is my deal? I choose to believe God loves me and wants to give me an abundant life. I am already living out some of that. But, still I wait for the other shoe to drop. Lack of faith.
I have also been thinking about God as Father in Heaven. I have to say from my viewpoint, my Father has been damn unreliable. What use is a father who loves but refuses to protect? This dog deal is allowing me to bring old stuff out into the light. How am I to trust a Father/God who allows such suffering while all the propaganda assures us of His love and protection?
Paradigm shift: I misunderstand the love of God. I got no idea under Heaven about an earthly father's love and I don't understand a Heavenly Father's love. I may have badly mixed the two. So...I choose to believe my father God can handle my anger at His apparent inaction. I choose to look for happy endings and miracles. And I ask for wisdom.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
When beset by unpleasant circumstances I am immediately overwhelmed. I feel crushed, squashed down, incapable of meeting the problem, and certainly unable to see beyond it. And yet I am known as a genius at problem solving. I come up with an almost instantaneous plan to meet whatever adversity I encounter. My quick thinking has saved many a day for myself and others. But during the crisis I imagine it will never end and I will be called upon to endure the present pain forever. Hence the eating. I eat to relieve the stress and pain of what I perceive as an intransigent problem. Guess what? The pain never lasts.
Do you suppose this is from a childhood of blows I couldn't ward off? What is my deal? I choose to believe God loves me and wants to give me an abundant life. I am already living out some of that. But, still I wait for the other shoe to drop. Lack of faith.
I have also been thinking about God as Father in Heaven. I have to say from my viewpoint, my Father has been damn unreliable. What use is a father who loves but refuses to protect? This dog deal is allowing me to bring old stuff out into the light. How am I to trust a Father/God who allows such suffering while all the propaganda assures us of His love and protection?
Paradigm shift: I misunderstand the love of God. I got no idea under Heaven about an earthly father's love and I don't understand a Heavenly Father's love. I may have badly mixed the two. So...I choose to believe my father God can handle my anger at His apparent inaction. I choose to look for happy endings and miracles. And I ask for wisdom.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Thursday, August 23, 2007
A Dog's Life
Has been a long 48 hours. God is good.
That is all I am going to say about that. No verbal comments please. Just grin real big and say a thank you prayer.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
That is all I am going to say about that. No verbal comments please. Just grin real big and say a thank you prayer.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Moving Is Hard
We are going to move. I keep expecting the bank to call and renege on the loan. Trust me to decide to buy a house in the midst of the worst lending crisis in the past twenty years. I watch the news and the phone, and wait. But, so far, so good.
You would think I would be excited. I'm not. I know what is ahead of me. I want to move...and I dread all the work it is going to take. Is a metaphor for my life. It is not the work I fear, it is the overwhelmedness and the fatigue. I am not a good pacer. I procrastinate and then panic and go at stuff like I am killing snakes. It wears me out. This pattern gets harder and harder with each passing year.
We have the month of September to move. In that month we have to clean the whole house, paint the inside of the whole house (it was a rental), put in two new windows, get some wiring done, put up a shed, and put up three storm doors. We also need to get a free standing car port installed. I also have to pack up this house and have a garage sale. I have to schedule the U-Haul and find people to help us load and unload. I can no longer carry washers and fridges. One of the lawyers in Mark's office quit so he is commuting 100 miles one way twice a week to fill in. At this point it looks like he won't be able to take much time off. I spent the morning sorting paper clips.
Okay this is a new house. My life will have new boundaries (a six foot white vinyl one for starters) and I have the option of letting in more help. Okay, I need help. I do not know how I am going to get all of this done. I have been dreaming about rushing around and losing my purse, car, shoes, swimming suit(?), and husband. I am attempting to fight off overwhelmedness. The more I fight off the fear, the less I move. I am wasting energy and time.
Set priorities. Be realistic. We may not get the whole house painted before we move in. I may not get the garage sale done. We may end up in a jumbled mess in a less than idea situation come October first. With no garage. Did I mention money is tight. We are moving from a comfortable big house into an uncomfortable little house. I just did this ten months ago. I want to stand around and sob. I am angry. And this was all my idea. Am I nuts?
I have prayed for energy, courage, clear thinking and humor. I think that about covers the waterfront. Okay, I am going out and price washers and dryers this afternoon. I will call around and see if any one sells sheet rock and molding. I will go look at paint colors.
Maybe I am just a little excited. Tee Hee. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Markovian Theory: Deer turn into elk on or around September 7th. The time of the annual change is dependant mostly on temperature gradients. Feed and/or elevation do not seem to affect the metamorphosis. The skins the deer shed (cocoons) are marked in red by the Forest Service and are reserved for the bears. We live in a tourist area. They have many questions. Mark has the answers.
You would think I would be excited. I'm not. I know what is ahead of me. I want to move...and I dread all the work it is going to take. Is a metaphor for my life. It is not the work I fear, it is the overwhelmedness and the fatigue. I am not a good pacer. I procrastinate and then panic and go at stuff like I am killing snakes. It wears me out. This pattern gets harder and harder with each passing year.
We have the month of September to move. In that month we have to clean the whole house, paint the inside of the whole house (it was a rental), put in two new windows, get some wiring done, put up a shed, and put up three storm doors. We also need to get a free standing car port installed. I also have to pack up this house and have a garage sale. I have to schedule the U-Haul and find people to help us load and unload. I can no longer carry washers and fridges. One of the lawyers in Mark's office quit so he is commuting 100 miles one way twice a week to fill in. At this point it looks like he won't be able to take much time off. I spent the morning sorting paper clips.
Okay this is a new house. My life will have new boundaries (a six foot white vinyl one for starters) and I have the option of letting in more help. Okay, I need help. I do not know how I am going to get all of this done. I have been dreaming about rushing around and losing my purse, car, shoes, swimming suit(?), and husband. I am attempting to fight off overwhelmedness. The more I fight off the fear, the less I move. I am wasting energy and time.
Set priorities. Be realistic. We may not get the whole house painted before we move in. I may not get the garage sale done. We may end up in a jumbled mess in a less than idea situation come October first. With no garage. Did I mention money is tight. We are moving from a comfortable big house into an uncomfortable little house. I just did this ten months ago. I want to stand around and sob. I am angry. And this was all my idea. Am I nuts?
I have prayed for energy, courage, clear thinking and humor. I think that about covers the waterfront. Okay, I am going out and price washers and dryers this afternoon. I will call around and see if any one sells sheet rock and molding. I will go look at paint colors.
Maybe I am just a little excited. Tee Hee. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Markovian Theory: Deer turn into elk on or around September 7th. The time of the annual change is dependant mostly on temperature gradients. Feed and/or elevation do not seem to affect the metamorphosis. The skins the deer shed (cocoons) are marked in red by the Forest Service and are reserved for the bears. We live in a tourist area. They have many questions. Mark has the answers.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Blessing
According to family lore I was not named until five days after I was born. I was expected to die. I guess a name might have made me permanent. I was a preemie. A "blue baby" my aunt called me. I had some sort of a knot of blood vessels under my right arm above my heart. I was operated on as a new born. Scar is as thin as a wisp but is still three or four inches long. On a small baby must have almost bisected me. My paternal grandfather paid for the surgery. I found the letters after my mother died. He paid for my birth and the subsequent surgery with the understanding, legal, that Mom would never contact his son again. And that is what happened.
I have been looking at family mottoes. Has drawn me deep into my past. Dawned on me yesterday that it was hoped I would die at birth. Would have made life so much less painful for all and sundry. My life caused pain and trouble and it would have been better if I had died. I believe this. Said it out loud yesterday. Was like coming home after a long journey.
Poor baby, and child and youngster and teenager and twenty, thirty and forty year old. I am a Christian. I have been taught God loves me. I have had trouble with this miracle as a heart felt belief. But I choose to believe. I now understand the origin of my belief trouble. There is an older belief crowding out anything else. I should have died. Would have been so much better. But I stubbornly lived on to make everyone's life hell. Like my beggar belief, this one too is false.
I am in mourning I think. Mourning for all the time this false belief has contaminated. And be sure, it has reverberated down the years of my life. I am angry. So angry. All human life is precious. And loved and treasured by God. My poor stupid mother and her pernicious sisters. And the moneyed coward son, my father, who died in alcoholic poverty in a shack on the ranch his father traded for my mother and me. I am willing to forgive them. And forgiveness takes time.
I believe God makes miracles out of our messes. I am living proof. I am alive. I am blessed. And I have been given an insight which is changing my life moment to moment. God loved me and gave me life for a purpose. If the purpose is only this post it is enough. Thank you God that I breathe. Amen
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
I have been looking at family mottoes. Has drawn me deep into my past. Dawned on me yesterday that it was hoped I would die at birth. Would have made life so much less painful for all and sundry. My life caused pain and trouble and it would have been better if I had died. I believe this. Said it out loud yesterday. Was like coming home after a long journey.
Poor baby, and child and youngster and teenager and twenty, thirty and forty year old. I am a Christian. I have been taught God loves me. I have had trouble with this miracle as a heart felt belief. But I choose to believe. I now understand the origin of my belief trouble. There is an older belief crowding out anything else. I should have died. Would have been so much better. But I stubbornly lived on to make everyone's life hell. Like my beggar belief, this one too is false.
I am in mourning I think. Mourning for all the time this false belief has contaminated. And be sure, it has reverberated down the years of my life. I am angry. So angry. All human life is precious. And loved and treasured by God. My poor stupid mother and her pernicious sisters. And the moneyed coward son, my father, who died in alcoholic poverty in a shack on the ranch his father traded for my mother and me. I am willing to forgive them. And forgiveness takes time.
I believe God makes miracles out of our messes. I am living proof. I am alive. I am blessed. And I have been given an insight which is changing my life moment to moment. God loved me and gave me life for a purpose. If the purpose is only this post it is enough. Thank you God that I breathe. Amen
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Thursday, August 16, 2007
What I Really Really Want
Is to be able to say what I think and want and feel. I parse my words for my audience. Some of that is good, polite. Most is cowardice. I am afraid of inconveniencing or offending anyone so I say what I know is going to make people happy. I lie a lot. This behaviour makes me lose respect for myself, as well as getting me into stupid exhausting situations. I want to say my truth and let the chips fall where they may.
If I do say my truth relationships will change. I will stop being a dumping ground for other people's problems. I will have more free time because I will stop doing stuff I don't want to do. I may get more help as I will be asking for it! I will be better informed because I will ask questions until I fully understand something. (Like our insurances and Mark's retirement plan.) I will get better service. I will have more honest relationships. I will get to stop the tiresome task of making up excuses. I will be respected, even by me.
Okay then, how to go about this Herculean task? For starters I am going to begin saying nothing. If I don't have the gumption to say "No" I will say nothing. Or I will get up and leave if I don't like the conversation. I will practise polite "No" phrases. "No thank you." "Kind of you to think of me but no." "Thank you for calling but I am too tired, busy, stressed out, to talk." "Please shut the window, door, music, etc." "This is the wrong size, color, flavor, order. Please bring me another." "No I don't want to." "Leave me the hell alone." Just kidding.
Branded into my soul has been the family motto "Beggars Can't Be Choosers." Conversation with a blessed Ethel yesterday finally drove home in my mind the idiocy of this statement. I told her about my "poor in spirit as well as pocket" relatives and their hang dog attitude toward life. She quickly shot back, "If they were/are poor in spirit and you recognize it, why do you continue to believe their "beggar statement?" Why indeed?
I am not a beggar. Never have been. I am the "righteousness of God, in Christ." I am a chooser. And I choose this day to begin to say my truth. Pray for me as I will for thee.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. I seem to have bought us a house. We close on the 28th. God help me.
If I do say my truth relationships will change. I will stop being a dumping ground for other people's problems. I will have more free time because I will stop doing stuff I don't want to do. I may get more help as I will be asking for it! I will be better informed because I will ask questions until I fully understand something. (Like our insurances and Mark's retirement plan.) I will get better service. I will have more honest relationships. I will get to stop the tiresome task of making up excuses. I will be respected, even by me.
Okay then, how to go about this Herculean task? For starters I am going to begin saying nothing. If I don't have the gumption to say "No" I will say nothing. Or I will get up and leave if I don't like the conversation. I will practise polite "No" phrases. "No thank you." "Kind of you to think of me but no." "Thank you for calling but I am too tired, busy, stressed out, to talk." "Please shut the window, door, music, etc." "This is the wrong size, color, flavor, order. Please bring me another." "No I don't want to." "Leave me the hell alone." Just kidding.
Branded into my soul has been the family motto "Beggars Can't Be Choosers." Conversation with a blessed Ethel yesterday finally drove home in my mind the idiocy of this statement. I told her about my "poor in spirit as well as pocket" relatives and their hang dog attitude toward life. She quickly shot back, "If they were/are poor in spirit and you recognize it, why do you continue to believe their "beggar statement?" Why indeed?
I am not a beggar. Never have been. I am the "righteousness of God, in Christ." I am a chooser. And I choose this day to begin to say my truth. Pray for me as I will for thee.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. I seem to have bought us a house. We close on the 28th. God help me.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Free Day
I have nothing scheduled for today. Nothing. I have no where I need to be and no one I need to contact. I am anxious.
I live from appointment to appointment and from mini crisis to mini crisis. I am only comfortable with a full schedule. It is like I always wear a time girdle. Without it I flop around and feel uneasy. Isn't that awful? I feel normal only if my life is constricted. Part of the perfectionist thing I think. I am a human doing. Free time signals sloth.
And yet, I am a procrastinator. If I have a gob of stuff to do I can easily sit down in the middle of it and read Harry Potter for two days at a wack. Then I run around like a headless middle aged woman trying to get everything done, perfectly. Weird. I think I may be unconsciously trying to create time crunches. I don't know why.
Still pooped from weekend. Intend today to do zilch. I hope I don't get bored. I have figured out after a whole year at this weight loss thing that boredom is death to my diet. I am used to stress and tension, i.e, intense concentration. If I am not focused on something I do not feel normal and I get anxious and eat. I don't know if this is learned behaviour or if it is part of my temperament. I wish I could make it stop. Or not. One of my main intellectual gifts has been that ability to focus. I guess I wish I could turn it on and off.
Okay enough stream of consciousness. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea.
I live from appointment to appointment and from mini crisis to mini crisis. I am only comfortable with a full schedule. It is like I always wear a time girdle. Without it I flop around and feel uneasy. Isn't that awful? I feel normal only if my life is constricted. Part of the perfectionist thing I think. I am a human doing. Free time signals sloth.
And yet, I am a procrastinator. If I have a gob of stuff to do I can easily sit down in the middle of it and read Harry Potter for two days at a wack. Then I run around like a headless middle aged woman trying to get everything done, perfectly. Weird. I think I may be unconsciously trying to create time crunches. I don't know why.
Still pooped from weekend. Intend today to do zilch. I hope I don't get bored. I have figured out after a whole year at this weight loss thing that boredom is death to my diet. I am used to stress and tension, i.e, intense concentration. If I am not focused on something I do not feel normal and I get anxious and eat. I don't know if this is learned behaviour or if it is part of my temperament. I wish I could make it stop. Or not. One of my main intellectual gifts has been that ability to focus. I guess I wish I could turn it on and off.
Okay enough stream of consciousness. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Soul Fatigue
I am probably to tired to write coherently. But coherency is highly overrated. All visitors gone. House messy. Getting cold feet about new house loan. Street digging halted for the moment. I am fatter.
Child murdered over the weekend. Sort of puts all the rest of it in perspective doesn't it?
Today I could give a shit less about calories or interest rates or dirty dishes. I am grateful for the people I love and who love me. My life is so blessed I can't even comprehend all the things I have to be grateful for. (In addition to a perfection I love a preposition at the end of a sentence.) Those of you with children, treasure them. Those of Us without them, treasure someone else's.
Pray for me as I will for Thee. Love Bea. And pray for Mark.
P.S. I am writing this Monday morning. I started a post on Friday. I deleted it and wrote this instead. Gad, even my computer days are not tracking.
Child murdered over the weekend. Sort of puts all the rest of it in perspective doesn't it?
Today I could give a shit less about calories or interest rates or dirty dishes. I am grateful for the people I love and who love me. My life is so blessed I can't even comprehend all the things I have to be grateful for. (In addition to a perfection I love a preposition at the end of a sentence.) Those of you with children, treasure them. Those of Us without them, treasure someone else's.
Pray for me as I will for Thee. Love Bea. And pray for Mark.
P.S. I am writing this Monday morning. I started a post on Friday. I deleted it and wrote this instead. Gad, even my computer days are not tracking.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
I am a fat girl.
Quick Friday update. Guess who showed up last night? I had finally sat down after cleaning like a mad woman all day and what to my wondering ear should appear but whining. Little dog was laying on side porch and looking at me through the screen door. I went out side and she went nuts. Jumped all over me and licked my arms. She scratched the heck out of me. I fed her and gave her water. And petted her. She is filthy... and pregnant. I called Mark and he took her home. No one home again. She did have food and water. I stole the neighbors cat at home because they were neglecting her. I got in no end of trouble. Sigh.
Vickie what do you mean by, "When one doesn't have a 'forever' sense of the size one IS, one probably doesn't LET themselves adjust-it just feels temporary?"
I have been holding my own at 181 to 185 for a year now. Depending on the time period that is 65-75 pounds gone. And yet the weight loss feels temporary. I am a fat girl. Is is like I have locked my real self, the fatter one, in a closet. And she is impatiently waiting to be let out. Sooner rather than later I think she is going to pry the door open and emerge. I will be relieved God help me.
I don't know how to be this thinner person. I have been practising for a year now and it still feels fake. If I got fatter it would feel like I had come home. I would be normal again. Isn't that scary? Why do you suppose I feel like that?
I find myself lately adopting old fat behaviors. I am self deprecating. I am apologizing for existing. I want to wear only baggy clothing. I am in fear of every morsel I eat. I am only walking in fits and starts. I quit putting lotion on my legs. I am thinking about stopping painting my toenails. I've gone back to sensible earrings.
Do you think it is because of all the changes happening and coming up? Am I retreating to a former self because I am scared? I just don't know, but I don't like it. If we get this smaller house I am going to have to give up a bunch of stuff. I want to move forward, and this house to me feels like forward. But that is not how it looks from the outside. Looks like we are going down in the world. Old little house with no garage and no amenities. And at our age. One of my thirty year old friends asked me, "Bea is this going to have to be your forever house?" She was awash in sympathy. No it probably isn't. Because of the nature of Mark's job we move about every ten years. But, the question still threw me. Am I nuts getting rid of stuff instead of hanging on to it just in case? Should I put us deep in debt to have the kind of home expected of us? Am I secretly pining away for a big fancy house? I don't think so. Then why am I dreading getting rid of a bunch of furniture? We do not need three desks. I hate housework. I want a more streamlined lifestyle. Gad am I mixed up. And if that digging outside doesn't stop soon I am going to kill someone.
Thanks for listening. I am looking for imput so if you have any, please comment. I want to know why I am longing to go back to being a fat person?
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Nory I checked your blog and there was nothing on it. What am I doing wrong?
Vickie what do you mean by, "When one doesn't have a 'forever' sense of the size one IS, one probably doesn't LET themselves adjust-it just feels temporary?"
I have been holding my own at 181 to 185 for a year now. Depending on the time period that is 65-75 pounds gone. And yet the weight loss feels temporary. I am a fat girl. Is is like I have locked my real self, the fatter one, in a closet. And she is impatiently waiting to be let out. Sooner rather than later I think she is going to pry the door open and emerge. I will be relieved God help me.
I don't know how to be this thinner person. I have been practising for a year now and it still feels fake. If I got fatter it would feel like I had come home. I would be normal again. Isn't that scary? Why do you suppose I feel like that?
I find myself lately adopting old fat behaviors. I am self deprecating. I am apologizing for existing. I want to wear only baggy clothing. I am in fear of every morsel I eat. I am only walking in fits and starts. I quit putting lotion on my legs. I am thinking about stopping painting my toenails. I've gone back to sensible earrings.
Do you think it is because of all the changes happening and coming up? Am I retreating to a former self because I am scared? I just don't know, but I don't like it. If we get this smaller house I am going to have to give up a bunch of stuff. I want to move forward, and this house to me feels like forward. But that is not how it looks from the outside. Looks like we are going down in the world. Old little house with no garage and no amenities. And at our age. One of my thirty year old friends asked me, "Bea is this going to have to be your forever house?" She was awash in sympathy. No it probably isn't. Because of the nature of Mark's job we move about every ten years. But, the question still threw me. Am I nuts getting rid of stuff instead of hanging on to it just in case? Should I put us deep in debt to have the kind of home expected of us? Am I secretly pining away for a big fancy house? I don't think so. Then why am I dreading getting rid of a bunch of furniture? We do not need three desks. I hate housework. I want a more streamlined lifestyle. Gad am I mixed up. And if that digging outside doesn't stop soon I am going to kill someone.
Thanks for listening. I am looking for imput so if you have any, please comment. I want to know why I am longing to go back to being a fat person?
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Nory I checked your blog and there was nothing on it. What am I doing wrong?
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Nutsy Fagin
Half the darn house is clean. I will attack the other half tomorrow. No sleep again last night. I can cope with the no waist, no thermostat, no sex and no emotional control part of menopause, what I can't cope with is the no sleep. I am a basket case and I have seen all the infomercials and religious t.v. I ever care to see. I tried to get myself to dust at 3 a.m. but it was a non-starter.
More digging today in the front yard. Two giant pieces of equipment are parked in the drive way. I am trapped again. Water was brown last night but cleared up by morning. No news on the house appraisal. I have continuous water and electricity. Food choices better today. Dreading moving. Twice in eight months is too much even if I do want my own home again. I am rambling. What I need is a nap. What I am going to do however is the dishes. I am also going to skip choir practise tonight. Oh good, here comes the guilt. Now my day is complete.
Take care. Love Bea
More digging today in the front yard. Two giant pieces of equipment are parked in the drive way. I am trapped again. Water was brown last night but cleared up by morning. No news on the house appraisal. I have continuous water and electricity. Food choices better today. Dreading moving. Twice in eight months is too much even if I do want my own home again. I am rambling. What I need is a nap. What I am going to do however is the dishes. I am also going to skip choir practise tonight. Oh good, here comes the guilt. Now my day is complete.
Take care. Love Bea
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Trail Mix
I am actually vacuuming the computer room, it just looks like I'm typing. I am sick of cleaning this house from top to bottom for visitors. I wish I could keep the guests penned up in the living room. Pisses me off that they insist on sleeping and eating and using the bathroom. Oh well, such is the life of a hostess. Much as I gripe, I love having company.
I ate an entire bag of trail mix last night. This was after a full evening meal and a protein bar. I didn't want that trail mix. I did not want to eat it as I methodically munched my way through the whole bag. I started crying during the last few bites. I then immediately wanted to upchuck the whole mess but that behaviour is not available in my self destruct arsenal. So I just sat there and cried. All that salt. All those calories. I just couldn't stop. I made a joke last week about shooting myself with a rusty gun. Last night I wanted to stick and ice pick in my jugular and be done with it. No joke.
But I didn't. Today I have been thinking while dusting. It was going back on that damn food plan that set me off. The idea of not being able to have any of the trail mix forced me to eat a complete bag of it. I don't even like trail mix. It was Mark's. Or protein bars. They gag me. But, I can't have them on the food plan so was dying for one all evening. I white knuckled it until 9:30 p.m. and then I gave in. I ate a protein bar and the dam burst. I was like a steam engine powering through that bag of seeds and nuts. Gack.
My body knew it wasn't hungry but my greedy brain was determined to have its due. "Limit my intake will you" it sneered "I will show you who is really in control." And that is what it is about, control. I cannot "control" my appetite. It is primal and ravenous and ungovernable. But I can humor it. If it wants to taste the nasty trail mix, I can let it. If it wants a bite of the dry as dust protein bars I can give it one, with a giant glass of water. What I can't do is the stringent food control thing anymore. I am just not strong enough.
I was so relieved yesterday to return to my beloved food plan. No decisions and no responsibility. No monitoring my hunger level or reasons for eating. No need to be aware. It was like returning to the womb. And then my devoted plan turned around and bit me in the ass.
I am shocked, and scared. If I am not doing my food plan how am I going to eat? I don't want to go back to the "before" photo way of eating and the Intuitive Eating sure wasn't working. I have gained a solid five pounds. But let us pause. Maybe it was working. I have been eating less. Crappy tasty stuff for sure, but less of it. I know when I am full. I know what a normal portion is. I know I mainly eat because I am bored. I have been making choices about what and how much I eat. None of this was happening with the food plan or the before way of eating. Damn, damn, damn. I think I may have crossed the Rubicon.
I am mixed up but feel liberated. From what, I have yet to define. Stay tuned for the rest of the story as it plays out on my plate.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
I ate an entire bag of trail mix last night. This was after a full evening meal and a protein bar. I didn't want that trail mix. I did not want to eat it as I methodically munched my way through the whole bag. I started crying during the last few bites. I then immediately wanted to upchuck the whole mess but that behaviour is not available in my self destruct arsenal. So I just sat there and cried. All that salt. All those calories. I just couldn't stop. I made a joke last week about shooting myself with a rusty gun. Last night I wanted to stick and ice pick in my jugular and be done with it. No joke.
But I didn't. Today I have been thinking while dusting. It was going back on that damn food plan that set me off. The idea of not being able to have any of the trail mix forced me to eat a complete bag of it. I don't even like trail mix. It was Mark's. Or protein bars. They gag me. But, I can't have them on the food plan so was dying for one all evening. I white knuckled it until 9:30 p.m. and then I gave in. I ate a protein bar and the dam burst. I was like a steam engine powering through that bag of seeds and nuts. Gack.
My body knew it wasn't hungry but my greedy brain was determined to have its due. "Limit my intake will you" it sneered "I will show you who is really in control." And that is what it is about, control. I cannot "control" my appetite. It is primal and ravenous and ungovernable. But I can humor it. If it wants to taste the nasty trail mix, I can let it. If it wants a bite of the dry as dust protein bars I can give it one, with a giant glass of water. What I can't do is the stringent food control thing anymore. I am just not strong enough.
I was so relieved yesterday to return to my beloved food plan. No decisions and no responsibility. No monitoring my hunger level or reasons for eating. No need to be aware. It was like returning to the womb. And then my devoted plan turned around and bit me in the ass.
I am shocked, and scared. If I am not doing my food plan how am I going to eat? I don't want to go back to the "before" photo way of eating and the Intuitive Eating sure wasn't working. I have gained a solid five pounds. But let us pause. Maybe it was working. I have been eating less. Crappy tasty stuff for sure, but less of it. I know when I am full. I know what a normal portion is. I know I mainly eat because I am bored. I have been making choices about what and how much I eat. None of this was happening with the food plan or the before way of eating. Damn, damn, damn. I think I may have crossed the Rubicon.
I am mixed up but feel liberated. From what, I have yet to define. Stay tuned for the rest of the story as it plays out on my plate.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Monday, August 6, 2007
Short and Sweet
He bought her a dog house! I noticed it yesterday when we drove past. Also there have been more people over there lately and she has been tied up less. I hope they are playing with her in the house. A doghouse. Yeah. Now at least she will have shelter when it rains.
Mud has abated. I now again have clear water running from the faucets. Water heater works again. I cleaned the muddy ice cubes out of the ice maker. Fair is over. When the rain stopped a bunch of men came over and pulled the stuck truck out of our yard. Waiting for the appraisal on the house. Hope it comes in near the asking price. No fence yet. There is electricity in the laundry room today and I am able to wash. The hallelujah chorus plays here. Gearing up for more relatives on Friday. Could be a busy week.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea. Oh, I went back on my food plan. It was a relief. That Intuitive Eating was stressing me out. However I will go back to it after we get moved. The whole subject of allowing myself to choose how and when and what I will eat is fascinating. Take care.
Mud has abated. I now again have clear water running from the faucets. Water heater works again. I cleaned the muddy ice cubes out of the ice maker. Fair is over. When the rain stopped a bunch of men came over and pulled the stuck truck out of our yard. Waiting for the appraisal on the house. Hope it comes in near the asking price. No fence yet. There is electricity in the laundry room today and I am able to wash. The hallelujah chorus plays here. Gearing up for more relatives on Friday. Could be a busy week.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea. Oh, I went back on my food plan. It was a relief. That Intuitive Eating was stressing me out. However I will go back to it after we get moved. The whole subject of allowing myself to choose how and when and what I will eat is fascinating. Take care.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Mud and the Fair
I swear to God this is the hardest place to get water. First it was the fresh water shrimp then it froze solid then it was intermittent and now it is mud. We get our water from a spring in the side of a canyon. Seems there may have been an underground earth quake in the past couple of days and the water pressure in the spring has changed. Muddy water is flowing from all the taps and toilets in town. The water is being tested moment to moment by experts and we are all assured it is drinkable. But no one is going to drink it. Or do dishes in it. Or laundry. I will have to drive fifteen miles to the next little town to wash my whites. Lucky we have all that camping gear. I took two five gallon water jugs to the church last night and filled them after choir practise. It will be like camping in my own kitchen. During the Powers That Be luncheon yesterday the City Manager announced that no one knew what to do about the problem or how long it would last. Mark suggested a human sacrifice. These lunching lawyers are currently deciding between an LDS and a Presbyterian victim. Catholics were ruled out entirely. The water going on and off was bad. This is worse.
The county fair is going on here this week. We are two blocks from the fair grounds. I hear cows and horses and chickens from dawn to dusk. The roads around the fair grounds are torn up and blocked. The stock trucks and horse trailers are using our street as an alternate route. But our street is also still torn up and they have to drive up on what is left of the lawn to avoid the holes. I was coping with the agricultural parade until they diverted the semis with the carnival equipment down our little road. One of the trucks got stuck next to our willow tree. I bet I am the only woman in America with a Ferris Wheel on a flat bed trailer in her front yard. And now it has begun to rain.
Markovian Theory: Vegetarian Fed Hens
Written in black bold letters on the cartons of the eggs I buy are the words "Vegetarian Fed Hens." Mark believes the hens are organized. He thinks they have brochures and web sites. They recruit innocent well meaning Vegetarians for "Relaxing All Natural Retreats at the Chicken Farm." The climax of this luxury weekend is the opportunity to go alone at night into the Hen Houses and collect eggs.... There are very few rebookings.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Mentor Mary told me to pray for the owner of the dog. I don't want to. But I am doing it. Hard to pray for your enemies with any real conviction. What lessons I am learning.
P.s.s. Friday. The water heater quit last night. We think it may be the mud. I also have brown ice cubes in the ice maker. I have gained five pounds. Big surprise. I would shoot myself but the only gun we own is rusted shut. Pray for me as I will for thee. Oh, Mark says to tell you the Ferris Wheel is in pieces, not the big giant wheel. And still it rains.
The county fair is going on here this week. We are two blocks from the fair grounds. I hear cows and horses and chickens from dawn to dusk. The roads around the fair grounds are torn up and blocked. The stock trucks and horse trailers are using our street as an alternate route. But our street is also still torn up and they have to drive up on what is left of the lawn to avoid the holes. I was coping with the agricultural parade until they diverted the semis with the carnival equipment down our little road. One of the trucks got stuck next to our willow tree. I bet I am the only woman in America with a Ferris Wheel on a flat bed trailer in her front yard. And now it has begun to rain.
Markovian Theory: Vegetarian Fed Hens
Written in black bold letters on the cartons of the eggs I buy are the words "Vegetarian Fed Hens." Mark believes the hens are organized. He thinks they have brochures and web sites. They recruit innocent well meaning Vegetarians for "Relaxing All Natural Retreats at the Chicken Farm." The climax of this luxury weekend is the opportunity to go alone at night into the Hen Houses and collect eggs.... There are very few rebookings.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
P.S. Mentor Mary told me to pray for the owner of the dog. I don't want to. But I am doing it. Hard to pray for your enemies with any real conviction. What lessons I am learning.
P.s.s. Friday. The water heater quit last night. We think it may be the mud. I also have brown ice cubes in the ice maker. I have gained five pounds. Big surprise. I would shoot myself but the only gun we own is rusted shut. Pray for me as I will for thee. Oh, Mark says to tell you the Ferris Wheel is in pieces, not the big giant wheel. And still it rains.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)