Christmas Hiatus

I am taking some time off for the Holidays. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all.

Second Abstinence

This is a hard blog to write. I am going to quit blogging for a while. I will still be reading.

I love to blog but I think instead of relieving my food problem/depression it is actually making it worse. I get on here and reveal stuff I wish I had kept to myself. Then I feel bad. Then I eat. Some of the stuff I am spilling out here I need to hold inside and examine before letting it go public. I am tired of writing about my wretched condition. Seeing the words in print just seems to reinforce my sorry state.

I have also been relapsing big time. I have gained 20 pounds. It depresses me to go online and read everyone else's ongoing success stories when I feel so unsuccessful. I guess misery needs company.

I hit bottom with a thud on Saturday. I have been sugar abstinent since Monday. I will start flour abstinence next Monday. I want to be abstinent. No whining about the loss of the pleasure of sweets. No anger at not being able to eat like other people. No resentment about the prep time it takes to eat abstinently. Just relief that there is help for me and I know how to implement it.

I need an on the ground support system. I have gone it mostly alone up to now because that is part of the disease process, and there is no addictive eating anything in the wilds of Wyoming. I am researching my options for help.

Thank you all for YOUR support over the past couple of years. It has meant the world to me. See you in the new year.

Take care. Love Lynn

Tired or Depressed?

Hell of a way to start a Thanksgiving blog ain't it? Let's get this straight upfront, I recognize and count my blessings. I am a well blessed woman. Thank You God. And God bless Us everyone.

We got back Sunday evening from a 1082 mile round trip..trip. We visited Mentor Mary and Heart Surgery Friends. Mark attended a CLE course (free). I shopped at Wally World. The dog moped.

On Monday I did laundry and cleaned house. I then spent three hours at an evening church committee meeting. Tuesday I spent three hours at another church (morning) meeting and then shopped for groceries and made a pie. Today I am supposed to be cooking for Thanksgiving. And you know what? I ain't a gonna do it. I'll cook the damn dinner on Friday. Thank God we are invited out tomorrow. I just need to make another pie.

I couldn't sleep last noc. I was attacked by my mind. Racing thoughts, twitching, sweating, the whole nine yards. I got up...and ate the pie I now have to replace. A whole pie. Amazing. Then came the backlash. I was plagued by visions of plunging knives into my bulging flesh. In an effort to right myself I decided to pace the deck. (Was freezing cold out there in my nightgown and robe I might add.) I also gave my craving a voice. Whoa Nellie.

Ever seen a two year old's temper tantrum? That is what came out of me. I hollered (quietly) for fifteen minutes. Much of it consisted of sobbing "I want it" and "Now." Eventually I was totally spent. Then I noticed the quiet, and the stars. Cold crisp wonder. The Big Dipper and Orion's Belt and the Milky way were there for the touching. I was at peace. And filled with gratitude. And I no longer wanted to eat, ever.

What did I learn? 1) I am tired. Having seventeen bodies to dinner one week and then going 1000 miles a week later was TOO MUCH. I do not adapt that quickly anymore. May hap I never did. 2) Sitting in front of the television to relax and rest up only makes me feel worse. 3) Movement makes me feel better. 4) Giving the craving a voice may be a useful tool in the future. 5) I am afraid the dog will want to get up at 1pm every morning and go for a walk.

I know this is a weird Holiday post but I had to let off more steam. Thanks for reading.

Happy Thanksgiving. Love Lynn

Black and White

I hate stupid shades of grey. Not having absolutes makes me depressed. Take losing weight for instance. (That last sentence was supposed to be ironic.) I want to make up my mind, plan, statement, whatever and have a stopping and a starting point. I want to draw a line in the sand and then build a concrete wall on it. I want to be sure of a thing. I hate wandering around in a land of constantly shifting barriers.

I know where the longing for absolutes comes from. I know it is common to to women of my background. And you know what? Knowing is not all it is cracked up to be. And of limited practical value.

How do y'all cope with the living in rainbow land? ("Rainbow land" is more cheerful than shades of grey I thought.) It seems I can't respect myself unless I am functioning in black and white. It seems I can't be at peace unless I am functioning in black and white. It seems as though I can't think unless it is in black and white. How do most folks live in a world of shifting sand? I am sure I don't know.

Okay, after that depressing little diatribe I will cheer up a tad and tell you how the dinner went. Dinner was fine, I was a mess. I ended up with thirteen adults and four kids. We had enough food and drink. That was good. We had enough chairs to eat dinner. That was good. Guests had fun fellowship I think. That was good. I was mad as hell the whole time. That was bad. Gad am I a putz. I wasted a nice evening with friends seething inside about being taken advantage of. Since I invited all these people I am not sure who I thought was taking advantage of me. I want to enjoy people in my home so I invite them over, and then I promptly begin to hate them. What is my deal anyway?

Good bye cruel world from your fat depressed friend, Lynn.

Entertaining

Fourteen people are due here at 6pm tomorrow night. I am cleaning like mad. I have the upstairs done and will soon have the kitchen done. Bathrooms I will do later this evening. Living room and bedroom I will do tomorrow along with setting the table. Will be lovely to have the house clean from top to bottom before the holidays get here. We are doing pot luck so my cooking is at a minimum. I am using paper everything. I finally got the living room curtains done and the laundry room shampooed. Yeah for me.

I am stressed so am eating. I am eating nuts. I have begun to hate nuts. I want peppermint candy. Do you think you can get addicted to peppermint? I even dreamed about it last night. Very odd. Peppermint tea helps with the craving but is sure not as good as those red and white starlight mints. I am totally off chocolate. Finally got on the scale. I gained three pounds. Good grief. I don't have time to hate myself today so I guess the three pounds will just have to remain three pounds.

Mentor Mary is holding her own. Her children and all her church family have rallied round. They ended up having two funerals, and a memorial service at the high-school. Fifteen year old Donna was well loved.

More next week if I survive the dinner party. How I am going to fit fourteen people in our kitchen is the question. Mark said the men could stand around in the mud room holding their plates and talk hunting and football. He said this sort of wistfully. Men are just odd.

Take care. Love Lynn

Out of the Loop

Thanks guys for all of your comments about my friend's surgery. I feel a little less like an envious creep now.

Has been a hard week all around. A friend was laid off her job after working at the same hospital for twenty years. She was summarily let go and then escorted out of the building by a security guard. I thought this stuff only happened in the movies.

Mentor Mary's granddaughter was killed in a car accident on Thursday. Mary is coping but is in great pain. She said, " At 82 I am no stranger to tragedy, and it hurts the same each and every time." Please pray for her and for friend Kim.

Both of these events make being fat seem like a cake walk. No pun intended.

I am still reading and learning about feeling my feelings. Sitting with them and not eating is hard. I have figured out where my "overwhelmedness" comes from. I can now recognize my chest swelling on the inside when the feeling takes me over. All to do with the past of course. Just knowing that overwhelmed feeling is an unprocessed childhood reaction has been a God send. When I begin to feel it I can choose to sit down and look through my memories and see what surfaces. Has been real interesting what has come up. When I remember stuff then comes the hard part. I have to sit still and let the memories and all the accompanying emotions wash over me. If I can stand the emotions (and not eat) I eventually sort of pop thru on the other side of them. This feels like a miracle. Finally feeling the old buried stuff...diffuses it. I can then look at the "stuff" as a fifty-one year old woman and decide how I want to feel about it. I do not have to keep reacting like a child. I have allot of work ahead of me but I am eager to get to it.

Take care of yourselves. And I mean that. Love Lynn

Frustrated

I am jealous. So jealous I can hardly even be friendly, let alone interested.

I have a good friend who had gastric by-pass surgery four months ago. She has already lost 60+ pounds. She needed the surgery. It will give her her life back. I am glad she did it. And I almost can't stand to talk to her.

She wants to talk about renewed energy and new clothes and getting off medications. I just want to hang up the phone. You know why? In my heart of hearts...I feel she cheated. My head knows what a wonderful thing this is for she and her family. My heart wants to cut off all contact with her. She took the easy way out. I know this is stupid thinking. I know what the surgery entails and the lifelong consequences. And still I am still pissed that she got to do this and I didn't. She will be thin and not have to worry every darn day about the pounds coming back. I will have to struggle and worry forever (maybe) about my fat. Why wasn't I allowed to take the "easy" option too?

I am not fat enough, and never have been.

I think my high was about 255. I quit weighing at 248 so I am not sure. My friend is my height and age and was way over that. Her fat was killing her. Mine just made me vaguely miserable. And still does. I always, for the most part, was able to do what I wanted to do. I just looked awful and suffered with society's stigma about fat people. I still do.

This has all got me to thinking about, for me, when good enough will really be good enough. Francis wrote a blog a couple of weeks ago about the things she wants in her life. I was shocked to discover I already have most of the things she so desperately wants. The main thing in my life that I allow to make me miserable is my perceived inability to lose my fat forever.

Am I wasting my life? Have I wasted the past thirty years on this issue? I think maybe I have. Will I waste more time valuable time? God I hope not.

We are still limping along with our broken computer as the computer guy went hunting.

Take care of yourselves. Love Lynn

All Quiet

On the Western Front. Gorgeous day here. Cold as all get out. Was fifteen degrees this morn. Another fast post. I am trying to get the laundry hung out while the sun shines!

Just finished another book by Adelle Davis, "Let's Get Well." I love her. She advocates lots of B vitamins and also 2-4 thousand mg or mcg (can't remember) of vitamin D. Hi Tonja. You will know. When we get to Jackson or Idaho Falls I will get some. She also advocates oil every three hours. This I am doing in the form of nuts, nut butters, avocados, mayo and salad dressings. Am also low carbing. I didn't plan any of this. It just sort of happened. I think I am losing. I am not weighing...cause I don't want to. I am trying to walk on the treadmill daily and doing yoga three times per week. Amazing how much time it takes to take care of yourself! And how I have to fight with myself to take the time.

The three books I mentioned last time are, "Self Nurture" by Alice D. Domar, "Getting Through the Day" by Nancy J. Napier and "French Toast for Breakfast" by Mary Anne Cohen. I got them all at a used book store. "Getting Through the Day" was the most eyeopening for me. I knew I could put my "self" on hold but did not recognize the reasons why or the extent to which I had done this until I read the book. This author showed me how to feel my emotions and locate their source. For instance, this morning while playing with the dog she swung her tug toy and hit me in the eye with it. Hurt like heck. I started to cry, but not from the pain exactly. As I let myself cry I was flooded with memories of being hit in the face by my foster mother. She always hit me when I least expected it. Hurt like heck. Normally I would not have let myself cry because the emotion was not "in line" with the incident. But today I did. Hooray for me.

Okay now I have to go and hang out the sheets and towels. By the by, I may be gone for awhile. This computer is on the fritz. We are taking it to the computer hospital next week. I will write when we get it back.

Take care of yourselves. I miss you all. Love Bea

New Beginnings

This is going to be fast as I am supposed to be putting the finishing touches on my Sunday school lesson.

I am reading three books all saying the same thing, "take care of yourself." One is even from a Christian perspective! I am ruminating at all times about the new info I am being given. One of the books talks a lot about dissociation. Turns out this is me. One of the books talks about habit vs. addiction. Surprise, surprise, my "out of control" eating turns out to be more habitual than addictive. The last of the books is about "turning the other cheek" and "the Good Samaritan." My upbringing has left me beset with guilt for not being a good Christian. This book talks about believing vs. doing "good works." I will write more later about all of these tomes.

I am dreaming about food. Almost every night. And mountains. In the dreams I am scaling mountains and can't stand the sight of food! I wake up nauseated at the visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Very strange but progress I think.

Sorry I am not reading blogs. I will be back. We are still preparing like mad for winter. The snow melted and we are winterizing the house. Mark got the storm windows done and we are now buying plywood to put around the foundation of the house. They do this here so the weight of the snow will not pack down the soil around the foundation. Works for me. Hope all of you are doing well.

Take care. Love Bea

Snow

And how. Three or four inches since noon and Montana is getting it worse than we are.

Mark is in the basement re-making the rickety storm windows we threw together last year. We are more prepared for this storm than the first one of the season in 2007. I spent last week washing windows and curtains and blankets and rugs. Was fine weather for drying stuff on the line. We put all the lawn furniture away and took down the wasp catchers. I covered my rose bush and pulled up the geraniums and put them in paper bags in the basement. I raked up a bushel of windfall half rotten apples. We reinforced the new gutter system on the garage. I made some stew.

I am looking forward to this winter. I am going to rest. I have about a million books I am longing to read and I am going to see if I still remember how to sew. I need to hibernate. I have a bunch of stuff weighing on my mind and I want to sort it all out. I can't sort anything while running from hither to yon in the bright sunshine. The "silver days" as Mentor Mary calls them are just what the doctor ordered I think. Much as I raz Helen about the California sunshine, I don't think I would like it. I need winter. It somehow settles my soul.

Speaking of soul, I need to go and put together my Sunday School lesson for tomorrow. I am teaching the adult class again this year. We are going to continue on in Exodus. It may take us forty years to finish.

Take care of yourselves and STAY WARM. Love Bea

Murder in Yellowstone

Every year when we visit the park Mark makes up a new murder scenario. This year no imagination was required, the plots presented themselves.

To see Grand Prismatic Spring you have to walk up hill for a fair distance. It was warm on Saturday afternoon. As we were climbing up toward the Spring we encountered a couple in their (?)70's. Both were well groomed for an afternoon of shopping, not hiking. In addition to his tasseled loafers and golf sweater the man was also sporting blue tinged skin. Cyanotic as all get out. He had stopped walking and was wheezing and gasping for air. People were crowding around him to continue up the board walk. I slowed down thinking we might have to launch into CPR. Since we slowed down people began passing us, momentarily trapping us next to this couple. The wife, cool and composed in lavender and white, and that was just her hair, was urging her obviously seriously compromised husband forward. "You always do this. We can't ever go anywhere without you making a scene. There is nothing wrong with you that a little exercise wouldn't cure. Close your mouth when you breath. I have waited years to see this and I am going to see it. I wanted to see it with you but if you are going to just stand there I am going on ahead." And she did. We waited a moment to see if he was going to be okay and then we also left. If she took him to the Canyon or Tower Falls he is now a dead duck.

The other potential murderers we first encountered in a grocery store in West Yellowstone (a small Montana town just outside the park) at eight o'clock in the morning. They were from some eastern European country. There were six of them. Three couples. We were buying water and apples. They were buying booze. Each couple had a cart full to the brim with wine and beer. They were having a gay old time. We paid for our stuff and wished we could be invited to the evening's festivities. We next ran across the group at one of the stops along the Fire Hole River. They were slowly walking along the path talking at top speed and carrying glasses of wine. One of the men was toting a gallon jug and was frequently topping off everyone's glass. We bumped into these folks at various places for most of the day. At each stop they were more inebriated. They were driving a huge tan van. At 5PM we saw them stopped at a pull out. The driver was asleep in the driver's seat in the sun. His compatriots were still toasting one another. I hope they made it back to their hotel without killing anyone.

Markovian Theory: Cod liver oil is "fishist." Why can't local trout livers be used for oil? It is because the Government and the Eastern Cod Liver Treader's Union are in cahoots convincing people that only cods' livers are healthy enough to be squeezed for oil. This is a blatant lie, and it is depriving people in this valley of a badly needed industry. Think how much money "the little guy" could make if he just purchased a Ronco Fish Liver Squeezer. Heck, he spends most of his time fishing anyway, and the wife could quick run the trout through the machine after she cleaned them before she cooked them. He could use the empties from the fishing trips to bottle the stuff and then use the wife's craft stamp to print "Squeezed by number 32" on the labels. The whole process would cost almost nothing, make money, and not cut into his hunting time at all.

I am in good spaces. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

Safe in Yellowstone

We are leaving for a couple of days in the Park. I found a cabin with a kitchen and a view. It is in our price range. I am determined not to make a huge production out of this trip. If I don't get some things done before we leave and if I forget some things, SO BE IT. I want to be relaxed not crazy in the time leading up to our vacationette. I am only vaguely planning this trip. I was going to drag along all the food for my food plan. Changed my mind. I will eat as best as possible and that will be good enough. I am really looking forward to being in Yellowstone. I always feel very safe in there.

Comes the second half of this post. I eat to feel safe. No big surprise, right? Was to me. I eat to feel, not emotionally safe, but physically safe. When I am eating I do not feel physically vulnerable. I suppose I have a long term case of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. In WWI they called it "Shell Shock" and in WWII "Battle Fatigue." All three titles feel applicable. A veteran and I compared symptoms. In his words, "You got 'em all sister." Difference between us is that he is got help for this specific problem and I never did. ...Anyhoo, when I am eating I feel protected.

(Damn, my hands are so cold I had to put on my gloves. Dog spent until noon yesterday licking the frozen water in her outside dish.)

Do you think part of maturation is coming to terms with our physical vulnerability? As in being aware that we are never really physically safe? Having been a nurse I think I am fairly comfortable with accidents, sickness, aging...and death from the afore mentioned. What I can't get a handle on is violence. I remain petrified of being attacked. Mark calls me Wild Bill Beula because in restaurants and else where I always want to sit with my back to the wall. I tell him it is so my hips won't show (and this is also true). What the heck am I afraid of? That some crazed waitress or church usher is going to cold cock me? I am always aware of the potential physical danger in every situation. Is this just prudent caution acquired over years of being alive, or am nuts?

On a lighter note. I have had a massage and two sessions of yoga. The massage was wondrous as usual. Patty (I am having trouble remembering what I called her last time) talked to me about spinning energy into my chakras. She said many of them were frozen and energy was not moving through my chakra system. She had me visualize my chakra system and then visualize movement at each individual chakra. Was very enlightening. Lo and behold, when I envisioned movement between my shoulder blades the pain in my neck went away. I want to form a habit of visualizing my chakra system and movement at each chakra at night before I go to sleep. I keep forgetting.

Yoga Fran said I would get more fluid as time goes on. Right now I crack and pot just bending over to put my mat on the floor. The best exercise so far is something she calls "angel wings." This exercise has alleviated the pain between my shoulders. It is also the only one I can half way do. I love yoga. The breathing is all. Amazing how much further I can stretch when I breathe out and "creep forward by millimeters." Yoga Fran is sweet, encouraging and at 60 plus, graceful as a gazelle. She is also very tall and has recently lost 30 pounds. She has more to go. This yoga is for every body.

I had a bunch to say today. Oh yeah, I am enjoying my meals again. I love brown rice with buttermilk and cinnamon for breakfast. And papayas.

Take care of yourselves. I am working toward taking care of me. Love Bea.

Self Respect

Above all I yearn to respect myself. So...I made a list of the characteristics I respect in others (in no particular order).

1. Ability to say "No" with grace.
2. Organized. They can find their birth certificates and the dog's vaccination records at a moments notice.
3. Do not watch t.v..
4. Get massages, pedis, manis, waxings, hair cuts, facials, etc. on a routine basis.
5. Dress with understated well tailored style.
6. Get rid of stuff they are not using.
7. Do yoga and walk.
8. Eat non processed foods.
9. Cars are clean and in good repair.
10. Not self conscious.
11. Do not tailor their personality to suit the situation.
12. Friendly.
13. Deep spiritual life.
14. Ability to keep their own counsel.
15. On time.
16. Non-procrastinators, and can plan ahead.
17. Take tea breaks.
18. Good at the housewifely arts, canning, sewing, baking, etc.
20. Can clean toilets without griping.
21. Work at jobs they love.

As a woman who just bought a reed diffuser she didn't really want and then agreed to co-host a "Home and Garden Party," I am working on number one.

Take care. Love Bea.

Wending My Way,

back toward health in spite of an outrageous number of invites to eat out. When I first started The Plan I refused to eat anywhere other than home. If you want to have no friends this works, otherwise, not. So...this time around I am working with the food presented to me, and then I go back to The Plan for the next meal. Since I am no longer interested in rapidly losing gobs of weight I think this strategy will work. Amazing what putting that scale in the closet has done for me. To let go of the daily weight check is like taking off a tight girdle. Ho, ho. I am eating in a healthy way to feel better physically, emotionally and mentally. If weight loss follows so be it. If not, then I guess I will make peace with the weight my body desires.

I am still cleaning out the freezer, fridge and pantry. Gad what a lot of off Plan stuff I have accumulated. Muffin mixes, pancake mix, stuffing mix, bread machine mixes, white flour, whole wheat flour, whole wheat pastry flour, rye flour, flat breads, tortillas (whole wheat and corn), honey wheat bread, cinnamon and orange rolls, pizza dough and frozen left over cake. See a pattern here? I apparently love the baked stuff. (I thought my major down fall was cheesecake and peanut M&M's. You learn something new every day.) I have also been acquiring the accoutrement of baking: raisins, craisins, currants, dried apricots, white sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, molasses, corn syrup, maple syrup, Hershey's syrup, vanilla, nuts of every vintage, butterscotch chips, chocolate chips and flaked coconut. To go on all those scones, muffins, biscuits and toast I purchased apple butter, marmalade, apricot preserves, raspberry preserves, honey and grape jelly (for Mark.) And this is just the sweet stuff. My salt obsession was met with olives, pickles, salsa, V-8 juice, Calmato juice, chips and microwave popcorn.

The church food pantry made a huge hall last Sunday.

I am having fun going back to being inventive with beans. (Hi Vickie) Rice and oatmeal and barley have also reappeared on my shelves. Mark is delighted with the increased amounts of meat I am serving. He dearly loves unadorned grilled meat and a potato for the evening meal. I am learning to make thick soups to pour over salad greens for our lunches. I made a jambalaya yesterday to die for. Today is split peas and ham. I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE TURKEY SAUSAGE THAT DOES NOT GAG US. I need to get more creative with my bedtime snack. I have about exhausted the possibilities of fruit and yogurt. Any and all suggestions gladly welcomed.

My exercise is curtailed at the moment because I fell off the deck and messed up my shoulder. But this too will pass and I will enlist at Curves. All in all I feel like I have a new lease on life.

Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

P.S. I have a massage scheduled for next Tuesday.

I Surrender

(With thanks to Cindy.)

I have been in relapse for almost two years now. I remember the day it happened.

A month or two after we moved up here we received an invitation from "home" for a "Going Away party." We had moved in such a rush there hadn't been time to have one. I did not want to go. Dreaded it in fact. I was not yet settled in here and going back to the place I loved and had to leave was more than I thought I could cope with. But, you know how it is, these were friends who were missing us and wanted to do something for us. I went anyway. I was right. I couldn't cope.

I read somewhere that our coping skills work until we hit a situation that is too strong for them, and then we revert to comfort seeking behavior. I did okay for the first couple of days. We stayed in a motel I was unfamiliar with so it did not seem like being home. I was shaky but still able to adhere to my food plan in spite of eating out and at friends' houses. The final day of the trip was the scheduled big blowout party. I ate appropriately to prepare for this challenge. As we got dressed for the party I looked in the mirror and thought, "Not bad, not bad at all." I weighed 179. On the way to the party I asked Mark if we could drive by our recently vacated house. We had been studiously avoiding going any where near it the whole time we had been there. He was dubious but I said I felt strong enough. BIG MISTAKE. After seeing the house the damn broke. Evey ounce of strength I had used for the move and relocation was used up. I broke. I sobbed all the way to the party. I cried during the party and all the way back up here. I started eating "off plan" at the party and I have been eating like that ever since.

I am a testament to losing weight slowly. It has taken me two years to re-gain 16 pounds. That is something. My body had really gotten used to using food as fuel and not as comfort. In the past two years I have tried all sort of things to get my motivation back. I tried to go back to the Kay Shepperd food plan, no dice. I tried Atkins, no dice. I tried Intuitive Eating, no dice. I read every book I could find about motivation, no dice. Nothing worked. I craved sugar and fat, and I have been eating it in ever increasing amounts. I couldn't stop. I hadn't yet hit bottom.

I was okay the first couple of days Mark was gone. I did my normal routine and was fine. But the third day something happened. I couldn't get out of bed. If it hadn't been for the dog I'd be there still. After Mollie forced me to move I showered and went to the grocery store. I bought everything I wanted to eat. And I mean everything. Then I went home, put on an old baggy sweatsuit, closed the drapes, turned off the phone, and began to eat. I did not shower or leave the house for three days. I see why depressed/addicted mothers abuse their children. I hated Mollie and the cats for needing me. I did only the bare minimum for them. The dog was the worst. She kept wanting attention. I hated her.

The day Mark was due home I got off the sofa and tried to hide my depression and binge. It was very heavy (no pun) sledding. The house was filthy and so was I. I cleaned at some of the mess and took a shower. I was so sick it took all I had to just get that done. I was way past self loathing and was numb when he finally arrived home. He was so tired he didn't notice. We spoke very little and went to bed. At least he did. I told him I had the flu and would need to sleep on the couch. I spent the better part of the night in the bathroom. Mark was very solicitous the next morning. I told him the house was so awful because I had been sick most of the time he was away. He was so sweet it make me feel worse. We both slept most of day. He made himself breakfast and lunch. I couldn't eat. Come dinner time we were both perkier and Mark suggested we go out to a fancy place and eat. I just stood there like I had been pole axed and then started to cry. The whole ugly story came out. Was another very long night.

...I put the scale in the closet. I cleaned out the kitchen. We went shopping and bought good food. I am re-reading, "From the First Bite." I got out my measuring cups and little scale. I am back on THE PLAN. I feel shaky and weak but oh so happy. At this point I don't care about weight loss. I just want to feel better and not be led around by my obsession with food. The only way I know to achieve this is to turn myself and my food over to God and the food plan. I am grateful to God for giving me His strength. I am at peace, finally.

When I feel stronger I will analyze WHAT HAPPENED but for now I am just grateful for the miracle.

Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

Phooey

I have half an acre of brownish grass to mow, the house is dirty, the dog is bored, the washer is leaking, I forgot choir practise AND...my husband is calling me every evening with tales of fun adventures. Last eve he toured an old sailing ship on Fisherman's Wharf and took a boat tour around Alcatraz Island. The evening before that he rode up and down Nob Hill on a cable car. Tonight he is going to Chinatown. I hate him.

He is gone all this week to San Francisco to a death penalty seminar. He is having a blast. I hate him. I wanted to go but finances are tight and I HAVE GAINED WEIGHT. Both things stopped me from going. I hate him.

Our extra finances this summer have gone to home repairs and visits to Mentor Mary and Friends in hospital. I am happy we did all of these things and, I still resent being broke and stuck in Podunk WY while my husband is wining and dining in the City by the Bay.

Okay now down to cases. I could have put my ticket and meals and dog sitter on a credit card. Would not have been real smart but was sure doable. Truth? I didn't go because I felt and feel fat. Real fat. When they weighed me at Curves I weighed 196. That is 16 pounds I have re-gained. My clothes don't fit. I could not face going to the land of skinny people looking and feeling like a failed whale. Phooey.

Today I want to lie down and just give up. I want to let a tide of fat wash over and drown me. Why fight the inevitable? For multitudinous reasons I was meant to be fat and that is all there is to it. I am jousting at windmills in the attempt to be thin. I give in, give up, give over. I am a fat nobody going nowhere.

Goodbye cruel world.

Bea.

(Why am I laughing like a demented woman?)

Help Found

Mentor Mary of course. I read yesterday's blog to her. There was a long silence. Then she said, " Honey I think you are being lied to." To make a long spiritual/theological conversation short I'll just give you the gist of it. She thinks I am being lied to by Satan, Devil, spirit of evil that inhabits this world. I concur.

I bought hook, line and sinker into the evil idea that I have no choices. This is a blatant lie. I have choices in almost every area of my life. I can even choose how I feel. I also bought into the idea that abuse damaged me for life. Not so. I can and have moved on. I do not have to be pushed around by memories of my past. I can defuse them by speaking them out loud and then I can let them go.

My faith is pretty strong in spite of periodic bouts of unbelief and anger. Guess that makes me about normal. When I take off the blinders of victim hood I can see God's loving hand in my life. I am filled with gratitude.

And now for something completely different. I had a job interview at Curves today. They offered me a job as a coach, but the hours were lousy so I didn't take it. This all happened so fast I didn't have time to get my resume together. Instead I took an old photo to show them. Did the trick. I may have gained 13lbs. but I am still thinner than I was at 250+. Made me feel good that they wanted me. I am planning on rejoining come September and a paycheck.

That's all for now. Bea.

Power Full or Pity Full?

"Beggars can't be choosers," my family motto. "You can be pitiful or powerful. You can't be both." My desired motto. There is a war going on inside me.

I am not a victim. I am not a beggar. I am a powerful chooser. Do you think if I say this often enough it could come true?

In the comments section of the last post Vickie recommended a self defense class. I thought about it. My thoughts were, "What would be the point in that? If attacked I could/would never win and the attack would then be just that much worse." Gad. This kind of "stinking thinking" has poisoned my whole life. I know its origins, AND I WANT TO GET RID OF IT.

I was beaten, defiled and broken as a child. Some days I am amazed I can walk and chew gum at the same time. The abuse has colored my whole world. It is the reason I believe I can't fight back and WIN against attackers ... or cheesecake. It teaches you not to fight back. I don't want to be cracked. I want to be whole. I want to fight back. I gotta get some help.

I am born of a long line of victims. People who let life grind them to a pulp and never fought back. I was adopted by an amazing woman who was victimized but FOUGHT BACK with every ounce of her strength. She taught me how to fight back. Her main teaching was to give your fight to God and let him assist in the battle. I have been trying to do this for thirty years but...I am scared to death of God. He seems mean and unreliable. (God forgive me.)

All that business about having little children come unto Him, juxtaposed with turning the other cheek and giving your coat away just confuses me. God my loving protector who demands I be abused in the name of Christianity? I guess I believe no one can protect me. God won't and I can't. See, I told you I need help, spiritual and psychological. This round robin victim thinking is entrenched in me and I know it is WRONG.

But...I have enjoyed the many perks of victim hood. I get to be special. Not as much is expected of me. (In fact nothing. I was always pointed out as a miracle child for being smart enough to cross the road without being run over.) I get to evade responsibility. I get to believe I have no control over what happens to me. I get to hate myself. I get to contemplate suicide (without having any real intention of doing it.) I get to be fat.

I want to get some help to accept God's love, figure out how to shoulder the burden of my past, determine how and when to fight back, and to learn to recognize I have choices in life.

That's all. That's enough. Bea.

Self Centered

Thanks for all the comments. I am still confused about my reaction to what felt like way too much attention from men. I am sure my anxiety has to do with the sexual abuse and its long term implications in my life.

And now for the fat implications. When I first lost weight I was delighted with the renewed male interest. Not so a year later. Now it just pisses me off. And it may also be stopping further weight loss. I hate feeling exposed and vulnerable. Somewhere along the line I lost the delight with being thinner and found the fear of being thinner. I am comfortable being fat. I know who I am fat. Thinner I was lost. (I know this is not a new story for any of you.) I fear the power thin gives a woman. I am not used to feeling powerful and the feeling unnerves me.

So much for my great insight.

We got the garage painted. Yeah. Mark has been gone for the past three days and I have spent them all mowing the lawn. Phooey. Two hours a day with an electric mower is all I am good for. I still have two more sections to do. I am too uninterested in gardening for this much lawn.

Much thinking to do about my not really wanting to be thinner. Good thing I have so much lawn to mow, huh?

Take care. Love Bea

Fair of Face

We took last weekend off. We went to Shakespeare in the Park one night and to a dinner/dance the next. The dog loved Macbeth. She barked each time the witches came on stage. Bea did not love the dinner/dance.

For starters I had to go alone. Mark is gearing up for a huge trial and had to unexpectedly be out of town to interview some witnesses. Friends offered to save me a spot at the dinner, so I thought no worries, right? Wrong. I have lost a couple of pounds and I have a tan. My brownish hair is streaked and more blond than usual. And I look good in pastel blue. I wore a boat neck light weight blue cropped top and capris. I even painted my toenails and wore wedgie sandals. I wore dangley earrings and couple of gold bracelets. I looked classy and attractive. Even I could see it.

I knew I was in trouble when I walked in and a friend's husband said "Wow" and got up to give me his chair. Then another friend's husband winked at me and said, "You were sure worth waiting for." Good grief. Both wives looked at me like I was some wanton hussy, and the atmosphere turned abruptly frosty. Things went down hill from there. Drinks began mysteriously appearing in front of me. One husband spent the majority of the evening staring at my boobs, while the other one sat next to me and rubbed my elbow. I kept trying to engage the wives in conversation. I made deprecating remarks about myself. I refused the alcohol and drank coke. I did not dance with anyone. Nothing helped. I felt like and exposed flower with pollinators on every side. I'm not sure when I have felt this uncomfortable. I left early.

What the heck happened?

I was there alone. I had forgotten the protection from mashers a husband offers. I was relaxed and happy with myself. Confidence attracts men, and women for that matter. I need to remember this when I feel fat and ugly. I took time with my grooming. For a change I was more than just missionary clean. Amazing what a little perfume and fingernail polish can do. And finally, I had lost a few pounds as a result of eating better. I felt healthy. It makes all the difference.

Now, I have to figure out why I felt sooooo "bad" as a result of all this unwanted attention. I used enjoy attracting men. Not anymore. I felt unclean. And guilty. And I didn't do anything. I was friendly and acted like I always act around these men. I was covered from clavicle to knee in a modest outfit. I left early. And still I felt and feel guilty. And exposed.

If any of you have thoughts about my experience I'd sure be glad to hear them.

Take care, Love Bea.

New Lease

We got the shed painted! Think a smallish unpainted wooden garage with barn doors. Think of painting this in 90 degree heat for six hours on Saturday and five hours on Sunday. Then rejoice with me. Now we have to paint the unpainted front wall of the car port. Then we have to rig up a gutter system on the open end of the car port. Then we can quit with the home projects for this summer. Or...we could die first.

I think I have turned some sort of corner food and exercise wise. I am ready to take care of my health again. I have struggled to just hold my own over the past year. Really struggled. But suddenly I want to get back in the game. I am hopeful and excited about taking care of me.

Why?

I had to create a home for my soul before I could take on the challenge of creating a healthy body. I need order and quiet for my soul to thrive. And this past year has been anything but orderly and quiet. A good part of the time I felt like I was just holding on by the skin of my finger tips. I could handle only what was immediately in front of me and was unable to plan or hope or dream. My soul did not feel "at home" in either my house or my body. I was living amidst chaos. Chaos is a killer for me.

With each project we finish I feel more "to home." I am calmer, and hope and peace have begun to seep back into my life. The fence made the biggest difference. It defined my space (for starters), and it gave Dog-dog some place to run. The deck has been pure delight. We eat out there at least two meals a day. Each morning early I sit out there with my tea, look out at the green mountain valley, and thank God I am alive. I have humming birds. When we go on our evening walk I have been picking wild flowers. I get enough for a bouquet for the house and the deck table. They last a week. I also have honey bees. Painting the shed to match the house made it look more like a yard tool shed and not like a farm out building. I have figured out where I want a long flower bed and where I am going to plant veg next year. I planted poppies in the old weedy irrigation ditch that circles the yard. I have crab apples by the bucket load (and the dog is eating them.) I may have even finally figured out how to keep the lawn green. There is light at the end of the fixer-upper tunnel. I can finally relax and dream about improvements rather than worrying about putting in the essentials. By-the-by, a deck and a clothes line were essential for me. A dishwasher and a vented over the range microwave were not. I have a friend who thinks I am nuts. I don't care.

Any hooo, I am eating better. Because I want to.

Take care. Love Bea

My Perfect Party

Well the brunch went off okay, sort of. I missed half of it because I lost my purse.

On Sunday morning I got up early to do last minute things before guests arrived. Of course I had left way to many "last minute things' to get done in the time allotted. I was also signed up to do the readings at church. So...I was stressed out by the time it came to leave for church. I had a gob of stuff to drop off at the church and my arms were full when I went out to the car. Any alarm bells going off yet? Mark does not like to be late and was sighing at an earsplitting decibel. (He does not yell or nag, he sighs.) I couldn't get the car door open with my load so I put my purse on the roof of the car to open the door. To mitigate the sighing I quickly jumped in the car with my load of stuff...and we drove off.

When we got to church and I was getting out I said,"Where's my purse?' Mark said, "You had it not me." Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I almost collapsed in the parking lot. Mark quickly agreed to read the lessons for me, and off I drove with the dog. We went twenty miles an hour all the way home. And then ten miles an hour back again, with me praying every mile. I located enough black (my purse is black) tire pieces and plastic bags to fill a smallish dump, but no purse. I decided to go back home and look in the house. Maybe I hadn't really laid it on the hood of the car. Arrived home. No house key. It's in my purse. Luckily we had hidden another house key in the garage and after I had a good cry I remembered it. I went in the house and looked around. No purse. The voice mail was flashing but I decided I was to overwrought to answer it. I went out to the garage and scoured it again and then walked up and down the road. Still nothing. By this time Mollie was wild. I let her out of the car for a bit and then decided to go back to the church. I got in the car, and something (Some One) told me to go back and pick up the voice mail. I did.

A very nice voice said, "Hi, my name is Greg Hill and I found your wallet laying in the middle of the highway this morning. I think you may want it, it has your checkbook and credit cards and everything." He left a number that I immediately called. Busy. And busy for the next ten tries. I finally gave up and decided to go back to the church to pick up Mark and alert all the guests as to a slight hitch in the brunch plans. I drove the ten miles back to the church for the fourth time. Upon arriving I fast called the Hill number. Now, nobody was home. I left a message. More crying.

I told my story numerous times to all assembled. Much commiseration. Gave house key to guests and told them to open up the house, go out on the deck and have at it. I cared not one whit about what they were going to eat and drink, or how they were going to serve themselves or if there was dirt on the tables on the deck. Amazing how events can alter perspective. Mark suggested we look up the Hill address in the phone book and go directly to their house in the hopes of catching them at home. I decided to make one last attempt by phone before we did this...and a very nice voice said, "Hi, we got your message but we are just leaving to go fishing. One more minute and you'd have missed us. How about meeting us at the highway turnoff in fifteen minutes." This we did. A very nice young man then handed me my purse. I asked him if I could give him something for his honesty and kindness. "Nope," he said "just do the same for me when I lose my wallet." Then they drove off. I prayed their nets would break they would catch so many fish.

When we arrived home guests had found bloody Mary makings and were having a high old time. Other women served me a drink and food and I was allowed to be the honored guest at my own party! We had a great time. I have never been so relaxed.

The moral:
1. God answers prayer. He sent my purse back to me.
2. Hospitality is made up of good enough preparations and GOOD WILL.

In the past I have resented the very guests I invited because of my anxiety about having everything perfect for them. This time everything went wrong and it didn't matter. They still had a fun time. And so did I.

Take care of yourselves. Don't put your purse, or keys or coffee cups on the roof of the car. Love Bea

Self Abuse

This post is courtesy of Vickie, Nory, Cindy and Frances. All these folks' recent blogs added to a big burst of insight for me.

I am self abusive. No I don't cut my self or pull out my eyebrows but I abuse my self all the same. My abuse is to my soul. This then translates into abuse (ignoring needs) of my physical self. I abuse my soul by hating it.

I consider my soul to be my mind, my will and my emotions. The following are the ways I go about hating my soul.

I can't stand the way I think. I perseverate on things. Round and round they run in my head. Why did I do this? Why did I say that? Why didn't I do or say this or that? Why am I compulsive? Why am I guilt ridden? I jump to conclusions and am impulsive. I think about me way, way to much. I am fearful and depressive. I am a black and white thinker. I analyze everything.

I don't respect my willpower. My almost super human ability to get things done and my inability to get any thing done. I can't control what or how I eat. I overvalue will power.

I am frequently attacked by my emotions. They blind side me with a club. I feel my way through life. Most of my actions are based on how I feel. And yet I try to avoid feeling because it is so painful. I am drug from pillar to post by my emotions. I do not believe I can control my emotions. I can shut off my emotions.

All of the above result in physical abuse of my poor body that is just trying the best way it knows how to cope with the struggles in my soul.

And...I have seen a light at the end of the tunnel. "Grace for today." Not for tomorrow or next week, just God given Grace for today. How many thousands of times have I heard this preached in my life? God only knows. I live mostly in the future with my To Do and To Worry About lists. Frequently I blanch and buckle under the weight of both lists.

Insight, insight. I am given Grace (strength, wisdom, humor, determination, peace) only for the current twenty four hours. No wonder I am overwhelmed and hate my self. I am living my life out in front of God's blessings. That means folks I am missing the blessings, and to quote Mentor Mary, "I am continually borrowing trouble."

When I live only one day at a time I feel peaceful, centered and happy. This peace stays with me even if the day turns sour . This is how God intended us to live. And (Giant Insight) if my soul is at peace I DON'T ABUSE MY PHYSICAL SELF.

So, what is the upshot of all that learning? I crave the peaceful feeling more than I crave cheesecake. And that's a bunch. I have begun asking for Grace for only this day and then I focus on today. I am also becoming alert for God's blessings in my life. When I get overwhelmed all I see is trouble and I miss my blessings. I am making my To Do list short. Three things that I can get done today. I am trying to think about what I am thinking about. If a thought cycles through my brain more than a couple to times I try to write it down so I can look at it and see if it is even rationale. You'd be surprised how many of my recurring thoughts are not. (Maybe you wouldn't) I am trying to run my feelings to ground and name them. Then I try to figure out where they originated. I am doing one thing at once. I focus on what I am doing. I let myself not think ahead. Most importantly, in the early morning I pray for God to direct my steps for the day and then trust that whatever happens (or doesn't happen) during the day is in the will of God.

God help me to understand that I am not in control, and never was.

Take care. Love Bea

Nurse

Bless you all and especially bless Vickie. Yep. Co-dependant as heck.

Our friend is holding his own in the hospital and his wife is fairly comfortable at the hospital hotel. I would walk through fire for these people, but this time I didn't have too. I am at home. God resolved this situation for me and I am grateful. But...

I have let other friends take advantage of my health care experience. It is hard to stop being a nurse. I am old enough that when I went to school it was not a vocation I was trained for but an avocation. I didn't take the veil, I took the Cap. I haven't practised in almost fifteen years and yet when people ask me what I do for a living I tell them I used to be a nurse. I am not ashamed of being a homemaker, I just still see myself as a nurse.

And I am sick to death of people telling me about all their health care woes. "My own fault' she is quick to add. I frequently ask about the various problems and then offer unsolicited advice. I don't know how to relate to people other than as a nurse. Only now I want to quit. I have one friend whose phone calls I am avoiding because all she wants to talk about is her health. Make that three friends. I have dug my own grave and can't figure out how to get up out of it gracefully. I say gracefully because I did try to put a stop to the health care calls of one friend and it ended our friendship.

I do not want to be selfish and hard hearted, but I am beginning to feel like EVERYONE is a hypochondriac. I do not want to know about anyone's body fluids but my own. I am bored with ill health. That is the main reason I quit nursing. It is sooooooo boring. At least it was for me. With my health care callers I have tried to switch the conversations around to other topics that interest me. No dice. We end up back at signs and symptoms and meds and doctors. I am sick (no-pun intended) of being informative and supportive.

Plan of Action:

1. Do not ask about any one's health.
2. If asked for advice tell advisee I have been out of the profession so long my information would be all out of date. (too true)
3. If caller will not talk about anything other than health problems tell them I got troubles of my own and then tell them some.
4. Stop identifying myself as a nurse!!!!!

Now I am going to go back and reread all of those comments. Take care. Love Bea

Home Again

Thank God.

All is not well with our friend. He came through the ten hour, six by-pass surgery fairly well and went home to recover. He was readmitted last eve with a raging septic infection. The hospital is seven hours over a mountain range from here. Mark can't go this time so it looks like I am on my own. And I am dog tired.

We got home late last Sat night. Sunday morning we got up and went to the early service at church. Then we went to lunch with friends, and then we came home and crashed. I did laundry and cleaned house like a woman possessed on Monday. Mark's mother and sister arrived for their previously scheduled visit on Tuesday. I had not had time to purchase groc or cook so we ate out allot. We had multitudinous in depth conversations about Mark's mixed up family life. Very wearing. We also shopped and hiked and watched fireworks. They left Saturday morning. I washed bedding and towels on Saturday and tried to stuff the rollaway and blow up beds back into the attic. We went to church early on Sunday and then over to friends so Mark could get a much needed haircut. Then we went home and crashed. Monday I did more laundry and paid bills. Tuesday I mowed at the lawn. Today I haven't done a damn thing and it is already ten thirty. I guess I did get the towels washed and hung on the line. And make breakfast and clean the cat boxes and pick up dog poop.

What I want to do is sit down and cry. Anybody with me? I am feeling very sorry for myself. I am tired, we are broke and we have used up a bunch of Mark's valuable time off. And now I may have to leave again. Poop.

I recently heard a sermon about "Life's Interruptions' and how to cope with them. Praying for strength and mercy "just for today" was the answer. This I am doing. I also am praying for anger relief as I am damn mad about the interruptions. Very embarrassing. I feel like a creep for wanting to stay home and get my own life on track before I go help someone else. Crab grass and dust and late bills are nothing compared to friendship and family. In my heart of hearts I know this. And I am still pissed off.

Pray for me as I will for thee. I hope you all are doing well. Love Bea.

A'travelin

This will be quick. A friend had a heart attack and needs surgery. We will be on the road soon to be with them. The cats hate me but will love the sitter. The dog goes with us.

The basement flooded this morning. Wouldn't you know it.

WE GOT THE DECK DONE. It is marvelous and I never want to see a can of "Weathered Natural" stain again. Staining all four sides and the cut ends of each and every board almost killed me.

Off and running. Take care. Love Bea

But Who Will Do It?

A Good Woman's Lament

I want to go camping and not do the newsletter.

I want to have lunch and laugh and not have a meeting afterward.

"I don't want to worry about declining attendance."

I want to worship at Dunkin Donuts and sing hymns out of the Style section of the newspaper.

I want to drink lattes in the afternoon and not fold the bulletin.

I don't want to be president, vice president, recording secretary, treasurer or "hostess" of anything.

I want to have hilarious holiday dinner parties in the backrooms of restaurants and not in my house.

I want to luxuriate in hanging out my laundry on the line and cooking from scratch.

I do not want to take turns teaching Sunday School.

I do not want to help at all the funerals.

"Let's pay for a janitor and not do it ourselves."

I want to buy baked goods from the Bazaar table, not make them.

I do not want to organize a yard sale in aid of anything.

I want to go to the swimming pool and swim and not do water aerobics.

I want to have friends over and talk, not entertain.

I want to go to Bible study and not adopt a single mother to take turns helping.

I want to read in the shade with an iced tea. I do not want to make banners and cookies for Vacation Bible School.

I want to skip my turn taking Communion to the old folks' home.

I do not want to put together a calendar of every one's birthdays and anniversaries so we can send cards.

I want to talk on the phone for three hours with a friend.

"No I will not go the the Convention again this year. Four grown women in one room was not a 'barrel of laughs '."

I want a six foot fence in the backyard.

I want to eat McDonald's hamburgers at the cemetery overlook of a summer's eve and admire the green quiet.

I want to sing loudly in private and quietly in public. I do not want to be in the Christmas, Community or Church choir.

"I do not want to deliver food to the shut-ins. Meals-On-Wheels "is too" eatable."

"You can have my slot for serving every Thursday at the Soup Kitchen."

I want to eat off of paper plates, and have to dust to admire the beauty of my good china.

I want to skip all fellowship dinners, coffees and picnics.

I want to write and receive long letters.

"Let's pay for yard care this year and not do it ourselves."

I don't want to be an election judge...again.

I am not taking one more salad or dessert to anything.

"Here's some money. You go buy the wedding, baby, graduation, birthday, anniversary and holiday gifts."

I want to browse in an old book store until I can't breathe.

'No I don't want to babysit or carpool."

I want to place plastic flowers on all the graves, and not go back and pick them up the next day.

"No. We keep hamsters in the spare room. Stay in a hotel."

I want to turn on the answering machine...and then not return any calls.

I want to eat chocolate covered peanuts for Sunday dinner.

I want to iron and watch old English sitcoms.

"If we are out of communion wafers, use crackers."

"No I am not going to be a community booster. I want to shop in Paris."

"If the club has secret pass words and odd clothing accessories, count me out."

"I hate bridge, so...no."

"If the organization can't pay the bills let's sell the building and meet in the community hall. Or not at all."

I want to get a monthly massage and pedicure.

"You collected it, you deposit it."

"No I am not going to buy the twenty-seven extra boxes of Thin Mints."

I want to teach the cats to walk on a leash.

I'm giving up Lent for...ever.

"At fifty-one I am too old to join a sorority, so...no."

I want to make people laugh and I want to laugh with them.

I want to eat crunchy bread and peanut butter for Easter dinner.

I want to throw my old magazines and news papers in the trash and not chauffeur them around for a week in the trunk of my car on the way to the recycling center.

"You can have my every Wednesday shift at the Charity Shoppe too."

I want to read old travelogues and eat popcorn.

I want to have spur of the moment ice cream cones, and sex.

"No I do not want to "club together" to clean and paint all the outside toilets."

"Then hire someone to preserve local history."

"I want the volunteers to be unorganized and unsupervised."

"I do not care if there is a blizzard and the roads are closed. I will not put up a busload of elderly women from Ohio."

I am skipping all events having to do with all local schools.

"I am not foster parent material, so...no."

"I don't have small children. I do not want to join MOPS (mothers of pre-schoolers.)"

"I am not going to deliver all those baskets again this year."

I hate reading the lessons every Sunday.

I want to sit on a beach and watch the sun set.

.................................................."Oh...alright."

Take care Good women, Love Bea

Father's Day

It is snowing.

What the heck does a father actually do? I am at a loss in trying to write this post. I know enough about mothers to choke a horse, but I don't know anything about fathers. I expected to open up this can of worms and find, well, worms. Instead I find nothing. I am searching my mind and emotions about fatherhood and am coming up with a blank.

Until I was sixteen I thought my mother's ex-husband was my father. On my sixteenth birthday one of my aunts told me The Truth. It seems my mother had "taken up" with a man several years after she was divorced, and I was the result. My aunt even told me the man's name. I thought she was lying or had got her facts mixed. Nope. Turns out she was right.

A few weeks after I learned The Truth my adopted mother took me to visit this man. We arrived at his run down ranch unannounced. (Bad plan) We stood beside the car as she introduced herself and me. He backed up and started saying that she couldn't prove anything and that his father had paid Mom off a long time ago. Adopted mother told him we didn't want anything but that he might like to know about his daughter. He didn't. We drove off and I never saw him again. The same aunt who told me The Truth later sent me his obituary. Turns out he was wealthy and died without heirs. She encouraged me to try to go after his money even if I didn't have any proof of paternity. I was in my early twenties and could have cared less. But I did have the proof. I still have it.

A few days after my mother died I was in the house alone and was going through some of her stuff. I was twelve. I found the package that contained the letter from his father's lawyer saying that if Mom would deny paternity he (father) would pay for my birth and some sort of operation I needed. Mom's reply was also in there. It could beak a heart of stone. She says how cute I am and that she doesn't want money or marriage, just his name on the birth certificate..............My original birth certificate says "Unknown" after father's name.

The men in the foster home and relatives' homes were abusive or non-entities. My adoptive mother was widowed when she adopted me. I got not a clue about fathers.

I keep trying to find a father in God but this has proved to be heavy sledding. It is hard to translate "Our Father in Heaven" into something more...mortal, I guess. But I persevere.

So back to the beginning. What do fathers do? This inquiring mind really would like to know.

Take care of yourselves. Happy Father's Day. Love Bea

Disappointments

I just read Vickie's post about her meltdown. As the queen of meltdowns I soooo identified. I used to be able to roll with the punches and not react. Not anymore. Maybe it is not having the calming cloak of estrogen, or maybe it is finally getting fed up with being walked on, but whatever it is, I lose my cool at the drop of a hat.

I won't go into all of it because it is too painful, but I lost my composure big time during our trip Home. I yelled and threatened and finally stomped off. I did get the injustice righted but at a great cost to my peace. Took me days to recover from this fit...and then the cat pulled the Coo-coo clock off the wall.

I was in the shower when I heard this big thump. Mollie came running in to the bathroom to alert me that all was not well. I quickly finished up and dashed out to the kitchen in a towel. There I found the cat trapped under the remnants of our 60 year old family heirloom Coo-coo clock. She was okay, just scared. It is me that went nuts.

I could feel it building, but I was soaking wet and without my glasses. I held my anger in and untangled the cat. I went back to the bathroom to dry off and put on some clothes. I felt as though I might explode. When I was dry, clothed and could see, I went back to survey the wreckage. Then I exploded. I screamed. I was overwhelmed with rage. I ran after the cat who luckily enough was near the bed and dived deep under it. That action saved her life. I was so angry I would have killed her. I was raised on violence and this training swims to the surface when I get enraged. The poor dog. She squeezed herself into a corner with her ears and tail tight against her body. And those eyes. Makes me cry in shame thinking about them. I was screaming and swearing and crying over the clock when Mark came home for lunch. Thank God.

I loved that clock. I have very little left of my family of origin. This clock belonged to one of my Aunts and I remember being fascinated by it as a child. In the now, I loved the little bird and its cheerful reminders of time passing. And then there was Mark's reaction to it. He cursed the bird and insisted the "wretched thing" was stealing moments of his life. Made me laugh each time he confronted the tiny wooded creature. And it is no more.

Poor Mark, after telling him what happened I immediately picked a fight with him. I said he hadn't secured the clock to the wall and that is why the cat could pull it off. I needed Cher to slap me hard and yell "Snap out of it." Instead Mark prayed for me. Did the trick. I calmed down and just cried. We picked up the pieces of my little friend and put them in a box. Mark rescued the cat and I tried to reassure Mollie. Dogs are God's creatures. She forgave me and licked my tears. All was not well, but was quiet.

A few weary hours later I tried to figure out why I so over reacted. Yes I was angry and grieved over the loss of the clock, but to contemplate killing the cat? That was not normal. I reviewed my recent fit at Home. What were the commonalities? In the end it came down to loss. I just can't handle loss. Of any kind. Each loss seems monumental and irreparable. When it comes to disappointments I HAVE THE MIND OF A CHILD. When a one-two year old's mother leaves the room he cries as though his heart will break. He truly believes he will never see her again. Out of his sight equals out of his life. This is how I react to loss.

Again the shitty childhood shoves its way into my pleasant present. A good many of my childhood losses were final and irreparable. To cope with the pain I learned early to have no expectations and to feel nothing. I spent most of my life numb. In the past few years my feelings have come back to life. I am currently attempting to deal with past and present pain with almost no coping skills. I never learned how to feel pain and not be overwhelmed by it. So, now each time I suffer a loss I emotionally go back to where I was when I stopped feeling. Eating no longer works to stop the pain. Tooey, what a mess.

What is the upshot of all this intense introspection?
1. I need to learn to judge the severity of each loss and react accordingly.
a. Ask Mary how she would react to a loss.
b. Ask Mark what emotion is appropriate for each loss. (I react to everything with anger.)
c. Sit with the emotion and get used to it and through it. I am no longer a child and emotions cannot kill me.
d. Tolerate loss without having to immediately "fix the problem."
2. Be kind to myself during time of loss.
a. Stop berating self for "over reacting."
b. Give self something (not food) to comfort self.
c. Talk about loss.
3. Move On (slowly)
a. Apologize if necessary
b. Learn from "meltdown."
c. Wish for long lost estrogen.

Gad that was hard. I think I will take the dog and go and have a rest. Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

There and Back

I have never seen so much rain in my entire life. Rain is not a big thing in Wyoming. It may rain for a couple of hours but then it is over, and, if you go twenty miles you can drive out of it. Not so on Thursday. We drove in snow and sleet and hail and rain for twelve solid hours. We skirted two tornadoes. Poor Mollie. She hates rain and was forced to get out of the nice warm car at the rest stops to use the "pet area." As were her owners who stood right there beside her. We all smelled like wet dog by the time we got Home.

Home was very much like home. I defied the old saying and did go Home again. It was wonderful. Even the tornado watches and warnings. We sat in the basement listening to the radio just like I remembered doing as a kid. Luckily all the tornadoes went north of us. We went to all the cemeteries and decorated the graves. My mother's stone had come loose from the base so we had to get cement and secure it. Even that was good. Nothing like gluing down a tombstone to ground a person. I sure missed all the people whose graves we visited. But just being there allowed me to reconnect to them through memories. Home is emerald green and full of crops and cows and familiar sights and smells.

Mentor Mary is good. So is her husband. He has had a couple of strokes and requires a lot of care but is cheerful in spite of a lack of short term memory. He forgot I had lost weight. When I greeted him the first thing he said was, "My God you sure are not as fat as you were." Mary almost fell through the floor, but I think this may have been one of the best compliments I've ever received. We had fun with them. Someone gave them a cat a couple of months ago when their dear old cat died. You guessed it. The new cat was pregnant. They now have four kittens living in the clothes closet. Cutest damn cats in the world. It has been years since I have seen kittens. The kitties spent their time nursing, sleeping and making war on Mary's shoes. Before we left they had finally conquered her white terry cloth scuffs. Mark had to physically restrain me from bringing one home. Mollie was a peach the whole time we were gone and Mary's husband said she would make "a fine huntin' dog."

I seem to be having ..."hope surges" for lack of a better description. I noticed it first when we were driving around the countryside after visiting the graves. I was looking at familiar ground and was suddenly feeling the optimism I used to feel as a sixteen year old looking at those same fields and vistas. Feeling like all the world was before me and gobs of wonderful things were awaiting me just around the next corner. Not my usual way of being. These flashes of "happy youth" continue. I noticed this morning that I was excited about the prospect of summer. Sort of like I was expecting a myriad of new fun adventures. Now I am telling you straight out we do not have a fun filled summer planned. Mark has some awful trials coming up, we are too broke to go anywhere and we have to build a deck and paint the garage and shed. But still the notion persists that summer is coming and it it going to be grand. Weird huh?

I just finished "When Food is Love" by Geneen Roth. A ground breaking book for me. It is about abused children and their use of food as an antidote to pain. I now know the difference between a compulsion and an addiction. I have been struggling with this difference for a year. I am a compulsive eater. I am not physically addicted to food. I have choice and there is an end to using food for somatic purposes. If I so choose I can be free. I so choose.

Hope you all had a drier holiday than me. Take care.

Love Bea

Flu and Memorial Day

Still sick, but am better than last week. We are going to my home town for Memorial Day. I will decorate graves. There are a bunch of them. Also going to visit Mentor Mary. I will be soooo glad to see her but I am having very mixed feelings about going Home home.

I have gained some weight since my visit a couple of years ago. I hate that. I went home in triumph last time after having just lost all the weight. Will be painful to have to go back and admit my inability to keep it all off. High ho. So goes life. Also my summer clothes don't fit. Phooey.

I am having a hard time dealing with Mentor Mary's aging. I know she has slipped a lot in the past six months. Kills me to see time sucking away her dignity. She takes it all in stride. Says she has too much pride anyway and this is God's way of getting rid of it. She says all of life is about learning to release. Physical health is just one more in a long line of releases. She is damn amazing.

I will also have to confront scenes of recently unearthed abuse. Phooey, phooey, phooey.

Thank you all for your comments. They helped. My second blog will be called "I Am Born." On it I am going to write my autobiography I guess. I have started the first post. Will publish when I get it finished. Harder than in looks picking out what to write about and what to leave out.

Off to clean the whole darn house so the cat sitters will not think I am a slob. Have a great Holiday.

Love Bea

P.S. When my twin nieces were tiny I urged their mother to call them Bertha Maude and Blanche Myrtle. When they got older I became Beula Mae. And so I am.

Flu and the Past

I am sick as a dog. It has been a long time since I have had bronchitis. I HATE IT. My energy level was low and blammo, the bug got me. Much going on with me right now. A paradigm shift.

I had a crisis of faith as a result of reading that darn "Making Peace With Your Thighs." Much in there about child sexual abuse. I keep thinking I have resolved and been delivered from all of that and then more surfaces. Tooey. Have been having flashbacks. A face appeared I never expected to see in that context. Shocked me and put another tear in my already well rent heart. That is now six people who sexually abused me before I hit fourth grade. I hope like hell I don't remember any more.

Okay, so on to God. I choose to believe God loved and loves me. Do I feel it? Depends. After the last flashback I hated God with all my heart. I felt like I had been betrayed by the God of my understanding, again. And therein lies the rub, "Of my understanding." My whole concept of God's love is skewed from years of abuse. I am worlds better than in years past. Mark has helped with that. He has shown me what unconditional love can be. But, I am still unable to incorporate God's love into my soul because I was not shown a model of parental love as a child. I keep thinking I'll get over this and move on to my "normal life." I keep believing I will be delivered from this heavy baggage and live the lighter life God meant for me to have. Yes I notice the weight references.

The wrong building. (see last post) I have believed God would deliver me from the after effects of the abuse and I would be "clean." I would be as well adjusted as someone who had good enough parents. I would not need to waste my entire life learning to overcome. I would be healed.

My lady preacher says "let you mess become your message." I have obviously been fighting this idea. To do that seems to me to choose perpetual victim hood. I hate that. But...I have not been delivered from the after effects of a less than perfect past. So I can only surmise that God intends to somehow use all this stuff for His purpose. I will write about my past. Here.

Maybe all of you can love the dear child into wholeness. Thanks in advance.

My name is Lynn.

Purpose

I am reading "Making Peace With Your Thighs" by Linda Mintle. I am about half way through the book. Her premise seems to be that God has a higher purpose for Us than obsessing over our perceived defects. Also that body dissatisfaction is a result of Original Sin! (Remember the fig leaves and shame over nakedness.)

Verrrry interesting reading. What if my purpose on earth had nothing to do with my size? What if my ability to give love were the important thing? How much time have I now wasted worrying about my fat when I could have been smiling at, being kind to and encouraging people? I always figured my fat got in the way of my reason for being. What if I have had my ladder leaned up against the wrong building this whole time? Must give us pause.

Happy Mother's Day and take care of your dear selves. Love Bea

I need a new plan Stan.

Vickie's post nearly knocked my socks off. The only thing permanent is change.

I am trying to do the same things diet wise I did in 2006 and get the same results in 2008. And it is not working. You know why, because two flipping years have passed and things change. I have been refusing to give up and move on.

I plateaued a year ago at 181 pounds. This morning I weighed 190. I have been steadily gaining for a year. I am scared spitless. (I don't mean spitless but am trying to cut down on the swearing.) You have all seen me floundering around trying to figure out how to stop the relapsette.

I am sick of Kay Shepard's food plan (or any food plan.) But I am scared to abandon it as it was so successful for me. I believe Intuitive Eating is the way to go but feel I am not strong enough to do it. So I flip flop around trying to do some fruitcake combination of both. I have a foot in each camp and it is stressing me out. I eat when I am stressed out. Phooey.

Vickie's post made me realize I need to move on in spite of my fear. I will take all the wonderful stuff I learned on Kay Shepard's plan and apply it to healthy intuitive eating. And on that note I have subscribed to a new discussion group about normal eating. I will let you all know how it goes and the link for the site next week.

Keep me in your prayers and wish me luck.

Take care. Love Bea

P.S. Markovian theory of road rage. All men have invisible testosterone fields/shields around them. Personal space is based on the strength of the shield. If a man with a big shield gets into a small car his shield is crushed. Hence: road rage. I guess size does matter.

Winter, Wing, Wummer and Wall

The Markovian theory of the seasons. He says Wing has passed and we are currently into Sprinter. Golly I hope so. Has been 60 degrees here for the past two days. I took the opportunity to dig out more of the driveway. Snowed a skiff last eve and is supposed to snow off and on for the next five days. sigh No more digging for awhile.

I am very class conscious. And I hate it. I am not comfortable with folks who have been gently reared. There are several couples I would like to get to know better but I am put off by their wealth and style. I just can't relax around them. I keep expecting I will eat peas with my knife and be judged accordingly. I wish I would stop this but it seems to be bred in the bone.

I now have most of the personal accoutrement's of a middle class woman. I usually appear fairly knowledgeable and relaxed in company. It is an act. I feel less than because of my background. It is not my illegitimate birth that bugs me, or my crazy mother, nor my stint in foster homes. I am kind of proud of surviving all of that. It is the opportunities I missed that make me feel bad. All the things I don't know how to do, and all the things I do know how to do. For instance: I can put together and take apart an industrial mop and bucket with lightening speed. I should be able too, I mopped a nursing home every night for years. I lately had an opportunity to display this knowledge amidst a group of people who appeared to be astounded at my skill. I can unload mouse traps right quick too. I can unclog toilets and carry off dead cats. I can dig post holes, turn a compost pile and stick my hand inside a cow to pull on leg. I could do all of this by the time I was fifteen. But I can't f**king play bridge, read music or ski. I have never been out of the country and have never lived in a house with a dishwasher or a water softener. And I am fat.

None of this should matter. I am fifty-one years old and God has been good to me. I have so many blessings I can't count them all. And yet...I still persist in feeling bad at choir practise when I have to imitate the person beside me because I can't read the notes. I feel bad at dinner parties when everyone discusses the myriad places they have been and I realize I was working nights while they all were exploring Europe. I feel common when a friend blushes while discussing child birth and I am familiar with all the permutations of a human body. I have gone from degradation to the sublime in my years. I want to value the depth and breadth of my life as a great good fortune.

But sometimes I don't. Stoopid card parties.

Take care. Love Bea

Garden of Life

This week I read three blogs that touched my heart. Cindy, Lori and Nory all had information I needed.

Lori is tired. Mee too. Half the damn time. And no it is not a physical problem. I am fairly healthy. The thing is, I work weird. I go at stuff like I am killing snakes or I sit on my aspirations and do nothing. Both wear me out. And then I want to eat. Has taken me years to realize I don't do well if I get too tired. But...I was raised to believe that only tired people were worthwhile people. Being tired was a sign of hard work. And only HARD work was acceptable. If work did not wear you out completely it was not worthwhile!

One of my aunts was healthier than her sisters. She knew her capacity for work and paced herself. She even took breaks and stopped for lunch! She was routinely and roundly castigated by the other women in the family. Lois was lazy. And worst of all, she admitted to being tired, and rested!!! Funny thing is, my Aunt Lois had a spotless home, three wholesome homemade meals on the table everyday, clean and ironed clothes, an overflowing pantry of home canned goods, and the most beautiful flower garden I have ever seen. It was a mystery to her exhausted slovenly sisters how this lazy, gripey woman managed to get all this done. Maybe she had help (this was code for a verboten cleaning lady).

Because Mom was sick I spent much of my early childhood with my Aunt Lois. I learned her secrets for a balanced life. Alack and alas, I am my adopted mother's daughter. I was born a perfectionist so her workaholism and black and white pattern for living found fertile soil. I am very much like her. Blood is not necessarily thicker than water. But...I also internalized Aunt Lois' credo, and the two opposite ways of living are forever at war within me. No wonder I am tired. Here is how Aunt Lois got it all done.

Set a realistic goal and time frame for a project. Start early, in the day and on the project. Prioritize. Do the awful stuff first. Work for fifteen minute increments at the awful stuff and then go and do something else more enjoyable. Only do one thing at a time. Have set rest periods and a quitting time. Rest and quit on time. Reward yourself (not with food Bea) for time spent on a project, not just the for the finished product. Realize most things take longer and are harder to accomplish than you had planned. Be prepared for snags in the process. Have an end goal and stop when you have reached your goal. Celebrate when you are done.

I usually don't do any of that so I end up frustrated and tired. I have trouble getting started and then I have trouble stopping. No wonder getting things done is so exhausting.

I guess I have a choice.

Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

All's Well

Dinner went off with a bang. Eleven people squashed around the table. Was very convivial. Food was splendid if I do say so myself. Mark was sorry our guests ate so much of it. He was hoping for more leftovers. We played games afterward and had a hilarious time. The dog added to the fun by trying to climb into several people's laps.... She spent most of the party in her crate. Everyone loved our petite abode. I think it reminded them of the houses in which they grew up. Made me feel much better about the little place.

The whole darn house is clean. The laundry is done. We have leftovers so I don't have to cook. The boxes are unpacked. There is still too much snow on the ground to do anything outside. I am going bonkers. Damn am I goal oriented.

A guy was just here about putting up a fence for the dog. Is going to cost $600-800 to install forty feet of chain link and two gates. I almost passed out. The last time we put in a fence it was $300 for three times the distance. We are getting a price quote on wood. It may be cheaper. We could end up putting in the fence ourselves. I don't fancy that. The soil here is all rocks. Using a post hole digger is dangerous and you end up doing most of the digging by hand. Phooey.

I have lost some of the weight I gained. Not much, but some. I couldn't believe it. I am trying to eat consciously and attempt to notice if I feel full. I think I may be eating less. I am saying this very cautiously and quietly less the fat god's hear me and curse me with a binge. I have had a paradigm shift about my eating. As usual with me this was/is tied up with my faith. The Bible talks about the gift of "fruits of the spirit." One of the fruits is self control. I believe that when I accepted Christ into my life those attributes came to dwell continuously within me. But...just because they are in there does not mean I avail myself of them. Most times I just ignore them. But, along with the conscious eating, I am now consciously praying for help to exercise the fruit of self control. This is way different than defining myself as a helpless sugar addict.

As a sugar addict I had/have no control over what I eat if it has sugar in it. One bite and it is binge city. As a person with the divine gift of self control I can take a taste of something and then stop! I know I sound like a religious nut, but I do think God spoke to me when He/She said "eat less" a month ago. I believe I was then directed to watch the "I Can Make You Thin" thing so as to reacquaint me with the concept of Intuitive Eating. I have choice. If I rely on God's strength and not my own I can eat like a normal person. I can eat less.

Take care. Love Bea

The Winter of My Discontent

This has been a long hard winter. It is currently 18 degrees outside and I am wearing my gloves to type.

I have some ferocious bruises but other than that I am none the worse for wear from my fall. I am grateful. My life came suddenly into perspective this week. One of our friends nearly cut his arm off with a chain saw. He was Life Flighted to Salt Lake and they saved his arm and hand, but they aren't sure if he will be able to use it again. He's a contractor.

I am fifty-one years old and fatter than I could be, but for the most part I am healthy. So is Mark. As I get older I am more and more grateful for my problem free body. God knows this is not from any effort on my part. In fact just the opposite. But after John's accident I am determined to take better care of what God has given me. For instance, I am going to take my magnesium at night and put on my wrinkle cream. If I have been "good" with my food intake during the day then I think I am entitled to take the magnesium and use the wrinkle cream. If I have been a "bad" eater then I am not entitled to take the pill or use the cream. I sometimes have to literally force myself to swallow the pill. Isn't that weird? This type of odd weight induced thinking has got to go.

I may never be a really "good" eater but by damn I can take care of my self in other ways. We have begun walking in the mornings again. It is freezing cold and I have to wear my giant snowmobile suit and boots, but we are up and moving. I have begun drinking water again. I am taking my vitamins and using my plethora of potions on my face. I am going to bed at 10pm. I am beginning to address my mountains of paper work. I have begun to take my spiritual life seriously again.

It was a rough winter but I think spring is on the way.

Take care of your dear selves. Love Bea

P.S. I got all the boxes unpacked upstairs. I was in a cleaning frenzy but after the accident I decided the house would be just normal clean for the party. Feels like a good decision.

Life In The Fat Lane

I swear to God this has been the dumbest day. I am trying to unpack the last few boxes from the move and I am stressing about it. Two abrupt moves in one year do not make for organized packing. The boxes are full of paper stuff and family mementos crammed in from the first move, and which were never unpacked. I am now trying to go through all this stuff. We have zero storage space left so I can't keep most of it. It is driving me nuts trying to decide what to pitch and what to keep.

Next weekend we are hosting a group of couples from our church. I am also stressed out about this. I am trying to make this sow's ear of a house look like a silk purse with limited time and finances before the event. Hence my unpacking frenzy.

So I was not in the most cheerful frame of mind when the cat peed on the dog's bed this morning. I caught her in the act. I began hollering like a mad women as the urine had soaked through the bed and onto the newly cleaned carpets. (We spent last weekend cleaning them with an industrial carpet cleaner.) I grabbed the cat and carried her downstairs hollering, "You go potty in your box." The other cat apparently hearing and fearing those familiar words streaked past me on the stairs on her way to the box. Of course I fell over her. I got banged and bruised but nothing is broken. The cat lept to safety before I fell. I could swear she looked vindicated.

Okay so I hauled my mangled body back upstairs and tried to get on with my day. First on the list was to wash the dog bed. I stuffed it in the washer, poured soap on it and went about my business. Of course the washer overbalanced and stopped. When I opened the washer the dog bed was in a wad and I couldn't straighten it out. So I got a laundry basket , lined it with a garbage bag and then proceeded to try to pull this sopping wet heavy ball of material out of the washer. In my struggle with the wad my wedding ring slipped off and went plunk into the dirty soapy water. I am crying in frustration by now. I hauled the dog bed out of the washer and got water everywhere. I then stuck my arm in the washer and fished around looking for the ring. At this point I decided to take off my sweatshirt so it wouldn't get wet.

I was up to my armpits in water when the doorbell rang. The dog promptly went nuts and tipped over the laundry basket with the sopping dog bed in it. Tipped it over onto my sweatshirt laying on the floor. I was in the laundry room and to get to the door I would have to cross in front of an uncurtained window. The only thing I could find to put on was one of Mark's ratty old tee shirts he wears to paint. It was the Schwan's man. I needed a whole host of stuff so putting the worry about my ring on hold I proceeded to place an order. Our Schwan guy is young. He is usually very friendly and jokey. I try to be the same. Today he was friendly at the beginning of the visit but got quieter and quieter as time went on. He kept looking at me funny. I apologized about the old ratty shirt and told him about my washer troubles. He barely nodded and seemed in a hurry to leave. He brought me my order and fairly ran out of the house. I went back to trying to find my ring.

Mark arrived home for lunch while I was still fishing around. I promptly started crying again and told him about my morning. He looked at me sort of funny, hugged me and began to look for my ring while I cleaned up the floor. He eventually found it! I dried my tears, attended to my wounds and made us peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. As we were sitting down to eat he said, "Don't you think you ought to change that shirt?" "Why" I asked looking down? Good God. One of my boobs was sticking out of a huge hole under the armpit of the shirt and the other one was covered by a big wet spot. My bra had apparently been wet when I put the shirt on. The bra that had become semi transparent in the soapy water. I now see why that poor young man was having trouble discussing the merits of New York over sirloin steak.

I took a shower, took some pills and and am now telling you all of this. After that I am going to watch an old movie. I hope I don't eat.

Take care, love Bea.

Black and White

I am rigid, rigid, rigid.

I have been thinking about many things in the past week. For starters, I have become a web whiner. I get on here and gripe and moan. Is not making me feel good. Is making me feel bad. I have become so focused on what I perceive to be be wrong with my life I have lost sight of what is right. And much, much is right. For instance.

Last night I watched episode four of "I Can Make You Thin." Mark was downstairs so he watched with me. He had never before seen Paul McKenna. This week's show was another take on the finger squeeze association thing. We were to do the finger squeeze thing while associating something wonderful with exercise. Paul is very expressive and has that aggressive motivational style of speaking. He was about half way through with his explanation/demonstration of the technique when suddenly Mark jumped up from this chair, squeezed the thumb and middle finger of his right hand together, pointed them at me, and hollered "Expecto Patronum." Harry Potter beware.

After I became less hysterical we watched the rest of the show. When it was over I asked Mark what he thought. "What, no altar call" was all he said? sigh

I read or hear or see something that makes sense to me about weight loss and then I think I have to slavishly follow the whole of whatever plan has enlightened me. I currently have been caught between my no sugar, no flour addict food plan and the non-plan of Intuitive Eating. In my rigid black and white mind they could not both be correct. One or the other had to be the WAY. Vickie opened the door a crack with her comment about rigidity and then Mark's funny antics shoved it completely open. It was not a specific plan or formula that enabled me to lose the weight, it was that I ate less. Yes the nutritional content of food does matter. Yes non-processed foods do have less calories. Yes I did feel better when I was eating "clean." But I had made a religion out of it. I had come to believe the only way I could lose/maintain the weight was with a specific combination of foods. If I deviated at all I was in relapse and destined to gain back all the weight. I now see that feta cheese on my salad can be part of a healthy diet and does not have to derail my weight loss effort.

I can learn to bend. It is really the only Way.

Take care of yourselves. Love Bea

Markovian theory: The next exercise craze to sweep the country will be sponsored by the National Social Health Movement. It will entail a synchronized high kicking hike followed by a series of straight arm exercises accompanied by the motivational shout "I'm Thinner."