I’m keeping up with the daily photos because it’s kind of a statement. As Crusie says, Photobooth is terribly unflattering. Plus the lighting is bad (those swirly-ecological bulbs) and I sit here first thing in the morning, face unwashed, hair unbrushed, usually in my jammies. It keeps me honest. And it keeps me from getting too vain. It’s sort of like saying, this is me, warts and all. I’m here to be honest, not prettified.
I got through the tough day yesterday. Funny, how anniversaries can pass and we pay tribute and move on, and then others just kneecap us. Yesterday it kneecapped both me and my niece (though my falling apart may have made hers worse). Still, it’s good to cry. To remember. And then to move on, with love.
I didn’t get on the scale this morning — figure I’ll ignore it for a week while I eat well and exercise and give NettieD her due. I may measure myself though. Many of my bras are getting way too big, I’m having to fix the straps and move the hooks in on the ones that aren’t made for honeydews. I’m more cantaloupe size right now. But my pants are looser, not just around the waist but around the legs. All these usual signs of loosing weight, when I haven’t gotten to that point in as long as I can remember.
It’s kind of unbelievable that all these clothes are going to fit, are going to be too big. In fact, it’s probably just as well not to focus on it, but take it one day at a time, eating well.
I finally figured out the best way to make steel-cut oatmeal — the crockpot. I cooked a shitload overnight, have it stored in the refrigerator and I can scoop out some and nuke it. I’ve been having it with splenda brown sugar mix and frozen raspberries, which thaw in the hot oatmeal, and it’s divine. I’m measuring (1 cup of cooked oatmeal, but it was soooo good). 2 cups of whole wheat spaghetti last night. Both of which may be too high an amount but if I count and pay attention to the other things it’ll be okay.
And damn, did I buy veggies last night. Tons and tons and tons. (Plus our home-made spaghetti sauce is mega-veggie).
So, I think I need to add a little protein to breakfast, which I can do with almonds, and veggies for lunch. That should be easy enough to do. I’m going to make up a bunch of mini-salads the way Crusie did (she bought me a set of the bowls to do it with) so I can always grab one of those with lunch. If not that, then nuke something, have half and give Richie the other half to thicken up his Healthy Request soup that he has most days.
Oh, and someone mentioned soup, glorious soup. I’m going to be making more soups. I dug out a great soup cookbook I bought but unfortunately every recipe called for 2 cups of heavy cream. Whoever heard of putting heavy cream in fish chowder? Chowders have milk in them — they’re not cream soups. Tsk tsk.
But I love bean soups. And non-cream chowders. And I had the most divine chicken gumbo on the way back from Syracuse.
So it’s time to make soup.
And I worked my ass off in the pool. Physical therapy (and I found that one thing I was doing, swinging my leg back and forth, was hurting my back. I should only be moving it forward). I did their stuff and then I did my stuff and I ended up working out for and hour and 45 minutes. Damn, I was tired! But it felt good.
When I water walk I think about stories. I plot out stuff, daydream about characters and backstory and scenes, and I sort of hate to stop, it’s so much fun. Which is why I worked for so long yesterday — I was in the midst of a good daydream and didn’t want to leave it. It’s the sort of thing I used to do when I went driving. Great to know that it works even better when I’m water walking. Now when I need to work something out I won’t go on a shopping expedition, I’ll go to the pool. At least most of the time.
Hey, a girl can’t be perfect.
So I’m ready to charge ahead. The scale really is my friend, because it gives me a wake-up call when I’ve gotten sloppy. I know that it doesn’t work for everyone — it can be tyrannical and destructive. For me it’s a tap on the shoulder to remind me to pay attention. At this point in the getting healthy game I can’t afford to trust my instincts. I need to be very careful on amounts, no matter how healthy.
I get my grandson today! And as I probably mentioned, the roller coaster with my son is leveling out, at least for now. I love my little boys so much, my nephew, my brother, my son, my grandson. Even my father was my little boy too, since in alcoholic families the roles are often reversed.
I remember the lost ones with love, and love the ones who are here with a fierce passion. I just have to remember to give them some space.
So life here at Squalor Holler is good. Once more, dear friends unto the breach! Breech? Beach? That sounds like a lot more fun. Once more, dear friends, unto the beach!