May through October is the reason we gut out November through April in the Midwest. But once the ragweed blooms, the season changes from summer to hay fever. Even allergy meds aren’t helping this year — the ragweed must be finding water where grass, plants and gardens are not.
I need to find a better allergy med…
PS It was a blue moon yesterday. The next one will happen on 7/31/15.
Days like today are appreciated by most people. I wasn’t rushing out of the house this morning; traffic was light; work was a perfect storm of few interruptions and productivity; and tonight brings a solid mix of Mexican food, great friends and football. What’s not to appreciate about a vanilla day like that?
Vanilla days put me on edge. They are the eerie calm before the storm. Like when birds stop making noise in the woods or the fish scatter on a reef. To me, vanilla days indicate imminent danger.
Like the quiet day I told the therapist I felt like something bad was going to happen and the next day S was diagnosed with cancer. Or the lazy morning TB and I were organizing the office at the new house, my brother called to tell me my mom had a stroke.
I’d definitely rather enjoy these calm days instead of worrying about impending doom … I just don’t know how to.
Since I’ve checked on each of my core people under the guise of a cheery, casual “Hello!”, perhaps tonight, I simply try to enjoy this vanilla evening of Mexican food, great friends and football.
Indeed. That sounds like a much better plan.
According to the Center for Disease Control”s BMI Calculator, I’m teetering on the edge of overweight. The CDC tells me that I should be between 108 and 145 lbs. I’m 143 with no cap in sight.
More important than any number, I feel gross. I feel blubbery and uncomfortable. The ‘Pants Dance’ is required to get into newly washed jeans and the last time I had to wear a bikini was probably the beginning of an anxiety disorder.
There are two options: grow six inches taller or drop the weight. While continuing to hold out hope that the growth spurt I never had in high school is on the horizon, the reality of the situation is that I need to lose 20 pounds.
20 lbs. = 4 reams of paper
20 lbs. = $400 in quarters
20 lbs. = a car tire
20 lbs. = back fat, fanny pack, saddle bags, muffin top, and rolls:
(It’s a harsh dose of reality to post these. Plus, before and after pictures are a reward in and of themselves.)
In addition to issues of will power and motivation, there’s another dashingly handsome issue: TB loves unhealthy food. Loooooves it. It took a while, but I finally convinced him that we should go Clean in 2014 (a catchy name never hurts.) Only whole, organic, healthy food and drink with a gracious 1.5 years to gear up and eat as badly as he wants.
Then S got cancer.
And Clean in ’14 became Clean in ’13 (whew, the catchy name still works.) In negotiating this with TB, Clean in ’13 was modified to bridge the gap and the 80/20 model was born. 80% clean, 20% dirty. Baby steps.
It’s dreary in the city befitting a day in the chemo unit. However, the sun peeks out through holes in the cloud cover from time to time as if to say, “Hey! Don’t give up hope in this shitstorm.”
The machine pumping saline and poisons into S has an oddly soothing rhythm about it. Neil Armstrong died this week and the History Channel is celebrating his life on the television in front of me. Did you know the moon is so bright and reflective of the sun because moon ‘dirt’ is something like 30%-60% glass? At least I think that’s what they said. Since lunar science isn’t why I’m here, I’m paying attention to everything while retaining almost nothing today.
On a lighter note, after about a year of wanting, I’ve finally purchased garden and kitchen compost bins. I asked TB the other night if he thought we could get down to one bag of trash every month between recycling and composting. I bet we can.
reducerenewrecycle 