Eating Crap

Let's be honest. We've all done it. Today I did. I ate crap. LOTS of it. As I sit here typing I have a "food baby" that feels like I'm carrying a 7 pounder. I want to give birth because it feels so heavy and gross.

Here is my crap recap:

A semi-healthy small bowl of cereal with soy milk at home

Got to work and then ate a slice (or two)  of disgusting lemon coffee cake with filling from our local grocery store.

Red vine licorice (several pieces)

1-1/2 carrot cake cupcakes w/ gross canned cream cheese frosting

A McDonald's plain hamburger in a desperate attempt to keep it semi-healthy

One bag of small fries w/ yes, a Diet Coke 

(On a side note: Did you know Mickey D's has fat and calorie content listed on their paper wrappers apparently? I actually had an okay caloric intake, but the content and quality is an entirely different topic up for discussion).

In short, if there were a contest for eating crap today, I win.

How do I feel about it? Not great. Not good. I'm going to go swim this evening in 50+ degree fresh water. I will don a wetsuit and swim a mile or so in an attempt to burn a little bit of the sugar and fat laden foods from my overloaded system.

The reality is that more often than not, I eat healthy. Lots of green stuff. Very little inflammatory foods. Nuts, avocado, olive oil and other good fats. Almond milk or soy.  Fruit. Fish. Chicken. Water. LOTS of water.

Today? Not so much. I will wipe my crystallized sugared lips and begin my swim in a little while. When I wake up and attend a breakfast honoring my daughter, the almost-graduated nursing student. I will make healthy choices. My food baby will disappear and I'll feel better. I'll run and bike this weekend. 

But every once in a while I will have an eating crap-filled day. Some days are just like that.

Deleting Contacts

Today I was talking with a friend. He had just deleted all the emails from a woman he'd been dating, getting rid of her contact information from his phone and his computer.

It caused me to pause and reflect upon what I've learned about people's personalities. That is, timing, is everything.

Are you the kind of person who clears closets, empties picture frames and removes all memorabilia right away? Do you purge and eliminate all evidence of a person's existence? Do you want to move on?

Or do you gather all traces, putting them in a box tucked away deep in the inner recesses of  your garage, basement or stairwell closet? Is it avoidance or are you allowing time to process events to reflect upon at a later date?

Perhaps you are the kind of person who wears the t-shirt he gave you from his work, favorite sports team or a trip he took. You keep the emails in a folder on your email account so that when you need to read them they are there, as is his contact information or the multiple drafts from emails you chose not to send. But you are still sitting in the hurt or grief or alone-ness, allowing yourself to feel the emotions, until they pass. Knowing they will.

It does not seem to matter if it is death, divorce or the break-up of a loving relationship. The pain is still there to deal with at some point in time.

I know when I gave away my favorite pair of oh-so-comfy-fire-department-newlywed-purchased sweat pants from my ex-husband to our youngest daughter the acute pain had subsided. It took many years.

Deleting both my dad's name and another girlfriend who had died around the same time from my list of phone contacts and my email list was brutal. I waited until I felt keeping them hurt more than deleting them.

Today, inspired by my friend I opened a file on my computer with emails from a past love. I pressed delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Then I made the  mistake of opening up a few and reading them. I began to selectively delete. I could see, clearly, how much I've grown and changed in the past four years. I wanted to take the time to reflect upon all that I had learned. I was running out of time. I went to the trash file and moved them all back into the original file labeled, "XX." I'm almost ready to do it. I just need a long night to do so.

Sometimes it's hard to throw everything away with just one delete. I've learned I need to wait a little bit longer because timing is everything.

Grace

Today I found out the woman whom I have always thought epitomizes the very essence of grace has breast cancer.

Growing up we were fortunate to have a wide circle of friends surrounding our family. It included branches born from buds from my siblings and myself of synchronized swimmers, coaches, parents, neighbors, football players, Castro Valley families. Other offshoots included friends of my dad and mom. One particular branch was unique and continues to be so because it includes friends from my dad's youth: his elementary school, high school or the military. George is a member of this extended and far-reaching limb. George is married to Nancy. Quite simply, Nancy is a saint.

Nancy is a saint for many reasons. One is her incredible faith, despite having experience some very poignant losses and challenges in her lifetime . Her daughter Ingra was one such loss, as a toddler. If you go to her house you would see a few black and white photos of her sprinkled throughout. She was a beautiful little girl and you can still feel the combination of both love and loss. Nancy also had a sister with Down Syndrome whom Nancy would warmly share stories, chuckling as she did so. Clearly she loved her sister. She is married to a stubborn and proud husband, referred to as "Georgie" by Nancy. She softens that man somehow and remains steadfast serving as their anchor while he has aged. She has three amazing adult children who are following in their mother's footsteps.

She radiates beauty. Glows. If  you met her, you would never forget. She is both elegant and regal while also being Earthy. In our home, we sometimes referred to her as "Saint Nancy." I remember as a child I was in a phase where I would constantly say, "Oh God" at the beginning or end of many sentences, as was my newly-formed habit. One summer Nancy and her family were coming to join us in Tahoe for a shared vacation. My dad told me that Nancy might be offended, as a Christian woman, if I were to say, "Oh God." I did not say it the entire week we were together and promptly refrained from saying it afterward too. Even today, if I slip, I think of Nancy.

She is a role model. Even with cancer. In typical Saint Nancy fashion she has tackled the news with an amazing attitude as she begins to undergo the treatment. To my mom she stated both her doctors were "young, very smart and beautiful."

She is one of the most faithful, upbeat women I know. She is full of grace. Even now. Somehow I just know that means something.

I can't help but think of my cousin's wife, also named Nancy, and also eerily recently diagnosed with cancer. She has the most upbeat attitude. You can't help but catch her contagious positive energy when you are near this woman. She is a teacher and not just by her chosen profession. She teaches by example with her infectious amazing personality.

Both named Nancy. Both courageous. Both examples. Both full of grace.

It seems unfair somehow. It feels as though there must be some kind of mistake. But not in their minds. They continue to just be. To shine. Amazing beacons of light.

But if I know anything about these two Nancy's it's this: They are strong women and living life gracefully. And they are loved.

"Friendship isn't a big thing-it's a million little things"

Kathe Schwartz Oster

                                                                           

I am a writer. I write. And so you think I would welcome the opportunity to write about Kathe Oster. The truth is, I don’t. Why? Well for the same reason I didn’t when my dad turned 70 and the entire family wrote something about him and read it aloud. I hosted the party and just could not capture in words the depth of my love for that man. I opted out that night. It took me 8 years to finally sit down and pen a letter to him entitled, “Legacy of Love.” I apparently have a difficult time saying what I really want to those I love. And I do love Kathe.

Kathe and I met years ago while teaching at Vista Grande Elementary. In particular, I got to know Kathe when we taught second grade with our friend Ondi. She was our “next door neighbor” and many grade level meetings involved laughing and joking and generally maintaining a sense of humor about the kids, our workload and the job in general. Many of us had our own children at Vista Grande including Kathe and myself and for a number of years it really was like one big extended family. I know my children have fond memories of the school, yes, but it was mainly the staff and their children that they loved. At the time, Kathe took a liking for my youngest daughter Shelby, I think it was their shared fondness for leopard print. My children’s father worked a great deal of overtime as a firefighter and there were times Kathe would take my children so I’d have a tiny stretch of time for myself. Sadly this meant that one time my oldest daughter Morgan accidentally shut the garage door on top of one of Kathe and Jeff’s VERY nice cars, denting the roof slightly. Other than laughing about it (for which I am mortified even thinking about it), neither Kathe nor Jeff ever held it against us.

Shortly after the dented roof, I’d hurt my shoulder badly and had a mean a**hole of a doctor. I had had an appointment where he was very demeaning, albeit very skilled at administering cortisone shots. Well, Kathe heard about it and promptly came with me to the next appointment. While there, her body language made it very clear he could not mess with me or he’d end up messing with Kathe. He looked at her, looked at me, and said he would be excusing himself from my care and assigning a new doctor to me. He did not want the wrath of Kathe the protector.

As two involved moms, and five children between us, our lives naturally drifted apart due to a shortage of time. Kathe eventually left our school and so did I years later. Fast forward to less than one year ago. I had just finished a triathlon and received a phone call from Kathe. It seemed my oldest daughter had been in downtown Danville and ended up hanging out with Keith. She had enjoyed herself and could not get behind a wheel. Keith had asked Kathe if it would be okay if Morgan slept in their guest bedroom. So due to the generous nature of both Kathe and her son, and the inebriated nature of my daughter, Kathe and I jokingly say we have “gotten back together.”

In the past year, I can only say that Kathe has become one of my very best friends. She somehow invited me to join her in running, which to be honest, we both hated. She had the goal to run her first marathon for her 50^th birthday. I was lucky enough to have gotten caught up in the training and completed my first one three weeks before Kathe. She was my Sherpa and I was hers. We are now part of the exclusive marathon “club” and it has definitely been quite a journey.

I cannot begin to bore you with the literally hundreds, perhaps even a thousand phone calls we have made to one another this year. It’s embarrassing really. We’re like two junior high girls. But she is the very best kind of friend. She can get your abs fit because she’ll have you laughing to the point of nearly choking on your food by poking fun of herself, you, or the situation at hand. She has an amazing ability to not take herself too seriously and yet can be seriously smart and has a depth to her that outsiders might miss…. because on top of all of her wonderful caring support, humor, sensitivity, loyalty, intelligence and perseverance, Kathe has killer good looks. She recently showed me a photo of she and Emily when Emily was a newborn baby in the hospital. I asked her how the heck could she look sexy in a flippin hospital gown? Kathe just laughed it off. Seriously, that woman is one amazing lady (well, except that she never cooks…but then again, she can throw one heck of a party).

So here I stand, wishing her the very best birthday as we celebrate 50 years of Kathe. For me, I feel lucky to count her among my friends because as an unknown author once said, “Friendship isn’t a big thing-it’s a million little things.”

Thank you, KathE, for the million little things.             Love, KathY

Marathon Analogies

Last Sunday, March 6, I ran my first marathon. I’ve used the analogy of completing a marathon throughout my life with various challenges I’ve faced. I’ve told myself to move forward “one step at a time” and have known I could complete the task at hand. With the births of my three children I used it. As I began new jobs or taken new paths in my life I have used it then too.

My running partner and friend and I drove to Napa the day before my race. She will be running her first in a few more weeks but came to support me and jokingly referred to herself as my Sherpa. That evening another girlfriend joined us and we ate a very early pre-race dinner and then they mothered me the remainder of the evening making sure I went to bed early and drank plenty of water.

The alarm buzzed me awake at 4:45am and I ate ½ a banana and a day old piece of toast with peanut butter. I put on most of my racing clothes and climbed back in bed for a bit more rest. By 6:45am we walked the half-mile to the start of the race where there was a light drizzle of rain. I had all my gear, light racing jacket, shorts, tank top, and fuel belt filled with Gu, Shot Blocks, Electrolyte pills and two water bottles, as well as a baseball cap to keep the rain off of my face.

Another teammate and I lined up at the start as the announcer began to give us instructions and introduced the singer of the Star-Spangled Banner. And then, we were off!

My teammate and I began slowly, so that we would have energy near the end of our race. A common mistake is to start off too fast and fade toward the end. We chatted and she asked me if the jitters and excitement were similar to moms about to give birth. I assured her that they are indeed. I found it ironic that I used marathons as an analogy before giving birth, and now I was using the exact opposite explanation to describe the feelings before a marathon. I was excited about being able to finally complete the race after the past three months of training…but it was scary too as the previous week my left knee was hurting and my right foot. I really just wanted to get going and begin the journey.

I felt surprisingly good, despite my injuries. I really did feel the love and goodwill of so many people that morning…so many that had donated toward the Marathon for the Cure and written encouraging notes to Lynn or myself. I knew, even if I had to walk, I would complete the course.

My partner’s feet were soon soaked and around mile 12 she changed out of her wet socks and into dry ones. Slowly she started to fade and eventually I was running alone. Each mile seemed to come fairly quickly. My coach had put together a schedule of when to eat and drink throughout the race, which helped to distract me. As I was running there were some racers stopping to walk or get sick or happily chatting away with their friends or family as they continued to run. I had a silly grin on my face throughout most of the day.

Before I knew it, I saw a red barn I had scouted the previous weekend and knew I had about 4-5 more miles to go. Time was passing quickly now. With three miles left to go, there was a large crowd cheering us on with cowbells and clapping. I felt myself get a little emotional as I rounded that corner and felt a tight lump in my throat. I had to tell myself to just breathe so I would not begin to hyperventilate.

With over two miles left, I saw another teammate and he was walking. I told him to come join me and run to the finish. I said we’d take it nice and slow and sprint just as we got to the end. I rounded another corner and saw my youngest daughter and her dad, Lynn’s husband, cheering me on and yelling encouraging remarks. As I approached the last 100 yards or so, I could see my friend the “Sherpa” and my other girlfriend, I saw my aunt, my mom and her dear friend. My coach and his wife surprised me and showed up as well. I was just about twenty-five feet from the finish and sprinted across the finish line.

It was over. I was happy.

My family and friends crowded around and they kept me moving to cool down for a few minutes. I then ate a little bit and got bags of ice for my knees.

And though Lynn could not be physically present with me that day, it was too cold, too wet and too rainy, she was there with me in a spiritual sense.

And so the marathon analogy comes to mind once more. Lynn must take each day one step at a time. She is in a race of endurance. It is grueling. But soon, she will be finished. And crossing the finish line will be amazing.

I can’t wait. I know when she does, we’ll all be standing on the sidelines cheering her on, pulling for her and wishing her well.

We’ll be ready to celebrate the good news…

The Four Agreements

It's a simple book. It can be read in one day. Small.  The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.

A few years ago on a walk a girlfriend had mentioned what a good book she had found. Very simple but profound. In time, I began to hear more about this little book of wisdom. I eventually bought it and I have read it several times. In short, here are the Four Agreements:

1. Be impeccable with your word.
2. Don't take anything personally.
3. Don't make assumptions.
4. Always do your best.

Think about it, if everyone lived by these four simple agreements, the world would be a better place. It's as though the very best of all books have been sifted down into these four statements.

On really good days I think of them and they remind me to not say something negative when I might be thinking of adding to a conversation. Or not be so sensitive. Or assume I know what someone else is thinking or their motives. Or to try really hard when it would be easy to breeze through a project or procrastinate doing it.

The past two weeks I've realized that for as strong and independent and happy and fulfilled and balanced that I strive to be, and have felt like I have been, I must have needed a lesson in not taking anything personally. That doesn't seem hard, until you have something that personally involves you.

It feels personal because it is personal.

No one said The Four Agreements would be easy to implement but I intend to continue trying my best.

Tears

Tears. They make some people uncomfortable but with others, it’s just a natural outpouring of emotion. My dad was a “tough guy” but he shed them over the years.

I remember him crying when Robert Kennedy died.  If memory is serving me correctly, he cried as we watched the televised funeral processional. I was upset by his emotions, as I cannot recall seeing him cry until that day. I asked him what was wrong and he replied, “Bobby Kennedy was a great man.”

 I remember him crying when he watched the famous football movie, “Brian’s Song,” same too with “Love Story.” My dad cried when my brother was in the Army and left to go to boot camp and later as he left for a tour in Germany. Dad cried when my sister Paula drove away on her honeymoon. Again, the tears came when my sister Laura flew away to one of her faraway homes in Boston, New York, Wisconsin or wherever she and her family were living at the time.

He cried the day he, my mom and I were driving home from Carmel. It was a bittersweet weekend. I have lovely memories of dog walks on the beach, lunches and dinners and shopping…all while awaiting to hear the specifics of his cancer and treatment plan from his doctor, a call we were all anticipating the following week. My sister Laura had called as we were driving home. The silent tears streamed down his face as I could hear her telling him that both she and her family would come out that Easter to visit. He was crying because we were apart but would be together again. He was crying because the damn cancer was going to separate us.

Two and one half years later, he lay in his Hospice bed in my parents’ TV room. We had just told him, agonizingly, that he could not get out of bed that day. We had said he was too heavy and if he had another seizure we simply could not lift him off the ground. His normal routine of getting dressed and sitting up to read the paper or watch the latest news or sports program proved too tiresome for him and too difficult for us without my brother around to help.  He was angry and barked at us to go in the other room to “regroup” and leave him alone. I stole a glance at him as I was exiting the room. The silent stream trickled down from the corner of his eye, trailed down his ear and splashed upon the pillow. He was crying because he did not want to leave us. He did not want to leave this world.

This weekend I went to visit my son in San Diego. He’s in college and we’ve not seen much of one another this year. He’s maturing, we don’t talk as much, even to “check-in” during the month as we did last year. I am trying to let him be the lead. I am a tough mom. But when I went to say good-bye and we hugged one another in a tight embrace, the tears came. I told him I loved him. 


He got out of the car, pivoted briefly to face me as he began to stand up. As he looked into my eyes, I saw the mirrored image of myself. His big blue eyes looked “full” and he quickly turned away and walked up the pathway to his front door. I couldn’t see his eyes then but I know when he walked inside he had to wipe away the excess liquid.

My son appears to be a “tough guy” just like his grandpa and his mom.