Holidays and holy days

So Christmas is past for another year. Now that I'm older, it doesn't have the same excitement it used to have. Don't get me wrong...I love to receive presents, and I got some cool stuff this year. And I love to give presents...if I can find something unique that speaks to me of a specific loved one, then I squirm with anticipation while they open it. But even just buying ordinary things is fine, because I know that they are appreciative people.

But when I was a kid, gifts were magical. We were not well-off, so Christmas and birthdays were hotly anticipated events, chances to tap into wishes and dreams that you normally put on hold, kept hidden inside because you knew it could never come to pass. But twice a year, you had a chance to keep your hopes up, because maybe, just maybe this time you would get your hopes fulfilled. It happened sometimes. Not always, but enough to keep you dreaming inside.

My sister's birthday is on Christmas day, so her two days collided. I always felt bad for her, because she had to go for a whole year to wait, and then had to share the spotlight with a holiday. It was almost the same for some of the rest of us...my mom's birthday was around Thanksgiving, and my brother and I are 2 years/1 day apart, so we always shared a birthday celebration. But that's really nothing compared to sharing your birthday the Holy of Holies like my sister did.

So mom always made a special effort to split the day in two. First half would be Christmas, with all of our frenzied rush to open gifts and play with toys and run around like lunatics. Then the second half was birthday--a cake just for her, gifts wrapped in birthday paper, the whole thing.

But now we're adults. Mom passed too many years ago, and things aren't the same. Her joy at watching her kids grow got transferred to watching her grandkids, though they hardly have any memory of her. There's no "need" to keep up the tradition, but there's no need to stop it, either. So this Christmas I coordinated with my other siblings and we arranged all of the party info without my birthday sis having to do any of the work. We brought food and drinks, we brought birthday-wrapped gifts for her and her son (whose birthday is two days later, so now they're sharing a party!), and the holiday became a holy day.

Not necessarily holy in a religious sense, but it was set apart, unique. There is a reverence that is exclusive to those who have known and loved one another as long as we have. Faults are known, but not held against. Laughter is deeper because the jokes have a long history. Tears can be shed without shame, because they come from the same well we all have long drawn from.

Then again, maybe that is the religious sense--to know and be known, no pretense or artifice, and to be loved through and through. I'm no theologian, but I know this was a holy day, and it had nothing to do with the cultural trappings of the holiday. I am blessed.

Hug me

I have a Facebook account so I can keep in touch a little more frequently with family and friends. It's a really great resource, and I am happy to get to hear what's going on in the lives of people that matter to me. Normally, I'd have to wait till Christmas get-togethers for some of these updates.

However, there is one aspect of Facebook that I'm struggling with. That is the hug/heart issue. This is probably not as much of an issue for guys, but I'm a girl, so I guess it's assumed that I would be grateful to get a hug or a heart. Isn't that a feminine thing to do? All warm and fuzzy and showing your appreciation.

I hate it. It's just does not ring true for me. People that I don't hug in real life send me hugs. Hearts made out of flowers? Please. I guess I'm not a good representative of womankind, because it's really hard for me to tolerate.

So far I just cautiously ignore them. But I have one friend who hasn't caught on and continues to send them. I am not sure how to handle it...do I e-mail and tell her "Thanks, but no thanks"? Do I block the application? (That's what I did with Farmville requests--what a relief!) Do I continue to ignore them? I don't see her very often, maybe 2 or 3 times a year, so I don't have much of a chance to say anything to her. I've only had a profile there for a couple of months.

I'm not completely anti-social. I'm nice to people, I respond to their posts, and in person I inquire after their children and families and remember what matters to them.

But online--wow, it just doesn't feel right to pretend that those cutesy little hugs and hearts mean anything to me. My sister has a friend who was sending her a heart-a-day for a while; I teased her pretty mercilessly over it. I guess it's kind of like Christmas cards--it can become an obligation rather than a treat. "Oh, Mary sent me one so I have to send one back."

Maybe that's the root of it--I hate feeling obligated to respond to someone else's efforts to be friendly in a way that feels untrue to my personality. I don't reach out and hug my friends every time I see them, so why would I do that online? I don't send cards or flowers on a whim (my closest real-life analogy for those hearts.) Wouldn't in seem disingenuous to do that online?

On the other hand, maybe I just suck at being a friend to women. Thank God for men!

Special Delivery

I'm hanging out at my brother's house again today. Why, you ask? Let me tell you...

I was here yesterday to sign for a package. He often has to travel for work, and many times I have stayed to dog-sit for him. This time, his girlfriend was going to dog-sit, but she had to work during the day, and he has a package being delivered that required a signature. (A Christmas gift for one of his kids, but shhh! Don't tell!)

I got to his house at 8:45 a.m., just shortly after he left for the airport. No problem, just hang out with the dog, the day is mine. I've had deliveries before--they usually show up around 10 or 11 a.m., so I figure I'll get home later that afternoon.

So I wait. And I wait. I read all the graphic novels I've brought with me (which are really his, loaned to me). I play with the dog, I play on the computer. Talk to my boyfriend as he gets ready for work. And I wait.

At 4 p.m., I decide maybe I'll just kick back on the recliner and nap a bit. Dog at my feet, blanket on my cold toes, I nap off and on, waking every time I hear a car driving past, looking out the window to see if it's the delivery driver.

My brother texts--any news? Nope.

My boyfriend texts--where are you? Waiting.

My brother texts again--well? Nope. Got a tracking number? Can you verify that it went out for delivery today? Not with him, unfortunately. He lets me off the hook, but I know he won't be home for several days, and he'd feel better if he knew it was signed for. So I stay.

8 p.m., no package. My boyfriend decides to drive out and hang out with me--I'm going to spend the night and be here again for the next day, hoping to catch the delivery guy. In the meantime, I have a package back at the apartment that didn't get delivered because I wasn't home. D'oh!

Down, down, down

So after reading Good Calories, Bad Calories by Gary Taubes, I decided that I had found the answer I was looking for. It was not the amount of calories that I needed to concern myself with as much as it was the source of the calories. Knowing that I am a carbohydrate junkie, I knew that it would be difficult to apply the evidence to my own lifestyle.

The book doesn't specify a specific diet to follow, it just presents the overwhelming evidence showing that obese people can get their weight under control by severely restricting carbohydrate intake. Reading the types of diets that the various researchers had applied in their studies and found successful at weight loss for obese people, I decided that I needed to start some type of low-carbohydrate diet and see for myself.

The best known diet (at least where I'm at) is Atkins. I know a few people who have used the Atkins plan and lost weight, but none of them had as much to lose as I do. Still, it was the best known and best supported plan in my area, so that's what I started.

It has been exactly four weeks, and I have lost 14 pounds. I know that the first week was mostly water weight, which is fine--I have a tendency to bloat anyhow, so it was nice to actually see my ankles again. However, I know that I am now losing fat. I can see the results in my body, how my clothes fit, how my body feels.

I do not go hungry on this plan, and I mostly don't feel "cheated". Of course, as a life-long sugar addict, it is a challenge, especially with Halloween just behind me. But seeing the numbers on the scale consistently reducing is a strong motivator. Feeling my clothes loosen is a constant reminder of my goal. I discussed it with my sister and she started Atkins around the same time. She's down over 7 pounds, though she's not quite as strict with her regimen as I am--she still eats nuts, for example, which I am holding out on till I am nearer to my goal. (She doesn't have as much to lose as I do, so her flexibility makes sense.)

The main struggle is much more of a mental issue than any physical side effects. I do not physically crave the sweets and breads that I used to enjoy, but I emotionally miss them. That sounds pathetic when it's stated so bluntly, but it is true. I was used to eating whatever I wanted that tasted good to me. Now, I still eat things that taste good (Hello, Cream Cheese!), but I purposely avoid certain items that, while very tasty, have not been very good for my health and well-being.

It helps a little to know that every time I don't eat the sourdough bread that I love, that I'm actually choosing something better for me: normalizing my blood sugar and reducing my weight. Still, it would be easier if my boyfriend was on this journey with me. He needs to lose weight, but he has not yet decided to take the plunge, so his meals still contain foods that I am avoiding. It can be hard to be around him at meal time, so I mostly keep my eyes on my plate, or at home I'll do a puzzle or read so I'm not distracted by the roasted potatoes and sweet corn. And chocolate is banished...I don't have the willpower to not eat it when it's here.

Maybe in time, the emotional craving and dependence will lessen as I adapt to my new eating habits. That is my hope. To anyone struggling with their weight and feeling hopeless, please consider reading Good Calories, Bad Calories. I cannot encourage you strongly enough to absorb all the evidence contained therein--it is revolutionary in light of our culture's obsession with the low-fat, low-calorie, high-intensity workout "solution" to the problem. I am exercising no more than I was before, and the weight is coming off steadily, without being hungry or buying specialty foods or mixes or concoctions.

Good Calories, Bad Calories

I am overweight. I have been overweight my entire life. I was the only baby in the hospital nursery to gain weight before going home. It is so much a part of who I am that I don't really think about it all that often, until it's time to buy clothes.

But I am with a man who wants to marry me and have children with me. Knowing that made me re-evaluate my size and its potential impact on my possible future children. This fact combined with my increasing episodes of arthritic pain have made me realize I need to get my weight under control.

One of the reasons I've never lost weight is I hate dieting...I hate being hungry, I hate thinking I can never have food that I like. I know this is a big issue for most dieters. So I wasn't really sure how I was going to approach my required new weight-loss regimen.

Then I was catching up on articles from the Advice Goddess, and I found this post, mentioning the book Good Calories, Bad Calories by Gary Taubes. I bought it the next day, and spent three days reading it. Don't get me wrong...normally I could read a book that size in one day, but this book is so fact-heavy that it took me a long time to work my way through it.

It is eye-opening and provocative, and probably the most encouraging book I have ever read as a fat woman. It is SO nice to see in black-and-white that it's not just "my fault", I'm not just "lazy" and I'm not lying about how much I eat. I have many slim friends who eat significantly more than I do, and who never struggle with their weight. I know many who also are not nearly as physically active as I am, yet they never deal with the excessive weight I do.

If you are overweight, or you love someone who is, I urge you to read Good Calories, Bad Calories right away. I will post later about my new diet, but for now know that I have applied the principles in this book and for the first time in at least two decades, I have started losing weight.

Twelve Years

In the early morning hours of August 30, 1997, my world was turned upside down. I had just been married about 8 hours prior, which is enough to turn anyone's world on its head. That meant moving to a new home and becoming a step-mom. Again, plenty of upheaval. And I had just begun a new job less than 90 days prior--again, major shifts in my world.

But nothing compared to the call I received the early morning hours of August 30, 1997--the night my mother passed away. She had just been at my wedding those few short hours earlier. The last thing I had said to her was "I'll see you tomorrow, Mom. I love you." We weren't leaving for a honeymoon, since money was tight, so I would have been able to see her. In fact, I did see her, though she didn't see me.

My mom left us with one piece of advice that sets us free--she said "When I'm gone, don't feel obligated to come to my gravesite--I won't be there." So even though it's the anniversary, I feel like it's my choice whether I go to the cemetery, because I honor her memory every day. The things I say are so influenced by who she was that I lose track sometimes of what originates with me and what she instilled. Whenever I see extended family, they comment on just how much I look and sound like her.

So here's to you, Mom: You were the best, and even after 12 years I still miss you every day.

Sis Me

I was born a sister. I already had two siblings at birth, and one followed shortly behind. I had a pretty good handle on what it takes to be a sister. But as I was getting older and didn't have kids of my own, I thought it would be nice to reach out to the community and do something constructive to give back.

So two years ago, I signed up to be an official "Big Sister" through Big Brothers/Big Sisters. I was matched with a young girl, and we have been seeing each other regularly since then. Every week or two I pick her up and we do something together...summer has often had us swimming at my sister's pool, we've been to Chuck E. Cheese a couple of times, or most often we go to the movies.

There have been ups and downs. I have lost two jobs in the past two years, forcing me to limit my outings with her for budget reasons. Her mother, who had signed her and her sister up for the program moved out of state, forcing the girls to move in with their father, 20 miles away. Then I moved, so my home is actually 50 miles from hers now. The program actually limits the distance to 10 miles, to ease the burden on the "Big". However, I love my "Little", and I continue to see her even though the distance is inconvenient.

I knew that I would be making a difference in her life, and I'm glad that I have been a constant for her during phases of her life that seemed in perpetual flux. I didn't realize that she would make a difference to me. My refrigerator is covered in art that she has made for me. She freely hugs me and tells me she loves me...she introduces me to her friends and confides her secret crushes. She wants to share her snacks with me at the movies because she is a "big sister" and is used to splitting things, though I desperately try to give her things that she can claim as her own.

There are many ways to impact the world. You could say one little girl won't make all that much of a difference. But I'd say "It makes a difference to this one." And to this Big girl, too.

District 9 kicked my a$$

I just saw District 9 tonight. I knew it was getting rave reviews, and I knew to expect a bit of gore. I don't normally tolerate that too well, but the reviews (including the linked one in my title, from my friend Luke Y. Thompson) were too encouraging to ignore. Plus, I knew my boyfriend would love it...he's a fan of aliens.

What I didn't know, and couldn't have anticipated, was that it moved me to tears more than once. It's so easy to marginalize "other"-ness in people, and to treat them as less than simply because they are different than.

District 9 graphically exposed what that marginalization looks like. The example of man's inhumanity was disturbing, and made me weep for my race. I am moved beyond words, and encourage anyone who happens upon this post to go see this film.

Festering Loneliness

So there's a guy in Pennsylvania who was lonely, and after too many years of being lonely, he went on a shooting rampage. Because, somehow, that would solve his loneliness...? No, because it would vent his anger at the supposed instigators--women.

I'm not going to talk about gun control, I'm not going to talk about this particular whack job, I'm not even going to be so callous as to say that this made me glad I don't go to the gym. What I am going to say is that there's Loneliness, and then there is Festering Loneliness.

Everyone, at some point in their life, will experience Loneliness. You can be in a relationship, you could be in the middle of a huge crowd of people, or you may actually be alone, but that sense of being bereft will enter in, and physical proximity to people will not cure it. It may last, it may flit by...some personalities, I think, are more prone to loneliness, perhaps because they are deeply aware of their own individuality and the difficulty there is in truly connecting to another person.

But most people will move on, find that friend or lover, sometimes even a piece of art that lets them know they are not alone, they are not adrift, there is an anchor.

However, some people experience Festering Loneliness. They never seem to make that connection, they never grab on to the lifeline that pulls them ashore. They stay adrift, not seeing any way out. And it gnaws. It eats away at their soul, till at some point they lash out, in pain and fear and rage and desperation.

They don't all lash out with weapons, though those are the ones that make the news. I think it is like the experiments done with animals...you cannot keep them out of their natural conditions for too long without them displaying signs of mental disorders...neuroses, psychosis, rage...

And the natural conditions for humans is to be in relation to other humans. Festering Loneliness is a Catch-22...you are lonely and feel isolated, you brood on it and dwell on it, then you become a brooding person and people tend to shy away from you, which isolates you more...and so on.

I'm not sure what the answer is. We cannot force people to associate with those who are harboring a Festering Loneliness. Counseling would probably help, but to receive help you have to admit you need it, and most brooders have determined that they are not at fault for their status, it's all those people who are to blame.

And that, really, is my point. Whenever any of us starts to become aware that we are setting ourselves into a position of "me against the world", we need to pull ourselves up short and realize that we ourselves are the only common denominator in this equation. We are the only person we have control of, anyhow, so that's the best (and only) place to get to work.

Remembrance of eyes past

I spent yesterday with some extended family...aunts, uncles and cousins from my dad's side of the family. I haven't seen them in about 5 years. They live about 165 miles away...not an impossible distance, but not exactly convenient for quick visits.

My mom's side of the family mostly live within 50 miles of each other, so get togethers are more often. And most of dad's family stayed close to each other, except for my dad, who made the trip south and set up his life in OC. So our visits with them were not as frequent.

It's been over 17 years since my dad passed away, long enough for me to forget many things about him. One thing that this trip forcefully reminded me of was his eyes. As I stood talking to his next-younger brother, it was all I could do not to cry; he has exactly the same shade and shape of eyes as my dad. Different voice, different height and appearance, but the same brilliant blue eyes.

My uncle is normally a quiet man, one who sits and listens more than speaks. But yesterday we stood and chatted, and I found myself staring, like I was going back in time and looking right at Dad. Granted, all his siblings have lovely blue eyes, but my uncle had the exact same shape and skin coloring too, so it showed up the family resemblance even more.

It makes me sad to think how long it's been since I saw those bright blue eyes crinkle in merriment at his latest joke, or watching his grandkids play. So many things leave us in this life...it was nice to have the reminder, even though it hurt.

Price of Admission

(The linked video has profanity and is probably NSFW.)

I've been thinking about bitterness. I spent a lot of my early life fearing men and relationships, largely in part to the bitterness I sensed from my mom. Her marriage was not a happy one, and in the years of stewing over her feelings of resentment and hurt, she grew bitter.

That wouldn't be so bad, I suppose...she did have reason to be hurt, after all, since she did not receive the love and attention she desired or deserved. However, it didn't affect her alone...she had four children, all of whom saw and felt her anger and the blanket resentments she held toward men as a response to the unpleasantness in her marriage. So four people were then unleashed on the world to deal as best as they could with their relationships.

One sibling is in a long-term marriage, which seems successful from the outside, but underneath the facade has issues that are likely to remain unresolved, as both partners fail to deal honestly with one another (for varying reasons).

Another resolved not to stay in an unhappy relationship like our mother did, and hence is on marriage #4. This one seems likely to last, as both are older and wiser, and more willing to make allowances for each other.

The last has one past divorce, though is now in a stable relationship that has all the appearances of long-term success...honesty, compatibility, humor, kindness and companionship.

That leaves me. I was married for 6 years, though I am now divorced. I don't consider the marriage a "failure", even though it ended, because I learned how to resolve my bitterness during that time. Many of the issues that I had held against my father were present in my husband. The years that I spent reconciling those difficulties with my partner also helped me resolve the issues with my dad, who had passed away many years prior.

I am now in a stable relationship of 2+ years with a kind man who does not embody the same issues. I have also matured and learned much in the intervening years. That doesn't mean it's a perfect relationship, but it has strength that will help it to endure.

I have to agree with Dan Savage..."there is no settling down without some settling for." As I have realized that I am not an ideal mate, I have released myself from the expectation that my partner must be ideal. It has made for a much happier and more realistic relationship. There is no perfect partner, there is no "The One" out there...but we can become "The One" for someone, as he/she works to become our "The One", out of love, respect and commitment.