the elephant in the room

Ok, first this: For the love of Pete! After drinking more water, recording food intake, cutting out the processed snacks, and increasing fruit and veggie intake; not to mention swimming a mile, biking 24 miles, and running 6 miles back to back, you would think I'd drop more than ONE STINKING POUND in a week! I mean, yes, it's in the right direction, and no, I don't expect those ridiculous "Biggest Loser" losses in a week, but is TWO too much to ask?????

Just had to get that out of my system. I guess I'll take the one pound. (That plus last week is the two pounds I put on last month.) It was just so much easier to put them on than to take them off! This week, since I seem to get the night time munchies, I am instituting the "cup of herbal tea after dinner" rule. Maybe that'll get me another 2 ounces. Or something.

And now this:

Now that it's July, I'm more than half way into the "one thing a day for a year" plan for decluttering. And I found myself back in the bedroom. And while last week I successfully dodged the one area I really needed to be focusing on, this week, I took the opposite approach.

Of course, some things were easy, no-brainers. Like going through the pile of socks without matches and throwing out the socks that have been there for a long enough period (July 6). Some things took a little bit of thought and effort, like going through some binders from courses I took and weeding out papers that I don't need. (Recycling bin. July 7) Or taking some paints out of a box with craft supplies and putting them aside to give to my nieces. (July 8) Some things are part a bigger project, like finishing a book and putting it in a donation bag (July 9) or finishing the video course and putting the videos in the donation bag, as well (July 10), or putting a pair of socks in the other donation bag on laundry day (July 11).

Then there's the big elephant in the corner. Or, in my case, the wooden flute in the corner. M gave me that flute when we were still together. He was a pretty good musician. He was the reason I started playing guitar. He also had a thing for Native American music and handmade flutes. He had 3 or 4 of them; he got me one at a festival along with an instruction pamphlet. The flute was a bit harder for me to pick up than the guitar, but I still practiced it, imagining of the two of us playing together.

After we broke up, I never had the desire to play the flute again.

For a while, I agonized over what I was going to do with it. I asked every musician-type person I knew. Nobody was interested in it. My friends had other ideas: "Let's burn it!", "Let's smash it", "Let's bury it in a pile of manure!" While I could see where the emotions behind those suggestions came from, I couldn't bring myself to destroy a musical instrument, and a handmade one, at that. (I inwardly cringe when I see old footage of The Who smashing their guitars onstage) In the end, the flute became a non-object. Though it was in the bedroom, my eyes passed right over it and I ceased to see it. It simply sat in the corner and gathered dust.

That's the thing about this decluttering goal: I'm forced to look at those non-objects and see them as objects. Objects I need to make a decision about.

And last week, I decided to send the flute back to M.

Even though that decision may re-open wounds that have healed or open up a whole other can of worms that I haven't even anticipated.

The bottom line is, when I really had to decide what I wanted to do with this one object I had been avoiding, I decided I wanted to send it where it would be used and appreciated. And he is the only person I know who would use and appreciate it.

Strange...I haven't even SEEN the flute for months. But now that it's gone, I look into the corner and miss it.

summer weekends

I love looking around my apartment on Sunday night, I seeing summer strewn all about.

SIGNS OF A GOOD SUMMER WEEKEND:

1) Your shower has three bathing suits and a wetsuit hanging in it.

2) There are no clean towels in the house.

3) The front entryway has two pairs of sneakers, flip flops, tevas, and a dressy pair of shoes in a heap.

4) The car key has been pulled off the keychain for ease of carrying.

5) There is a lingering scent of sunscreen in the air.

6) There is a fine layer of beach sand on the floor.

7) There are two sweatshirts in the laundry basket: one smells like campfire smoke, the other is covered with sticky goo from the movie theater seats.

8) Your quads are on fire.

9) You have earned a new nickname over the weekend.

10) Your quads are on fire and you feel justified in eating as much ice cream as you want on Sunday night.

HAPPY SUMMER!

camping advice

Since it looks like the rain is going to take a much needed break this weekend, J and K are going to go camping with the little one. Though camping is pretty much my most favorite activity on earth, I will not be accompanying J and K. I have a wedding to go to on Saturday evening and a race to compete in bright and early Sunday morning.

Instead of participating in the camping trip, I decided I would participate in spirit by writing on this week's prompt by MamaKat about camping!

When we were in our 20's, our little circle of friends went camping almost every weekend from May to September. Sometimes they were planned trips up to New Hampshire or Maine and sometimes they were impromptu pass out sessions on the beach or in the state forest. As we have gotten older and pretty much everyone in the world except me married off and had children, the meaning of "camping" has changed dramatically. While I fully understand that toddlers need more stuff than drunk adults, I think our little circle needs to sit down and have a little pow wow about what is and is not acceptable "camping" etiquette.

For example:

5 things NEVER to bring on a camping adventure:

1) A portable DVD player: Two years ago, on our trip to the Saco River in Maine, we had a couple who stayed in the tent, watching Goodfellas instead of watching the lightening storm. That's just wrong! (and sadly, I may be the only one who didn't think bringing the DVD player was a good idea)

2) A dustbuster I understand taking shoes off before entering the tent. But a dustbuster? NO.

3) A full sized gas grill from your back deck Does anyone see a pattern developing here?

4) Four pair of Uggs They are just impractical. In any number.

5) Bean Dip. For everyone's sake

Five things ALWAYS to bring on a camping trip

1) The tent poles Though I think I deserve an honorary degree in engineering for rigging up the rope and stick contraption over a tree branch to hold the tent up. It just wasn't as rain proof as I would have hoped

2) M & M's They're the only thing anyone eats out of the trail mix anyway, so just save a few steps

3) Handi-wipes I once washed my entire body with ONE handi-wipe ripped into eight sections.

4) A sleeping Pad Especially if temperatures are supposed to dip below freezing

5) Somebody to aggravate in the middle of the night Though I have gone on (and loved) countless solo adventures, lets face it: bugging the crap out of somebody at 2:30 am in a tent is what camping is all about!

Get the heck out and do something nice this weekend, y'all!

Oh-Seven-Oh-Eight-Oh-Nine

Today's date got me thinking of one of the few clean, kid friendly jokes I know:

"Why is six afraid of seven? Because seven-ate-nine."

It's funny: I have no shortage of dirty, inappropriate for kiddies jokes. They are HILARIOUS! But take out the swears, the double entendres, the all out smut, and jokes seem to fall flat. Jokes that I can tell children or more conservative adult friends, I can count on one hand.

Case in point:

1) "If Mississippi wore Missouri's New Jersey, what would Delaware? Idaho, Alaska!"

2) "Where do hotdogs and hamburgers go when they want to dance? To the meatball"

3) "What did the zero say to the eight? Nice belt."

And I'm drawing a blank right now for more adult jokes that aren't about the Pythagorean theory, the theory of relativity, chemistry, or anatomy. I'd share those with y'all, because --hello, bloggie land --- you guys are probably bigger nerd than I am. But they tend to be long and rambling.

Why is it that the "Wedding Crasher", "Knocked Up", "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" style jokes are so abundant, but the "Grumpy Old Men", "Uncle Buck" kind of jokes are so rare?

Anybody know any good, clean jokes? Share em with me!

Losing It

Last week found me back in the kitchen, starting all over from the beginning with the decluttering routine. Last week also found me trying to lose extra "clutter" of a different sort: the four pounds I put on over the last 2 months. Since the slow and steady approach seems to be working just swimmingly for the decluttering process, I figured the same approach may work for weight loss. So last week, I set out to: 1) drink more water 2) record my food intake and 3) cut out the processed snacks at work (like the snackwells and frozen yogurt in the afternoon).

I am happy to report that even after the July 4th weekend debauchery (6 beers this weekend, anyone?) I still managed to lose 1#. Not great. But in light of the festivities, not bad, either. (at least I'm going in the right direction)

In the kitchen, I noticed as the week ended, that there's one place I'm avoiding (much like the dreaded storage closet). Under the sink! Next time around, I'll definitely have to devote the entire kitchen week to UNDER THE SINK. But this post isn't about next time. It's about this time. ANd this time around, I got rid of:

June 29: Went through all the papers posted on the fridge and weeded out the outdated notices. Put all that in the recycling bin.

June 30: Gathered all the plastic spoons, forks, and knives in the utensel drawer for recycling.

July 1: Today I finished a book and put it in the book donation bag.

July 2: I had been using a plastic container that had once contained cottage cheese for a storage container. This is not the smartest thing I've ever done. They are not microwave safe and apparently they leach toxins or something. So rather than giving myself a nice, slow cancerous tumor, I put the container in the recycling bin.

July 3: Threw away an old, disgusting cleaning rag that really has served its purpose well.

July 4: Took the top off the Jeep! And remembered that my toolbox had cracked and fallen to pieces when I put the hard top on last fall. I made a mental note to get a new toolbox and forgot. But, in the kitchen I had a nifty little square container with lots of compartments. Perfect for repurposing!

July 5: Laundry day! Got rid of a T-shirt.

Next week, onto the bedroom. And...eating at least 5 fruits and veggies per day, rather than the convenient "fake nutrition" food I've come to rely on (like protein shakes and power bars).

Wish me luck!

July 4th Weekend

Memorial Day is the traditional "start of summer" holiday, but around here, this past holiday weekend always seems more like summer's beginning. July 4th weekend is the big holiday that all the summer people come back. Even if they no longer spend the summer in their cottages, or even get down for weekends, everyone always manages to be here for July 4th weekend.

Even more important than July 4th is July 3rd. July 3rd is the night for bonfires on the beach, illegal fireworks that somebody brought back from a trip to South Carolina, and reconnecting with people you haven't seen in a year (and won't see again for another year). July 3rd is the day for getting rid of all the dead tree limbs littering up the yard, or possibly all the scrap lumber for those who built a new deck. In our younger days, July 3rd was one long epic adventure, hauling loads of wood to the beach, finding a center pole, grabbing sub sandwiches for lunch, and sneaking two liter bottles of wine cooler down to the sand via elaborate paths through the overgrown bluffs. As we got older, we relinquished the fire building duties to the teenage crowd and showed up for the pyrotechnics at dusk.

This year, the sheer number of June storms had wreaked havoc on the beach. So much sand has been washed away that at high tide, the water comes right up to the retaining wall. Hence, very little room for bonfires this year. On top of that, darkness falls around 9:00 pm, and high tide comes at 9:30. Very little time for pyrotechnics this year. As we walked along the narrow strip of sand, looking at the tiny pyres going out from the incoming waves, it felt different. Like a grand tradition had changed irrevocably.

The teenagers no longer seemed so earnest in their efforts to make July 3rd unforgettable. They sat on the jetty, texting their friends and ignoring the chaos around them. Old friends sat on porches, rather than the beach. People checked their watches and started for home before it was even dark.

I wondered if the teenagers would have such fond memories of July 3rd as I do. Where was the epic adventure? Where were the truckloads of wood, the solemn goodbyes to the porches and picket fences we had grown up with? Where were the endless treks up and down the beach, looking for the couple of friends that had somehow gotten separated from the group?

And just as I was thinking that everything had changed, Jay F showed up and started yelling at all the kids before getting into an argument with the cops. Oh, I had forgotten about Jay F! Jay F was always yelling at us when we were 17, chasing us through the trees on the curving paths to the sand. Jay F was always trying to take control of the bonfire and insisting he was the only person who knew how to light a fire. And every year, Jay F would get into a huge argument with the police before storming home, grumbling and swearing the whole way. This year was no different.

As I watched Jay F stomp off toward home, I realized that everything about July 3rd hadn't changed. Some years there's more sand, some years there's less. Some years the fires are roaring and some years they are small. All we can do is ride out the waves and search our own small stretch of sand in for any treasures the tides have left us.

Top Dog

IN LIFE, SOMETIMES YOU'RE TOP DOG AND SOMETIMES YOU'RE THE HYDRANT
--Unknown

Last week, I had the privilege of meeting a really great guy. He was a patient who I thought was going to be a very easy, straightforward evaluation -- rotator cuff repair.

When he came in, though, I noticed that though his "past medical history" form was essentially blank, he was wearing an eye patch. (the glasses with a dark lens kind, not the Captain Jack Sparrow kind) When I inquired about this, he visibly tensed, took a careful breath and spoke.

"Eight years ago, my wife and I were both diagnosed with cancer on the same day." It seems he had a very rare type of cancer; a tumor in the tear duct of his right eye. They were able to eradicate the cancer, but to do so, they had to take his eye, tear ducts, optic nerve, and part of his skull. (Hence the eye patch) His wife was not so fortunate. "Two years ago, she died of liver cancer. They just weren't able to save her."

"I'm so sorry" I said to him.

"It's OK" he said. "I'm doing better and I'm healing. But now, I need to focus on healing my shoulder."

We went on to do the rest of the eval and then we got to my favorite part of any evaluation: "What do you love to do that you're unable to do right now? What do we need to get you back doing?" I asked.

"I'm not sure what you're asking" he said.

"Well, do you like to work in the garden or golf? Do you like to paint? Do you need a strong shoulder to hold the leash while you walk your dog on the beach?"

He started crying then. "I'm sorry," he said. "My dog died 6 weeks ago. She was all I had left after my wife died and now she's gone. I feel like I have nothing. Body was my best friend. Losing her was almost worse than losing my wife. Please...don't think I'm a terrible person for saying that."

By now, I was almost crying myself. "I don't think you're a terrible person. I know what you're trying to say. It must have been so very hard to lose your wife. But you got through it because you had your dog to get up and walk and feed every day. And now, it must feel like you're losing your dog and your wife all over again at the same time."

"Yes!" he said. "That's exactly what it feels like. You hit the nail right on the head. But I shouldn't be getting all emotional when we're supposed to be concentrating on my shoulder."

"You have the right to get emotional any time" I said. Then I told him how 3 months after my dad's dog died, I saw a man walking a yellow lab in the snow and I cried in my car all the way from Massachusetts to New Jersey. "It's OK to let it out if you need to" I said.

We pulled ourselves together and finished the eval. I sent him on his way. Then I ran and got my secret weapon: the hospital social worker. I told her about this guy and she was able to magically conjure up something just perfect for him.

Later that day, I called and left a message on his machine about a men's bereavement group on Cape Cod. It's a group of men who have all lost their wives and meet weekly. But instead of sitting around talking about their feelings, they go fishing. Or bowling. Or eat vast quantities of MEAT. You know, MANLY things.

I wasn't sure if he would even be interested, but I needed to do something for this guy. You know, so that I could feel free to enjoy the exactly 2.3 hours of beach weather we had over the weekend.

This week, when he came in for therapy, he looked...different. To say he had a spring in his step would be overstating things. But when he walked in, he didn't look like he had a black cloud over his head and a 200 pound weight on his shoulders. He almost looked content.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I am feeling better than I have in months!" he said. "My shoulder doesn't hurt nearly as much as before. You are the best physical therapist I've ever had!"

"But," I stammered, "I haven't done anything yet!"

"Yes, you did" he said. "You listened to me last week. You let me say what I needed to say and didn't tell me how I should be feeling. Then, you let me know that you cared when you called me later on that day."

"Oh, that's OK" I said. "It's really the social worker we should be thanking."

"No, " he said. "I knew about that group, but I never wanted to go. But since you cared enough to call, I contacted them and went out this weekend with the guys."

"Oh, that's great," I said.

"You know, I don't feel so alone anymore" he said. "I even got to meet our group's mascot, Buddy the labradoodle."

If I had a tail, I'd be wagging it right now.