Love Me Back

I played in a pickle ball tournament this weekend and I "got my ass handed to me," which is pickle ball parlance for I lost. 

Badly.

In five games, my randomly assigned partner and I scored maybe seven points out of a possible total of 55. We lost two of the five games 0 to 11. It was painful. When we lost, I didn't come of out thinking, "I held my own." Instead, it was like "That was a fresh slice of hell."

As I've mentioned 435 times before, I didn't play competitive team sports as a kid. I danced and danced and danced. I played one season of Cardinal Boosters soccer in 8th grade because I thought it would be fun. Nope. It was horrific. I was playing with girls who played since they were tots. 

This was supposed to be an advanced beginner pickle ball tournament, but people in Seattle do not get the idea of what a beginner is. 

This loss stuck with me longer than it should have. Sunday when I had my regular pickle ball league, I had the shakes. I was freaking out, terrified. Maybe I should quit if it is making me feel like such shit. I talked to another friend at the tournament, whose team was in second to last place. She was an artsy kid, and like me, new to competitive sport as an adult. My god, we should form a pickle ball support group. "I love pickle ball, but it doesn't love me back" could be the theme.

That was how I felt: pickle ball doesn't love me as much as I love it. I am still a beginner and feel left behind. Why do I want something like this to love me back? It is ridiculous. My ex would say he'd wake up and realize his job wouldn't love him back. He sounded like he wanted the job to love him back, but it didn't. It couldn't. I never understood what he meant until now, and the crazy disappointment that rides along with that.

The funny thing is I have a hundred things I'd tell my friends or my kids if they came to me with this problem, starting with "You win some, you lose some." I can't believe I never had to put this into practice until middle-age. I've learned thousands of things in my life except how not to be butt-hurt when I get shellacked. Damn, it is humbling. 

I practice, but I have other stuff in my life, like a new job and my improv class. But the other things in my life are independent of my relationship with pickle ball. Why can't I be competent at more than one thing? Why is losing so fucking hard? My friend Katie says playing pickle ball is a Buddhist exercise in acceptance every time she plays. That is so true.

Then I see the other people playing. I don't know their stories. Maybe pickle ball is all they have. Maybe they lost their job or don't have one or have other stuff going on in their lives that are causing them heart ache and strain. Maybe playing pickle ball is helping them survive.

Maybe pickle ball is helping me to survive: survive my post-divorce rebirth, survive my career new job. Maybe pickle ball is my life raft, and when it sprung a big leak, I freaked out.

Breathing & Partners & Haystacks

I recently improved my improv game by a factor of ten by using a breathing exercise from improv teacher. I told Charles I wanted to work on discovering a scene, not inventing one, as the father of modern improv Keith Johnstone writes. In an improv scene, we are supposed to listen and respond to what the other person is saying and doing instead of making up random shit. If you are in a scene in a grocery store looking at eggplants and a dinosaur walks down the aisle without prompting, someone is making shit up.

This breathing exercise is a game changer in discovering a scene:

1. Breathe in what your scene partner says
2. Breathe out your interpretation
3. Breathe in your feelings
4. Breathe out as you engage

This slows a scene down to a screeching halt--in a good way. I am forced to listen, absorb and respond.

The scene started where I was a Hollywood prima donna on set with a famous director. As I was preening, he was wasn't happy with where things were heading. I interpreted that he was calling me a bitch. My feeling was anger. I was pissed off, but I responded politely through gritted teeth. It was a battle of status, and the prima donna lost. In the end, she ended up wearing a gorilla suit at the director's request.

She was a damn good gorilla, dammit.

This breathing method allows us to move in tandem with our scene partner. 

At pickle ball last weekend, one of guys I played against repeatedly poached the ball from his partner. I hit the ball across court to the woman, and the dude ran across the court, jumped in front of her, and slammed the ball back. This annoyed me, and probably also his partner.

"The goal is to make your partner look good," Ace said.

"Isn't that true in all of life?" I replied. "When is it not true?"

Partnerships are hard, especially for me coming off a divorce. I had thought I was good a partnerships for basically my entire adult life, to now realize I might not be as great I thought I was. Now that I am divorced, I am learning about partnerships through improv and pickle ball.

In pickle ball, I don't want to let my partner down. Most games are mixed doubles, and I don't want to be the weak link, the reason my otherwise good partner lost. The funny thing is that I beat myself up when I lose a point, but I don't pick on my partner for missing one.

Improv is collaborative, not competitive like pickle ball. I still struggle with winning and losing. I feel bad when I get crushed, but at the same time I don't feel amazing when I win. I don't know why. 

This concept of winning and losing is becoming my haystacks. I feel about winning and losing the way Monet looked at haystacks. He painted a series of them in different light and from different angles. There will never be the perfect, definitive haystack. There are a thousand ways to look at a haystack, and each of them gives us an idea of possibilities. Half of my hangup about pickle ball winning and losing isn't as much about me as it is about my views of partnership. Why do I internally carry the blame for a loss?

Maybe I just want someone to want to play with me again.

Today

I wish 

I was 

my dog

so I could 

eat my breakfast

and then

go back

to bed.

Overlook Walk and the Full Glass

Finally!

The new park at the Market is complete! After a decade or so of planning, downtown is done.

First, Seattle built a tunnel for traffic to flow under the city. 

Next, they tore down the Viaduct, an elevated highway with spectacular views of Elliot Bay and downtown.

Once the Viaduct was down, they build a park where the highway used to be, so people could walk around and enjoy the views instead of seeing the view from driving in their cars at 50 miles per hour and trying not to crash.

Sunday morning, I was walking Fox by the new park, and I met a couple from London. They were blown away: "This is incredible, so beautiful!" They were glowing. I have walked my dog through that area many times before, and I never got such a reaction. 

(They were also enamored with Fox. "That is a fine hound you have there," the gentleman said of my lapdog.)

I am hoping Seattleites will be more excited about visiting the Market and downtown. Traffic will be a mess, but now there is a train that can bring people within blocks of the park. Seattleites and members of the PNW are an outdoorsy group, and many don't appreciate a solid urban core. To be fair, the urban core in Seattle could use a little TLC, just like many cities around the U.S.. But this park is more than lipstick on a pig. This is an urban hike for those who want a dose of the mountains and water without leaving town.

Seattleites can also be a grumpy bunch, finding fault instead of looking at what is good. This town--in spite of its beauty and wealth--tends to be a "glass is half empty" kind of place. This new park is a full glass, but I am sure people will find room to complain.

The wonderful thing about cities is they are what we make them. We can make the places we live and love beautiful and magnificent.

Ladder

In order

to climb

a ladder

you must 

first 

let go

of the 

lowest

rung.

I started a new job and I've been thinking about growth. Part of growing is letting go of the old, the safe, the familiar, so we can climb to the next level. We can't do both--climb while staying in place. Think of kids in school. Every year, they change rooms and teachers, sometimes even schools. They can't go to first grade if they stay in kindergarten.

Letting go of the old can be scary, especially if we can't see the rung above, or where it will lead. Are we strong enough to pull ourselves up? We hope we are, and we try.

Some people are happy and content where they are, and this is fine. Other times, we don't have a choice but to move. Maybe the rungs below can no longer hold our weight, or they disappear. We can free fall, or we can reach and hold on.

Vitamin D & the Sunbath

I felt a cold coming on Thursday night. It started with my skin looking pale. I looked bad before I felt bad. Then the throat tickle and the nose tickle and the omg I am so tired and I want to go to bed at 8:00 p.m.

I've felt shitty all weekend, until this afternoon.

I went on my balcony/deck/terrace (depending where you are from, call it what you will) and I sunbathed. I can sit outside in my bathing suit without feeling watched.* I took a bath in Vitamin D, and man did I feel better. It was almost like a miracle cure. 

I thought about how when I was a kid my family would go to Florida for Spring Break. We would come back toasted with a golden glow. Did it fight off bugs and viruses we didn't know about? Remember all of those Victorian novels where people would go to Italy for their health, like "A Room with a View?**"  Did doctor's more than a century ago prescribe a sunshine cure? Did they know something that has been lost in time via modern medicine? What kind of modern doc tells you to head for warmer climates to feel better? They would be considered a kook or a quack.

I was reading an article in The Atlantic about the health benefits of sunshine.

It’s long been known that sun exposure triggers vitamin D production in the skin, and that low levels of vitamin D are associated with increased rates of stroke, heart attack, diabetes, cancer, Alzheimer’s, depression, osteoporosis, and many other diseases. It was natural to assume that vitamin D was responsible for these outcomes. “Imagine a treatment that could build bones, strengthen the immune system and lower the risks of illnesses like diabetes, heart and kidney disease, high blood pressure and cancer,” The New York Times wrote in 2010. “Some research suggests that such a wonder treatment already exists. It’s vitamin D.” 

The article goes on to discuss why manufactured vitamin D isn't as effective, but what about the original source of vitamin D: sunshine?

I remembered this article this afternoon when I was feeling crappy. I laid my beach towel on my couch on my balcony/deck/terrace, and read a book outside for a few hours, no sunscreen. Even if sunshine isn't a miracle cure, there isn't anything better than feeling the sun on my back. I remember going to the beach as a kid, lying there for hours, never bored, just soaking it all in. "A day at the beach" is an expression for something extremely pleasant and relaxing, but isn't it?  What if a lazy day at the beach isn't just fun and chill, but could cure--or at least mitigate--our common ailments? 

I'm in!

* Maybe I am a little afraid of Google earth satellites getting a snapshot of me sunbathing, but I'll take my chances.

** Technically, not a Victorian novel, but close enough.

ZooTunes

My friend K invited me to use her extra ZooTunes ticket this week to see Built to Spill and Yo La Tengo at the Woodland Park Zoo this week. This falls into the MadLibs category of "I can't believe I've lived in Seattle for twenty years and have never _________."

This week's response: Been to ZooTunes at the Woodland Park Zoo.

TBH, that is one of the wonderful things about Seattle. I have lived here for so long and have done so many things and still there are new things to find.

I had never heard of either band, but it was fun. The music was cool but my favorite part of people watching. Now that I live downtown, I see many tourists and I don't see as many Seattleites in the wild as I did when I lived in Northeast Seattle. I was teasing K that we should hand out awards to people. Here are the categories:

• Coolest t-shirt
• Funniest t-shirt
• Best dancing
• Best baseball hat
• Nicest picnic blanket
• Best food spread
• Cutest water bottle
• Most adorable family
• Most interesting/creative visible tattoo

"But then we'd have to bring prizes," said K. I was initially thinking we could give away stickers, but maybe we could bring a bouquet of flowers from the market and let people pick one.

The Moth (again)

Last night, I vacuumed up a giant moth that was hanging out on my wall. The moth was two inches tall--I have no idea its wingspan. The poor creature was sucked up before it had a chance to fly away.

Last September, I wrote about another giant moth in my downstairs bathroom that freaked me out so much that I refused to open the bathroom door for a week, fearing the giant moth would attack me. (Thankfully, my condo has two bathrooms.) 

After a week, I opened the bathroom and it was fine. I never did find the moth or its carcass, which got me thinking: Maybe the moth I saw last night was the same moth from last fall... Maybe it finally ventured out of its hiding spot for the past eleven months.

I felt mildly guilty about killing the moth, being a living thing and all, but mostly I was worried that I would fail to kill it, and the moth would hide, waiting to spring out and terrorize me. I did not want to repeat what happened last year, fearing small spaces my own home because of a large flying insect.

Turning the Page

I started my new job Monday! Woohoo! 

I am exhausted--totally wiped out--and it's only Tuesday.

I dragged myself to Damn the Weather for lunch, my usual Tuesday lunch spot, where the owner asked me how I was doing, and I told him.

"It takes a lot of energy to turn the page," he said.

How true.

I am taking a job in other department in the same company, so the page turned very slowly. I didn't have the usual job change ritual of turning in my old badge and laptop, and then a few days later getting a new ones, like getting a new backpack and notebooks for the first day of school. Due to a massive enterprise-wide project, everyone on my team was booked before I left, so no good-bye lunch or happy hour. I am still in the same cubicle for two more weeks. It is like, "Have fun in 4th grade, but you are going to sit in the 3rd grade until October. The teacher will swing by and give you the lessons. Please ignore everything else." 

WTF?

I am sure I'll feel less tired soon enough.

History

When I was in college, I said one of the funniest things I've ever said. I was talking to a group of women in my sorority, and I was describing where someone was, and ad libbed: "Chrissy in the living room with the lead pipe." Result: uproarious laughter. 

Afterwards, Karen came up to me and said, "You are so funny. You should try out for the Mee-Ow Show."

The Mee-Ow Show was a hilarious and brilliant improv and sketch comedy show. Karen's comment was a major compliment, but I had wildly conflicting thoughts. 

My first thought was "Yes, that would be totally awesome."

My second thought was "Hell no."

I bounced back-and-forth between those two thoughts. I am still bouncing back-and-forth between those two thoughts

Northwestern has one of the most famous drama programs in the country, along with Yale, USC and NYU. There were lots of past, present and future famous alums. Drama students very often filled those roles.

I was not a drama or theatre or radio/television/film major. 

I was a math and history major, which is approximately 36,000 miles from studying acting. I was freakishly intimidated to attempt to try out. In high school, I tried out for the Children's Play, the one that they trouped around to all of the elementary schools. I didn't get a part in that; how on earth would I have gotten cast in anything at NU?

Do I regret not trying out, giving it at least a failed shot? Maybe taking an improv class or two back then? 

Yes.

And then last week at my improv class, the teacher mentioned that the most common college major for improvisors in the past thirty years...

History.

WTF?

Seriously? 

Now I am told this, not when I was twenty?

I fact checked this with one improvisor who I saw at Second City in the 1990's: Steve Carell.

He was a history major at Denison, a small liberal arts college in Ohio.

It is like the time I was at a high school reunion and saw that the cutest guy in the school married a chick who looked just like me. Like a carbon copy. And he came up to me and said hi like we were friends after not like really talking to me much in high school.

Winning versus Getting Better, and the GOAT

I am playing on my summer pickle ball League. I am still a beginner, and, as many of you know, this is the first time I've ever played a competitive sport. I'm still wrapping my head around winning and losing. I get a decent amount of exercise, but I'm not racing my paddle board or bike. Maybe somewhere in the world there is competitive yoga, but I haven't seen it yet.

The pickle ball team I am on has two types of people: people who want to win, and people who want to have fun and socialize. 

At yesterday's game, the competitive people were there. Brian and I were the two chill people out of six.

I struggled.

I felt a silent pressure to win. No one said anything, but the vibe was there. 

I realized yesterday that when I play to win, I play worse, which in some ways is obvious. If I feel pressure to win, I might choke and not play as well. Some people thrive on that competitiveness, and it makes them sharper. I can see that.

This is different. When I play to win, I play it safe. I try to avoid making errors instead of taking risks to try new things. I stick with old skills. I play a safe game. For example: In pickle ball, the idea is to play close to the net and slap the ball so your opponent can't return it. I don't have a lot of confidence (yet) playing at the net. I kind of suck at playing at the net, but if I never play at the net, how will I get better? How will I gain confidence? I won't. Likewise, if I play at the net, I know there is a far greater chance that I will miss more shots and lose. I can practice outside of games to build my confidence--and I do--but using those skills in a game is different. 

With the Olympics on, I think of Simone Biles, the gymnastics GOAT. Is her focus or purpose to win, or is it to get better, to test her own limits? (Full disclosure: I know nothing about gymnastics. I am speculating.)

My guess is her focus is more on improving versus winning. Why do I think this? Because she is the GOAT: her main competitor is herself. It looks like she strives to be better than she was before. 

I suppose something similar could be said for Taylor Swift. Was her goal to have the biggest concert tour ever, or was it to push herself to do something she had never done before in scope and scale? When she has talked about how she came up with the idea for the Eras Tour, her goal was push the limits.

I find this fascinating, the whole idea of better versus winning. I'd rather try to play a whole game at the net and push myself to learn something new and get my clock cleaned than play it safe and come home with a trophy at the end of the season and still play as shitty as I did to start.

Which brings me to another point: I start a new job next week. Same company, lateral move, totally different skill set required. I could coast in my current role, stay there for ages and stagnate. My old job is safe and easy. The person who recommended me for the job was a friend who held the role for four months. 

His assessment: "It was like drinking from a firehose." 

I've drank from the firehose before. I ran for office. That was the steepest learning curve I've ever had. I lost the race but learned so much about myself. I also didn't sell my soul in the process.

I know there are times where we need to focus on winning, to play a strategy, to assess the competition. I am not saying never win. Winning is fun. Winning is cool.

And yet.

Next week, I embark on better.

J'arrive

I was driving past the University of Washington the other day coming back from my haircut and I saw a fraternity party picnic. Coming back from haircut is always a good thing -- I love my hairdresser and I look and feel fabulous. It was early evening, and the fraternity party seemed reasonably civilized. It wasn't a drunken melee (yet.) A woman at the party wearing a sundress with long straight hair was holding a red solo cup.

This young woman stuck in my mind. Would I want to be her? Would I want to go back to college and start over, clean slate and all? 

No. 

When I was in college, I imagined my future life: beautiful, sweet and settled. I'd meet other graduates  from my school, a few years out, and see their steady and stable lives. I looked forward to that day. My roommate Maggie had really cool parents who had met at NU. I admired them and I imagined my life would be like theirs. While I didn't want to fast-forward to being fifty, I imagined that my future would be content and easy and comfortable. I imagined having children who were kind and smart and loved their lives. I imagined that I'd have a caring and attentive husband. I looked forward to my future, and not look back at my past with regret, but with fondness, with kindness and admiration towards my younger self.

Even with the divorce, I am glad I am where I am. I don't want to be the beautiful young student with her life ahead of her. Most of the uncertainty about my life is gone, and that is brings me peace. I have those beautiful, intelligent, curious and kind children, except they are cooler and more fun and thoughtful than I had imagined. I am so grateful to have them in my life. When they were little, I wondered what they would be like, and now I know. There is more to unfold, but I am glad the mystery is mostly revealed. I know the plot and I know the characters. I am ready for the next installment.

Driving past the party, I wondered if that girl wanted to be me, sitting in my car, returning from the hairdresser. Does she want to know her future, to see how it all turns out? Does she know she will be stronger and more curious and more resilient than she could ever imagine? That life will throw her awful and unexpected curveballs, but she will carry those challenges with grace?

The interesting thing about Maggie's parents one of their children died, yet they showed up in full force for Maggie. They were happy, generous, and lived in the present. 

I am like Maggie's mom, more than I imagined. Maybe that is why I liked her, unknowingly. She was a role model for me, that life and love go on, even when life starts out with great promise and then has heart-breaking and tragic parts.

Da Bear

I can't watch it. 

I want to watch it, but I can't.

I was going to sit down tonight and watch it, but instead I took out the compost and recycling, and then I saw some weeds in the courtyard that needed to be yanked...

In other words, I am doing chores to avoid watching television. 

What will I do next, read book? Walk the dog?

I saw the star of the show, Jeremy Allen White, interviewed on Colbert, and I thought I need to check this show out. I got my Disney+/Hulu/ESPN subscription and started watching The Bear.

The show is too intense, but maybe it would be less intense if it wasn't that I could be related to these people. These characters could be in my family. I could be related to Carmen and Sugar Berzatto. They could be my cousins.

But the show is intense. It is rated MA for language and graphic violence. Fuck. I don't want to watch people getting stabbed or beat up! These people are working in a kitchen, which is like the most dangerous place in a home. I mean there is fire and sharp things. They say a woman's place is in the kitchen, but good god why? Is is because women are less likely to kill or main people with a pot of boiling water? Look at Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. The most horrifying scene in that movie was in the kitchen. (The second was in the bathroom.) "Look at mommy in the kitchen. Look at the big knife she has!" If people walked around outside of a kitchen with knives and fire, they'd be arrested. 

To summarize: Kitchens are dangerous and scary places. As such, this show is scary.

I have no idea how it got nominated as a comedy in the Emmy's unless someone really fucked up and checked the wrong box somewhere along the lines and everyone then was like "Yeah, we got roll with this comedy thing. Can't go back and admit somebody made a mistake."

So I spent the last half hour of my life googling the cast and watching them interviewed on late night television.

What else can I do so I don't watch this show I really want to watch?

Clutter

As I am divorced, I have a different financial situation and I need to recreate my relationship to money. One of my divorced friends recommended two books: You Need a Budget by Jesse Mecham, and Your Money or Your Life: Nine Steps to Transforming Your Relationship with Money and Achieving Financial Freedom by Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez

I haven't finished the second book yet, but I want to. It is a lot to comprehend, but what I have read so far is powerful.

Both books have a very simple premise: Spend less than you earn, and when you do spend, make sure it aligns with your values and not simply your impulses.

Back when I was married, Jack and I lived well within our means and still had a comfortable lifestyle. We had enough cashflow that we could absorb a lot of big expenses within a month. We saved and invested his bonuses, and we had enough cash on hand to buy a new car or roof if needed.

Now, my life is different. I don't get large bonuses twice a year that I can use to stockpile savings. I get a modest bonus once a year. I still have savings, but I need to plan ahead for larger annual expenses, like property taxes, insurance premiums or college tuition. Per You Need a Budget, I have adjusted my monthly budget to set aside my larger expected annual expenses, so I am not surprised in April and October when I need to pay my property taxes. The money can be sitting there gathering interest until the due dates.

Your Money or Your Life talks more about how you spend your time and energy as much as how you spend money. Vicki still digs pretty deep into how money is spent. One of her topics is clutter: how much money do you spend buying more of the same?

When I heard this, I was like "I don't buy a lot of useless crap like some people. All of my stuff is perfectly curated and needed." I was listening to this book in my car as I was driving. Vicki kept talking and talking, reading from her book, and I was like "Not me."

Then it hit me: I do have clutter!

• Shoes: How many shoes do I own versus how many shoes do I wear? I have more shoes than I can count, but on a typical day, I wear an old school pair of white K-Swiss shoes that I bought at Big 5 for $40.
• Books: Fuuuuuck. Yeah. I have a lot of books. That I haven't read. Yet. I do read a lot, but my reading time has slowed down in the modern world with the internet and streaming television.
• Mugs: I started collecting mugs when I was in seventh grade when I went to Kings Island, a giant amusement park outside of Cincinnati. I think my dad still has that mug in his house. When I was in Idaho with Pedro, I bought a really cool my in Bonners Ferry that I like but probably don't need.
• Craft Crap: "They" say you need a stash of craft supplies (fabric, thread, project kits, etc) so when the mood hits, you can create. I have a lot of supplies for my quilting and embroidery projects. I almost like shopping for projects more than I like making them. Kind of.
• My jigsaw puzzle collection does not count. That is entertainment.

I am not sure what the plan is to do with my clutter. I think the goal for me isn't necessarily to get rid of it, but to either use it (like read the books I own before I buy more) and to stop buying additional clutter.  My mugs are in good condition. I don't need any more new ones for a while. 

Perhaps the goal is simply awareness of my habits, to make me conscious of them instead of mindlessly buying things I don't need or won't use.

Travel Light?

Travel light?

Fuck that.

I want all of my shit

With me 

All the time.

I need 

Four books

Six pairs of shoes

Clothes for any occasion 

A crossword puzzle (or two)

Two computers - work and home

And

Craft projects that fit in my carry-on.

God forbid

I ever get

Bored. 

Fun with a Capital F

James Moore retired today from the Pacific Northwest Ballet, and I saw his last performance. I read that he was suffering from pain in his ankle and back, and decided to call it. 

James was is by far my favorite dancer, and we were lucky to have him in Seattle. He brought joie de vivre to his work, and he always looked like he was having the best time on the stage. He was exciting to watch, like Noelani Pantastico, Lucien Postlewaite, Carla Korbes, and Dylan Wald. (Update: I can't believe I forgot Batkhurel Bold!)

There are plenty of dancers who are technically good. Lots. They don't get on the stage if they can't do the steps.

What separates the good from the great? 

I suppose that is a question of the ages, and in this case I am only an audience member. Nevertheless, I have an unqualified and inexpert opinion.

Fun. Do they love what they are doing and have fun doing it? No doubt it is hard work, but the drive to do the hard work comes from someplace. I am sure some people toil away and are technically good dancers. Maybe they worry and fret and are perfectionists. Perfection is not fun. Fun is fun. Fun is love. Love is fun.

In his next step, James and his wife are opening ballet studios for young children in Tacoma and Renton. He said he loved the fun the kids were having as they learned to dance. 

I think I might need to borrow someone's five year old kid and check it out. 

Red Wine

They say 

red wine 

is good for you

that people who 

drink red wine

live longer and healthier lives

than those who don't.

Why?

My thoughts: 

Perhaps it isn't 

the wine

that helps people live longer.

Maybe red wine drinkers

have more friends

more family

with whom they break bread

enjoy meals.

Maybe 

it isn't 

the wine

but companionship.

Middle Age Thrills

I've recently done some retail therapy. I have been feeling blue, and I needed a pick-me-up, as my father would say. Since I am now an empty-nester and divorced, I have all of my time and money to myself. I don't need to share. When I had kids, I have no problem spending money on them, but I felt guilt when I spent money on myself. I still do, but I am slowly getting over it. (I won't tell you how much money I have spent on art in the past year. Egads. Art dealers in Seattle know me by name.)

Aside from my crazy art buying binge (which really needs to stop one...of these days), I am happy with little luxuries, too. I recently bought pajamas with honey combs and bees and crowns. I love them and they bring me an unreasonable amount of joy. My second crazy and exciting purchase was a cordless vacuum cleaner. The cord on my current vacuum cleaner has a gap in the cord covering, and I don't want to electrocute myself or my dog, nor do I want to burn down the condo building, especially now that I am on the HOA board. That would be a bad look.

Pajamas and a new vacuum. That's my jam.

Purple Socks

Purple socks purple socks

Hademade hand knit purple socks

I bought them at the Market

Wool and silk

Keep my feet soft and warm

and

soothe my soul

as I think of the person

who sat

and sat

and sat

patiently quietly

to make them

perhaps

in a meditative state.

The peace and calm 

that comes with each stitch

is transferred

to me

as I wear them.

Purple socks purple socks

Purple socks

Back in the day

My phone shows me photographs I took from years ago. I was the family photographer, so pictures show up on my phone of my kids and ex all the time. I haven't bothered to delete the pictures of my ex yet, I don't have the energy to do that. He, on the other hand, only has a handful of pictures of me on his phone to delete. I bet he has move pictures of his new girlfriend on his phone than he has of me and the kids put together. And I am not kidding. I never saw his phone roll, but I rarely saw him take pictures of his former family. I, on the other hand, have thousands of photos.

When I look at the pictures from years ago, I see a woman who never thought her marriage would end, who didn't see what was coming. I look at my innocent self, not knowing the future, or what it would hold. Not that I wished that I could see my future, now or then. Back then, I was waiting for things to get better, to resolve, but they never did.

I look back at those pictures, and I see a woman who had no idea what she was doing, but she was doing the best she could at the time, even though her best wasn't that great. I wish that at the time I could have let go and enjoyed what I had instead of making everything a struggle. I wished that I believed everything was okay as it was. I wish I had enjoyed what I had. I wish I had better acceptance. I wish I would have acted with less reactivity and more kindness. I wish I would have listened more.

Would any of that have saved my marriage? I don't know, but I'd certainly feel better about myself and the way I acted.

As you all know, my ex very rapidly moved on, and within a few months after I asked for a divorce he found a girlfriend and has been in a relationship with her for more than two years. They both are successful professionals, run marathons and travel the world together. Many therapists have told me not to compare someone's outsides to my insides. Nevertheless, I am sure he treats her with more kindness and patience than he did me. I bet he doesn't flip his lid if her paddle board loses a screw like he did with me, blaming me for not attaching the screw that locks the fin in place properly. The fin didn't fall off, but the screw got lost in the seaweed at Green Lake. 

The fact that he was rapidly able to dive into a new relationship while I am languishing makes me wonder if I was root cause of the failure of the marriage. Maybe I was a nagging shrew. Maybe I was unkind and unloving and angry. Maybe he lost his shit about a paddle board screw because he didn't feel loved. Maybe there was a way I could have been kinder, more loving and patient, without being a doormat. Maybe I could have as Richard Rohr says, "offer the wicked no resistance," meaning don't get defensive or reactive when confronted with things that are upsetting.

Here I am, pounded by holiday weekends, one after the other--Easter, my birthday, Mother's Day, Memorial Day--that I am spending alone. I have friends to hang out with the rest of the year, but the holidays are a special form of hell, and my mind wanders to miserable places. But this is okay. I need to feel all of my sorrow in order to heal, so I can show up better in the future.

Mouth of Babes & the Weak Link

Yesterday, I had a VIPG -- a Very Important Pickleball Game. Our team made the playoffs, whoo hoo!

I was talking to Pedro about it and I said I didn't think we'd make the finals after this round.

"Mom," he said, "you are a fucking adult. You don't play for fun. You play to win."

Right. I am going to have to figure that out.

And we did win, which is very cool. Our team won the playoffs last season, which was exciting, and also like not that exciting at the same time. Of course, it was nice to win, but the thrill wore off after thirty minutes. The ego loved it, but then the ego's happiness shelf-life is short before it looks for the next shiny new thing. Yet, I suppose winning is better than losing? I dunno.

Winning and losing is relatively new to me. As I've mentioned before, the only time I've every played competitive team sports was one infamous season of Cardinal Booster soccer in middle school. Soccer looks easy, right? You just run around and kick the ball. How hard can it be? 

It was awful. I was the worst person on the team and I couldn't wait for the whole experience to be over. I was also disappointed that someone who was twelve had passed her prime and couldn't pick up a new sport without being drowned out by other kids who had been playing since they were six. There is seriously something wrong with the world that didn't allow a pre-teen to be a beginner at something.

So here I am again, trying something new, but having a better experience. Pickleball is a relatively new sport, so almost everyone is new to it. With the exception of a handful of people from Bainbridge, no one my age has played pickleball since they were a kid. 

The biggest learning I am taking away from this experience: being the weak link or the worst person on the team. Our team captain has a strategy of pairing the best players together and the weakest together. Her idea is that out of the nine games (three games played by three pairs), the strong pairs will win three out of three for six victories out of nine. If the weak team loses by ten points or two, it doesn't matter if the other teams' victories are decisive.

I was re-reading my blog posts and I've seen how far I have come since the fall. Back then, I half of my serves were out of bounds. Now, I'll get one serve out of bounds in three games, a dramatic improvement. Once I became reasonably competent, I was terrified of losing, thinking it was my fault. I'd replay missed shots in my mind.

Now, I am okay with where I am at. I also know that my goal is to improve my skills, not just win. If I focus on winning, I am giving too much power to my opponents. I can't be depressed or sad if I lose to a pair that is better than I am. How can I get better if I only play people I can beat?

There Should be a Word (Part 2)

There should be a word

for when your hair is 

still damp 

from your morning shower

and sweaty from exercise

at the same time.

Au Revoir, Le Creuset!

More than thirty years ago when I was fresh out of college, I was working at a boutique consulting firm in Chicago. My co-worker Dawn moved back to her home state of New Jersey to get an MBA. Before she left, she unloaded stuff she didn't want to schlep halfway across the country.

She gave me a crusty seven inch, light blue enamel and cast iron Le Creuset frying pan that used to be her grandmother's.

She looked at it and saw the discolored paint. 

I looked at it and saw gold.

"Are you sure you want to give this away?" I asked.

"I am never going to use it," she said. With that, I packed it up, took it home, and used for thirty-three years.

Today, the pan died. I was reheating hash browns and I smelled something odd. When I cleaned the plan, I noticed the enamel chipped. I googled if I could still use the pan, and the answer was sadly no.

I have no idea how old that pan was. It was pretty worn when I got it, but it still had a lot of life left in it. I could have been purchased in the 1940's, 1950's or 1960's. Who knows? That pan is older than my kids and lasted longer than my marriage. The pan might be older than me. I used it regularly to melt butter for popcorn and sauté a small batch of onions. The pan was a prop in a major plot point in my life. Jack was cooking breakfast sausages in that pan when I told him I was pregnant with Ada. Later, I used it to melt butter when I baked chocolate chip scones for my kids.

Au revoir, Le Creuset! May you rest in peace.

Winning and Losing

I need to develop a relationship with winning and losing.

I am on a pickle ball team where we track our performance. I haven't played an organized team sport since eighth grade when I was in Cardinal Booster soccer. It was horrible and I was unskilled, but I did it anyway. Pickleball is way more fun, but I haven't had to track winning and losing since middle school.

I am not sure what to do when I lose or when I win. I feel like I am holding the team back, letting them down when my duo loses a game. You might be thinking, "Lauren, this is doubles. You aren't the only one responsible for the win or the loss." 

True, and I still feel personally responsible. I feel glum and irritated when I lose, and I wish I didn't. It makes me feel like a sore loser when I am not. There are professional athletes whose teams lose regularly and I bet they aren't as mopey as me. They have figured out how to cope with losing. Even the Chicago Bulls lost ten games in their best season.

I wish I could focus more on having fun and how much I have improved since I started. When I started, my serves barely made it in bounds. I practice my serve and overhand shots at my health club once a week. Now, my serves are 90% in bounds and I can play closer to the net when I don't chicken out.

Pilates Video Model

I would make a magnificent Pilates video model. Wonderful. Superb. 

I kind of suck at Pilates and my instructor is regularly correcting my form. I'm curvy, not a stick figure like all of the women in my Pilates book. I am built like Barbie doll that someone squashed down from 6'10'' to 5'4'', keeping the boobs and the booty the same. I say fuck a lot when a move is challenging. I grit my face and look like I am passing a kidney stone at 90 of the 100.

These are all reasons why I would make a unique and special Pilates video model. 

I can hear what you are thinking, "Wouldn't we want someone who looks good and knows what they are doing?"

No. You do not.

I tried doing the New York City Ballet workouts on YouTube once. I didn't even get through five minutes because the people were way fitter than me and I couldn't keep up. I honestly don't think anyone could keep up outside of people younger than 23 and professional athletes. Think about it: the people demonstrating the moves are the most fit, coordinated, and graceful people on the world. The people watching at home are not.

I would be like the people at home--moderately coordinated, curvy, soft, and realistic. These exercises are hard to do, both in form and intensity. People could watch how to do it wrong first, and then see how to adjust to do it correctly. They would see me sweat and swear. I roll my eyes at my teacher.

Plus it would be funny. People could watch me exercise while sitting on their couch eating a bag of potato chips. I might inspire these couch potatoes to try to exercise. They could think, "If that chick could do it, so can I."

Pickleball

Why do recall

the shots 

I've missed

and 

not

the shots

I've made?

Why is it

that now I am 

a better player,

that I feel 

worse about

how

I play?

Before, 

when I sucked,

I was happy

to get

my serve

in bounds.

Now, 

I die inside a little 

when I miss.

Oppenheimer and Best Oscar

Here are my thoughts on Oppenheimer winning the Best Oscar.

Really? 

It is the ultimate, highbrow movie about blowing shit up. It is like they took the plot of an action-hero movie and put it in a tweed jacket. Sure, all of the characters had PhDs in physics and chemistry, but is this really different than a Marvel flick that is chock full of explosions where the good guys are trying to save the world from destruction from the evil guys?

Nope.

You can tell from this that the Academy voters are a bunch of boys men dudes.

I will say I loved Robert Downey, Jr. in the movie. He was a terrific villain, trying to take down the super hero in a snarky, mean girls kind of way. 

Scrooge McDuck, $50K and Ada J

One day a few weeks ago, I was stressed. I talking to a friend and I said I was going to relax by balancing my checkbook. She laughed and said she imagined me sitting like Scrooge McDuck, counting my money. 

I had to laugh because it is true. I don't I love money for money's sake like Scrooge, but I firmly believe in being a responsible steward. As my Uncle Bob said when I graduated from college, "Money doesn't come with instructions." I took the hint to learn about managing money, checking out dozens of books from the library on investing, and figuring out what made the most sense. Years and years ago when I was married to Jack, I asked him what he liked best about me. "Your ability to manage money."

I was like, "No, seriously. I am thinking something like kindness. Throw me a bone. This isn't a trick question."

He doubled-down. "I am serious," he said. "You are really good at managing money. You figured out how we could buy a house."

Emotional intelligence is not the poor guy's strong suit. Nevertheless, he had a point. I am good at managing money. I've helped more than one friend figure out their household budget and review their finances during their divorces.  Maybe I'll keep the McDuck and drop the Scrooge.

Recently, an acquaintance and I were having a conversation when they asked me how I invested. Of course, I was excited to tell them all about the brilliance of dollar-cost averaging. They listened for a minute, told me the stock market was crap and offered me the "opportunity" to invest $50K in their house flipping business. Totally safe, 8% interest.

"Huh," I said. In my recent years of therapy, I have learned how to diminish my reactivity with curiosity. For example, instead of saying "What the fuck?!? Are you kidding?", I thoughtfully paused, curious.

This pause was mistaken as interest.

"Or you can invest $100k," they continued. "Lots of women do this with their retirement money." 

"Huh," I said again. "I've got to run. Thanks!"

I don't recall Benjamin Graham, Jane Bryant Quinn or my personal favorite, Andrew Tobias, recommending investing Ponzi or pyramid schemes as a way to get rich. 

(To be fair: I talked to my dad about this request for funds. He is a retired accountant who has detected white collar crime and fraud. My dad thinks this person asking me for money isn't a criminal mastermind, but rather someone to got caught up in someone else's scheme.)

After two days of thinking, "What the fuck was that about?" I started to think of something else: What would I do with a sizable chunk of money?

After my divorce, I did some major nesting with new furniture and some art work, plus lots of travel and time with family. What's next?

Sunday, I was at the Pacific Coast Co-op (PCC) grocery store, a bougie, organic place where I spent $400 on organic laundry soap, Cod Liver Oil (so I can live to be 101 like Eleanor Owen), and bamboo toilet paper from Canada, among other things.

When I got home, I freaked out about the crazy amount of money I spent on whatever and whatnot. I just bought a fancy e-bike, which is awesome and cool and will help me to get exercise and fresh air. Nevertheless, I was plagued: Why am I living such an indulgent life? I can justify and rationalize this all until I am purple, but I kept coming to the same question: What is wrong with me? 

After my firstborn child died, I wanted to set up a scholarship in her name. This week, I've talked to my dad about it, and I've talked to a friend to make sure I wasn't crazy or being rash. I am thinking to start with $5,000 for tuition for a school year, plus an extra stipend for books and expenses, coming up to around $6,200 a school year. I'd pay the university or college directly for the student. All told, the monthly cost is slightly more than what I spent at the grocery store this weekend.

My new bike is fun, and I love my PCC organic turmeric gummies which reduce inflammation in my joints. These are good additions to my life, but a scholarship could potentially be life changing.

When I suggested the scholarship idea to my dad, he didn't hesitate with his endorsement. My friend gave me some suggestions for guard rails, and I am taking her recommendations.

Here goes, Ada J. Let's see what happens.

We are All Gonna Die! Or, Ignorance is Bliss

Kathryn Schulz has made a career of writing about potential disasters for The New Yorker. This week, she published "Starburst" with the subheader: "The next big solar storm could devastate our power grid and communication systems. Are we prepared?"

You guess the answer.

Hint: If the answer were yes, would there be a seven page article about it?

The general idea is that a major solar storm with a level G-5 or greater could first wipe out satellites and then would hit the earth and wipe out the power grid. I don't understand enough physics to fully understand all of this, but my understanding is that a large solar storm would disrupt the earth's electromagnetic field and cause an electrical pulse to bounce through the earth. This current could be absorbed but the ocean and bedrock, but it could also melt our electrical power grid across the U.S.

You can read the article. I've read it twice and nothing has scared me more. Not the pandemic. Not the threat of a major earthquake. The only thing that could be worse potentially would be a massive nuclear war. 

Friday night before I was going to sleep, instead of counting sheep, I thought of the progression of disaster if an epic solar storm hit the earth and wiped out communications and all electric power in the U.S.. 

We would all die.

Our reliance on electricity and wireless communication has developed since the last major solar storm in 1867. In the late 1980's, there was small solar storm in Canada, but those resulting problems were not widespread. There is a 12% chance that a big solar storm could hit the US in the next ten years.

Experts say it would take a decade to rebuilt. The problem with this type of disaster, it would also the tools of recovery. For example, no one could call 911 because phones might not work if satellites are down.

As I was falling asleep Friday night, I started to think about what would happen. I am in IT DR, and part of my job is to predict disasters and what would happen

Here are my guesses:

• With no power, everyone on life support in a hospital--from babies in the NICU to elderly people recovery from surgeries--would die. Hospitals have generators, but not ones that would generate power for years. 
• The next group who would die would be people who are reliant on special medications. The drugs couldn't be built because factories wouldn't have electricity to run machines.
• Transportation would be out. Cars need gas, and gas needs to be pumped. Most modern pumps have electrical components, so could we get gasoline? Maybe there is a work around for this? I don't know. Electric cars would be out, for sure.
• Refrigeration would be out, as would heat and AC. Gas heaters usually have thermostats that run on electricity.
• Banking would be out as modern banks are computer databases. There is no Bob Cratchit in the back room keeping the ledgers.
• Some farms (wheat, corn, soybeans) use combines and harvest to reap the crops, and those machines need gasoline. Our ability to plant and grow basics foods would be gone.
• There would be no internet, newspapers, magazines. We wouldn't know what happened.
• Would the solar storms physically damage the workings of an airplane? Would planes drop out of the sky, or would they be able to land safely? 
• Would we still be able to use radio communication? Radio waves would still exist, but would we have power for transmitters and receivers?

Other consequences:

• Imagine you are traveling when this happens. Would you get home?
• What about connecting with family in other states or parts of the world? Would I ever see my kids or dad again?

I can't imagine the rest of the world order, or lack thereof. I know countless movies and books have been created about the end of the world, the Thunderdome, and the Zombie apocalypse. Those books aren't my jelly or jam.

This though exercise, needless to say, was a big downer. Would I be better off not knowing? Ignorance may be bliss, but it doesn't help solve problems. Yet, I am one person who doesn't work with power grids. What can I do?

After this thought exercise, I went to the store and bought a salad for dinner. I was so grateful that I could walk into a well lit, heated place with fresh food. I was grateful to see the staff, grateful for my credit card as I tapped the reader. What if all of this wasn't here? But for today, it was.

Now, I am typically not this dark. I generally consider myself an optimist, with a healthy dose of realism, but this was bringing me down. I went home, and turned on Spotify. I listened to Beyonce's new song "Texas Hold'em" about fifty times. Music therapy from Queen Bey and gratitude seemed to bring me back to the present.

The Head, the Heart and the Pussy

I am still here, "single as a Pringle" as my daughter has said.

What am I looking for in a partner? What does this search entail? I am not so much looking for "The One," but rather someone my head, my heart and my pussy can all agree, which is easier said than done. Think of this like aligning chakras, but three instead of seven.

What does the head want? So many things. She is the pickiest of the bunch. She wants someone who is curious about the world, from reading books, knowing what is going on in the world, traveling, has hobbies, whatever. Curiosity doesn't mean busybody. They can be quiet and still and still be curious. She wants someone I can spend ten hours on a train with and get along and have a decent conversation. She wants a guy who is financially responsible. She has to be careful not to let her ego get in the way, and pick a guy because he has a cool car, but seriously, a cool car is a plus.

The pussy wants someone who is fuckable. Hot, reasonably fit*, smells nice, not a douchebag. She is pretty simple, basic animal attraction in play here.

The heart, she is the most tender, the most vulnerable. She often takes a backseat while the pussy and the brain are duking in out. Her voice is the softest, the quietest, and is often heard last. She has to rise above the clatter of her other two sisters. She wants someone who is kind, compassionate and caring.

* Fit can vary. My ex was a Division I swimmer when I met him, but I can't compare a college athlete to a middle aged guy with a desk job.

The Gauntlet & I Can Buy my Own Flowers (Jigsaw Puzzles and Office Supplies are More Like It)

I survived.

This morning, I woke up with a grateful sense of ease. Finally, I can see and feel the light at the end of the tunnel.

The horrible stretch of holidays, my former anniversary, my ex's birthday and Valentine's Day are over. 

Thank god.

The past several months have been hard, probably the hardest I've had since the divorce. Once I got back from Brazil, Christmas and New Year's happened, with the kids dividing their time between Jack and I. January marks the anniversary of our wedding, followed shortly by Jack's birthday and then Valentine's Day, all reminders of what had and hasn't been. One right after the other, without time to bounce back or recover before another reminder hit.

Knowing this is part of the grief process doesn't make it easier. While I abhor the expression "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," I can see the same sentiment from a reverse angle: the grief you don't feel will eventually dampen and block the light inside. Grief isn't meant to kill us, to keep us hiding inside or living in fear. We have lost something external to ourselves, perhaps a very important connection that made us part of who we are. We continue to live, even though the "new normal" is not what we dreamed of or hoped for.

To get through this stretch, I channelled Miley Cyrus and bought myself flowers. I had made plans with my girlfriends ahead of time for the anniversary, booking a comedy show months in advance. That weekend was wonderfully busy and full of love from my friends. I bought two Liberty jigsaw puzzles to treat myself, one of foxes dancing in the moonlight, another of an owl and flowers. For Jack's birthday, I bought myself more presents: posh bath towels, a new sweater, lipstick from my friend's cosmetic company, and lacy underwear. I got an overnight bag for future weekend trips. My favorite item on my retail therapy binge were notebooks for work to track my tasks, to cross things off the list to get the rush of accomplishment, no matter how small.

Surviving hard times is no small feat. Leaving untenable situations to leap off into the unknown is no small feat. Transitions are hard, but staying stuck is worse.

I think of my Dad, almost half of his lifetime ago, when he quit his job. He was in his mid-forties, and I was a sophomore at an expensive college. My mother supported his decision to leave what had previously been a good job but had turned into something different when the organization went through several leadership changes. I can't speak for my dad to say how awful the job was or wasn't, but I am guessing it was soul sucking.

Sometimes we need to quit, to say no, this isn't working, this isn't how I want to live. And even if we are 100% convinced we are making the right decision, that there is no solution or possible reconciliation, it is still hard.

At first.

But then it slowly gets better, and we can start to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Which isn't really light in a tunnel, but instead our own light coming back into being.

Teenage Rebellion and the MLC (Mid-Life Crisis)

Are mid-life crises necessary? Are they an unavoidable part of being an adult? I ask because I have a few friends going through their MLCs. Mine started five years ago, and I am still adjusting to living in the new normal as a result of the upheaval. It is interesting to watch others going through their MLC as mine is in the past. My life has taken a different direction going forward.

Yes, I think MLCs are a normal part of life, but the degree to which people are impacted may vary based on their circumstances. 

I was reading a book by Bruce Fisher on relationships and he describes the nature of teenage rebellions, which aren't much different than an MLC. I never realized this, but teenage rebellions are natural part of growing up. When I was a kid, teenage rebellion was looked at as a bad and dangerous phase, where kids could get carted off to prison for doing drugs. The teenage rebellion was to be avoided.

Fisher says teenage rebellion is simpler. When kids are little, they model or mirror themselves based on their parents. The teenage rebellion is the transition from the mirroring phase to having their own identity, where they reconcile what they have grown up with and what they want to become. I believe most painful teenage rebellions are in part because the parents don't want their kid to change. Parents like their little mini-me's, and then balk at their kid's transformation. 

Kids needs to transform. Fisher says in his book that kids who don't rebel will rebel later in life, and it might look like a meltdown in their marriage or professional life.

So what is the MLC? I've been reading a lot of Richard Rohr lately, and one of my favorite books is Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. According to Rohr, the first half of life is often lived in the ego, and for good reason. We need to build our lives: our homes, our careers, our families and friend circles. Living in the ego like this only holds for so long before. If we stay in the ego, we end up constantly chasing the next big thing, the next rush, whether it is more vacation homes, more cars, more money, more promotions, faster race times. 

All of those are fine by themselves, but they won't fill our emotional and spiritual lives. If we look for these things to fill out lives, we will only become more miserable as we chase things that cannot make us at peace. Accomplishment only goes so far before we break.

Some people might not live so much in the ego, so their reckoning might be smaller or easier. For some people, it might be a big fall. Others might not fall at all, but double-down on their ego-boosting addictions, which will only prolong their misery. This doesn't mean we have to give up our lives, but rather our ego's attachment to it.

So to those friends who are struggling through the transition, I see you. Fall into it, don't fight it. The struggle is a beautiful and wonderful, and life is more peaceful and serene on the other side.

Sugar

The other night I watched a documentary That Sugar Film (2014) by the Australian Damon Gameau. Years before he filmed the movie, he embarked on a healthy lifestyle: quit smoking, stopped eating sugar and junk food, started exercising, etc.

After he had been living a healthy life for a few years, he decided to see what would happen to his body if he ate the same amount of sugar a typical American eats in a day, which is about 40 teaspoons. Most of this sugar is hidden in savory or non-dessert foods like crackers, salad dressing, pasta sauce and low fat yogurt.

Long story short, he gained a lot of weight in his gut and face, and all of his health indicators (blood sugar, blood pressure, etc.) all tanked. He was tired all of the time and looked like it.

So you would think this would make me want to swear off sugar for the rest of my life, right?

Bizarrely, watching this movie made me crave cookies and carbs, I don't know why. Maybe it made me think about sugar, that it would be safe to eat it in moderation. In the past year or two, I've been really good about avoiding carbs and sugar, and my blood tests and energy levels reflect that. After I watched the movie, the next night I ate a chocolate chip cookie. Then I had some ice cream. I met a friend for coffee and she brought homemade apple spice cake with frosting. I've eaten two scones in the past two days, which are more scones than I've eaten in the past year. I had pasta for dinner tonight.

What is getting into me? Was this movie funded by Big Sugar to act as reverse psychology?

I need to get back on the sugar and carb free wagon. Help!

I am enlisting my friends to help. I recently pawned off two bags of "Hello Robin!" frozen cookies to my friend Katelyn. I had bought the cookies for a holiday cookie exchange because I was too busy/lazy to find a recipe, shop for all of the ingredients and then bake. The frozen cookies were perfect, plus any extra I could keep in my freezer for a rainy day. I can bake one cookie at a time in my toaster oven when I need a little pick-me-up, as my father says. Just-in-time fresh, hot cookies.

I am getting hungry writing about them.

So I gave (most) of my surplus frozen cookie stash to Katelyn. She has two teenagers, who will eat them without a problem.