Lose Weight, Exercise More, Blah, Blah, Blah

My 2009 resolutions are short and sweet. No major improvements needed? Hell, yes, there are. But I'm taking it easy on myself. Overreaching is overrated.

1. Make Money With My New Business
   This is a biggie. We sold our business last July, with a financial cushion to hold us over for about a year while we launched our new businesses. That cushion was based on the new owner of our business paying us a nice chunk of money (also known as "the mortgage") every month, beginning January 1. Now it looks like that monthly payment is everything but happening. Thus, earning income from my freelance copywriting business is ever more important.
   
   
2. Cut Back on Spending
   See above.
   
   
   
   
   
3. Lose The Damn Weight
   By eating more veggies and fruit.
   By eating less sugar and flour.
   By training for a half marathon in April.
   By getting outside for more adventures.
   By being accountable. And it starts here: 28 pounds, people. 28 pounds.
   It's a health issue. I'm not being my body's best friend. And who else will be?
   
   
   
   
   
4. Write, Write, Write
   My parents' life stories
   My blog
   My novel
   My clients' work

That'll do me.

Last Year's Resolutions--How'd We Do?

We, meaning me, of course. How you did is your own personal business and nobody else's. You need not expose your failures here. I'll do it for both of us.

2008’s list wasn’t a total washout. I really did okay. Having a major life change (I have them Almost. Every. Freakin. Year.) helped my resolutions along. For example, seven weeks of vacation made it much easier to keep the take care of myself promise. And I'm not apologizing for it, either. That's part of the growth, see. I've been working since I'm eight years old, and thirty-eight years later I should have some time off.

Digressing here. Guilty much?

And, it was easier to be kind to D. seeing how he had two surgeries in three weeks' time. The first was an emergency (are there any others?) appendectomy in Missoula, Montana, and then there was his double hernia repair when we got home. Poor baby! I was very kind and patient with my little patient. I had to carry all the grocery bags for weeks. And the 50-pound suitcase up the broken escalator at Sea-Tac airport. While the line behind us grew. And people glared at him for not helping me.

Again, I digress. Whiney much?

As for the rest of the list, here's an honest accounting, including my original resolution and self-imposed grade:

Resolution #1: Be more patient with my husband. As in, no rolling eyes when he asks if we have any butter. This is a tough one because it involves a DNA transplant. Might need help. I reserve the right to silently say, “Have you LOOKED in the refrigerator, by chance?????”
Grade: B+. I have tried, and it actually works. He’s sweet and deserves it.

Resolution #2: Scoop the cats’ litter boxes every day. This will be an easy one: if I do it each morning after I feed them, it will only take a minute, max. Maybe it will cure the phantom pooper, too. I don’t know any cats who get scooped every day, but I’m sure they’re happier than mine, who deserve a cleaner environment in which to poo.
Grade: B+. I've missed a few days, but all in all, I am the queen of scooping kitty poop. So proud.

Resolution #3: Be kinder. I am not completely unkind, mind you, and I will never be one of those annoying public-sweet-closet-bitchy women. I keep it real. But at times, that realness lands on others with a thud, or worse—with a smack. It’s not what I say, it’s how I say it, they say. I’ve heard it enough to know I need to work on it.
Grade: A. Helped along by selling a business that stressed me out to the max.

Resolution #4: Write. I have two novels in the works. I need to get back to them.
Grade: F. As in FFFFailing miserably. (Sidenote to Hay—here's your answer!!) This one goes to the top of 2009’s list. (Novels aside, I do write almost every day. Make excuses much?)

Resolution #5: Get organized. Since we moved into this house in April, I have never felt completely unpacked. There are still two unfinished rooms where boxes are shoved into corners, the closets are jammed full of crap, and nothing hangs on the walls—because we haven’t painted them yet. My mind is not at rest, and every time I walk into those rooms I feel stressed. I will pick out the paint and get started. Hang the pictures and clean out the closets. Breathe easier.
Grade: A. Wow. I didn’t realize this was so undone last year. We’re good now. Again, selling the biz made this achievable.

Resolution #6: Attend Boot Camp faithfully. I have done better than I expected—I have survived two 8-week sessions of Boot Camp, and I’m stronger, my clothes fit better, and I love the class. I’m signing up for round 3 (I need the discipline of a class structure) and I vow to not miss any classes unless I’m sick or out of town. Three hours per week is no big deal. I just have to make myself get dressed and leave the house.
Grade: C. I did complete Round 3 of Boot Camp. But then I stopped having fun. It seemed to be getting more competitive, and I don't do competitive any more. I didn’t lose any more weight, after the first 6 lbs (which came right back—the shock!), and it was a lot of work. At 6 a.m. So I didn't sign up for Round 4. Long hikes and light jogs work for me, and will appear on 2009’s list.

Resolution #7: Be this girl (come warmer weather, of course—I’m not going near the water now):

Grade: F. Didn’t. Paddle. Once. We sold the business, traveled a bit, then D.’s hernias appeared. That was it for strenuous activities for this summer.

And this girl:

Grade: A. I rode my bike a lot.

Bonus points: I was also this girl:

That was a big deal for me. I love the skiing. Not the knee twisting.

Resolution #8: Get myself on one of these:

purchased, rented, borrowed—whatever it takes. Because I had nearly forgotten the pure happiness I feel when I’m sailing. I don’t want to forget.
Grade: F. Didn’t do it. Stepped on a boat in a slip once. Does that count?

Resolution #9: Take good care of myself, however I define it, each day. Naps, massages, walks, bike rides. Be with people who are good for my soul. Simply put, do more of the stuff I want to do and less of the stuff I do not.
Grade: A+++++. I rocked this one.

Overall Grade: A-. I became a happier person in 2008. Don’t know how I could top that, but I think all things are possible . . . even getting rid of those 20 annoying pounds I need to lose again this year. Now I need to start that list. . .

Fat Birds

What is so appealing about fat birds? And how can we translate that to me?

Outside my window right now is a fat chickadee. He is so darn cute, I want to grab him and love him right up. He’s everything I could want in a playmate. He’s cuddly. He’s elusive. And he’s well dressed, sporting his jaunty black cap.

I’ve been watching him. He and I have much in common. Seems he was much thinner just a month ago. As was I. Perhaps he, too, used the recent holiday as an excuse to throw a cheese and carb festival at his house. Perhaps, he, too, used the “company’s coming” defense in whipping up a batch of Ina Garten’s Peanut Swirl Brownies. [You know the ones—with a whole pound of butter and over two pounds of chocolate. And peanut butter. Unlawful.] Perhaps he, too, grew up in a nest full of siblings and always thinks there are twenty-five people coming over. When there are only six. I mean, why else would he I bake those too-rich-for-human-consumption brownies, PLUS chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, banana bread, and Danish wedding cookies?

He’s fattening up to survive winter. Maybe I am, too. The way it’s been snowing here, I could again be blocked from Trader Joe’s for whole days at a time.

If the game is survival of the fattest, me and the bird will win.

A Holiday Letter, Sans News. Read on for Hope.

Dear Friends,

Hello and Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Hanukah, and Happy Festivus to you all! My heart felt wishes go out to each of you across the miles and across the wireless wonder of digital communication that keeps us all in touch.

In the coming new year, I wish you all the joys that come with having loved ones around you; I wish for you close companions and a circle of friends to keep you happy and laughing. I wish you solace in times of pain, and I promise my support when your spirit needs uplifting. I wish you the peace and calm in your heart that comes with giving back and loving others. I wish you fun in your life, whether it comes from a thrilling run down a mountain, a wild ride down a river, or a meandering walk down the street. I wish you quiet and peaceful times, too, when reflecting on life’s goodness is all you need to be truly happy. And I wish for you something that’s been hard to feel for some time: hope.

I hope for an end to this war and the avoidance of new ones; for a solid, intelligent plan to lead us out of a difficult economy; for civil rights restored and extended to all–not just some; and for no more torture under the guise of protection. The restoring power of hope makes it possible to feel good about our country and our future again. It is real. And it is mighty. I hope that it touches you and lifts you up.

I look forward—with hope—to another interesting, fun, active, and surprising year. And I wonder—what will 2009 bring? Visits to dear friends? Visits from family? An unexpected discovery? New friends? New babies? Reunions with old friends and family, all of whom I appreciate more with each passing year?

I’ll see. On New Year’s Eve, I’ll raise a toast to each of you, wherever you are, and my heart will send you all the love, joy, peace and hope that your heart can hold.

Love, Claire

A Seasonal Poem

little tree
by e. e. cummings

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,

only don’t be afraid

look the spangles that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window
for everyone to see and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

Dusting the Cobwebs off My Blog

Do NOT adjust your screen. There is nothing wrong with your eyesight, either. This is a genuine actual blog post by Yours Truly. So where have I been, you ask? I’ve been Lucky. And Happy. And Healthy. And Honestly, life has been real good.

I’ve been right here, thinking that my little ‘ol life just isn’t that interesting right now. There has been Nothing To Write About. Election's over. No angst about that anymore. And since I don’t go to work “out there” any longer (although I have been very busy working right here from home thanks), and I don’t interact with dozens of people every day, I just don’t see much worth talking about. The view out my office window is of our curvy, hilly, nicely covered-in-snow street. It’s pretty. And quiet. And that’s it.

I don’t drive around town much these days, so I don’t see Bouncing Girls Fresh Off the Bus that I just have to write about. Even my family is disgustingly drama-free. D. is wonderful as mostly-always; mom and dad and my siblings are great. We’re all getting older and I worry about my 83- and 81-year-old parents, but they are quite the happy little octegenarian couple and for the most part, very healthy indeed.

See? I told you—my life is not interesting right now. And that’s just fine.

But the thing is, this blog was intended to be a place I can be creative on a regular basis—by writing, which means more to me than anything. Now I write for a living—a limited, sparse living so far, but hey, it’s a start. I write every day. And perhaps that little itch is being adequately scratched.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps I’ve just been lazy. Could it be? Uh, yeah, it so could. Maybe I need to stretch myself. Force myself to be creative. Find things to write about.

Well, let's get going, then.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Last week, I received my newsletter from our Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. I scanned it for whatever tidbits of information I thought would still pertain to me—the fallen member who hasn’t attended a service in almost three years. (Being a fallen Catholic has its own issues, but a fallen UU?? Perish the thought.) As usual, I noticed the title of Sunday’s sermon: “Where Do We Go From Here?” Gee, I thought, I’d like to know that.

D. did too, so we walked down the street a mile or so and entered the building for the first time since the end of 2005. It looked much the same. Our nametags where just where we’d left them. There were lots of new faces, and enough familiar ones to make it feel homey. We struggled through an unfamiliar song or two, but remembered the words to our covenant. We settled in for the readings, which were poignant, and the sermon, which was amazing as always.

The congregation clapped and cheered loudly as our ultra-cool minister started by sharing his delight in the idea of a President Obama. His talk centered around the joy and challenges that have bubbled up in many (ok, all) of us in the congregation.

“Hold onto that joy,” he said, “even when reality and cynics try to take it from you. Hold onto it for a while.” He went on to describe a feeling that I share with him completely. A stone-like creature that has been sitting in my gut (or was it in my heart?) for, oh, about eight years now. A stone whose presence was such a familiar feeling that I forgot to notice it after awhile. Until it made me angry. Or made me sad. It sometimes made me tired. But mostly the stone made me feel hopeless—and my hopelessness grew.

It didn’t go away when I moved across the country in an attempt to escape it. It didn’t go away when I tried to surround myself with more people like me and fewer people like those in the administration. It didn’t go away when I positioned myself fifty miles from the Canadian border—just in case it got so bad that I had to leave.

The little stone in my heart didn’t go away, and I felt hopeless enough to stop trying. I stayed away from the Unitarian Fellowship. I stopped decorating my house for holidays. And we didn’t celebrate Christmas last year—not really. We were happy to have friends and family in our home, and we cooked and talked and ate and drank and laughed. But there was no usual holiday frenzy of excitement. There was no shopping for the perfect gift. There were no handmade, imperfect gifts, either.

But now I have joy. I have hope. I’m happy and proud again. I feel like being around people like me again—people who can now really, truly believe that our future will be better than our past. And I’m holding tight to all of it—the pride, the joy, the happy. With all of this, I know I can work toward the change I want to see.

I couldn’t do it without hope. But I can do it without that stone of hopelessness that was weighing me down. That stone that suddenly wasn’t there anymore as of 11:00 (Eastern time, because we were in Virginia) on November 4, 2008.

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