Things I Saw in the Road

There was a weekend, not too long ago, I thought I might be living in a parallel universe, one with weird stuff discarded on the roads. I'm used to seeing the occasional roadkill (sad but true) or scraps of cardboard and other random items flying out of truck beds or flocks of stubborn geese, refusing to get out of the way of moving motor vehicles.

But three times during this particular weekend, I found myself thinking, "Hmm . . . I bet there is a story behind that."

1. While driving down a busy street near my house, I drove over a pair of ladybug arm floaties lying in the middle of the road. They must have made a real impression on me because a pair of ladybug arm floaties is such a specific thing to remember.

2. Later that weekend, I was driving down the connector, and came across a stuffed poop emoji hat. I was listening to NPR, and it seemed like an appropriate political statement about our current administration. I thought maybe the placement of it was purposeful.

3. I went running a day or so later and was chased by five roosters, and yes, I do mean five roosters, no hens in the mix. Five roosters ran down the street after me (not a rural country road by the way). I thought maybe I was back on Kauai, where roosters run wild all over the island, but then I remembered the snow on the ground and the fact that I was wearing a beanie, neck warmer, and ski jacket. I was not back on Kauai. Sigh . . .

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The Happiness List

This morning, one of the many mental health and mindfulness apps on my phone (because I need A LOT of help in this department) said this:

"This simple exercise can help raise your spirits and pick you up later on. Write down 10 things that make you happy. They can be silly, personal, strange, etc. Anything from lip-syncing to roller-coasters to cooking dinner for loved ones."

I don't particularly need a pick-me-up right now, but you never know. I may at a later date. So here I (and you) go.

The Happiness List . . . with pictures.

1. My Nice Husband, Dan
Whether he is making me a "Latte With Love" or sending me flowers on Valentine's Day, he is a pretty swell guy.

2. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious"
My sixth graders gave a rousing performance of this song on Friday. It made me happy.

3. Snow
We have still been getting a little of this here and there, but . . .

4. Songbirds
. . . the exact same morning the snow dusted the ground, I was greeted by a chorus of birds as I walked on the Greenbelt. It was an interested mix of winter and spring.

5. Choirs
The school choir I direct makes me happy every morning we rehearse, and so does the adult choir I am a part of. In fact, I get to perform in Belgium and France with the adult choir this summer. That definitely makes me happy.

6. Nephews
How can these two not make you happy?

 

7. Teaching
#LoveTeaching

8. Theater
Being on stage and in the audience makes me happy.

9. Weezer
Well . . . yeah!

 

10. This picture
This is my favorite picture of Dan and me. We just look so hip and cool, which we totally are.

 

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I Resolve to Not Resolve . . . Again

I thought I had this great idea for a new blog post this week, all about how I resolved to make no resolutions. Then I discovered I had already written a post on "un-resolutions" six years ago. Apparently, this is a recurring theme, my new year's resolution to do nothing.

This year, I decided to focus on a specific non-resolution. I resolved NOT to use any more food tracking apps.

Every time I came across a calorie or food tracking app, I would try it, a result of my list-making obsession. Every time I read an article about another app or website, I would try that too. Every time the wellness website at work had a healthy food campaign, I would track for that too.

I ended up with something like five or six different apps tracking exactly the same thing, mostly in the form of calories or points. I didn't care that much about losing weight. I just liked the organizational aspect of it all.

It takes time to track your food. I don't have that much time. It wasn't good for my overall well-being. Tracking my diet was stressing me out.

Not to mention, I totally lied about what I ate. Then I felt guilty, not about what I was eating, but about the fact that I was not accurately recording what I was eating.

For the first time in fourteen years, I resolved to stop tracking my food.

I also stopped tracking my weight, often a component of food journals and tracking apps. My dishonest food tracking strategy never resulted in any weight loss, and, even though weight loss was never a deliberate goal of mine, my self-esteem took a hit when the scale never budged.

An October 2018 article from Health magazine, "Ignoring Before-and-After Posts Made Me Happier," cites a study that links our society's ubiquitous body image-related social media posts to "body dissatisfaction, lower self-esteem, and a worse mood among the women who view them" (Sea Gold 46).

The author contemplates some of the "false messages" she might have sent in her own writing on weight loss such as "Thinner bodies are better and/or healthier" or "You should try to lose weight too" or "If I can do it, so can you" (Sea Gold 46), especially for women with eating disorders or body image issues.

I am not saying you shouldn't track what you eat if it works for you, if it is keeping you healthy. But it was affecting my stress levels to think that much about the food I ate, and I am all about simplifying my life right now. Will I ever keep a food journal again? Who knows?

This I do know: I don't have to track my weight during the week of my period. In fact, I never have to weigh myself again if I don't want to. These last couple of months, it has been freeing to not track everything I eat. Not feeling guilty about my "creative" calorie counting methods is an added bonus.

"And the real 'wins' in life have nothing to do with the shape of your ass"

--Sunny Sea Gold (Health, October 2018 issue, pp. 45-46)

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Don't Groom Me (RE-POST from 2/12/17)

This post originally ran on February 12, 2017. Enjoy!
 
I hate being groomed.

We all have those friends or family members who cannot concentrate on anything other than the tiny piece of lint or the skinny little thread on the back of your shirt. Eventually, they reach out, without invitation, and pick or brush it off of you.

Then relief floods over them, and they give this look like, "Whew! Now I can make eye contact."

It's as though that random particle they removed was more important than the stimulating conversation you're sure to provide.

I don't like being touched spontaneously. I could care less about lint or stray hair on my clothes. I work with five hundred elementary students five days a week, and I am a mess by the end of the day. If I make it to 3:15 without coffee all over my blouse and a skirt that is twisted around backwards and riding up my waist, I am happy.

My best friend throughout junior high and high school never once groomed me. I am convinced that is one reason we stayed such good friends over the years.

My husband, Dan, does attempt to groom me, mostly to irritate me. He picked at some weird fuzzies on my shirt once or twice and liked the reaction he got. Now he does it all the time.

He will pick at a permanent spot on my neck or face that looks like a smudge or lint.

I'll yell, "Ow!" and he will laugh and do it again.

If we are at dinner, and I have something in my teeth, he will stare at my teeth or pick at his own teeth in some kind of silent groomer's code while we're mid-discussion.

In I Remember Nothing, Nora Ephron writes, "It's very sad to look in the bathroom mirror and realize you've spent the last ninety minutes with spinach on your tooth. Or parsley. Which is an even more dangerous thing to eat. And that none of your friends loved you enough to tell you."

So, I guess if the thing in my teeth is that distracting, it's alright to tell me. You don't have to make up special gestures to discreetly get your point across. Be prepared though. I might roll my eyes if you interrupt my train of thought just to tell me I have a peppercorn stuck to my tooth.

The other day, I used a Tide to Go pen on the shirt I was wearing. Dan entered the room, ready to say something to me. He stopped dead in his tracks and poked at the spot the stain stick had left.

"I did this on purpose! I am very aware of it. Stop acting like I am some kind of slob!"

"You kind of are," Dan said with a laugh.

Of course, I can swat at my husband, but I don't think it is socially acceptable to do that to other people. Apparently, it is okay to pick at someone's clothing without permission though.

I am not observant enough to groom people. I don’t notice if they have lint on their shirts or tags sticking out in back. If I do notice something, I am self-absorbed enough to chatter away and ignore it.

Occasionally, I will groom my husband. I figure I owe him.

Dan often has stray strands of hair hanging off of his chin. I think his beard attracts the hair when the strands shed, and they stick to his beard like Velcro. I have been known to grab those pesky hairs from time to time.

The last time I did it, he yelled out, "Ha! Don't groom me!"

"Why not? You’re hairy," was my response.

Turnabout is fair play, you know.

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