Sleep in the City

Sleeping in the city has proved to be a major hurdle for me. I live across the street from a bar, on a street that is heavily used by commuters, on a hill, with a stop sign. On a good day this means it will be quiet from around midnight until the newspaper delivery guy races around the block at 330. Then there is a break until 5ish when commuter traffic starts.

Wake Up and Smell the Coffee

I saw this ad for an activity to fund clean water projects, while raising awareness about poverty. The idea is to give up all the various beverages you drink in a day, and drink only water. Then you take the money you save and give it to a clean water project. Sounds like a great idea.
I drink coffee almost entirely, and I brew my own. I'm only spending about $10 a week, when I buy organic, Fair Trade beans, and then the cost of about a quart of milk a week. So, no group will be getting rich off of me. I figure with coffee at restaurants, etc, maybe $20 a week. That will be helpful to someone, and will break me of a reflexive coffee habit.
Actually doing this makes my coffee addiction sound worse than it is. The problem is that I can't drink anything else but plain water. I can't reach for tea, not even herbal, or juice or milk. I'm already cheating by putting Stevia leaves in my water.
So even though I went from 6-10 cups in a day, to 1 cup, my complaining makes me sound like a Heroin addict in withdrawal, to my family.
Here's a poem I wrote on day 1:

1030 and I am already unjazzed.

Give me decaf,

I'll be fine

I miss that steaming, black gold, love that

starts with the aroma

and the warmth goes from hands to face

down to my soul

eliminating stress

and pain.

What will I do now?

A cup of coffee, has been my reward for the early A.M. dog walk. I drag myself out of bed, get dressed, put on parka, gloves, hood and tour the neighborhood, knowing that at home the rich aroma of fresh perked coffee awaits me, and that body warming first cup. Coffee has been my reward for finishing onerous household tasks, completing paperwork, paying bills, shoveling snow. 

In the summer this would not be such a problem. 

The idea of a cold, icy, glass of water could be just as appealing.

Not so much in winter.

So, it's two more days to launch

and then I am off all beverages 

but water until April 8th. 

Who knows, by then, I might be a new person.

Untouchable

How often do you touch another human being? How often are you touched by another person?
Perhaps you are a parent of young children, or you have a lover, or you are a caregiver. This question then may seem very weird to you.

I am an untouchable. I am fat - who wants to touch that. I'm old, but not old enough to be considered non-sexual. I am a woman who has worked her entire life in a male dominated industry, where touch has become dangerous. I am a NY'er, our reserve is legendary. I am a recent emigre' so I do not have a history with the other folks in my community.

Listening to an interview with Russell Banks about his book Lost Memory of Skin, it dawned on me how easy it is for me to go a whole day without touching anyone. Not even accidently. Though I work directly interacting with the public, I mostly never touch them. If it happens it is the accidental touch of our fingers as I hand them their change.

How common is this? Certainly I can think of other outcasts in our community who probably find this to be true. The smelly homeless guy. The crazy street lady. But how common is this amongst people who seem to lead ordinary lives? And what does it mean for society that it is so prevalent?

I am nervous to mention that almost all of my human contact is with children. Will you assume I am a pedophile? Or will you recognize that I am a Grandmother whose grandchildren are still young enough to freely hug an old lady?

Mirror Image

I came upon this review for a new book, "The Woman in the Mirror" by Cynthia Bulik PhD.

Many women-regardless of income, size, shape, ethnicity, and age-are uncomfortable in their own skin. We fixate on our body image and try endless diets, implants, hair extensions, and new shoes, but it's never enough. The problem is that girls and women have been socialized to mistakenly conflate body esteem and self-esteem. Body esteem refers to how you think and feel about your physical appearance: your size, shape, hair, and features. Self-esteem refers to how you think and feel about your personality, your role in relationships, your accomplishments, and your values-everything that contributes to who you are as a person.

So far - so good.

The Woman in the Mirror goes beyond typical self-esteem books to dig deep into the origins of women's problems with body image. Psychologist Cynthia Bulik guides readers in the challenging task of disentangling self-esteem from body esteem, and taking charge of the insidious negative self-talk that started as early as when you first realized you didn't really look like a fairy princess. By reprogramming how we feel about ourselves and our bodies, we can practice healthy eating and sensible exercise, and focus on the many things we have to offer our family, community, and job. Bulik provides us the tools to reclaim our self-confidence and to respect and love who we are.

Wait - what was that?

By reprogramming how we feel about ourselves and our bodies, we can practice healthy eating and sensible exercise....              

Did anyone proof read this review?

So in the end - if you by this book - you too can be skinny and fit.

So much for disentangling our self-esteem from our body esteem.

Getting Over Married

Yesterday was my 34th wedding anniversary. I went to work. Took a nap. Went out for pizza with a friend and my granddaughter. Then came home and went to bed.
Beyond that - I obsessed over the idea that my husband, was blithely passing the day away with his new honey totally oblivious to the life he had thrown away.
Most of the day wasn't too bad. Interacting with customers kept my mind mostly off of the anniversary cards that I wanted to deface and send to him. The evening with my friend kept our conversation around local issues. And at first I was tired enough to sink into sleep, comfy under the quilt.
Then, after the initial exhaustion had worn away, came the tossing and turning. My daughters were out partying. With my blessing and encouragement at a charity event that I did not wish to attend. Loud music is not, and really has never been my thing. They are oblivious to the days significance, having long since moved beyond it.
Not me - oh no. I reviewed my wedding day, or rather that night. We spent our wedding night in my Aunt's camper van, on my parents lawn. We couldn't afford a honeymoon, and we needed to be around to do barn chores. We had planned our wedding to be between haying season and corn harvest. Weeks of rain had kind of messed that up,but our day turned sunny and nice, for our indoor/outdoor reception.
These years were supposed to be a return to our beginnings. A time when I could finally turn my attention back to my farm after retiring from an exhausting career that had turned completely sour. Instead, the rat bastard, stuck in the knife, twisted it and stood there smiling. Bitter? Yeah. I am.

There goes the Weekend

I was supposed to be in the Adirondacks by now. When the kids were little I'd have the gear all packed and the canoe tied to the top of the car or truck and we'd hit the road ASAP when work was done. We've even arrived at midnight and camped on shore, uncomfortable in the car, and paddled over in the morning.

Then things got complicated. Even as teenagers the girls had jobs which usually took over their weekends. Retail doesn't stop, so holiday weekends meant mandatory hours for the young staff. One daughter often worked in restaurants and they certainly don't close on summer holiday weekends.Then came grand-kids. Their schedule had to work in too, including getting Dad to give up one of his weekends.
Now one daughter doesn't want to go if all we are going to do is sit in the woods, so her daughter doesn't want to go if we're not going to the amusement park. An old story, but now that my daughter is an adult she can be adamant about it. So she and our car and my granddaughter have headed to NYC.

And me I'm heading off to work. Yeah. Crap.

Columbus Day - I'm outta here.

A tent by myself if need be. 

I'm gonna get out of the city and into the woods.

430 am cool and quiet

As the summer has waned and morning light has come later and later, so have I slept. This morning I woke early and so, fed the cat, made my coffee and walked the dog at 430. I'm so glad I did.
I've had several days of poor sleep due to the traffic outside my window. By the time the bar crowd finally makes its way home there are only a few good sleeping hours, except on every other Monday when the garbage trucks start early.
It was so nice out this morning. The air was cool and I made it all the way around the block before I heard my first car. From my porch, when it is quiet you can just hear the waterfall as background for the crickets and peepers. Since it is still dark now, the birds have not yet begun their song.
Soon one, and then another vehicle came by. The parking lot across the street is a meeting place for many contractors, so the diesel pickups are rampant. I don't know why, but those pickups are louder than dump trucks. Even a small car is disruptive, the squish of tires on the road and the rumble as the engine revs to bring the car up and over the knob at the intersection.
As the sound of the vehicle slowly recedes the song of the peepers emerges and you can hear the breeze and early morning rain on the leaves of the trees. By 530 the constant thrum of commuter traffic is enough to drive you inside. Even trying to have a phone conversation is impossible.
By 9 things have subsided a little. The neighborhood has emptied out and now it is generally delivery vehicles and buses. Still, the magic is lost. My brain takes on the hum of hubbub, and my pulse is up. No peace now until after midnight.