by Susan Lobb Porter | Food, Life |
I started writing this post in a rant. A foaming at the mouth fingers burning up the keyboard RANT.
And I had good reason…I had been taunted–positively taunted–by my jeans.
Stupid jeans. Stupid size 8 skinny jeans. The ones I haven’t worn in over a year. Had the NERVE to jump out from wherever they were hiding and remind me neener neener neener…we are skinny. And YOU. Are. Not.
Effing jeans.
Then I pulled out the size NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS fat jeans. The ones that ride low enough on the hips to diffuse the muffin top. Maybe. A little. If I suck in my gut ALL the time. And throw back my shoulders like a Marine on parade. Which I don’t. But I pretend no one else can see it. And then I spend the day pulling up the jeans that are sagging on my butt while tugging down the shirt that’s riding up.
Last year at this time I was in the size 8s. And then I took care of Mama while she died and then–
Oh hell, who am I kidding. Yes, I was in the 8s last year. Maybe even the year before that. But honestly? The entire last DECADE has been up and down with the emotions, up and down on the scale. Because when stressed…I eat. No, no–I inhale anything remotely edible. And with a kid in Iraq three times, an aging mother and just life, you know, I did a lot of inhaling.
And then I’d exhale. Gain. Lose. Gain again. Lose a little. And on and on and on. I have EVERY diet book to prove it. And after reading them I have concluded the only safe food to eat is air. Because everything else packs on the pounds, is bad for the environment and KILLS YOU DEAD.
And calories? They good. They’re bad. They don’t mean a damn thing.
Awww geeze…. I just wanted to run in circles and scream because it shouldn’t be this crazy making difficult.
As it so often happens, the beginnings of the answer hit me when I was with the horses this evening. They are wise creatures indeed…because they keep their mouths shut and let me ramble on. And somewhere in the ramblings the AHA! glimmer began…I need to forget about the books and listen. to. my. body.
I was so excited I hurried back to the studio and began rewriting the post. Which was stressful. Which meant a diversion. No food in Studio Grande so I turned to the next best thing…FaceBook.
And that’s where the glimmer of AHA! became a full-on moment. It was a comment in a thread from Liv Lane’s Build a Better Blog e-class. A closed group where the students share all manner of information about growing our blogs. The comment was by fellow student AnaLisa Rutstein, MA CHHC. As I remember it, she mentioned the pleasure of savoring dark chocolate in the morning. My kind of woman. And then she mentioned being a health coach.
Well, that sounded interesting. A health coach who savors dark chocolate. Definitely my kind of woman. I decided to check out her site. The first thing that hit me was her tag line. “Helping women LOSE WEIGHT, MAXIMIZE their METABOLISM and REDUCE cravings, without deprivation, so they can gain the life they are truly hungry for.”
Hello? Wasn’t that what the ponies and I had just discussed??? Was this synchronicity in action or what?
I delved deeper into her site. Checked out her credentials. And I was impressed. Even more impressed with her philosophy of weight loss, so much so I asked for an interview.
We spoke on the phone tonight. She looks so young in the pictures but her voice sounds so wise. We spoke about life and stress. About the answer being within. About your body KNOWING what it needs. About allowing yourself to FEEL the feelings. About having compassion for yourself.
FEEL my feelings??? Might as well surf in a tsunami. My kid was in a war. My mother died. Job. Family. Money. And on and on and on… FEELINGS? I’ve been putting those suckers on hold for a long time. And compassion for myself…Whoosh. Now that’s a big exhale…. Huge.
This was an interview, not a therapy session. But as AnaLisa discussed her program I felt walls that I didn’t know I had begin to crack. And I knew the most compassionate thing I could do for myself was enlist her help.
So I did. I signed for her Jumpstart. Six 45 minute one on one coaching sessions. Handouts and experiential exercises. E-mail support.
Afterwards, as I was kicking myself for spending the money, because really, there are other things in this world to invest in…I stopped and thought, whoa…how could I NOT invest in myself. Because this is my life we’re talking about.
As I work with AnaLisa I’ll be sharing this journey with you. Not the gory parts, but the illuminations.
Because it’s all part of living the Arty Life.
.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art |
Spent the morning with my nose buried in a book. An e-book to be exact. One I bought from Kelly Rae Roberts a while back and promptly stuck in the virtual I’ll get to this later pile, AKA downloads. It’s called Flying Lessons . I’m only on part 1 but I’m flying. Already.
It’s about goals and blogging and selling your creative work online. Imagine that... It’s about knowing your passion, facing your fears and going for it. And it’s written by a woman whose done ALL that and more.
And then it’s about the nitty gritty DETAILS. But I’m not there yet. I’m only on page 33 after spending half the day on it. Because it’s the sort of thing you have to think about. Ponder upon. I can tell you one thing…I’m very excited by what I’ve read so far.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Meanwhile, I finally photographed a few more of the oil and cold wax pieces I made for the show in November. These aren’t the final photos but are good enough to post here.
Beneath the Surface. Oil and cold wax on cradled board. 2’x2′
Crop Circles, oil, cold wax and plaster on cradled board, 2’x2′
I can’t remember the name of this one. Calling it Crop Circles for now. Because it’s late and I’m tired. The right name will come.
More tomorrow.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Dogs, Life, Mr. Spouse |
There is only so much HGTV a body can stand before they willingly–willingly, I say–turn over the TV to the Super Bowl half of the family.
And I reached that point. I believe it was after the ‘is-there-really-any-chicken-in-here’ soup. The stuff that comes in the red and white cans. The stuff no adult eats and I never have in the house. The stuff I CRAVED after a night of violently purging from my system EVERYTHING that was not tied down by ligaments. I swear, even my EARS were puking. And when I came to, when I was remotely conscious, all I wanted was Campbell’s.
And a shock collar for the dogs. I wanted to send them flipping over backwards every time they barked. Which was every three minutes seconds. Because Mom was in bed and they had to guard her. From everything. And my little darlin’s have fierce imaginations when it comes to danger. Squirrels! BARK! BARK! Trees! BARK! BARK! BARK! Mr. Spouse checking to see if I’m still alive! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK! BARK!!!
I sent Mr. Spouse on a mercy run. He came home with the soup. Two cans. WHAT was he thinking??? Really, I’ve got a LOT of empty inside me, more than two cans’ worth. And he ignored my suggestion for the dogs. Totally. Like he thought I was kidding or something.
Awww geeze…
But while my day was spent snoozing on the sofa, drifting in and out as people bought apartments in Sweden and Scotland and directing BAD thoughts at my best beloved puppies, Mr. Spouse was outside working on the new studio.
I need to come up with a name for this new studio, by the way. Or I can transfer Studio Grande. I’m open to suggestions.
Look at that. Got some plywood up. And it’s starting to look real. The little puddle on the concrete lower right? Sophie and Bean saying hello. They don’t realize this is almost an indoor place now. And they sure don’t know that this will be Studio Quat’s domain.
Now that will piss ’em off.
This is the hobbit door. Mr. Spouse REALLY wanted this. And since his labor is free, I agreed. But I’m going to paint it RED.
So that was the weekend around here. Me? Not so much. Mr. Spouse? Good Job!
by Susan Lobb Porter | Life |
Sophie does. not. care. She is licking my lower leg…exfoliating it…as I wallow on the comfy chair. I cannot muster a firm enough MOM voice to convince her this is not a good idea.
I am coming back from the dead. From the land where fever and chills and teeth rattling shakes go hand in hand with THE PURGE. Twenty four hours of eternal gratefulness for indoor plumbing. Because without the modern marvels of fresh running water and the flushable loo there would’ve been no reason to go on. No reason to LIVE if I knew I was going to have to clean up after myself.
I believe the worst is past, KNOCK ON WOOD, despite the relocation of the Superbowl from Indiannopolis to the interior regions of my head. Grown men, BOTH TEAMS, are tossing themselves around between my ears. Large men, HUGE men running jumping smashing, crashing without ANY regard to my feeling on the matter.
All this whining has made me tired. Off to bed with me now. Tomorrow is another day.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Life |
The celebration continues!
YAY!!! Because birthdays shouldn’t be limited to ONE measly day a year now, should they? That special feeling, that feeling like THIS IS YOUR Day, should happen EVERY day. Spread ’em out over the whole year. Every year.
I do. Because I like being my own center of attention.
I call ’em my re-birth days. And it doesn’t matter if anyone else knows. It’s a matter of waking up knowing that no matter what happens...this is my day.
I discussed this with my friend Jana this morning. That’s her up above. Well, it’s her hands and her yummy ‘lucious latte made with steamed almond milk. Which was quite tasty, by the way.
Jana and I live in the sticks. In the forest that surrounds our funky old gold mining town. The streets are steep and narrow and as we walked from the car to the cafe we talked about life.
And death.
We both lost our mothers recently. Mine in April, Jana’s only a couple of weeks past. Mothers. Daughters. The decision to be there for a loved one when the outcome is understood. To take care of them when things are ugly. To let them go, let them die. With dignity, compassion and love.
Walking down the steep narrow sidewalk, the kind that’s uneven from tree roots and settling, I saw a couple of street people sitting on a concrete retaining wall. Smoking. Personally, I would’ve been more comfortable on the other side of the street where we could pass one another with enough space between us we could just walk on by. As it was, we had to walk single file to get past them. And since this is California we had to say hello. Because that is what we do here, say hello to strangers.
Even if they’re out of our comfort zone.
But Jana, who was behind me, said it like she meant it. Like the brief exchange was an honor and a privilege and these were not strangers, they were individuals worthy of her attention. And they responded in kind.
When we got to the cafe Jana picked a table by the window. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time and had some catching up to do. We don’t see each other very often but every time we do we marvel at the connection. We are so alike. And yet so different.
I feel like there’s a soul connection.
So we drank our coffee and talked. I mean talked. And watched the world go by outside. There was a man on a bench. Homeless by the look of him. I noticed one of the cafe workers approach him with a small bag.
I’d ordered a quesadilla. Which was huge. Way too much food. But it was SO good. As the conversation wound down and we were getting ready to leave there was still half of it on my plate. I thought about the street people we’d passed. Wondered if they were still there. Wondered if they might want what I hadn’t finished. But I didn’t share those thoughts with Jana.
The man from the bench came into the cafe. He sat at a nearby table, drinking from a paper cup. That’s when Jana told me she did volunteer work with the homeless. She recognized him from the shelter.
And then she asked if she could give him the rest of the quesadilla.
Oh man, she made his day. He ate it like it was the best thing ever. Which it was. And then he told us, quite loudly and way more than once, thank you!
We got up to go. I’d been eying some windows across the street. Old windows. Heavy shutters. Nice contrast of colors. Of light and shadow. I stepped outside with my camera and took a few pictures. When I was finished I realized Jana hadn’t followed me out. She was still in the cafe. Talking with the man. Laughing with him. Looking him in the eye. Clasping his hand.
Actions way beyond my comfort zone.
Whack upside the head. Spiritual AHA! moment. And best damn re-birthday present ever. The gift of seeing love and faith in action. And realizing I still have a long way to go.
