Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully.
- Jackson Brown and H. Jackson Brown, JR
Beer sampler @triumph
1 day ago
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
The Fifth Day of November
Yay! My scale said I was back in my usual three pound range this morning. I mean, I'd really be cheering it up if it had actually started going down, out of my usual three pound range. But... in time.
Funny how quiet things are today... after last night's loss... but - even if they didn't win the World Series, they're still champs. They still got farther along than everyone but the Yankees roster. That's still something to smile about.
Congratulations, Yankees and to your fans too.
Funny how quiet things are today... after last night's loss... but - even if they didn't win the World Series, they're still champs. They still got farther along than everyone but the Yankees roster. That's still something to smile about.
Congratulations, Yankees and to your fans too.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Short and Stout
My dad is right. It happens. And it's frustrating but it does happen. I'm a little perplexed by it but then again - maybe I'm not. We'll find out tomorrow when I get back on my scale. Today it went up by a whole pound. And I've been working out - rather hardcore, if I do say so myself. My scale is officially (again) at the highest it's ever been. Today, I stepped out of the 3 pound range I should be in, based on the idea that the average person's weight fluctuates within a 3 pound range most of the time.
Today Fed Ex should be dropping off my new mirror as well. A full length one so that I can see myself from top to bottom. I honestly believe that if I had a mirror during the last year, (besides the one in my bathroom that has a Funhouse effect once you hit a certain spot in the glass, thank God I'm short or I'd be looking at a deformed version of my head each day - and this particular mirror is only for the top half anyway), I wouldn't have gone this far overboard.
I was hanging with one of my girls last night (her alias has yet to be determined) and we discussed the issue at hand. She and I sometimes take a decent amount of time between seeing each other. Not because we don't want to, we just live opposite lives (work-wise). And she was willing to be completely honest with me. She said a few months ago, after one of our long breaks, she looked at me and thought "oh my... she's gotten rounder". We laughed. Because it's true. She's someone who's seen me when I'm at my "normal" weight... when I'm a much smaller size than where I am now. The fact is... while I'm acting obsessed about it, I've got a big job on my hands. And most of my focus at the moment rests in this one goal. I've had this weight on me for somewhere within a six month to one year range. My mom said she thinks it happened right after I moved into my new place. Maybe...
Other goals to follow soon...
Today Fed Ex should be dropping off my new mirror as well. A full length one so that I can see myself from top to bottom. I honestly believe that if I had a mirror during the last year, (besides the one in my bathroom that has a Funhouse effect once you hit a certain spot in the glass, thank God I'm short or I'd be looking at a deformed version of my head each day - and this particular mirror is only for the top half anyway), I wouldn't have gone this far overboard.
I was hanging with one of my girls last night (her alias has yet to be determined) and we discussed the issue at hand. She and I sometimes take a decent amount of time between seeing each other. Not because we don't want to, we just live opposite lives (work-wise). And she was willing to be completely honest with me. She said a few months ago, after one of our long breaks, she looked at me and thought "oh my... she's gotten rounder". We laughed. Because it's true. She's someone who's seen me when I'm at my "normal" weight... when I'm a much smaller size than where I am now. The fact is... while I'm acting obsessed about it, I've got a big job on my hands. And most of my focus at the moment rests in this one goal. I've had this weight on me for somewhere within a six month to one year range. My mom said she thinks it happened right after I moved into my new place. Maybe...
Other goals to follow soon...
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Live Now
- By John & Patrice Robson
"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."
-- Annie Dillard
We lose the power of the moment because we're so rarely in it. We're reliving the past or speculating about the future. We continue to believe that tomorrow's the day when I'll be more capable, more wealthy, more fit and more loving. Meanwhile, I'm just putting in time, dreaming of better things but not making any concrete move to realize them.
When you find yourself thinking of the future or the past, bring your awareness into the present moment. Really experience how you feel and what's happening around you, without judgment. If we can treasure each moment, our lives will be rich, no matter what we have accomplished.
"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever."
-- Horace Mann
"If, before going to bed every night, you will tear a page from the calendar, and remark, 'there goes another day of my life, never to return,' you will become time conscious."
-- A. B. Zu Tavern
"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."
-- Annie Dillard
We lose the power of the moment because we're so rarely in it. We're reliving the past or speculating about the future. We continue to believe that tomorrow's the day when I'll be more capable, more wealthy, more fit and more loving. Meanwhile, I'm just putting in time, dreaming of better things but not making any concrete move to realize them.
When you find yourself thinking of the future or the past, bring your awareness into the present moment. Really experience how you feel and what's happening around you, without judgment. If we can treasure each moment, our lives will be rich, no matter what we have accomplished.
"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever."
-- Horace Mann
"If, before going to bed every night, you will tear a page from the calendar, and remark, 'there goes another day of my life, never to return,' you will become time conscious."
-- A. B. Zu Tavern
Monday, November 2, 2009
Weepy But Not Weeping
I find it funny how just when I'm going to finally take time for myself... my time goes right out the window. And pressure starts pressing down on the shoulders. Much of what I'm talking about is work related but not all of it. Sadly, what is work related started worming it's way into my other relationships. Luckily, I kept reminding myself that this is a no-go in my life. Work stays at work. Unless it's a social thing.
Suddenly, in the last week I've found myself feeling two emotions regularly... one, I've been feeling instantly bitchy at times. Kind of showing up whenever it wanted and making a point of letting others know that they're annoying me. Sadly, it's not that they're really annoying me though - it's that I'm just feeling generally annoyed. When I don't get to do my thing in the order in which I like, I'm discombobulated for the rest of the day. Routine, I guess you could say. Two, I've been getting crazy weepy. Not crying weepy, just choked up. On Saturday, seeing the kids out getting their candy made me choked up, over and over. And forget it during the game - I am still surprised I didn't start crying. Harry Kalas almost got some more tears. And MJ did actually get some real tears from me in the beginning of the movie.
I wouldn't say these are mood swings. Maybe it's just PMS plus having a pile of work that's finally, just now, getting a smidge smaller. Unlike my scale, btw. I guess I shouldn't expect too much after just one week but I want to see that weight off - NOW. Ok... I'm willing to wait it out and feel a sense of accomplishment from it. I'm willing to be the dreaded "p" word.
Patient.
Suddenly, in the last week I've found myself feeling two emotions regularly... one, I've been feeling instantly bitchy at times. Kind of showing up whenever it wanted and making a point of letting others know that they're annoying me. Sadly, it's not that they're really annoying me though - it's that I'm just feeling generally annoyed. When I don't get to do my thing in the order in which I like, I'm discombobulated for the rest of the day. Routine, I guess you could say. Two, I've been getting crazy weepy. Not crying weepy, just choked up. On Saturday, seeing the kids out getting their candy made me choked up, over and over. And forget it during the game - I am still surprised I didn't start crying. Harry Kalas almost got some more tears. And MJ did actually get some real tears from me in the beginning of the movie.
I wouldn't say these are mood swings. Maybe it's just PMS plus having a pile of work that's finally, just now, getting a smidge smaller. Unlike my scale, btw. I guess I shouldn't expect too much after just one week but I want to see that weight off - NOW. Ok... I'm willing to wait it out and feel a sense of accomplishment from it. I'm willing to be the dreaded "p" word.
Patient.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Father Forgets
by W. Livingston Larned condensed as in "Readers Digest"
Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.
There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.
At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"
Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive-and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!
Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.
You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightended with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.
Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding-this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.
And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!
It is feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy-a little boy!"
I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.
Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.
There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.
At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye, Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"
Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive-and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!
Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.
You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightended with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.
Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding-this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.
And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!
It is feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy-a little boy!"
I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother's arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.
Friday, October 30, 2009
This Is It
I skipped watching the game on Thursday night. Which, due to our team's loss, I'm not terribly upset about now. Not that I was terribly upset that night either... because I went to go see This Is It. Michael Jackson's documentary about his never going to happen concert. Let me tell you something... it would have been amazing. Brilliant. Amazing. I think what I missed most about not watching the game was sitting on biff's couch with her. But - we've got tonight.
The movie advertisements for This Is It kept telling you that it would show you a side of him you've never seen. It's true. What you saw was the artist at work. And quite the artist he was - meticulous, knew what he was envisioning "I want it played the way I wrote it". He was funny too. Funnier than I would have ever guessed he would be. Spice and I enjoyed it. It really was something to see on the big screen. Everyone there clapped when it ended, as if he could hear us. Who knows - maybe he can.
Got me thinking too - about dedication to one's work. I'm talking the passionate kind of work, the thing that makes you complete, not just the thing that you do for money. For me, it'd be writing. For others, homemaking or finance or anything, really. But - can you imagine if we were all that dedicated? If we all made such a big go at it? Or, at least, a big attempted go at it.
What would this world become?
The movie advertisements for This Is It kept telling you that it would show you a side of him you've never seen. It's true. What you saw was the artist at work. And quite the artist he was - meticulous, knew what he was envisioning "I want it played the way I wrote it". He was funny too. Funnier than I would have ever guessed he would be. Spice and I enjoyed it. It really was something to see on the big screen. Everyone there clapped when it ended, as if he could hear us. Who knows - maybe he can.
Got me thinking too - about dedication to one's work. I'm talking the passionate kind of work, the thing that makes you complete, not just the thing that you do for money. For me, it'd be writing. For others, homemaking or finance or anything, really. But - can you imagine if we were all that dedicated? If we all made such a big go at it? Or, at least, a big attempted go at it.
What would this world become?
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