Kim’s Tour of No Regrets

It’s Friday, and I don’t understand how it showed up so quickly, when I thought it was Friday on Tuesday. Now I would give anything for it to be Tuesday again. Except that I need it to be Friday.

In my imaginary bloglife schedule, Wordinista celebrates Friday with fabulous words. But today, I am coming up short…you might say, I have retrogressed.

New word, but you knew exactly what I meant, didn’t you?

Last week I sat on a panel to interview some bright and charming high school students for a scholarship, and one used the word “retrogressed.” We giggled over her tongue-tripping, but I thought the word was useful and her graciousness admirable (and yes, she got one one of the awards).

I don’t think it’s necessarily great that I have found so many uses for this word. From this week only:

My backyard is in danger or retrogressing into the Beverly Hillbillies look.

I have retrogressed to not only watching The Bachelor finale, but even being appalled that Shayne posed for the Girls Gone Wild magazine. The fact that I know who Shayne Lamas (daughter of Lorenzo Lamas) is, or that the GGW magazine even exists, is proof of my retrogression.

It’s hot already, and my fancy footwear has retrogressed to rubber flip flops, while my brain is retrogressing to blubber. See above.

My vocab has retrogressed to the point where I am stealing words from innocent high schoolers.

And now, I am going to retrogress myself right into the weekend.

PS. I just looked up retrogress, and see that it really is a word. So clearly I have retrogressed to where I have lost my brain entirely.

Nothing like a new book to bring a little twitterpation into my life. And three? Well, that’s just more than plenty to offer a weekend of promise and possibilities!

After 6 months of reading only fiction set in India, I chased it down with the thriller, The New Glucose Revolution: The Authoritative Guide to the Glycemic Index. Not just any guide, but the AUTHORITATIVE guide. I mean, how cool is that?

Not one to read and run, I have been waiting for the moment to crack the new books, beckoning me…whispering, “Kim, read me, I am the one who will provide a romper room for your brain.” (And yes, I did just date myself with the RR reference.)

First up, The 8 Minute Mediation. Grover has recommended this book to me, oh, about eight times. I believe he recommended it to me within about eight minutes of meeting me. It promises lower stress, more focus, world peace and a happier life. Oops, that was inner peace. Eight minutes seems like a lot of time, but I won’t deny that my mind could use a little quieting. Just a little.

Next, Julia Cameron’s new book, The Writing Diet, Write Yourself Right-Size. Many years ago, when I was in the midst of mommyhood, I spent a weekend, alone, at Indian Springs in Calistoga. My only companions were her books, The Artist’s Way, The Right to Write and The Vein of Gold. I promised myself I would do this every year. I haven’t done it since. This one tells me I will count words instead of calories and substitute “food for thought” for actual food. As long as she doesn’t touch my wine, I am game.

The last book isn’t for me, but for Kate (so Kate, stop reading now). It’s a new book by the cartoonist/ writer Lynda Barry, called What it is. There was an article about her in the Sunday NY Times and I ordered it right away. I wonder if a present is appreciated if it has drool all over it? Check this out.

The reason I bought this, besides the fact that Lynda’s art is so wackily wonderful, was something she said on an audio interview. Linda said, “Most people think they have to have an experience to be able to write, but the truth is, you write to have the experience.” Which reminded me of this blog, and one of the reasons why I think I might be doing it.

Now, onto the brain romp!

It’s my favorite mom’s birthday today. Ok, so she’s my only mom, but she’s still my favorite. It’s a significant birthday, too, but I won’t squeal. She’s headed to France with my dad, for a barge/wine something or another. My mom loves boats and she loves wine…and when she can get both of them together, life is all good.

This is my dad’s favorite photo of my mom. My guess is 1954. They’ve been together since my mom was 15. They just celebrated 53 years (58 if you count the dating years), and somehow they keep making marriage look like a pretty good gig.

Here are a few facts about my mom….or Grandma Jan, as the world knows her:

She swims in the ocean, mostly with her sister, Brenda. That’s what they have always done, and they will do it forever. My mom has never had a therapist, only the ocean.

She also snorkels. Two years ago, we were all in Hawaii for Neal’s wedding, and she had all of her grandchildren (except for Kate, who was in school) snuba diving together. It was one of the happiest moments of her life.

She has never traveled without an ice chest. Packed. Everywhere. If you say “I am going to Grandma Jan-it,” it means you are bringing an ice chest. If you are reading the newspaper and say “I am going to do a Grandma Jan,” it means you are about to cut out an article and send to someone. I suspect she reads the paper with scissors in her hand. If you decide to clean up the kitchen and keep all of the leftovers in the fridge, in tiny 1/2 cup containers, all covered with plastic wrap (and dated), then you could be accused of “Grandma Janning” the fridge. Feel free to test my family on these facts, and they will prove this is truth.

She was a school teacher, but she really defines what it means to be a lifelong learner. She’s retired, but runs a tutoring program for kids whose moms are in transitional housing (I think) as well as a program for homebound seniors at her church. She is there for you. Really there.

She was born to be a grandmother. My brothers and I are forgiven every transgression (and I had more than a few) because we gave her grandchildren. She is thoughtful, curious, present, aware, excited, generous and 100% grandma. She has made quilts for all of us. The kids picked out the fabric and did the math for the squares. See schoolteacher note above.

She is liberal, and really wants to see a woman President in her lifetime. I hope she has a long life, cause we may be waiting more than a few months.

Mom’s first airplane flight was for my college graduation. Now she and my dad travel constantly, so she’s in perpetual trip-planning motion. My guess is she loved Greece the most. Or maybe Scotland. Or China. Or the anywhere with an ocean she can swim in.

Mom reads, and thinks and considers and even changes her mind. She finds just about everything and everyone interesting. She wants to figure it out…that goes for her faith, politics, world issues, and art.

I’m guessing an ice chest was involved.

Mom has been on more whale watching trips than anyone I have ever known. It stared by taking her fifth graders, and now she and dad have taken trips that last for weeks. She has met every whale who has traveled the West Coast, and she can tell them apart. And I am guessing they call her ‘Grandma Jan’, too.

There’s more….but I will save it for the next birthday.

Fishing with Dad. Well, she’s probably drinking wine (just a glass) while he is fishing.

I’m not sure exactly what is going on here, but when she travels, Mom usually finds someone who she needs to know. This happened to her every day in China.

With Dad, Kate and Alex on the UBC campus last summer. Mom needed to help install Kate in her first apartment. Someone had to buy her a mop and an iron and groceries, you know. I was busy helping Kate hang her obscure photos of the Eiffel Tower (yup, different priorities).

And with my dad, on one of the whale watching trips. i think this is one of their Steinbeck ones in Baja. I love this photo.

And that’s the story of Jan…Happy Birthday Mom! We love you (and can’t wait to grow up to be like you).

Tie dye, drum circles and incense. Ah, the Whole Earth Festival for the inner hippie in all of us, and the outer hippie for those who are living life without deodorant. Three days in May, when our slightly conservative UC Davis campus becomes a dreadlocked crafts fair. The Karma Patrol, Green Tortoise Bus and an occasional visit from Wavy Gravy. We wouldn’t miss it.

Some years it’s blasted hot, some years it rains, and once in a while, it’s 80 degrees and perfect. Today it was perfect.

I mean, you have to love this.

I don’t think any UC Davis students actually attend, but about 35,000 other folks do. We rode our bikes and got there early, around 11:30. Somehow we missed the drum circle, but managed to buy a wire dog holding a peace sign from a Chico artist, a new coffee mug and chocolate covered bananas. It was a little embarrassing to realize just how much we’ve bought here over the years. It seemed like half the town was there, or at least the half we knew. And yup, most of us were wearing our tie dye.

Steve, begging me to buy him yet another tie dye shirt (not).

Alex begging me to take another photo (not). She’s the one hiding her face. Hanging out with softball friends.

The nicest moment was finding Moni at Waxing Moon Batik, for probably the 14th year in a row.

The girls and I have been buying clothes from her since Alex was a baby. We have the batik sunshines, moonshines, unicorns, fairies, dolphins and dragonflies. Alex still has the dress she wore when she was 5 months old in her closet (that would be the blue smiley sunshine sundress, Kate was six and had a matching one, and I still have the t shirt). And yes, today Alex bought another sundress. A little more sophisticated…the days of fairies and unicorns are over. Moni’s daughter is now making the clothes, and Moni was watching her granddaughter, who was about 5 months old. Ahhhhhh.

I did have a really, really nice day today. Breakfast (strawberry crepes), lots of newspaper, two pots of coffee, a phone call from Kate (and a blog post, too), and planting our herb garden. Seafood stuffed portabello mushrooms on the grill for dinner. And…no dishes, at least not for me!

Happy Mother’s Day!

So, a month back on it, and I have lost….a half a pound. Yup, I know I am stronger, I know I am doing this for other reasons, and I know it will eventually come. I know muscle weighs more than fat (which I kinda don’t get, because isn’t a pound a pound? ). I know some people gain when they exercise more. And I know I have a 50-year old woman’s metabolism, because, well, I am 50-year old woman.

But I am still annoyed. In fact, I made the woman at Weight Watchers weigh me twice this morning.

When I came home (on my bike…and I rode the LONG way), I called my mom and growled into the phone. Her response? “Darling, that’s wonderful…that’s 6 pounds a year!” Oh, I love my mom.

So while I feel like crap, and I am am feeling like crap for even having the nerve to feel like crap (because, in the scheme of things, my life is pretty crap-free), I am trying to remember one of my favorite WW lines…

Feedback, not failure.

I am looking for opportunities to ride my bike. I am working with Nancy four times a week. I weigh 22 pounds less than I did in September 2006. (Yes, I know I weigh more than I did September 2007, but working to let that one go.) I am not eating bread. I am learning about how my body uses food as fuel (which I thought I already knew, but evidentially there’s a bit more for me to learn). It’s summer and I live in California, so I have incredible produce available. I got to walk with my friend Martha, who lost 90 pounds and looks amazing. I’ve made some yummy new salads. I can live without goat cheese, popcorn, bread, and ice cream. My knee doesn’t hurt as much. My clothes aren’t quite so tight. I walked a half-marathon. The scale doesn’t make me feel good, so I am putting it in the garage for the week (I did fantasize about driving over it with the car, but I am not quite ready for that).

That’s not failure. And if I say it enough times, I will believe it! : )

I wouldn’t want to send you into the weekend without an arsenal of arcane and wildly weird and wonderful words. I double dare you to try these after a few glasses of wine.

Erinaceous (Like a hedgehog) Huh?

Finnimbrun (This one is for you Grover and Andrea: A trinket or knick-knack)

Floccinaucinihilipilification (Estimation that something is valueless. Pronunciation based on Latin roots: flockə-nowsə-nəkələ-pələ-fək-ation.) I can’t even go near this one.

An unrelated graphic. Kate’s collection of airline emergency cards. She also collects old cameras, robots, plus an amazing array of paper products.

Alex collects hotel “do not disturb” signs, baseball cards, maps and turtles. I collect girl superhero dolls and heart -shaped rocks. Steve gets tin toys, wire bikes and ears (he only has one and he’s an artist, so it’s a Van Gogh thing).

Mungo (A dumpster diver - one who extracts valuable things from trash). Now here is a word I can use.

“It’s been a tough week, but I bet I can muster up some mungo love and feel grateful for the fact that I made it though!“

Nihilarian (A person who deals with things lacking importance (pronounce the ‘h’ like a ‘k’).

“With this blog I am nurturing my inner-nihilarian, which is oddly gratifying.”

Happy weekend everyone.

(Thanks to the web site www.listverse.com)

It started with the snakes and rats, and I was hooked. If you watch Survivor, you know what/who I mean. It may be the single most conflicted thing about me….my love for reality TV.

I like to think that I am discriminating. Survivor, Amazing Race, Project Runway and Top Chef. Sure, I flirt with Dancing with the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance, but I am loyal to only the best. I admit to having spent time with The Apprentice (Donald and Martha), America’s Next Top Model (sorry Kate, I know I promised you I would NEVER tell another soul we watched it), even a dalliance with the Bachelor (arrgggghhhh, I know, I know…). But give me a great back story, a few challenges, scenery and/or creativity and there’s no turning back.

Some of our best family memories are made of this stuff….I know, it’s pathetic, but it’s our version of the campfire. Here’s why:

Survivor: For years we had Thursday night Survivor dinners, until the girls rebelled against grilled shrimp and rice…again. This show is the perfect platform to talk about family values. Is it ever ok to pretend to be someone’s friend?  Is it ok to lie? What does loyalty mean? What does a promise mean? Is it more honorable to work around camp, or be strong in challenges? Does endurance trump strength, or the ability to do a puzzle? Heart over head? Whining is never acceptable, or attractive.  Why don’t the women ever get armpit hair? Outwit, outplay, outlast…which do you admire the most? And then, there was the moment when Yau Man found the idol and made a fake one. I love Yau.

Amazing Race: Favorite team? The Hippies. Kate would have married either one of them. They traveled the world on humor and karma, and won. We had one season we referred to as the “been there, done that” season. I tried (and failed) to get the girls to add on the phrase, “because my parents are so awesome.” We each have our dream AR partners (Kate picks cousin Chris, Alex picks cousin Steven, Steve and I pick each other). I pretend I would be good at this game, until I come off an all night flight. I would be the first one Philiminated.

Project Runway: This is TV heaven. Especially the first season. Adored Jay McCarroll and Austin Scarlett. Remember Austin’s evening gown made of corn husks? Sigh.

Top Chef: Don’t have a magic moment, but I learned the term amuse bouche here (wikipedia: an amuse bouche, also called an amuse gueule, is a tiny bite-sized morsel served before or first course of a meal). It helps me to imagine the crumbs on my counter as an amuse bouche, waiting for plating….just kidding, of course.

There’s more. Benji on So You Think You Can Dance, Ali on The Biggest Loser, Mose on Amish in the City, and the reveals on Extreme Makeover (fast forward the TIVO just to get the weekly cry).

Yup, it’s embarrassing. But it’s my reality….and not a secret anymore!

If you’re one of my fit friends, feel free to move on. But if you’ve stumbled upon this page, looking for company to whine about the obsession with numbers, welcome!
It’s been three weeks since I recommitted to losing weight.

I think my scale is broken…again. No really, this time is different than the last five times I said that.

I have weighed and measured my body, my food, my water, my steps, my bike rides. I am counting calories, fat, carbs, protein, glycemic index. I am lifting weights. I’m journaling, I am chopping, and I am tracking. But I am not losing weight. And quite frankly, I am a little pissy about it. (Ask Steve, and he will tell you it’s more than a little.)

So I am giving up this week. At least the numbers part of it. I’ll journal my food, keep with my trainer four times and ride my bike. I’ll drink water till I float. I’ll keep the pedometer on. But I am putting the scale in the garage for the week.

This week it’s going to come down to this:

Did I eat as clean as possible?

Did I move?

Did I drink water?

Did I learn something new?

How do I feel?

That’s my strategy this week. Next week I’ll let you know how it worked. Or didn’t. And then we will try something else. Again.

While you were sleeping this morning, I joined 2500 other people along the American River Parkway for the 2nd Annual Half Marathon. Five hundred of us walked, the rest ran (in the other direction) and I think all of us had a pretty darned good time. My friend Eden had invited me to walk with her friends Nicole, Karin, Liz and Joanne. Eden is the on in the red, with a slightly sinister look on her face. And the really, really long legs.

(However, she let me spend the night at her home in Auburn last night and had French press coffee and steel cut oatmeal for me this morning…thank you E.)

Beautiful morning…perfect weather, good company, and lots of porta potties.

We’re feeling pretty sassy at Mile 2.

A little Grateful Dead at one station, and banjos at the next. Yup, we’re in Sacramento.

Nicole and I bonded at Mile 5. Happy to see 10, and ready to see 13 anytime it wants to show up.

Four hours and 3 minutes. The others made it ahead of us, but waited at the finish.

We had lunch, and while the others imagined running next year, and training for a full marathon, I thought to myself, “wow, a 5k will be a piece of cake after this!” For the moment, I am skipping the cake, and going straight for the Advil, with a beer chaser.

So I did it, and it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was even kinda fun.

In this moment, between Britney and Miley, the world is paying attention to the hungry. Rising costs, shortages and choices to make and global impact. And what does it mean for us? Does it mean we have to think twice about buying a lovely London Broil? That Costco limits our bulk items? I’m not placing judgment here. After all, I make sure I have fresh strawberries (never frozen) almost every day of the year.

But it does give me the chance to tell you the story of Fula Devi, one more time.

I met her when I was traveling with Freedom from Hunger (www.freedomfromhunger.org). She lives in the village of Misirichak, in the state of Bihar, India. That was February 13. I have thought of her every day since.

Fula has three children, all under the age of eight. She had two others, but one died of a cold, and one of diahhrea. She is a day laborer in the fields. She is part of the untouchable caste. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? But I have never met a mother in such despair.

She lived in the poorest village we visited, and we interviewed her in a small courtyard with her family and neighbors hanging over the walls, crowding into the corners. I suspect she was speaking for all of them.

“I wake up around 7 in the morning, sweep my house and cook. I go to work. In the evening, I get one kilo of rice, and I cook, eat and sleep. The children remain in the house. No one can look after them. I get some small snacks at work and I bring them back to share. If they cry, I bring them to the field.

No one sleeps without food. I mix rice, and if someone gives me potatoes, I mix potato with it. We eat two meals a day.”

This is what a kilo of rice looks like.

Can you imagine working all day, in a field, and feeding your family this? And being grateful for a potato to add to it? Day after day. And then the next day. And the next. And the next month, and the next year.

Fula Devi’s village was new to the Freedom from Hunger program, so she does not yet know that things can get better. Eventually her self-help group will have both savings and knowledge to share with each other. That she will eventually be able to feed her family vegetables. That there will be enough food. Someday. At least that’s what I tell myself. And that is what I am working for.

There are many, many articles being written about the food crisis. Some of the best are in The Economist. Do me a favor, and take a moment to learn more. And then you can enjoy your London Broil and I can enjoy my strawberries, and we can figure out a way to help Fula Devi, and the billion people who are living in poverty with her.

Thank you.