My grandfather, Walter, died yesterday. This is the second time this has happened, and will happen again, probably sometime over the next few months. Very morbid I know, but the truth. It was true that it was Walter’s time: he outlived two of his three children, two great grand-children, his wife, and most of his friends. I remember being at my cousin’s funeral last year, and looking at my grandfather, and him accepting the condolences, and wondering exactly what it was he thought about everything. Was it old and busted to him? Was there a point in his life when he buried on too many family members in which he became numb?
Unlike Carl, my mother’s father, who will probably die sometime in the next two months (He is on hospice), Walter, who was my stepfather’s father for the record, had his mind fully in tact when he went. It was his body that did not agree with living anymore. With Carl, it is his mind that has given up, and his body will just not let go. Interesting paradox, truth be told.
I haven’t cried yet, and I am not sure that I will. Truth be told, I didn’t cry when my stepfather died, nor when any of my other relatives died. My Aunt believes I am too much like my mother. Some people have called me unemotional- and to them, I laugh. Anyone who spends five minutes with me knows that is the farthest thing from the truth. I am a very passionate, driven person. And the tears won’t bring them back, and they won’t soothe my wounds either. They will however, make me blotchy, runny-nosed and sick to my stomach. Little return on big investment, right?
On other notes: my pee is green. Quite the segue right?! I know! My husband laughed and said it was because of all the green food I’ve been eating lately. I think its because I started a “Stress” vitamin supplement yesterday. C & B Complex, mixed with a little Zinc. I just find it fascinating that its green. I mean like…lime green.
Either way, the avocado and potatoes (not meat and potatoes, remember, I’ve gone veg) of my current Crazy, Sexy lifestyle? Plateaued. Ugh, how I hate that word. Since beginning my whole lifestyle change I am down about 30 pounds, which is great. But I haven’t moved from there in a week.
I knew I would hit this eventually. It was the same spot I got stuck the last time I was dieting. But this, combined with a head-cold and leaving for Vegas in five days, means that instead of letting it get the better of me, I will coast it. That’s right, I am going to ride this plateau and make it my bitch.
So I will be maintaining through my trip and when I come back, I will be digging in. To what, you might ask? Well, to this: http://www.couch25k.com . That’s right. This Crazy Sexy woman is gonna run three miles.
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Okay, I’ll wait until you are done laughing to continue. Yes, I hate walking. Yes, I’ve never run further than to my car in my life. But I need something to break this plateau and I really think that this is it! So when I get back from Vegas, on March 21st, I am starting this program, and I will stick with it, god damn it. If only to prove MYSELF wrong.
I also started using sparkpeople again, but not really for the weight-loss tracking, more to see where my nutrients are coming from and going to. Going as raw as I have been, and making so much of my food from scratch, it is a little harder to track nutrients in my head. And I discovered something rather important: I am shy on protein and carbs. Which might be while I am irritable and sick all the time these days. the solution? More Beans!
Like the Avocado (note: this is now a running gag, and will be beaten into submission), I have had flirtatious relationship with the bean. Black, Pinto, Red, garbanzo, if it was a bean, I was pretty sure it was going to be bad for me. I didn’t trust them, as I had only really been exposed to the second-hand regurgitation of re-fried beans. It was like sloppy seconds, and no one likes sloppy seconds. Not even me.
So I have slowly been mixing it up and playing with them. Dried takes an awful long time to prep, so I bought a few cans this week. My decision: I probably like them more el dante then the rest of the world, but if they aren’t mush, they seem to be pretty good at filling me up. Score, right? And the carbs? I’m working on that. That might be a hurdle to jump for next week. Or when I get back from Vegas. Any ideas? I’d be happy to listen.
There is so much more to ramble about. Work, friends, life. But I think we’re good for now. I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote for Carl last month. There are lots of inside stories, so if you don’t get it, I’m not offended.
Ciao,
Erica
Dementia
I.
Carl was a smoker
Part of him lived in a cave under the house
Divided to the light and dark, her side and his-
the old leather chair riveted into place with brass brads
A dirty ashtray as tall as her seven year old curiosity, as wide as his palm and melted into the carpet
Piles of half toppled paperwork
A sign of a messy mind is…
Brilliant insanity
All that is left of the inheritance.
II.
Philanthropy is a lesson learned at home
Give Mint
Give Mine
Give summers of laughter
Of a pool so blue it would still be her favorite color twenty five years later
The little home under the forsythia bushes
Stolen Blueberries
The swing made of rope and planks
Tied to heaven.
III.
A raised voice caused ice to form over the surface of imagination
Conversational snoring interrupted by antics of an eight year old
The threat of leather and loss
Enough to make her silent for years to come
Sharp contrast to questions that had no answers
Rhymes
Riddles
Nonsense martinis with double olives
Even the cat could tell the time by the cubes in the glass.
IV.
She went to Duluth and was struck by how blue the water was.
The same color as her son’s eyes
As his
He threatened to send her there so many times
And when she came back disappointed he could only laugh
A small shrug
A wink
It would teach her to stay close to home.
Lesson learned.
V.
This is not how she remembers you.
She remembers roses every week,
Seven months swollen with her smallest girl,
A screaming match sending the florist running.
She remembers love,
She remembers the good times,
She remembers the day they met,
But still holds the funeral vigil
While he sleeps.
VI.
He doesn’t say much these days.
The words have gotten too complex for translation
From brain to mouth seems like so much work
And he is so very tired
Well aware of the heat in which he burned
Has melted reality to his satisfaction.
Now, he is content to look the other way
Give the babies a small smile,
And keep his last words to himself.
-EAG
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