Simple Girl

My Dry January – Fumble or Field Goal?

Just five days short of my short-term sobriety and there is no way I am not drinking a beer. No point in me telling you why … nothing shocking or life-altering just a couple of very good reasons (you say excuses .. tomay-to, tomah-to). Raging PMS, terrible traffic, a bad day at work, just so frickin’ thirsty!

And, yes I am disappointed in myself. Well, sort of.  I mean 25 days off ‘the drink’ is not bad. I’m sure my liver has recalibrated itself a bit, and I’ve sorted out the habitual tippling from the “gee, a frosty cold beverage would really hit the spot” imbibing.  At the end of the day, I was only out to prove to myself that I had some semblance of will power -- hence, the disappointment, because surely the willpower is in going the full distance. Even the bartender commented that I ‘surely make it a few more days.’ Yes, I could have.  I think.  But I just didn’t want to.

Surely, I have the heritage (Irish, English and Scottish) and the genetics (a family history of not so good with the alcohol), that I must always be mindful. And, that’s the point.  Mindful.  I didn’t drink for 25 days, but I ate an awful lot of chips, woopie-pies, and second helpings. Carbs have to come from somewhere.  Ultimately, I think the lesson learned for me is that the challenge is not in abstinence but in the mindful balance of every day choices. 

Or, as Oscar Wilde put it: “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”  I continue to be a work in progress.

My Dry January – Third Down

Third week down that is!  Though the football terminology is appropriate too for this New England Patriot’s fan, I am especially proud to have not given into the football and beer temptation. Truth be told, it actually hasn’t been that much of a challenge.  Yes, I did say “hello, my little friends” when passing the wine & beer aisle at Stop n’ Shop. But, like most friends, sometimes it’s just a good idea to take a break from each other for a while. And, like any vacation, it’s what you make of your time away that matters.

After a long day at the office, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine seems like a deserved reward.  What happens though (at least for me) is that whether it’s one glass of wine or three in your left hand, the remote is usually in your right. Next thing you know, your reward has turned into a potato … a couch potato. Straight to bed, too “relaxed” to read and the next thing you know you’re back at the office, no more refreshed than you were the day before. What kind of reward is that?  Once, my brain got over the shock of my self-imposed dry spell, I put it on a different kind of diet.

My newfound clarity of mind reminds me of that Seinfeld episode (The Abstinence) where George goes without sex and becomes super smart – teaching Derek Jeter to hit by referencing complex physics equations  or learning to speak Portuguese. Okay, not exactly. So far, I’ve found the time and energy to do things like: read without falling asleep after one page, cook a proper meal, learn how to use my smart phone, and kick my boyfriend’s ass in Words with Friends.  I mean, it’s not like I spent that much time drinking!

One week to go and if I hadn’t scheduled already scheduled a “girl’s night out” on February 1^st, I’m honestly not sure that I’d make a special trip to the store to break my fast. It’s been quite surprising to me actually how well I’ve done on my 30 day challenge. Not that I’d make it permanent, mind you. However, maybe some kind of enduring modification of my drinking habit is in order?  I have another week to give it some clear-headed thought.

Just Lucky, I Guess …. (Not!)

Count the leaves in my little favicon here   – that’s right just three, not four. You’ll find no lucky charms here. I follow the Tom Kite rule: ‘you have to give luck a chance to happen.’   

Several years ago, I went with a friend to see a psychic (I think her name was Shirley). I cut the Taro deck and Shirley started laying the cards out. “Do you have a man?” she asked. “I see a man.”  I hadn’t seen a man near me in quite a while, but “this year, you will,” she said firmly. My luck is changing! I may have actually giggled. And then, Shirley put down the cards, looked me square in the eye and gave me the best advice. Ever. “It won’t happen if you sit at home alone waiting.”  Alrighty, then.

I’d already figured out that putting on make-up for a Saturnday night trip Barnes & Noble was a losing strategy. I certainly wasn’t going to start hitting the bars, but there were plenty of things I was interested in, so I browsed the local listings for “events” and made a list. At first (truth be told, always) when I left the house on my own and arrived solo at a function, I was overwhelmed with self-doubt; positive I would be cast as a cougar or worse just out-cast in a region that is known for its insular cliques. More than once, I admit to driving around the block several times before mustering the nerve to park the car and stride with faux confidence through the door.  But I did:

• Meet-Up for Howard Dean. There is nothing like Primary season in New Hampshire and I’ve always been a political junkie, so why not go to a coffee shop and discuss campaign strategy? Who knew, I’d end up being interviewed by the Public Radio station and have friends call me the next day to say they heard me on the drive to work. What I imagined would be an insightful sound bite actually went something like: “I hadn’t heard of Meet-Up before, I thought it sounded like an Internet dating site.”   To quote Governor Dean, “aaaaaiiiiiiiiiieeeeeyah!”
• Internet Dating Round 1. I used Yahoo and what I got was indeed a yahoo.  I met him at a restaurant about 60 miles from where I lived and worked. He was standing outside, and I towered over him in my 3” heals. (Ladies, if you haven’t figured this out yet, if the guy says he’s 5”10”, he’s 5”7”.  If he’s 5’10”, he’ll list himself as 6’.  Just sayin’.)  I sat across from him through dinner, waving away the smoke from his generic cigarettes, and saying “no, seriously, I don’t want another drink” at least half a dozen times. When I couldn’t tuck my legs any further under me and away from his very curious knees, it was time to go.
• Ski Club. I love to ski. The kids were gone and I didn’t have any one to go with anymore, so this seemed like a perfect idea. I went to the annual meeting, drank a beer, chatted with a few people, and signed up to volunteer at the upcoming swap meet. When that day came, I swear to you, I sat across the street in the Dunkin’ Donuts lot for 20 minutes. I don’t understand why, but I had that ‘I just know I’ll get picked last for Dodge Ball’ feeling, but I went. Fortunately, no sides were chosen.  I helped sell skis, talked to a lot of Dads (married Dads) fitting their kids with yet another pair of boots, and I stayed for the after party. Net-net: I won a raffle prize and talked to some nice people.

I have at least a dozen more examples I could share – volunteering at a local radio station, attending a Habitat for Humanity benefit solo, sitting with a group of perfect strangers to listen to incredible jazz. In none of these examples, do I meet “the one”, become the life of the party or any other type of fairy tale ending. In every single instance, I returned home alone. And in every single instance, I was exuberant. Yay me! I got out of the house, I overcame my fear. I tried something new. I was not waiting around at home for Mr. Lucky to come calling, and I really wasn’t out hunting for him either. I was just having a great time on my own.

Did I meet a man that year? Nope. Turns out luck can take time as well as effort. Mr. Lucky (for that he is) didn’t turn up for another three years or so. And I am as certain as Shirley, he would not have found me if I hadn’t found myself first.

Be Simple

My Dry January - Week Two

I am not one to make New Year’s resolutions. I think I’m fine just the way I am, thank you very much. That said, I suppose I did “resolve” to give up my daily (and I do mean daily) consumption of wine and beer. I mean wine or beer ….. er, actually I guess wine and/or beer is technically more accurate.  Anyway, I am at the mid-way point.  That’s right; I am not making a life-long change – just 30 days on this wagon ride.

During week one, I gathered a few pros and cons about the experiment. Chief among them, that one mustn’t assume weight loss benefits if one replaces alcohol with sugar and carbs in other forms. Crap. The other major benefits include a better night’s sleep and more productive time in the evening.  The Kardashian’s are not bearable without some sort of sedation, so I read a book, work on my writing.  On the whole, week one was easier than I thought it would be and I was quite proud of myself.

The next seven days were a different story though. A glass (or three) of wine at the end of any day of my work week would have been totally understandable. Twelve hour days, lots of drama and instant messages from colleagues featuring beer mug and martini icons tested my resolve. Fortunately, it was something like 12 degrees outside and the only alcohol in my house is a bottle of Cointreau used for Christmas baking.  This, a clear indication to me that indeed I do not have an actual drinking problem. As much as I would have enjoyed the company of one Mr. Kendall Jackson, I wasn’t going to go out looking for him in the bitter cold.

The next big challenge was the weekend. I had totally forgotten about the NFL playoffs. How does one sit in a room with nachos, chicken wings, and beer-guzzling friends and drink diet ginger ale? The answer: double up on the wings and drink hot cocoa (with a half bag of mini-marshmallows).  

So what have I learned at the mid-point of my 30-day sobriety? (Yes, I know January has 31 days, but give me a break!) With alcohol, as with anything else I suppose, there is a potential Venn diagram of addiction, habit, and enjoyment – each thing separate, but at risk of overlapping. I am beginning to clarify where my daily drink was mere habit (guzzled, frosty, dry-hopped thirst quenchers) versus mindful, feet-up, laughing with friends (or at the Kardashians) enjoyment. 

I am not going to lie. I am looking forward to the end of my self-imposed prohibition. By the way, did you know that the observance of “Repeal Day” (the end of prohibition in America) is written into the U.S. Constitution? (I read it on the Internet, so I’m pretty sure it’s true). My repeal day is February 1 and I already have a glass of wine and gossip date booked with a girlfriend. What I’m hoping though, is that from that point on I can stay more in the enjoyment category with an-almost daily drink instead of resuming bad habits.

Cheers!

My Dry January

I’ve exercised enough will power to make it through the first week.  Here are the pros and cons thus far of my wine and beer-free* existence (for merely an existence it is…):

Pro: Face is noticeably less puffy and sallow in the morning
Con: Reduce puffiness … increased wrinkle visibility

Pro:  Increased ambition in the evening
Con: Ambition wasted playing Welder and Words with Friends

Pro: No more second or third glass of wine while watching Beverly Hills Housewives
Con: Watching Beverly Hills Housewives sober

Pro: No longer embarrassed by contents of recycling bin
Con: Fewer calories burned carrying recycling to the curb

Pro: Eliminating 300 or so “empty” calories per day
Con: Weight gain due to rationalizing second helpings and dessert due to aforementioned “pro” 

 

*I’m a cheap date. Never drank spirits.

P.S. you can also check out this post on Divine Caroline. 

An Unlikely Cat Lady

Pets are more trouble than children.” That used to be my standard response to stories about beloved pets – usually accompanied by an eye roll. Dogs are fun in theory, but the shedding, the drooling, the poop scooping? And what’s the point of cats? You feed them and they ignore you.

More importantly, I was a single girl of a certain age and there were two things I was not going to do: 1) buy a Subaru or 2) get a cat.  … I don’t think I need to explain this line of thinking. Then one day I found myself driving through a snow storm to the Veterinary Emergency hospital, with Kitty in the back seat. How did this happen?

Everyone was surprised when I announced that I had adopted a cat from the SPCA; perhaps, no one more than me. I’m not sure why I turned on my signal and made the left turn into the animal shelter that Saturday. I had been out shopping – scooping up new outfits, shoes, and accessories, taking advantage of the holiday weekend sales. By the time I left the mall, I was tired and crabby. Too many self-absorbed people in the mall, spending too much money on things they don’t need but think will make them feel better.  And I realized I was one of them.  Enter Kitty. I walked in to the shelter and was immediately assaulted by an ammonia-smell and cacophony of too many animals in close quarters. I tried to breathe through my mouth and looked quickly around the room. About to make a turn 180 degrees for a quick exit, I’m approached by a perky volunteer. “Are you here to adopt a cat?”. “Uh” ….. I fast-forwarded to the simple life in Vermont I have planned, complete with dogs, chickens, and maybe even a goat.  I quickly came to realize that a cat would be an entry level pet, progress toward realizing my dream!  Why not?!

Six months later, I found myself up all night to medicate the cat I adopted that day – which I cleverly named “Kitty” – every two hours in an effort to save one of her little green eyes.  How did this happen?

Kitty settled easily into my life. The food, the litter box, the nail clipping … all chores I thought I would abhor are actually soothing. A routine – not so much unlike taking care of your kids – that gives one purpose beyond your day job. Kitty is a talker … she meows out her needs or sometimes just makes small talk, and she loves cat nip and the laundry bask….Oh, ugh!  That “crazy cat lady” talk!!  But you need to know, that cat changed me. She opened my heart.  And so I got another one.I felt that Kitty needed a companion for while I was at work all day or away for an overnight. Meet Pepper – or Madame La Poivre.  All black with round eyes that look perpetual surprised and terrified, she is not nearly as charming as Kitty. She is a true “scaredy cat” but she seemed to be just the company Kitty needed. Little did I know she was also a catalyst for poor Kitty’s trauma.

Shortly after bringing Pepper home, Kitty started to suffer symptoms in her eye that looks like conjunctivitis.  Long story short, it was finally properly diagnosed as Feline Herpes.   Longer story short, she lost the eye; or rather, was enucleated. I figure the medicines, mileage, and surgery cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $3,000 all totaled.  And throughout -- instead of being angry and annoyed that this little animal I should have known not to get was costing me so much in stress, time, and money -- I cried.I cried whenever I had to hold her down to give her eye drops. I cried whenever roll around the floor trying to remove the “cone of shame”; I cried when they told me she might lose the eye; I cried when the Vet called to say he was contributing $1,000 toward the surgery bill; I cried when my very southern pet sitter drawled on about “pooooor Kiiiiitty”; I cried when the pharmacist said she would rush my order because she loved kitties too.   

So, yes, I am a true cat lady now. I have cats – a commitment I made and must keep.  Like children, they are vulnerable and you’ve said you were going to take care of them. So you do.  I scrape out the little box daily, sometimes standing over it naked after my run while I wait for my shower to heat up. I brush the cat hairs off my desk and try to see around Kitty as she plops herself between my keyboard and my monitor. I even started a Facebook fan page for Kitty (“Wink the Magic Kitty”) because she is so real and special to me, I think she has goodness to spare and to share. 

I didn’t get the love that was possible for a pet … moreover the love you get from your pet.  Now I do. How did this happen? There is a transformative power in having a pet.  I highly recommend.

Be Simple

P.S. Pepper enjoys all the same luxuries that Kitty does and is learning to tolerate us. Kitty continues to seek her revenge.

P.P.S. To complete the transformation, I figured I'd go all in. This is my new car

More mountain inspiration... and a book recommendation

Following Atticus by Tom Ryan. I just finished this book. If you love dogs, the mountains, or love stories, you must read. The book tells the story of Tom's personal journey ... His relationship with his dad, his brothers, his townie friends, his refound love of the White Mountains of New Hampshire (something we share), but most importantly his relationship with two special dogs: Maxwell Garrison Gillis and Atticus M Finch. Atticus is the source, I think, of a sort of rebirth for Tom as they share adventures and heartbreaking moments on and off mountain. I read it in a weekend -- a luxury of Vermont holidays. I cried and it made me happy and inspired. The same pull that Tom feels towards the mountains and the "soul work" that Atticus accomplishes at each summit are emotions I completely understand. I might not have a year and a half ago --Before Kitty -- but now I completely get it. (More on my conversion to crazy cat lady in a later post.) For now, I hope you read the book or their blog at http://tomandatticus.blogspot.com/ and I hope to see them on the trail some day.

The Kingdom of Simple

Spent New Year's weekend in the Kingdom. No, not Bible camp. The northeastern part of the state of Vermont was given this moniker by someone, some time ago (hey! It's not a history lesson, okay?!) Three years ago, man friend and I were introduced to the area by friends on a mountain biking trip, and we have been coming back regularly ever since. This is the home of the future simple life I am working toward. Rolling hills, dotted by cows, farms, and increasingly high tech wind farms; friendly people...hard, hard working people so different from the competition that marks every day life in the 'flatlands' of Southern NH and Mass. Locals may 'hi-ball' it down dirt roads, but when they are slowed by a tractor or a tourist or a flock of wild turkeys...they slow their pace to match, easy. The pace of living ebbs and flows here like the weather and the four seasons. All things in their time is a universal attitude. It will be hard to leave this morning, but I go with another dose of resolve to make this my home (my simple life) someday very soon. Work life begins early tomorrow with an important presentatation .... But first a walk along the Kingdom Trails. All things in their time. Be simple.