Cynthia Harrison's Blog, page 44

Feisty Fifties

At 59, I’m almost done with the decade Gail Sheehy calls “feisty” and I wonder what took me so long. To get feisty, I mean. Really, I spent my 50s publishing novels and teaching writing. Not what I’d call feisty  activities. But then something happened this year, well, a lot of somethings happened, and I snapped into feisty so fast it made my head spin.

As an example of my new-found adventuress spirit (it’s not new, it just went away for awhile and now it’s baaaack) I’m going away alone today on a special sort of date with myself. I’m even spending the night. I’m not really clear on why I’m doing this except something inside says “you must.”

With Mac and my camera, I’m hoping to get some writing done and maybe start dabbling with a new video project. But then, maybe I’ll just write a few pages and then read. (I want to learn about this next stage Sheehy talks about, the “Selective Sixties” which are right around the corner for me.) I’m going to be spontaneous. I’m going to look out at the water. I’m going to order a really good dinner and eat alone in the restaurant attached to the hotel. I’m considering dressing up. Which for me means not jeans. Just going to see how I feel when I get there.

I first heard about writing alone in hotels from the ever-feisty Anne Stuart. There’s something about being alone in a room with a book project on deadline that fires up a creative spark. It works in a way being at home does not. Stuart has often drafted entire books over a long weekend this way. My friend Laura Zera also swears by writing outside the house. She has a little office she goes to every day where she is not distracted by domestic duties. Natalie Goldberg prefers coffee shops as does Jennifer Weiner.

Me, I like writing early in the morning, in my blessedly empty house, in my pajamas. But just lately I’ve been stalled on my current fiction project and the mere thought of this mini-getaway sparked some plot ideas. Really, I can hardly wait. Check in is at 3. Better start packing:)

Tagged: 50s, gail sheehy, writing

Filling the Well Redux

For ten days, I unplugged from the electronic world. It is one of the best ways I know to “fill the well” — everyone gets depleted, and that includes creative types who love their work. Sometimes I just need to stop the normal routine and do something completely new. I came back with a fresh perspective and within hours accomplished more than I had the previous month. Yes! The book is going to galleys, finally:)

There I am on Puget Sound, 2000 miles from home, taking in the new and releasing the old. That was a week ago. Today I found the following post from 2003 (!) and thought it expressed just what I wanted to write about today. Circumstances have changed, but the idea remains the same:

Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way is one of my favorite all-time writing books. I use her suggestions and ideas constantly in my own writing life. One of the most convenient is the notion of “filling the well.” Until I heard Cameron explain it, I never realized that creativity was something to be nurtured, something that needed care and cultivation. I simply assumed that there was a never ending supply and that when I started to feel uninspired and cranky it was because my muse was pissed off about something I’d written.

She was pissed all right, but not in the way I believed. In truth, she wanted a break. She needed to fill the well. Happily, my muse fills the well by doing the sort of fun things I like to do when I’m not writing. She likes going on vacation, getting away from the four walls of the writing room. She likes a shake up in the routine, which should always include wild dancing and fine wine. Also friends, lovers, artist dates, good food, many laughs.

All of which I am happy to oblige her with…

This weekend, I had a fabulous couple of days with two dear friends, Kris and Ann. Ann’s lovely sister lent us her cottage on an island in the middle of Lake Erie. Since it’s pre-season, the island was only pleasantly populated with boaters out for a good time instead of it’s high summer packed party people atmosphere. We brought plenty of wine and chocolate and ate our meals out. We talked until all hours as the candles flickered down. We slept late and read our novels over coffee in the morning. On Saturday, we danced the afternoon away to an awesome cover band called New Decade. All weekend we were wild and free and my muse was in alt.

It’s always good to get home, however. Rusty missed me and Al has vacation all this week. He’s got projects around the house and I’ve offered to help with painting the garage. In the meantime, we’ve been hanging out, listening to music, sleeping late, having our own fun. Yesterday I talked him into going out to lunch, and then for dinner we fired up the barbecue. The weather’s been so fine here in Michigan. My daffodils are in bloom. Life is so very good. All of this as a way of saying I won’t be doing much writing this week. I’ll be too busy accomodating my muse by filling the well.

Tagged: Artist's Way, creativity, filling the well, julia cameron

The Owen Effect

Back from blog vacation. Also actual vacation to see new grandson, Owen. Baby is beautiful. Lots of pictures on FB:) I miss him right now so I’m just going to move along and catch up on some other amazing things that have been happening, which I am calling “The Owen Effect” even though I can’t prove his being in the world is what is making my world change so much so fast so fabulous.

First, yes, I still fit into my jeans! I did everything I said I would during vacation as far as eating and exercising goes. Even did I a little yoga. So much walking. Was great. But for me this food control is huge. On vacation. After donating all big jeans and buying smaller sizes. That’s when I usually go up, up, up. Not this time.

Speaking of up, for some reason I just wanted to test out the Space Needle. I’ve been to Seattle before. I have family there. I have never wanted to even LOOK at the Space Needle, because I have a fear of heights. Panic attack level fear. So I just always say no to high places. Or take medication and sometimes emergency vodka.

But the kids, they needed bonding time with baby, so I would see them every day for several hours but I also got in a few tourist type things. I have no idea how the Space Needle thing entered my anxious brain. And why I decided to try it without Xanax. Not even a half. No emergency vodka, no wine, no nothing. Just me and my ticket to terror. 

Funny, I didn’t feel terrified. I felt calm about it. A few months ago, I gave a speech, which before that day, public speaking always made me anxious. I did it when I had to, but I did not like it, and I turned down tons of opportunities to give talks. Then one day a friend asked, I couldn’t say no, so I did it. Fine. Fun, even. I figured my decades of teaching had cleared that fear.

But testing the theory, I zoomed to the top of the Space Needle. And had not a moment’s fear. I know! What is happening to me? How am I becoming fearless when I am used to being more riddled with nerves than Woody Allen? 

It has to be Owen. No other explanation except maybe I want to not be afraid of stuff anymore. And use less medication. So, I decided to fly home without Xanax. Yeah, I worried a little about turbulence, but kind of shrugged it off. Even as I decided to do this, I was thinking ‘what is with you, girl?’ but I did it. And was fine.

Not saying I’m cured of my multiple phobias. Driving over bridges and on mountains. (I can walk over bridges and on mountains, just not be in cars. Weird.) Helicopters. Yikes! Hot air balloons. Whoa. Being buried alive or, more likely, crammed into an overfull elevator. Those things still sorta make me shake inside.

Still, I have had these fears for 30, 40, and 50 years. I remember the incidents that led to each fear, the repetition that led to anxiety and finally panic and a psychiatrist. Because I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I thought I was having some sort of breakdown or something. And, kind of, I was. Waking up at night terrified of suffocating? In a huge room in a king-sized bed? What is that about? 

I really didn’t do talk therapy with the psychiatrist. She gave me meds for one specific phobia (the driving, which let’s face it, agoraphobia would have been next had I not nipped that one). After a year or so she pronounced me “cured” and I was. Kind of. Except in certain high anxiety situations. Snow. Rain. The aforementioned mountains and bridges.

Cognitive therapy is not a way to cure panic. The most popular form of cure is desensitization. You just every day do the thing you fear. While on medication. And then on less medication. Then less. Then none. That’s what I did. But really I can’t fly in an airplane every day or ride up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. (Was there. Could not do it.) I can’t cram myself into a coffin. So, when those things come up, it’s the meds. Except now, not so much.

I read something that said courage is not the opposite of fear. Courage is facing fear. That made me think, huh, wonder what it would feel like to face some of these fuckers? So I did and baby was I ever surprised. I also read somewhere that phobias will follow you into your next life if you don’t handle them in this one. So, just in case …  

Beautiful Boy

My son Mike with his son Owen.

Unplugging from the blog for ten days or so to fill the well and be with them.

See you soon…

 

Tagged: family, filling the well, joy, unplugging

“Meet the Grandson” Vacation

Jessica, due this week, must be looking forward to losing some weight:) Even though to me she looks absolutely beautiful, we all want to hold the baby and I will be there in Seattle this week waiting for his delivery. I don’t start fall term here in Detroit for almost a month, so I can be there until baby boy shows up:)

This is not a normal vacation, so I’m hoping I don’t gain weight. In fact I have been planning ways just so that doesn’t happen. First of all, this vacation is all about the baby, so there’s not going to be a lot of going out to dinner and drinking many glasses of wine. I will be sticking very close to Ballard, the neighborhood Mike and Jess live in. I’ve got a “mother-in-law” apartment five minutes’ walk from their place for the first several days and it has its own kitchen so I can

1. Shop for my own food and prep mini-meals. Restaurant food is loaded with fat, sugar, and sodium.

Ballard is a neighborhood in the city of Seattle, and I’ve been there a few times before. They have everything a person needs within walking distance and I’ve broken in two new pair of sneakers just so I can walk everywhere this trip. I’m probably not even going to bother renting a car. The kids’ house is five minutes from me, the hospital just a thirty minute walk. I plan to walk, walk, walk. And who knows maybe drop in on a yoga class or two or even climb a mountain. Okay, maybe not the mountain.

2. Exercise. Walk, bike, hike, climb mountains, find a yoga studio or maybe yoga on the Pacific. 

The second half of the trip may be a bit more challenging as I’ll be staying at an urban farm B&B where they are famous for their breakfasts. On the plus side, I can walk off breakfast better than I can walk off dinner. It’s just five minutes from the kids, too:)  And when eating out, one thing I have learned to do is have smaller portions. I often order an appetizer for dinner. Or fish and salad make great options too. Split a dinner between two people, but only if you really want the same thing. But as I said, lots of calories in restaurant prep. So I just eat less.

3. Split restaurant dinners or choose an appetizer instead of a meal.

I have given up sugar. I really believe that has taken hold. So I’m not worried about ice cream. I’ve had chocolate in my house for months and have not touched it except for that tiny S’more the other night and it did not trigger a full-on sugar craving. But there is the Chardonnay. Nothing like being on vacation and relaxing with a nice glass of Chard, maybe watching the sunset over the ocean. Bliss! I don’t plan to deprive myself of that pleasure. But this vacation is going to be a time when I want to take it all in, savor every moment, and so I’ll be saving the Chardonnay for a glass with dinner or over a sunset. In a word, I will not use vacation as an excuse to drink more than I know is good for me. I won’t be indulging in “daytime drinking.” Okay, possibly, when I meet Laura Zera in person for the fist time, she’s driving to lunch, so maybe we’ll have a glass of wine. I have the best reason in the world. So this will be a mostly sober vacation but for the best reason in the world.

4. Don’t drink too much alcohol.

I feel pretty confident with these cornerstones for this “Meet the Grandson” vacation.  Except for the one where I need to fit into my jeans by the end of the trip, they all come from the Lisa Plan. Find all Lisa Plan entries here.

 

 

 

 

Tagged: diet, exercise, health, Lisa Plan

Good Things

One of the perks about getting older for me has been the soundtrack in my head. There’s a lot of good music in there. Like a Paul Revere and the Raiders song from 1967 floating through my head for the last week or so. I have so much good in my life right now. A fews days ago all the lights dimmed, but if you cultivate gratitude, joy follows.

Every day, even on bad days, I find so much to be grateful for–mostly the people in my life, the ones I love. I have a really nice house and many material things, but I’m just grateful for a roof. I’ve had nice houses before. Possessions do not bring me joy. Well, yoga pants and fuzzy socks, but it’s the comfort factor. When my body feels happy, I feel happy in my head, too.

Among other nuggets from the Bard, I shared Shakespeare’s famous soliloquy “The Seven Ages of Man” with my students. It’s a set piece in my favorite play As You Like It that starts out “All the world’s a stage/And all the men and women merely players/They have their exits and their entrances…” When I started reading, I said “Everyone’s heard this, right?” I’m thinking it right now. You know this one, right? Or no? Most students had never heard of it.

I remember the first time I read certain stories and poems, and many other special “firsts” — that magic of learning a new thing. Like the power of gratitude. I started practicing daily gratitude 15 or so years ago. Some days it is really hard to drum up one little bitty piece of it. “Grateful to be here now, with the time and mental focus to know it” is a fallback for anyone who just can’t think of one good thing that happened to them that day, or one good consistent thing in their lives. I have other ones I say every day: “I’m grateful for my family.” And “I’m grateful for my true love.”

Good things bring the joy, and one of those good things is coming up: the weekend! As Paul says, “It’s a groovy world.” So, dance if at all possible. Maybe to this:

 

Tagged: gratitude, joy, love

Worth It

Brene Brown spent her life researching shame, never suspecting until one crystalline moment that under her need to excel was a perfectionism that kept her mired in guilt, judgment and blame. It took her awhile to assimilate her years of research with her newfound self-awareness and the result has been TED talks, new books, and television interviews about her discoveries. Here she is with Oprah!

I have NEVER been a perfectionist. I have always known I am far from perfect. But this too has caused me endless shame, blame, and guilt. Because our culture likes perfect. That’s why we airbrush photos of movie stars.

Blame

What a day I had yesterday. It was almost too much. What saved me, I think, is it started out really well, with a good class and an end date in sight:) I love teaching and I love when the semester ends. So I was feeling pretty good around noonish. Then I turned on my phone. My dentist had cancelled again and the temporary crowns he’d put in my mouth weeks ago were beginning to bother me. Also, I’m going on vacation next week and I wanted my permanent crowns in place before I left. Of course, this was my fault for not understanding the message from a receptionist who had given me some instructions about picking up some shade match at a lab on the way to the dentist’s office. Turns out I was supposed to go to the lab and have the shade matched BEFORE they made my crowns. I blamed myself. What an idiot.

Guilt

Next I came home and turned on the computer to a disturbing message from the B&B (a hundred year old urban farm five minutes’ walk from the kids and soon-to-be grandson). They had double-booked my reservation and I had no place to stay next week! Of course it didn’t matter that I booked first or that I wanted to stay in this place or that it was so convenient to me. They’d already sent a confirmation to the other party and that was that. I would not be arriving at my perfect vacation destination after all. If only I’d been more attuned to my email, I would have noticed that they never sent me a confirmation. If only I was better at following up, I would have caught that way back last winter when I booked my dream B&B. But no, the woman with a million projects just figured everything would work out, when there is no reason to ever think anything will work out without double and triple checking, something I never do because I live my life so carelessly, always hoping things will magically “work out.” That’s where magical thinking will get you. Outside the door of the B&B you were counting on.

Shame

Scrolling through my email, I found a note from a new editor. MY new editor. For Luke’s #1 Rule, a book I expected would be released right now. I opened the email and read the short note from the person who is my THIRD editor on this project. I’ve only ever had one editor before with this publisher, who I have pubbed two novels with. And yet here was Luke, my best effort, the book of my heart, the novel that took me from labels like “chick lit” and “paranormal” and “romance” author to “contemporary author” stalling and stalling again. Why? The first editor kept it awhile and gave me some general comments, most of them negative. I was relieved (although a little hurt, suspecting that editor #1 hated Luke so much she refused to work on it) when a new editor was assigned. That’s when the waiting began. And continued. And continued. I did get a set of good edits from editor #2 but long after I’d turned them in, I still heard nothing.

Then the note yesterday. What could have gone wrong? Editor #2 had seemed to love Luke. Why then a third editor? I recognized my shame triggers: not good enough, who do I think I am to write a big contemporary story that encompasses everything from divorce, child custody, blending families, love, meddling mothers, and addiction? Who was I to think I could pull something like that off? It was much too complex for a writer with the limited skills I possessed. Shame, shame, shame. I managed to reply and thank this third editor, who I assumed was a new hire they’d foisted me off on.

Turn Around

But they hadn’t foisted me off, I saw as I scrolled down to a lovely and thoughtful message from editor #2 explaining that her admin duties were keeping her from getting Luke out in a timely manner and so she had brought one of their powerhouse editors, a long-time tested and true editor, to usher Luke into the world. Shame zapped.

The owners of the B&B were so apologetic, taking full responsibility, and offering to find me accommodations next week in the same neighborhood and a free stay at their urban farm another time. They came through with a beautiful place. Guilt gone.

As for the dentist, the receptionist tried to book me in for next Tuesday. Next Tuesday is my last day of work. I will be grading research papers and watching research presentations. I will be calculating and filing my final grades with the college. I will be packing (we leave Wednesday!) but I need my crowns so I said okay. Because I always say okay. The receptionist said “if that’s convenient for you” and I said “it isn’t, actually.” Then I asked if she had my new crowns in the office. Yes, they had them. It’s just the dentist had to reschedule. “Well do you have anything THIS week?” “Let’s see.” She actually giggled. “I didn’t think of that. Oh yes, can you come tomorrow at 2:30?”

Yes, I can, right after my pedicure. So there was the day, a full cycle of guilt, blame, and shame heaped upon my own head but then also handled. I am not perfect, and I have never aspired to be. I’m imperfectly human, and shit happens to everybody. But because I am worth love, respect, and kindness, especially from myself, I knew what to do to turn things around. Thanks Brene Brown. You are awesome.

Tagged: blame, Brene Brown, guilt, shame

Help for Falling Faces

One of the benefits of being pleasingly plump is having far fewer wrinkles than skinny girls our age. The saddest drawback to the fun of losing inches and gaining confidence is finding out that, wow, toes get wrinkled! I loved my plump little feet. Now I notice there are actual wrinkles at the tops of my toes. Really?? The indignity of it all!

Lisa and I talked about this. She said for her the arms were the worst. Oh, yeah, arms. I don’t go out in public without them covered. I looked over my wardrobe recently and thought “just donate every top without at least an elbow length arm to charity.” Well, that’s impossible as the people who design and sell clothes have not gotten the memo that we boomer women really would like a little variety here. Sure, tank tops and sleeveless dresses are perfect for summer, but not if you have to wear a sweater over everything just so your arms don’t show. On the plus side, Lisa says that the extra sag in the skin from fat loss does recede with time. Want all the Lisa Plan posts to date? Go here.

By far the most obvious of all the sags and bags and wrinkles is the falling face. I’ve seen this in so many friends, you lose weight, you  look ten years older. And yes, I’ve seen it and freaked about it in the self I formerly believed without vanity. Ha! I’ve always had wrinkles around my eyes. I smile way too much. They’ve gotten really deep. I’m talking trenches here. But I’m okay with them. They’ve always been my friends, those wrinkles. My forehead, ah, there’s always bangs. And those things on the sides of your face that make you look a little bit like a puppet, the ones from the nose to the mouth and then the second set from the mouth to chin, on either side of your face, those’ll be sagging  more too. Sad to say. Also, you know  how smokers, as they age, get the wrinkles around the mouth? Yeah, I haven’t smoked in 25 years but I can see those starting up too. Or I could until I stopped looking in the magnifying mirror.

Now here’s the good news. All kinds of help is available. I have not had Botox nor filler, neither facelift nor eye-lift. I have not had a lifestyle lift. Not that I think any of that is bad, but I don’t like the way fillers make movie stars look. You can always tell and they remind me a little bit of bunny rabbits when those folds plump out so obviously. I don’t want to inject myself with poison and I don’t want someone to cut my facial skin off, trim a few inches, and then sew it back on. It scares me. Even the lifestyle lift, which several friends have had done, sounds gruesome. I heard they take these big hooks and thread them through your skin and hook them over your ears! I don’t know if this is true or not, but rumors like that make me go “NO!!”

Serums are huge right now, but most of them contain Retin-A, which Lisa swears by, and I cannot use as my skin is too sensitive and it gives me a nasty rash. But Tera, my stylist, sells a natural product called Renique made of papaya and other enzymes that plumps the skin naturally. Because I’m sorry Oil of Olay but you just were not cutting it alone anymore. (I still use this cream on my neck and face for sunblock safety and who knows, maybe it helps the falling face a little bit too). Tera is awesome. She fixes my hair really cute too. Having a good cut and color does wonders for your face. If I had the nerve, I’d post before and after Tera pix. Oh hell, I’ll do it.

Before Tera

After Tera

And that after Tera was before I started using Renique. Let’s see if I can get a close up of what the old face looks like right now.

After Renique

I know. I feel bad about my neck, too. But I see a real difference around my eyes and those whatever they are lines around the cheeks like some kind of strange parenthesis. Whatcha gonna do? Well, there’s not much I’m willing to do. But I’ll do a few little things, just to make this fun and so people won’t ask me if I’m sick. That has happened to more than one friend of mine as they lose weight. I may not look so young anymore, but I still look healthy, and that’s really what weight loss is all about. Want to see what Tera’s place is all about? She owns Absolute Salon and Day Spa and they’ve got a website!

Tagged: aging, diet, health, Lisa Plan

Old Things

I have always loved old things, ancient things even. Mythology was my favorite subject in high school and I still study the early Persian myths and religions. Gods and goddesses and pagan magic hold an allure that has always been there.

Almost everything I own is old. Mostly inherited, as my grandfather made furniture as a hobby and I got lots of that. I have my granny’s hope chest, old Pennsylvania Dutch that she updated in the 60s with an antique wash. It’s peeling now but I love it still. Since it’s been refinished it’s not valuable. Just sentimental.

Counting the items of furniture in my office alone, of the 11 pieces, 6 originally belonged to my grandparents. 5 bookshelves, two my grandfather made and three from IKEA. Two cabinets he made. Her hope chest, where I keep my files. The lovely ottoman with intricately carved legs that I just could not get rid of when the springs and stuffing finally poked through. I had it reupholstered and my guy (when you collect old things, you always have ‘a guy’ who helps you mend what breaks) went ahead and refinished the bashed up legs too. They are so beautiful. Maybe I love old things because of the care people used to take with craftsmanship. Maybe it’s because these things remind me of my grandmothers, both passed on, both their homes such sweet sanctuaries for me as a child.

The book in the photo above was my grandparents’ too. “Burke’s Complete Cocktail & Drinking Recipes” (1936) has two subtitles. The first “with Recipes for FOOD BITS FOR THE COCKTAIL HOUR” (yes all in caps) and “The Art and Etiquette of Mixing, Serving and Drinking Wines and Liquors.” I have looked through this book often, but never made a drink or a ‘food bit’ from it. I learned to bartend with a similar, slightly updated version of a book like this. So I’ve made Sidecars and Pink Ladies for people. The cocktail shaker in this photo is also a family relic, from the 50s, from my parents. It’s still the only shaker I own. You can see it has matching shot glasses. The 50s were big on comic accoutrements. Not my favorite era, but if someone gives me something useful, I keep it instead of going to Restoration Hardward and finding a beautiful silver shaker that looks retro, like from the 20s. I’ve seen those and adore them. I have lots of things from the 20s. But I keep my old 50s shaker because I prefer using what I have, even silly old things.

Beauty is subjective and to me old things that are also useful hold charm that brings me great joy. I hate buying new clothes. I wear my jeans until they tatter and fall off. Same with shoes. I don’t buy new jewelry as I have so much vintage from my grandmother. And I wear it. None of this has anything to do with nostalgia. It is all about using what is given and cherishing what has come before. Now when I post a #TBT photo on Facebook like the one here, that’s nostalgia. 1978. Me and my first child, bonded in a way that was wholly new magic to me. There’s some danger to nostalgia, I think, if it makes you long for the past. I don’t. I remember how we were and it makes me happy that everything turned out so well for him, and I move on. Life continues in the present. It’s not that I want to live in the past. For one thing, I’d have to be an invalid as I cannot imagine having to wear a corset.

There is a huge disconnect living in an ultra-modern home and loving antiques. I got lucky just before we moved in last year; Mom gave me some contemporary living room furniture. She buys new furniture every few years (!) because she wants a fresh look. This concept is foreign to me. So much so that when we got here, Al bought everything we needed. (Is there anything more cold than stainless steel appliances? I would have chosen RED). I made half-hearted attempts to insert my own opinions, but ultimately I let him choose everything except my reading chair, which has, no surprise, a distinctly vintage feel with just enough of a contemporary edge to fit somehow with all the leather and glass and that huge television that takes up half the room.

There are things I like here. The fireplace. Having a mantle for my Buddha and my children’s photos. I collected and framed all the art on the walls over 25 years, and eventually found a perfect home for every piece. I used to haunt antique stores for old frames. Yes, some of them are on these modern new walls. The old things I love live in uneasy harmony here. But my baby, a grown man now, lives in a 1920s Craftsman story-and-a-half that I greatly anticipate seeing for the first time.

I’ll see my new grandson, too, if he decides to arrive on time. And I’ll love him as I do his father. New humans, now those I like.

Tagged: antiques, home design, nostalgia

Love After Love

 Super moon shook up some worlds this weekend, and I have yet to catch up with all the changes in my own little universe. This is, for example, my first post from my new boyfriend, Mac. I thought I could hold on to Dell a little bit longer as a back up, but he refuses to play second best and just sort of died on me. Also, no mouse!  

So here I am without Dell, without a printer, without a map or a mouse. Just the shards of a super moon blow up in my online world. Yeah, high class problems, not that I have much …except for that one I’m teaching tomorrow. We read a poem the first day that resonated with a lot of students. It’s one of my all-time favorites. Derek Wolcott celebrates something every person who has ever been on a diet needs to learn: self love.

Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror,

and each smile at the other’s welcome

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self,

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you have ignored for another,

who knows you by heart…

Sit. Feast on your life.