Cynthia Harrison's Blog, page 45

Truth & Fiction

Yesterday I met a writer friend at the library to talk about his novel-in-progress and other writer stuff. It was a great meeting. For me there is nothing like a one-on-one conversation. It’s my very favorite. Like reading a book, just you and the author on this ride. So to have a one-on-one with another writer is such a treat.

One of the things that came up was how much of ourselves we put into our characters. Melissa is ME. She’s the most autobiographical character I’ve ever written, like literally pages torn out of my teenaged diary. But at some point, my characters leave me behind and become themselves. Even Melissa. For one thing, my first sexual experience was nowhere near as romantic as Melissa’s was with David. But she waited a long time to be with him and I wanted to give them something special. With help from a friend (I still am not overly confident about writing love scenes)  I think I did.

My writer friend is a journalist, a very good one, who is trying out the fictional waters, and while writing is writing and good writing in one area is going to increase the chances writing in another area will also be good, at least at the sentence level, the word choice level, the degree of sophistication in the prose, there are big differences in fiction and fact. Plot, for one thing. But character? I can only speak for my own experience, but I use my emotional life to fill out the gaps in my characters’ internal stories. I usually change everything about the plot because my life is rather dull. I’m a teacher and writer. When you see these types on film, you see two minutes in the classroom, not four hours. You don’t watch someone writing a novel, although that might be an excellent new sleep aid.

For a peek into this autobiographical novella of my teenage vagabond years? “Sweet Melissa” s on sale for a sweet price for a few more days.

Tagged: writer friend

What’s Your Number?

Holidays have always been tough for me, and I dreaded getting on the scale this morning. But I did it, because I am no longer in denial about this little problem I have with pounds. Just like most of America, I had more calories than usual over the weekend, as my FB posts clearly show. I did manage to stay away from all desserts except a chocolate vodka. But you know, it’s vodka. Does it really count?

I wasn’t sure.

Reason it was such a big deal to me is because I had not been going down number-wise for a few weeks and I was at one of those thresholds, you know, like you were in the 120s and now you’re in the 110s. Those are not my numbers and I’m not ever telling. I have not weighed 110 since I was twelve years old. But anyway, I made a couple of adjustments and finally lowered the middle number and just would have been so sad to go up again. But I didn’t! I stayed the same:)

As they say in WW, staying the same over any holiday weekend is something to celebrate.

How I did it:

First, I knew we were going out to dinner Saturday night and that we would likely being having fried fish. So for lunch I had a huge salad. And then after dinner, I danced. A lot. When I dance, I really move. Waist, hips, legs, hands, tush. All of it is in on the action. None of this foot shuffle, wave the arms once or twice stuff. The band was playing oldies and I knew all the dances, the twist (of course), the jerk, the swim, even did some mashed potatoes just to mix it up.

Also, I didn’t eat dessert at a friends’ house party on the 4th. Someone sweetly provided me with a bowl of berries, but I would not have had the cake anyway. Also, I brought a big green salad to the house party for my plate. Heaped it high. I eat a big salad with lots of greens every single day. So whenever the “bring a dish to pass” memo goes around, everyone knows Cindy’s bringing salad. So those were the things I did right. I won’t talk about what I did that might not have been perfect. Just two tiny changes.

The other change was something I don’t even think about anymore. Instead of the usual barbecue fare, I had a yummy vegetarian burger: Portobello and blue cheese. I’ve been vegetarian for a long time, and my friends are so kind, they always do something special for me. This helps at barbecues. They had thick burgers, used to be my favorite, and also Coney dogs! I would not have had any, but the fact that they took the time to grill me that great burger made me feel special instead of maybe just a tiny bit deprived.

Yesterday, I said no to alcohol and no to all the sweets in the house and no to any carb that wasn’t 100% whole wheat. I really had a lazy day but I just didn’t eat the way I used to. Because I had two bigger mini-meals earlier in the day, I had fruit (fresh cherries, yum!) and yogurt (plain Chobani) for dinner. It was plenty. My tummy gets a little messed up from too much party food and drink and the yogurt was soothing, the cherries sweet.

Maybe not quite as sweet as when I stepped on the scale this morning.

My usual day after two days of partying would include pasta, crackers, chips, (any crunchy snack food!) chocolate, ice cream, and most likely pizza for dinner. So I made a few small changes and like the results. I always used to believe that these changes were too difficult, but they aren’t. What’s different?

I am. I was ready to make the changes I needed to, and this weekend is proof. Usually I would have gained a couple of pounds from the extra wine and the nibble of this and bite of that. But, not today. Today I stayed the same sweet number.

When I used to gain during holidays, and complain to Lisa how hard it was to stick with a plan during festive occasions, she said “It is hard. It’s really hard. You’re right about that.” I think just having her acknowledge that this weight loss business can be a struggle helped. I keep saying it’s easy but it takes awhile to get to easy. I’ve been doing this for more than a year.

Knowing before you start that there will be times when it’s really really hard, but also knowing that you can just make minor adjustments and achieve great results over time, those things are what helped me keep with it. I knew Lisa’s struggles and I see how well she’s done after her weight loss. She inspires me every day. I hope she inspires you, too. Miss any of my Lisa posts? They’re all here.

Tagged: diet, exercise, health, Lisa Plan

Gypsy!

My favorite book blogger, Bodicia, who is much more than a book blogger, she is also an awesome writer of humor and serious thought pieces, has surprised me this morning with a review of Gypsy!

This could not come at a better time as I am adding reviews to the book page. Not too many, just a few for each book. It’s been emotional for me reading the kind things strangers have to say about my books. You never know when you write these things, if they’re just for you or if someone else might enjoy.

May have mentioned how crap I am at marketing my books. I like to write, so that’s first. And then there’s the day job. Al is a job all by himself. (I told him that yesterday and he was highly insulted, but it is true.) So marketing, that’s like job #4. I do love Twitter, and I link to my blog posts, because I like blogging, but setting up little blurbs and things for the books, not so much.

Gypsy and Sweet Melissa are my paranormal indies, and I really stepped out of my box to write the paranormal elements, but it was fun. My thought was, well, it might be just fun for me and nobody else, but I’ve gotten good feedback so far, so yay. Al is reading Sweet Melissa (he is not a fiction reader and this is the first book of mine (#7 with #8 release any day now, so it’s kind of a big deal to me). He really likes it. Hey, a positive review from my husband! Haha. That’s like saying “My Mom really loved it.” Or more to the point “My Aunt Louise thinks it’s great.” My Aunt Louise thinks everything I do is great. Mom, not so much.

Gypsy and Sweet Melissa are Kindle exclusives and together they make up the Traveling Girls series (so far). So I thought, well, with Gypsy being reviewed, maybe I will offer a Kindle Countdown for Sweet Melissa. That’s a marketing plan! And it’s so easy. I just did it in between writing this post. Sweet Melissa will be discounted from July 9-16, so there you go Kindle readers:)

Tagged: gypsy, kindle countdown, paranormal, sweet melissa

New For You

Today I added a new item to the top menu. As the “Lisa Plan” entries add up, I got to thinking (very dangerous!) and ran an idea by her. We should have a spot on the blog for interested readers who happen upon an entry, like it, want more, and have no idea where to find the other entries. So now, you can catch up. Also, coming soon, a biography (with pics! and links!) of the wonderful and inspiring Lisa:)

Tagged: diet, exercise, health, Lisa Plan

Sex Tips for Life & Literature

Al is being very nice to me lately. He has also been more interested in getting next to me. I notice these things even though I am way past menopause. When you’ve been married almost 29 years and your husband starts acting like days of yore, it makes you go hmmmm. Like a few weeks ago. “After golf…” he said. Whenever it’s “After” anything without the thing being named, the thing is sex. Later in the week, he reminded me again. “We have a date tomorrow.”

I looked at him. Really? Sex is a date? Since when? So I said “We don’t have a date, we have a booty call.”

Usually I make him laugh when I say things like that, and I really was teasing, but he got all sputtery and concerned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. You’re golfing with (male) Golf Partner. Then you’re going out to dinner with GP. Then you’re coming home to have sex with me …”

“You girls come to dinner,” he said.

I was good with that. I didn’t mean to manipulate him in to taking me out, but hey, sometimes we do meet the guys after golf and I love being waited on. I think every ex-waitress does.

Then, a few days later, he was like “Tomorrow night …” Again with the unfinished sentence and the significant look. And I’m thinking, man this is crazy.

A few days ago, I told Al about an article I read in “Psychology Today” by Virginia Rutter, who claims that men who share in household chores have more sex. Then yesterday he cleaned the bathroom. I mean it is gleaming. But he does that every week and has since forever. He also washes windows. And grills. But then he sits at the table like a king while I bring him his dinner, his fork, his knife, his napkin. Once in awhile, I’ll forget the silverware if I have a couple of complicated dishes going and he will get himself a fork and dig in. In all the years we’ve been together, he never brings one for me. That used to really hurt my feelings, but I laugh about it now.

He cleans the bathrooms, the job I hate the most.

Contrary to Rutter’s research, our sex life has not always been this hot. Sure the first five years. Okay the first ten. But after that? Good phases and bad phases and things get really complicated with menopause. If you’re not there, you don’t want to know.

So, this dress. In the picture. My mother bought it for me. She still loves buying me dresses. I tried it on and it’s that comfy stretchy t-shirt material but a little low cut for me except as a house dress. I don’t normally do much cleavage. I have a little beachy top I put over this just to walk to the mailbox or water my plants. But it’s so comfy. And Al likes it. You might think, well, Cindy, there’s your answer. But, nope, it’s not the dress.

It’s not the weight loss either, since that’s been a gradual thing since about this time last year. And I have a ways to go before I’m the weight I was when he married me.

Not the dress, not the weight loss, not the housework. I finally had to ask my randy man what the heck was going on. “The blonde hair,” he said.

And everything clicked into place. Most often, the correct answer is the obvious answer.

Tagged: blonde, chores, marriage, sex

Emotional Rescue

The first time I gained a significant amount of weight, I taught night school, my first teaching job. I had been stressed as a student teacher, but it was nothing compared to how ill-equipped I was to handle night school. Many young people are made to go to night school as part of their punishment for a crime they’ve committed. Then there are the people who fell through the cracks long ago, maybe undiagnosed reading problems, maybe a trauma, maybe a baby. So an array of emotional and mental problems awaited me every night. An older African-American man called me a racist because I was told not to let anyone stay in classroom during break and had no idea that he had been an exception to this rule.

Every day at 6 p.m. someone new hated me. Every night at 10 p.m. I came home, turned on MTV and crunched my way through a bag of chips (or two.) That was stress eating. Every bite down on the crunchy salty substance felt like a minor victory over my crappy job. Where was my classroom? Crunch. Where were my honor students? Crunch. When would I ever get past discipline and into actually talking about literature? Crunch.

Before I knew it, I’d gained 20 pounds. And then over the Christmas holidays I gained 10 more. Because another kind of emotional eating is celebrating good times. And ask anybody, I really like to celebrate and I was too unaware to realize that celebrating with food might feel good, but it was harming my body in ways very clear in the mirror but that I refused to see.

People didn’t recognize me after that 30 pound gain (which became 40 as the school year dragged on). I didn’t recognize myself, either. Thus the cycle of the lose and gain began. I’ve lost hundreds of pounds. Ten, twenty, thirty, but always, almost as soon as I threw away my fat clothes and bought new sizes, gained the weight back. It was that fast. For a few weeks I’d wear my new cute outfits and guys would flirt with me and I felt pretty again and then bam, back to fatland. Because I really didn’t want to flirt or have an affair to get my sweetness fix and being fat made sure that was not going to happen.

Guys. I hate to admit that I like attention, but I’m going to be honest, my marriage is comfortable but not all that sweet. I have a great husband, he took on a single mom with two kids, he supports my writing, helped me through college, shares my personal goals. But he also is just not a naturally affectionate person. When I think of my husbands, none of them were. Yet, I craved touch. Hugs, kisses, sweetness. Meanwhile, hubby was at the NASCAR race or the hockey game or the football tailgate party. Or he was working. Saving for our future.

I read once that when a person craves sweets, they lack sweetness in their lives. I’ve never forgotten it and I think it has some truth. A friend told me once that she had a lonely weekend coming up, and she was not looking forward to it. I patted her knee and said “here’s what you do” then proceeded to tell her my routine whenever the boys were at their dad’s and Al was away on a golf weekend or some other guy thing. First, I laid in supplies. Only food I wanted to eat. Strawberries, chocolate, Ruffles, rich gooey Brie cheese, good wines, baguettes, bagels, filet mignon. Then I’d go to the video store (remember those?) and choose several films, none of them involving action/adventure. Finally I’d hit the bookstore, stack a tower of new hardcovers by my favorite authors in my arms, and ring up a tab that more than equaled the food and the movie bills combined.

“See? You just have a “me” weekend. And you can shop for a pretty new outfit too.”

How deluded was I? Very. I know. But I was giving myself sweetness in the only way I knew how.

Lisa, after I related this coping mechanism, asked about my anxiety. She said “The anxiety you take pills for and what you are trying to do instead with the sweetness, that’s all part of the problem. Because I think this kind thing is often why people overeat. That and just having a fun time, too. But all those things play into it.”

So what was her solution to my sweetness dilemma?

Have a clear, set intention, and a positive mental outlook to make things happen.

My intention is to stop hurting myself with comfort foods (the shortcut to happy) and to start loving my body with regular check-ins with an amazing doctor, yoga, meditation, and walks in nature. I’m not perfect yet, but I’ve come a long way from the woman who had a battle plan that looked more like a sugar coma. When Al goes away now, I plan more positive activities, like outings to local art fairs or attending writing retreats. I take myself out to the movies these days, and thanks to a cracked tooth acquired eating popcorn, I don’t even want the stuff.

When I joined a yoga studio, I found that if I drank too much wine the night before, I’d feel sick in some of the poses. Ditto with meat. So through yoga, gradually I became vegetarian. But vegetarians can eat ice cream and cake, and I was still, even on Lisa’s Plan, indulging my need for sweet. Sabotaging myself. Then I got back-to-back bad sugar reports from my doctor, which scared me into finally giving up everything with sugar in it: meaning everything I loved.

Yes, I had to let my health get out of hand before I could really take the final positive step I needed, but every step in the process came from setting that first positive intention to love my body and take care of it.

Tagged: diet, exercise, health, Lisa Plan

Stay Present, Let Go

Still working on that relationship with myself. One practice I continue daily is the loving-kindness meditation. It differs only a little from my normal breath meditation in that when I realize my mind is “thinking” I bring it back to compassionate thoughts about myself. I send myself love. That’s pretty much it.

Judging myself, blaming myself, feeling shame … these were all normal states of mind for me for a very long time. I didn’t even know I was doing it and, at various stages of my life, I blocked them from full realization with the usual suspects: food, sex, drugs, alcohol, denial.

I used to hide from pain, suffering and fear. I figured life is short, let’s take our pleasures while we can. It seemed the obvious way to go. And I still don’t like unpleasant emotions, but I finally recognize that they lie in wait, just under the surface of my skin, and will only grow stronger if they are not acknowledged and allowed to move through my body in the present moment.

Spiritual maturity, says Jack Kornfeild, allows us to “rest in the wonder of life.” And spiritual maturity is what I’m working on now that I have that age maturity thing happening. I want to leave this planet gently with awareness, not in fear and dis-ease.

Ever notice that disease kinda has a second meaning?

Most of my health problems (all minor, thank stars) can be traced directly back to things like anxiety and fear. You get older, you start to see patterns. So now I’m learning to treat myself with kindness instead of guilt, shame, blame, fear, or judgment. Life is just too short not to know myself fully in all my perfect imperfection. “Touch with mercy the parts of ourselves we have denied, cut off, or isolated,” Kornfeild advises.

His method includes patience, a thing I have long been short on. Meditation helps me learn patience, so does listening, so does yoga. Mindfulness to each task at the moment it is undertaken brings patience. This is a tough one for me, but I want the harmony patience brings. I want “a loving, patient unfolding into the mystery just now.” Living this way stretches time, too, because there’s less distraction.

Not to get all serious. In present-moment mindfulness, in spiritual maturity, in practicing compassion (that’s Kuan Yin, goddess of compassion in the frame up top) there is fun, there is humor, there is play. Wherever I am, I want to respond and relate with deeper joy. At least that’s the plan. I’ll let you know how it goes:)

Tagged: loving-kindness, meditation, mindfulness

Words on Fire

Only four dry days in June 1977, the year my basement flooded. Elvis hadn’t died yet, but another, more personal loss happened under my feet as I slept. My basement filled halfway up the stairs with water. The chaos involved in that was nothing to a big drama in three small boxes that seemed no big deal to my husband.

I’d been writing diaries and filling notebooks with poems since I was 11 or 12. I saw right away that all three of the boxes were soaked, my stuff ruined. I grabbed the top notebook anyway. It was wet, but the ink had only smeared, not completely disappeared.

“My poems! Mike! What should I do?”

He looked down at me. “Throw them away,” he said. And then he left for work.

Alone with the ruins of a necessary part of me I barely understood, I wondered if I’d come to a sweet resting place where my head no longer filled up with words on fire until I had to write them down or burst into flames.

I kneeled over the boxes, not caring that I was wearing my favorite pair of bells. The jeans would survive; they were made of tough material. My writing, on the other hand, was disintegrating before my eyes. I pulled the top spiral bound books, which seemed semi-okay, out of the boxes. My oldest stuff–the white diary with gold lock and key, a picture of Mickey Dolenz, my favorite Monkee, hundreds of sheets of loose notebook paper—all of that was unsalvageable soup.

I came upstairs, my arms full of notebooks. I set them in the kitchen sink and went back down to clean the mess, a jug of Lysol in one hand, old towels in the other. Hours later, I wrung out the rags and hung them on the laundry line that spanned the basement ceiling.

I looked at my notebooks in the kitchen sink, noticed how the light from outside shone down on them. For the first time in ten days, the sun had made it through the clouds. I opened all the windows before getting into the shower.

“What are these doing in here?” Mike said, coming home from work to a sink full of poems instead of dinner on the table.

“Oh, I, ah, maybe I can save them.” I combed out my long wet hair and avoided his eyes after I noticed that he was looking at me like I was a sad and deluded little girl.

While we waited for the pizza delivery, Mike watched the news and I hung my poems up to dry with the damp rags on the line downstairs.

The next day, I set up a card table in one of the empty bedrooms. Then I called my mother and asked to borrow her typewriter. I went to the mall, but instead of shopping for shoes or another pair of velvet hot pants, I bought typing paper, a new ribbon, and a bottle of White Out.

Fifty-six poems survived the great flood. And surprising stuff happened when I typed them out on fresh paper. Hours flew by like minutes. I discovered the value in revision. And I learned how to woo inspiration. The old seductress had come again, and since that day, she has never left.

Tagged: inspiration, motivation, poetry, writing

15 @ 150

Lisa’s plan calls for four mini-meals of 150 calories plus a normal dinner. People hate counting calories. I know I do. I wrote down everything I ate and what it cost in calories for years. I made recipes where I calculated out to the calorie how much a serving would “cost” me. That’s a lot of work!

But there is an easier way. First, you eventually learn that a banana is 100 calories and so is an egg. An apple is 50 calories and an almond milk latte is 50. But what if you’ve never counted calories and are finding it difficult to start now? Writing down every bite of food I eat? That was the most difficult step of WW for me.

As usual I whined about this to Lisa and she sent me a little list. 15 mini-meals for 150 calories. No counting. No writing. Just whip together and go. Here they are:

1. Light English Muffin with turkey slice

2. Light bagel with cream cheese

3. Turkey sausage on toast

4. Stir half cup ricotta with a few mini chocolate chips plus sugar free dulce deleche.

5. Low cal whole wheat tortilla spread with one TBS of nutella, brown slightly on both sides of pan til gooey.

6. Hot chocolate made with almond milk plus a calcium chew

7. Two slices 35 cal bread (Aunt Millie!) plus two fat free cheese slices, grilled

8. Chobani yogurt with fruit

9. Chobani as an onion dip. Half cup with 6 Pretzel Thins

10. Hungry Girl “Pie One On”

11. Grits, half cup almond milk, and a herb/garlic laughing cow wedge

12. Oatmeal, truvia, sugar free maple syrup

13. Waffle with blueberries (microwave blueberries in some sugar free maple syrup)

14. Half a fiber bar

15. Apple with a TBS cashew butter

Those are all Lisa’s, but I don’t eat sugar, sugar free, or fat free products. Nor do I eat meat. But I love soy sausage! Less calories, too:) I do also love the low cal Laughing Cow cheeses, Chobani yogurt, and grits. Almond milk is my go-to treat. So if like me you want no sugar or meat, but prefer real butter on your toast, or the whole egg, not an egg beater, or a whole grain slice of bread, be like me. I eat 3 minis at about 200 calories each. You just have to watch how much cashew butter goes on the toast or how many nuts you chop into the oatmeal.

I stopped writing down my calories after awhile, if you stick to basics, and this was Lisa’s pep talk to me, just mentally adjust to eating those 15 or 20 auto-foods you love, and you will lose weight. Even if you like full or low fat versions, you’ll still lose, just slower. I lost 25 pounds in a year, so half a pound a week, but feeling fully satisfied and never hungry. I am not sure how many calories I eat these days. I just try to be mindful of portion size and hop on the scale once in a while. It always points down a pound or so. Because I still have a ways to go.

Of course I’m doing yoga. Been walking since I got those great gel shoes, too. See you at the finish line, or next week when the topic is one of my biggest obstacles: emotional eating.

Tagged: diet, exercise, health, Lisa Plan

Summer of Cindy

The trip called my life has been pretty smooth and predictable for the last year or so. Really nice ride on back dirt roads. Many pleasures, large and small. A tiny baby boy-to-be brings vast pleasure to this upcoming Granny.

That part of life flows effortlessly on…while other parts have taken a hit. My beautiful back road with the overarching trees, so green in summer that the air glowed with color, are gone. Concrete will replace dirt, houses will replace meadows, and I am sad about that. But life moves. Constantly and not always to our personal plan.

Assumptions about ourselves, plans we make, risks we take (or don’t), all of that life business, constantly shifts for me. Every day is an act of reinvention, major or minor. I feel the shift more than I used to … I glided for so long in a safe cocoon but something happened, I woke up, I freed parts of myself I didn’t realized I’d chained, I changed inside.

Almost every day a new epiphany. I am the center of one life. Mine. That was a shocker and it started happening way back in March in California when I saw Tim and Alicia. What I found out is that they love me but they don’t need me. Tim doesn’t need me. It is not necessary to plan my life around when I can come to California next. I have relaxed. I can go where I need to go, not where I thought I needed to be to keep this image I had of myself as “a good mom.” I am happy for all my visits to all of the places my children have gone since they left home. But I finally understand that I can be a good mom from wherever I happen to be on the planet. And with Mike and Jessica, their life is even more obviously in a place where I am welcome and beloved, but not necessary. It took me a really long time to finally relax into that realization and learn to hold on more loosely.

Of course all bets are off when baby comes. I have no idea what that will do to my new-found inner peace:)

I don’t know what’s around the corner or what it will look like, but I’m not thinking I need to move to Oregon to be close to the boys anymore. Hawaii would be nice (it is closer to both of them than Detroit!) but Hawaii is a state of mind as well as an actual state.

Everything changes all the time and where I am needed most now is inside the heart of my very own singular life. So here we go into this summer of Cindy. I’ll send you a postcard.

Tagged: change, letting be, letting go