Shifting

New year.

Its a good time for it, the shifting. 

The holidays, always a "good" excuse to put off needed changes. Indulge. Cares to the wind. But for me, even then I knew that something was percolating. And then, just before returning home, I saw the doctor who kindly told me what I already figured. I have probably been graced with IBS.

Even so, the changing did not start right away. I knew that Mary's old AmeriBuddy would be up to visit the week we returned and I decided that was obviously clumped into a continuation of the holidays. celebration, ya know.

But my body was fed up. And I was fed up with being fed up. And I was angry. It was easy to be angry and scared and frustrated when I didn't know what to call everything that was happening. I was convinced that my digestive concerns were my fault. Blame, shame, anger, fear, frustration, embarrassment muddied up inside me.


And I had envisioned rejuvenation upon my return? "Breaks" are delusions and silly excuses to stay stuck. I mean, to "break" is to stop. stop trying, stop moving. Just stop. Life doesn't STOP. The only way to get back rejuvenating energy is to put energy out the right way. 

I knew it was time.

A week or so later, after an exhausting trip to Portland (although I did get to see good persons) and my lethargic effort at Open Gym and other obligations, I was driving to Morton. It was evening and the sunset was penetrating and fiery, infecting me with a sort of calm determination. I felt a longing to return to my connection with the nature surrounding me and it knew I belonged there just the same. Grace needed to return to my life.

Three days of fasting.

Seven days of broth and smoothies.

Three days of adding simple solids: rice, rice cakes, oat bran.

8 glasses of water a day, 9 hours of sleep a night. No alcohol, no caffeine. 1 hour of exercise.


The results were incredible. Physically, my stomach had ceased stabbing me like a dagger. Spiritually, I felt an opening to reflection again, a slowing. The stress was subsiding. Mentally, I was present. I wasn't jumping ahead or falling behind, but fully present. And I felt a lift from all of the blame that I had placed on myself. I felt I had reached another level of growing. On the second day that I added solids back, I was thrilled that I felt "normal".

And then I had to take a trip to town. It was nothing complicated, just a very full day. I had to take my car in for an oil change and pick up a couple of things, then do my co-op shopping. I was meeting my friend and his girlfriend for dinner that night and had some time to kill so I strategically planned to bring myself to a movie. (Side note: Her is surprisingly well worth a watch.) I had fit it in just so and I had to rush a bit from the co-op to get back to the theater in time. The whole day, I thought that I was handling the clock-work schedule in a well-balanced way but by the time I was driving to my friend's I felt the anxiousness of keeping a tight ship on time seep in like a leak in the boat.

Dinner and the visit went fine, but the anxiety underwater stirred and by my first meal the next morning, after having to rush to get to a meeting on time, I could tell it wasn't going to sit well. On my drive home, the cramping returned and my heart sunk in my chest. Weeks of trying to "correct" something and I was back in pain.

The desperation came and went for the next few weeks, as I tried to schedule appointments and try to determine what would cause what.

But for all of the struggling, I was still acquiring pieces of a new self-image. A new way of understanding how to deal with me. The mystery of what I was putting in my body and what affected me how seemed to be less about diet and more about the stress. And based on my Olympia trip, it apparently didn't take much. I had an astrology reading that furthered these understandings. I still have tests to come. And I've started acupuncture.

I have had to reevaluate my "end-point" perspective - yes, a silly one to have in the first place, I know - and realize that this will never be "cured" or systematically understood to be avoided. But that for whatever reason, this will be a challenge for this journey and that I can always shift how I  approach it. It is hard sometimes, but to finally touch it, to dip into the depths of its annoying unanswered questions has been a rejuvenation of sorts. Because if it won't "break", I have to learn to live with it. And if I keep moving through it, I will find those rejuvenating spaces.

during my "cleanse" at the beginning, I definitely felt a boost in energy. I started to tackle the garden project once more, I was more active in my volunteering and taking the extra steps in projects and efforts to contact people. But even after the bliss of thinking I'd "conquered" my problem expired, what it left was a reminder of a "tell it like it is" , "grow up" attitude for myself that knows I have the energy to push forward more than I sometimes do. And I have been demanding that for myself more and more effectively.

Mountains to Mitten Part IV: A little celebration, a little frustration

My procrastination has overreached its boundaries on this folks. So, a speed post to get out of the year 2013.

Fun things occur between here and there: My resignation to not make any holiday treats turns into 5 separate recipes in an afternoon, leading me to make a desperate PSA about cookie delivery and subsequently far more social dates than originally anticipated. A secret celebration is in the mix (for which more baking commences) and then, I am off to Chicago to see my lovely friend Maggie and her Culinary school life.

I opt the Megabus route to get me to the windy city. For those of you unfamiliar, the Megabus is a "low-cost" alternative to the Greyhound. It's like the misbehaved dog's over-tidy, neurotic owner. No one talks on these things. And you are let off at group rest stops like disciplined school children. Even so, my trip there was tolerable enough but by weekend's end, I have no high praise for my first experience and will not be recommending the service to you fine folk. Stay tuned to see why. \

I feel like Babe, Pig in the city when I get let off in downtown. My insides lurch at every horn and I cringe at the angry sputters and expletives hurled out of Taxi windows like Tourettes. Maggie and Justin call me as they are quick approaching in the lane of non-stop traffic and we pull a hit-and-run stop to get me in the car.

Apart from the mob that is transportation, we have a jolly good time. Maggie has also baked up a storm - perhaps enough to feed Chicago itself - and we nosh and catch up before going out for some late night beach tromping. We kick back he next day, play scrabble in a snazzy cafe, quench my recent sushi cravings and later go on an adventure which unexpectedly acquaints Maggie and Justin with a bar that receives their declaration of "The Spot" for their local indulgence.

My return the next day begins smoothly. We are up way early for Justin to drop Maggie and I at the Mega Bus stop. Traffic on the commute is unnaturally non-existent and we arrive early with plenty of time for him to get to work. But its like "Hoth" cold outside and the only shelter option is across the street at Union Station. Now smooth becomes very, very topsy turvy.

beautiful Chicago Morning

The ticket you print off for the Mega Bus gives you a time. It doesn't really say what that time means. It just gives you a time, which you can assume is arrival, departure, estimated time of arrival...whatever. In the case of my first experience, it was the time that was 15 minutes before the bus even arrived. Then, another 15-20 minutes was spent loading luggage of which I had none to load.

Finding ourselves on one of the windiest days in the windy city that morning, we decide it would be reasonable to seek shelter across the street and emerge when my listed time ticked up. Well, this time it was the time that the bus was pulled away from the curb, already up to the stop light ready to turn a corner. I run up and knock at the door, politely gesturing to please let me aboard. The driver gives me the scathing glare of a scrooge that had just brushed paths with a small, needing child. There was a good full minute after that for him to sit in which I could have easily gotten on. But instead, the light turned and he turned. Maggie is talking to the man on the sidewalk who suggests I rush to the other end and try to catch him. I make one last attempt, waving my arms frantically, conjuring the most distressed look that I can manage and the driver proceeds to run a red light to avoid me.

But this is just the beginning of our fun conundrum. First, we rant and vent. Then we decide to head towards the greyhound for a bus that was set to leave in a couple hours. We stop first for some food just across the street from the mega bus. A tasty indian restaurant that provides some much needed warmth to our frozen feet and bitter outlook at our misfortune. However, while there we check the greyhound once more and the ride has disappeared. The next step is to look back at Megabus. Maggie finds one that is soon enough that I would succumb to their service one more time before never using them again. We sit with our eyes peering out the window and a quarter to the time, go across the street. I wonder then, why no one else is there and ready to go, if they are so prompt. Another look at the ticket makes for another turn of events "11:59PM" not AM. Another $40 down the drain. My final option is the 12:20PM Train. At the ticket booth, the woman cautions on the boarding time and warns that if we miss it, the next one is 6PM. "Don't Worry." I say. I will not miss it!

the station is packed. Lines are formed haphazardly and it seems some have been waiting for quite some time. I start to catch mutters of "late" and "unknown delay" about the room. Two and a half hours later, after enduring vague, technological statements about the status of our train and being led and abandoned in random lines outside of the station loading area, we are finally led back in to board.

I sleep. I arrive 20 minutes before I am supposed to be going dancing.

never has there been a more needed antidote for frustration.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the break.

More friends.

More food.

More cat.

Less sleep.

And of course, a game night to top it all off.

I love my friends. <3

I escape the mitten just before the Polar Vortex. Suffering through only a couple of 2 hour layovers. Mary and corey are in Portland to pick me up and we are back home in Packwood at 2:30am.

MARY GOT ME A NEW HAT!

Mountains to Mitten Part III: Tradition

My family has been saying we want a "presentless" Christmas for years. Yet it never fails that we find ourselves curled up on our living-room furniture, picturesque fire ablaze in the background, poised for a Halmark moment. To my credit, I have long since refrained from meticulously setting up over a dozen of my favorite stuffed animals as audience to my grand gift dismantling.

Tradition can be as habitual as morning coffee. But it is the familiar in the big picture sense that we cling to, especially when the day-to-day is always change. Perhaps its why so many families do the same thing for the holidays year after year, including the stressful preparations; a testament that family can be relied upon to always be familiar, through the stress and the change and everything else.

So I don't mind it. We have tailored our gift giving to be more meaningful or pragmatic. And our tradition is more than gifts.

On Christmas Eve, my parents go to the 11pm service. Jordan usually declines. I have been in the same boat in the past but as I grow older, I want more and more to understand how I can let my Dad's religion more into my life.

For the past few years, he has been looking for a church to call home so it changes around a lot. But this year, we went back to the same little small congregation we'd gone to the year before. The minister of the church is there with a giant family. And then there is us. But I like the pastor leading the service. She is a story teller with an open mind.

On Christmas morning, we head out to Meals On Wheels for our morning of volunteering. The gig is kind of a grab bag. Last year, none of the folks we delivered to were expecting us. Some of them seemed bothered that we woke them up, or disturbed their holiday. This year, our recipients are more expectant but I am in the market to find another way to lend a hand on the holiday.

Back at home, we have our Christmas Brunch before gifts. This year, I proposed we try Crepes. Mostly because I have had a ton of vegan and otherwise odd variations bookmarked to try. With toppings galore, they also seem like a please-all option.

My non-vegan average joe crepes look like French perfection. My vegan attempts, not so much. The first try at Buckwheat crepes becomes a muddled, spongey brown glob which I mold into a sort of pancake mash. Adding an egg to the Almond Flour recipe, I manage to pull off those decently enough. I will perfect those buckwheat ones. It is possible. The site had pictures!

My gift creativity is lacking this year, but my parents take up that slack. As per usual, they try to be clever with misleading packaging and complicated gift orders buy my mom put together an expandable book of my best recipes and a "coupon" to get an Astrology Reading session from a trusted and true professional who works with a friend of the family. My dad gives my mom and I a binder of Carrie Newcomer's latest Creative works. Jordan gives me coupons which I will try to use up more quickly than the "free movie outing" I cashed in at least three years late.

Saisha is the entertainment, making one of the giant gift bags come alive from the inside:

See my cat be adorable.

That evening we see "Saving Mr. Banks." I highly recommend the film, although the warmth and sincerity portrayed by Tom Hanks' Walt Disney is questionable. The movie is more about the writer of Mary Poppins and she is a very interesting character indeed.

Post-holiday, we go up to Detroit for the day to see a special Animation exhibit. The collection would have taken someone at least a few days to go through if they were really serious about watching every clip. It is quite impressive. Muybridge is once again stomped into my brain opens with the humble beginning of stitched still-frames. It takes us into the flashy illustrated world of Disney and Anime before coming full-circle to more engaging contemporary stop-motion. A couple of favorites:

Dimensions of Dialogue
Rabbit Run
Frank Film