Why the excitement on this day between storms? Today marks the one year anniversary of when I started walking. Ah no big deal to you but a big one to me. Granted when I look back in my journal its not like I just did it every day. February wasn't stellar and neither was March but eventually it started becoming part of my life. Something I miss when I go a couple of days without a walk. I have walked over 530 miles in the past year and those are just the ones I kept track of. There might be more but I know there aren't less. What there is less of is me. A little over 37 lbs less of me. I am glad I made this decision and I hope to continue it. I walked 4 miles today and what is more amazing is this is the third time this week I walked 4 miles. It sure is tiring but considering a year ago I thought when I walked that first mile it was the end of me and I would be found dead in a ditch. 4 miles ain't bad.
Being more active opens a whole other world. More woods, trails, paths, cellar holes and pockets to fill. I am looking forward to the eventual warming of the weather so I can start going further afield. The world is full of dirt roads and I mean to walk down a few of them.
26 February 2011
25 February 2011
Is it spring yet???
Up here on the dirt road today spring is a singularly far away thought. 6 inches of snow have turned into 12 inches and its still coming down. I have already been out today plowing the driveway, snowblowing and shoveling. If there is one thing you can count on in the backwoods is seasons will change when they are damn well ready to and not a moment before.
Yesterday I was down in the big city of Hartford, CT attending the CT Flower Show. Although the exhibits are quite nice I believe it is more of a vendor show than flower show. But it still provided a few hours of relief from the tedium of winter.
I even saw for the briefest of moments one of my gardening heroes, Roger Swain from the PBS show, Victory Garden. Be still my beating heart.
And I started out yesterday with the discovery of a butterfly in my house. A tiger swallowtail butterfly was caught in a plastic bag hanging on my drying rack. I thought this was amazing. Here it was still the dead of winter by anybodies reckoning and I had a butterfly in my house. I don't know how it got there. There are some possibilities of one of its former selves, namely a caterpillar or chrysalis having hitched a ride on one of my numerous houseplants that spend the summer outside. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made up some sugar water, put it in a lid and took it and the butterfly down to my greenhouse. I don't know if it will survive very long and frankly with snow duty today I haven't had a chance to look. But I am grateful for that moment of wonderment. Being able to hold such a beautiful creature in my hand. Being able to feel its feet grabbing onto my finger. It brings back the kid in me. Makes me remember when every day no matter what the season was a day to enjoy, hold on to, because there was never going to be another one like it.
So as the snow finally starts to wind down another storm is over. More plowing is to be done so the husband can make it up the driveway. More snowblowing and shoveling to be done so the dogs can get out to do their 'business' and I can get to the greenhouse and check on that butterfly. It was just another day up here on my dirt road.
Yesterday I was down in the big city of Hartford, CT attending the CT Flower Show. Although the exhibits are quite nice I believe it is more of a vendor show than flower show. But it still provided a few hours of relief from the tedium of winter.
I even saw for the briefest of moments one of my gardening heroes, Roger Swain from the PBS show, Victory Garden. Be still my beating heart.
And I started out yesterday with the discovery of a butterfly in my house. A tiger swallowtail butterfly was caught in a plastic bag hanging on my drying rack. I thought this was amazing. Here it was still the dead of winter by anybodies reckoning and I had a butterfly in my house. I don't know how it got there. There are some possibilities of one of its former selves, namely a caterpillar or chrysalis having hitched a ride on one of my numerous houseplants that spend the summer outside. So I did the only thing I could think of. I made up some sugar water, put it in a lid and took it and the butterfly down to my greenhouse. I don't know if it will survive very long and frankly with snow duty today I haven't had a chance to look. But I am grateful for that moment of wonderment. Being able to hold such a beautiful creature in my hand. Being able to feel its feet grabbing onto my finger. It brings back the kid in me. Makes me remember when every day no matter what the season was a day to enjoy, hold on to, because there was never going to be another one like it.
So as the snow finally starts to wind down another storm is over. More plowing is to be done so the husband can make it up the driveway. More snowblowing and shoveling to be done so the dogs can get out to do their 'business' and I can get to the greenhouse and check on that butterfly. It was just another day up here on my dirt road.
22 February 2011
Right or Left?
Sometimes the most important decisions in our lives are dependent on whether we took a right or a left.
It use to be that when I left my house and went down my driveway, I took a left. Left was where the boys schools were, where work was, it was where most of my daily life was lived. I rarely took a right. Right usually meant leaving the comfort of my home for somewhere I didn't always want to be. That is how we sometimes define our lives. By taking the comfortable route or taking the route that isn't quite as comfortable. By going left or right.
When I started walking almost a year ago I turned right out of my driveway. It is not the easier of the 2 routes to walk. I find it the most interesting. But it has never become an easy route to walk. Remember the old adage, 'I had to walk uphill both ways'? That is what turning right seems to be. It isn't level and by no means straight. You are always walking to the left or to the right. It is a great simile for life.
Today I turned left. Left is a little easier. Since I had spent so many years going in that direction I forgot to look and see what was there. I became use to the scenery so I guess at some point I stopped seeing it.
Today I walked a little slower and took a little more time to see what I hadn't seen in years. What I hadn't seen was the curve of the road. The road is not straight, not even in the parts where I imagine it to be straight. Walking down that part of the road I could smell my neighbor's wood fire. I could see the way the stone wall had once followed the road. The way the houses are built close to the road or further away, looking down on the road. The trees that have grown old and decayed. Whose bark litters the snowbanks near the road due to woodpeckers looking for the bugs and grubs hiding just under the bark. And further down the road the pipelines of modern day sugaring. The gathering of maple sap through miles of tubing rather than 100's of buckets.
Soon the spring will come and with it what I call 'near' viewing. The coltsfoot or trillium that grows on the side of the road will have to be looked at and photographed. The salamanders, frogs, snakes and other creatures that I will have to stop and take a look at. The interesting rocks that will find their way into my pockets. I won't be looking as far into the woods as I do now. But I will be doing something a little different. I will be taking a right or a left off my dirt road into the woods. I will go explore the road that use to be. The cellar holes that were the houses on the road. That is the interesting thing about life. Being able to go right or left. Face it, there is no straight and narrow. No matter what, life is like this dirt road, it bends, twists, goes up and down but never, ever goes straight.
It use to be that when I left my house and went down my driveway, I took a left. Left was where the boys schools were, where work was, it was where most of my daily life was lived. I rarely took a right. Right usually meant leaving the comfort of my home for somewhere I didn't always want to be. That is how we sometimes define our lives. By taking the comfortable route or taking the route that isn't quite as comfortable. By going left or right.
When I started walking almost a year ago I turned right out of my driveway. It is not the easier of the 2 routes to walk. I find it the most interesting. But it has never become an easy route to walk. Remember the old adage, 'I had to walk uphill both ways'? That is what turning right seems to be. It isn't level and by no means straight. You are always walking to the left or to the right. It is a great simile for life.
Today I turned left. Left is a little easier. Since I had spent so many years going in that direction I forgot to look and see what was there. I became use to the scenery so I guess at some point I stopped seeing it.
Today I walked a little slower and took a little more time to see what I hadn't seen in years. What I hadn't seen was the curve of the road. The road is not straight, not even in the parts where I imagine it to be straight. Walking down that part of the road I could smell my neighbor's wood fire. I could see the way the stone wall had once followed the road. The way the houses are built close to the road or further away, looking down on the road. The trees that have grown old and decayed. Whose bark litters the snowbanks near the road due to woodpeckers looking for the bugs and grubs hiding just under the bark. And further down the road the pipelines of modern day sugaring. The gathering of maple sap through miles of tubing rather than 100's of buckets.
Soon the spring will come and with it what I call 'near' viewing. The coltsfoot or trillium that grows on the side of the road will have to be looked at and photographed. The salamanders, frogs, snakes and other creatures that I will have to stop and take a look at. The interesting rocks that will find their way into my pockets. I won't be looking as far into the woods as I do now. But I will be doing something a little different. I will be taking a right or a left off my dirt road into the woods. I will go explore the road that use to be. The cellar holes that were the houses on the road. That is the interesting thing about life. Being able to go right or left. Face it, there is no straight and narrow. No matter what, life is like this dirt road, it bends, twists, goes up and down but never, ever goes straight.
19 February 2011
Mud
Mud...mud puppies, mudslides, mudpacks, mud bogging, mud pies, mud holes, muddy boots...a hundred and one uses for mud including muddy roads. Take melting snow pack, add one dirt road and what do you end up with? Mud!
That is part of living on a mud, oops, sorry, a dirt road. There is one season that is dreaded by all that live on dirt roads. It is a time between spring and winter when the weather begins to warm and the snow begins to melt. This is mud season. There is no getting around it but if you are lucky you will get through it. And hopefully, you will not get stuck in it.
Dirt roads seem to have a mind of their own when it comes to mud season. The mud holes and washboards do not always appear in the same spots. One year we had a mud hole so large that our big ol' school bus ended up to its axles in it. As did my car and my neighbors car. This mud hole effectively closed our road in that direction for several days and took many loads of gravel to turn it from something with the consistency of pudding to something more like a road.
When I started writing this we were experiencing a lovely winter thaw. That has since gone by the wayside and now we are back into the cold heart of winter. We have had 40+ mph winds and 15 hours of listening to the generator hum because of the lack of electricity not to mention absolutely no Comcast cable, phone or internet for about 10 hours. This is always a reminder that we live out in the woods. But fortunately living out here also means you are usually ready for the power to go out. We went to bed with flashlights at the ready. When the power did go out (it wasn't a matter of if, but when) the generator had gas and the oil was topped off. So as my hubby went outside to the generator shed to get it running, I was down cellar switching over to our secondary panel. Smooth as silk, we were back online and were able to continue life fairly uninterrupted. There are some drawbacks, the generator does not power the entire house. It is there to make sure the freezer and fridge continue to run. That we can pump water to flush toilets and take showers and that the furnace continues to pump out heat. We can live with the little inconveniences such as no power up on the second floor. It is so much better then the alternative of no power at all. Ask my kids about 3 days of no power and having to bring buckets of water into the house to flush the toilets or not having heat when its 20 degrees out.
Well so much for the first of many little mud seasons. The next thaw is around the corner as is the next snowfall. But like I continue to say, sooner than later, spring will be here.
That is part of living on a mud, oops, sorry, a dirt road. There is one season that is dreaded by all that live on dirt roads. It is a time between spring and winter when the weather begins to warm and the snow begins to melt. This is mud season. There is no getting around it but if you are lucky you will get through it. And hopefully, you will not get stuck in it.
When I started writing this we were experiencing a lovely winter thaw. That has since gone by the wayside and now we are back into the cold heart of winter. We have had 40+ mph winds and 15 hours of listening to the generator hum because of the lack of electricity not to mention absolutely no Comcast cable, phone or internet for about 10 hours. This is always a reminder that we live out in the woods. But fortunately living out here also means you are usually ready for the power to go out. We went to bed with flashlights at the ready. When the power did go out (it wasn't a matter of if, but when) the generator had gas and the oil was topped off. So as my hubby went outside to the generator shed to get it running, I was down cellar switching over to our secondary panel. Smooth as silk, we were back online and were able to continue life fairly uninterrupted. There are some drawbacks, the generator does not power the entire house. It is there to make sure the freezer and fridge continue to run. That we can pump water to flush toilets and take showers and that the furnace continues to pump out heat. We can live with the little inconveniences such as no power up on the second floor. It is so much better then the alternative of no power at all. Ask my kids about 3 days of no power and having to bring buckets of water into the house to flush the toilets or not having heat when its 20 degrees out.
Well so much for the first of many little mud seasons. The next thaw is around the corner as is the next snowfall. But like I continue to say, sooner than later, spring will be here.
17 February 2011
14 February 2011
A touch of spring.
Today was one of those days that make you think spring is around the corner. And tonight completely erases that foolish thought from your head.
Outside of some rodent being dragged from his den, spring is determined by many factors. All which we have no control over. They follow a loose but set pattern. I will tell you as a life long resident of New England there are signs that I look for to herald the coming of spring. One of my favorites being snow fleas. Okay, okay, they really aren't fleas but they are small and sort of look like fleas. And they do not hop on you and try to make a meal of your blood. They are really a small insect known as a 'springtail'. And that name comes from 2 'tails' on their backs that tuck under their abdomen. When they want to move they release the 'tails' and spring to their new destination. They eat mostly decaying plant matter or sap. So if you look closely by the base of a tree on a warm winters day, you will most likely see these little creatures. The only time I really have noticed them are on the first warm days heading towards spring. I have never seen them in January but definitely in February. It's just one thing that makes me believe (no matter how unreasonable) that spring can't be that far away.
I also look for the more 'normal' signs of spring. Like sap buckets. Once again these odd shape creatures in no way will harm you. In fact if the liquid gathered inside the buckets is boiled down (first filter out any moths or flies) you will find you can make another 'sign' of spring, sugar on snow. A New England delicacy and a Vermont specialty.
I will also take a red winged blackbird over a robin as a sign of spring. Or coltsfoot blooming on the side of the road as one of the earliest spring flowers. Spring is what you make of it. It is a scent in the air. The sounds of geese returning. Mud season. The bob houses being pulled in from the lakes. Its is not a day on a calendar. It is a feeling, a knowing that the earth is waking from its winter sleep. Suddenly the days are longer, the air smells sweeter, there is bird song and the breeze contains a warmth not felt since the leaves dropped. That is spring.
So keep looking and you will eventually see what you are looking for. Whether it be bugs, birds or flowers, spring really is just around the corner.
Outside of some rodent being dragged from his den, spring is determined by many factors. All which we have no control over. They follow a loose but set pattern. I will tell you as a life long resident of New England there are signs that I look for to herald the coming of spring. One of my favorites being snow fleas. Okay, okay, they really aren't fleas but they are small and sort of look like fleas. And they do not hop on you and try to make a meal of your blood. They are really a small insect known as a 'springtail'. And that name comes from 2 'tails' on their backs that tuck under their abdomen. When they want to move they release the 'tails' and spring to their new destination. They eat mostly decaying plant matter or sap. So if you look closely by the base of a tree on a warm winters day, you will most likely see these little creatures. The only time I really have noticed them are on the first warm days heading towards spring. I have never seen them in January but definitely in February. It's just one thing that makes me believe (no matter how unreasonable) that spring can't be that far away.
I also look for the more 'normal' signs of spring. Like sap buckets. Once again these odd shape creatures in no way will harm you. In fact if the liquid gathered inside the buckets is boiled down (first filter out any moths or flies) you will find you can make another 'sign' of spring, sugar on snow. A New England delicacy and a Vermont specialty.
I will also take a red winged blackbird over a robin as a sign of spring. Or coltsfoot blooming on the side of the road as one of the earliest spring flowers. Spring is what you make of it. It is a scent in the air. The sounds of geese returning. Mud season. The bob houses being pulled in from the lakes. Its is not a day on a calendar. It is a feeling, a knowing that the earth is waking from its winter sleep. Suddenly the days are longer, the air smells sweeter, there is bird song and the breeze contains a warmth not felt since the leaves dropped. That is spring.
So keep looking and you will eventually see what you are looking for. Whether it be bugs, birds or flowers, spring really is just around the corner.
10 February 2011
Farms and dirt roads.
Once upon a time there were farms, farmers and farming families on this dirt road. They are long gone and all that is left of a thriving community are cellar holes, stone walls and earthen ramps that lead into barns.
Today I had lunch with a friend that I call 'farmgirl'. She is married to a dairy farmer and she comes from dairy farming stock. She is sort of a rare breed nowadays. Not many people would opt for living the life of a dairy farmer or for that matter just a farmer. It's a hard life that requires a certain level of commitment not found in most people today.
It is surprising in a way to see the joy in her face when she talks about her life. You just don't expect people to be happy about having to do hard work. And being a farmer is damn hard work. But she is happy. I am sure its not 100% of the time and some days it probably isn't 50%. But she has made a choice in her life and she is happy with that. How many people out there in their 9-5 jobs can say they are happy doing what they do? Not many I am sure.
Anyway back to the dirt road part of this. I noticed today in my ride up to Wilmington all the roads. The road I was on and the roads I passed. The road I was on was paved and like a long black ribbon wove itself in and out of towns. Athens, Townshend, Harmonyville, Newfane, Williamsville, Dover and finally into Wilmington. Then there were the dirt roads branching off of the paved road. There was Parrish, Grimes Hill, Higley Hill, Steep Way, Back Rd. and so many others. Some lead to other places and some are dead ends. And maybe some have the same history of my road. Once farmland, clear cut a 100 or so years ago, but now filled with tree and homes and cellar holes as long forgotten as are the people who originally settled and farmed there.
I love to watch the seasons in Vermont along this road. Anticipating tapping our maple bush in hopes of getting a couple of gallons of syrup for our efforts. Starting seed in the greenhouse for tomatoes, squash, pumpkins and gourds. Going into my gardens and being rewarded for my efforts by seeing my perennials pushing up through the soil in the spring. And later in the season picking spinach, lettuce and eventually sun ripen tomatoes. But these are all benefits of living on this road. This is not my livelihood. I am not a farmer. But my friend is, she is a farmgirl. This is what she does for a living. What her husband's family has done for a living on this farm since the 1930's. You don't need to live on a dirt road to be a farmer but you definitely have to have that dirt road heart to be one.
Today I had lunch with a friend that I call 'farmgirl'. She is married to a dairy farmer and she comes from dairy farming stock. She is sort of a rare breed nowadays. Not many people would opt for living the life of a dairy farmer or for that matter just a farmer. It's a hard life that requires a certain level of commitment not found in most people today.
It is surprising in a way to see the joy in her face when she talks about her life. You just don't expect people to be happy about having to do hard work. And being a farmer is damn hard work. But she is happy. I am sure its not 100% of the time and some days it probably isn't 50%. But she has made a choice in her life and she is happy with that. How many people out there in their 9-5 jobs can say they are happy doing what they do? Not many I am sure.
Anyway back to the dirt road part of this. I noticed today in my ride up to Wilmington all the roads. The road I was on and the roads I passed. The road I was on was paved and like a long black ribbon wove itself in and out of towns. Athens, Townshend, Harmonyville, Newfane, Williamsville, Dover and finally into Wilmington. Then there were the dirt roads branching off of the paved road. There was Parrish, Grimes Hill, Higley Hill, Steep Way, Back Rd. and so many others. Some lead to other places and some are dead ends. And maybe some have the same history of my road. Once farmland, clear cut a 100 or so years ago, but now filled with tree and homes and cellar holes as long forgotten as are the people who originally settled and farmed there.
I love to watch the seasons in Vermont along this road. Anticipating tapping our maple bush in hopes of getting a couple of gallons of syrup for our efforts. Starting seed in the greenhouse for tomatoes, squash, pumpkins and gourds. Going into my gardens and being rewarded for my efforts by seeing my perennials pushing up through the soil in the spring. And later in the season picking spinach, lettuce and eventually sun ripen tomatoes. But these are all benefits of living on this road. This is not my livelihood. I am not a farmer. But my friend is, she is a farmgirl. This is what she does for a living. What her husband's family has done for a living on this farm since the 1930's. You don't need to live on a dirt road to be a farmer but you definitely have to have that dirt road heart to be one.
09 February 2011
Typewriters
I grew up in an age of black and white TV's, rotary dial phones and snail mail. We got 3 channels on the TV, you only needed to know the last 5 numbers to call some one and you either wrote letters by hand, or used a typewriter and then you mailed them. That's right, you folded whatever you had written, put it in an envelope, addressed the envelope (we didn't have zip codes) put a stamp on it and then put it in the mail box for the mailman (nobody was P.C., you were a mailman whether or not that was your gender). The biggest thrill and the most advance way to get that letter written fast was a typewriter. Not a keyboard and screen and definitely nothing to do with electricity.
We had a Royal typewriter. It was considered a portable and it came in a box like case that had a latch on the front. You could open it as use it as it sat in it's traveling case or you could unlatch it's feet and sit it upon a table or desk. It was black and shiny, the letters on the keys were gold and it was wonderful. It was probably the first mechanical thing to capture my interest. There was something mystical about those keys. Letters arrange not alphabetically but by their use. It had two reels which the inky black ribbon was on. It came off the full one on the left, between guides, you hit a key, which raised an arm which bore a small head containing the raised image of the letter you wanted. It struck the ribbon which was pressed against the paper with some force and this left behind the imprint of that letter, which lead to words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, books.
And the paper. Oh, you could hold it up to the sun and see the watermark on it. Paper was not faceless coming in plastic wrapped packages. Paper came in boxes, it was given it due as the transporter of words, the deliverer of messages. Paper came in weights, types, muted colors of ivory and some so thin and transparent it was referred to as onion skin.
Although I enjoy the world of communication as we know it now. There was something wonderful about paper and typewriters. Of envelopes and stamps. Of the thrill of opening your mailbox and seeing an envelope addressed to you. It was a childish pleasure. One lost in the modern world of computers spitting out tons of junk mail to be sent to people who will open their mailboxes with irritation and disdain. Who will quickly read through the envelopes and toss them into the trash or recycling bin.
It is a world now of emails, tweets, Facebook and blogs. We no longer savor reading words sent to us by those we knew or loved. We don't even write in sentences or words in this new world of communication. We say 'cu', 'lol', and other abbreviations for the words that once said so much.
I miss that typewriter. That familiar feel of the keys. The sound of rolling a piece of paper in and the comforting noise of typing itself. I say this all with some nostalgia but I would not give up this laptop for that old Royal. I realize that we need to move forward and that the old Royal is firmly entrenched in the past. But like some things, the memory is so sweet that for a moment I consider the possibility.
And what does all this have to do with dirt roads in Vermont? I pass my neighbors and my mailbox daily when I walk. Either singly or in pairs waiting for the mail. And I wonder how long it will be before those mailboxes are part of the past like that beautiful Royal typewriter.
We had a Royal typewriter. It was considered a portable and it came in a box like case that had a latch on the front. You could open it as use it as it sat in it's traveling case or you could unlatch it's feet and sit it upon a table or desk. It was black and shiny, the letters on the keys were gold and it was wonderful. It was probably the first mechanical thing to capture my interest. There was something mystical about those keys. Letters arrange not alphabetically but by their use. It had two reels which the inky black ribbon was on. It came off the full one on the left, between guides, you hit a key, which raised an arm which bore a small head containing the raised image of the letter you wanted. It struck the ribbon which was pressed against the paper with some force and this left behind the imprint of that letter, which lead to words, sentences, paragraphs, poems, books.
And the paper. Oh, you could hold it up to the sun and see the watermark on it. Paper was not faceless coming in plastic wrapped packages. Paper came in boxes, it was given it due as the transporter of words, the deliverer of messages. Paper came in weights, types, muted colors of ivory and some so thin and transparent it was referred to as onion skin.
Although I enjoy the world of communication as we know it now. There was something wonderful about paper and typewriters. Of envelopes and stamps. Of the thrill of opening your mailbox and seeing an envelope addressed to you. It was a childish pleasure. One lost in the modern world of computers spitting out tons of junk mail to be sent to people who will open their mailboxes with irritation and disdain. Who will quickly read through the envelopes and toss them into the trash or recycling bin.
It is a world now of emails, tweets, Facebook and blogs. We no longer savor reading words sent to us by those we knew or loved. We don't even write in sentences or words in this new world of communication. We say 'cu', 'lol', and other abbreviations for the words that once said so much.
I miss that typewriter. That familiar feel of the keys. The sound of rolling a piece of paper in and the comforting noise of typing itself. I say this all with some nostalgia but I would not give up this laptop for that old Royal. I realize that we need to move forward and that the old Royal is firmly entrenched in the past. But like some things, the memory is so sweet that for a moment I consider the possibility.
And what does all this have to do with dirt roads in Vermont? I pass my neighbors and my mailbox daily when I walk. Either singly or in pairs waiting for the mail. And I wonder how long it will be before those mailboxes are part of the past like that beautiful Royal typewriter.
07 February 2011
Brain drain
Some days when walking down my road, the words just buzz around in my brain. I can't wait to get home and just start typing. And other days, its just bits and pieces. A phrase, a sentence that doesn't go anywhere. Today and some other days of late it has been nothing. I have just walked, listened to the birds and looked at the woods. No words, no thoughts, just the simple pleasure of being. I hope everyone who reads this blog gets to have days like that. Enjoy them, they are far and few between.
03 February 2011
Why do I do it???
The biggest reason why I walk our dirt road as much as I do is primarily to lose weight. Somewhere between my last baby (25 years ago) and about a year ago I managed to put on about 100 lbs. I can't say I don't know how I did it (open mouth, insert food) but I was surprised it was so much.
I tried Weight Watchers and got tired of counting my points after 20 or so pounds. I tried Curves and got tired of driving into town and paying to go around in circles. Granted these are both good programs and they work for some people. They just didn't work for me.
I seriously thought about gastric bypass or the lap band. But frankly after breast cancer surgery and a hysterectomy, surgery is not high on my list of all time favorite things to do. And becoming someone with an eating disorder didn't work for me either. I have enough issues without adding on to them.
This is not to make light of any of these options. But I have found that if I didn't have a sense of humor about life and its obstacles I probably would have been dead long ago. Humor, even if on the dark side has a way of getting me through things.
So there weren't many options left to help me lose weight. Let's be real, go to a gym and you are the 'fat' one there? No thank you. I have an elliptical and it is the largest dust collector in the house. Talk about boring. Let's walk in one place for an hour. Again, no thank you.
So the best I could do for myself was to go outside and walk. At least there is scenery. And even walking the same road for almost a year and some 500+ miles the scenery is never exactly the same. As I have mentioned before I look for the changes and I have tried to change. This past fall I started going what I call 'off road'. Staying somewhat parallel to the road but walking up in the woods. Or following one on the many stone walls that I can see from the road.
Today I bought 2 trekking poles. They are similar to ski poles but adjustable. Now they say when walking to swing your arms. I have always thought this a bit awkward. Also to keep your head up and look ahead. You ever notice that dirt roads are not smooth? You have to look down so you can see where all the ridges and dips are. These poles make a difference. Your arms work more (and heaven knows my arms need work) and they help you maintain your balance better so you can look more ahead and less down. So I think I have made an improvement in my walking. I guess they would also help me beat off bears in the spring or wayward porcupines.
Its looking for the changes in the road and in myself that is really helping me move forward. Right now the snow banks are as high as I have seen them in a number of years. I can't even see the stone walls any more. But I know that come March with the sugaring season, the snow will melt. The road will turn to mud and it will be time to complain about that. And ain't that just grand?
I tried Weight Watchers and got tired of counting my points after 20 or so pounds. I tried Curves and got tired of driving into town and paying to go around in circles. Granted these are both good programs and they work for some people. They just didn't work for me.
I seriously thought about gastric bypass or the lap band. But frankly after breast cancer surgery and a hysterectomy, surgery is not high on my list of all time favorite things to do. And becoming someone with an eating disorder didn't work for me either. I have enough issues without adding on to them.
This is not to make light of any of these options. But I have found that if I didn't have a sense of humor about life and its obstacles I probably would have been dead long ago. Humor, even if on the dark side has a way of getting me through things.
So there weren't many options left to help me lose weight. Let's be real, go to a gym and you are the 'fat' one there? No thank you. I have an elliptical and it is the largest dust collector in the house. Talk about boring. Let's walk in one place for an hour. Again, no thank you.
So the best I could do for myself was to go outside and walk. At least there is scenery. And even walking the same road for almost a year and some 500+ miles the scenery is never exactly the same. As I have mentioned before I look for the changes and I have tried to change. This past fall I started going what I call 'off road'. Staying somewhat parallel to the road but walking up in the woods. Or following one on the many stone walls that I can see from the road.
Today I bought 2 trekking poles. They are similar to ski poles but adjustable. Now they say when walking to swing your arms. I have always thought this a bit awkward. Also to keep your head up and look ahead. You ever notice that dirt roads are not smooth? You have to look down so you can see where all the ridges and dips are. These poles make a difference. Your arms work more (and heaven knows my arms need work) and they help you maintain your balance better so you can look more ahead and less down. So I think I have made an improvement in my walking. I guess they would also help me beat off bears in the spring or wayward porcupines.
Its looking for the changes in the road and in myself that is really helping me move forward. Right now the snow banks are as high as I have seen them in a number of years. I can't even see the stone walls any more. But I know that come March with the sugaring season, the snow will melt. The road will turn to mud and it will be time to complain about that. And ain't that just grand?
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