The band name comes from an Arthur Miller play.

I spent a good part of this morning sitting at the computer in anticipation of the presale for the Twenty One Pilots “Emotional Roadshow” tour. Meredith is one of their biggest fans, and I know everyone is a self-proclaimed biggest fan of something or other (Me? Bread pudding!), but I really do believe that Meredith IS one of their biggest fans. (She will be attending their show in St. Louis on Halloween night, and I’m so excited for her because it’s her first big concert (if you don’t count seeing Drake when she was three).)

I’m just going to sit here for a second while you think about the fact that she was a Drake fan back in 2006.

Okay. Now I’ll tell you that it wasn’t DRAKE Drake. She was a fan of Drake Bell. (He’s quite good. Lots of Jellyfish sounds on his albums.)

Anyway. When Meredith started swimming around with Twenty One Pilots, I sat back in the corner eating pumpkin seeds and thinking about how disappointed my Fitbit must feel. Sometimes it’s about me.

And then things changed. We were riding to tennis camp one morning, and Meredith played the following song.

I thought it was okay, and then she said, “Josh and Tyler wrote that song about a little girl from their church who has Down Syndrome. She inspires them.” I believe that was the day that found me purchasing 34 Twenty One Pilots shirts and flags and hats, because these guys are edgy NICE guys, and edgy nice guys are some of my favorite guys!

If you care, this is my favorite of theirs, despite the vocal fry. (I typically am not a fan of vocal fry, although I admit that it sometimes works.)

Anyway, tickets? Purchased. Seats? Good. The show is in August of 2016, and if I had a uterus I could have a baby between now and then. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Monday is happening.

“Mom, will you be a doll and make an iced water for me? Preferably in a Shakespeare’s cup?”
-Meredith, age 12

Meredith is now registered to take the ACT in December and the SAT in January. These tests are the first step in preparing her for a three week camp this summer. She is 12 years old. She has never been away from us for more than three nights. I ask your forgiveness in advance for the way I’ll be behaving during the entire month of June. (My mascara is not waterproof, Alice Cooper.)

I took a long walk this morning, I currently have a sweet potato in the oven, and for Halloween we’ll be handing out peanut-free and gluten-free candy. We’re doing this because the girl down the road has a peanut allergy, but also because I can’t trust myself alone in the house all day with peanut butter cups. Therefore, Dots for everyone! (Dots have been dead to me since 1982. The Dots are dead, long live the Dots.)

I’m not quite sure where my car normally idles, but right now it’s idling at around 1 and it sounds a little rough. Also, it took four tries to start the car last week at the grocery store. I’m telling myself that something wicked this way comes, so for the next several weeks I’ll be traveling only to places where a breakdown (emotional as well as vehicular) would be welcome. I’ve packed the glove compartment with a notebook, a pen, a knitting project, a generator, a Crock pot filled with butternut squash, and four pairs of underpants.

I made a hat for a baby and no animals were harmed.

Untitled

On Saturday, I watched a high school marching band perform Moonlight Sonata, and I’m still wrapping my head around how amazing it was. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Warning: I have succeeded.

Confession: I am not a fan of success stories unless the successful person is a charitable underdog. I don’t like when actresses talk about losing their baby weight. Most triumphs are just a blip to me unless the hero had to clear an obstacle without the help of looks or money. I would make a terrible NFL cheerleader. (For many reasons. I fall down a lot, I don’t understand football, and I don’t look good in a sparkle vest.)

Because I know how *I* respond to non-world-changing success stories, I’ve been stumbling with stutters and stops on how to write this entry. The only person who was helped in the following success story is me, and the person who helped me was paid. I am not special. I know my story is the type of story that makes my eyes roll, and I know that you and I are more alike than different. With that said, bear with me as I grab my horn.

(Remember when we didn’t require glasses to see? We were all so innocent back then, weren’t we? Remember the theme song to Ice Castles? So do I, Robby Benson, so do I.)

Six months ago I came over here and told a story about how I had reached the point where I no longer wanted to leave the house because my hormones were all jiggly and I had put on twenty pounds since my surgery and none of my clothes were fitting and I was unhappy in a lot of ways and spending a lot of time feeling sorry for myself and as I’m sitting here typing this paragraph I’m realizing how fun it must have been to NOT hang out with me back then.

When enough became Enough, I called Kathy, who is a Holistic Nutrition and Wellness Coach. After talking to her during the consultation, I knew this was going to be the adventure that sparked what needed to be lit. I quickly signed on. (Although this is a horrible comparison, over the summer I ate a doughnut that was infused with strawberry and mint and I’ve never had anything like it before or since, and it just makes me feel good knowing that the doughnut existed. I feel good knowing that Kathy exists.)

Fast forward to today. In the past six months, I’ve changed the way I eat, I’ve changed my relationship with food (I know that sounds weird to people who don’t really think about their relationship with food, but when you’re me, it doesn’t sound weird at all.), I’ve evaluated different areas of my life that need attention (career, spirituality, creativity, relationships, and so on), I lost 18 pounds, my clothes fit in a way that doesn’t cause pain when I button or zip them, I’m working, I’m walking, I’m knitting, I’m leaving the house, and I’m not saying the F word when it’s time to shop for bras or dresses. I’m happier and I’m better and I’ll continue to truck this way because It’s A Good Way to Truck.

Did I have to count points? No. Did I have to diet? No. Did I have to exercise? No. Did I have to crawl on my belly like a reptile while offering my throat to the wolf with the red roses? Yes. (No!)

Kathy and I talked every two weeks and we eventually figured out my personal magical formula for healthy eating which is something like low fat and no processed foods and limited dairy and very limited grains and no peanuts but lots of lentils and vegetables and fruit and almond butter. When I started eating this way, I immediately felt really good, and my body was like, “Hey! If you’re going to keep this up, I’ll help you fit back into your jeans!” Doughnuts have not been eliminated. If I want a doughnut I’ll eat a doughnut because I don’t want to spend the day thinking about a missed doughnut. Best of all, after I eat a doughnut I no longer feel like a jerk because I ate a doughnut. (I KNOW. Don’t even try to figure out how my mind works. Also, don’t make me look at a clock when it’s 3:13 because we’ll have to stand still until 3:14 so I can look at the clock twice.)

Some people do well with high fat and low carbs. Some people do best with no beans. Kathy is an expert at questions and tweaks and accountability and motivation. As she told me during our first phone call, I climb the ladder while she holds the bottom. And she’s the person you want holding your bottom, which sounds a lot dirtier than I intended, but I’m leaving it. (Because it makes me uncomfortable.) Kathy was everything I needed and was always there to answer questions or share ideas and recipes and support and sanity.

I can’t recommend her enough. (I’m actually singing songs from Beaches in my mind for her right now, because the past six months have been THAT GOOD.) Here is a link to her website. If you’re ready to make a commitment, she’s a great coach. Best of all, if you get started soon, she can help you through the holidays. (The holidays can be physically and emotionally rough if you’re anything like me, and I like to think you are. Maybe not with the whole 3:13 thing, but in other ways.)

This is where I should post before and after photos, but I don’t have any. Instead, I’m posting the photo I took on Friday after treating myself to a coffee and a walk around Home Depot where I purchased an Echinacea plant that was carrying a family of bees. Please know that right now I look like the flower at 2:00 who is doing her own thing and just seems happier than she used to be.

Untitled

I’ll be back soon. We’re finishing up our fall break today, which means burrito lunch with friends and the possibility of bath bomb construction. NaBloPoMo starts in two weeks. So many things are going on and going on.

Thanks for sticking around. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ends. Odds. Partially Popped.

When the phrase “Japanese Cherry Blossom” starts looking like “Pajama Cheesy Balloon” it’s probably time to schedule an eye exam.

This morning I drove to Trader Joe’s because last night Jeff mentioned that he has heard good things about this stuff:

Untitled

(I purposefully filtered the hell out of the photo to make it look stupid because partially popped popcorn IS stupid, yet also very tasty.) I opened the bag, tried it, and then stuffed it into the pantry because I have less than two weeks left with my health coach, and I don’t need partially popped popcorn to untie my stamina shoes.

After Trader Joe’s, I drove to Starbucks where the parking lot was full and I could have parked at the bank but I really don’t like the morning crowd at Starbucks, so forget it. I took off for home with my zombie book on the iPod and the chilly air in my face.

It’s cardigan season, and today I went with this one.

Untitled

(Zombie fiction. I’m currently reading The Girl With All The Gifts. I started it because I thought it was nonfiction and about gifted kids, and I’m the first to admit that I’m not as sharp as I used to be.)

When I turned onto the road by our house, I saw a guy with what could have been a tennis racquet in his backpack, but it also could have been a baseball bat or a roll of wrapping paper or a gun. (Please re-read the first sentence of this post and know that I just left a message to set up an appointment.) Anyway, I started thinking about yesterday’s school shooting (the 45th school shooting of 2015) and how the odds of being shot right now seem so much higher than they were when I was a kid and if anyone in my family is going to be shot, I really hope it’s me and not them. (I don’t have a gun. I will never have a gun. I don’t trust myself enough to know that I wouldn’t make a mistake or stay completely sane in a situation where I might need to use a gun.) And how sad it is to have these thoughts jumping around while I’m wearing a spiffy cardigan and listening to goofy zombie fiction and surrounding myself with partially popped popcorn and raw cheese. We need to be louder. I need to be louder.

Today I’ll be spending a bit of time with this guy. I started the wrap in 2008 and I’m really tired of not getting things done. I hope your weekend is a good one.

Untitled ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>