Day 14 of the whole "captivity" thing

It's Day 14 and I'm doing good.

Even though Grandma made this for dessert tonight:

That's right, people. Grandma made banana pudding for dessert. With heavy whipping cream, vanilla pudding, with the bananas soaked in lemon juice to give it a little extra flavor. As if it needed it. Oh, and the Nilla wafers thrown in too.

Yeah. This whole weight loss thing may turn out to be a wash if I can't get her to stop it.

I know what you're thinking: Well, jeez, Ness, have a little will power already. How hard can it be to say no?

To which I say: Okay, then you come up here and live with her for a bit and see if you have the ability to say no. If you do, then yes, you win, you're a stronger person than me and I'm just a whiny little girl with no self-control whatsoever.

I'm okay with that. Because I get to eat banana pudding. With Nilla wafers. So :P

Anyway, with the banana pudding came a revelation: even though I'm trying to lose weight, even though I'm trying to teach myself to eat better, I fully intend to learn to cook the way Grandma does.

As far as we know for sure, we only have one life to live, so why not? I mean, she threw together a meal that I never would have thought of: potato salad and beans as side dishes with the leftover ham from last night. I almost never think of potato salad and if I think of beans, it's because it's in chili. In fact, my first lesson (beyond wash your hands before doing anything) was that the cooking thing is basically 90% preparation.

But it's not just the cooking thing. It's learning to think the way she does, at least when it comes to food. There are times when we don't necessarily agree on outlooks on life, but when you can laugh at just about anything the way she does--and cook the way she does, dear God--is it any wonder that I want to be like her when I grow up?

And that might just be the whole point.

Death by Food. Rebirth by Yoga.

I think my grandmother is going to kill me.

Not consciously or anything. But if she keeps making these delicious goodies, either the diabetes will get me or the trying-to-curb-the-overeating-and-just-stabbing-myself-with-a-fork-instead will.

Tonight we had ham, bacon and cheese au gratin potatoes, peas....and fresh blackberry pie. As in, Grandma picked the berries this morning fresh. A couple of days ago, we had chicken and dumplings. And brownies. Triple-chocolate fudge brownies.

I am a chocoholic and I'm not even trying to reform, yet weight loss is a major goal. The woman knows this. One word, people: sabotage.

Still not convinced? Okay, try this: a few days ago, Grandma, my great-aunt and I visited Costco (usually a dangerous excursion to begin with, since it's highly likely you'll spend at least $100). We took a little trip through the produce section, which just happens to be right next to the bakery section.

I was a good girl and passed up the cakes, the cookies, the cupcakes that are the size of my face, the strawberry pie thing with tons of whipped cream, even the fresh cinnamon rolls.

But the Boston cream pie--something I've never actually tried--looked like a woman seducing you from across the room, slowly sliding her fingers in and out of her mouth and even taking off her wedding ring to give the illusion that she'll give up just about anything for one bout of hot, writhing deliciousness if only you'll come over and pick her up.

I'm not kidding. This dessert, with its fudgey-looking icing, its moist yellow cake, its creamy custard, frickin' spread its legs for me and invited me to come play.

And what does my loving, wonderful, totally-supportive-in-every-other-way grandmother do? She tries to guilt me into getting it for her. She argues heavily with my great-aunt and me, and then she keeps bringing it up every single day since saying that she can't believe that I gave it up. And oh, in case I'd forgotten, it was only $10 for a pie the size of Clarkston.

Thanks Grandma. Here I am, trying to keep to my vow of celibacy from food, and you're telling me that you can't live without it.

But that's okay. It's totally fine, even though the stupid thing haunts me in my dreams and will probably not only be there again on the next trip but will also probably end up being the last thing I think of on my death bed. I'm cool with it.

Because my body has started to remember yoga.

I don't know if it's the whole body-memory thing or if my body was just grateful to be doing something that feels nice, but when I attended a yoga class this morning, my body perked right up and said to my mind, "Oh, I remember this. Why didn't you tell me we were supposed to be doing the downward dog pose? Just because it's a different sequence doesn't mean I can't be accomodating."

Once my body got past the whole whining-about-exercise thing, it started to recall the breathing, the strength and flexibility required to satisfy the stretch. It began to remember the state of consciousness needed and told the mind about it, which also started to remember the previous classes in the Tri-Cities and settled into focusing every part of my being into a practice it'd forgotten about.

In short, my yoga practice was reborn. My body and mind didn't mind the new sequences, the new setting, the new everything because I'd started to become more at ease with not just the class but also the focus I tend to reserve only for my writing.

The contentment from this revelation is soothingly peaceful. The mindfulness that comes with the practice seems to last throughout the day, making me more aware of not only my surroundings but also myself, and how both interact together.

I know--yoga in America is at least a little blasphemous when compared to what yoga is supposed to be. But if I'm using yoga to find "God", to connect with myself and figure out if that truly is the same thing, doesn't that do the original religion justice?

I suppose the thought is more of an irritant than anything else, because it's not like I'm going to give this up again because of it. It's good to know that dedication and faith can come easily, if you believe in it.

It can't be wrong--the food or the yoga--if it makes me happy and peaceful, right?

Ultimate way to tone hips and thighs is, ultimately, not for me

Do I get points for trying? A+ for effort? B-? C???

No? Okay. Just thought I'd ask.

Bodystep is the "ultimate" way to tone your hips and thighs, according to the marketing people behind these Body classes.

The only "ultimate" thing I ever want to see again is the ultimate way to get my chocolate intake for the day.

When I went in for the class today, I had my hopes--and hips--up. I had some doubts about that weird step thingy, but hey, I'll try just about anything at least once. The instructor was one I'd taken a Bodypump class from before, and while I wasn't a fan of her style, I knew she'd work my ass off.

I didn't know that she went for other body parts.

I had two options in that class: either try and keep up with everyone else, watching the instructor's shoes to see what the hell she was doing and not pay attention to where the weird step thingy was going to move itself (and it does move itself, I promise you) OR watch the weird step thingy and look like an idiot who just kept to the very basic steps of 1 2 3 4. (Sometimes I'd even go up to 8!)

I chose the first option initially, thinking it was perfectly safe because everyone else obviously knew where their weird step thingy was going to be. This became the wrong choice so quickly, so clearly, that I didn't even finish the last 10 minutes of the class. It was pretty close to the 45th time I almost killed myself trying to either step off or step onto the weird step thingy that I gave up in my head. My tolerance for the whole class ran out completely when I stepped down and rolled my ankle. The weird step thingy is either on wheels or is alive and it suddenly decided that it was tired of being stepped on, so it took revenge with me.

I am now rethinking my policy on trying anything at least once.

I know, I know. Nessa, is it really necessary to WHINE about these things? Can't you give it another chance and see if maybe you can learn all the same moves as the little sticks who pretend they're actually girls?

Yes. Yes it is necessary. Thanks for asking. Yes, I could give it another chance. I'll be sending you the medical bill when I end up in the hospital after falling off the weird step thingy and impaling myself with my water bottle.

Needless to say, I'll be sticking with the Bodypump, Bodyflow and yoga classes. Eventually I'll work up the courage to go check out the martial arts classes, something about tae kwon do and Brazilian jiu-jitsu.

....Brazilian jiu-whatsu? Isn't it supposed to be Asian? Whatever, moving on....

You can now be a little proud of me. In addition to all the journaling and blogging (no, not the same thing), I'm starting my novel. Well, a different idea for a different novel. In a completely different genre than what I usually go for.

Hey, I'm allowed to experiment, right?

Either way, I'm going to be posting the first chapter soon, just to see if I can get any feedback on it.

Yoga and Bodyflow tomorrow, to make up for my newfound Bodystep intolerance.

Day 11 of My "Captivity"

It's Day 11 of my weight loss and writing experiment. So far, I've lost 8 pounds in 1 week. I'm so grateful for the progress, however little it may be.

The exercise program I'm trying to develop has more to do with just attending various classes at the gym than actually focusing on weight training. I figure that's up to the personal trainer I've ended up getting to help me. If I show up and do the work--or try to--at least a few times a week (I try to go every day), that seems to do a lot of it. Most of the classes are the new ones out there, the Bodypump, Bodyflow, Bodystep, etc. I haven't tried the Bodystep one yet; according to the description, it's "the ultimate way to give your body a high energy cardioblast and tone the hips and thighs."

Obviously, since most of my weight is in my hips (in high school, certain family members--read: sister--named me "Wide Load" and friends caught onto it), I need to give this particular class some serious attention.

But really, it's the yoga classes I want to attend the most. Yoga has had a presence in my life since I was in high school, but it wasn't until March of this year that I started to really focus on it.

Yeah, you can make the argument that, in America, yoga is only about the exercise. You'd be right. But here in Nessa world, it's not just about the exercise aspect of it. Though it took some time to focus on it, I find that it's a good way to connect with myself, meditate and even find that apparently overwhelming force that many call "God".

When I say God, I absolutely do not mean a Christian one. Or rather, the Christian one can be incorporated into this ... presence ... that I sense when I meditate and practice my version of yoga. I have a lot to learn, but at least I'm focused on learning what I can.

Unfortunately, my writing isn't going as well. I've done a lot of journaling, posted some blog posts (though the older ones are not currently showing and I can't figure out why) and I've started some travel pieces. I try to write every day, but it's difficult when the biggest part of me focuses on just reading and relaxing. I know--excuses, excuses, excuses.

Friends and family tell me not to rush it; I've been so burned out for the last few years that it will take time to set up the routine I want. But I'm impatient--always have been--and I feel ridiculously guilty and stupid for not following my own thoughts. Again: excuses, excuses, excuses.

Am thinking about starting not only this blog but another one dedicated exclusively to food and travel. I thought maybe I could incorporate all of the elements into my blog here--and I may still do so, but I figure if people really care all that much about my personal adventures, they'll stick with this one. If not, they'll go for the other, more focused blog.

This week I have a couple of friends coming up to my new home to visit with me. Luckily, they're both ok with the idea of going to the gym with me and helping me with my weight loss goals.

I'm pretty much on my own with the writing one. It's the way it's supposed to be, but at the same time, I miss the presence of having someone who knows what it's like. Writing is very much a solitary affair, a capricious love/hate situation that you can't help but stick with anyway, despite the frustration and heartbreak.

It will happen. It may have taken me a long time to figure out the whole faith thing--especially in myself--but I'm starting to understand the system now.

Eat, Pray, Love and how to love/hate it

You know, I actually like the book, Eat Pray Love. I read it the first time when I just happened to be at the beginning of my divorce. What better way to perk myself up then to read about another woman who went through the same thing and apparently discovered herself?

The book itself is, in fact, a memoir, so yeah, it's going to be self-indulgent, selfish, self-centered, all about the SELF. I knew this going into it. It made me realize that sometimes, it really is about just being yourself.

Because I liked the book--and had read it a couple more times after that first time--I looked forward to the movie. I was afraid that my expectations were too high, because the book spoke to me.

There really are times when I really hate it that I'm right.

I couldn't quite put my finger on what bothered me about the movie itself. Yeah, they changed some parts of it; it didn't really happen that way. If you take the movie as it stands, however, can it, well, stand on its own two feet?

Like I said, I couldn't quite figure out what bothered me until I read this article about it. At first I figured I'd just read it and get mildly irritated at the fact that many men really just don't understand how the female mind works. Maybe this guy does, maybe he doesn't, but he makes some valid points about the whole deal.

For one thing, it is indeed about a rich white woman who is so unhappy that she runs away. While I'm inclined to say that at least she's running to something, I'm also honor-bound to admit that yeah, most women--most people--have bigger issues to deal with. There are families all over the world that can't even feed themselves, let alone think about the fact that their spouse either hates them or is cheating on them. And the movie doesn't even attempt to explain what exactly it is that she can't quite deal with. Probably only those who've read the book will get that it's not just the marriage, not just the husband--it's where she wants to be.

At the beginning of the movie--and the book too, I think--Gilbert says something about a psychiatrist friend of hers who is asked to help some Cambodian refugees who have lived through what truly is some harrowing, soul-breaking experiences. The psychiatrist feels underqualified to talk to them--how can she relate? Gilbert says that the refugees ended up surprising her. They wanted to talk about their love lives.

Yeah, ok, I admit that most American women and girls have a very unhealthy obsession with the so-called "man" in their lives. We have an annoying tendency to talk about him, dream about him, wonder where he is, what he's doing, and we always want to know why he's not here with us, being the center of our pathetic little universes.

I know this because it's probably the very reason behind the failure of my own marriage.

American women, we have not only those tendencies: we have addictions. Drug addictions. It's why Juliet killed herself when she found Romeo "dead", why Bella Swan chooses Edward--a freaking vampire, for crying out loud, I don't care how "vegetarian" and sparkly he is--and why Gilbert finally realizes that she really is either loving a guy or breaking up with a guy.

That being said, addictions also have a very strong habit: they change everything about you. You become so focused on your next fix that you forget everything else. Food becomes habitual if you need it at all. Friends and family fall by the wayside, watching you turn yourself inside out for the love of this one person. Life becomes all about the drug of your choice, the man--or fucking vamp--you've so unwisely fallen for, to give you the thrill that runs in your veins and makes your heart pound faster.

Guys, come on, give us a little break. We can't really help it, we can't help what we become until you break us--heart, body, soul--and we start to figure out that we did indeed give up everything for you. And that's if we're lucky; too many of us just use the next guy who comes along to both heal us and give us the next fix. Almost like a vampire, ironically, who sucks your blood yet apparently has some sort of venom that will heal the bite.

I'm not a guy, so I don't know how it is for them. But I do know that this addiction thing grabs you buy the throat, burns you until you try to quench the thirst. Can you really blame Gilbert for, at first, ignoring the signs, then slowly coming to face it within herself, then run away screaming bloody divorce? Yeah, you can, but only because you haven't lost everything--yeah, everything--that makes you you.

Gilbert says that as a couple, she and her husband went out and bought appliances on credit, had a nice house in suburbia, a dog--that stupid American dream that we all are force-fed and only some of us try to vomit it back up. The kicker? She never wanted to be that couple. She perhaps didn't know that she would become it, going into what she thought was going to be the happily-ever-after-for-the-rest-of-her-godforsaken-life. But that's not the point, is it?

The point is this: Eat Pray Love does indeed give hope to many American women--yes, many of them middle-aged who want to be just that "courageous", and there is a reason behind it that has nothing to do with Oprah and everything to do with sheer unhappiness. But it must also be said that both the book and the movie are so fucking Americanized that it feeds us both desperate hope ... and utter bullshit.

Sometimes it's just hard to argue with the truth.