Poetry

The Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Dance – a poetry jam

Photo by Khoa Vu00f5 on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

The foot bone’s connected to the leg bone,

but the joint in between them protests.

“Ankle here,” it says. “And I’m wobbly,

I think perhaps you should rest.”

But no time for that, I say, holding on to my cane.

The leg bone’s connected to the knee.

And to say it fairly,

those knees are barely

even attached to me.

The knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone,

and true, the bone won’t bend,

but where the thigh bone connects to the hip bone,

that socket pops out and back in.

The hipbone’s connected to the backbone

and they don’t really get along.

Where the backbone’s connected to the neck bone,

it doesn’t feel too strong.

And that neckbone connected to the head,

where all my worries are made,

If dem joints dem joints gonna walk around,

I’ll need a mobility aide.

So, strike a Gumby pose with me,

pop and crack in a stance,

for all the ableist world to see

your Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Dance!

ehlers danlos syndrome · Spiritual

Order UP! (At the Ehlers Danlos Cafe)

Photo by La Miko on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

SERVER: “Welcome to the Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Cafe. My name is Susan and I’ll be taking care of you today. Have you been here before?”

ME: “Hi, Susan. Yes. I come here every single day. I’ll have the Low-Pain Day, with and some type of actual Energy as my side. Please leave off the Crushing Exhaustion and add a side of Gratitude.”

SERVER: “Well, that’s great you want to try the Gratitude! It’s my personal favorite. Hold up;.let me check with the kitchen. * Checks with kitchen. * “Sorry, we sold out of that a while back.”

ME: “Fine. Let’s see…I’ll take some Good Rest as an appetizer…”

SERVER: “We’re out…supply chain demands and whatnot.”

ME: “Right. Supply chain issues.”

SERVER: Let me tell you about our specials! We have plenty of Fresh Pain – just got it in! It comes topped with some Sauce of Fustration, over a bed of WTF NOT THIS AGAIN.”

ME: “Um, no thank you?”

SERVER: “Our Shoulder Sh*t Show entree is really a main event. It includes an ingredient so spicy, you’ll want to pull your arms completely out of the sockets and jump into an active volcano. Holy rotator cuff, Batman!”

ME: “Um, I kind of already do want to jump into an active volcano,…”

SERVER: “Or if you’d like the milder dish, order the T-Rex Special will make you function all day long with tiny little T-Rex arms because your elbows and wrists are hyperextending. Oh, and it’s served with a nice Thumb Dislocation Reduction.”

ME: “This restaurant sucks.”

SERVER: “We also have nice Gravel Knee Supreme as well, a slightly piquant exquisite pain with every step you take, and a knee joint that bends so far backward, you’ll look like the Rubber Band Man, and sounds like 1000 Hummers driving down a gravel road.”

ME: “Hard pass.”

SERVER: “Our last special is a SAMPLER! Shoulder, Knee, AND Hip Subluxations, so that whether you’re standing or sitting (or walking or laying down,) there is 100% guarantee, it ‘gon HURT like a MoFo.”.

ME: “Lick Rust.”

SERVER: “WHOA! No need to get snappy.”

ME: “Listen… all I really want to do is have a good day. I guess I’ll just take an order of Wasting the Whole Day in Bed Like the Granddad in Willie Wonka.”

SERVER: “Do you want guilt sprinkles?”

ME: “What??”

SERVER: “Do you want to feel guilty for not getting out of bed all day?”

ME: “No, not particularly.”

SERVER: “Guilt sprinkles it is! You also get two sides.”

ME: “Okay well then, for my first side, NO Barfing today. And don’t bring out the Slipped Ribs from throwing up. I don’t even want them on a separate plate. I’ve had it every day this week.”

SERVER: “We are outta ‘Not Barfing. Maybe tomorrow.”

ME: “Can I just order a Decent ATTITUDE, then?”

SERVER: “We don’t serve that here. You have to bring your own.…the attitude.”

ME: “Eat glass.”

SERVER: “just for being so sassy, how ‘bout a Blinding Migraine? It’s a 2-fer on sale this week.”

ME: “Kindly bugger off.”

SERVER: “We have a nice Vintage Dizzy Spell? You usually have at least one every day, and you can get it to go.”

ME: “Get bent. Can I cancel my order altogether?”

SERVER: “Oof I’m sorry, it’s already been put in at the kitchen.”

ME: “When did that happen? I just got here!”

SERVER: “Looks like … let me see….January 24, 1969.”

ME: “Doesn’t sound like you use very fresh ingredients…”

SERVER: “Yeah, we only use the stalest ingredients for maximum creakiness, immune function overreaction, and gourmet pain. We have the largest variety of pain sensations in all the world!”

ME: “How proud you must be.”

SERVER: “Will we be chasing our sorrows, er…um, I mean MEAL with a beverage today? Perhaps a margarita?”

ME: * blinks incredulously * “I’m an alcoholic in recovery, so no thanks.”

SERVER: “Wow, that’s unfortunate. A nice Chardonnay would probably ease the pain,”

ME: “Get thee behind me Satan”

SERVER: “It’s SUSAN.”

Me: “Whatever. Just bring me some medical cannabis and a Topo Chico, please.”

SERVER: “How about a nice anxiety spiral for dessert?’

ME: &%$#@! off. &%$#@! ALL the way off, ENTIRELY.

humor · Spiritual

By: JANA GREENE

Today I’m writing a little lighter fare. This hilarious meme inspired me, because all my life I’ve longed to be a tan person.

I love the sun. I love being outdoors.

I think darker skin tones are the most beautiful.

I guess you could say (and please don’t take offense…) I’m “trans-tan,” in that I kind of “identify” as a tan person trapped in the body of a PASTY-ASS, LILLY WHITE, POTATO FAMINE-SURVIVING, PERSON FROM THE ISLAND OF CAUCUSES.

Not a drop of any nationality which might have rendered my melatonin anything but RICE got into my DNA.

When I got the 23 and Me results and saw that yep, I am officially 50 shades of mayonnaise, tbh it was was a little depressing. I am fascinated and enraptured by other cultures and places. Would have loved a little spice in my plain oatmeal.

But buying makeup is easy…give me the foundation shades “Walk towards the Light,” or “Antarctic Albino,” and I’ll be on my merry way.

Poetry · Spiritual

Ode to Jeggings

By: JANA GREENE

And now to lighten things up a bit, a silly poem to cheer you. Blessed be!

Leggings, I’m so grateful
That someone saw fit to create you –
Love child of jeans and sweatpants
Oh how I appreciate you!
Thanks for your stretchy waistband
So I don’t have to suck It in,
Thank you for the mad skills you have
Of making me look thin.
You’re available at Walmart
For just eleven dollars,
And with you in every color,
I can feel like quite the baller.
I can wear you as pajamas,
I can wear you as yoga pants,
And if I were so inclined,
I could wear you to break dance.
You don’t smush my muffin top
Like jeans are apt to do,
But rather gently hug it,
(so damn merciful of you.)
Thanks for being comfy,
And having pockets in the rear,
And for being so soft and warm,
You’re my favorite pants to wear.

  • Jana Greene
humor · Spiritual

Daily Doubles, Anxiety Troubles: 2022 (so far)

By: JANA GREENE

How jacked up has your anxiety been lately?

I’m at the point where I literally DREAD any contestant getting the Daily Double on “Jeopardy,” because I can never know from whence it will come dammit and WHY IS IT SO JARRING AND LOUD?

My GOD, sensory overload. From pensive, rhythmic choosing a catagory to PEW PEW PEW PEW LOUD, ALARMING SOUNDS FLASHING LIGHTS*

I don’t DO “sudden.” Knowing it “could” happen at ANY time but usually does NOT (but HAHA you’ll never know!) makes me anxious.

So, yeah. Where is my anxiety level in this – the year of our Lord 2022, well into the trilogy that is .. whatever THIS is? *Gestures wildly*

DOUBLE JEOPARDY GIVES ME A MINI PANIC ATTACK. That’s where.

God bless us, every single one.

humor · Spiritual

Bless my Gluten-Free Heart (and keepith it away from cookies)

Deadly, y’all. Like, SINFUL.

BY: JANA GREENE

Forgive me, Fathter, I have sinned.
It has been about 23 minutes since my last food confession.

I heard that Oreos make gluten free cookies, and the next thing I know, I’m covered in cookie dust and “double stuff,” wondering where it all went wrong.

As penance, I shall layeth here like a giant slug and zap myself with the diabetes monitor until I pass out in a sugar coma, or reach critical mass of guilt and cry about it, whichever comes first (maybe both. I don’t know….I’m not Catholic.)

Lord, give me this day my daily Metformin, and forgive me my gluttony, as I will forgive Nabisco for making damn gluten free Oreos eventually (but probably not until I polish off the box.)

Jesus take the wheel, as I’m too bloated to fit behind the steering column presently.

In conclusion, I will say six “holy cows,” because DAMN milk would have been SO good with these, but all I have is Oat Milk, because, well you know, I’m a health nut and all…

Amen.

humor

Follow Your Mid-Life Dreams! (…to the nearest bathroom)

I wish to sleep the sleep of this random “free photo gallery” person. Alas, tis not to be.

BY: JANA GREENE

My dream programming tonight: A playlist…

Dream 1: In a stadium of some kind. Decide in my dream that this is odd for someone who hates sports. Reckon that it must (obviously) be The Pigeon Olympics. Hey, Look! The clouds are raining birdseed! I wonder where the toilets are in this joint? *Spends remainder of weird dream ambling around The Clockwork Orange Stadium looking for a bathroom. Finds a street parade, box of Lucky Charms, and a single boot. No potty, though. *Queue anxiety attack.*

Dream 2: I am at college, which is weird because I never went to college. Lose the combination to my locker, which is weird because do you even have lockers in college (!?) Continue nightmare by individually try to open all 100 lockers on the hallway wall with increasingly full bladder. See high school crush, realize I’m wearing pantaloons and nothing else. Now I can’t find the bathroom. Every door I knock on is a classroom full of farm animals. Bless them, I’m distracting them from the studies, and doesn’t every donkey in America deserve a quality education? End up ducking into in a closet out of desperation that is housing a tractor, but still can not empty bladder. Too worried about rusting important farm equipment.

Dream 3: I’m at Disney World in Epcot partaking in French Fries of the World, which is kind of like when Epcot hosts that event where you walk around the “countries” sampling international wines, except not at all like that. I am carrying around two things: A glittery plastic packet of ketsup, and a roll of toilet paper, in case the unimaginable happens and a bathroom at Disney is out of toilet paper. Every sample location features a majestic, roaring waterfall. Holy cow, I need to pee. Ask costumed, licensed Disney Character where the bathroom is. They perform a weird skit pantomiming pulling down their invisible pants and squatting over a “toilet,” which is really just a manhole, so yeah, thanks a lot, Donald and Daisy. Sheesh. Everyone knows y’all don’t even WEAR pants. Experience inter-dream panic attack because surely I’m going to pee my pants in the Happiest Place on Earth, and I bet they don’t let people with wet pants ride to the top of the giant golf ball.

Okay, I’m REALLY awake now with extremely full bladder. Hobble to the real, actual bathroom wondering if this TOO is yet another dream and I’m about to pee in a potted plant or something. Peeing in actuality is a huge relief, but can I be honest? Pretty anti-climactic after all my adventures in dreaming.

Welcome to mid-life: You ALWAYS have to pee. Sleeping is impossible. Every single dream feels like the result of eating a whole bag of nacho Doritos before bed; and every dream features the quest for a bathroom, and ends with an an anxiety attack. It’s a real swell time.

*Sigh.

Spiritual

2020 Observations, Part I (or “Rising from the Fire Without Burning to a Crisp”)

This comic from 2013 by KC Green has never been more fitting.

By: Jana Greene

This is not a sappy piece about how we can all find the good in a shitty year, and we should all glean nuggets of gratitude (though we should.)

Twenty-twenty can be assessed by “a series of unfortunate events.” It’s a strange year, not just because of the obvious reasons (*gestures wildly), but because we are all having both universal experience AND an individual experience. We are going through much of the same stuff collectively, yet each and every one of us is entrenched in a totally unique experience.

So in other words, we have an opportunity to understand each other as never before, AND it is true to say that nobody understands what we are going through as individuals.

It’s changed me, and it’s changing you.

In the most fundamental way, I feel like we are all sort of victims of the pandemic and the economy, and the election and the drama that surrounds us.

But in another, we get to rise above, if we so choose to. A passel of impassioned victims is a very strong thing.

It’s been a difficult year to stay sober, I’ll be honest about that. But as I approach my 20 year anniversary of being alcohol-free, I’ve noticed a few things. This universally horrible year has taught me more about what matters than probably the last 20 combined.

I’ve learned to rabidly seek out that which makes me laugh.

Laughter is lifeblood. It carries all the things necessary for a good life on it’s coattails. I have never been sillier (albeit, some would question my “maturity,”) and I have no plans to curtail the silliness. Watch the comedies. Make time for your hilarious friends. Imbibe in standup comedy on Netflix (John Mulaney comes to mind,) look at the ridiculous memes and share them. Laugh and the world laughs with you.

Not everything I write has to be the best thing I ever wrote.

*Whines melodramatically*” BUT WHAT IS THE POINT OF WRITING, THEN?”

God I hate this about myself, the “all-or-nothing-ness.” I cease and desist the stifling of my creative flow just because sometimes I’m gonna suck. That primal fear of not being good enough keeps me from sharing at all, lest I not write something profound at every turn. Screw that. I’m a blogger, and bloggers gotta blog. Even if it’s a frothy piece with no deep, spiritual nutritional value.

ALL MY LABELS HAVE GONE TO SHIT, and I’m not even sure I have 2020 to blame for it.

Hooby, I have no idea what I’m doing. And I mean that across the board. I am a writer who doesn’t make a dime writing. I’m a Christian who has blissfully lost her evangelical bent. I’m a housewife whose house isn’t even clean, and who only cooks half the time. I’m a mom whose kids are grown and need her less (and in a different way.) I’m an artist who can’t seem to sell art, and what am I even DOING with my life?

This year has challenged me to question who I am, yet here I am still. And here you are. So in conclusion….

It’s enough to be a person. It’s enough to be a good friend. It’s enough to write for the love of the craft. It’s enough to have a close relationship with Jesus without all the dogma. It’s enough to be a loving wife. It’s enough to be a friend to those I love.

It’s ENOUGH. I’m enough. YOU are enough.

The bulldozer that is 2020 is a leveling disaster, but it’s a disaster that gives us the opportunity to rise like the mother-flippin’ Phoenixes we truly are.

God bless us, every single one.

Poetry

Ode to a Nocturnal Cat

Our distinguished Socks

By: Jana Greene

Things have been so heavy lately, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote for our elderly cat who – for 18 years – has run through the house batsh*t insane in the middle of the night, most every night. It’s a little Dr. Suessical, but a light reprieve from the usually heavy blog fare. Hope you enjoy!

That Old Man Socks! That Old Man Socks!
He’s up all night, that Old Man Socks!
Socks, do you like good sleep and peace?
“I do not like them” Socks decrees.
“Unless it comes as mid-day nap,
Sleeping at all is utter crap.”
Socks, would you sleep instead of mew
When the moon is nice and new?
Would you please sleep all night through?
Is this something you can do?
I know you don’t like night time peace.
But humans need a few hours, at least.
Would you sleep at night on a sheet?
Would you sleep at night for a treat?
You do not like to let us sleep
So please count mice (or please count sheep!)
When we don our sleeping frocks,
It’s not your cue to go wild, Socks.
Would you pipe down in the night?
Would you, could you, please….alright?
Sleep in a box. Sleep with a fox.
Sleep in a house. Sleep with a mouse.
At nighttime, sleep either here or there.
For the love of God, sleep SOMEWHERE.

12 Steps · pandemic · Spiritual

Confessions of a Food Hoarder in Pandemic Pandamonium

grocery cart with item
Photo by Oleg Magni on Pexels.com

By: Jana Greene

Greetings from The House of Greene, where we now eat unsalted peanut butter, because on our last visit to the grocery store, that’s all that was available.

Now that I write that, how FIRST WORLD does THAT problem seem? And it’s because they ARE first world problems. But I have a funny little quirk about food. Well, MANY quirks. But this one is especially relevant.

It started in my single mother days. I’d been a stay-at-home mom for years when my daughters were little. I was room mother in their classes. I made wholesome dinners every night. Even in the hardest times, when I’d have to get food from the church pantry, we were well-fed.

And then my divorce happened. All of the sudden, it was all on ME. Two children, no child support, no help from family, NOTHING. It was all me and I had to work four part-time jobs just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. The girls that I had ‘helicopter parented’ became ‘latch-key’ kids, which made me feel horribly guilty. We ate a lot of hamburger helper, minus hamburger. Instant mashed potatoes. Boxed mac and cheese shaped like Spongebob characters.

I will never forget the evening I put the girls to bed and took a bleak inventory of our week’s food supply. There was NO WAY we were going to make it. You know that feeling you get when anxiety comes on real sudden-like, and your blood turns to ice water? Your heart starts racing? This was a normal anxiety attack times 100. Something went awry in my brain that day.

Now, we all made it through and somehow, Jesus pulled a ‘loaves and fishes’ on me. He did THAT by some of my wonderful friends, who (much to the dismay of my pride) showed up with a meal or a $20 bill or something. Let the record show that we were NOT fed by the scriptures that other friends threw at me. Nor the lofty platitudes about if I only had more faith, “claimed” a scripture, or “believed” that our needs are already met.

(If you don’t meet a person’s basic fundamental rights, do me a favor, and DON’T preach at them. A Bic Mac and a couple of kids meals were a whole lot more effective than an “I’m praying for you.” But I digress.)

At some point in my single motherhood, I became a bit of a food hoarder. If I had some around, I felt great. So if I had MORE around, well…you know. I also recalled my old trick of soothing myself with food. I was only a handful of years sober back then, so it was all I could do not to pick up a drink. I picked up ice cream instead. Fast food is hella cheap and filling.

It became a way to reward and punish myself. Then I discovered that I could experience the comfort of stuffing my face, and then throw up to get rid of the calories. This is a HORRIBLE practice and I DO NOT RECOMMEND IT. But I hooked up with bulimia for a bit and thought I’d found the best of both worlds. Eat yummy food. Barf. Repeat. I lost 80 pounds during my divorce. The whole bulimia issue is a blog for another time (and I’ve touched on it before) but I’m telling you the whole story so that you can fully appreciate how f-cked up my relationship with food truly is. It’s WHACK, I tell you.

So fast forward to when I met my now (and forever) husband in 2006. He was so kind and loving. We didn’t have to worry about running out of food after we married, but old habits die hard. For years and years (and up until TODAY, ACTUALLY) it’s kind of a family joke that we always have stuff falling out of the freezer because it’s too full, and we can’t find anything thing in the pantry because I have this sick thing about having it COMPLETELY FULL to feel secure, and in order to fit anything in our fridge, I have to play “fridge Tetris” to make things fit.

It’s super annoying to my family, and honestly – to myself,  but I can’t seem to stop it because WHAT IF we run out. It’s not just about the food. It’s some primal holdover from when I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to feed my kids or something. It’s like a COMPULSION. It IS a compulsion, actually.

But today I opened the fridge and there is an empty shelf. AN. EMPTY. SHELF. I can actually see the back wall of the fridge (hey, it’s WHITE!) which never happens.

Over a week ago, I’d taken a fall due to my POTs and Ehlers Danlos Syndrome symptoms, and it was a bad one. Nearly broke both my arms and was bruised from fingertips to elbows. People thoughtfully brought meals over, since my arms were useless for a while. We had a REALLY full fridge (there are between 3-5 of us living in this house at one time, so it’s not just my belly I’m worried about) and it was glorious.

My first thought was: “I’ll run to the store.” Except I WILL NOT run to the store, because I have virtually no immune function and there is an actual PANDEMIC (another fear formerly referred to as “irrational,” but pretty damn rational now) and I am staying home to avoid germs.

It’s not that we are anywhere NEAR running out of food. It’s that if we were, there is nothing we could do about it. I’m thinking that this whole pandemic is going to be a HUGE re-boot for all of us. I can’t let an empty refrigerator shelf throw me into an emotional tailspin, although that is my habit. Habits are gonna have to be tweaked, as are knee-jerk emotional responses, which are kind of my forte.

I cannot afford to be ruled by my many, many compulsions. But I CAN come here and drone on about how different things are now, and be honest about how I’m freaking out on the regular in spite of my best effort to use my “tools.” Applying my emotional coping tools feels like using a regular screwdriver on a screw that requires a “Phillip’s head” screwdriver (I’m using this analogy because those are the only two tools I can differentiate…) It kind of works, but not really.

It’s like there is a Woody Allen (sans perversion, of course) Me, and a Brene Brown Me. Woody Allen Me’s hair is all askew, he is neurotically pacing, displaying nervous tics, and generally running in circles exclaiming “THE SKY IS FALLING!” while my inner Brene Brown interjects with Ghandi-esque, rational quotes about walking inside your story and owning it, and not standing outside your story and hustling for worthiness, and what not (which, frankly, isn’t even helpful at a time like this.) She is calm. She is at one with the Universe.

Why am I both these people at once. (I’m thinking maybe we are all a little of both right now?)

So for the foreseeable future, I’m planning on coming here to blog about empty refrigerator shelves, and one-ply toilet paper. But also about the very real crossroads of anxiety and faith in an unprecedented time. It’s an opportunity for me to dust off the ol’ 12 steps and revisit “surrender” mode, lest I revisit self-destructive behaviors (which will only make things worse.)

One of the scary things about all of this, if we are honest, is that it’s a leveler. We all feel far less “first world.” But that’s not a bad thing, spiritually. Spiritually, we are all One – all the same. We bear one another’s problems, even when they are more severe than unsalted peanut butter. Seriously, though. Not one of us is less precious than another, and sometimes we get so wrapped up in our privilege, we forget that this is the NORM for so many people across the globe – doing without. I know I forget.

I don’t know what else to do but write about it. Eating my feelings isn’t suitable, since food is more or less rationed, but my feelings are not following suit. All I know for sure is that we will all get through this together. Woody, Brene, me, and you. ❤

New Year · Spiritual

A Better New Year in 10 (somewhat manageable) Steps

2019

By: Jana Greene

Well, well, well….

It seems I just got used to writing “2018” on my checks (yes…I still use checks) when BOOM! – it’s a brand new year.

I’ve never been big on New Year’s Eve, even when I was a drinker. It was not my style to do the party circuit; I was more of a “lock myself in the bathroom with a whole bottle of wine” person.

Alas, it has been 18 incredible years since I’ve had a drop of alcohol. And that, my friends, is a miracle of such magnitude that Moses parting the Red Seas pales in comparison. I had all the emotional fixins’ to prime me for alcoholism, and an alcoholic I was.

Am, actually. I won’t graduate from alcoholism.

This year, I will try to intentionally pour emotional resources and time into my recovery. Meetings with my 12 Step tribe and self-care strategies will become more of a priority; one that I have not been as vigilant about in 2018 (and struggled as a result.)

I would very much like to say – or at least pretend – that I am past it now, the drinking – and that I am a wise and sage maven of serenity. That I have my shit together and have written books about ultra spirituality, and meditate regularly. Although I HAVE written books, I assure you that I don’t have all the answers and never will, and have exactly 0% of my shit together.

I CAN however make some realistic resolutions (a.k.a. “goals”) and so can you. These are just a bunch of ideas for actions that are both little and incidental, and huge and profound. They are things that I can control – unlike every other dang thing in the universe, which is chaotic and unresponsive to my control-freakness (damn it.)

In 2019…

1. I will give myself credit for doing things right.

In today’s world, the focus is on what we DON’T accomplish, and that kind of self-flagellation is right up my alley. As a person with chronic and painful health conditions, I never get nearly enough done.

At the end of the day, I may have cleaned two rooms, which means I will obsess about the other six that didn’t get touched and look like three cats have thrown cat parties in them. Because we have three cats, and every day is literally a party for them.

It is not, however, a party for ME most days. Most days, I have a certain amount of physical and mental energy and have to ration it out little by little, prioritizing while knowing full well the things low on the list WILL NOT GET DONE.

Here’s to a kinder, gentler to-do list in 2019. An era in which I ask myself if I completed a task, and focus on THAT.

Did I put on pants today? BRAVO, world-slayer!

2. I will be less harsh on (physical) self.

Hooooboy. This year, I turn 50 years old, and Father time is walking across my face. It would appear that he is wearing soccer cleats whilst doing so! Two-thousand-eighteen has been the Year of the Carb. And the funny thing is that last year, NO CARBS was #1 on my internal resolution list. Do anything, Jana….EXCEPT CONSUME CARBS. As Dr. Phil would say, “How is that working for me?”

I’ll tell you how. I gained 20 pounds in a year. The reasons why are legion – lowered mobility, pain when moving, and FOOD. Because I did the exact thing I promised myself I would not do, and I did it TO THE EXTREME.

I hate mirrors; hate them. And that’s kind of a shame because I am now as young as I will ever be, and my husband is not complaining about the way I look. I don’t want to be that woman that fights ageing with panic, honing in on every new wrinkle or fat cell.

Life is simply too short.

3. I will put away the bat in general.

In recovery circles, there is an expression: “It’s time to put away the bat.” The phrase gives a nice visual representing the way we beat ourselves up. Not just about missing goals or gaining weight, but about how we stack up in comparison to other people. We beat ourselves to a bloody pulp with a virtual baseball bat because others clearly are “getting it,” and we perceive that we are not.

Comparison is a thief of joy! I’m going to work on letting it go, and putting away the weapon of emotional torture.

4. I will try to say “thank you.” Just “thank you.”

If you tell me that you like my blouse, it’s likely that I will vomit forth details about it, such as how I got it at Goodwill and it was only $3.99, and it had a frayed hem but I fixed it, and unfortunately I had to go up two sizes.

If you tell me you enjoy my blog, it is my instinct to convince you why you really shouldn’t. I don’t know why, but this kind of minimizing can be cured with two simple words: THANK YOU.

Just “thank you.” And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

5. I will catch myself when I’m exhibiting co-dependent behavior and lovingly steer myself from it without chiding.

I have no right to be happy if you’re not happy. Crazy, right? But this principal manifests all the time. Especially with my children and husband. When they are sad / mad, I am sad / mad. Because maybe I can “fix” their problems if I get sad, too. Or something like that.

I think it has something to do with being an empath. We absorb the moods of others, particularly of those we love deeply. It literally feels frivolous to be happy if someone I love is not.

This has got to go.

Hey, I’m really sorry your horribly grouchy – that sucks. But I’m TEFLON, man. You can try to rub your grumpiness on me, but I’m not owning it.

That’s the kind of thought process I aspire to. And speaking of thought processes…

I will make time for therapy!

6. I will make time for laughter.

God, I love the internet, unapologetically and 100%. And do you know why? Partially because if I’m not up to wearing pants, I can still communicate with friends on Facebook. Just kidding (not really!)

But my favorite thing about the interwebs are memes. I’m a grown-ass woman and I love me some cats pictured with snarky comments and eat-shit-and-die expressions. I was embarrassed about this for a long time, until I starting posting these squares of silliness to my social media page, and other people started laughing, too.

OMG, if there is anything better than heart-lightening laughter, it’s making OTHER PEOPLE laugh!

Oh, and videos. Ditto prior embarrassment. But then my kids introduced me to ‘Vines’ and life has never been the same.

There are days – especially when I’m struggling and depressed – YouTube videos of Jon Crist have saved my sanity.  If you’ve never watched “Juggling the Jenkins” by YouTuber Tiffany Jenkins, you are missing out big-time.

7. I will make time for music.

MUSIC. IS. LIFE. And I don’t listen to enough of it.

My musical tastes range from Bach and Beethoven to “please don’t judge me.” I love Al Green. And Eminem. And Don Williams. And The Black Crows. I listened to very little music in 2018, on account of I was so seldom “in the mood,” which is a damn shame, because music is a mood changer.

I’m not sure if this is it’s own distinct mental illness, or just a sub-group of my several, but I can almost SEE music. Playing a song sweeps me up and carries me off. Music is color and light and carbonated joy.

Music is therapy. Need a good cry but can’t get it started? Coldplay’s “Parachutes” album. Just do it, and for extra expedition, lean your head against a window whilst it’s gently raining outside or something. You will cry, and it will be cleansing.  Earth, Wind, and Fire cannot be usurped when it comes to getting jiggy with it. It is literally impossible to wallow in the funk if the funkiest tunes are blasting. Worship music can shift the whole atmosphere, and I’m not exaggerating. It can pour a salve into all the hurting places in my soul.

Krunk that stuff UP.

8.  I will try to do 10 kind things for other people each week without telling a soul.

I used to write gratitude cards every single week. Just little note cards sent to friends to remind them specifically why they are so incredibly fabulous. I don’t do that anymore. At some point, it became more of a chore than a kind endeavor, and I hate that.

May 2019 be a year of less selfishness and more kindness. Ten itty-bitty things can make a huge difference.

Holding a door open. Paying for the coffee of the person behind me in the drive through. Phone calls or texts to say I’m thinking of you and I love you.

It’s something I learned in The Rooms (a recovery term for 12 Step groups): You keep it by giving it away. Your hope, experience, strength.

One of the kindest things we can do for someone is express gratitude. We each have something within us that not a single other person on earth can give. I generally do much better if I express gratitude with kind words to others.

I want to work on that.

9. I will invest in my relationships like there’s no tomorrow. Because there may not be.

We once attended a church where the co-pastor was an elderly gentleman. He was a real salt and light kinda guy….always smiling, quick with a joke, and charmingly honest. For instance, he stood at the pulpit one Sunday morning and opened with this zinger: “We’re all terminal.”

He was right.

Notice how time goes much faster with every passing year? I’m going to try to savor it instead of wishing it away. And to savor it, I need relationships. Not acquaintances; real, rich, messy, intimate bondings.

And no….not that kind of intimate! The kind where you bring your raw, honest self in communion to another human being, (and they bring their real, honest self to you,) and you appreciate them for exactly who they are. God created each of our friends with the intention we invest in that person. He has had each friendship in mind since before we were born!

Enjoy it, he is saying. You aren’t meant to do this hard life alone.

10.  I will keep an open(ish) mind.

At some point, Christians have given all our mysticism over to the pagans and such. Please trust me when I say that there is NOTHING more mystical than the Triune God.

It’s the trippiest, man. That a Cosmic Creator inhabited flesh to draw us near. DUDE.

Considering alternate points-of-view is not turning my back on Jesus. Pretty much everyone has something to say worth hearing. Recently, I’ve been reading “There’s Nothing Wrong With You” by Cheri Huber. It is positively incredible.

It is not a “Christian” book. I’m pretty sure she is not a “Christian” writer. But she has some very Jesusy things to say.

“If you had a person in your life treating you the way you treat yourself, you would have gotten rid of them a long time ago…”
And…
“All of life’s conflicts are between letting go or holding on, opening into the present or clinging to the past, expansion or contraction.”
Those are Biblical principals.
In 2019, I will work on my spiritual expansion and contractions. I will adsorb light and love, and embrace who Jesus Himself is, and not what 2,000 years of man-made doctrine and musing has made him.
LOVE.
And, HEY…if you read my blog?
THANK YOU.
Dear readers, I wish you the very best in this new year.
May you laugh, and dance, and give yourself credit for the things you do right.
I hope you be happy, even if no one around you is happy.

Hold on to your joy!  It’s yours!

I pray that in 2019, you will put the bat away, and see yourself for
who and Whose you are – perfectly BEAUTIFUL.
May you have a party in your soul the likes of which my three cats enjoy
on the daily. They have not a worry in the world.
And most of all, I pray that God blesses you in overflowing measure
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
humor · Spiritual

The Iceman Freezith (and it ain’t so toasty here)

iceman
For today’s blog graphic, I am using an actual National Geographic image of “The Iceman” A.K.A. ÖTzi.  The Iceman was found to have 61 tattoos, which – in my opinion – he had done because the continual jabbing of many  needles took his mind off of the COLD.  
He lived around 3,300 BC – during the Chalcolithic, or copper age – and his incredibly well-preserved remains were trapped in glacial ice for more than 5,000 years until his eventual discovery in 1991, by German tourists hiking in the alps near the border of Austria and Italy. Don’t say I never taught you anything. As you can see, OTzi (???) was clearing reaching for something at the time of his frozen-ass demise. My theory is that his wife was hogging the Pittsburgh Steelers stadium blanket and he was just trying to get a piece (of the blanket.) You know she could have shared a LITTLE of it. Mrs. OTzi was the Titanic’s Rose of her time. JUST SCOOT OVER ALREADY.

By: Jana Greene

Just a little hardy-har-har to thaw my sense of humor out. I’m trying to blog more often, so you get to read more pieces (oh boy!) I’m also trying to cut down on the length of some of the lighter items. And I’d like to punctuate the more serious pieces with things that might actually be fun to read, if not edifying.

It’s COLD here, ya’ll. Ok, maybe not to some of you Nanooks of the North. But here in NC, we’re not equipped to deal with such tundra-like conditions. I think our town has one snowplow, total. We are supposed to get snow, and we live at the beach, so for each snowflake that hits the ground (whether or not it sticks to the ground) is an hour they call off school / government buildings / bridges / and just about everything else. Stay warm ya’ll!

Diary entry: Decembruary 2, in the year of our Lord (Jack Frost) 2018.

We can hear the hail hit all around the house and on the roof. At least I hope it’s hail, and not brimstone. That would suck.

When I look out the windows, every walking surface is covered in a thick layer of ice. No thanks. I have trouble walking on the regular ground.

We are down to 1 1/2 loaves of bread. I suppose we’ll die.

The storm has the cats super freaked out; so much so that they are all napping right through it. Brave souls.

Hoping for actual snow, but because I live at the actual beach, I would have to make snow angels in my super unflattering, middle-aged woman skorted, bathing suit.

I am currently laying under 7 blankets. One is a Steelers stadium blanket, so it counts as 3 additional.

We have no Cheeze-its.

We have Nacho Doritos.

I guess this is how the Donner Party must have felt.

Cats · humor

Learning to Love the Common Cat

It’s true that The Beggar’s Bakery is a blog heavy on the substance abuse recovery material. That’s my passion. But through the ages (the nearly three years I’ve been blogging) I like to mix things up a little on occasion. I am also a “recovering” cat hater. Truly.

Recovery is my passion, but it’s not my ONLY passion. There is also my family, and the kitty cats – animals of all kinds, really – and chocolate, and music, and clothes with elastic waistbands.

Here is one from a blog I maintained for, um….about two posts. But I’m re-posting it because sometimes you just need to write a little, er….FLUFF to go along with the heavier issues.

What’s fluffier than kitties?

This is Catsby, the first cat I've ever heard that is truly mine, a Mama's Boy through-and-through.
This is Catsby, the first cat I’ve ever had that is truly mine (Bob claims him, too, but he is a  Mama’s Boy through-and-through!)

I used to have a funny little blog about cat appreciation, but from the perspective of a person who grew up as a life-long cat hater. (Please, no hate mail! Remember that this blog is satire – or dare I say, “catire?”  – and all in fun!)
Yes…
My name is Jana and I am a recovering Cat Hater. I come from a long line of cat-haters, and honestly, cat hating was all I knew growing up.
As a matter of fact, many in my family would equate penning this blog with signing my own commitment papers. But if there is anything being in my forties has taught me, it is this: We all own some degree of crazy. Own your crazy, without apology.
Really. “Normal” is just a setting on the clothes dryer.
And my love for cats?
I blame My Beloved  husband. He started it.
 Into our blended marriage, he brought one daughter and two cats, and I brought two daughters and The Best Dog Ever. Talk about life in the blender!  I had never been in the same room with a cat, so limited was my experience with them.
All of my life, I’ve had dogs, and I adore them. I’ve always  identified as a Dog Person. I think I will always identify as a Dog Person. I lost my Emmie, my Best Dog Ever, over a year ago. I cannot bring myself to get another. Until I’m ready, there are the kitties.
What I’ve found over the past eight years is that I don’t have to choose to be “either/or.” I can be an animal-lover, and appreciate all of God’s creatures for what they are. It is kind of long story, how this change came about – and it taught me a lot about myself, a lot about tolerance and acceptance.
Mostly, it taught me never to hate a cat for not being a dog, which as it turned out, was my main complaint about them B.C. (before cats.)
I strongly encourage others to expand their animal  “rePEToire.”
Of course, one does not become a Cat Person overnight. Thrust into cat ownership, I went through all of the stages of acceptance:
Denial: “I will just ignore the cats!” and  “The dog and cats will learn to get along.”
Anger: “Is there any surface in this entire house that is NOT covered in cat fur?”  “Go to sleep, kitties!”
Bargaining: “Please, PLEASE sleep at night. Please, I beg of you – SLEEP!”
Depression “This darn cat won’t get out of my pillow….. Hairballs are the most disgusting thing ever….Wet cat food smells like stink and I will never get used to it.  And the cats will never sleep through the night.   NEVERRRRRRR!”
Acceptance: “But I guess the kitties are kind of CUTE, and warm. And I love that purr thing.  And the pouncing … that is adorable.
They DO have so much personality……Yes, the cat hair is everywhere; I will just keep a lint-roller in my car for the fur. And maybe I will learn  to sleep through all of the zooming about at 4 a.m. A cat cannot change its stripes, so to speak. I suppose I must accept them.”
Once cats get under your skin and into your heart, there is NO stopping it. You will make runs to PetSmart for a certain kind of toy mouse. You will find batting at feathers adorable. You will answer your cat’s meows with “Tell me all about it!” You will think internet memes of cats captioned with funny text are the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. You will resign yourself to the fact that you have ‘dropped your basket’ and it is full of kitty cats.
I’ve done a 180, as they say, and I’m grateful for my allergy to the purry ones (as it forces me to a strict limit of two, okay maybe three….and no more.) Catsby greets me at the door every day and mews to be picked up and carried around on my shoulder, and sits on the edge of the bathtub to play in the water. He is kind of a doggish cat, and I love that. I love that he is co-dependent.
Hey, recovery is a process, right? Own your crazy, without apology.
Here’s looking at mew, kid.
Grace · Holy Spirit · humor · Inspirational · Jesus · Love · Spiritual

The Flippin’ Sweet Whole Love of God

napoleanBy: Jana Greene

Last night, I was tossing and turning. Thinking about all the things that are oh-so wrong in this world. I exhausted my energies with worry, and then I implored my Heavenly Father to please comfort me. As I often do when asking God for favors, I quoted scripture to Him, when really – plain talk would have sufficed. He already knows my heart – a heart thirsty to be filled up with His love.

“I’m tired, Abba. Worn down. I need your strength,” my spirit said. ” I just need a touch, Lord. Just see me through today.” I reminded him of the woman at the well, who touched the hem of the garment of Jesus and was made whole.

Just then a woman who had hemorrhaged for twelve years slipped in from behind and lightly touched his robe. She was thinking to herself, “If I can just put a finger on his robe, I’ll get well.” Jesus turned—caught her at it. Then he reassured her: “Courage, daughter. You took a risk of faith, and now you’re well.” The woman was well from then on.” Matthew 9:20-22 (MSG)

And God, in His infinite wisdom and Holy magnificence, brought a very specific thought to my addled mind…. a scene from one of my very favorite movies, Napoleon Dynamite. Because – if there is anything I’ve learned about the Creator of the Universe – it’s that He has a sense of humor. He wants to relate to us.

SWEET (Yes, even this guy….)

The quirky film’s protagonist, Napoleon, is just trying to make it through high school. In one of the best scenes, he works up the courage in the lunchroom to talk to the girl he is crushing on, who is sitting at another table. In the most awkward pursuit ever, he commences to woo his girl – who is drinking a carton of milk – with this smooth line:

“I see you’re drinking 1%,” he bluntly states. “Is that because you think you’re fat? Because you’re not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted to.”

Why would the God of the universe bring that scene from the movie (CLICK HERE to see it)  so vividly to the forefront of my mind in the middle of the night? Because I’ve been drinking in about 1% of His word lately, and asking for the bare minimum of his power to just get by.

I see you are reaching for a touch of the hem of his garment. Is that because you think you’re not enough? Because in Him, you are enough. You could be filled with Holy Spirit if you wanted to.

I hear you asking for a touch. Are you drinking in God’s love in tiny sips because you think you’re not sure it’s real? Because it is. You could be having the real deal if you wanted to.

Are you asking for less than is already yours because you think only a portion of Me is available to you? Because it’s all here for you. You could be having more comfort than you can handle, if you wanted to.

The “hem of his garment” – the part of Him which is furthest from His heart and still tangible – is flippin’ sweet, as Napoleon might say.

But the heart of Him?

It’s ours, and He wants to fill us with it. And we cannot even begin to imagine the supernatural-ness available to us.

It made me smile, in the midst of my insomnia, that God would remind me of his Whole Power in such a way – a way I could readily understand and even laugh at.

Are you asking for just enough to make it through because you think you’re unworthy? Because you’re not. You could be having the Whole Love of God if you wanted to.

God’s pursuit of us is not awkward, but our acceptance of His love often is. I am learning that Holy Spirit is already in us in full, but our ability to tap into it, to have the Whole Milk Experience, is fettered by our own busy minds and insecurities. Courage, daughter.

Just follow your heart, as Napoleon says.

That’s what I do.

 

 

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humor

Sweet Bluegrass, My Beloved, and How I Ran off with Moms Gone Wild

A little humor from Redemption Feast about what constitutes a really hot date for the 45+ crowd.

More recovery blogging coming soon – I swear! For just this season, writing humor IS part of my recovery. Come to think of it, I hope all-things-comedic will be a part of my recovery for a long time to come. Happy Friday, all!

http://wilmingtonfavs.com/blogs/jana-greene/sweet-bluegrass-my-beloved-and-how-i-ran-off-with-moms-gone-wild

Addiction · Food · Health Studies · humor · Middle Age

The Salad of my Discontent: 13 nutrition (and Fitness) tips for the 40 + Crowd

SALAD

It sure has been a difficult time lately, with losses and goodbyes for my family, challenges and changes, and  much “waiting upon God,” even when it feels like he taking kind-of a long time to lead us where we need to go! And usually, I cover pretty heavy topics on thebeggarsbakery.net – alcoholism and addiction, parenting teens, marriage, health woes, etc.

So, in a departure in what I usually write about, today’s piece is a Humor Column. Years ago, before so many heavy things, I had a humor column in a tiny, local paper – and it was ridiculously fun. This article addresses one of my passions and pains: food, and trying to understand and achieve health, after so many years of taking abysmal care of myself.

I hope it makes you smile, at the very least. Please feel free to share the link with any middle-agers who are struggling with the same issues, and GOD BLESS you and yours. I so appreciate your readership!

By: Jana Greene

George Carlin once said that “death is caused by swallowing small amounts of saliva over a long period of time.”  But if your spit doesn’t do the trick, swallowing small amounts of food will surely cause your demise.

Studies show, well…..quite a whole lot of things, actually, many of which are pretty scary. Luckily, if one government-granted conclusion to expensive research alarms you, the next one that comes along will either:

a)      Disprove the first study (studies show this to be the case 99.7 percent of the time, depending on funding.)

OR

b)      Cause the release of panic, the likes of which have not been felt since the release of the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz.

Why keep studying consistently inconsistent results? Personally, I think it’s because the more it is studied with federal funds, the more the government can regulate our lives – but that’s a column for another time.

Today’s topic is about an unfortunate rite-of-passage for many of us in our forties: The Talk about  Nutritional Health, when  our doctors, lab results in hand, confront us on our past misdeeds and  suggests that there are damage-control  measures available to counteract those earlier misdeeds.

In my quest to “eat healthy,” I often read studies. Over time, I have surmised from them to:

1. Eat sweet potatoes, but not in pie-form, and certainly not with butter, sugar and cinnamon.

No, wait. DON’T eat sweet potatoes!  A sweet potato is just a starch masquerading as a Vegetable of the Highest Order – a colorful vegetable.

And if you must have one, eat it raw. Studies show that once you cook a vegetable, you completely ruin the nutritionally value. You might as well eat it in pie-form….Which, I usually do.

2. Fruit is the healthiest food group there is – packed with nutrients.

Until you swallow it.  Most fruits are converted by your body to  SUGAR, and your endocrine system doesn’t know the difference between a bunch of grapes and one of those pixie sticks that is two feet long.

Unless the fruit is colorful…. In which case, it becomes a two-foot-pixie stick with a few antioxidants.  

3. Drink cranberry juice, and your urinary tract will thank you.

Oops….studies indicate that you should stay away from cranberry juice. Because the sugars it contains (see ‘fruit’ above) can CAUSE a UTI.

4. Nuts and seeds are awesome*, and not just because they are central to the “What Would Jesus Eat?” diet and Jesus Himself is awesome, but because they are full of the protein your body needs to function as a fat-burning machine!

Except that all of the good-tasting nuts are actually pretty fatty. Go figure.

5. A glass of red wine**  each evening keeps the doctor away.

Unless you’re an alcoholic like myself.  In which case, the doctor won’t need to visit because the coroner will beat him to it.

6. Eating meat – especially the red kind (color is not a benefit here) – is terrible for your health.  You should consume ONLY the things that your  meat would have eaten, if you hadn’t savagely killed it for food.

You know, root vegetables and such. Sweet potatoes.

Scratch that. Eat ONLY meat, like our cave-man ancestors, and only the way they ate it – cooked over an open, stucco fire pit with a side of something they might have purchased at Whole Foods after a long day of dragging women by the hair.

And , did  Paleos eat Quizno’s, or use a Fry-Daddy!  I think NOT. Keep it strictly hunter-gatherer, peeps. Which brings me to (queue scary music….)

7. The malevolent  CARBOHYDRATE***, which virtually all studies agree is the most evil form a calorie can channel.  Do you think the ancient peoples had pasta-makers?  No sir, they did not. So  forget spaghetti, a member of the most malicious menu malady a meal can muster.

Rice, potatoes, pasta – all in cahoots to hijack your metabolism and take the slow ride to an early grave. Don’t even think about that tortellini! It’s a cheese-filled pocket of death!

And, I’m sorry….. there are no studies to refute this, unless you consider those who suggest (queue the scary music again….) MODERATION. Moderation – with starchy deliciousness. Hurmph. (Studies clearly show that people with addictive personalities are less likely to practice moderation.)

8. Salad is the anti-carb…..so very  good for you!  The more colorful and expensive the lettuce, the better.

Unless  you like it with flavor. Take, for instance,  blue cheese dressing.  You could, instead of eating it on salad, just get a super-large syringe (I like my blue cheese chunky-style) and inject it directly in your arteries to get just the same benefits as digesting it.  Luckily, many creamy salad dressings contain dairy, and studies show that….

9. Dairy prevents belly fat.

No, wait – it causes belly fat. I’m not sure which (I’m pretty sure I’ve read studies that purport both)

10. If you have blood-sugar issues, diet sodas are much better to drink than regular sodas.

Although, in test groups,  diet sodas had  the same effect on teeth as the meth. Yes, you can get “meth mouth”  courtesy of carbonated beverages! Diet sodas also contain a chemical that  basically turns to  formaldehyde in your body, a chemical used in the embalming process. The. Embalming. Process.

11. Ahhh, caffeine. – beloved purveyor of eternal life and heart health, and seemingly-harmless-delivery system for a mood-altering, STIMULANT  DRUG!  Hello?

So, so much study on caffeine. The common drug is the darling of federally-funded scientific research. Pages and pages, and reverse-studies and warnings and….I need another cup of coffee **** to even THINK about it.

12. All hail the ancient Mayans, who are famous for appreciating the health benefits of Chocolate *****(and human sacrifice, but hey…they brought us chocolate!)

Chocolate,  as a modern food,  is actually a contributor to obesity…

UNLESS, it is transformed into  DARK chocolate, which many studies show not only is excellent for your body, but practically gives the same cardiac benefits of  having the heart of a 21-year old triathlon-participating vegetarian transplanted into your tired, old, flabby  body!

But wait, chocolate contains caffeine, which studies show…….

Is really good for you!

Or….

Or a mind-altering, stimulant drug….you  shameless  junkie.

13. .Well, at least everyone can agree that drinking MORE WATER is essential to good health. Yesiree.  It cleans your system, lubricates your joints, and is the life-force. The God-given, liquid  verve-maker.

But, not so fast…..

Studies show that when you turn on the tap, you unleash a cascade of chemical compounds and a mélange of micro-organisms. Our waste  is contaminated with tons of chemicals to ensure our drinking safety!  Not to mention naturally-occurring micro-organisms (your “oli’s” and  “ella’s”….. e-coli, flagenella, barbarella, etc.) Bottoms up!

With all this information to consider (Thank you, Federal Government!) don’t forget about the other, equally disturbing facet of middle-aged damage control:  Physical Fitness.

It’s not too late, fellow Old Farts!

Never mind that it will take MUCH more effort to obtain a MUCH-lesser result, and that your reward will not be the same as it was “back in the day.” It may not make you “hot,” but you’ll live longer, as an old, not-hot person.  The reward is life, itself!

There is plenty of data and debate on which form of fitness is best for those in the Mid-Day of life:

Walking

no, running

No….WALKING is the best exercise.

Walking is nice and low-impact….unless you want muscle tone. (Was Jane Fonda concerned about “low impact” when she implored us all to “get physical?” Of course not.  And in her golden years, she can probably still bounce a quarter off of her gluteus!)

And the horrors of aerobics (and unforgiving leotards) pales in comparison with a modern fitness  phenomenon (I would call it a “craze,” but that would only accentuate my age)  that shall-remain-unnamed in this article…

Primarily a program for young people (so says me), participants will often try to recruit we 40-plussers. You’ve been warned.

Let’s just say it is a major work-out movement that actually advertises PAIN as a selling point,  even infers that you will ENJOY  that pain. It also incorporates the lifting of weights that appear to weigh approximately as much as Stonehenge (all stones combined.)

As my daughter would say, I don’t EVEN!

Many studies have shown that swimming is the best exercise, but don’t take my word for it. Peek into any YWCA in the world at 7:30 a.m. and count the swim cap-crowned elderly ladies in the pool doing water aerobics.  Nice and easy on the joints (and a good female bonding experience….where are all the men?)

Yes, swimming is best. Unless you do it outdoors.  Are you trying to kill yourself with UV rays?

Yoga is great for fitness…

Unless you think you might ever leave the yoga mat. If you plan to strike a “standing” or “walking” pose (for approximately ever) be wary. If your Yoga class or fitness video touts itself for “Beginners,” keep in mind that they are referring to beginner contortionists…not you, and surely not me.

So, in conclusion….I think George Carlin was pretty astute in his observation.

Eat and let eat, I like to say. Walk and let walk. And study and let study, if you must.

I also like to say, “Pass the blue cheese dressing.”

And be quick about it…I’m swallowing small amounts of saliva, as we speak.

 

* Especially in pies.

** You can drink wine by the single GLASS?

***There is a best-selling book titled, “Bread is the Devil.” Really.

**** Starbucks Primo Mocha Latte (extra shot of espresso, please)

*****Also really good in pies.