Rude awakening

Hershey, looking worried. As usual.

Hershey's the best dog ever. Or at least the best dog currently. (Because Lindy, my chocolate Lab who died in 1997, was an absolutely amazing dog.) Whenever I hear someone say how SMART, or how OBEDIENT, or how CLEVER theirs or someone else's dog is, I have to shut my MOUTH.

Because really? Hershey's the best. And if I said so I'd just look like I was arguing. Or showing off.

She does, however, have those times which try men's (and women's) souls. Like this morning, for instance!

I'm an early, early riser, as a rule. But yesterday was a big day (and a bit traumatic, damn you dentures!) and since all the MSNBC and CNN talking heads had the night off, my husband and I watched the rest of The Great Gatsby and all of Somewhere in Time. Meaning I got to bed a little later and a lot more wiped out than usual.

Hershey decided 7 o'clock this morning was LATE ENOUGH ALREADY and started barking her head off. There is no direct line of sight to the outdoors from inside the bedroom, unless you open the blinds (which she, so far, is unable to master), so I'm not sure what spooked her. I've often said she can sense a deer in the yard whether she sees one or not, and that might very well have been the cause of all her excitement.

Or maybe it was a gunshot. Because nothing signals the beginning of the holiday season like shotgun reports blasting through a crisp autumn morning.

Pretty, yes?

At any rate, thank you, Hershey, for that wake-up call. The coffee is hot and I refuse to go shopping on Black Friday. Today would be a good day to clean and decorate and maybe even get some crafty things crossed off the list. Also, WVU plays today – not that it matters, but it's FOOTBALL and football means KNITTING. The slippers and the blue hat are both finished now, so I need to find something new.

Well, new in addition to the very long skinny garter-stitch scarf for no one in particular, just because I had to have something to knit while watching movies last night. My husband does not understand why I can't just sit and watch and not knit. I told him I just can't. Deal.

At any rate, part of the day will be spent putting pattern, yarn and needles together prior to the game. I'm thinking Felted Clogs right now. Subject to change when I put the new knitting magazines away.

For the love of the dog

I was all settled in to watch the Grammys, upstairs where the big-screen TV is, knitting in hand. I watched the red carpet show on E! and was about an hour into the awards program when my husband came upstairs and said Hershey was sick.

We'd noticed earlier in the day that she was shivering, which was odd because it certainly wasn't dog-chillingly cold yesterday. In fact, we enjoyed temperatures in the low 50s most of the afternoon. When the shaking hadn't stopped by mid-evening, we began to get worried enough to consult Dr. Google.

Hershey

I looked up "shaking," "shivering" and "tremors" under Dog Symptoms in the Pet section of WebMD. Out of all the possibilities, she either might have the sudden and inexplicable "White Dog Shaking Syndrome," which was identified because it originally affected small white dogs but can affect all breeds, colors and sizes. OR she could have eaten something outside that has made her sick. Because the only thing she eats inside is kibble. (Chocolate, for instance, is a people food that is poisonous to dogs and shaking is one of the symptoms of poisoning.)

She hasn't eaten any kibble since yesterday morning. Another symptom. She might be drinking more water than usual, it's hard to say. Maybe we're just looking for Things Out Of The Ordinary. (She reluctantly and slowly ate one of her favorite treats last night, but refused the less-favored ones we keep upstairs.)

At any rate, I abandoned the Grammys and Hershey and I went to bed early. I just wanted her to be comfortable, and I could easily find out if Mumford & Sons won anything in the morning. (I did get to see them perform, and was delighted that Adele won for Best Pop Solo.)

And so here we are, waiting until 8 a.m. when the vet's office opens and we can take her in. She hates-hates-hates riding in the car. She shakes like a leaf the entire time, and I dread making her go through that on top of the already continuous shivering she's experiencing anyway. I hope she knows we're doing it so that she'll eventually feel better again.

The weigh-in this morning was great, as I knew it would be. I compulsively checked my weight on the other scale as well. According to it, I've lost a total of five pounds since Christmas. According to the body-fat scale I've lost 7.5. I'll be sticking with the body-fat scale from now on. My body fat percentage is shockingly high (43%!), but no more so than it was when I bought the scale. So there's that. Jen, I will take your cautions about it under advisement, with many thanks. It will be a good lesson in treating these numbers as information only.

This is the part of being a dog-mom I really don't like. They can't tell you what's wrong, but you sure do know something is. Here's hoping Hershey will be feeling like her old self sooner rather than later.

The diagnosis

So Hershey has an infection of unknown origin. Which, apparently, isn't unusual for older dogs. (Her vet said, "OH! I remember when she was just a tiny puppy! How is it possible that she's 10 years old already?" And she said it with exclamation points and ear rubs and lots of petting and cooing. I love Hershey's vet.)

Hershey's blood work revealed she had an elevated white blood count to go with a slight fever, and is now taking an antibiotic and an NSAID (apologies to those of you who saw my Facebook post yesterday in which I said she was getting a steroid) for pain.

This is the first time she's been sick (I know, amazing, right?), and I was truly worried. Yesterday was a very stressful day. I'm glad I have a built-in rest day each week, because I needed a Monday in which exercise was not on the schedule.

Yesterday also kind of got in the way of the big project I wanted to brag about finishing on Sunday. In my continuing quest to tidy up around here, I tackled the secretary, which is a lovely piece of furniture that, unfortunately, is a repository for odd bits and bobs of STUFF that I can, literally, shut the door on. The fold-down writing surface is perfect for hiding what lies behind.

(Also, it used to be green. A really horrible green. With gold-leaf trim. A roll of painter's tape and a few cans of spray paint were all it took to take it from icky to adorable.) At any rate, I give you … NEAT!

Now I need to move the laptop over there (what a hard job that's going to be. Heh.) and I can almost guarantee I'll be spending less time online and more time doing other, more constructive things. Because you see that chair? Not the most comfortable spot in the house.

But at least it's clean!

Dwindling miles, a temporary state of affairs

I can see that working just two mornings a week is going to result in a reduction of my weekly miles, unless I'm able to tack a couple extra on when I do manage to get out there. I'd planned to walk after work yesterday, but I came home and collapsed.

It's not that the work is so hard. It's that I'm so old. Heh. And while walking almost daily for three months has been good for my health, it hasn't done much for my stamina, apparently.

I will become accustomed to this routine and I will continue to work toward my goal of walking 1000 miles this year. I'm ahead of schedule by about 25 miles. And if I don't hit the goal? Well, I've probably already walked farther this year than I did for all of 2012.

Hershey and I just chased seven deer out of the back yard. If I weren't such a softie I'd build a doghouse in the middle of the garden and let her live in it during the growing season. Dogs are excellent deer deterrents. Hershey, however, is a house dog. It just wouldn't be fair after all these years to ask her to actually work for her kibble.

I am enjoying working again, despite the fatigue. I've met some interesting customers and welcomed back some old ones. The plants are thriving with the spring rain and warm temperatures we've had lately. Our newest employee is my walking buddy and one of my favorite people, and we'll be working together on Wednesdays. The good stuff multiplies.

Disappointments and tragedies and evil and accidents and bad stuff will always be a part of life. I don't know anyone who can claim otherwise. What we do with it is what makes our life fulfilling and worthy and valuable. An initial shocked or horrified or angry reaction must be channeled toward something better. Light stamps out darkness. Good triumphs over evil. Love is stronger than hate.

And, in the end, miles don't much matter. It's the journey that counts.

Too close … for a picture

When you are groggily searching for your favorite mug and wishing you'd put the coffee on auto-start, the last thing you can wrap your brain around is setting up the camera to take pictures of THE TWO DEER IN YOUR FRONT YARD!

Hershey, our eight-year-old part chocolate Lab, was on it, though. Not taking a picture, but chasing them off the property. They're getting bolder and bolder. They ran into the field adjacent to our yard and stopped, not even bothering to hightail (hah! That's exactly what they do!) it into the woods.

My coffee and I took a perfunctory walk around the landscape bed to make sure they hadn't nibbled anything, then walked around the vegetable garden. All that corn and they didn't even touch it.

I think I'll put the electric fence up next year, though.

Deer don't like squash, so I always plant that along the perimeter. I also have marigolds at the far end, where deer are most likely to enter. They don't care for the smell, and marigolds also keep other pests away.

You could look it up. I'm too lazy this morning. But my primitive deer-proofing is working so far. And Hershey, of course, is the best deterrent of all.

Or tired, maybe. Yesterday's workout was brought to you by HERBS. As in, I laid the foundation for the most awesome herb bed in the county. I thought this was going to be an hour-long job; it ended up taking two and a half hours.

I'll post all the details – with pictures – tomorrow. Right now, I need more coffee.

So glad y'all like the meat-and-three post yesterday. Here's the "three" we had last night. It almost qualifies for the raw-food plan. (I've linked to my favorite tabbouleh recipe.)

From front to back: Chunky Gazpacho, Black Bean and Corn Salad, Tabbouleh

Don't you hate it …

when you're working on a project (in my case, custom-designed candy bar wrappers) and the power goes out.

Arghhhhh!

Fortunately the power goes out frequently enough here in the Middle of Nowhere that I've learned to save, save, save, especially when I'm working on a Photoshop document.

One of my mother-in-law's favorite foods is a good old-fashioned Hershey bar. No dark chocolate for her, thankyouverymuch, she loves milk chocolate. So we're going to give Hershey bars with personalized wrappers for party favors. Maybe I'll pick up one of those giant-sized bars for her.

I may have found a tutorial on how to make a cupcake-shaped cake without buying the mold. I'll have to study it, but at first glance it looks like it will work.

So. Did I walk yesterday? You betcha! Four miles, outdoors, and it was great. I'll always like walking outdoors better than doing an indoor workout. Pretty soon, I hope, I'll be running outdoors. I keep downloading half- and full marathon training plans for inspiration. One of these days …

Food continues to be good. The big lack in my life is the willingness to pick up a dumbbell. I have a mental block about it, and I'm just going to have to put my big-girl panties on and get over it already!

But probably not today. Heh.

Workin' for the weekend

Hah!

I don't have a "real" job, but my volunteer jobs sure take a lot of time and energy. So it's nice to have a little downtime in the schedule.

Hershey and the dog sitter will be holding down the fort as my husband and I travel to her birthplace. We rescued her from a filthy barn on a Kentucky hillside 11 years ago as we attended the same event we're going to today.

She's a lucky dog.

And we're lucky owners, because Hershey is a super dog. Obedient (most of the time), healthy (unless she eats deer bones), playful (although she's slowing down a bit in her dotage), affectionate (ALWAYS). She probably won't eat much while we're gone, but she'll be ecstatic when we pull in the driveway again Sunday afternoon.

I won't be completely unplugging, but more than likely I'll take a blog break. Have a great weekend!

And the grand total is …

3.2 inches. That's the amount of rain that has fallen since Monday morning.

Reminds me of May, when all I wanted to do was go out and throw seeds in the ground. Now I'd like to get out and clean the garden up (well, not that I'd really like to, but you know what I mean) and there's no way that can happen with all the mud.

We're getting a bit of a break today, and maybe even the rest of the week. Chance of scattered storms, temps in the low to mid 70s, should be nice for outdoor walking, if not for garden maintenance.

Hershey, with her best
worried look. She always
looks worried about
something!

September is a busy month around the Middle of Nowhere. My husband and I are getting ready to go to our annual AA retreat in Kentucky. So many good memories from these events over the years. In addition to the many friends we've made, we got our little dog Hershey on one of those trips.

Next weekend I'll be attending the state convention for our Federation of Democratic Women. We then have a free weekend to get ready for guests who will arrive September 30. And in between we have football and new fall television (Harry's Law is moving to Wednesdays this season, first episode is September 21 at 9 p.m.) and making a Halloween costume (my four-year-old granddaughter wants to be a bride) and knitting.

I like to cook more when it's a little cooler, and I like to walk a lot more when it's cooler, so expect to see more posts about healthy food and fitness in the future. You know it's time to do something when your yoga pants are beginning to feel uncomfortable.

A year ago this week we were entertaining my dad, his wife and her cousin. As I recall, he spent Wednesday of that week in bed nearly all day. We'd worn him out! I was getting ready to have a big Thanksgiving dinner the next day. They left to go back to Florida Friday morning, but he didn't make it out of West Virginia. They stopped for brunch and he died as soon as he got back in their RV, in the parking lot of the restaurant.

I'm glad I'll be at the retreat this weekend. (We obviously didn't go last year.) It will be good to remember him there, surrounded by sober friends. I still want to call him and send him pictures and tell him about the garden and his grandchildren and their children. And I sure miss talking politics with him.

We'd have a lot to talk about.

December 11 - Sweet

My dog Hershey is named for Hershey's chocolates – she's half chocolate
Lab and half who-knows-what. Oh, and she gives kisses.

I Shall Be Released (this is VERY long)

Okay, on Friday, when I said 'tomorrow,' what was I thinking? Also as I reread that post I see that not only did I forget about 34, I also forgot to tell you I forgot 34. Also, I met my third husband when I was 33, not 35. I think we were married when I was 35, but I'd have to go find the marriage license (ripped into shreds and delivered to me the day our dissolution was granted) to be sure. Oh, well, I think we can safely move on.

Although I told you last time life started getting better when I was 39, it started with my mother dying on January 8, 1991. However, I was sober and present and with her when she made that passage, something I couldn't have done at any other time in my adult life. I hadn't yet found AA, but was in OA and Al-Anon. The 12 steps are the same across the board, and knowing I was powerless (Step 1) allowed me to simply accept God's will for her. My first AA meeting happened a couple months later, in Atlanta, GA. Newly sober former husband #2 took me. (I had separated from my third husband.)

At 40 (I bet you thought we'd never get here!) I was enjoying life solo for the first time ever. I lived in a tiny little house in central Ohio with my dog, Lindy. I worked for a weekly newspaper as an ad designer and went to a lot of AA meetings. I wore a hat and took Lindy almost everywhere I went – a way to hide and seek attention at the same time.

Forty-one: Two years sober and two sponsors fired, I finally met Carolyn, who is still my sponsor today. She truly is a gift to me and I couldn't have stayed sober without her. Also, the dissolution was finally final.

When I was 43, Carolyn and I decided I could begin dating again. My current husband showed up at just the right time (although we wouldn't actually tie the knot for many more years). My children and I were getting along again and I was invited to my daughter's wedding, a gift of sobriety. My daughter's father sat between me and his wife, and the three of us held hands throughout the ceremony.

Life was good at 44. I loved the meetings I was attending, had a lot of friends, felt complete – like I belonged. It's hard for non-alcoholics to understand, but many drunks never feel like they fit in anywhere, and I was one of them.

My sweetie moved to West Virginia, where he was born and where his widowed mother still lived/lives, when I was 45. We continued our relationship long-distance, making six-hour trips every other weekend and chatting every day on the phone. And this was back when you paid for long distance calls by the minute!

I had joined a gym and started running and by the time I was 46 I was at my thinnest adult weight ever. I looked great, felt great, loved buying new clothes. My diet consisted of almost no fat and absolutely no sugar. It wasn't good for my skin or hair, but I was a size 8 and nothing else mattered. Not very clear thinking; was I high on being thin? This year also found me selling my house, quitting my job and moving to West Virginia. Also, and very important, my first granddaughter was born and I stopped smoking.

When I was 47 I started gaining a little weight back. (See "stopped smoking.") I also blamed it on the lack of a gym. I was trying to maintain my weight by running but it wasn't enough. My weight would continue to go up, no matter what I tried.

We moved to Huntington for a year when I was 48, so he could teach and practice (he's a psychiatrist) at Marshall University. I met my first online friend, a woman named Nancy who was in recovery, had a weight problem and knitted – just like me.

My mother's mother died when I was 49. She survived my mother by 10 long, lonely years. I visited her frequently after I left Ohio, and called every day, and always felt a little guilty for leaving her. But my sister was nearby, and I had Grandma's blessing. I was with her when she died.  Later that year I began volunteering at Alderson Federal Prison Camp, taking an AA meeting to the facility once a week – something I've continued to do up to the present.

By the time I was 50 my (boyfriend sounds so lame, but there you go) was working closer to our home in southern WV and life was good. I wasn't good at making friends, but I didn't feel lonely. The year began with my grandson's birth, a happy start to 2001. The sad part was that my dog, Lindy, died. We had  gotten another dog, Molly, when we moved from Ohio, but she was more his dog than mine. I missed Lindy terribly. My son was married that fall, a month after the attack in New York and the day before the U.S. invaded Afghanistan.

Life was on a pretty even keel during my early 50s. I liked not working, I liked volunteering at the prison, I knitted all the time and collected yarn with a passion. The downside was my weight, always my weight. I had ditched the low-fat plan (my skin tone immediately improved and my hair got shiny again) and was eating sugar again; no wonder I was gaining.

When I was 53, we went to an AA retreat in Kentucky (an annual trip for us) and found our new dog, Hershey. We had said "no more dogs," as people frequently do after the loss of a beloved pet. And I think we did pretty well, waiting three years. Hershey was advertised as a chocolate Lab, but she's more of a chocolate Beagle, without the barking.

Seven years to go. Are you bored with this happier life? I'm not!

Fifty-four … pretty much the same as 53, except now I was training a puppy. Not a big deal. I haven't mentioned my dad much in this narrative. He had remarried (my parents divorced when I was 36) and moved to Florida. We frequently talked on the phone, but didn't see each other very often. He was very happy that I'd found sobriety and a good partner.

On Mother's Day when I was 55, that partner sat me down and proposed to me. We were married in August. I had managed to lose some weight by this time and started training for my first half-marathon to be held in April, 2007. I became a registered Democrat (I had always been an Independent).

When I was 56 my son-in-law and I ran the Country Music Marathon together in Nashville, TN. My husband couldn't be there, but my daughter and her family were at the finish line cheering us on. I was a runner, a discipline that kept my weight steady (although still higher than I liked) for another couple of years. My second granddaughter was born in July. My sponsor began cancer treatment.

At 57 I was wrapped up in running and knitting. I started this blog in May of 2008. My friend Nancy died of pancreatic cancer in December. I was able to visit her early that month, a time I will forever treasure. I became very active in the campaign to elect President Obama, and met a lot of like-minded people, many of whom are now good friends. My third half-marathon was in the fall of 2008, and I haven't run a long-distance race since. I felt heavy and slow. I started thinking walking might be better exercise for me as I got older. Mind you, I didn't feel older, but I was definitely slowing down. My dad became very ill in the summer, and tried to convince all his nurses to vote for Barack.

When I was 58 I planted a garden. Daddy was getting better and had been a pretty good gardener all his life. I sent him lots of pictures of my crops, which he enjoyed. I was spending time in Florida, North Carolina, Tennessee and Ohio, connecting with family and friends.

At 59 I doubled the size of the garden and worked a couple afternoons a week at a garden center during the spring and early summer. My dad, who was feeling better and better, bought a motorhome and  visited me for the first time in many years in September. He died suddenly the morning he left our house. He didn't even make it out of West Virginia, and since he also was born here, I thought it fitting. I started a serious walking program that fall and walked more than 100 miles per month the last three months of 2010.

Which brings us to the present. Sixty, as of last Wednesday. I've only walked 10 miles this month, for reasons I can't begin to fathom, other than it's spring, I'm busier with outdoor chores, and I'm working at the garden center again. I also have my own big garden to tend. My sponsor is dying; she was taken to a hospice facility Friday morning. She told a friend that she'd had a good ride. I'm grateful she took me with her.

Thanks for reading. I appreciate the friendship and support you've been to me. Some of you have been with me since the beginning of the Shrinking Knitter. I love the internets! If I were so inclined, this might be a good time to quit blogging altogether. But I'm not so inclined. I like starting my day writing a couple paragraphs (and I like taking the weekends off!). I like the connections I've made with you, and wouldn't want to end them. I like the insight I gain about myself, particularly after an exercise like this one. Thanks again to Faith for her inspiration.

While my life hasn't always been pretty, I like to think I've somehow – with God's help – made it work. My mother's favorite song was "You'll Never Walk Alone," and that's true. None of us walks through life alone, or at least we don't need to. I don't mention my faith much here, but I know – without a doubt – that my Higher Power has been beside me all the way, watching me make poor decisions, leading me to better choices, putting important people in my path and helping me be the woman I am today.

And what's my favorite song? "Forever Young," of course.

November 4 - TV

Updated Apple TV in the wee, early hours of the morning.
Why was Hershey whining to be let out at 3:24 a.m.? 

Molly

This is our Molly, in better days. If the picture were in color you'd think she'd just come from the dope man, her eyes were always red-rimmed. And her snaggle-toothed smile always made her look like she needed braces.

We had her put down yesterday, as her better days were long behind her. She'd lost 25 pounds this year, 10 of them in the last two months. She was disoriented, arthritic, deaf and incontinent, she couldn't tolerate the heat, and whatever treatment our vet offered would only have delayed the inevitable.

One of Molly's favorite things to do in all the world was to ride in the car. This past week we've tried to get her excited about going for a ride, jangling car keys and such, and she never responded at all. She used to hop around like a puppy.

We know we did the best thing for her. It was a heartbreaking experience for my husband and me, though. She was two years old when we adopted her, and she came to West Virginia the same day I did, 13 years ago next month. Fifteen is old for a big dog.

We have another dog, Hershey, who will be seven this summer and is beginning to get a little grey beard in her chocolate-colored fur. But I don't want to think about that right now.

Dodging that winter storm bullet

We watched the radar and paid close attention to weather updates all day yesterday. As temperatures dropped, we watched the afternoon rain become the dreaded "wintry mix," and, finally, turn to snow after dark.

But it stopped. By 9 p.m. it was no longer precipitating at all.

This morning the porch and driveway are ice-covered, which isn't all that wonderful, but at least we won't be struggling with the snow shovel.

I think it's safe to put it away for the season.

Yesterday was a great day, even with the wintry mix. I was able to log five miles, beginning in the early afternoon and finishing up just as it began to rain. Perfect timing. I hadn't planned to do five, but the farther I went, the farther I wanted to go. It was only that impending rain that made me turn around at the 2.5-mile mark.

I picked up the pace a bit:

Yesterday's route was on hills, and I even ran up a couple of them. The Saturday walk
(yes, I know it says run but whatev) was on a flat route. And it was much slower.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The feel-good endorphins hung around most of the afternoon. If you'd been here, you'd have seen me dancing around the living room – solo, with Hershey and with my husband. Music and running are both great mood-lifters.

I just looked out the window. It's beginning to snow again, lightly. Maybe it won't stick (she said hopefully). And maybe I should keep the snow shovel handy.

Just in case.

This might stir things up

Thank you all SO MUCH for your encouragement and empathy and wise words yesterday. I was on track and back to basics all day, and already feel better mentally and physically.

It's truly amazing how unclean eating affects not just my body but also my mind and emotions, particularly after an extended period of clean eating. This is all new for me. Counting calories or points or fat grams, as I have in the past, meant I could eat anything as long as it fit within the daily calorie or point or fat-gram parameters.

"Anything" included sugar-free or low-fat substitutes for real foods which had too many calories per serving to be satisfying. Think frozen desserts, processed meats, Snackwell cookies and anything that comes in a 100-calorie pack.

To be sure, I'm still counting. My current parameters are calories and carbohydrate grams. But the foods I'm choosing are as simple as they can be, and generally require a bit more prep work than opening a package.

Sometimes I have to wash a piece of fruit. Heh.

I've been thinking about this past weekend's food, especially the s'mores. They weren't that great to eat, but they were fun to make. I was a little disappointed they didn't taste better. After all, these were treats! They should be fun to make and to eat!

And then I thought:

Food doesn't have to be fun. 

And probably – for me – shouldn't be.

I have a neighbor who has said life would be so much easier if humans, like dogs, could get along on two scoops of kibble daily. Hershey doesn't turn her little nose up when faced with the same dry dog food day after day, meal after meal. She eats it and goes on with her day. She naps a lot (she's 10, after all), and she chases deer out of the yard and she loves finding a mouse or mole in the neighbor's hayfield. She'll spend a good half an hour jumping around like a kitten trying to catch one.

But I'll bet she doesn't spend a single extra doggie minute thinking, "Kibble. Again. Blech."

Many of the processed, packaged, fake foods are designed to replace real and former once-in-a-while foods. Treats have evolved – or devolved, probably – from a special-occasion indulgence to part of a daily diet. What I've learned after just four months of eating the basics – meat, vegetables and fruit – is embarrassingly elementary.

Food is fuel.

My body performs better on the basics. My metabolism works the way it's supposed to work. Apparently I'm able to turn real-food calories into energy for a daily walk or jog, but can only turn crap-food calories into fat. Eating real, unprocessed food has transformed me from someone who wished for more get-up-and-go into someone who is getting up and going.

Cooking tasty meals, tweaking recipes, baking – all have "consumed" a good part of my life. Even a good part of my identity. Food preparation was not just a matter of putting dinner on the table. It was a hobby. I've owned hundreds of cookbooks and saved binders full of clipped-from-magazine recipes.

My recipe collection is much smaller today. In addition to the diet-book purge, I took a large box of low-fat cookbooks to the library last week. I've kept the volumes that focus on the basics.

And, honestly, if I ever want a recipe for something not-so-basic, the internets are full of them.

I still want my food to taste good. But I don't spend a lot of time jazzing it up. I still enjoy an occasional treat – homemade Larabars, muffins made with almond or coconut flour. But they fit within the new parameters, and they're not part of my every-day menu.

Finally, on nearly every "diet" I've ever tried, I've learned to always be thinking about the next eating opportunity, be it snack time or one of the three squares. To my utter and complete astonishment, my day is not now focused on food. Which sets me apart, I suppose, from Grok, who spent his waking hours warding off predators and finding sustenance.

I eat when I'm hungry. Duh. I rarely ever felt hunger eating processed foods, sugar, white flour, artificial sweeteners. Hunger is not such a bad thing. I no longer carry snacks with me. I'll get some food, eventually. I'm not going to DIE if my stomach growls.

That's it, really. My new food manifesto. Nothing you haven't heard or read elsewhere, probably. New for me, though.

And – so far – it seems to be working.

Finis!

Remember those clogs I was working on throughout the college football bowl season? The first half of the first and littlest pair was done less than a month ago. And while my original goal was to make four pairs and then felt them all at once, I stopped after three:

The blue ones are for my daughter-in-law and granddaughter, leaving the
brown/green ones for my husband.

I'm still going to make the fourth pair (they're for me) and, in fact, have already started the project. But my husband kept asking when his would be finished and I wanted to send the mother-daughter set off before summer.

My husband has never worn slippers, because he used to go outside every hour on the hour (I might be exaggerating a bit) to smoke. Now that he's a former smoker for almost a year(!), he can slip his cold feet into toasty warm wool clogs and relax every evening. Just like an old man.

He kind of makes fun of the old-man-ness of them, but he truly appreciates the warmth of wool. He only has two pairs of handknit wool socks (I should probably work on his sock drawer) and he loves wearing those during cold weather. Which we haven't had much of this winter, but he's managed to pull them out of that drawer a few times.

Okay! That's the knitting part of the post. Thanks for paying attention and letting me brag about a Finished Object or six.

Moving on to the weight-losing part, it appears my attention span for journaling lasted exactly three weeks this time. I thought 21 days was what it took to form a new habit! For me, 21 days was the signal to quit.

And I'll be honest with you: While I'm not chowing down on forbidden fruits, I'm certainly eating more than I did when I was writing everything down. Go figure.

The first day of non-journaling coincided with the decision to join the gym. Am I so busy that I can't journal and go to a gym three times a week? Does my brain only have the capacity to handle a minimum number of successful weight-loss strategies at a time? And if that's true, why would I toss out the number-one predictor of weight loss?

I have no answers, only questions. And a firm resolve to begin journaling again. It's not hard. I love this web-based application that also has a syncable BlackBerry app, but if you read the article I linked to in the previous paragraph, there are many others that do the same thing.

To sum up: In addition to working out regularly and following South Beach Phase 1, I will attempt to create a journaling habit again. Starting today. (Adding one carby food per day the last two days – a serving of Shredded Wheat Wednesday and a low-carb whole-wheat tortilla yesterday – has completely wiped out the stellar two-pound loss from Tuesday's weigh-in)

I'm heading out of town for the weekend. My little Hershey girl, whom you met here yesterday, will be in the hands of my very capable neighbor/housesitter while my husband and I meet some friends to explore Asheville, NC. We won't be meeting them until Friday night, so my husband and I are planning to have a mid-day meal at 12 Bones, a lunch-only rib place that appears to be SB-friendly. (And, really, what restaurant isn't? The grilled-chicken salad is ubiquitous, isn't it? Chez KnitRunRepeat served it last night, as a matter of fact.)

Also, if 12 Bones is good enough for my President, it's good enough for me. I'll do my best to throw up a daily post while I'm gone, since I've committed to doing January NaBloPoMo. Might just be photos; I imagine after this wordy post some of you would enjoy that!

Winners … and winter

It ended up that there were multiple comments, but suggestions for favors came from three readers, so I'm going to send each of you – Jen, Denise and Winnie – a goodie bag. Congratulations! Send your mailing addresses to me at: shrinkingknitter AT gmail DOT com.

I'll try to get them in the mail so you'll have them by Election Night, but no promises. I still have a lot of work to do on them.

I woke up really early, wide awake, and turned the television on to see the utter devastation in New York. I then texted REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10 to the Red Cross Disaster Relief Fund. It's not much, but if we all do it … well, it could make a big difference. I can't quite believe the pictures I'm seeing. I'd compare it to one of those disaster movies, but I've never seen one so I'm not sure which title would fit best.

So far we have less than two inches of crunchy snow here in the Middle of Nowhere. My dog Hershey very delicately tiptoed outside an hour or so ago and came right back in. It's still snowing. Beckley, WV, which is 45 minutes northwest  of us (and 2000 feet higher), has EIGHT inches, according to the Weather Channel.

The power blipped a couple of times in the night, and the internet connection has been out briefly a couple of times this morning, but – crossing fingers – it looks like the new power poles which were erected following the derecho have remained standing. We've also had tree-trimming crews working nearly every day in the area for the past four months, cutting limbs from around power lines and getting rid of trees which were ready to topple.

I'm not sure if gasoline or municipal taxes pay for that service. I would assume one or the other (or some other form of taxation) does, but I Googled and can't find out for sure. (Should I be Bing-ing instead of Googling?) At any rate, it's times like these when you really have to think that, yes, government is a good thing, and taxes aren't all bad.

The wind is blowing steadily at around 22 mph, according to the weather widget on my phone, with gusts to 35.

Before I went to bed yesterday I:

• ran the dishwasher
• did laundry
• took a shower
• filled many vessels with water
• removed potential airborne projectiles from our property
• filled two insulated carafes with coffee

The potential projectiles included our campaign yard signs. I saw a virtual one from a local candidate on Facebook, and thought it was such a great idea that I put one on my Timeline.

I'm not sure I'm changing anyone's mind at this late date, though. Maybe some early Mitt voters will be sorry when they are reminded of his primary debate position to turn emergency disaster relief services over to the private sector. Isn't that the same as insurance? My dad lived in Florida and he couldn't even buy hurricane insurance!

But I digress. And I don't want to digress this morning. I want to stay safe and warm and I want to wish anyone in Hurricane Sandy's path comfort and good wishes for your safety and warmth, as well. May you be, in every way possible, sheltered from the storm.

Birdbrained

So my husband and I were sitting in our little media TV room watching football, as you do on a Saturday afternoon, when we heard a loud BONK! at the front door.

We don't live in a nice, orderly neighborhood of houses lined up beside each with sidewalks out front. As both of you know by now, we live in the Middle of Nowhere. In order for someone to toss something at our front door, that someone would have to walk up a fairly long driveway. You can't even see our house if you're coming up our road from the east.

My husband went to investigate and found that a little bird had knocked itself out. At first we thought it was dead, but it was still breathing shallowly. I grabbed a pair of garden gloves, thinking I would move it to a safer spot (out of Hershey's range) until it was ready to fly again.

This isn't the first time a bird has crashed into our front door and survived. In fact, they've all survived, to the best of my recollection, one or two each year.

As I cupped my gloved hands around the limp little body, it suddenly sprang to life and flew into our house through the open front door! Color us surprised! It landed on the sheer curtain at one of the sliding glass doors in the living room, clinging for all it was worth.

I'm not dead. I'm just napping here on this lady's curtain ...

My husband went to find a fishing net, but returned from the garage empty-handed. Much more carefully this time, I secured it with my hands and took it back outside, where it flew off into a pine tree.

That was seriously the most exciting thing that's happened here in the MofN in quite a while. Well, not counting Thursday.

It's a yellow-bellied sapsucker. All this time I've been calling these little guys woodpeckers, but my Facebook friends ID'd it for me.

Moving on.

I seriously want a piece of bread, which in paleospeak means I WANT A MUG MUFFIN. This is the last day of the second week of the second Whole 30. I didn't feel this way first time around, because I'd never had the deliciousness that is a mug muffin during the initial Whole 30.

I'm going to try reallyreallyREALLY hard to stay the course today, since tomorrow is the weekly scale date. Thursday's gift information has come and gone, as I thought it might, but I'm still below last Monday's number.
Downward is the trend I'm looking for; doesn't have to be dramatic, just down.

We travel tomorrow and will return Wednesday. Since it's the official NaBloPoMo month, I'm going to do my best to write some kind of drivel each day, even though I don't usually when I'm out of town. Time to suck it up. In more ways than one.

I DON'T NEED NO STINKING MUG MUFFIN! Heh.

November 14 - Eating

Hershey, devouring her morning kibble.

And my breakfast plate, after I devoured my morning kibble bacon and eggs.

June 20 - Fave photo you've ever taken

A somewhat odd choice, you might think, to be the favorite photo I've ever taken.
If I'd chosen a grandchild shot, the other grandchildren would have been left out.
And I've taken so many pictures of my little Hershey girl it's hard to choose a favorite.

The entire experience taking this shot made me feel like a "real" photographer.
It was the first time I'd gone to the tunnel (this is Big Bend Tunnel in Talcott, WV,
home of the John Henry legend). I took dozens of shots, each one slightly different.
I love the pinhole of light at the other end of the tunnel. Also, it was a spur of the moment
idea and it fulfilled one of Instagram's Weekend Hashtag projects. It wasn't chosen as a
featured shot, but I think it was worthy.

The only other photo I considered for today's prompt was of a slice of apple pie.
Mmmmmmm, pie. =)

May 26-Pet

Poor Hershey is not traumatized for the remainder of the day. She hates having
her picture taken, rarely looks at the camera and usually moves as I snap the shutter.
I got somewhat lucky this time. But I think I owe her a treat for being patient with me.