a girl and her boy

Connected Again

The sun is beginning to set on this quiet, reflective day. I discovered an iTunes radio station that has quieted my mind and body, a rare feat these days. The station is under "ambient" and is named "Healing Music Radio." That it is. Even Chloe, normally racing from one end of the apartment to the other and back, has been quietly laying near me as I read.

All paths have been guiding me back to the center, to matters of spirit. When I read May Sarton, it is clear that she has tapped into her higher mind and speaks with great wisdom, and that has awakened the need for spiritual connection in my life. I've ignored it for too long. 

It hasn't been for lack of time or desire, but out of fear. I've had a block keeping me from connecting to spirit when I meditate (or God, the energy of the Universe, however you happen to call that higher power in your life). This impenetrable grey barrier is where the brilliant white light has been in the past. It's been frustrating. 

The nudges to get back on the spiritual path have caused great anxiety. I am a perfectionist. I need it all, or nothing at all. Problems, I know. I'm working on them. The fear of failure has kept me from trying to connect. 

Luckily, I've been working with a new psychotherapist and she is trained in traditional psychotherapy and in energy healing. We have merged spiritual healing with physical/therapeutic healing, and it's helped more than anything else ever has. I've seen more improvement in my ability to control my mind and emotions now than ever before. 

When I described the blockage, she immediately understood. She then guided me through a visualization that has helped me connect ever since. 

As a child, and even now as an adult, I loved to swing. The security of being connected to the grounding force through the seat and chains allowed me to luxuriate in the freedom of getting that much closer to the sky; the whole brilliant blue sky with soft puffy clouds, splashes of yellow at the bottom edges. I was free, fearless, connected.

Without her knowing this, she guided me through visualizing myself in a soft swing seat, satin ribbons connecting me to the sky, and I swing back and forth, feeling the fullness of the ebbs and flows, of seeing the sky then seeing the ground. Chloe is with me. She is in a satin pouch attached to my waist. We swing with the freedom of being connected to something solid.

This was, by far, the biggest breakthrough I've had in healing in years. Previously slouched, I found myself sitting straight, face tilted up, smiling. I felt light. I felt free. I felt connected.

Since then, I've been avidly seeking out spiritual knowledge, revisiting old teachers and discovering new ones. My feet are moving on the path again. 

Reading Notes: May Sarton

“I loved them (the muses) in the way that one loves at any age, if it’s real at all. Obsessively, painfully, with wild exaltation, with guilt, with conflict. I wrote poems to and about them. I put them into novels, disguised, of course. I brooded upon why they were as they were, so often  maddening. I wrote them ridiculous letters. I lived with their faces. I knew their every gesture by heart. I stalked them like wild animals. I studied them as if they were maps of the world and, in a way, I suppose they were. Love opens the doors into everything as far as I can see, including, and perhaps, most of all, the door into one’s own, secret, and often terrible and frightening, real self.”

 - May Sarton,  from MRS. STEVENS HEARS THE MERMAIDS SINGING.

I discovered May Sarton in the fall of 2009 while working part time as a paraprofessional in Salem. The teacher I worked with was taking a graduate writing course and we swapped stories of our successes and struggles with the craft in the brief moments here and there that we had to talk about non-classroom topics. When she shared May Sarton's "Recovering:  A Journal" with me, I knew I had found a kindred spirit and mentor in May. Her sensitivity, articulation of the nuances of emotion and the creative process, and the way she worked as a writer all reverberated deep within me.

I picked up a copy of "Plant Dreaming Deep" at a bookstore in Cambridge somewhere. Which one in particular escapes me now. This memoir centers on her life in Nelson, NH when she purchased her first house. In this piece, she grapples with isolation, home ownership, and the craft of writing close to the bone. I've been curled up in my reading chair and felt her near by, as if she were telling me her story in a soft voice, as Chloe lays curled up at our feet. What greater characteristic of good writing is there than to make a reader feel as if the piece is written for him/her personally? As if you were her chosen confidante? To be such a writer:  that's what I truly want.

"I can tell you that solitude
Is not all exaltation, inner space
Where the soul breathes and work can be done.
Solitude exposes the nerve,
Raises up ghosts.
The past, never at rest, flows through it."

I'm about halfway through "Plant Dreaming Deep" and cannot wait to write about it, and to write. May has taken me by the hand and reminded me to get back to it.

"For any writer who wants to keep a journal, be alive to everything, not just to what you're feeling, but also to your pets, to flowers, to what you're reading."

Speaking of which, what are you reading?

Kitchen Experiments, Foods to Love, and Training Bliss

It's Friday and it's hot-hot-hot. I made the mistake of going out to J. Pace, not even 50 paces from the door of my building and nearly died in the shade. Ack! I'm living on iced coffee made with honey and coconut milk. What is getting you through the heat?

Chloe is beating the heat with lots of naps. Her favorite place right now is the produce basket on the kitchen counter. Kittykins has been home with us for a week and a half now and it's been the best week and a half. As we were falling asleep last night, Gabe and I agreed that Chloe makes us a trifecta; the perfect little family. Watching Gabe interact with Chloe has increased my affection for him tenfold. He is so gentle, attentive, kind, and patient with our curious, spunky, and teleporting little one.

 

She has come to love climbing up the side of the bed, under the sheets, to find out what the "monsters" are that she attacks through the bedspread. She lies waiting for us to walk by the bed during the day to reach out and grab our feet and play bite; we're actively training her out of the biting. And she looooves her squeaky mouse, fluffy ball, and "fishing pole" Daddy made her. I'm so glad Chloe is in our lives.

This has been the week of experimentation in the kitchen, not all of which worked. I had a disappointing pot of soup, a ho-hum batch of gluten-free peanut butter cookies, and a gloppy batch of gluten-free pancakes. But, I have discovered some winner combinations and new items:

 

Almond milk makes delicious dairy-free scrambled eggs! I tried it this morning for my post-training session meal and I was surprised by how light and slightly sweet the flavor was. I've tried coconut milk and water since removing soy milk from our kitchen and those didn't really work. The coconut milk changed the flavor too much and I didn't like it; the water was boring and dulled the flavor. Almond milk, though; almond milk works.

We picked up Trader Joe's almond milk yesterday. It's really good and the best price I've seen for pre-made at $1.69 per container. Whole Foods store brand is $1.99 and any other name brand is at least $.30 to $.50 more expensive. I <3 TJs. We also found honey apple butter!

 

I was thrilled to find this little jar sitting on the shelf. My former father-in-law makes pear butter and apple butter. I loved it and miss it. I've tried a few different brands and I haven't found any I like, nor have I tried making it myself yet. I have a good replacement, though. I really enjoyed the TJs version! It's really good on the TJs gluten-free English muffins (good and cheap!) and I look forward to trying it on the TJs gluten-free French rolls (very good and cheap!).

This weekend I am going to try a new soup recipe:  banana coconut soup. It can be made vegetarian-friendly by omitting the stew beef, and it is paleo friendly. I'll let you know how it goes. I hope it's good! I don't want another failed trial this week.

In training news, I have made some huge breakthroughs! I was measured again last Friday and I've lost 5 pounds (total of about 15!), about a 1/4-inch everywhere, and all my body fat points went down, some by 10 points! I'm so thrilled! But that's not what makes me really happy.

I've put in two easy two-miles runs this week. Each time I was thrilled that I didn't huff or puff ONCE! My lungs and heart were strong and stayed in the "low exertion" range, meaning my heart didn't feel like it was going to beat out of my chest nor my lungs scream for a break. This shocked me. Getting to this point has never been so quick. The hard training has got to be a huge contribution.

I'm so proud to say that I hit my groove. My cardiovascular system is back to where it was pre-illness; my endurance and running strength has improved immensely; my body has never felt this strong. This is after about three months of training hard. I plan on continuing with my personal trainer even after we move to Revere because I have found someone who can help me reach my goals. If you need a trainer and are in the Boston area, let me know. I can give you his information. He's the best thing that ever happened to my fitness life.

Have a lovely weekend, folks! Do something that makes you happy and healthy this weekend. :)

Ewww! Worms! Or... not?

Stone seats carved to look like fish, bronze lobster statues green with age, and the delicate smell of grass and brightly colored flowers. Such are the environs in one of the green spaces in Boston’s Seaport. As I lounged on one of the stone fishes reading and musing a few days ago, the smell of rich soil reminded me of my garden back in Maine with raspberries, blueberries, peppers, tomatoes, and lettuces came to mind. The rustling of the leaves seemed to be the scratching of the hens plucking up tasty bits of kitchen scraps and churning the rest into the garden bed. I miss the immediacy of nature that life in rural Maine provided here in the concrete maze. It was so easy to compost, garden, recycle and stay close to the natural rhythm of Earth and her seasons; it is such a struggle to keep that connection in Boston. I yearn to rekindle that relationship that has dwindled and sputtered to cooling embers.

When we move to Revere in two months, I’m going to start practicing vermiculture, maintaining earth worms that live in the top 18” of the soil, to break down the non-meat and non-dairy kitchen scraps and plant trimmings in the house. I think I could even put Chloe’s litter box messes in there, too, as she uses the wheat litter. The worms need a container to live in that is dark, keeps moisture in, and provides oxygen. I have a small plastic tote that I’ll use. The product the worms produce will then be used to fertilize my houseplants and the kitchen herb garden I’ll start in pots in our new home. Vermiculture is a new practice for me, though well established in homesteader dwellings in urban settings coast to coast.  

In recent months, I’ve tightened up the eating standards in my home. I stopped purchasing and using soy milk and similar products after reading various independent research articles on soy products and health effects. They made me uneasy. Then today I read an article on Food Renegade that put all the various research I’d read and others I hadn’t read into a single article. I’m glad I stopped using soy! I had no idea about the high levels of phytoestrogen and the health problems associated with them, but it makes sense. I stopped using soy about three months ago and last month I was completely shocked that I had no menstrual cramps to speak of! I’m usually incapacitated by them if I don’t start taking naproxen sodium the evening before I’m due to start. I didn’t take any naproxen sodium last month and so far I’ve been cramp free during the prelude to this month’s cycle. I can’t say it’s all due to cutting out soy, or at all, but it’s certainly an interesting and fortunate series of events.

Since cutting out soy and milk, I’ve depended on nut milks for gluten-free baking and cooking. I plan on making my first batch of almond milk this week. I’ll let you know how it goes! From there, I’ll try coconut milk and creamer. Hmm, what about almond milk-based Irish cream? It might work. I’ll try it.

What new recipes or homesteading skills have you tried lately? How did it turn out?

P. S. The site is finally working again! It was behaving oddly for a while.

Chloe the Kitten and the Swift

 

This is the video we shot to send to her grandparents. :)

And this is why...

... this is necessary.

I'm so glad I finally got one! It's made knitting life soooooooo much easier!

Speaking of which, the tilting tables Gabe's folks, Chloe's grandparents, gave us for a home warming gifts last summer are perfect for holding patterns and tea.

Now, it's time to turn my attention back to The L Word! We're towards the end of season three. Have a good night, folks!

Making a real knitter of myself.

Every knitter needs two things:  a basket of wool and a cat. It's so true it's a cliche. Enter into evidence this postcard from 1911 (the earliest image I could find in a 2-minute Google image search) of a kitty:

 

Gabe and I have big news:  We are pregnant with a kitten! Little Chloe, a 2 months old black short-hair with a white diamond on her chest, is living with her Uncle Paul until we get clearance from the leasing office to bring her to Park Lane. Our building charges a ridiculous amount of money for pets:  a $300 non-refundable yearly fee and a $30 monthly fee for a cat, and a $600 non-refundable yearly fee and a $60 monthly fee for a dog. Seriously?

We wanted to get a pet so badly here at Park Lane but we just couldn't rationalize the amount of money it would cost simply to bring a furry baby home. What changed? Well, we're moving to a new apartment in September and they don't charge nearly as much to keep a kitty there. It's simply an extra $25 a month on our rent price.

 

 
We're hoping that Park Lane will be reasonable and let us bring Chloe home before the September move to our new building in Revere by simply paying the $30 monthly fee and not the $300 yearly fee. If not, she'll stay with Uncle Paul for the time being.

Chloe the kitty is part of my action plan to manage my mental health. My care team and I feel that I need time to heal and make progress in psychotherapy, therefore, I'm not working right now. Being home alone all day is not good for anyone, let alone someone struggling with BPD, depression, anxiety and PTSD like me. I know from past experience and clinical research that a pet would do wonders for my mental health and morale.

In other news, I got my yarn swift and ball winder today! After trying without much success to hand-wind a hank of lace weight yarn, I finally got online and ordered a set through Knit Picks while they had the swifts on sale for $50. Now to control my compulsion to wind every hank, center pull skein, and random oddment of yarn in the apartment.

I hope you enjoy your weekend! I'm off to put in a good run and workout then knit!

 

 

Jeans Meltdown, or The New Improved Booty.

Ahhhh. Friday. It's finally here. I kicked the Friday morning off with one of the hardest trianing sessions I've had so far, and I hit it hard and stayed strong. So proud!

I'm in the homestretch of my three-month contract with my personal trainer. I'm so proud of the accomplishments I've made in the last 10-12 weeks:  I've lost inches all over, about 8 pounds, and I'm back into my size 10 jeans solidly, for the most part. I had hoped for more improvements, mainly more weight loss, but I'm satisfied with the overall improvement. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm gaining muscle and that weights more than fat. I also have to remind myself that my body composition and shape is changing, too, so clothes won't fit the same way.

Last week, although I've been back in my size 10 jeans for a few weeks now, I melted down. I pulled my jeans up and they wouldn't go up and around my butt. I sucked the belly in, contorted and twisted, and finally gave up. My old favorite pair of jeans that I just got back into after about 18 months of being too big for them won't go on. My body has improved and I feel better than ever,  but not being able to pull up and fit in and old favorite pair of jeans deflated me.

It's taken a whole week for me to get my head around the simple fact that the same clothes I wore before training won't necessarily fit or look good on my new physique. I'm getting leaner and stronger. My body is changing for the better. I have to look myself in the eye and say that every morning before I get dressed to avoid melting down while I look for jeans that will fit my stronger butt and more shapely deriere.

(c) mwaa on ravelry

Knitting has been going strong. I'm super close to being done my reversible cable and lace scarf, and cast on last week for the EZ Camping half-circle shawl. I ordered a swift and yarn baller, finally, so that will speed up the knitting scene since I don't have to hand ball (and untangle) all the yarn now!

In other news, I've come to terms with the mental health situation. It took a while, but I've gotten to the point where I don't see it as a flaw or a brick wall, most of the time. I've been better about meditating nightly and I put affirmations up on my bathroom mirror and that's helped. All things in time, right? I also have a new psychotherapist and she's awesome. I have high hopes for health and healing, for once.

Have a good Friday, folks!

 

Truth-Telling

So, it's time for a little more honesty and to lay some things out on the table. Blogging has been slowed of late, as briefly mentioned last post, because I've been struggling with my depression and related symptoms the last 4-6 weeks.

Here's the rest of the story.

As some of my long-time readers may or may not know, I've been in and out of psychotherapy since childhood for sexual and physical abuse and through the years, I've had a variety of diagnoses, none of which really fit what I was experiencing internally or externally. Plus, I never felt that I'd worked with a therapist long enough for them to really know me or the situation at a few weeks to a few months a piece. Presently, I've been with my current therapist and psychiatrist for a year now and they, in collaboration with my PCP, have come to a diagnosis of my mental and emotional condition.

After a year of sessions with me, my psychotherapist has come to the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The last three are not new; I've been aware of them and working through them for many years now. However, the first is very new and shocked me. It's taken quite a bit of time to get my head around having a medical mental condition that can be treated and can go into remission, but that will never go away. The closest analogy I've come to so far within the medical context is cancer.

Not quite knowing what to say, or how to say it, has kept me silent in this space. Now I'm ready to discuss it and how I'm dealing with it. To that end, Gabe and I will be posting on our experience of being a BPD couple from time to time. This blog will continue to be about running, knitting, and homesteading, but will now include the experience of living with a mental illness.

I welcome you on the newest leg of the journey.

In the meantime, I have my life anthems on continuous play:

Paula Cole - Pearl

 

 

Knitting News: Cables, Lace, and Dreams.

reversible cable and lace scarf in frog tree alpaca

The knitting basket has finally won out as a priority in my evening hours. I pulled out the reversible cable and lace scarf and put some inches on it. I'm nearly done the second of three skeins and it is a little over four feet long and about ten inches wide; I haven't actually measured the width yet, I'm guessing on this. Settling back into knitting has been just what I need to induce calmness in my hectic life. The four rows repeated back and fourth create a rhythm I can meditate to; frankly, I need to meditate more.

About a month ago, I began struggling with depression and other symptoms again. Accepting and acknowleding the feelings without giving in to them is hard. Knitting and meditating have always been the the foundation of healing for me and unfortunately I've gotten away from both over the last six months or so.

camping shawl in silky alpaca lace

In dealing with the depression, I also began a new project:  the Camping Shawl, half-circle version. I'm making it with Classic Elite Yarns Silky Alpaca Lace in colorway #2409 on size 6 needles. I'm in love with the color and sheen. I have to frog it, though, and remember to use my safety lines, because I already goofed. Oh well. I'm only about three inches into it anyway. It could be worse.

DROPS Garnstudio has also started releasing their fall/winter 2011 patterns. I have to go through my knitting stash to see if I have anything worthy of making

this,

or this,

  or this.

I'm trying really hard not to buy anymore yarn until I work through, or sell off, what is in my stash.

Speaking of which, I already mailed off some of my stash that I haven't used. I'm going to post on Ravelry yarn that is available for trade or purchase. Check out my Ravelry account if you are interested in seeing what is available.

Happy knitting!

Gabe Post: Thunder in the Night

Apparently I snore. I’m not really surprised at this, though. I come from a long line of snorers that have the reputation of shaking walls. Poor Gabe.

When he came to bed last night, I was already conked out and dead to the world.

Here is Gabe’s story:

Well after Jen tucks into bed, I am usually scurrying about the apartment with little household upkeep matters and my post-braces tooth-care regimen.  I light a small candle in the bedroom to give Jen the benefit of the dark.  That and my cell phone light suffice to illuminate my own tucking in.  Most of the time, Jen is still more awake than asleep when I arrive into bed, and she rolls towards me as I lie down, bestowing upon me the final embrace of the day. 

Last night was different.  Jen was fully asleep when I crawled in, and her head was propped well forward with a stack of pillows, while her every breath was shuddering with a most distressing snore.  This was not a mere rumbling with the inhale and exhale.  It was a laboring pull of air, ending each time with an abrupt, strangled pinch of her wind.  I have heard of the health risks of snoring, and this sounded like the dramatization one would expect from an infomercial for some as-seen-on-tv remedy.

I knew Jen was suffering with allergy congestion, which surely was aggravating her oblivious struggle for breath.  I also knew that even a small prompt could cause a sleeper to adjust out of a snoring posture.  I pushed down the pillow on the right side of her head.  The snoring abated somewhat.  I slipped under the sheets.  The loud and labored version of the snoring soon returned.  I pushed on the pillow again, and again there was some respite, but the fearsome noise returned once more.  I moved a pillow at the top of her head and her head leaned back a small increment.  This provided her the best relief yet for a little while, but the desperate roar came back yet again.
 It was so bad that I felt sure it would wake her of its own force, or oblige her body to involuntarily shift.  Amidst the respiratory thunder, I concentrated on a game of solitaire mah jong glowing on my smartphone screen, waiting for the inevitable.  The storm continued on.  Now I laid my arm across my beloved’s shoulders, and made some pushes and pulls as subtly as I could, trying to induce a roll without waking her.  The snoring stopped abruptly, she made an indistinct vocalization, and she lifted up and shifted her weight to one side with a coordination that I was certain meant that she had at least partially awakened.  But she was immediately still and relaxed in a manner that indicated full sleep.  The snoring did not return before I was asleep myself.  Perhaps we drifted off together into a quiet rest.  Or perhaps we roared in unison for the remainder of the night.  The snore is an aspect of oneself that can only be known through others.