Today is my grandmother's birthday.
She's getting up there in age, but you wouldn't know it to talk to her, to see her, to shop with her.
She got married at 16. She was, like the infamous DJ Quik, born and raised in Compton, CA. She was actually Compton's beauty queen. She got bored and left her husband for the milkman after having her first two children, the oldest of which is my dad. She had two more children with that mean bastard. That's what we call him even 20 years after his alcoholism-induced death: that mean bastard. The oldest of those two children is my aunt.
These two women are two of the best friends I have ever had in my entire life. They are also two of the strongest women I have ever met in my life. My grandmother went on to marry again, and, wouldn't you know it, actually found love that time around, but then had to bury him a few years ago.
She has survived, and thrived, through two different kinds of cancer, a horribly painful bad hip that finally got replaced long after it should have, falling through all-glass shelving face first, and a broken wrist, and that's just in the last decade. I called her up today and spoke to both her and my aunt and instantly felt a rush of pride.
These women, after all the pain, both physical and emotional, still have their sense of humor, are quick to laugh, even at their own expense, and continue to reach out and find reasons to be interested in me, a granddaughter and niece who does not call or write as often as I should, much less visit.
These are the women who have taught me to keep fighting even when it feels hopeless. These are the women who have patched me up when I have fallen and then pushed me back into the fray stronger than before.
During my senior year of college I was struggling to graduate with a part-time job and a 24 unit quarter that included 5 final essays for classes in three different languages. I was frustrated. I wanted so bad to graduate suma cum laude and I needed all A's to do it.
Randomly, my grandmother called me, for no reason, just to check on me, in the middle of my desperation about which she knew nothing.
I spilled my guts to her, unloading the full weight of my frustration, and she said to me something that I remember distinctly today.
Calmly, in her sweet, sing-song voice:
"Honey, you can only do one thing at a time. So no matter how overwhelmed you might feel, just line up all your tasks and complete them one at a time. You'll get them all done, and you'll do them well. I know you will."
It has been two years since that phone call. I did graduate suma cum laude. I got my A's. And I did do the incredible amount of tasks I had, one at a time.
I think about what she's been through, the life that she must reflect on, and wonder how it is she always knows the right thing to say. And how it is that those words, those moments, that strength, those memories, stick with me, and come to mind when I need to recall them.
I am now facing a similar situation to my senior year in college, here in my last year of an M.A. program (how do I keep getting myself into this?) and today, on her birthday, I remembered those words as I began letting the overwhelmed feeling rise up in me. One thing at a time, Shanna. One thing at a time.
And then I remembered it was her birthday, and, for the millionth time, I silently prayed that I have inherited her survivor's spirit, her wisdom, her sense of humor, her strength, and yes, her wild, rebellious, restless soul.
This is what I come from. Sturdy stock.
Happy Birthday, Granny.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Confessions of an Ex-Fat Girl
Yep. I am prepared to officially call myself a jogger, and I will tell you why.
About 7 years ago, I was fat. And for the first time, I am also prepared to own that title. I peaked at about 200 pounds of fluffiness. On a 5'2" frame, that's fat. My mother, God love her, used to respond to my question "Do you think I'm fat?" with, "Well..... I mean, you're overweight for sure, but I wouldn't call you fat."
Thanks mom.
My ex-husband used to tell me, frequently, "I love your body. You're perfect the way you are."
Thanks honey. Hence the divorce.
I was oblivious. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, as much as I wanted, often. And I called myself: chunky. "I'm a little teapot," I would say, and if you look at pictures of me back then, I really, really resembled one.
Finally, at the age of 25, in more ways than one, the world open up to me, which led to my eyes opening up to the world, and I realized that I, the girl who used to be able to outrun even the boys in school, who used to play softball, and play it hard, could not even climb the four flights of stairs in my apartment building without my back hurting and my lungs aching.
Thanks ice cream, and Doritos, and seconds of dinner, and thirds of dinner.
I wanted my body to work for me again. It was much more about that than about some body image I had. Heck, I thought I was a cute chunky butt. I was! But my body didn't work for me anymore.
My journey began with being more active again, but not really watching what I ate, and I dropped 20 pounds right away, and kept it off for good.
A couple of years later, I was hovering around 170, and I joined Weight Watchers, which was a revolutionary approach to weight loss to me, a girl who had never dieted: Be active and practice portion control. Essentially, that was it.
It also helped that by this time I had met and married Carlos, the most supportive and inspirational person I have ever met who, instead of telling me that I was perfect, would say, "If you're unhappy with being overweight, do something about it." Hmmmm.... what a concept.
Thanks honey. No, really. Thank you.
Now, here I am, 3 years from that point, having lost, in total, over 60 pounds, and officially prepared to call myself a jogger.
This was a long, hard road, filled with setbacks and obstacles. But in the end, I was and am driven by the need to make this amazing machine that I have been given to work with, my body, do its best, perform to the best of its ability, and give me the hundred years of life that my great-grandmother is reaching toward now.
This morning, I sat watching Rachel Maddow after breakfast, finishing off my coffee and thinking of all the reasons why I didn't really need to get out and jog today. Then, my body took over and reminded me that I don't jog because I need to.
I jog an hour a day, most days of the week, because finally, after all this hard work, after months of forcing myself to get out, after years of intermittently dragging myself through walks, hikes, bike rides and yoga poses, years after this all began, jogging just feels great.
Yep. I'm a jogger.
About 7 years ago, I was fat. And for the first time, I am also prepared to own that title. I peaked at about 200 pounds of fluffiness. On a 5'2" frame, that's fat. My mother, God love her, used to respond to my question "Do you think I'm fat?" with, "Well..... I mean, you're overweight for sure, but I wouldn't call you fat."
Thanks mom.
My ex-husband used to tell me, frequently, "I love your body. You're perfect the way you are."
Thanks honey. Hence the divorce.
I was oblivious. I ate what I wanted, when I wanted, as much as I wanted, often. And I called myself: chunky. "I'm a little teapot," I would say, and if you look at pictures of me back then, I really, really resembled one.
Finally, at the age of 25, in more ways than one, the world open up to me, which led to my eyes opening up to the world, and I realized that I, the girl who used to be able to outrun even the boys in school, who used to play softball, and play it hard, could not even climb the four flights of stairs in my apartment building without my back hurting and my lungs aching.
Thanks ice cream, and Doritos, and seconds of dinner, and thirds of dinner.
I wanted my body to work for me again. It was much more about that than about some body image I had. Heck, I thought I was a cute chunky butt. I was! But my body didn't work for me anymore.
My journey began with being more active again, but not really watching what I ate, and I dropped 20 pounds right away, and kept it off for good.
A couple of years later, I was hovering around 170, and I joined Weight Watchers, which was a revolutionary approach to weight loss to me, a girl who had never dieted: Be active and practice portion control. Essentially, that was it.
It also helped that by this time I had met and married Carlos, the most supportive and inspirational person I have ever met who, instead of telling me that I was perfect, would say, "If you're unhappy with being overweight, do something about it." Hmmmm.... what a concept.
Thanks honey. No, really. Thank you.
Now, here I am, 3 years from that point, having lost, in total, over 60 pounds, and officially prepared to call myself a jogger.
This was a long, hard road, filled with setbacks and obstacles. But in the end, I was and am driven by the need to make this amazing machine that I have been given to work with, my body, do its best, perform to the best of its ability, and give me the hundred years of life that my great-grandmother is reaching toward now.
This morning, I sat watching Rachel Maddow after breakfast, finishing off my coffee and thinking of all the reasons why I didn't really need to get out and jog today. Then, my body took over and reminded me that I don't jog because I need to.
I jog an hour a day, most days of the week, because finally, after all this hard work, after months of forcing myself to get out, after years of intermittently dragging myself through walks, hikes, bike rides and yoga poses, years after this all began, jogging just feels great.
Yep. I'm a jogger.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Roughing It
I camped. I saw. I conquered.
We go somewhere different every year. This year we headed to Clear Lake State Park and stayed at the Kelsey Creek Campground, right on the lake. We like to try to swim. Although after six years of this now I'm realizing that there are very few spots within driving distance of the Bay Area that are conducive to swimming in late May. But I haven't given up on finding that perfect spot.
This year was a bit different. We temporarily (I hope) lost 2 of our usual camping cohort, and we picked up 3 new companions. The dynamic was very different, and I must say, overall even more enjoyable than usual. This is not to say that our 2 missing friends were not terribly missed, because they definitely were, or that I have any intention of inviting every single person back next year, because I definitely do not. But each year teaches me something new about what it means to camp and something new about myself.
These are the lessons I learned this year:
Don't forget the pillows!
Luckily one of our friends had extras and we were able to borrow them, but not having a pillow when you're already sleeping on the ground is a nightmare. I will not make this mistake again. I swear it.
Don't drink beer.
Beer is just too damn filling, I drink it too damn fast, and I get a horrible hangover accompanied by a headache, which is not good for wanting to actually do anything but drink more the next day. For some reason, I don't have this problem with liquor.
Do find a jogging trail.
This was the first time I ventured out on my own to do some jogging while camping and the trail was fabulous. I found myself all alone in the middle of the state park jogging along at a brisk pace in the cool air surrounded by trees and awesome views. I felt like I was in a tennis shoe commercial. Very nice.
Bite your tongue.
This is actually a life-long trial of mine. Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that I have no verbal filter. I have a very dependable tendency to just say whatever I'm thinking (drives Carlos crazy, the poor dear). Combine this flaw-in-progress with some beer (see above lesson about beer) and a very young "macho" brat and camping trips, not to mention friendships, can quickly, easily, and efficiently be ruined.
Stick with what works.
There are some things that we have consistently done every year that work and continue to work and just make for an all around great time:
We always set our tent up facing the fire pit, not too far away. This way, if I'm not feeling well, or I am hiding from the rain, or I'm just too damn cold to stay outside, I can sit at the entrance of my tent, drink in hand, bundled up in blankets, and still visit with all the brave souls standing in the rain around the campfire.
We also always find a hiking trail that gives us an excuse to get off our butts and work up an appetite for all the great food that we bring. This year's was fun and beautiful, but not too hard, so everyone enjoyed it.
We bring music! This can lead to fun games, silly discussions, bizarre serenading, or just, you know, listening to good music. Always a good thing.
Finally, we always stop on the way home for breakfast. We have found some fabulous spots (this year was no exception) and we have found some horrible spots, but it's always nice to have one last moment together with the people that you have spent a weekend in nature with. We have the chance to reminisce, to reflect, to laugh, and to lament as a group one final time before the breakup of a group that may never get together in this current incarnation again.
In the end, it was a good weekend overall, and the lesson I have learned that is most important, and that I will continue to try to learn, is to be flexible and keep learning lessons.
We go somewhere different every year. This year we headed to Clear Lake State Park and stayed at the Kelsey Creek Campground, right on the lake. We like to try to swim. Although after six years of this now I'm realizing that there are very few spots within driving distance of the Bay Area that are conducive to swimming in late May. But I haven't given up on finding that perfect spot.
This year was a bit different. We temporarily (I hope) lost 2 of our usual camping cohort, and we picked up 3 new companions. The dynamic was very different, and I must say, overall even more enjoyable than usual. This is not to say that our 2 missing friends were not terribly missed, because they definitely were, or that I have any intention of inviting every single person back next year, because I definitely do not. But each year teaches me something new about what it means to camp and something new about myself.
These are the lessons I learned this year:
Don't forget the pillows!
Luckily one of our friends had extras and we were able to borrow them, but not having a pillow when you're already sleeping on the ground is a nightmare. I will not make this mistake again. I swear it.
Don't drink beer.
Beer is just too damn filling, I drink it too damn fast, and I get a horrible hangover accompanied by a headache, which is not good for wanting to actually do anything but drink more the next day. For some reason, I don't have this problem with liquor.
Do find a jogging trail.
This was the first time I ventured out on my own to do some jogging while camping and the trail was fabulous. I found myself all alone in the middle of the state park jogging along at a brisk pace in the cool air surrounded by trees and awesome views. I felt like I was in a tennis shoe commercial. Very nice.
Bite your tongue.
This is actually a life-long trial of mine. Anyone who knows me can testify to the fact that I have no verbal filter. I have a very dependable tendency to just say whatever I'm thinking (drives Carlos crazy, the poor dear). Combine this flaw-in-progress with some beer (see above lesson about beer) and a very young "macho" brat and camping trips, not to mention friendships, can quickly, easily, and efficiently be ruined.
Stick with what works.
There are some things that we have consistently done every year that work and continue to work and just make for an all around great time:
We always set our tent up facing the fire pit, not too far away. This way, if I'm not feeling well, or I am hiding from the rain, or I'm just too damn cold to stay outside, I can sit at the entrance of my tent, drink in hand, bundled up in blankets, and still visit with all the brave souls standing in the rain around the campfire.
We also always find a hiking trail that gives us an excuse to get off our butts and work up an appetite for all the great food that we bring. This year's was fun and beautiful, but not too hard, so everyone enjoyed it.
We bring music! This can lead to fun games, silly discussions, bizarre serenading, or just, you know, listening to good music. Always a good thing.
Finally, we always stop on the way home for breakfast. We have found some fabulous spots (this year was no exception) and we have found some horrible spots, but it's always nice to have one last moment together with the people that you have spent a weekend in nature with. We have the chance to reminisce, to reflect, to laugh, and to lament as a group one final time before the breakup of a group that may never get together in this current incarnation again.
In the end, it was a good weekend overall, and the lesson I have learned that is most important, and that I will continue to try to learn, is to be flexible and keep learning lessons.
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