Music for walking

My current favorite form of exercise is walking. I have two particular routes I take from my house, both about three miles round trip. There's just the right mix of hills and flats so I get nice and sweaty and strong.

One route is my practical, errand-running route. I can get the mail, go to the bank and pick up small items at the grocery store that fit into my backpack. The other route goes in and around a neighborhood where every house on every street seems to have either a lush garden or a drought-tolerant native plantscape. Either way, most of the gardens on my route are beautiful and inspiring.

Both routes have strenuous sections, but the garden route is the one I take when I want to get into a more meditative mood. Here's a song that fits perfectly my garden-walking mood. How can you not feel good listening to "Feeling Good?" My fave: the Adam Lambert version (lyrics are below). I posted it on Yay Life! before, but I thought enough time had passed to post it again!



View on YouTube

Feeling Good lyrics

Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Reeds driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom in the tree
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
And I'm feeling good

Dragonfly out in the sun you know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all havin' fun you know what I mean
Sleep in peace when the day is done
And this old world is a new world
And a bold world
For me

Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
Yeah freedom is mine
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me
For me
For me

And I'm feeling
I'm feeling
I'm feeling
good

Stop wasting food - use a fridge triage box!

Sorry for the blurry pic, but you get the idea...

How much food do you throw away? If you're like me (or at least how I was before), probably a lot. I have a tendency to over-buy at the farmers market, for one thing. All that produce looks so delicious! Then I forget about it, or only use part of it.

Also, hubby works in the specialty foods industry, which means he is constantly bringing home samples. Everything from breads and crackers to sauces and spreads, ice creams, chips, veggie burgers, drinks, pasta and grains, dressings and dips... you get the picture. We may open a sample, but never get around to finishing it, and if it's perishable, that's a lot of food waste.

So I was super excited to read this article about something called a "fridge triage box." I love the name, and I love the concept.

The idea is to put a box or container of some sort in a highly visible spot in your fridge. Right in front, so you can't miss it. Into this box goes every perishable item that has been opened and needs to be eaten.

My white board where I track my produce

Those giant jars of pasta sauce that languish in the back corners of the refrigerator after one use? Put 'em in the triage box! That deli salad you had for lunch but couldn't finish? Triage box! That package of deli meats or hot dogs (in my case, vegetarian faux meats or the inevitable half-package of tofu) you opened last week? Put it in the triage box and EAT it!

I'm enjoying seeing what's at the top of the list for my meals. Sometimes it's not even an opened package, but one that is unopened and nearing its expiration date. The triage box is a great way to eliminate (or at least reduce) my food waste, and I do believe it's working, though I don't have scientific research to back it up.

I'm also using a small white board on the fridge to track what produce I pick up each week, so I can see what I have without having to paw through the produce drawers. This has been beneficial in keeping me from wasting food.

Is this something that would work for you? Have you tried this before? I'd love to hear your experience!

Doing it for the right reasons

These crazy steps get steeper as they get higher

I woke up last Sunday and very gingerly got out of bed. I expected sore feet, an aching back, and stiff quads. The previous night I had spent a couple of hours dancing (sometimes vigorously) to The English Beat. I had moved my body in ways it had forgotten and lost a couple of gallons of sweat.

It was a fabulous night, like being back in college, but I was certain I would suffer the next day. Just the fact that the band didn't start playing until after 10 p.m. was a warning sign.

So I was pleasantly surprised to discover that, except for suffering from minor dehydration and less than a full night's sleep, I felt darn good. No pain, no soreness. Just the memory of a fun concert with friends.

And it occurred to me that maybe my workouts were to thank for my easy recovery.

I don't work out as much as I should or as much as I would like, but I try to get in a combination of climbing stadium stairs at Santa Barbara City College and a heart-pumping and hilly 3-mile walk a couple times a week.

Sometimes I am not sure what my goals are for working out. Yes, I'd like to drop ten pounds. Yes, I'd like to keep my cholesterol and triglycerides in check. Yes, I like the endorphins that keep stress at bay. And yes, I hope to reap the physical benefits of stronger bones and cardiovascular fitness.

But I don't feel strongly enough about any of those things to get myself out the door more than three times a week, or else I would be doing it.

Then it occurred to me that what I really want from exercise is the ability to live my life the way I want to live it. I want to do what I want to do and go where I want to go, without hobbling around in pain, or worse, avoiding activities altogether.

If I go to San Francisco, I want to be able to walk up and down hills. If I go to a festival, craft show or fair, I'd like to be able to stand on my feet for hours at a time. If I go to a concert, I want to be able to rock out! There are many other instances that come to mind where having energy and endurance are necessary in my life. Public speaking, for example!

So really, exercise serves one main purpose for me: to allow me to live my life. All the other benefits are welcome and happen without any extra thought, but if I were to focus on those results, I would be exercising for the wrong reasons. At least the wrong reasons for me.

How many signs do you need?

How many signs (or hints or warnings) do you need before you realize it's time to make a change? For me, a lot.

9 years ago, I started having problems with my digestion. After much misery, my doctor told me I was suffering from both IBS and GERD. Lovely. The typical "prescription" is to manage stress, change diet, and lose weight. And in my case, take a Prilosec every day.

So I did (actually, I lost the weight unintentionally when I changed my diet). I stopped drinking caffeine and alcohol, stopped eating after 7:00 p.m., started drinking more water, and either eliminated or reduced triggers: spicy food, acidic food, processed food, chocolate, wheat, raw or overly fibrous vegetables, raw garlic and onion.

It was a rough (and bland) year.

However, I got my digestion back on track and amazingly, lost 30 pounds. Which was pretty cool.

Time passed. A couple of years went by. I slowly started adding the offending foods back into my diet. Started going wine tasting a lot. Started drinking caffeinated tea in the mornings. Started buying such delicious tangerines at the farmers market... you get the picture.

And I started getting signs that my digestive problems were back. But only occasionally, so I could overlook them. One bad bout of heartburn here and there... so what? One day every now and then when my gut just wouldn't settle down. Big deal.

At the same time, my joints were becoming more arthritic (the result of a car accident 22 years ago) and my back and neck were constantly sore. I know I'm getting old, but I considered myself pretty fit and not overweight by more than a few pounds. But I know that digestive issues and inflammation are closely linked and wondered if my problems were related.

So I started toying with the idea of going back on my healthy digestion diet, and also started researching inflammation and foods that cause or reduce inflammation.

Then I was struck with the realization that I was having these digestive problems, not now and then, but every day. And my GERD was getting more painful. And I could barely eat anything anymore without some kind of flareup. Hello -- could this be a sign?

Yesterday I talked to BeTheMatch.org, the registry for the National Bone Marrow Donor Program, and that conversation sealed the deal.

Backstory: I joined the registry in 1990 when the community rallied around a local child who needed a transplant, and over the years I had received a call or two about being a possible match. I can't donate blood because of the mad cow disease scare in the 90s; I lived in London during a period of time considered risky for becoming a mad cow carrier. But that doesn't matter to the bone marrow donor registry, and since 1990 I've hoped that I could maybe help save someone's life with my bone marrow.

I got a letter last week from the registry saying that I'm a possible match, and that I should call in for more details and a health evaluation. Guess what health problem caused me to be deferred? No, not the digestive stuff -- the back and neck pain.

There are two methods of bone marrow donation. One is a surgical outpatient procedure where the bone marrow is extracted from the pelvic bone, and the other is a donation of peripheral blood stem cells in a procedure much like typical blood donation. The PBSC donation requires the use of a drug for five days before the procedure to stimulate the growth of these cells. Both the medication for the PBSC donation and the surgical procedure result in back pain.

Because my back pain is a recurring issue and not under control, I was deferred. So disappointed. But could this be another sign?

This was the push I needed to figure out how my diet is affecting my body physically through inflammation, including the back pain and the digestive problems, and to immediately shift my eating back to foods I know won't aggravate me.

I feel a little bit like an idiot for waiting so long to do something about it. But I'm motivated to get my health back on track -- for myself, and also so I can become eligible again to be a bone marrow donor.

I feel terrible that I might have been a match for someone and now I can't do anything to help.

How many signs do you need before making an important change in your life?

ETA: Today, February 27, I went to my doctor about the loud pulsating sound I've had in my left ear for two months. When she determined that I didn't have an ear infection, and started going down the list of possible causes, I just KNEW possible cause #3 was going to be GERD. Do I need any MORE signs?

On becoming a fan of birds

Photo by Ed Myers

One of the greatest things about our new place is our view of the outdoors. There's a sliding glass door looking out to the backyard and a window next to the dining room table looking to the side yard. The front screen door and living room window look out onto more trees and shrubbery. Because of these great views, we've (by default) become bird watchers!

In our last place, we got to know our Scrub Jays, American Crows, Mourning Doves and briefly, a family of Cooper's Hawks, but they weren't usually easy to see without going outside. Now we've got a ringside seat for all the bird entertainment we could want.

It all started with the little brown birds on the grass. Most of the birds on our property were familiar to me, but these chubby brown hopping birds were not, and I found myself with a strong desire to know what they were. So I bought a bird book and found out that they were California Towhees. I love knowing stuff!

Now that I had the bird book, I started to observe more unfamiliar birds. Isn't that the way it always goes? You buy a red car and then suddenly you notice every red car on the road?

Then my neighbor loaned me her book on crows, called Crow Planet: Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness(affiliate link). As I read about the crows (who are not as visible here as they were at our last place), I had a revelation that I had never given birds credit for being as interesting as they really are!

Now that I had the bird book, I started to figure out the names of our visitors. I recognized the sparrows, but I didn't know that they were called White-crowned Sparrows. Or that their occasional partners in snacking were called Golden-crowned Sparrows.

Then there was the Anna's Hummingbird. We had hung a hummingbird feeder above the deck, and enjoyed watching the birds come to feed. But we didn't notice -- until we noticed -- that the same hummingbird would come back every day, perching between feedings on a branch about twelve feet from the dining room window. She would sit, preen, scratch and poop, then make another trip to the feeder. We never would have detected the tiny bird in the bush had we not been actively following her flights.

In order to see her better, we pulled the binoculars out from under the car seat and put them on the dining room table. And when yet another two unidentified birds appeared in the yard, I bought another bird book.

Here's the list of birds we've met so far:

California Towhee
Anna's Hummingbird
Scrub Jay
Downy Woodpecker
White-crowned Sparrow
Golden-crowned Sparrow
Black Phoebe
Robin

We're starting to recognize where they hang out, where they eat, where they perch, who they hide from and what times of day to expect them. Our neighbor has a bird bath, and it's fun to watch them drink and bathe. We plan to add different kinds of bird feeders and increase the bird-attracting plants in the yard.

Neither of us has ever had an interest in birds. It's amazing what happens when you just open your eyes and ears and start paying attention.

A tribute to Noonie

Once again, I'm having to write a tribute to a kitty we've loved and lost, this time our sweet Noonie. We miss her so much.

Moving in and moving on

I have not kept up with this blog, and I'm sad that I've been so lax. My whole purpose for starting it was to remind myself of the joyful things in life, big and small, and share them with you when you might need a lift or a smile. I still see those things, but forget to share. Shame on me. Here's what's occupying me right now.

We recently moved, for the first time in 19 years. It was exciting but stressful.

Back in 2010 we had decided it was finally time to move, spent six months looking with no luck, then thought we would try to make it work in our tiny, decrepit place. We were going to make a commitment to making it more livable, partly by taking over the studio on the property and remaking it as my office, and partly by holding our landlord to her word that she would fix the roof, upgrade the electrical, and tent the place for termites. Once we got serious about staying, just three months passed before our landlords decided to sell the property.

We knew that there might be some time between showings and an actual purchase, but we didn't want to wait around and find out. On Friday, we got the news the landlords were selling. Over the weekend, I studied Craigslist and found some houses to look at. On Tuesday, we looked at the first place on the list, and fell in love. Apparently the owners fell in love with us, too, because on Thursday they offered us the place.

We've now been here just over two months, and we feel like we're living in the lap of luxury.

The roof doesn't leak!

We have double-pane windows, so there's not a draft to be found. The house is cool on hot days and comfortable on chilly days.

The place feels like a mansion: We have (count 'em) TWO bedrooms -- one of which is my office-slash-guestroom -- and we have (count 'em) TWO bathrooms. One of them is twice the size of our previous bathroom.

We have a wood burning stove, and a heater WITH A THERMOSTAT (I cannot emphasize enough the luxury of having a thermostat).

We have a garage with additional storage, and a washer and dryer -- hubby spent the last 19 years taking our laundry to the laundromat.

We have a dining room that's separate from the living room. Not only is my office NOT in the dining room, but we actually have a table in there. Where we actually eat.

We have a lovely outdoor space with a deck, fruit trees and plenty of room for gardening, and we have privacy on all sides (my office does share a wall with a duplex-mate, but so far no complaints).

And can I talk about the landlords for just a minute?

To give some perspective, our previous landlord came on the property maybe five times in the 19 years we lived there. Hubby and his dad renovated the bathroom, and she didn't come see it. We had a house fire and she trusted us to handle the follow-up. Her hands-off approach was both a blessing and a curse. She was also always "broke," so could never afford to fix anything. When she agreed to replace our refrigerator years ago, she bought a cheap used one from a friend (we had to pay half), that ended up having cockroaches living in it. We ended up buying our own and bringing it with us to our new place.

New landlords: like night and day.

They come by on a regular basis to take care of gardening in the front of the property. Before our housewarming party, in fact, Kris came by to mow the lawn because she wanted to make sure the place looked nice for our guests.

Before the first rains of the season, Dan came by to make sure all the outside drains were clear. And then after it rained, he came by to make sure they were working and there was no flooding.

One day I discovered them outside filling in cracks in the front walkway. When I mentioned the grout in the kitchen counter needing to be sealed, first Kris told me what product to use and offered to reimburse us. And then she mentioned that they seal all the bathroom grout every two years. Seriously. They seal the grout every two years.

A large, mature palm tree in the front of the property had become dangerous when its fronds caught fire resting on a power line. Within days, Kris and Dan had arranged to have it removed, and today there's nothing but a stump. Sad to see the beautiful tree go, but we've had enough experience with house fire that we were not interested in reliving that drama.

People assume our landlords are retired, but they're not. They work full time and are just a little bit older than us. They lived in this house and raised their children here, so it's a home to them, not just an investment.

I hadn't felt truly comfortable or happy in our previous home for several years. We had stopped inviting friends over; the house was so cramped and in disrepair, and even the deck out back started to seem unsafe to walk on. Our wiring was so old and unsafe that an electrician (while also delivering the bad news that there weren't enough amps for a dryer) suggested we could have an electrical fire in the wall at any moment.

Since we've moved, my attitude has changed. I feel lighter, happier, less stressed (even though our rent doubled). My home is a sanctuary. I want to invite people over all the time. I have real furniture. I feel like a grownup -- but in a good way.

I thought adjusting to the new place would take time after so long on Quinto Street, but the minute our move was finished, I was mentally gone from the old place and here to stay. For how long? Who knows? But it feels like home.

With a little help from my friends

Last December, I made a commitment that, in 2011, I would think less, and act more. I haven't been as consistent as I would like to be, but I am conscious of my theme, and have it written on a sticky note above my desk so I don't forget.

There are times when I think about, dwell on, and dread what I should be doing, but I don't do it -- as is probably the case with most of you. A typical example is working out. I'll be watching the clock tick down to the time when I start to get dressed in my workout clothes. Sometimes I get carried away with something else and I don't notice how late it's gotten.

I used to look at the clock and say, "Oh well, it's too late." And just continue with whatever I was doing.

Now I look at the late hour on the clock, assess the rest of my day, and if I'm not in a time crunch, I get off my butt, put on my workout clothes and go.

Yesterday is a perfect example of how sometimes I need help to ACT -- even when the action is fun, not work.

I was eating dinner at a restaurant with hubby Rudy and friend Evelyn. The conversation was all about momentum, motivation and accountability. At one point, I mentioned something about planking, and how I would love to plank (pics) on one of the tables in the restaurant. After talking about it, scoping out good tables, discussing how the two of them would have to stabilize the table so I wouldn't fall off while getting into position, and talking about it some more, I basically chickened out.

Then, as we finished our food and got up to leave, Evelyn walked over to a table and grabbed onto the edge. I said, "Oh, are we doing this?" Rudy grabbed the other edge. And in an instant, I had dropped my bag, climbed onto the table, and had accomplished my first plank.

Now, this may seem like complete nonsense to you (but if you're reading this blog, then you must have a tiny sense of silliness in you somewhere), but I had been talking about doing this for weeks, and I finally did it. Sure, it's completely silly, but I like and need silly in my life, and I wanted to be part of this silly game playing out around the world.

Much like the nudge I needed to meet Kathy Griffin, as I described in my Starstruck post, Evelyn gave me that that little kick in the butt. No, I haven't finished either of my books. No, I haven't finished my online group coaching program. No, I haven't started packing for my move in three weeks. But YES, I planked on a table at Wahoo's restaurant, had a great laugh, and took a picture for posterity. I stopped thinking and started acting. Thanks, Evelyn!

Getting ready for 50

Lately, I find myself surrounded by articles, images and living examples of stylish, fit women in their fifties. I suddenly can't help noticing how many great-looking 50-year-olds there are here in Santa Barbara and elsewhere.

So maybe a lot of them can afford fitness trainers, weekly massages and manicures, facials and personal shoppers, but the fact remains, women in their fifties are looking hot.

Why am I suddenly obsessed with women in their fifties? Because I've got four years to get ready, and I need to get on the ball.

I was never prepared for aging, as most of us aren't, but I was excited to turn 30. I was so tired of everyone thinking I was still a college student, when I had accomplishments and achievements and life under my belt. Finally, I could say, "No, I'm not in college. I'm 30!" I felt I had come of age, a true grownup. I also gained weight for the first time in my life during my 30s, but easily exercised it away.

I was thrilled to turn 40. It was the year I walked away from the nonprofit I had founded and created my perfect career as a public speaking coach. I was coming into my own as a person and an entrepreneur, and feeling optimistic about the possibilities for my future. And I started noticing it was much harder to stay in shape through exercise; for the first time ever, I had to pay attention to my eating habits.

I'm not excited to turn 50. (Yet.) I feel more apprehension than anything else. My forties have been great, but also a wake-up call regarding my mental and physical health and fitness. I just can't screw around any more. I have four years to get my act together: I can either be a frumpy, dumpy 50-year-old who creaks and groans every time she gets up from the couch (and it's just downhill from there), or I can be a stylish and fit 50-year-old with joints and muscles that haven't completely deteriorated.

The grainy, fuzzy picture above of a half-eaten strawberry cake is symbolic of the journey I need to take, starting now. I need to approach my next four years with a new kind of discipline, a more mindful way of eating, exercising, taking care of myself and presenting myself. I don't mean discipline in a harsh or punishing way (and just to be clear, I don't believe in dieting). I mean the kind of discipline where I respect my body and what it's capable of.

That cake: It looked delicious in the case, but on the plate something was off. There was a chemical flavor to it, like artificially flavored jam. But I kept eating, thinking I would get used to it, or grow to like it. I mean, it was there.

It's easy to keep eating the bread in the bread basket, or the french fries that could serve an army, or the tortilla chips that keep coming with a new dish of fresh salsa.

But are they worth it? The question is no longer, "Are they good for me?" but rather, "Are they worth the extra weight, sluggishness and regret I'll experience if I'm not mindful of my eating?" And the answer is NO.

If I had ordered a rich Danish pastry, something that restaurant specializes in, I would not for a minute have hesitated to finish it. Because yes, some things are worth it. It would be a special treat and I would savor it.

But an off-tasting piece of strawberry cake is not worth it. A huge pile of generic french fries is not worth it. The second half of a gigantic burrito is not worth it. This is the lesson of my mid-forties.

1. I don't have to be angry that I can't eat everything I want or as much as I want. I just have to savor and relish the truly delectable foods I do eat, and eat them mindfully and in moderation.

2. I don't have to obsess over getting back the body of my 30s, when I was at the peak of my fitness. I just have to work out enough to keep my heart pumping, my joints flexible, my bones strong and my cholesterol at a reasonable level. Maintaining a healthy weight would be nice, too.

3. I don't have to resent dressing like a grownup (even a fun grownup). I can be comfortable in my clothes, while making a little more effort not to wear t-shirts and shorts every day. And for that matter, why do I always save certain jewelry, accessories and perfumes for special occasions? I need to pull those out, use and enjoy them.

As I've been looking back, I've also been looking forward. I want to carry the younger, feistier, more colorful me into my middle age. I also want to carry the older, wiser, more sensible and confident me forward. I want to live a long, happy, healthy life with my kitties, my husband, my family and friends.

I've made good strides over the years, and I'm on a good path. But the real work starts now. Four years to go... how will I do?

Sparkly fun with jewelry

Click images to see full size

I may not be as adventurous a dresser as I once was, but I do have a special affinity for funky jewelry, especially earrings.

From 2004-2007, I had a jewelry business. I made one-of-a-kind earrings, necklaces and bracelets from vintage, Venetian and art glass beads. I had been a jewelry artist as a hobby for decades, but at a time when I had been laid off my jobs in nonprofits three times in four years, it made sense to turn my hobby into a business.

Unfortunately, turning your favorite hobby into a business doesn't always work, and I found myself resisting the mass production that was going to be required in order for me to make a living at this. It stopped being fun to crank out 8-10 pairs of earrings in a day. And I had started my public speaking coaching business in 2005 that was starting to look like it would go somewhere.

I closed the jewelry business in 2007, and for probably a year, didn't pick up my tools. Slowly but surely, however, I've gotten back into my hobby, especially when I want to remake a piece for myself that I sold. It's fun again, it's a great creative outlet, and I take huge satisfaction in wearing my own handiwork.

It's gratifying to know that people still wear my jewelry; just the other day, a Twitter friend mentioned she had on a pair of my earrings, and when I met another friend for cocktails on Saturday, she was wearing some as well. I love seeing that my jewelry stands the test of time; it's not dated or out of style. It's a style all its own!

Here are a few of my favorite pieces, most of which now belong to someone else.