January 4th, 2007

birdhouse

Clothes That Fit

I don't post much about Weight Watchers, probably because that's yesterday's thinking for me. It's today's thinking in the sense that I want to get back to my goal weight that I reached a year ago, but yesterday's thinking in terms of how to do it. I know how by 90lbs. This 'journey' as WW likes to call it, is four years old now. It was a question of starting again and not ripping up at myself any more. Which is hard to do. Lots of writers have a very active critic in their head. Mine has a PhD, I think. I would guess that killing Oz's self-esteem over a period of many years was my internal critic's original research for his/her dissertation. But enough of that. Go away critic. You're not currently wanted or needed.

Yesterday the leader read her New Year's poem, which I have now heard 4 times. In WW, wearing one's husband's clothing is considered a sign of being overweight. But as usual, I don't fit with the group (any group). When I can wear my husband's clothes, I'm thin. It's a thrill to put on his workshirt and button it, to steal it out of his closet or his (clean) laundry. To have him say "Hey! Isn't that mine?" And when I'm draped in an XXL Amherst T-shirt at the gym, it's not HIS college logo I'm sporting. It's mine. That T-shirt used to fit me. Snugly.

This morning I was musing on all that as I grundged my way to the barn in my (men's) padded flannel shirt and pink Wellies. I like wearing men's clothes. Especially if they're size M or L. (I'll never fit an S.) I like living on the edge of the 'burbs with some real small farms still around me, with cows for neighbors, with neighbors who also like to do chores in grundgy flannel and Wellies. People give me odd looks if I go east to shop (Trader Joe's, Whole Foods) looking like this. One county over only bag ladies dress like this. Bag ladies and crazy writers.

Frog Out
cabin

Weather and Color

This morning it's more like late fall than full winter. Cherry trees have bloomed or are ready to bloom. Some of the forsythia line has already bloomed, months early.

Photographers (Anne Whiston Spirn) talk about early morning light as best. I happen to love the way the yellow light stretches across the landscape. Today, with frost on last year's grass, the fields were the softest beige. In the distance, the Short Hill range was purpled, lavender. Bare branches of trees were yellow-brown like willows instead of merely 'brown.' And the full moon sat in the opposite sky, bright white and full against a blue morning sky.

And the girls wanted out, out, out of their red barn with its green shingled roof.

Colors just stand out this morning.

Frog Out
frog

And I said I was going to write today...


Yes, she's out again. But who can blame her on such a nice day? (Usually she's running towards me, not away.)

Closeup of the escape artist, still on the wrong side of the fence.

Olympos Mons. As you can see, we have several windows from which to keep an eye on her.

One day, when I finish and sell my chicken story, lj readers will be 'in the know' that I write non-fiction, not fiction.

Frog