Back on the Weight Watchers track

I knew this time was coming. Pants becoming progressively tighter aren’t very subtle. And, even though I avoided stepping on the scale for as long as I could, one day I did it. It wasn’t pretty. And why did we ever teach Duncan to read letters and numbers, anyway?

I still don’t know what caused it. I was staying pretty stable at my body’s set-point (which is, of course, at least 10 lbs more than I’d like it to be). I don’t think I got less active. I don’t think that’s possible. I conserve as much energy as possible, all of the time. Did I manage to conseve even more somehow without realizing it? Probably not.

But, for some reason, things started shifting upward (my weight — on my body it shifted outward). Maybe it was reducing Duncan’s nursing before his 3rd birthday with that valiant aim of weaning him come late July. The boy likes his milk. He was probably drinking a lot.

In any case, no matter what caused it, it happened. And now I have to deal with it. I’ve been waiting for “the right time” when things aren’t too stressful. That time will never come. But, school is well underway for both Duncan and me and our recent lead hazard reduction home makeover efforts are (almost) over. So I figured it’s time.

Last Sunday, weighing in at 170.8 lbs, I signed up for Weight Watchers online. I weighed myself mid-week — and to my horror, I’d gained weight. Apparently, I may still be nursing, but not enough to warrant an extra 10 points in my daily food allowance. Once I realized that, I altered things a bit and ended up weighing 2.2 lbs less this morning.

I also switched to the CORE plan this week (as opposed to the FLEX plan where every food is given a point value). On the core plan, there are certain foods you can eat as much as you want of. They’re mostly vegetables, fruit and fat-free, sugar-free stuff. Since I don’t eat artificial sweetner, that limits my options.

Just to complicate things, you get some FLEX points to use each day/week and you also earn activity (or nursing) points. I use those to “buy” sugar. Seriously, I can’t live totally sugar-free. My sugar choices aren’t that bad, either — honey, maple syrup and raw brown sugar. No corn syrup here.

So we’ll see how it goes. I dream of dieting without feeling hungry — the only time that happened was when I did high-fiber, high-protein (ala Atkins), but that was such a pain in its own way. This way, presumably, I can eat all the fat-free cottage cheese I want — should I want to, of course.

Feasting from my garden

There’s something so satisfying about cooking dinner with food from my garden.

Dinner tonight - currently bubbling away on the stove — features tilapia (from who knows where) cooked in a tomato and pepper sauce. The tomatoes, red pepper and herbs all come from the garden. The green pepper comes from our CSA (I love getting organic peppers in my bag each week!) and the garlic is from Seven Bridges Farm from the South Wedge Farmer’s Market. The only other seasonings are salt and pepper — I brought back the salt from a trip to France and the pepper is freshly ground from organic black peppercorns.

It will be accompanied by brown rice and broccoli (conventional, both - but at least broccoli is now on the “12 Foods You Don’t Have to Buy Organic” list.)

I’d better get back to dinner, but I snapped a couple of pics with my camera phone.

Here’s dessert - home made peach pie. The pastry is an oil pastry recipe and the peaches, while conventionally grown are at least from a local farmer, bought on Saturday morning at Gro-Moore Farms in Henrietta.

What do I do with the worms in my compost?

I love my compost bins, tucked away behind the garage. It’s so quiet and private back there (a big thing in a city backyard) and smells of leaves and rain and the forest.

I finally got around to screening my compost. Oh, what beautiful stuff. It’s not such good work for my back, but good for the rest of me (thigh muscles, spirit, etc.).

This was the best batch of compost I’ve made yet. Full of worm castings, hummus and rich black stuff. And worms. I’ve never seen so many worms (except maybe on RIT’s sidewalks after a heavy rain).

What am I supposed to do with the worms in the compost? Put them back into the pile? Put them in the garden? Eat them for dinner?

I tried hard to sift the compost lightly, to reduce the likelihood of grinding any worms on the hardware cloth. I probably cut a few in half as they desperately tried to wriggle through the holes into the lovely black screened compost beneath. Most of my worms went into the screened compost and then into the garden. I figure the garden can always use them. And, since I didn’t put any worms in the bin to begin with, they migrated from somewhere on their own and more worms will find the bin again for the next batch.

In order to answer my question — so I know what to do next time — I turned, as always to the Internet. Not, say, the Cornell Cooperative Extension, a reliable source of knowledgeable information. Why do that when you have Google at your fingertips?

What I found? Not much.

In worm composting (where you have a couple of pounds of worms in a bin!), you put the worms back in the bin. Gives me the heebies just thinking about it. I can touch worms, with gloves on. But I don’t want 2 lbs of the them in a container, thanks.

According to compostinfo.com:

Screening Compost

Your composting system may not break down all the larger materials, such as corncobs or wood chips, in the first batch of compost that you make. When you screen your compost, any material larger than your screen size can be removed. These materials are called “overs” which can go back into the compost system the next time that you build a pile. The overs provide bulk for aeration and microbes attached to these pieces will help jumpstart the new composting process.

Yes, nothing about worms.

The Pennsylvania Department of Environmental Protection has directions on how to build a free-standing compost screen, but, again, no worm info.

Surely I can’t be the only person with this question? I guess I’ll have to ask the Co-operative Extension folks at the South Wedge Farmer’s Market this week after all.

You know you’re old when…

Kevin keeps saying that we’re old now. I’m getting more and more white hair. We have to schedule sex. But I’ve been refusing to buy into the notion of oldness.  Until today.

We recently switched banks because M&T Bank just screwed us out of almost $600 and was very rude about it while they were at it. So we need to order new checks. I was procrastinating about getting on with work today, looking at checks designs online. I barely use checks — but do need them for the few occasions I used them — so the design is important. Plus, I’ll have them for the next 5 years. I’m still using the (Winnie the Pooh) checks I ordered when we moved into this house.

I was clicking around, not totally satisfied with anything I was seeing. I’d like something modern, but not too over the top. And then I thought to myself, I should get a flower design. Those roses are pretty.

Then my brain freaked out. A flowery check design? Roses? Hello? Welcome to Official Oldness.

Yeah. That was too much for me. I’d rather work and order checks another day.

Composting: a new way of healing

We’re finally getting back into composting. We’ve had a pile behind the garage since we moved in. For a couple of years I collected vegetable scraps and had them in a chicken-wire bin, but that went by the wayside, too.

We still put leaves and yard trimmings back there, but have otherwise neglected it.

I’d forgotten how much I love the smell of decomposing organic matter. It’s like a forest after the rain.

Sorting through what compost we do have from our pile & screening it through hardware cloth made me happy today. I felt more connected to my vegetable garden than I have in a long time. Something was missing.

The last 2 or 3 years I planted a garden but didn’t really tend to it well. Often I let the harvest go by without reaping much of it. Sure, I’ve had young kids every year since 2005. But I wonder if it’s been more than that.

My first real garden was in North Carolina at my mountain wilderness home. The first year went well - I built lots of beds & planted tons of strawberries and asparagus. Maybe a rhubarb plant, too. Every garden should have one.

Then the next year, right after I got the spring crops in, my husband & I separated. He stayed on the property and I moved out.

I never got to enjoy the harvest from that garden. It’s a sadness I still feel. Perhaps this year I can fill that sense of loss with a deeper connection to a garden I won’t be leaving. Besides, the asparagus are finally coming up this year.

Obession #54: Crocheting

I was supposed to go to bed early yesterday. I didn’t. I stayed up way too late, instead.

Why?

My new obsession. Duncan’s babette blanket.

I don’t know how I came across a web site about it. But I did. And it stole my sanity. I can’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent (often at 3 a.m., rocking Berry) thinking about the next square I’m going to make or what color combinations I like best together.

It started out as 20 balls of yarn, purchased with some “frivolous” birthday money while vacationing in Florida at my mum’s.

Since then, it’s been slowly growing into squares of lovely, intricate, fine cotton crochet. I’m honestly surprised that I can make something this pretty.

Duncan loves it and asks about his “blanket squares” often. I try to keep him out of my crochet bag, but he’s figured out how to work the zippers.

This is where I was a few days ago. I know, I have many months to go. My goal is to finish it by Duncan’s birthday in July. I’ve actually created a few more squares since then.

What kept me up late last night was drawing a diagram for putting the finished squares together. Finally, between last night and nap time today, I have a finished drawing. I know exactly how many of each size squares I need to make. And I know approximately how big the whole thing will be. Big. Maybe not big enough. But big.

I also know I have…oh, a lot of squares left to go.

Here are the stats:
I’m using DMC Senso cotton yarn and a size D 3.25 mm crochet hook. I’m making squares with 4, 6, 8 and 12 rounds. The finished size for each square is (or should be) as follows:

4 rounds - 3″
6 rounds - 4.5″
8 rounds - 6″
12 rounds - 9″

Actual sizes vary. For the 4 and 6 round squares, I’ll be using a 3 mm hook. Otherwise they don’t match up with their multiple equivalent (e.g. 3 4-rounds don’t equal 1 12-round square).

For the complete babette blanket, I’ll need a total of (good God!) 128 squares in each of these sizes:

4 rounds - 44
6 rounds - 60
8 rounds - 16
12 rounds - 8

I think I’ve made about 17 squares so far…

I’d get back to it right now, but I’ve decided to make Duncan a “June dress” tonight as he keeps begging us to put his blanky/a purple pillowcase/a kitchen towel/whatever around his waist so he can pretend to be June from Little Einsteins.

I’ll get back to it shortly, though, no worries there. At least it’s a healthier obsession than, say, eating tubs of ice cream. It is an obsession, though. I’ve gone so far as to join the Flickr babette group. But crocheting keeps my hands busy and relaxes my mind. Both good things.

Rice is nice

My God, I cannot stop myself. From what?

Playing that FreeRice “game” and eating Girl Scout cookies. Why did I bring a box upstairs with me?

I’ve donated 1020 grains of rice and I need to stop myself. Must. Close. Browser. Window. My wordiness is about 39 (or whatever they call it, I closed the window, so I can’t check). This is where reading millions of books pays off — being able to waste time on the computer and donate rice to starving nations.

Ironic that I’d do it while stuffing myself with All Abouts. Maybe I should just ship off some boxes of cookies while I’m at it. Or donate the money I spent on the cookies, as that would buy plenty more than 1020 grains of rice. I was hoping I’d get to some magical number where the whole bowl would fill up.

Now that my belly is full of useless nutrients and my brain is full of cool words, I’d better get on with things.

OK, who’s this “Joanna” person?

It’s freezing in the attic/office this morning. I can’t wait until my micathermic panel heater arrives. I should check on that. It’s been a while.

I’ve been up here for a while working and it’s still cold, so I thought I’d pop on here until I give up and go and get a cup of tea to warm up. The thing is, once I go downstairs, I won’t be allowed to leave for at least 15 minutes. Got to pay some attention to the kiddos. (Not that I’m complaining.)

Joanna. Who is she and why do I want to be called that again?

When you have a name like Silandara, you’re just about guaranteed that whenever you meet a new person, the first thing they ask about is the origin of your name. “What kind of a name is that?” or “That’s an interesting/beautiful/unusual/different name, where’s it from?” or “How do you spell that, C - Y - …”

Totally understandable comments and reactions, all of them.

But I hate them. Mostly because I don’t want to answer.

The truth is, my parents weren’t insane. At least not when it came to naming me. They chose a lovely name: Joanna. I changed it.

It seemed like a good idea. I was 19, rebellious, depressed (I was quite ill with fibromyalgia and chemical sensitivities) and encouraged by my ex-husband. Do you see where this story is going and why I don’t want to retell it all of the time? And no offense to the aforementioned starter marriage or the person I was married to, but it’s not something I want to talk about now that I’m at a totally different point in my life.

OK. So I legally changed my name. But even if I tell people that, it doesn’t answer the why of it. Or what it means (the name, we won’t go into what it means about my psychological state, then or now). Or how I came up with it to begin with.

As far as I know — since my ex came up with it and I’m depending on his version of things — it has Persian origins. It’s a derivation of the name that I had when he remembers us being together in a past life several thousand years ago. There you go. That’s where it comes from. Hmm…I wonder why I don’t want to tell that to people I just met? There’s nothing like a first impression.

For the last few years, I’ve held an internal debate about just going back to being called Joanna. I could officially be S. Joanna Bartlett-Gustina. I’d leave off the ‘S.’ when I introduced myself to people. And instead of being stuck with the nickname “Sil,” people could call me “Jo” - a cool, spunky nickname, not a meaningless and mildly annoying one.

I thought about making an official announcement when I turned 30. But then I was 6-months pregnant with all that entails and didn’t have the verve to pull it off. I just need to decide to do it one day. It’s what I did when I changed it the first time. I remember walking into class after coming back from the courthouse and announcing my new name to everyone and pretty much demanding that they call me “Silandara.” Yeah. I pulled it off.

So, world. I am now S. Joanna Bartlett-Gustina. Should I write a press release?

What happened to “Silandara’s blog”?

Weren’t you getting tired of that train track image? I was. And that whole dark green background thing (if the other background didn’t load, which it doesn’t on PDAs) wasn’t working for me.

Change is good. And I keep wrestling with what to blather about on this blog.

Writing about the kids doesn’t feel right as I worry about their safety and privacy. (We do have an unadvertised family blog, e-mail me if you want the URL for it.)

Writing about work is tricky as I don’t want to put off any current or potential clients.

There’s lots of personal stuff I could share; but I don’t want to. I have a pen and paper journal for that. Some things don’t need to be aired in a roomful of strangers. Not that everyone who reads this is a stranger, but I get more hits (amazingly) than people I know that read this blog.

I could write about random things and celebrity news. But I want to write about things I’m passionate about.

It’s important to live an authentic life and present an honest image of yourself. I have an idea of what that means as far as this medium is concerned. And it needs a name other than “Silandara’s blog” - especially as I keep seriously considering going back to being called “Joanna.”

Years ago, losers.org rated my web site (and told me to rub my crystals together and dream up a new page — and then didn’t update their site for several years while I went through several remodels). My point? They called me a “greenie.” And I am. I’ve stepped away from that in recent years. Maybe because the PTSD of living in a camper, off-grid in the woods and almost starving to death before Christmas one year was too much for me. But just because my former back to basics life didn’t work out so well doesn’t mean I can’t be as environmentally conscious as possible now. I think that’s a story I can share. Maybe it’ll even inspire others to do the same.

Yes, I’m this happy about pants

I’m generally not one to spend too much time looking back.

When I do, it’s because I’m lying awake at night talking to imaginary people that aren’t really there. Explaining stuff from the past — to them, and to myself.

But sometimes there’s benefit in revisiting the past.

While procrastinating about calling some prospective clients today, I took a look at the photos I’d posted to the blog. And I found this post. What’s so fascinating about this post? Not the photos of my Duncan cutie, surprisingly. It was this little, innocent line: “Along the way, I stopped in Old Navy and bought a couple of pairs of pants — in size 10.”

I have size 10 pants somewhere in the closet! Pants that might fit me now! (Granted, when I wrote that post, Duncan was just over 2 months old, about the same age Berry is now, but I was 10 lbs heavier when I got pregnant with him, so I must have been much closer to my pre-pregnancy weight then than I am now…but anyway.) Pants that might fit me!

I went to Target a few weeks ago and bought 2 pairs of size 12 pants - some capris and a pair of shorts. They still fit. But there’s only two of them. And I know I haven’t talked about Berry much, but she spits up. A lot. I probably haven’t had time to post about it in between doing piles of puke-covered laundry.

So 2 pairs of pants doesn’t cut it.

After reading about them, I vaguely remembered these size 10 pants. After rummaging in the top of the closet, I actually found them. One pair is more “work” style. But the others are perfect for my new work wardrobe (and actually quite dressy compared to the PJs I wore all day yesterday). I also unearthed a pair of promising-looking shorts. It was a good start to the day.

Then I procrastinated some more about cold-calling people (although I did do about 20 calls which were all excrutiatingly painful). I took a look back in the past some more and read Omar’s posts about parenting.