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Monday, May 11, 2009
I hate being wrong, although the dear knows I should be used to it by now. When the brilliant surgeon told me, four years ago, about the two additional and equally vital tools to a healthy intake, I nodded. Yeah yeah yeah, now cut me open and let's get on with things. So here I am, four years on, finally keeping a record of what I eat and drink. The hardest part is to write things down without self judgment. I treat it like a memory exercise, and I am definitely not one of those extreme restriction eaters who log every calorie ingested. Oh, and tool three I have now bought for the third time: a pedometer, which this time is one I can keep in my pocket. The fact that I've never managed to keep anything that attaches onto a belt or waistband is why I'm on my third pedometer.
Les is my hero. I am filled with profound admiration and respect for my beloved cousin Lester, who nursed her husband through his final months and made him possible for him to die at home as he wanted. Now she's keeping the kids as centered and strong as she can: there is no talk about being brave or choosing a socially acceptable way to grieve. Those kids lucked out having her as a mother. I, too, having her as a cousin.