Being Boring

I wanted to blog today because it's been more than a week since I had anything to say, but I still don't have anything in particular to talk about. I had a rough week at work, but I can't really talk about it. I'm sticking to my food tracking and exercise routine. I need to up my exercise, but I'm not quite ready. I bought new jeans in a size 12, and that was kind of exciting.

Then I found the perfect poem for the way I feel today:

Wendy Cope
Being Boring

“May you live in interesting times.”
--Chinese curse

If you ask me “What’s new?”, I have nothing to say
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it’s better today.
I’m content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is.
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.

There was drama enough in my turbulent past;
Tears and passion – I’ve used up a tankful.
No news is good news, and long may it last,
If nothing much happens, I’m thankful.
A happier cabbage you never did see,
My vegetable spirits are soaring.
If you’re after excitement, steer well clear of me.
I want to go on being boring.

Let Nothing Disturb Thee

I didn't post my weight last week because I hadn't lost anything. No gain, just no loss. So yesterday morning I woke up feeling, well, thinner, and decided to weigh myself. I stepped on the scale and "Yikes" I'd gained 5 pounds. It couldn't be. I was meeting my calorie goals. I was minimizing the off track eating. I was sticking to my exercise routine. I went to the bathroom, took a shower, and went back to the scale wearing nothing at all. The scale now said I'd gained 6 pounds! Have you ever seen a stark naked fat woman hyper-ventilating? Well that was me.

"Ok," I said to my self, "Slow down. What would your Spark friends say?"

Maybe I lost inches and not pounds. I grabbed the tape measure and found my waist was an inch smaller. That's progress. My clothes felt fine. My wedding ring was still lose. I decided to focus on that and not the scale.

As soon as I got home from work yesterday evening I asked my husband, "Do you think the scale weighed heavy this morning?" (He weighs every day.) "Not really," he answers, but he goes to check. "Oh yeah, the battery is low," he says, "I'll change it."

I was afraid to get on the scale again last night, but this morning I weighed a pound and a half less than last week. Whew!

So next time you can't believe your digital scale, check the battery before you panic.

Here's a little poem that seems to fit. It was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Let nothing disturb thee,
Nothing affright thee;
All things are passing;
God never changeth;
Patient endurance
Attaineth to all things;
Who God possesseth
In nothing is wanting;
Alone God sufficeth.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

April Rain

I read somewhere that a writer should never start a novel or short story with the weather, but sometimes the weather is so absolutely perfect you can't start with anything else.

I was going to do the treadmill today, but after going outside I decided to enjoy the gorgeous spring sunshine by working in the yard. An hour of trimming, weeding and raking left me sweaty, but feeling great. I had almost given up yard work the last couple of summers because I just didn't have the energy for it. Now, after 6 months of Spark People, and 40 pounds lost, I can enjoy yard work again.

And, I was wearing my size 14 jeans and cute ocean blue polo shirt from LL Bean that I bought at the mall yesterday. Life is indeed good.

The following poem is by Langston Hughes, who is a favorite poet of mine. I enjoy this poem because it sounds almost like a benediction to me.

April Rain Song

Let the rain kiss you.
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.
Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk.
The rain makes running pools in the gutter.
The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—

And I love the rain.

Langston Hughes

Cherry Trees

The cherry trees are blooming and spring is finally here for real. Life is too short not to get outside and enjoy the spring flowers.

The following poem is one I've enjoyed since I was a child.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.


A. E. Housman