Last week at our Life Group meeting there were just two of us, Izette and myself. We talked about many things, among them the idea of changing our meeting day from Monday to Friday. Because after all, who really likes Monday morning for anything? Judging by our lackluster attendance, no one in particular.
Today I was first joined by one of our newer members, Anel. She is in a difficult situation because her husband works in a different city, and she works here in Busan. Their three-year-old son stays with her husband and his family, so she sees him whenever the family brings him to Busan. She is worried about her son's English, as well as his faith.
I asked her the obvious question: Why doesn't she live with her family, and just stay in Busan Wednesday through Friday, the days she works? She told me that she would miss our church and this Life Group.
It is not my usual style to give advice, but ignoring this would have felt like criminal negligence.
"You should be living there and just coming to Busan for work!" I told her. "Just last week we were discussing moving our group day to Friday, which would let you continue. You would still miss Sunday services, but the sermon is posted on YouTube every week. Matthew gave the sermon yesterday and said that half of the sermon takes place in Life Groups! Here!"
The pieces all seem to fit together: her in-laws are welcoming and kind, just not proficient in English. Her son needs her, and she needs to be with him. And while there may not be an English church there now, Anel may be the seed of a new church in that community some day, but not if she keeps hiding here.
I don't know how it feels when the Holy Spirit works in other people. The Bible is not very descriptive on that sort of thing, focusing more on actions and results. But today I felt that the Holy Spirit moved in me, pushing me to advise a woman who I have only known for a couple of months to make a major change in her life pattern. It is not my usual style to give advice, but sometimes we have to move beyond what we are used to.
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When Three People Ask... (Faith Journey pt. 1)
On three consecutive days I was asked for the same story by three friends, each from further back than the last. The first made me happy, th...
Monday, October 26, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Wordz
Like water from a rock in the desert,
the words seem to spring up from nowhere.
Look what I've made! How clever I am!
I forget that every word in the cistern of my skull
was first poured in from elsewhere:
from a book, a movie, a friend, a teacher.
And I should never be quick to write off
the fountain of words from which I first sipped;
When my son and I said,
in the exact same tone of voice
at the exact same time,
"Now THAT'S a mosquito!"
I realized that I was not the only one turning into his father.
I realized that a childhood spent
swigging the words of my mother,
guzzling the words of my father,
Would lead to me pouring out this inevitable concoction today.
So here's to your words,
may you always pour and drink well.
So after writing my post, 30 minutes or it's free I became aware of an event called Wordz Only, put on by my coworker, Kenneth May. I really wanted to be part of it. I had little to no idea what to expect from it, but I wanted to be in it. And a poem sort of bubbled its way up out of my head. The story about Quinten just wanted to be written. I thought it would be a Roblog post, and it may still be part of one (along with me saying something just like Horyon's father,) but not right now.
I sent the first version to Kenneth, and he suggested that I try using "imagistic language instead of composing statements." Good advice. I ended up adding the first line, about water from the rock, and the idea of words being like water that we drink suddenly came into focus, and ended up permeating the entire piece. I have tweaked it and added bits and taken out bits, and even now it is not the same as what I read yesterday. But this is the version that is going up on the internet, so it's about as finished as it's going to get.
I told Horyon that I wanted to go to an event on Saturday night, but I didn't tell her that I would be reading something until the day of Wordz Only. When she found out, she was excited and wanted to come with me. We had a good evening, and spent a lot of time talking both before and after. It was fun for both of us, though there were some pieces (including mine) that she didn't understand. To be fair, there were some pieces that I did not so much understand as experience. It was a nice break from the concrete language that I use during the work week.
the words seem to spring up from nowhere.
Look what I've made! How clever I am!
I forget that every word in the cistern of my skull
was first poured in from elsewhere:
from a book, a movie, a friend, a teacher.
And I should never be quick to write off
the fountain of words from which I first sipped;
When my son and I said,
in the exact same tone of voice
at the exact same time,
"Now THAT'S a mosquito!"
I realized that I was not the only one turning into his father.
I realized that a childhood spent
swigging the words of my mother,
guzzling the words of my father,
Would lead to me pouring out this inevitable concoction today.
So here's to your words,
may you always pour and drink well.
So after writing my post, 30 minutes or it's free I became aware of an event called Wordz Only, put on by my coworker, Kenneth May. I really wanted to be part of it. I had little to no idea what to expect from it, but I wanted to be in it. And a poem sort of bubbled its way up out of my head. The story about Quinten just wanted to be written. I thought it would be a Roblog post, and it may still be part of one (along with me saying something just like Horyon's father,) but not right now.
I sent the first version to Kenneth, and he suggested that I try using "imagistic language instead of composing statements." Good advice. I ended up adding the first line, about water from the rock, and the idea of words being like water that we drink suddenly came into focus, and ended up permeating the entire piece. I have tweaked it and added bits and taken out bits, and even now it is not the same as what I read yesterday. But this is the version that is going up on the internet, so it's about as finished as it's going to get.
I told Horyon that I wanted to go to an event on Saturday night, but I didn't tell her that I would be reading something until the day of Wordz Only. When she found out, she was excited and wanted to come with me. We had a good evening, and spent a lot of time talking both before and after. It was fun for both of us, though there were some pieces (including mine) that she didn't understand. To be fair, there were some pieces that I did not so much understand as experience. It was a nice break from the concrete language that I use during the work week.
Wednesday, October 07, 2015
Back to Habits
Sunday I officially signed on to Busan's Biggest Loser #5, a diet competition based on the television show. I checked my weight: 103.5 kg (228 lbs). I have been stalled at this weight for about five months now, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Considering that seven months ago I weighed in at 117 kg (257 lbs). holding steady is a good thing; the usual pattern after weight loss is to gain some, if not all of it back. So something had definitely changed.
I decided to join BBL5 about four days before the first weigh-in, and remembered that the organizer, Mike, had told me that previously contestants spent a lot of money on buffets before the contest started. After all, the more weight you have to lose, the more you can lose, right? So I decided to take a page from that playbook:
I ate a lot of tasty bread. The local French Bakery (featuring a real, live French guy you can see working in the second story kitchen) makes a lovely olive bread stuffed with cheese. (Give me a second to clean the drool off of my keyboard.) There is a corner stand that sells boneless fried chicken on a stick, with sweet chili sauce, please! There are coffee drinks that are prepared with all manner of sweet ingredients and whipped cream on the top. And candy bars. I drank four cans of Pepsi that week, as well as drinking cola with a meal. The worst was at meal time, when I ate until I was full, then ate just a bit more.
Until April I was drinking only a can or two of Pepsi a week, but the rest of those habits were totally mine. Then I did the juice thing, and dropped that down to once a month, and then as a mixer. My eating habits changed as my stomach got smaller, and I consciously avoided the larger portions I was accustomed to. Eventually I became accustomed to smaller portions, and stopped thinking about it at all.
So last week I broke all the "rules" and went back to my old habits. When I mentioned this in the office, one of my coworkers asked me, "Doesn't it feel good?"
My immediate answer was "No. I feel gross."
"I mean the taste, in your mouth!"
"Yeah, that's good for the first drink, and the first few bites. But as I drink cola and stuff myself with food, I just start to feel yucky. I've been doing it for just two days now, and I feel like a big block of lard."
It occurred to me that I must have felt that way all the time when I ate that way all the time, I just never noticed. I like to think that if I had noticed myself feeling that nasty, I would have lost weight just to avoid that feeling, but I would not wish that constant awareness of one's body on my worst enemy.
Just imagine if you were aware of every bit of discomfort in your body: even mosquito bites would be intolerable. A broken leg would drive you to madness if you could never get comfortable with the pain. I understand that some people with autism are acutely aware of the feeling of their clothes against their body. Time to move to a tropical country with a high tolerance for scant clothing.
Being comfortable with your current condition is a survival skill, but being uncomfortable with it is the path to progress.
I am on the path to progress. I have dropped one of the three kilograms I picked up last week just by reverting to my old new habits: eating less, fewer carbs, more vegetables. Today I made vegetable juice, hoping to spend a few days on a juice fast. I have enough to get me through tomorrow and into the next day, but unfortunately I tried to juice a peach pit. Bit mistake, juicer out of commision. I will make the juice last a couple of days and try to get a replacement part soon, but in the mean time it is more raw veggies, more exercise, and no more tasty olive bread for me.
Oh yeah, we went to Gumi for Chuseok. Here are some pictures.
This was a good trip, and deserves its own write-up, but this will have to do: the last time I went to Gumi was in 2002, I think, the Chuseok after we got married. I vowed to never again make that trip during Chuseok, as the traffic was so terrible. It took us 2.5 hours to get there, and six to get back. This time both legs of the journey were about the same. Korean highway driving is still no fun, but at least it wasn't bumper-to-bumper.
I decided to join BBL5 about four days before the first weigh-in, and remembered that the organizer, Mike, had told me that previously contestants spent a lot of money on buffets before the contest started. After all, the more weight you have to lose, the more you can lose, right? So I decided to take a page from that playbook:
I ate a lot of tasty bread. The local French Bakery (featuring a real, live French guy you can see working in the second story kitchen) makes a lovely olive bread stuffed with cheese. (Give me a second to clean the drool off of my keyboard.) There is a corner stand that sells boneless fried chicken on a stick, with sweet chili sauce, please! There are coffee drinks that are prepared with all manner of sweet ingredients and whipped cream on the top. And candy bars. I drank four cans of Pepsi that week, as well as drinking cola with a meal. The worst was at meal time, when I ate until I was full, then ate just a bit more.
Until April I was drinking only a can or two of Pepsi a week, but the rest of those habits were totally mine. Then I did the juice thing, and dropped that down to once a month, and then as a mixer. My eating habits changed as my stomach got smaller, and I consciously avoided the larger portions I was accustomed to. Eventually I became accustomed to smaller portions, and stopped thinking about it at all.
So last week I broke all the "rules" and went back to my old habits. When I mentioned this in the office, one of my coworkers asked me, "Doesn't it feel good?"
My immediate answer was "No. I feel gross."
"I mean the taste, in your mouth!"
"Yeah, that's good for the first drink, and the first few bites. But as I drink cola and stuff myself with food, I just start to feel yucky. I've been doing it for just two days now, and I feel like a big block of lard."
It occurred to me that I must have felt that way all the time when I ate that way all the time, I just never noticed. I like to think that if I had noticed myself feeling that nasty, I would have lost weight just to avoid that feeling, but I would not wish that constant awareness of one's body on my worst enemy.
Just imagine if you were aware of every bit of discomfort in your body: even mosquito bites would be intolerable. A broken leg would drive you to madness if you could never get comfortable with the pain. I understand that some people with autism are acutely aware of the feeling of their clothes against their body. Time to move to a tropical country with a high tolerance for scant clothing.
Being comfortable with your current condition is a survival skill, but being uncomfortable with it is the path to progress.
I am on the path to progress. I have dropped one of the three kilograms I picked up last week just by reverting to my old new habits: eating less, fewer carbs, more vegetables. Today I made vegetable juice, hoping to spend a few days on a juice fast. I have enough to get me through tomorrow and into the next day, but unfortunately I tried to juice a peach pit. Bit mistake, juicer out of commision. I will make the juice last a couple of days and try to get a replacement part soon, but in the mean time it is more raw veggies, more exercise, and no more tasty olive bread for me.
Oh yeah, we went to Gumi for Chuseok. Here are some pictures.
 |
| A cousin's home |
 |
| The church built on the site of my father-in-law's home |
 |
| Heading up Gumo Mountain |
 |
| No, we are not walking all that way up. |
 |
| Entrance to a Buddhist Temple |
 |
| Maxine and I further up the mountain |
Saturday, September 19, 2015
30 minutes or it's free
I am going to set my timer and write for 30 minutes. When it goes off, I will finish the sentence I am on and post this. Ready, set, go!
I wrote that a few days ago, and it took a friend (thanks Kay!) goading me on to sit down and do it. It is 12:42 a.m. I am teaching Sunday School tomorrow in church, and I am coming down off of an all evening buzz enjoyed with my coworkers, my first night out in months.
I was talking with Kay, and told him, "This semester I don't have much left to give."
"That's your first sentence," was his immediate reply.
"But..." I said. I actually said more than that. The ellipses represent a load of excuses for not writing. They may even be legitimate, but what it comes down to is that I just haven't done it. And when I don't do it for long enough, the only reason for not writing is that I haven't done it for a long time. So the timer is running, and whatever you get from this tired, sodden mind is what you get.
Not that there has been nothing going on up there. There is lots. But it has all been directed at one fire or another: plan the next lesson! get ready for the next English Hour! get the website ready for Monday! feed the kids dinner and get them bathed so they don't wake up in the morning hungry and stinky!
I do love Maxine and Quinten, more than words can say. But if I had properly understood what sort of time commitment would be involved in bringing them into the world, it is possible that I never would have done more than kiss their mother.
I have been trying to keep myself flowing outward. Teaching is such an outward focused job, as is parenting. I am not satisfied with my teaching unless I do it better than I did last semester. I am not satisfied with my fatherly duties unless I am better than I was before. These are so difficult to measure that I often find that I am not satisfied with myself.
In our life group this past week, we discussed the idea that humans are spiritually dead without Jesus. "Those who have the Son have life. Those who do not have the Son of God do not have life." 1 John 5: 12. Like zombies, only spiritually instead of physically. Spiritual food is prayer and scripture, that which keeps us alive. If we deny ourselves these basic necessities, we are starving our spirit!
I know that many of my friends choose to feed their spirits in other ways. It is a real hunger, whether you realize it or not. You may feed the hunger with the latest episode of your favorite t.v. show. You may feed the hunger with the company of others, with the good feelings that come with drinking. You might feed that spiritual hunger with family, and the sense that you are taking care of the most important people in the world. You may feed yourself with your own thoughts and imaginings. And these might make us feel better for a while.
Who am I kidding? Of course they make us feel better for a while! If God were the only, obvious correct answer, we would all be Christians. Anyone who suggested that something else could take the place of God would be considered an idiot, like a child suggesting that we don't need to go to the store to get food, we can just get it from the refrigerator.
But it's not obvious. There are times when I am sure of the truth, and times when I seek comfort in the bottle, in my family, in my wife, in myself. I look at the Christians who are so absolutely sure that they have the complete, perfect answer, and I wish I had that. And at the same time I am scared of them, because they seem to be just a degree or two off of the crazies who are absolutely sure that they have the complete, perfect answer in blowing themselves up or killing others in the name of whatever they believe in.
I want that faith, but I don't want it. I want to be sure, but I don't want it. I want to keep my doubt, because doubting is what intelligent people do. I want to have the faith that moves mountains because I want to be that kind of acceptable to God. I want to believe that I understand God well enough to live my life the way God wants me to live. It's so hard to believe that there is just one such way when I see how many different ways that the people who call themselves the children of God have scattered.
This important question, this all important defining of my life, I delay by giving myself and my time away. By giving myself to my family. By giving myself to my job. By giving myself to my friends. By giving myself to my entertainment.
This semester I don't have much left to give. Why is giving myself to God so hard?
Forty-eight seconds to go. Thanks, Kay, for reminding me that writing is part of who I am. Thanks to Elaine and Amanda, two of the writers I admire and actually know on a first name basis. Apologies for any typos, and a sincere hope that typos are the worst of the problems with this essay, because my alarm has just gone off, and the "Publish" button is calling!
I wrote that a few days ago, and it took a friend (thanks Kay!) goading me on to sit down and do it. It is 12:42 a.m. I am teaching Sunday School tomorrow in church, and I am coming down off of an all evening buzz enjoyed with my coworkers, my first night out in months.
I was talking with Kay, and told him, "This semester I don't have much left to give."
"That's your first sentence," was his immediate reply.
"But..." I said. I actually said more than that. The ellipses represent a load of excuses for not writing. They may even be legitimate, but what it comes down to is that I just haven't done it. And when I don't do it for long enough, the only reason for not writing is that I haven't done it for a long time. So the timer is running, and whatever you get from this tired, sodden mind is what you get.
Not that there has been nothing going on up there. There is lots. But it has all been directed at one fire or another: plan the next lesson! get ready for the next English Hour! get the website ready for Monday! feed the kids dinner and get them bathed so they don't wake up in the morning hungry and stinky!
I do love Maxine and Quinten, more than words can say. But if I had properly understood what sort of time commitment would be involved in bringing them into the world, it is possible that I never would have done more than kiss their mother.
I have been trying to keep myself flowing outward. Teaching is such an outward focused job, as is parenting. I am not satisfied with my teaching unless I do it better than I did last semester. I am not satisfied with my fatherly duties unless I am better than I was before. These are so difficult to measure that I often find that I am not satisfied with myself.
In our life group this past week, we discussed the idea that humans are spiritually dead without Jesus. "Those who have the Son have life. Those who do not have the Son of God do not have life." 1 John 5: 12. Like zombies, only spiritually instead of physically. Spiritual food is prayer and scripture, that which keeps us alive. If we deny ourselves these basic necessities, we are starving our spirit!
I know that many of my friends choose to feed their spirits in other ways. It is a real hunger, whether you realize it or not. You may feed the hunger with the latest episode of your favorite t.v. show. You may feed the hunger with the company of others, with the good feelings that come with drinking. You might feed that spiritual hunger with family, and the sense that you are taking care of the most important people in the world. You may feed yourself with your own thoughts and imaginings. And these might make us feel better for a while.
Who am I kidding? Of course they make us feel better for a while! If God were the only, obvious correct answer, we would all be Christians. Anyone who suggested that something else could take the place of God would be considered an idiot, like a child suggesting that we don't need to go to the store to get food, we can just get it from the refrigerator.
But it's not obvious. There are times when I am sure of the truth, and times when I seek comfort in the bottle, in my family, in my wife, in myself. I look at the Christians who are so absolutely sure that they have the complete, perfect answer, and I wish I had that. And at the same time I am scared of them, because they seem to be just a degree or two off of the crazies who are absolutely sure that they have the complete, perfect answer in blowing themselves up or killing others in the name of whatever they believe in.
I want that faith, but I don't want it. I want to be sure, but I don't want it. I want to keep my doubt, because doubting is what intelligent people do. I want to have the faith that moves mountains because I want to be that kind of acceptable to God. I want to believe that I understand God well enough to live my life the way God wants me to live. It's so hard to believe that there is just one such way when I see how many different ways that the people who call themselves the children of God have scattered.
This important question, this all important defining of my life, I delay by giving myself and my time away. By giving myself to my family. By giving myself to my job. By giving myself to my friends. By giving myself to my entertainment.
This semester I don't have much left to give. Why is giving myself to God so hard?
Forty-eight seconds to go. Thanks, Kay, for reminding me that writing is part of who I am. Thanks to Elaine and Amanda, two of the writers I admire and actually know on a first name basis. Apologies for any typos, and a sincere hope that typos are the worst of the problems with this essay, because my alarm has just gone off, and the "Publish" button is calling!
Saturday, August 15, 2015
The Long, Tough Goals
It was inevitable. I could not maintain the same intensity of juicing that I had at the beginning. It is also common knowledge that the more weight you lose the harder it is to keep losing.
I am also just having trouble motivating myself to spend 90 minutes in the kitchen, sweating in this heat, making juice that doesn't really taste that good, and cleaning a stupid juice machine that has lots of little holes and crevasses in which vegetable matter hides, hoping that it will escape the fate of being taken out with the food garbage. And with the kids around all the time, it's difficult to find time to shop. And it's hot enough that just going shopping is justification for a shower when you get home. And being hungry sucks. And and and...
The benefits are showing. Last week I ran out of blood pressure medicine, so on Friday I went to my doctor's clinic. She was on vacation. Just a three day weekend, but my Monday was busy, so I couldn't make it in until Tuesday. She was impressed that my blood pressure was okay after five days with no medication, and cut my prescription in half. Which means I'm back to cutting pills in half again. The doctor visit and medicine cost me about $15 for two months, plus time and hassle. Leaving that behind will not be a huge quality difference in my life, but I'm looking forward to it, especially after hearing so many people tell me that hypertension is something you just treat by taking medicine every day for the rest of your life.
I'm looking thinner. (No, not another Stephen King review, sorry). The other day I got out my barber scissors and cut off about half a pound of facial hair. I was starting to resemble an Ewok with a perm, and it was time to do something about it. When I finished I had to stop and look at myself in the mirror. I'm not much of a mirror person, but my reflection really caught my eye this time.
The first thing I noticed is that I really need to clean the bathroom mirror. Yech. It's like someone is maximizing the amount of toothpaste spit spraying out of his mouth as he brushes his teeth. Maybe someone about six years old... Who could that be? Hmmm....
The next thing I notice is that my XL t-shirt hangs loose. All of them do. How does a L fit? I don't know. I haven't had a large size t-shirt in my wardrobe for many a year. I don't remember making the change, and am not sure that my shoulders can deal with a smaller size, but I may be finding out soon.
Seriously though, what I noticed was my face. The mirror selfie just doesn't capture the essence of what I see in the mirror. What I see is a guy whose face is not so round and pudgy. I see a few angles that weren't there before. I'm starting to see my Dad, which is not a bad thing at all. And by the way, how much do mirror selfies suck? The best thing I can say about this photo is that you can't tell that I'm not wearing pants.
Speaking of pants, I need to order new clothes for the fall. My waist has gone from a 43 or 44 down to about 40 inches. My 42 inch pants will slide right off with no belt and the wiggle that got me through college. I'm just reluctant to order something in 40 inches because I am confident that this is not the end of my journey. I'm not sure where it ends, other than the inevitable end that we all come to.
But it is a tough journey, like every other worthwhile goal I've ever striven for: the struggle to marry Horyon, moving to America, getting my master's degree, raising kids, being a teacher. They all take time and effort.
My spiritual journey is also a long, difficult one, but substantially different. I feel like weight and health have fairly stable goals: realistically, you can only dedicate so much time each day to your health, and once you reach the point of diminishing returns, there's no point in trying to eke out another 15 minutes to add to your three hours of daily exercising. Once you have a healthy diet going, it's about maintaining, not reverting to eating an entire fried chicken by yourself.
But growing spiritually is different. I'm not sure if there is an end goal this side of dying.
And that will be the focus of my next post.
At one month I had lost nine kilograms (20 lbs). At two and a half months so far, I have taken off another four kg (9 lbs), though I have been another kilogram lower for a day or two. But yes, I've been stuck at the lucky -13 kg mark for a few weeks now.
The main reason I am not making much progress is that both of my kids are on vacation. They require a lot of attention, and what feels like constant feeding. I am trying to avoid taking them to restaurants, and it is very hard for me to cook without eating, because I'm a fairly good cook. I try to keep my portions down, but going back for seconds is an old habit that is fighting like hell to not go gently into that dark night.
No. Not Batman. He's the Dark Knight. Get it together, fanboy.
Sorry about that. Yesterday Horyon told me that she is being patient with me and my short temper, and it made me realize that I have not been the most pleasant of company to be around. My body is sure that this is a disaster. After all, historically if a person were loosing weight like this, it would signify a food shortage, or disease, or perhaps some sort of war. In those circumstances, it doesn't pay to be nice, so my brain is going into full-on self-preservation mode. Sometimes it takes a very deliberate act of will to counter this tendency, and if I have been using my will power all day to not snarf cookies or rice or whatever, I just don't have much will power left.
I am also just having trouble motivating myself to spend 90 minutes in the kitchen, sweating in this heat, making juice that doesn't really taste that good, and cleaning a stupid juice machine that has lots of little holes and crevasses in which vegetable matter hides, hoping that it will escape the fate of being taken out with the food garbage. And with the kids around all the time, it's difficult to find time to shop. And it's hot enough that just going shopping is justification for a shower when you get home. And being hungry sucks. And and and...
The benefits are showing. Last week I ran out of blood pressure medicine, so on Friday I went to my doctor's clinic. She was on vacation. Just a three day weekend, but my Monday was busy, so I couldn't make it in until Tuesday. She was impressed that my blood pressure was okay after five days with no medication, and cut my prescription in half. Which means I'm back to cutting pills in half again. The doctor visit and medicine cost me about $15 for two months, plus time and hassle. Leaving that behind will not be a huge quality difference in my life, but I'm looking forward to it, especially after hearing so many people tell me that hypertension is something you just treat by taking medicine every day for the rest of your life.
I'm looking thinner. (No, not another Stephen King review, sorry). The other day I got out my barber scissors and cut off about half a pound of facial hair. I was starting to resemble an Ewok with a perm, and it was time to do something about it. When I finished I had to stop and look at myself in the mirror. I'm not much of a mirror person, but my reflection really caught my eye this time.
 |
| Phone in one hand, mosquito bat in the other. Ready for all 1:00 a.m. eventualities. |
The next thing I notice is that my XL t-shirt hangs loose. All of them do. How does a L fit? I don't know. I haven't had a large size t-shirt in my wardrobe for many a year. I don't remember making the change, and am not sure that my shoulders can deal with a smaller size, but I may be finding out soon.
Seriously though, what I noticed was my face. The mirror selfie just doesn't capture the essence of what I see in the mirror. What I see is a guy whose face is not so round and pudgy. I see a few angles that weren't there before. I'm starting to see my Dad, which is not a bad thing at all. And by the way, how much do mirror selfies suck? The best thing I can say about this photo is that you can't tell that I'm not wearing pants.
Speaking of pants, I need to order new clothes for the fall. My waist has gone from a 43 or 44 down to about 40 inches. My 42 inch pants will slide right off with no belt and the wiggle that got me through college. I'm just reluctant to order something in 40 inches because I am confident that this is not the end of my journey. I'm not sure where it ends, other than the inevitable end that we all come to.
But it is a tough journey, like every other worthwhile goal I've ever striven for: the struggle to marry Horyon, moving to America, getting my master's degree, raising kids, being a teacher. They all take time and effort.
My spiritual journey is also a long, difficult one, but substantially different. I feel like weight and health have fairly stable goals: realistically, you can only dedicate so much time each day to your health, and once you reach the point of diminishing returns, there's no point in trying to eke out another 15 minutes to add to your three hours of daily exercising. Once you have a healthy diet going, it's about maintaining, not reverting to eating an entire fried chicken by yourself.
But growing spiritually is different. I'm not sure if there is an end goal this side of dying.
And that will be the focus of my next post.
Wednesday, August 05, 2015
Stephen King's The Shining, a review
A friend from work recently lent me a copy of Doctor Sleep, Stephen King's recent sequel to his 1977 book The Shining. So I bought the Kindle version of The Shining (only $2, how could I resist?) and am rereading it for the first time in about 20 years. I am writing this review as I read it. Needless to say, there will be spoilers aplenty. I think that when a book is pushing 30 years old you are no longer obligated to keep the ending a secret. Nevertheless, I will attempt to at least spoil it in stages. That way, if you decide early in the review to read the book you can stop, bookmark the Roblog (as if) go read the book, then come back here. If you are like pre-parent me, you will probably finish it in a day or two.
The first quarter of the book is a much more interesting story than I remember it being. The central character is Jack Torrance, an author attempting to overcome his own inner demons. These manifest as alcoholism and self destructive rage. In the film he is played by Jack Nicholson. It's been too long since I've seen it, but Jack is very good at portraying anger boiling away just barely under the surface, which is perfect for the character of Jack in the first half of the story.
Jack's wife, Wendy, is caught between a rock and a hard place. When she married Jack it was partly love and partly to escape her emotionally abusive mother. She was close to her father, but he died of natural causes long before the beginning of the book. (I should note that while most "natural causes" in Stephen King books involve screaming and bloodletting, her father had a heart attack or some other mundane ending.) She loves Jack, but she is a little afraid of him, though very protective for their son, Danny. Wendy is played by Shelly Duvall. As I recall she did a pretty good job of being scared.
Danny is the first supernatural element in The Shining. He's a typical five-year-old, learning to read, riding a Big Wheel, adjusting to a new kindergarten, and loving his parents in spite of their flaws, especially his dad. But he also does some astral projection, can read the minds of others without even trying, and has occasional clairvoyant episodes. He is a good kid, especially considering some of the adult concepts that he is unwittingly exposed to, like sex, divorce and suicide. King does an amazing job of conveying the viewpoint of a child without being at all patronizing or simplistic. As I read I wanted to put my arms around Danny and send good thoughts his way.
The book opens with the Torrance family preparing to move to a big, fancy hotel in the mountains. It feels like they are on a path back to success, and this winter caretaker job at an old resort in the Colorado mountains will be just what they need. As they prepare, all three flashback on key incidents from their lives. We get some happy moments and some Stephen King moments.
Jack is an alcoholic, so many of the memories center around his need to get drunk. One of his key memories is of getting a ride from his friend, Al, both of them drunk, when Al runs his car over a bicycle. Fortunately there is no one on the bicycle, though they spend a tense half hour searching for the body that must have been with the now thoroughly mangled bicycle. This is the beginning of Jack's sobriety, though it doesn't eliminate his rage.
There is a memory of violence between Jack and two-year-old Danny that is both sickening and scary. Jack looses his temper and breaks Danny's arm. As soon as he realizes what he has done he feels horrible, and does what he can to make it right. But a similar loss of control with a student later causes him to lose his teaching job, which drives him to a winter caretaker position at The Overlook Hotel, a mountain resort for the well heeled.
The second quarter of the book introduces The Overlook, and sees the family settled in. We briefly meet Dick Halloran, the head chef. He has the same talent as Danny, but not nearly as strong. He calls it "the shining," and tells Danny that there are some disturbing things at The Overlook. He warns Danny to avoid a couple of specific places, and tells him to mentally call for help if he needs it. Danny does end up seeing some disturbing things, like blood and brain spattered walls, and a dead woman in a bathtub, but he follows Dick's advice to close his eyes, and they do go away. At first.
Things seem to be going well for the Torrance family, but Danny has a strong feeling that things will not go well. He has glimpsed a future of flame and pain at The Overlook, but he is devoted to his father, and can hear his father's thoughts at times. Thoughts about how this job is his last chance to get his life started, and that if he loses it he will slip back into alcoholism, "the bad thing."
In the third quarter, The Overlook finishes the shift from setting to character. The villain, to be precise. Danny goes out to play in the hotel's playground, finding his way into the concrete tunnels that were the hallmark of all awesome playgrounds in the 1970s. (The one that I remember was in Gage Park, Topeka, I think. We didn't get there very often, but when we did it was The Bomb.) One end of the tunnel is exposed, so he crawls in. When he finds the other end blocked by snow, he turns to crawl back out and suddenly feels like another child is there with him. One who wants him to stay and play. Forever. He narrowly escapes the tunnel, only to find that the topiary* is doing spooky things, moving when he isn't looking at them, like the Crying Angels from Doctor Who. He escapes with scratches and torn clothes, then has to deal with his parents. Wendy readily believes his story, and wants the family to leave. Jack has already been creeped out by the topiary, but has convinced himself that it was an hallucination. He has bought so deeply into this deception that he is ready to punish Danny for lying.
Needless to say, as we progress through the last half of the book Jack slips further from sanity and revisits alcoholism. He not only revisits, but settles in and signs a long-term lease, despite the fact that there were no alcoholic beverages in the hotel when the family arrived. As he makes this journey, fueled by The Overlook and it's ghostly inhabitants, Jack remembers his childhood, and the horrors inflicted by his alcoholic father. He finds himself talking like his father, and acting like his father. King manages to paint Jack Torrance as a very difficult character, the sympathetic villain. Yes, he has created all of the messes that he has to deal with (other than the haunted hotel). Yes, he has a history of being a jerk, and yes, he broke his own son's arm. But he doesn't want to be his father, and he is trying to be better. The feelings he has are at heart the same ones that I have sometimes felt: that he has been disrespected, cheated, unfairly punished. Everyone has felt the urge to hurt another person. The only difference is that his self-control kicked in too late. The Shining is a classic tragedy, with a sympatheic character sliding down into a disaster of his own creation, albeit with a supernatural twist.
King's major talent as a horror writer is taking the everyday, common things and using them to terrorize and kill everyone around them. Cujo, a regular dog, possessed by rabies/demons. Carrie and Firestarter, girls who seems normal until the pain of their regular lives wake up something powerful and deadly. Christine, a classic car with a temper. It. Clowns who float in the sewer. Ugh. The Stand, where catching a cold leads to the end of civilization as we know it as well as the final showdown between good and evil. But The Shining hits closest to home, because it takes that one person who is always supposed to be safe and dependable--the father--and convinces you that under the perfect horrible circumstances he will break down the door and beat you to death with a roque** mallet.
Jack starts with the best intentions. He makes repairs to the building, regularly checks the boiler pressure, spends quality time with his family, and is making progress on the play he is writing. But as winter approaches, he starts looking through the old paperwork in the basement: mostly receipts, invoices and other dry documents. In all that detritus he finds a scrapbook documenting the seedier side of The Overlook's history, including connections to organized crime, drug overdoses, scandals and cover-ups, and of course, death. Jack becomes obsessed with this history. At first he imagines writing it up as a book, but he gradually starts picturing himself in that history. The more he learns, the more clearly he starts to see and hear bits of that history in the present. In one memorable scene he goes to the hotel bar, orders one hundred martinis, and starts drinking and talking with the bartender. He never sees anything more than a closed up, empty bar, but he senses the party around him, just out of sight. He can feel the judgmental stares of the guests on his back. He can almost hear the crash of the empty glasses as he throws them over his shoulder. He doesn't quite get drunk off the the "martians" that aren't there, but they prod his slumbering alcoholism into semi-wakefulness.
Wendy notices. She knows that there is nothing stronger than a bottle of cooking sherry in the hotel, and she can't smell alcohol on Jack's breath, but she recognizes the behaviors: the arrogance, the constant wiping of his lips, the drop off in his writing. Somehow Jack is getting his drink on as we come into the last quarter of the book.
As Jack's hallucinations become stronger, they cross the line and become reality. At first in small ways, bits of confetti, a party mask. When the drinks become real to him, he more easily buys into the hotel's promises, that he is a potential manager. The Overlook demands that he take control of his wife and child, because it feeds on power like the shining. It wants Danny to die so that it can become more powerful.
By the time Danny and Wendy realize the danger they are in, it is too late to escape. The Overlook is snowed in, all communication is cut off, and they are fifteen miles from the nearest town. When Jack attempts to strangle Wendy, Danny mentally screams for Dick Halloran to come. He hears it all the way in Florida, strong enough to make him blank out for a few seconds. Dick lies to his boss, and takes off for Colorado.
Wendy and Danny manage to knock Jack out and lock him in the pantry during this first attack. They both realize that he is no longer in control of himself, but they don't want to hurt him, they just want to survive as a family. But The Overlook has its hooks in Jack, and is also siphoning off Danny's power. It is materially weak, but strong enough to let Jack out of his cage. He finds his roque mallet and his wife, and almost kills her. He goes after Danny next, but is distracted by Dick's arrival.
Dick has had a harrowing trip, culminating in dealing with the hotel's topiary. He manages to destroy the dog, but not without taking some injuries. He enters The Overlook and starts looking for Danny, but is quickly ambushed by Jack and is seriously injured.
Jack then resumes his search for Danny. Their final confrontation is heart wrenching. I know that I promised spoilers, but the ending itself I just can't bring myself to share. If you really want to know, ask in the comments and I'll reply in the comments. But first I will suggest that you get a copy of this book and read the heck out of it. And if you have read it before, but the last time you were single, and/or without offspring, read it again. It will tug at the daddy-heart-strings in a surprisingly effective way. Maybe the mommy-heart-strings, too.
I am now 138 pages into Doctor Sleep. The transition from one to the other is very smooth, especially considering the 36 years between publication dates. The Shining was very rich in a minimalist way, having only five major characters (including The Overlook) and covering a span of only about four months (not counting flashbacks), but Dr. Sleep is 638 pages of world and character building. It's a logical extension of what the whole country is like if the shining is something that some people actually have, and spooky hotels aren't necessarily the scariest thing out there.
At some point, I think in my late 20s, I took in too much Stephen King at once, and just like when you take in too much tequila at once, it kind of put me off. This one-two punch has knocked some sense into me, and I am now prepared to put his works back into rotation. If you have also given up on reading his stuff, you might give these two books a try. And if you've never read any of his stuff, this would be a good place to start.
* One thing I like about King is that when he throws in vocabulary that I'm not sure about he almost always explains it through context. In this case, shrubbery trimmed
** If it hadn't been explained it in the book, I wouldn't have known that roque is similar to croquet, so a roque mallet is a big, wooden hammer.
The first quarter of the book is a much more interesting story than I remember it being. The central character is Jack Torrance, an author attempting to overcome his own inner demons. These manifest as alcoholism and self destructive rage. In the film he is played by Jack Nicholson. It's been too long since I've seen it, but Jack is very good at portraying anger boiling away just barely under the surface, which is perfect for the character of Jack in the first half of the story.
Jack's wife, Wendy, is caught between a rock and a hard place. When she married Jack it was partly love and partly to escape her emotionally abusive mother. She was close to her father, but he died of natural causes long before the beginning of the book. (I should note that while most "natural causes" in Stephen King books involve screaming and bloodletting, her father had a heart attack or some other mundane ending.) She loves Jack, but she is a little afraid of him, though very protective for their son, Danny. Wendy is played by Shelly Duvall. As I recall she did a pretty good job of being scared.
Danny is the first supernatural element in The Shining. He's a typical five-year-old, learning to read, riding a Big Wheel, adjusting to a new kindergarten, and loving his parents in spite of their flaws, especially his dad. But he also does some astral projection, can read the minds of others without even trying, and has occasional clairvoyant episodes. He is a good kid, especially considering some of the adult concepts that he is unwittingly exposed to, like sex, divorce and suicide. King does an amazing job of conveying the viewpoint of a child without being at all patronizing or simplistic. As I read I wanted to put my arms around Danny and send good thoughts his way.
The book opens with the Torrance family preparing to move to a big, fancy hotel in the mountains. It feels like they are on a path back to success, and this winter caretaker job at an old resort in the Colorado mountains will be just what they need. As they prepare, all three flashback on key incidents from their lives. We get some happy moments and some Stephen King moments.
Jack is an alcoholic, so many of the memories center around his need to get drunk. One of his key memories is of getting a ride from his friend, Al, both of them drunk, when Al runs his car over a bicycle. Fortunately there is no one on the bicycle, though they spend a tense half hour searching for the body that must have been with the now thoroughly mangled bicycle. This is the beginning of Jack's sobriety, though it doesn't eliminate his rage.
There is a memory of violence between Jack and two-year-old Danny that is both sickening and scary. Jack looses his temper and breaks Danny's arm. As soon as he realizes what he has done he feels horrible, and does what he can to make it right. But a similar loss of control with a student later causes him to lose his teaching job, which drives him to a winter caretaker position at The Overlook Hotel, a mountain resort for the well heeled.
The second quarter of the book introduces The Overlook, and sees the family settled in. We briefly meet Dick Halloran, the head chef. He has the same talent as Danny, but not nearly as strong. He calls it "the shining," and tells Danny that there are some disturbing things at The Overlook. He warns Danny to avoid a couple of specific places, and tells him to mentally call for help if he needs it. Danny does end up seeing some disturbing things, like blood and brain spattered walls, and a dead woman in a bathtub, but he follows Dick's advice to close his eyes, and they do go away. At first.
Things seem to be going well for the Torrance family, but Danny has a strong feeling that things will not go well. He has glimpsed a future of flame and pain at The Overlook, but he is devoted to his father, and can hear his father's thoughts at times. Thoughts about how this job is his last chance to get his life started, and that if he loses it he will slip back into alcoholism, "the bad thing."
In the third quarter, The Overlook finishes the shift from setting to character. The villain, to be precise. Danny goes out to play in the hotel's playground, finding his way into the concrete tunnels that were the hallmark of all awesome playgrounds in the 1970s. (The one that I remember was in Gage Park, Topeka, I think. We didn't get there very often, but when we did it was The Bomb.) One end of the tunnel is exposed, so he crawls in. When he finds the other end blocked by snow, he turns to crawl back out and suddenly feels like another child is there with him. One who wants him to stay and play. Forever. He narrowly escapes the tunnel, only to find that the topiary* is doing spooky things, moving when he isn't looking at them, like the Crying Angels from Doctor Who. He escapes with scratches and torn clothes, then has to deal with his parents. Wendy readily believes his story, and wants the family to leave. Jack has already been creeped out by the topiary, but has convinced himself that it was an hallucination. He has bought so deeply into this deception that he is ready to punish Danny for lying.
Needless to say, as we progress through the last half of the book Jack slips further from sanity and revisits alcoholism. He not only revisits, but settles in and signs a long-term lease, despite the fact that there were no alcoholic beverages in the hotel when the family arrived. As he makes this journey, fueled by The Overlook and it's ghostly inhabitants, Jack remembers his childhood, and the horrors inflicted by his alcoholic father. He finds himself talking like his father, and acting like his father. King manages to paint Jack Torrance as a very difficult character, the sympathetic villain. Yes, he has created all of the messes that he has to deal with (other than the haunted hotel). Yes, he has a history of being a jerk, and yes, he broke his own son's arm. But he doesn't want to be his father, and he is trying to be better. The feelings he has are at heart the same ones that I have sometimes felt: that he has been disrespected, cheated, unfairly punished. Everyone has felt the urge to hurt another person. The only difference is that his self-control kicked in too late. The Shining is a classic tragedy, with a sympatheic character sliding down into a disaster of his own creation, albeit with a supernatural twist.
King's major talent as a horror writer is taking the everyday, common things and using them to terrorize and kill everyone around them. Cujo, a regular dog, possessed by rabies/demons. Carrie and Firestarter, girls who seems normal until the pain of their regular lives wake up something powerful and deadly. Christine, a classic car with a temper. It. Clowns who float in the sewer. Ugh. The Stand, where catching a cold leads to the end of civilization as we know it as well as the final showdown between good and evil. But The Shining hits closest to home, because it takes that one person who is always supposed to be safe and dependable--the father--and convinces you that under the perfect horrible circumstances he will break down the door and beat you to death with a roque** mallet.
Jack starts with the best intentions. He makes repairs to the building, regularly checks the boiler pressure, spends quality time with his family, and is making progress on the play he is writing. But as winter approaches, he starts looking through the old paperwork in the basement: mostly receipts, invoices and other dry documents. In all that detritus he finds a scrapbook documenting the seedier side of The Overlook's history, including connections to organized crime, drug overdoses, scandals and cover-ups, and of course, death. Jack becomes obsessed with this history. At first he imagines writing it up as a book, but he gradually starts picturing himself in that history. The more he learns, the more clearly he starts to see and hear bits of that history in the present. In one memorable scene he goes to the hotel bar, orders one hundred martinis, and starts drinking and talking with the bartender. He never sees anything more than a closed up, empty bar, but he senses the party around him, just out of sight. He can feel the judgmental stares of the guests on his back. He can almost hear the crash of the empty glasses as he throws them over his shoulder. He doesn't quite get drunk off the the "martians" that aren't there, but they prod his slumbering alcoholism into semi-wakefulness.
Wendy notices. She knows that there is nothing stronger than a bottle of cooking sherry in the hotel, and she can't smell alcohol on Jack's breath, but she recognizes the behaviors: the arrogance, the constant wiping of his lips, the drop off in his writing. Somehow Jack is getting his drink on as we come into the last quarter of the book.
As Jack's hallucinations become stronger, they cross the line and become reality. At first in small ways, bits of confetti, a party mask. When the drinks become real to him, he more easily buys into the hotel's promises, that he is a potential manager. The Overlook demands that he take control of his wife and child, because it feeds on power like the shining. It wants Danny to die so that it can become more powerful.
By the time Danny and Wendy realize the danger they are in, it is too late to escape. The Overlook is snowed in, all communication is cut off, and they are fifteen miles from the nearest town. When Jack attempts to strangle Wendy, Danny mentally screams for Dick Halloran to come. He hears it all the way in Florida, strong enough to make him blank out for a few seconds. Dick lies to his boss, and takes off for Colorado.
Wendy and Danny manage to knock Jack out and lock him in the pantry during this first attack. They both realize that he is no longer in control of himself, but they don't want to hurt him, they just want to survive as a family. But The Overlook has its hooks in Jack, and is also siphoning off Danny's power. It is materially weak, but strong enough to let Jack out of his cage. He finds his roque mallet and his wife, and almost kills her. He goes after Danny next, but is distracted by Dick's arrival.
Dick has had a harrowing trip, culminating in dealing with the hotel's topiary. He manages to destroy the dog, but not without taking some injuries. He enters The Overlook and starts looking for Danny, but is quickly ambushed by Jack and is seriously injured.
Jack then resumes his search for Danny. Their final confrontation is heart wrenching. I know that I promised spoilers, but the ending itself I just can't bring myself to share. If you really want to know, ask in the comments and I'll reply in the comments. But first I will suggest that you get a copy of this book and read the heck out of it. And if you have read it before, but the last time you were single, and/or without offspring, read it again. It will tug at the daddy-heart-strings in a surprisingly effective way. Maybe the mommy-heart-strings, too.
I am now 138 pages into Doctor Sleep. The transition from one to the other is very smooth, especially considering the 36 years between publication dates. The Shining was very rich in a minimalist way, having only five major characters (including The Overlook) and covering a span of only about four months (not counting flashbacks), but Dr. Sleep is 638 pages of world and character building. It's a logical extension of what the whole country is like if the shining is something that some people actually have, and spooky hotels aren't necessarily the scariest thing out there.
At some point, I think in my late 20s, I took in too much Stephen King at once, and just like when you take in too much tequila at once, it kind of put me off. This one-two punch has knocked some sense into me, and I am now prepared to put his works back into rotation. If you have also given up on reading his stuff, you might give these two books a try. And if you've never read any of his stuff, this would be a good place to start.
* One thing I like about King is that when he throws in vocabulary that I'm not sure about he almost always explains it through context. In this case, shrubbery trimmed
** If it hadn't been explained it in the book, I wouldn't have known that roque is similar to croquet, so a roque mallet is a big, wooden hammer.
Monday, June 22, 2015
A Month of Juice
It's been a month since we bought a juicer (May 22nd). I would have been the first to guess that it would quickly find a home in a cabinet, to be pulled out from time to time to impress other people or make the kids happy.
Instead, a funny thing has happened: I've lost 9 kilograms. That's 20 pounds! From 117 point mumble-mumble down to 108.1! I am still a big, heavy guy, but not as heavy as I was.
Nor as light as I will be.
I am just going to answer some questions that I've been asked a lot. Once again, I'm not sure how to go about making a narrative of this, because I'm not sure what the end of the story is, exactly.
Q: What do you put in the juice?
A: Buchu, kale, spinach, cabbage, carrot, and ginger are my reliable standbys. Add to the mix apple, asian pear, orange, beets, various greens as found at the market, tomato, cucumber, broccoli, and whatever else I can find cheap. That's the juice itself, then I add some fresh tofu and blend it until it changes from a sharp green to more of an avocado green.
Q: What is buchu?
A: Allium Tuberosum. The Wikipedia article is pretty straightforward about it, but if you Google it you will find that many consider it to be a very healthy food. Koreans make a kind of fresh (not aged) kimchi with it that is served with one of my favorite foods, pork soup (
Q: Isn't the whole juice cleanse thing kind of...
A: There's no need to be polite. You can call it bullshit in front of me. Strictly speaking, yes. There are so many conditions piled on the juice fast concept that many of them alone would make a big difference. For example, most of my snacking now is juice, fruit or vegetables, and I have had soda once since starting this. I miss potato chips almost as much as I miss my parents.
Q: What's the most difficult part of this diet?
A: Making the juice. It takes a solid 90 minutes from the time I start washing vegetables until the components of the juice machine are drying on the rack and the juice is in containers in the fridge. If I am also cooking for the kids, and doing dishes from other people in the house, it adds to the time I spend standing in front of the sink.
Q: Is this sustainable?
A: Not long term. My friend Chad did 30 days of nothing but juice, I haven't gone more than two or three days without other food. My intent is to integrate vegetables and fruits into my diet. When I look at the typical pile of vegetables that are going to be my calorie intake for the day,
A friend told me that his daughter said I would probably lose weight and be healthy if I just ate all of those vegetables. True, but less likely to happen than me drinking the bottles of juice that came from them.
Instead, a funny thing has happened: I've lost 9 kilograms. That's 20 pounds! From 117 point mumble-mumble down to 108.1! I am still a big, heavy guy, but not as heavy as I was.
Nor as light as I will be.
I am just going to answer some questions that I've been asked a lot. Once again, I'm not sure how to go about making a narrative of this, because I'm not sure what the end of the story is, exactly.
Q: What do you put in the juice?
A: Buchu, kale, spinach, cabbage, carrot, and ginger are my reliable standbys. Add to the mix apple, asian pear, orange, beets, various greens as found at the market, tomato, cucumber, broccoli, and whatever else I can find cheap. That's the juice itself, then I add some fresh tofu and blend it until it changes from a sharp green to more of an avocado green.
A: Allium Tuberosum. The Wikipedia article is pretty straightforward about it, but if you Google it you will find that many consider it to be a very healthy food. Koreans make a kind of fresh (not aged) kimchi with it that is served with one of my favorite foods, pork soup (
Q: Isn't the whole juice cleanse thing kind of...
A: There's no need to be polite. You can call it bullshit in front of me. Strictly speaking, yes. There are so many conditions piled on the juice fast concept that many of them alone would make a big difference. For example, most of my snacking now is juice, fruit or vegetables, and I have had soda once since starting this. I miss potato chips almost as much as I miss my parents.
Q: What's the most difficult part of this diet?
A: Making the juice. It takes a solid 90 minutes from the time I start washing vegetables until the components of the juice machine are drying on the rack and the juice is in containers in the fridge. If I am also cooking for the kids, and doing dishes from other people in the house, it adds to the time I spend standing in front of the sink.
Q: Is this sustainable?
A: Not long term. My friend Chad did 30 days of nothing but juice, I haven't gone more than two or three days without other food. My intent is to integrate vegetables and fruits into my diet. When I look at the typical pile of vegetables that are going to be my calorie intake for the day,
A friend told me that his daughter said I would probably lose weight and be healthy if I just ate all of those vegetables. True, but less likely to happen than me drinking the bottles of juice that came from them.
Q: Aren't you hungry a lot?
A: Yes, but when I am hungry I drink some juice or water. That's the plan, anyway. When I am on the ball, and carrying a a bottle with me, I sip it through the day. The point of this is to convince my body that I am not, in fact, starving. In the past I've done this with chocolates, junk food, and sugary drinks. The juice is a dose of vitamins and stuff that gets the message across and actually addresses legitimate needs that my body has. Plus it is just not that appetizing as a snack, so it tends to shut down the hunger pretty quickly.
Q: Do you feel lighter?
A: Believe it or not, after losing 9 kilograms I still don't feel lighter. The change has been gradual enough that I don't feel like I'm walking on air. That said, my feet don't hurt as much. I used to wake up in the morning with sore feet. After all, they carried me around all day. Now that I've set so much weight aside, I have fewer leg cramps and my feet are happier.
Q: So what other differences have you noticed?
A: My clothes fit more loosely. A few very large shirts and pants have passed into ridiculously baggy territory, and the pants that were too tight last month are very wearable now. I've gone from a 44 inch waist to 42, and can probably wear the 40 inch pants that are hidden in the closet.
Q: And...?
A: I've been on Sevikar for hypertension (high blood pressure) for about five years now. With it I had been maintaining a blood pressure of about 120/90, which is on the high end of normal. My most recent measurement was 107/67. Not low enough to be a problem, but creeping down. This medicine only costs about $15 per month, but the idea of ditching it is very appealing.
Q: What do you want to eat when you finish your diet?
A: Here's the thing, I've been eating things I want to eat from time to time. This isn't like coming back from Nepal. For one thing, when I returned from Nepal my body was a rice burning machine; I could put away a heaping plateful of rice and dal curry, and ask for seconds. I came to Korea and always, ALWAYS ordered a second bowl of rice to go with my food. In some ways, I never got over that. But now my stomach has gotten used to taking in less food. When I have eaten real food, I get full much faster. I recently cooked hamburgers, french fries and broccoli for the kids. I served myself fries and broccoli, but no burger. I had a few bites from each of the kids' burger, maybe a third of one burger total, and that was enough. My stomach was done, and it told me so.
The problem is that my brain just loves a good burger. If I had cooked one for myself, I would have eaten it plus what Maxine and Quinten left. I am truly in a battle against my own brain, and always have been. Now at least my stomach is more on my side.
Q: You didn't answer the question. Stop lecturing me and tell me what you want to eat.
A: Jeez, no need to be a jerk about it. I want to go to Pizza Mall. It's a pizza buffet with some of the best tasting pizza I've had in Korea. $10 for lunch, $13 for dinner and on weekends. It's a dangerous reward, but I'm also considering it a test: will I be able to eat a reasonable amount at a buffet, or will I pig out? I am trying to set myself up for success on this one. I will pick up one slice at a time. I will savor each slice. I will rest before returning to the buffet. I will drink water, and maybe have some juice before I go. I will get my money's worth in satisfaction rather than volume. I can do this.
Q: Have there been any downsides to this?
A: My body is coming around, but for the first two or three weeks it was convinced that I was starving. I was short tempered and easily tired. The food was gone, and so was the fun. The first three days without caffeine was particularly painful, though revealing of my dependence. Resuming coffee consumption has made me a much more cheerful dieter. And I have had some slight back pain. I assume that this is a combination of changing bikes (my mountain bike was in the shop for two weeks, putting me on the road bike, then back to the mountain bike), carrying my body weight differently (maybe my posture needs to adjust?), and all the time I spend hunkered over the juice machine and kitchen sink. Honestly, I am still somewhat irritable after meal times.
Q: Aren't you missing out on all that vegetable fiber?
A: Nope. If you don't want to read about poops and farts, skip this next bit. I am missing out on some of it, for sure. My clockwork throne time (every morning, 15 minutes after waking up if not sooner, a few sips of coffee can always hurry it along) has become intermittent: every couple of days or so, and sometimes not of satisfying consistency. And (ick) green. Red when I supplement with beets. But some fiber is soluble, and I am getting that. And the juicer is not perfect. Since I don't strain my juice, it has a consistency thicker than V8, like pulpy orange juice. The tofu also adds to the mix. And here's a shocker: I don't fart as much as before. It hasn't quite become special enough to write home about (Dear Mom: You won't believe what just happened!), but it's definitely less frequent and less hazardous!
Q: Ick.
A: I told you not to read that last part if you can't deal with bodily functions. Speaking of which, when I'm on the full juice and water, I have to pee every hour or two. Giving the kidneys a workout, I guess. Hopefully avoiding kidney stones.
Q: I want to ask you more questions about this, but I'm not actually another person. I'm just you pretending to be another person.
A: Wow, this is awkward. I've really enjoyed this conversation, but finding out that all along it wasn't real... I feel used. By myself. Ew.
That's enough Q and A. Maybe more than enough. Anyway, I would be happy to answer more questions. From real people. Who aren't me. Just write them in the comments here, or on my Facebook link to this post, or just post on my wall.
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