creative.mother.thinking

explaining my life to strangers

Susanne

My one goal for the year – fail

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So you might recall that at the beginning of this year I actually made a goal (and only one this time), I made it public, and I told you all about it, then I wrote a follow-up post, and then you just never heard anything more about it. In fact you didn’t hear much at all from me, and one of the multitude of reasons is that I will not finish my goal. Nor do I continue to try. I’ve had enough.

My goal was to, and I quote:

Lose 10 kilos of weight or more.

Until the end of the year, and then I’d do it all again next year, and stay at something between 64 and 70 kilos for the rest of my life. At least that was the plan.

For once I really was on a kind of diet but it didn’t last long, and sweets and beer kept creeping back. Actually, I’m telling this as if they popped up in my house like weeds, and the only way to get rid of them was to eat them. But that’s not the case. Fact is that I brought those things into the house, and I did it because I happen to like sweets and beer. And maybe, just maybe I happen to like sweets and beer more than losing weight.

The connection between what I eat or drink, and my weight is weird at best. I’ve had phases in my life when I could eat and drink like a partying teenager and not gain a gram, and other times I would gain weight the minute I ate anything vaguely food-like. I have gained weight while exercising daily, and I have lost weight while not exercising at all.

In fact if I were to evaluate my past “weight-loss successes” I’d say the one that worked best for me was being totally unhappy about my love life, so much so that I didn’t want to eat anything (worked three times, I think), closely followed by the time when I just concentrated on thinking about my music instead of being fat. One time I lost weight because I was afraid that my teeth would fall out from lack of nutrition. That worked too.

I’m still quite sure that my body would want to be somewhat lighter if I just let him, but I’m also extremely sure that

  • feeling bad when drinking beer is not the answer.
  • buying clothes that are too small is not the answer.
  • feeling bad while bingeing on gummy bears is not the answer.
  • setting myself a goal of not drinking alcohol for the rest of the year, and then downing not one but two beers two hours later is not the answer.
  • constantly thinking about how fat and disgusting I am is not the answer.
  • buying yet more books about weight loss is not the answer.
  • joining weight watchers is not the answer.
  • thinking that everybody who meets me thinks, “Oh my God, I can’t believe how fat she is.” is not the answer.
  • trying to take up less space is not the answer.
  • not going to the lake because I feel too fat for wearing a swimsuit is not the answer.
  • not having sex because I feel unattractive is not the answer.
  • living for a soon-to-be-here future when I’ll be feeling fabulous because I’m thin(ner) is definitely not the answer.

So I did several things this year (apart from not losing weight): I did start to care for myself again. I went to a couple of doctors and other health people, I got diagnosed with asthma which means I am now treated for asthma and I’m no longer afraid of keeling over from lack of breath. I also got myself treated for my hormonal/mood dilemmas. And all of that came back to the fact that I had thought I should be a nice, sensible, grown-up, mother-person. I thought I should take a step back from the limelight, be nice and kind, and mindful and all Buddhist about other people and my family. I tried to vanish into the background, and only do my own stuff in the small corners of my life.

Well, obviously my body doesn’t like me to vanish. I bet my soul doesn’t like me to either. So it made up for my lack of real fulfilling life by making me bigger. More cushioning is more protection, and maybe my body thinks that if it makes itself big enough I would eventually notice it again.

So I had been feeling like a total failure with the losing weight, and everybody says that you are supposed to have goals, and then follow them through all the way. And I didn’t.

And then I thought that I should concentrate on making music again, and art in general because I obviously need to, otherwise I get sick. No kidding. So I joined a group of women who are making art, and we made goals again, and I wrote them down, and I tried to follow them, and I started getting a bit weary about all these goals.

And then I read “Walking in This World” again. And did commit to do the program. I haven’t really started yet because I’m so busy. But just reading that had me thinking. Maybe being sensible isn’t all that good for me. After all it hasn’t really worked all these years, so why should it now. And would it really be so terrible to stay as overweight as I currently am? Healthwise I’m good. Women with a BMI of 30 to 35 live the longest and are the healthiest. I’ll just have to gain a pound or two and then I’m there.

And I thought that setting myself up for failure is really foolish. Telling myself that today I wouldn’t be eating or drinking something or other. When I knew deep down that I’d do it anyway later. So I quit. I quit all my goals, even the “make music for at least 30 minutes a day” goal.

And then I asked myself what I wanted to do. And I got myself a ukulele. Because it’s so totally silly and ridiculous, and it’s not about being a serious musician, and a virtuoso, and practicing hours and hours each day. It’s just about fun. And I love it. I am feeling a lot less unhappy these days. I also started weaving, and I’m reading tons of books about all kinds of stuff. Life is great again. And interesting.

And then, and this is really important, I found Ragen’s blog “Dances with Fat“, and a few days later my copy of “Nudeldicke Deern” arrived, and I had this feeling again that the universe is trying to tell me something.

I’m really fed up with feeling like I should be somewhat different. I think I’ll go and play and have some fun.

The most interesting thing is that the mood in the house has changed for the better ever since I decided to just do whatever I love to do at the moment. I eat what I want to eat, I play the music I want to play, I read the books I want to read, and I’m not living my life constantly checking all the lists and crossing things off. It’s totally great.

And I have been practicing this song all the time:

What I did during summer break so far

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Well, as you might have noticed I mainly stayed away from the blog. After a rainy and cold start we have had fully blown summer weather, and we tried to make the most of it while it lasted.  So this is just a quick post to tell you what happened till the end of July:

I went to a friend’s party in Bamberg:

onq

Bamberg 2011

I went to another Creative Arts Breakfast Meeting

Rode my bike to a nearby “Biergarten”

Biergarten Krailling

Took my son to see the Smurf movie. Went there by bike. It was my first ever 3D movie. I think I prefer the 2D kind.

Went to a fellow writer’s birthday party, brought my guitar along and sang to songs for her.

Along with my husband and son rode my bike to the Andechs monastery again. We tried a new route that was brutal. I saw this for the first time ever:

seefeld

After three hours of biking we absolutely had earned this:

andechs

and then we went all the way back home again.

Went to a writer’s meeting.

I had ordered a new spindle at the beginning of summer break and after only ten days it arrived. (I had ordered it because I found I need a medium weight one for the big sweater project I’m doing.) It’s a Bosworth Mini made of redheart wood, and it weighs 19 grams. It spend fabulous, and is very pretty.

bosworth

Invited two of our neighbors over for barbecue. They’ve been living next to us for seven years now but this was the first time ever that we did anything together. We had a very enjoyable afternoon and evening. My son’s besets friend came over as well and stayed overnight. Since we started in the afternoon, and it’s impossible to have anybody over after lunchtime without offering cake in Germany I made this:

apfelkuchen

Then we did our very first space clearing ever. Before we had had the impression that the house was full of bad vibes from the people who lived here before us. Now we feel much better.

space clearing

Then I got two packages in the mail. the first one is from LabCat from the US who tried to send this at the beginning of May because we did a swap. Well, after two months the package was back with her, German customs hadn’t wanted it to enter the country, for whatever reason. Since she spent the beginning of August in the UK she sent it again, and here it is:

vstring package

And on the very same day I got a package from the “fiber fairy”. No, really. In the revelry group I love the most there is a tradition of sending people fiber anonymously. Mostly when they’re having a bad time. Imagine my surprise when Dan of Gnomespun fiber sent me a message telling me that he needed my address because the yarn fairy had wanted to send me a gift. Wow. And it’s gorgeous. I’d say that I can’t wait to spin it but actually knowing myself it will be some time before I’ll get around to it.

gnomespun firebird

The another trip to the beergarden. Yes, we love it there. It’s in reasonable biking distance, it’s big and has gorgeous trees, the food isn’t too bad, and the beer is nice.

 

krailling

I always eat the same food there:

krailling again

And there were so many wasps that my son’s soft drink needed a cover:

krailling 2

Next thing we bikes to yet a different beer garden again, this time the Hirschgarten right in Munich. We went about 15 kilometers, a little more than an hour. We met a couple of people there (not pictured here):

Hirschgarten

Last week it was unbearably hot, and we went to a nearby lake so our son could practice swimming, this time by train because it was just too hot to bike, and then, a few days later, we went to a nearby outdoor pool, by bike again.

Then the weather cooled off, and we were happy to stay indoors again, as that is our natural habitat anyways. Of course, next thing we’re heading to Italy for camping. In a tent. We’re already starting to pack, and then we’ll be away for a week or so.

And, very exciting to me, I did manage to publish my very first ever sock pattern on ravelry. You can go and buy it. It’s available in German and English, and it’s anything but dull. Cables, lace, intricate construction, and very enjoyable to knit if I say so myself:

celtic summer socks

Handgemacht – Folge 16: Tour de Fleece 2011 Fazit

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Podcast: Play in new window | Download

Das Muster für die Celtic Summer Socks – Keltischer Sommer Socken ist fertig und kann käuflich erworben werden:

celtic summer socks

Mehr und schönere Fotos gibt es auf Evas Blog.

 

Gestrickt und gesponnen habe ich:

TdF2011-21

Außerdem noch: Wie macht man einen Podcast?

The best thing about going out is walking home afterwards

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Really. That’s always my favorite part. When I go out, to a concert usually, sometimes to meet people, or go to a restaurant, afterwards I take the train back, and it usually takes some time, and then after that I walk home.

Where I live now I have a ten to fifteen minute walk from the station, depending on which train station I get off. Usually it’s the fifteen minute walk because that means the train ticket is much cheaper. And I don’t mind the walking.

When I still lived in Munich I sometimes walked home for hours. Sometimes on high heels. You know how that goes, you are at a party, and it’s a bit out of the way, and you think you just walk to the nearest subway station instead of taking the bus because there aren’t that many buses in the middle of the night, and then when you arrive at the subway station the subway has just left, and that means you’d have to wait for twenty minutes, and so you decide to walk to the main station which is only thirty minutes away, and when you are there you decide that it wouln’t make much of a difference if you walked all the way.

Of course it helps if there’s someone walking with you. You talk and walk, two things that go together very well. But I also like walking alone.

There are women out there who don’t walk anywhere when it’s dark outside. For them each shadow must hold something evil ready to leap out at them. In all my years walking home after going out nothing has ever happened to me.

It’s usually pretty quiet then, there aren’t many people or cars around, and I can just walk home, think about the evening, maybe listen to some music on the way. Walking home makes a great transition between the buzz of the city and going out, and the quiet of my home.

My husband and I have taken to go to these free improvisation concerts lately. They start early, at 8, and they don’t last all that long so every time we go we plan to go for a beer afterwards. There’s a really great brewery next to the place where the concerts are; perfect.

And each time so far both of us just went out of the concert place, up the stairs, and then walked to the train station instead of taking the subway. We both declared that we’d rather go home soon. That meant walking for fifteen minutes to the train station, waiting for the train, taking the train, and then at the other end walk fifteen minutes again.

We have our best conversations while walking, and especially when walking home. Usually we then change from jeans to sweatpants, open a beer each, and talk some more but really, walking home is the best.

Sitting, waiting, wishing

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I spend a huge amount of my day sitting around and waiting. Waiting for my son to leave for school in the morning, then waiting for my husband to come to breakfast, waiting for my son to come back from school, waiting for work to start, waiting for students, waiting for phone calls, waiting for the time that I finally have time for myself, waiting for that miraculous space in my head that will enable me to make art at last, waiting for the weekend, waiting for Monday, waiting for my life to pass by.

Waiting for the time I lose weight, waiting for the time I suddenly get a grip on my life, waiting for the night so I can get some sleep – the list goes on and on.

And while I’m waiting I’m sitting in front of the computer, reading blogs, checking e-mail, reading and writing on ravelry, checking twitter. I sit there and tell myself that later I’ll surely do something productive, finish writing that knitting pattern, play the piano, sing a bit, finish sewing that skirt, edit that story. And then the next student comes, and I teach, and part of me waits for the lesson to be over, and then comes the time I’ve been looking forward for hours, the one hour of glorious free time that I have all to myself, and I’m all set to do, whatever, one of the things that are so important to me, only first I’ll check e-mail, and twitter, and ravelry, and then I have to go to the bathroom, and then I get hungry, and then there are only ten minutes left, and there’ll be another glorious opportunity, two hours later anyway.

It’s not that I don’t get things done at all. It’s just that a lot of my time and energy goes into the internet equivalent of watching soap operas. And all the time I fool myself, I list the things that I achieve, and it sounds mightily impressive until you see me sitting here on this chair all day long, looking into my monitor.

“I don’t have time for that.” I say. And I’m right in a way but in a different way this is like my son telling me that he has no time to pick up his room because he has to watch his favorite show on TV. Because there are only 30 minutes in an afternoon, aren’t there?

So for quite some time now I have been fighting this feeling that I’m just waiting until my life is over. Until my husband is dead, or my son has moved out, or something. It’s like I’m waiting for some magical transformation of my life, and then, at that point, I will emerge from all the waiting with my life suddenly just the way I’ve always imagined it.

I started to meet with a bunch of other women who meet every other week to help each other reach their creative goals. The last time I went there I told them that it’s not the time that I lack. It can’t be because I have two hours each day to waste on the internet. And one of them said, “Only two hours? But weren’t you the one who put a timer on her router?” Yep. That was me. The timer cuts me off from the internet between 10 pm and 8 am. I also disabled the wireless so I have to be near the ethernet cable to go on-line. Still, that leaves me with a lot of hours to spend sitting in front of the monitor, doing nothing productive.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the internet, and e-mail, and ravelry in particular but the question is how I feel after a day of checking in with my imagenary screen-friends, when I haven’t sung or played, or written, or picked up my bedroom.

So each day I try again, I kick myself in the butt, pick up after myself, exercise, do something productive on the computer, tear myself away from the screen to live my life here, in the moment, right where I am. I turn the computer off, I pull the ethernet cable out, I carry my laptop to the kitchen where I can’t connect to anything but myself. And then I hope that this day I will manage to spend my time with something else but sitting, waiting, and wishing.

(I know that “Sitting, Waiting, Wishing” is the title of a Jack Johnson song, and when I first heard that I instantly thought that line describes my life very well at the moment. I did have to look up the lyrics, though (not the chords by the way, interestingly I know those almost by heart by now) and the rest of the song does not have much to do with me.)

Story of the Month – Kissing Edith

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It has been a while since I last did a story of the month, I know. Not because I didn’t write any, mostly because there was something or other I wanted to fix on each of these stories before posting it. Sometimes because only half the story is on the computer, the other half I wrote into a notebook. And then there’s this one story that might turn into a novel – 18,000 words into it it has barely begun.

This one I wrote not for the monthly meeting of our writer’s group but for something called an Anti-Slam. I was quite nervous beforehand. We had a time limit, not more than 10 minutes of reading, I didn’t quite know who would be there, and how they would respond to my stuff. And then there’s always the strangeness of being a German who writes stories in English. That made me insecure as well. I was the last to read that evening. I usually like to go first. So there’s nothing to compare me to, and I get it over with. But not this time.

Kissing Edith

I met her in a class on the peoples and cultures of Nigeria. It was one of those classes that are always full to the brim at the beginning of the semester, with only three students left at the end. I don’t really know if she stayed. She was sitting next to a friend, tall, dressed in khaki pants and a tight tee, her skin tanned and smooth, and her hair – dark blonde and very short. She seemed calm, and strong, and competent – all things that I longed to become. One day.

I did meet her again, at university big band. Me, sitting in the back with half a dozen other singers while the band played one instrumental after the other, and her, standing in line with the other saxophone players, most of them male. She wasn’t bad, not bad at all, a woman who managed to look elegant and graceful in wide pants and sneakers.

So we met twice a week for half a year at least, maybe longer. I don’t recall for how long exactly, this was back in the days when I was young and naive, only a few years out of school. She had a nice smile but she didn’t talk much – unlike me – and she had this sparkle in her eyes.

Back then, I was living from drama to drama, a budding jazz singer drifting from boyfriend to boyfriend. There was always the love of my life, just out of reach.

Though we talked here and there, we never had coffee. I would have liked to know her better but she was always with a friend, and always on her way to somewhere else.

The class on Nigeria went on. The following semester she wasn’t there anymore. Asked about it she said that she didn’t study cultural anthropology anymore. She still came to band rehearsals. Then she didn’t. My life changed, and it didn’t, always drama, always upheaval, always the elusive boyfriend, and always singing jazz.

I met her again, one night, at the jazz club. That jazz club, you know. Apparently she was working there at that time. She sat at the entrance, selling tickets, and we talked a bit. There wasn’t time, much, because of the other people behind us.

I don’t remember who went with me that night. Or which band played. It might have been that one time that weird New York hard bop band was playing. Or not.

Later that night she served drinks. Once she had a little break she sat down at our table. We talked. She was looking as stunning as ever. „I’m going to Linz to study jazz.“ she said. I asked her about the earring she was wearing on the left. „That’s Hekate’s double axe.“ she said, „It’s a feminist symbol.“ And she smiled, that charming smile of hers. Looking at me with a kind of sparkle in her eyes.

„Oh, feminist. I like that.“ I said.

I didn’t get it at that time. In fact it took me years. You know, that double axe is not really a feminist symbol alone.

I was young and naive. That’s my excuse.

These days that I’m neither. I wonder.