There are always two

In my house there are always two of everything. I remember when I was pregnant Auntie J sent me a card that had a poem about twins and it said something to the effect that you'll always have two/double of everything. So, when there is one quilt made, another one can't be far behind. While I don't stress about getting quilts finished in general, I do when I'm making them for the girls because they want to SEE them finished and NOW and whoever is first is impatient that it takes so long to get the second one made and whoever is second is impatient that they were put in last place.

E was in last place this time. This quilt is hearts that are fused to a sheet--originally it was a king-sized sheet. Each heart is hand satin stitched all the way around, which is why the quilt is not on a king-sized sheet today! I couldn't finish it. So I cut the hearts into blocks, added the sashing strips and border. It will easily fit a double bed. This is the very first quilt I ever started and actually finished. I told E that she has a very special quilt because there can be only one "first" quilt.

Organizing

I've spent a lot of time organizing my house lately. I think that has a lot to do with the contractor that I'm spending a lot of money on and his junk that is strewn everywhere throughout my house and yard...really he's a neat person and does a very good job of containing his stuff, but it's STILL there.

Anyway, two weekends ago we organized two closets, I would like to get to a third this weekend. I could get real pleasure for going into the girls' room and throwing away a bunch of stuff--like the bag of scrap material that I had intended to drop off at the Children's Quilt group at the quilt guild in town that A has for some reason confiscated and won't give up: It's just holding court in the corner by her door. The library counter top by the back door is so junky that I don't worry about burglers coming in and stealing my purse anymore because I don't think they could find it. SOMETHING needs to be done.

Being organized makes me feel good. I like knowing that my wine is in three rows--white, red and "party" (you know, the cheaper but decent stuff that you'll serve at parties). Being organized saves on waste. For instance, when we cleaned the closet in our bedroom, we found that we had 5, yes 5, bottles of deodorant and no toothpaste. You have more room for more stuff and you can STILL find it all--it's great actually, a wonderful way to live.

When my stuff is in its place, I feel like I can breathe deeply and enjoy things around me better. I feel like I have control over something and that's nice, too.

One Year Ago Today

Hurricane Katrina hit the gulf coast one year ago today. Here is basically how our day went. We woke up around 8:00 when the rain and wind started, and about 8:3o the power went out--and the water with it. This is how we were at that time:

By 10am the winds were over 100 mph, with gusts well over 125 and this is how we were:

Trees were falling

And the rain and wind were howling

Houses washed away on the gulf coast

Power lines were ripped down

Houses were smashed

And we started cleaning up

And it's been a really hard year.

The Price of Gasoline

Like the weather, the price of gasoline seems to be an infinitely useful conversation starter. I remember when my kids were first starting to think about driving and realizing that cars ran on gasoline and that they would have to buy their own gasoline to run their own car one day when they eventually had one--this was a little over 2 years ago. Then the price of gasoline started going up at an alarming rate. They said one day in exasperation "gas is going to be $5 a gallon by the time we're driving!"

At the time I laughed it off; I'm not so sure now that they weren't right. Especially now when you're looking at almost $3 a gallon today.

Last year after Hurricane Katrina hit, and as we were driving to Texas on our only tank of gas, there was no gas to be found in Mississippi at all. If the stations had power, the lines were over a mile long. We were more than slightly worried that we would end up on the side of the road waiting for someone to come rescue us because we were out of gas.

All of these circumstances prompted us to get several 5 gallon gas containers when we returned from our evacuation from Katrina. These containers proved very helpful since gas was pretty scarce in South Mississippi for over a month after the storm. When we did get a ready supply of gas in South Mississippi we were on a price mandated by the governor at pre-storm prices, so that we never really felt that crunch that everyone else did last summer, and were rationed to either $10 or $20 a stop.

All of this to say that Ernesto formed and we filled up our gas containers and bought water this weekend and considered where we'll evacuate and what intensity of storm will prompt that decision. It looks like we're going to be safe--at least the projections now would say so--but the "lessons" we learned from Katrina are still deep in our minds. We'll be like those folks who lived through the depression. Only instead stuffing money in our mattresses, we'll hoard things like water bottles, gallons of gasoline and lots and lots of granola bars!

Black Mountain Breakdown by Lee Smith

Black Mountain Breakdown is Lee Smith’s first novel and chronicles the life of Crystal Spangler from teenager-hood through young adult-hood. Crystal is the youngest of her family and the love of her mother’s life because she was a late baby and her older brothers had “left” in one sense or another by the time she was in her early teens.

Crystal is beautiful, emotional, and hard to catch. She also reflects back what others give her so that they love her without really knowing why or who she is. Crystal’s father Grant is dying at the beginning of the novel—simply sitting in a chair in the front parlor of the house waiting for death to take him. It’s a sad existence, but he and Crystal have a connection that foreshadows Crystal’s own mental health issues throughout the rest of her life.

After her father’s death Crystal turns to anyone to give her life substance and meaning, but only turns to herself once and that is when she is teaching junior high—a vocation she seems to have a knack for.

Her friend Agnes stays with her throughout her life and the two of them mirror one another in life experiences. While Crystal’s seems to be living high and happy, Agnes is miserable, but as Crystal begins her decline, Agnes begins her climb to becoming quite the entrepreneur.

BMB is a good book even if it is about a very depressing and tragic life. The mental illness isn’t surprising considering the family history and experiences Crystal has, but it is sad nonetheless.

Aly's Butterflies

Aly's Butterflies was started several years ago. The butterflies are all hand appliqued with fabric Alyssa chose when she was 7 or 8. The antennas are embroidered with complimentary cotton floss. It was machine quilted in Fairfield and has little flowers throughout in the quilting that look really nice.

Wanderlust

I don't usually check my horoscope, but thought it might provide some fodder for my blog today since all I can seem to think about is annoying teenagers who want to fight about every single little thing in life but who want no responsibility for their actions or behaviors and I don't want to be whiney EVERY day on my blog--I'll save that post for when I, personally, have a little perspective on the whole issue. The horoscope for Sagitarius today is:

The planets show you earning your status as the official sign of wanderlust. Long ago, you started running, and you're running still. You'll see some beautiful places when you follow that call.

I can't tell you how excited that horoscope makes me feel! I get to travel to beautiful places when I follow my own natural urges to GO PLACES despite the fact that I don't have the money or time to do so! And it's funny because David and I are both Sag's and most of the time when I do read the horoscope, I think "that doesn't really apply to David very much" but this one is on target! We both love to travel and move things around and experience life from different perspectives.

In fact, when we were very poor college students, we could fulfill our wanderlust by moving apartments--this also helped us save money as rent prices seemed to go up everytime you renewed a lease. Then when we do manage to settle down someplace, I'm always moving the furniture around in the house. I did that as a kid too--I think I probably rearranged my room every 3 months or so...or even switched rooms when my brothers left.

Lately, this wanderlust has been really hard to contain. I just want to get on the open road and drive and see and experience new things every day. I want to meet people and eat food and experience life without the daily-ness tying me down. I want to sleep late and wake up and ask myself "what do I want to do today" and then do that.

So, seeing my horoscope validate those feelings I've had lately and knowing that I'll one day be able to see some beautiful places makes me feel like I can get through these dog days of summer, these doldrums, these halcyon days I was looking at so fondly a few weeks ago...

It's all a matter of perspective...

When Alyssa and Elizabeth were little--maybe 2 and a half--we bought them all sorts of flash cards and would spend hours learning the alphabet, numbers, colors, and other such important things in the life of a 2 year old. We had one set that was animals, and we told the girls that when they learned all the animals in the deck we would take them to the San Antonio zoo. We figured there were something like 100 animals and it would take months for them to get them ALL exactly right, but we were very wrong. They learned all those animals in a record time of something like 2 weeks. We couldn't hold off taking them to the zoo, but we didn't have the money or the time (being in the middle of summer school) to take them to San Antonio, so we compromised and went to the Houston zoo.

They were so excited about going to the zoo and could talk about nothing but seeing all the animals from their cards in real life. Chatter chatter chatter all the way to Houston to meet David's family who got in their car and drove with us all the way to the zoo. Chatter chatter chatter all the way to the zoo.

Then we walked in the gate to the zoo and those girls shut up immediately, clinged to David and Sam's hands and were terrified of every single animal they saw. They knew the lions were going to jump over the 30 foot gap between their den and the 20 foot high fence and eat them. The elephants would stomp them to death. The giraffe would wring them to death in their long, long neck. We couldn't get them excited about seeing one single animal in that zoo, so we left early and went home listening to chatter chatter chatter all the way back about all the amazing animals they saw at the zoo.

About a week later, the girls were playing on our tiny fenced patio in their wagon when they started screaming bloody murder that there was a snake that was going to eat them alive and kill them with one single bite of its monstrous fangs. David and I ran to the sliding door and yanked it open to discover our terrified children screaming and pointing at an earth worm, which was curled into a pretty S shape that looked exactly like the snake in the flash cards--all the way down to size and color.

The Princess

So, if she could feel the pea in the bottom of the bottom quilt chest, does that mean she is a princess? I've been wondering.

The Fireplace!

The fireplace is finished. I started working on the blog entry a couple of days ago so it's "buried" after the review for Kalahari Typing School for Men.

Book Review: The Kalahari Typing School for Men by Alexander McCall Smith

So many series start to wane by the time the 4th installment comes out, but not so with Smith’s No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books. This installment, The Kalahari Typing School for Men is directly on the level of the previous three books—delightful, peaceful, witty, charming.

This installment finds Mma Makutsi feeling down because she is “just” an assistant manager/detective and she wants more out of her life. She would also like the attention of a good man. Not only that, but the responsibilities of taking care of her family back home and her ailing brother living with her have depleted her savings and are hurting her ability to make ends meet. After much thinking, she decides to open the Kalahari Typing School for Men to make some extra money—there she thinks she finds the love of a man, but what she ends up finding is the love of herself.

Mma Romatse must solve a couple of mysteries—another errant husband and a man who did something bad in his youth and wants to make amends. These are so lightly tossed in there that you hardly realize the tough detective work that Precious must do—she’s definitely one smart cookie!

When I finished, I found myself thinking “I want to grow up and be Precious Romatswe” but then I realized that 1) I AM grown up already and 2) Precious is really my age. She is such a smart, patient, peaceful, wonderful person who sees the good in people and tries to do her best no matter what. I would love to be like that—to be able to step back from the things swirling around in my life and just breathe and let things work themselves out.

The Metamorphosis of a Fireplace

Bitter Flower Sampler

Finished stitching this last night. It's on 32 count linen in cotton threads by Weeks Dye Works. They are overdyed so provide a slight color variation which makes the project look old.

Do you ever wonder?

Do/did you ever wonder WHO raised your kids? I find myself saying "tell me who raised you" more and more these days. I can rationalize that their behavior is teenage rebellion, but I sit in bafflement almost on a daily basis by the fits that get thrown in my presence when someone doesn't get their way or if they're told no or if I uphold a rule.

Maybe what happened is that someone came and abducted one of my children and replaced her with someone who looks JUST like her but who was raised by someone else...that would help me feel better about all the time and effort and pain and anxiety I've put into to helping my kids become better people.

Back to School Today

Thank goodness!

Book Review: The Blue Bottle Club by Penelope J. Stokes

When I started this book, I really, really wanted to like it. It was given to me by my aunts during the quilt bee this year (during their blue plate special luncheon) and the story sounded very interesting—four friends in the attic placing their dreams to the care of a blue bottle hidden up there. In reality, some of the elements of the story really are very good—the re-visioning of the fateful Christmas Day 1929 from each girl’s perspective, the agony of dreams lost and new dreams found, the falling out of touch with old friends and reconnecting through a very unlikely source, the sentimentality that links us into a story. However, the story did not work for me for two reasons—God was too almighty and the prose was so preachy I felt like I was sitting in the back pew as an unbeliever.

I usually like reading stories that have a sense of mystery and awesome power. I don’t really mind if the power is the Christian God or a similar being who acts to help us clueless humans along in our life-story. But what I do find hard to swallow is the God that Stokes used in this novel—he was just too convenient a plot device to hurry the characters out of their messes. For example when pregnant Adora faints from hunger and fatigue, it is God who places her in the arms of the caring Grace who helps her raise her son borne out of wedlock. And I really don’t want to sound like an “unbeliever” in my criticism of the book, but I do want to emphasize that the spirituality in this book was too heavy handed and was too much of a plot device for my enjoyment.

Now, onto the prose. When I took creative writing, my professor intoned again and again, “Show, don’t tell.” If I want to talk about the fact that John has disgraced himself, I don’t say “John has disgraced himself,” I show his emotional turmoil, the friends who leave him because of his actions, the misery he feels because he sees that his actions put himself and others in a bad situation. Stokes TELLS us about every single detail of every single activity and spends 342 pages TELLING the reader about the spirit moving the characters rather than showing it. I was very impatient reading the book because I wanted to sit down with Stokes and explain how she would have a much more compelling work if she had taken some time to edit out the telling and do more showing, but then I realized that she’s written and published something like 12 books, so maybe my creating writing professor didn’t know what he was talking about.

So, aunt’s Betty and BJ, I’m sorry I didn’t like the book. I did enjoy the story and wanted to read it to find out what happened, but I found myself rolling my eyes at the preachiness of the book.

Oliver the Hunter

Oliver is a sweet orange kitty who LOVES to hunt lizards, bring them into the house, torture them in front of me and then kill them, eat them in front of me, and bring me the head. I know that the head is probably the most delectable part, but it really does gross me out. Cats can be so funny.

Last night, sweet Oliver caught a HUGE lizard and brought him in the house. David was able to catch it and take it outside before Oliver killed and ate it, but the last place Oliver saw the lizard was running into the basket that holds our dirty kitchen towels. He sat by that basket almost all night waiting...

Then once he realized that his catch was really gone, he went to the girls' room and started "catching" socks. He brings them through the house howling and yowling and letting everyone know that he's caught a sock. He brought about three socks into the kitchen last night.

All this reminded me of when we lived in Kentucky at our cute little 2 story house with a full basement. We were refinishing the floors and moved the girls to the basement so that we could work in that room without furniture and time pressures. It is important to know that they had broken their dresser and their bottom drawer did not have a front on it--and that same bottom drawer is where they stored all their socks. Mr. Oliver, sweet helpful kitty that he was, moved every single pair of socks up the stairs to the doorway to the basement. When I woke the next morning and saw him sleeping in his pile of socks, I thought it was probably the funniest thing I had ever seen. I could picture this cat being upset that we had clearly mispaced the kids to the basement and he was doing his part to help us get them back up where they belong.

Since that day Oliver has had a sock fetish, and when a lizard escapes him, he has to go catch him some fresh socks!

Fondest Memories

Of my great-grandmother: Sitting in her lap and being snuggled in her warmth and love.

Of my Grandmother Morris: (this requires a little explanation). Grandma M was a rather imposing person to her granddaughters and daughters-in-law. Once at a barbecue hosted at Suzanne and her then husband J.W., David and I sat down with her and my then-Aunt Carla and a couple of other people. Carla went to dig into her food and her fork broke and her entire place of food catapulted into my grandmother's lap. We were all as silent as death for the 20 seconds it took grandma's shocked face to turn into howling laughter. Seeing her laughing her head off with baked beans dribbling down her knees made her so much less imposing and so much more real to me.

Of my Grandfather Morris: Going to Thanksgiving dinner at Danny's house and Danny's St. Bernard bounding out of the house to "catch" the turkey that Papa M was carrying into the house. No one got hurt, but it was a rather scary moment there for a minute--a great big slobbery St. Bernard panting over the turkey held high above Papa's head while Danny was desperately trying to pull the dog off before Papa got knocked down.

Of my Grandfather Thornton: I have such a vivid image of Papa T sitting with Elizabeth snuggled up next to him and they were communicating with his "white board."

Of my Grandmother Thornton: Being next to her doing anything--playing dominoes or cards, watching Wheel of Fortune-Price is Right-Guiding Light-One Life to Live-General Hospital, planting in the garden, going to "town", washing dishes, etc....

Thoughts on Boredom

I am bored. I hate being bored. Being bored makes me crazy, lazy and irritable, and I'm bored out of my skull these days!

I think boredom is one of the worst things a person can go through, and I'm not just talking about myself, though I do believe that too. It has teenagers looking for crazier and more terrifying ways to entertain themselves, it has adults looking for new relationships--often in places and with people they shouldn't. Boredom is probably one of the reasons that so many people are so terrifically in debt--simply because we are not engaged enough in the things going on around us to be happy with the way our lives are.

When I'm bored I find that I pick fights with everyone around me. I cannot, no matter how much I want to, be interested in anything. I can't pay attention to something for more than 5 minutes without that too boring me to death.

I can't even think! I often feel like I'm going crazy.

Hopefully one day soon I'll find myself interested in things again--not feeling like I'm going to have to run through the streets wearing a pink turban and gold sari just to shake things up a bit!

The Many Faces of Lochi

Hobolochito, also known as Lochi, came to live with me almost three years ago. She's a very special kitty who can open drawers and doors, and is loving and sweet to those she likes and ignores everyone else. She's so well behaved and funny. She throws her own balls and likes playing fetch with me (I'm the one who fetches by the way). She cuts capers to make us laugh and RUNS around in the evenings. She terrorizes Oliver (the old orange cat...he'll be 10 this October) by jumping out of things. Her favorite place to sleep is either by my side or in a basket/box. Enjoy this series of pics over the years...

Fake Saved

When I was 5 years old, I was a really good kid who liked going to church for (gasp!) the sermons! The singing was a nice bonus but having to sit next to my dad who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket and (usually) Brother Christian, who couldn't either, I was a little deprived of the niceties of the singing until I got a little older and could sit somewhere else. But I loved the dramas of the sermon. The gesticulating, the reminders of our doom in hell if we didn't let Jesus into our hearts, the feeling of peace and serenity that I was in the right place and my parents were doing the right thing to take care of me to ensure that I made it to heaven to live happily ever after.

We often had visiting preachers in those days. The fellow I'm remembering today was a rather young-ish preacher with yellow hair (probably what made him look young) a skinny profile and a voice to boom you into the hereafter with bells on and your bonnet on fire (from the near-miss of hell and damnataion of course!). This preacher also had energy and jumped around up at the pulpit for emphasis. He had my rapt attention.

Towards the end of the sermon, Mr. Preacher started calming down--he had us in the palms of his hands, he knew it--and enticing us to come to Jesus. He was describing heaven for us and modeling this beautiful golden city with castles and streets of gold and sunshine all day long and if we had Jesus in our hearts we could just see this glorious place. His hand motions were so convincing to my 5-year-old brain that I realized at that very moment that Jesus wasn't in my heart because I couldn't see the city. The magic he performed up there at the pulpit was lost on me because I wasn't right with God! How could this be when I was so perfect in every way--I was, after all, the conscience of my entire family reminding them with regularity when they'd sinned! But that city remained as invisible to me as to the murderer.

The key, of course, was to let Jesus into my heart, be saved and then I would see the city. All I had to do was walk down the aisle and the magic would be revealed. I wasn't about to turn this down, so I got up from my seat beside my daddy, went BEHIND the pew where he sat (he always sat on the right back pew looking at the pulpit) and then went down the CENTER aisle so everyone could see me. I would be saved and then I would see the golden city and it would be a fabulous day. I could hardly wait!

So down the center aisle I marched, tossing my curls for effect. I had on the most gorgeous long dress of fimly material. The material was decorated with a garden scene and had lace and ribbons in all the right places and was probably the prettiest dress I owned...I met up with this new young preacher and with Brother Sanders and pronounced loudly enough for the first two aisles to hear that I wanted to be saved, so we said a prayer, my soul was saved, and then Brother Sanders announced to the congregation that Leslie Thornton had come to be saved. All the while he was talking I was looking behind me to see that gorgeous golden city, but it wasn't there! My panicked mind thought at first that God had forsaken me that I had come to him but he didn't want me, then I tuned into what Brother Sanders was saying...something about me being able to finally see that beautiful golden city when I reached heaven.

I was thunderstruck. Mr. Young Preacher had duped me into believing that the city of gold was right there on the pulpit but the way Brother Sanders was saying it I had to wait until I died! Right about this time the piano and congregation started in with "When the Roll is Called up Yonder" and everyone was shaking my hands and old ladies were hugging me to their powder filled bosoms and I was once again taken along on this journey I didn't quite understand.

I was mortified beyond imagining. On the way home I wasn't my usually chatty self, but was quiet and almost sullen. Mom told me I needed to call Grandma on my way home so she could come over to celebrate, so I did. I remember being in my room and being grouchy and my dad saying something about me not acting like someone who was saved that very day. More mortification because I realized then that they could see through my charade. I'd better chipper up and act saved or someone else would catch on, so I put on my most beatific face and tried to be polite and happy for the rest of the day. I was baptized a couple of weeks later and never ever told anyone about how I was fake saved until I was well into adulthood.

Book Review: Tied to the Tracks by Rosina Lippi

I am so excited to write this book review because I absolutely loved Tied to the Tracks. The synopsis of the story doesn’t really sound all that exciting: documentary company (Tied to the Tracks of the title) from New Jersey is selected to do the documentary of a famous southern writer, Ms. Zula May Bragg, in Ogilvie, GA. The catch is that the head of the documentary company, Angie, and the department chair of the college where the famous writer is a teacher, John, were once lovers, and John is engaged to be married to the youngest sister of the other rich family in the town.

That said, the story was very exciting, fun to read, and enjoyable in all the right ways. The tension between John and Angie is so tight that the book fairly tingles with it. It reminded me of the beginning of Into the Wilderness, Lippi’s first novel in the Wilderness series written under the pseudonym of Sara Donati. When Nathaniel and Elizabeth are trying to fall in love while also trying not to fall in love, they were sparking off of every surface in the novel. Likewise, this tension is finely wrought in TTTT.

What I absolutely love about Lippi/Donati’s work is her sense of language. She captures the cadence and rhythm of language in a way that makes the conversations and thoughts of the characters “sound” in your head. The telephone conversation between Tony Russo (one of the filmmakers) and his mother in New Jersey was a delight to read. I was also excited to see that Lippi accurately placed the origin of Frito Pie in East Texas. It’s little details like this that make the world she built in Ogilvie, GA, feel as hot, humid, and muggy as it would be if it were a real town just an hour outside of Savannah. (Though I did find myself wondering if I ever use “you all” when referring to a group of people other than to give them a command: “you all get on out of here”—but that issue is so minor that it hardly bears mentioning.)

I know that a book I am reading strikes a chord with me when I start to have conversations with the characters and imagine what they would do in my world. The characters in TTTT came to life for me, and I had imaginary conversations with them all week. I am going to miss them now that I’ve read the book and have to place it back on my bookshelf.

Back to School Time

School starts in a just a little over a week, and I'm so excited I can barely stand it! The girls had such a busy first part of their summer, that the down time they're in right now is about to do them in! We've been busy buying new jeans and tops and underwear for the new year--hard to believe they're in 10th grade already.

They are taking

Algebra II, Chemistry, AP American History, Accelerated English, Spanish II/French II, Pottery/Drama, and Journalism.

I think this will finally be a year to challenge those girls.

Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to them having something to do all day!

Bird Watching

One morning when David and I were having breakfast at our house in Kentucky, we looked out on the deck and were totally mesmerized by a mama and daddy bird teaching their fledglings how to fly. They had lined up their four babies on one side railing of the deck and the mama flew next to them while the daddy was on the opposite railing with worms and other yummy treats. The mama chirped something at the babies, then flapped her wings and jumped from the railing and flew to the other side where she got a nibble of one of the treats. That's all it took for one bird, clearly the dare devil, to take off...only problem was he jumped before flapping his wings and while he didn't crash, he did have to be picked up and placed back on the railing.

The mama came back, showed them what to do again, and off three of the birdies went. They flew to their daddy, got their treat, then flew back and forth and back and forth a few times and then were out and flying around the yard. One little baby, the fattest and fluffiest of the bunch, would not budge, though. He squawked and crowed and plead for his mama to bring him the worm, but she wouldn't do it. Patiently she kept landing beside him, flapping her wings, jumping and then flying to the other rail. He started flapping his wings but would not jump--clearly terrified.

Mom and dad must have had some silent communication, though, because dad came over, did the whole flapping then jumping routine and flew to the other side. Fluffy baby started flapping his wings like mad and then mama came up from behind and knocked him off the rail. Since he was already flapping, he somehow managed to fly to daddy and get his very own big fat bug. If a bird could look startled that little fellow did! Then he was so thrilled with his new trick that he started flying all over the place. I still imaging him settling down in a nest near his mom and dad simply because he likes the attention.

Sugar Free 2 Months!

I decided after my sugar "binge" in Orange Beach over the Memorial Day weekend that it was indeed time to give up the sugar. Still doing well and proud to say so!

I have struggled some days. Really hard. When things get stressful or I get bored, my first inclination is to get a candy bar or drink a coke...and it's been hard letting those things go and finding new ways to deal with stress or boredom that don't have anything to do with sugar. I'm happy that I have David's support because without him I know I wouldn't have lasted this long.

In these two months I've lost a little weight, regained interest in going to the gym, learned there are serious down sides to eating sugar (mood swings, energy level ups and downs, addiction), and generally felt better. I can't wait to see how things are going two months from now! And even a year from now.