In the first week of my new health diet, I lost 2.8lbs. I exercised everyday (albeit only 20 minutes per day) and tracked everything that went into my mouth. Tracking my intake made me more aware of where my weaknesses are. I had to concentrate on cutting sweets, increasing fruits and veggies, cutting portion sizes, and making wiser choices. I DID have sweets everyday. I just planned for them. The small vanilla icecream cone at McDonalds is low fat and very low in calories. If you are WeightWatchers, they are only 2 points! I had to make sure that when I had sweets I took the time to savor them.

I'm a loser

So, I have taken a challenge from some Napa buddies to be a "big loser." Perfect timing since my 30 year class reunion is in 2 months! I am starting out at 159.6 pounds. In the last two days I have exercised and tracked my food intake. So far, so good;-) I want to be at 150 by August 8th.

Dancing with Ashes Sestina

When I was young, I would go down to Pete’s Corner with my mother.
She would order herself a beer, while Shirley Temple was my drink.
After a few suds were thrown back, a coin was slipped into the juke box,
And in the sawdust we would dance, and dance, and dance.
Those nights were a magical release
From a life that was otherwise in ashes.

The stress of bad relationships, heaped like discarded butts and ashes,
Was the only countenance I recognized on my mother.
From unwanted children and piling debts she sought release
And found comfort in cigarettes and drink.
Through the welfare system she would dance,
While legal summons landed in the waste-paper box.

All her affections she kept tightly boxed
’Til her pallor became white as ashes.
Then it was time to head down to Pete’s for a dance.
Around and around I would go with my mother
And from her alcohol-induced freedom I would drink
Like a jailed bird upon sudden release.

Then in May came her long sought release,
When the social worker, with all my clothes in boxes,
Took me from school and gave me the bitter drink.
Like Job sitting in sack cloth and ashes,
I was alone without friend, family, or mother
And wishing my heart would just stop its dance.

In time I relearned how to love and dance,
With my anger and sadness released.
After forty years I received a call regarding my mother,
A question pertaining to the box
Which held her cremated ashes.
I was numb as if intoxicated by drink.

So I took my mother to the bar for a drink.
And with her box had one more dance.
Then with a final release, I lovingly scattered her ashes.

Twice Awakened

Awakened by fear, she fled from the battered cabin
To search the darkened heavens for answers,
Yet the stars signaled no recent recollection.
While nearby dogs barked away fright,
Blood pulsed harshly in her neck,
And the black hills showed no remorse.
What realization drove her from his cold bed
To shake wildly where nature raged?
The trembling swelled from below
Where lie remnants of bygone lusts.
And he – he blithely drew her to him
To stand near the massive greystone chimney,
The one thing that if it fell would crush
Any semblance of love she had left for him.
Inside, the shelves had been violently emptied,
And the fire had been snuffed out.

A Burgeoning
Mother, cell of my cells – heart, core, nerve.
My exceptional son; my male nucleus.
Does immortality exist?
Yes, beyond your life span.
I have a secret that might cause me to fall.
What is this remarkable development?
As one matures, the complexities of love unfold
As rain on blossoms reveal their nature.
Yes, but perennials are predictable.
Except those deprived of nutrients.
My climate has been optimal, but my growth stunted.
Like an egg sloughed from the womb?
Though I look like an oak, inside I am a sycamore.
Shhh, sweet boy, your branches are gnarled. Rest.
Your cuttings can no longer shape me.
Plant yourself in my bosom, and I will keep you safe.
I love another now. His soil feeds me. He is like no other.
Your confessions are tortuous. Stop. I can make you grow.
Spring has come to my soul, mother.
Immortality will have to wait.

View from Above

Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as tolerance
Ablaze in purifying glory.
Your tolerance laps at the legs
Of those poised to march.
Who are they?
The underpinning of consciousness.
The pillar of the repressed.
The girder weathered by piousness.
You burn their loves and lives
And walk away satisfied.
The world is pure again.

Santa Didn’t Come

One postage stamp Christmas,
Moiled flocking on the mountainside,
An Alligator crept among mortgaged houses,
And Old reliable wandered off to commit suicide.
Meanwhile the mermaid swimming
In the Pearl River of a comet,
Served soured milk and Spumoni
To two jealous sisters.
White manhood crapped on her coat
Which she wore like sharp hieroglyphics
scrawled on a sunflower.
The breast of man pressing against her own,
Her commodities violently stolen.