I’ve found my feet
way down, below.
My life’s complete
with my big toe
And, pinky, too
…and all the rest –
the names of who(m)
I’ve only guessed.
The point, you see,
is they’re all there;
standing, waiting:
my feet, a pair.
-At least, I thought,
as in I sucked,
a glimpse I caught
past tummy, tucked.
©2022 Chel Owens
A follow-up, just for Willow, of “I Cannot See My Feet No More.“
I cannot see my feet no more;
I think they’re down there, on that floor
-Which also rests beyond my view
And holds those ‘lusive things called ‘shoes’-
…And more than bumbling me can know;
I oomph and eeek on stumbling toe.
It ’tisn’t fair, I amble, sigh;
Lamenting loss of pedi-sight.
That, as my motivation stops,
As belly button pokes and pops,
That I can’t see feet, floor or toe —
‘Cause I just dropped some cookie dough.
©2021 Chel Owens
*I’ll post the results of the A Mused Poetry Contest tomorrow. Go ahead and enter if you haven’t yet; the judge clearly hasn’t had time to look at all the entries!*
I love food.
I mean, I love food.
I mean, I really, really love food.
Like most humans, I love the wrong kinds of food. What can I say? The ‘bad’ sorts just taste better. Eating lots of the ‘bad’ sorts also tastes better, particularly as a coping mechanism for depression.
However, that is known is gluttony, and is my favorite sin.
As such, baby-making and age eventually caught up to my habit. I found myself considering something I’d never had to before: a diet.
Before Child #4 and my thirties, I’d been blissfully ignorant of the difficulties of weight loss. I walked a lot. I was actively breaking up fighting children. I worked around the house and in the yard. I cooked our meals; sometimes, from our garden. I’ve never consumed alcohol or coffee and do not drink soda pop often.
About who-knows-how-many years ago, I had to do more. Baby #4 could walk and talk …and go into preschool, so I couldn’t use his birth as an excuse for the 30 extra pounds anymore. So, I started my own variation of the no-carb diet.
Diet #1
I cut out sugar, white flour, white rice, and white rap (we all know Mom’s spaghetti is loaded with carbs). Instead of going completely lettuce-wrapped, I replaced my grains with whole wheat and brown rice.
I lost about 10 lbs; then, reasonably, gave up.
This may have also coincided with school letting out for the summer.
Diet #2
About a year after Diet #1 and Christmas, I implemented another diet. I focused more on not eating after a certain time (9 p.m.), drinking more water, and not eating any sweets or desserts.
Again, this lasted about a month.
Diet #3
Cue yet another year and I told myself this was it. I told myself I would drop that final 10 lbs, whether or not it was Girl Scout Cookie Time.
For some reason, I had also been exercising daily since November. For some other reason, we planned our first-ever out-of-country and longer-than-two-nights trip. The husband wanted me to get a bikini. He assumed I would be seen in public wearing one.
This final time was more difficult than the others; due to its being the last few pounds, due to my exercising, and due to my wavering conviction after a few weeks. I did smaller portion sizes. I tried to avoid refined sugar. I chewed gum, wore my retainer, and shamed myself away from late-night snacks.
But, did it I did. Lost the weight I did.
Aaaand, now I’m back to where I started. Actually, I’m back to where I started, plus a little extra in case we run out of snacks on the flight to where I started. I’ve been trying to diet again, impatiently so.
I always forget how difficult The Diet is. Day One is the hardest. Actually; like they say in Holes, “the first hole’s the hardest;” then, “the second hole’s the hardest….” If I survive the first week without killing everyone in a hangry rage, my stomach shrinks and I make it a while longer. I’m hoping to stick with it till all the extra baby weight is gone.
I write this post to explain why I’m a little testy; why I’m somewhat unfocused. I also write it to encourage anyone working on dieting or other self-improvement. Self-improvement is difficult, but you can do it. I can do it.
We can do it, one hole at a time -er, maybe one salad at a time.
What have been your experiences with dieting? What worked? Whom did you murder during the first week?
—————-
I wrote some stuff, too:
Wednesday, January 22: Wondered at the anti-social social world in “Real Life vs. The Blogosphere.”
Thursday, January 23: Throwback: “Herculesa.”
Friday, January 24: Posted the winner of this week’s “Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.” Congratulations to Doug.
Saturday, January 25: Announced the 56th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is an epic poem of adventure. PLEASE ENTER!
Also, “Quick Game: Edit That Book Title,” for fun.
Sunday, January 26: “The Hereafter, Aloft,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt.
Monday, January 27: An inspirational quote from Charli Mills.
Tuesday, January 28ish: Poemed “Wanton Winter.”
Wednesday, January 29: Today
I also published a bit on my motherhood site. I wrote “You Might Have a New Baby If…” and “Time for Baby.”
©2020 Chelsea Owens
Photo Credit:
Jonathan Borba
Kavita Joshi Rai
Laura Gomez
petra cigale
Ocean Ng
STIL
Pexels
Anna Pelzer
In celebration of an upcoming commercial holiday and to help inspire others to enter The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, I will write a love poem every day this week.
As morning became afternoon became evening and I hadn’t a topic to soliloquize, I finally settled on dedicating the following Tanka to black clothing:
Winter’s unkind touch
Paints my flabby skin folds on
Turning smiles down.
When, uplifted, my heart joys
Once clothed in slimming blackness.
Photo Credit:
Mohammad Metri
I mixed a batch of cookies, with extra sweets and fat.
I rolled, and baked, and shaped them all; then cooled them on the mat.
Then, frosting-armed, I painted scenes of swirls and stripes and spots;
Remembering your favorite, I added polka dots.
The strangest thing then happened, I’m sure that you’ll agree:
One by one, those cookies ended up inside of me.
But as I sat and typed this note, hand pausing over “Send,”
I realized stealing calories makes me the best of friends.
Just trying on some new jeans and thinking, They’ll work… if I lose a little weight, or a pelvic bone.
Chel Owens 