Are you feeling it? Judging by the social media comments I find as I doomscroll, I’m pretty sure it’s not just me.
Other things are contributing too: trying to organize a big event at the other end of the province in a few weeks; navigating insurance after my car was hit while sitting in my driveway; insomnia brought on by all of the above…
I’m trying to use all my tricks: lists, reminders on my phone, the Pomodoro app. Aiming to do five things (or even one), no matter how small to break myself out of the frozen feeling. I even took my laptop to the pool so I could do paperwork while on my break.
Eventually I was able to do a thing, which led to a few more things, so hopefully I’m getting myself back on track. But I think this will be a long process because so much of what I am dealing with requires what some people call executive decision-making. My brain is too tired to brain right now.
Yesterday I had a profound revelation about keeping going. There was a drop-in student at my dance class. She didn’t know the work, but she clearly knew how to dance. She was an honest-to-goodness ballerina, or had been at some point in the not-too-distant past. The rest of us watched in awe.
After class, our teacher said something about her being there just to move her body and be part of the group. She wasn’t performing before a critical audience. She wasn’t setting a class and training students. She was just “there”.
Just being “there”. How lovely. I need to remember to move my body in ways that give me joy, and let go of all those things I’m trying to manage – if only for a few minutes.
A child in purple ballet gear and pink slippers relaxes (or sleeps?) on the floor. Photo is from Brilliant Dance.
Two think pieces about the return of thin as a body ideal for women are in the media this week and I thought I’d share them with you.
Of course, thin has never been out, but the writers feel this is different. I do too. The new aspirational bodies aren’t just thin, they’re competitively thin. They’re definitely not muscular. They’re the kind of bodies that I think look frail.
She writes, “It’s also fair to feel worried. Thin is more in than ever now for another reason too: the rise of authoritarianism, and the way women can signal their deference to the powers-that-be by conforming to a certain ideal of conventional femininity. The ideal woman today is very thin, white, highly feminine, and projects a certain frailty without actually being ill or disabled. She is Melania Trump; she is Hannah Neeleman of Ballerina Farms; she is a tradwife. She is a woman who the men in power will happily date and marry, partly because her appearance telegraphs wealth and health and effort. And her frail body suggests someone in need of a strong man’s protection.”
I’m not sure if it’s a “subscribers only” post or not but you can read more of it on her Instagram here,
Good news: I’m now a local legend on my cycling commute in Dunedin, NZ. I’m here on research leave for a month.
Bad news: It’s really only because the category is gendered and there are so few women riding bikes (and using Strava).
I’ve completed that section 6 times in the last 90 days. But some dude has done it 36 times. He’s the overall local legend and I’m the women’s local legend.
I’m not sure what the numbers are for Aotearoa on the relative numbers of men and women on bikes.
“What do you think about this whole trans people in sports thing?,” a friend asked me the other day. I could see she was ready for a good-natured “debate.”
The question didn’t surprise me. I’ve been drawn into this discussion countless times over the past year, from people whose politics and perspectives on the world are otherwise aligned with mine. This divergence is a big clue that the heated furore about trans people in sports isn’t really about fairness in athletic competition. It’s a wedge issue — an issue that is designed to be divisive and distracting.
In the past few weeks, it’s become increasingly clear that as feminists/ progressives/ leftists/ liberals, woke snowflakes — whatever you want to call us — we really need to deeply examine the harm caused created by letting inclusivity for trans people become a matter of “debate.”
The cruelty, as one fellow blogger put it, is the point.
All of the overheated “debate” (don’t get me started on “both-sidesing” human rights) about chromosomes and genitals and hormones over the past several years — including bots spewing anti-trans hatred showing up in media comments on any vaguely related story — have done their work. People who would typically be inclined to argue against any kind of discrimination have learned to make an exception on the topic of trans people. See: wedge issue.
Sowing this kind of division is deliberate. If people who would otherwise agree are distracted by arguing among themselves, they are not going to ask the questions like who does this policy serve? It certainly doesn’t serve women in sports — putting all of your energy into arguing about maybe 10 women among tens of thousands is an easy way to avoid dealing with abuses of power, equitable access to resources and equitable pay.
But this is problematic on so many levels beyond sport.
Any time we politicize a category of body, we begin the process of “othering”: using differences to create the belief that a group is less than, or inferior. Over time, we stop seeing the people in that group as breathing, feeling human beings with unique features, hopes and possibilities, and, historically, begin to see them as sub-human.
This is happening, right amid us, right, now.
When you engage in “debate” about chromosomes or gender markers in sports, you are also engaging in creating the space to destroy the human rights of trans, intersex and other gender non-conforming people. And this includes me, many of the people I love, and many of the readers and writers of this blog.
I was scanning the comments on one of the stories about the proposed ban on trans people in sports last week, and one commenter made the point about how few transpeople there really are in sports. Another commenter immediately wrote “one is too many.”
As a Canadian, this sent chills. “None is too many” was famously the phrase used to justify anti-semitic policy that blocked European Jews in Nazi Germany from taking refuge in Canada. It doesn’t take a phd in communication theory to draw a line between that experience and the sinister rhetoric we’re seeing today.
Trans people are already experiencing profound harms. In the US, trans women are being illegally transferred to men’s prisons, despite court rulings against Trump’s order. Trans health has been defunded, and even in Canada, where these orders don’t apply, trans health organizations are closing down and physicians are refusing hormonal care for adolescents who are already on puberty blockers.
All of this has empowered people to be open with incredibly hateful language — check out the comments on the Yoga with Adriene IG after she wrote about trans inclusivity in her weekly newsletter last week — and to be openly aggressive in the face of trans folks. A friend of mine called their IT help desk in their workplace last week and the IT guy demanded to know whether they were male or female because “I can’t tell from your name or your voice.” When my friend — just looking for computer help to do their job! in a social service agency! — said “my pronouns are they/them,” the IT guy said scornfully “oh, one of those “neutral” people,” and proceeded to lecture them on chromosomes. In Toronto. At work.
This empowerment of bigotry is insidious — and most importantly, does not stop with trans folks. Pride Toronto announced this week that three major funders have pulled support. Decades’ worth of work to move toward equity for all marginalized groups is being destroyed in mere weeks. “Trans people in sports” was the weaselly way in to plant doubt about what it means to value difference, to respect difference, and to act to build an accepting world for people who aren’t you.
So back to my question about “who does this policy serve?” The wedge issue of trans people in sports doesn’t serve anyone looking for fairness in sport — and doesn’t serve anyone with any kind of progressive values. It serves to distract and divide us, so that we can’t band together to fight the incredible onslaught of destructive actions coming at us faster than we can respond.
Having your body politicized is a profoundly disorienting and disempowering experience. And “they” — the oligarchs set on creating a world order based on might and winner takes all — are relying on this.
It’s not about fair competition in sports. Just like Trump’s moves to eliminate Canadian sovereignty aren’t about fentanyl. It’s about power, and divisiveness. What our world will look like in the future. And what it means to be human.
Fieldpoppy is Cate Creede-Desmarais, who lives in Toronto. They turned 60 last month and seem to be moving into their “mouthy crone” phase of life.
Hi folks– as I write this post, it’s 37F/2.7C at home near Boston. But I’m not there. I’m in South Carolina, visiting my sister and her kids and my mom and other relatives for a week. And there (well, here from my perspective), the temperature is much nicer.
Today’s temperature is 76F/24.4C and sunny. Oh my.
Yes, there is some rain in the forecast for the coming week, but also some nice days in the upper 70s. I’ve lived in New England for 40 years now, but the southern-born parts of me still grouse when it’s March and cold and damp, with nothing blooming or green (yet). Of course the spring, when it does come, is glorious. And the summers– my, oh my!
But it’s not summer yet. It’s early March. So I scampered south to get an early preview of what spring might be in a couple of months. And I wasn’t disappointed. The sun is out, along with all kinds of people enjoying what the day has to offer. And what it offered us was a local art/craft festival.
Perfect! I love me some local outdoor arts/crafts festivals. They’ve got everything you need: dogs, kids, food trucks, local musicians and DJs, and artistic creations ranging from pottery vases to Robot acrylics to finely decorated miscellaneous objects. To wit:
Very detailed painting inside gilt oyster shells. Just because.My favorite decorated oyster shell, among many at the festival.
Because I was so caught up in the art and the scene and the people, I didn’t take photos of the sunny day. But you can see the light in the photos. And this was the day before the time change!
Dream girls in the sunshine.Green girl is over it.Whimsical pop culture on canvas
I love the creative courage it takes to listen to yourself, do what moves you, and then put it out there on the street for others to see and buy. Several of the artists we met talked fondly about finding new homes for their pieces. I felt their sincerity, and appreciated the marketing approach.
One of my favorite pieces of the day was this pottery creation– a vase fail, but also a stand against oppressive practicality.
A petite green pottery tower with circular holes in the side. Clearly not water-safe, but very fun.
Just walking around the streets in this funky neighborhood of Columbia, SC with loads of other people was a tonic for winter weariness. And I got in a lot of steps, too!
Plans for the week with fambly include more activities in the spirit of exploring spring– some coastal forays, walking in my favorite cypress swamp park, floral and sculpture hunting in a lovely botanical garden, and renting bikes for a day if the weather cooperates. I think/hope I’ll be fortified to take on the rest of March and also April in New England, which we have to get through in order to make it to May, glorious May.
Readers, how are you managing March? Is it easy-breezy where you live? Are you still hunkering down in your wool sweaters, eating squash-and-kale soup by the hearth? Let me know what you’re up to.
My youngest moved out the end of February and I wasted no time moving our Peloton, dumbbells and yoga stuff into the basement.
It’s so much cooler down there!
Nat half smiles from her stationary bike. Her green workout tank top really pops against the purple walls.
The moving out involved 9 days of driving so I’m not hitting my cycling goal of 30 km/week.
An orange graph from Strava showing weekly cycling distances. A clear ramp up from 0 in January and wobbling between 20 and 33 km each week. A clear dip for that week of driving with no cycling.
With more space Michel and I can do strength training together.
I love that we can pair up together time while hitting our goals.
Media tells me I should be sad about having an “empty nest”. I feel unburdened and enjoying the additional space.
I’m happy my 23 & 25 year old kids are out in the world being independent. It’s less cognitive load and I’m definitely wearing fewer clothes which means less laundry for Michel to do!
I come across the oddest videos on my various social feeds. They are a great way to pass the time while I am in a waiting room, when I don’t have long enough to get into another book chapter but I’m there long enough to need amusement.
Image shows a roomful of older people dancing to an instructor’s directions.
Today this video popped up and I loved it: you can take a look here. It features a young woman running into a meeting room profusely apologizing to the group of seniors already seated at tables, patiently waiting. She turns on her music player with a raucus song and starts demonstrating dance moves while encouraging the seniors to get moving.
At first, the seniors aren’t sure what they are supposed to do but they get into the groove. Suddenly another woman appears at the door holding a bingo machine. Aha! The dance instructor is in the wrong room. No matter though; she and the seniors keep dancing.
I like this video for a number of reasons: first, the dance instructor isn’t phased by the room full of seniors. She clearly believes everyone can move at their pace and ability. When we see the seniors dancing, we see some are really grooving, some just moving their arms, or others following every move, including an older man dancing in a wheel chair. Everyone goes at their own pace and ability.
Over the last few years, I have spent time with family in long-term care facilities and I have seen how there is a strong focus on movement. “Motion is lotion” and whether it is chair yoga, group badminton, or a regular turnabout on the dance floor, older residents are supported in being active in the ways they want and can.
For example, there’s one assisted living facility in my community that partnered with the municipality to pave the walk around a small pond outside their building. The path is cleaned in the winter and on days when the weather cooperates, there’s a crowd some with canes, and some without, some using walkers and others in wheelchairs. During the spring, summer and fall months, you can also see people out walking with their families, or if they need a break, there are benches on which to sit and watch the ducks while you catch your breath.
But back to dancing. It’s an activity that builds strength, supports muscle tone, fosters endurance, and is in a word, fun. While it’s great to have social dancing, fitness dancing is equally important and not just for youngsters.
I am reminded of the side-eyes pregnant people get when they keep their fitness routine, be it running, weight lifting, swimming etc. There’s an attitude out there that only certain types of people can only do certain things in certain ways — only young people can do aerobics, only old people can go for a stroll — and if you don’t meet the unspoken criteria , then you are crossing a line that has no real relevance.
The unspoken message in the video is clear: if you can, do. So go ahead and shake your booty.
Last month, I wrote about the challenges and stresses of elder care. What I didn’t mention was that I have been sick since January 14. What started off as an ordinary cold morphed into bacterial bronchitis. Antibiotics knocked out the bronchitis but I was left with what I suspect is an ear infection. I have booked another appointment with my doctor – the third one in as many months, when I normally see him no more than once a year.
When I think of self care, I usually conjure up images of women using ridiculously expensive face creams, or indulging in a spa treatment. This week, self care looks like reading in bed, sleeping, and remembering to brush my teeth.
Pandora, my kitty guardian. She is a long-haired dilute calico, who has a funny smirk because she is missing a tooth.
Here’s the picture: I’m on my couch. Tucked into my sauna blanket. A device that looks like a combination of a sleeping bag and weighted blanket, that heats up, as a sauna and emits far infrared light, the benefits of which are numerous (and possibly exaggerated) and boil down to—anti-inflammatory and promotes cellular regeneration.
I’ve been tempted into buying this device because the functional medicine practitioner, with whom I’ve been consulting for about a year now, recommended that I would do well to add red light therapy to my protocol, to support my immune system and overall health. My ultimate goal is healing my Addison’s Disease. A pipe dream, according to my medical doctor. Though he was surprised I still had functioning adrenals in a recent blood test. So, I hold out hope of surprising him further in the future and red light therapy is my newest effort in that direction. As many of you know, I also follow a protocol of vitamins and other supplements, with the same goal. In addition, my functional medicine practitioner has recommended a variety of meditation and mindfulness practices and programs, some of which I’ve followed and some of which mapped to my existing practices. And recently, she suggested that while I was applying a glutathione cream intended to remove heavy metals from my body, that I imagine a golden light healing my adrenals, which I am doing.
Back to the picture. I’m on the couch, sweating out toxins (maybe healing my adrenals), watching the show Apple Cider Vinegar on Netflix. A show, based on a true story, about hucksterism in the alternative medicine (aka functional medicine, aka wellness) space. A show about the dangers of disdaining western medicine and falling for all the extravagant healing claims around juicing and coffee enemas and supplements and veganism. The show doesn’t mention far infrared light therapy. And that’s likely because the events in the show took place a decade ago, before red light therapy became all the rage it is today.
Belle, from Apple Cider Vinegar (on Netflix), striding through a throng of groupies
In other words, I am deep into possible huckster space with my own health. As I watched the episodes spool on, I was keenly aware of the irony of each droplet of healing sweat pooling on my body and the hope that droplet contained and the potential chimera of everything I’m doing outside of taking my pharmaceutical medication three times every day. Still, I persist with the alternative protocols. Why? Because right now, I believe that I can heal, and I want to do everything in my power to reach that star. Just there, I hesitated between writing “I need to believe” or “I want to believe”. Neither need nor want captured my state. My belief is not a need or a desire. It is.
Am I believing blindly? Am I giving up on western medicine and putting all my chips on alternative solutions? No and no. I am expanding the range of healing modalities that I include in my life. One of the hallmarks of most alternative healing practices is the need to believe in your ability to heal. I’m on board with that ethos.
The trickster part is that the alternative practitioners depicted in Apple Cider Vinegar are also pitching exclusivity. Show your fidelity to my wisdom by abandoning all other ideas, including traditional medical modalities. An approach that proves mortal to several characters in the show. I am not doing that. I tried ignoring western medicine right at the beginning of my own health process and my potassium marched quick step upward into unpleasant territory.
I was devastated. I spent more than a year in a state of psychological resistance to my medication. Believing it was bad, I was bad, something was bad, because I was taking little white pills multiple times a day. A large part of that mental model was influenced by the pervasive influence of the kind of people depicted in Apple Cider Vinegar. Then a couple of months ago my doctor consented to do some tests with the levels of my medications. And while he was surprised by my level of adrenal function, I was disappointed that function was not enough to reduce my doses. At the same time, the tests created a shift. I relaxed into gratitude, true gratitude, not gratitude mixed with resentment, for my medication. I need my medication and that’s okay. My condition is not a failure to believe in myself (or to consume enough freshly juiced fruits and vegetables).
I am continuing my alternative protocol, adding things, as they seem interesting. The sauna blanket is an example. Is it healing my adrenals? Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, I feel good in many ways when I use it—my muscles recover and I sleep better, among other things.
Given all this, I might have found the show a vindication of the approach I’ve chosen. Because, in the end, that is the message the show tries to deliver. A balanced approach is best. Instead, I was frustrated with the show. By focusing on an extreme case of hucksterism, the show denigrated alternative modalities in a way that is as exaggerated as the hyped-up healing claims. They subverted their own message at the end with garbled scenes that lacked clarity. I only realized what the scenes were meant to portray in the Netflix write up about the show (spoilers!). I was left with the feeling that all alternative wellness is fraudulent.
The show was unsatisfying in other ways. The story was told in loops, circling back to the past and forward to the present in disorienting time jumps. I had trouble hanging on to who was who among several of the characters and could not always catch up with when was now in any particular scene. Instead of deepening the character arcs, I got lost and stopped caring. I was waylaid by small details like Belle drinking from single use plastic bottles, when she was preaching for the environment in other scenes. Was the plastic bottle meant to signify her treachery? Or was it carelessness on the part of the showrunner?
As you may already suspect, I do not recommend Apple Cider Vinegar. Unless you just really enjoy shows about grand scams.
As for my wellness tips to myself—I have work to do on self-love and self-acceptance. Will they heal my adrenals? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, they are essential to my wellbeing, ease and joy. The true bottom line. Top line. And every line.
Ok, for a change, this is not referring to me taking charge of the meeting or the performance, this is a much more literal situation.
Not completely literal, of course. I am not actually reclaiming floorboards that I once owned. Anyway, let’s carry on!
Have you ever heard the quote, attributed to various writers, about how the goal of writing is to figure out what we already know?
Today’s post is a prime example of that.
I started out writing a post about my Monday morning exercise and then discovered something I hadn’t realized I knew:
I haven’t been spending enough time sitting close to the floor in the past few months and it is having a negative effect on my whole body.
Before our Christmas tree went up in December, my living room floor featured a huge blue exercise mat with a big, green, circular cushion (over 3ft in diameter) on top of it and a bolster cushion on top of that. (Yes, in case you couldn’t guess, my house is much more functional than pretty.)
And, in general, when spending time on the main floor of our house, I would either sit at the kitchen table or I would sit on on the big cushion, the mat, or on the bolster. (Our main floor is pretty open and the living room/kitchen are kind of in an L shape so it’s equally possible to watch tv, hang out, or do whatever in either location.)
I really liked having both options and I found the mat/cushion combo much more interesting than sitting on a couch or chair. (Yes, my ADHD insists that even sitting must be interesting to my brain.)
And when I chose the mat/cushion combo I was always sitting in different positions, at different heights, and either completely relaxing (i.e. lying limbs akimbo like a pile of goo) or doing some stretches/moving around a bit.
Having different resting positions as part of my routine was really good for me.
Not only did it tend to make me aware of which parts of my body needed some extra attention but it also made using a variety of muscles a much more automatic part of my day. It was a low-key use of those muscles but I was still using them.
However, when we put up all the decorations this past Christmas, I put the big cushion and the mat down into the basement hallway to keep the living room from feeling too crowded.
And, unfortunately, I really liked the way the room looked without those things in the middle of the floor so…
Both the mat and the cushion stayed downstairs for ages and I didn’t really think about the things I *wasn’t* doing because they weren’t in their usual spot.
A couple of weeks ago when I was having people over and I wanted an extra place to sit so I dragged the big cushion back to the living room. It didn’t seem to take up as much space without the mat under it so I left it there in the living room.
I quickly noticed that the living room felt more inviting to me and I was choosing to sit on that fairly low cushion instead of on the kitchen chair that I had been defaulting to over the last few months.
It was pretty good for a while, even without the mat, but then Khalee went from occasionally climbing on the cushion to deciding that this circular chummy was actually *hers* instead of mine. So, instead of lying on it for a few minutes here and there, it became her first choice of resting spots in the living room.
Poor KP looks worried in this photo but I think she got her taxes done after. (Ha!) image description: a photo of Khalee, a medium-sized, light-haired dog, curled into a semi-circle on a large green circular cushion with a rectangular bolster cushion (in a blue pillow case decorated with green frogs) behind her. She looks a little worried or sad but not actually in distress.
Now, as much as I love KP, I am allergic to her fur, even with an allergy pill. Thanks to the increased time she was spending on the cushion, my allergies would arise in a fury if I tried sitting on it.*
So, I went back to not using the cushion at all but the fact that it is in the living room keeps drawing my attention. (FYI, the fact that it was behind me when I was exercising this morning actually led to this post.)
And, now that I think of it, my body has been pretty cranky lately and some of that crankiness is definitely related to the fact that I am just not getting that same range of motion and variety of activities/sitting positions in my day-to-day over the past few months.
And that happened because I changed the seating ‘geography’ of my living room
When the cushions and the mat were there, it was an automatic thing for me to choose to sit low to the floor in a variety of ways for part of every day.
Sitting low meant that I was doing a lot of getting up and down from the floor, shifting into different positions, doing a bit of stretching, and just generally not staying in the same spot for a long time.
But, for a while now, I have been mostly staying on the kitchen chair and staying relatively still. (Why aren’t the living room chairs or couch interesting? No idea! It’s a mystery to me, too.)
Right now, in order to comfortably sit low to the floor, I would have to make a conscious choice and move things (and a dog) around and as someone with a busy brain who has trouble prioritizing, it’s pretty hard to choose to do that because there are extra steps involved.
It’s annoyingly easy to get out of the habit of doing things, isn’t it?
I had noticed that my body was cranky but I hadn’t noticed the change in my habits.
What if it had taken me longer to pay attention?
It seems like a really slippery slope to becoming the kind of person who doesn’t get down on the floor at all.
And that, in turn, could be a slippery slope to becoming a person who *can’t* get down on the floor.
I mean, I understand that our mobility changes as we age and that not all movements will continue to be available to me but I sure as hell don’t want to lose any everyday mobility options just because I left a mat in a different room.
So, I have to remove the obstacles between me and my plan to spend more time sitting close to the floor.
I have to move the mat back upstairs.
I have to put the bolster cushion back in the living room.
I have to wash the cover on the big cushion and once its clean, I need to put a blanket over it so most of the dog hair will be on that instead of the cushion cover.
I must retake the floor!
PS – I was singing Was (Not Was)’s Walk the Dinosaur in my head all while I was writing this post. I may open the door, I will get on the floor, but I will probably just walk the dog. I don’t have a harness for a dinosaur.
*And that doesn’t even address the fact that she now considers it her space and will stand there staring at me if I sit on it. Yes, I am a people and she is a dog so I can technically overrule her on the question of cushion ownership but it’s very hard to enjoy sitting cross-legged on the cushion with her staring woefully at me – or worse, poking her nose into my face – from the side. I’ll have to figure something out. 😉
