Day 27 - Say Hello to My Friends In Russia

Monday was a day that I most noticed that I was coming to the end of the month.  Time seemed to have flown by so quickly.

As cute as the little girl in the photo looks, the image reminded me of all the times growing up eating sweets.  To coax me into eating my beans as a child, my mother sprinkled a teaspoon or two over my baked beans.  Cereal regardless of how much sugar was already in it had at least a bit more added for good measure. I even recall stirring sugar into water in middle school because it seemed better than water all by itself.

When some colleagues and friends asked if I would return to eating sweets again after the end of the month, I honestly was not sure.  I continued through the day wondering out loud at times whether I should or not.

When I created a list of pros and cons in my mind, I could not come up with many good reasons to return to eating sweets at all.  I did not want to create this idea in my head that sugar was like nicotine or crack cocaine for me; however, going back to how things were before seemed ridiculous to me.

I did not think going to the old ways was even an option.  But, how about maintaining a reasonable habit of eating sweets.  The problem was and continues to be that I do not have a confident sense of what "normal" really would be.

I had gone pretty much cold turkey without many side effects or withdrawal symptoms to speak of really.  I could go back and not really notice a difference - only if I ignore the obvious.

Since the beginning of the month, I had lost six pounds without exerting a huge amount of exercise.  My oral hygiene seemed to have turned around with the added benefits of flossing everyday.  Only a small hint of gingivitis was left in the back molars.

I had not seen any dramatic changes unless you count having a craving for water when thirsty instead of craving something sweet.  I went from not noticing often when I was dehydrated to noticing pretty regularly how I was feeling, being able to explain the deep desire to drink water after a half the day had gone by.

There have been some pitfalls and twists around the bend that caught me off guard.  The difficulties that I have had recently center around some loss of enthusiasm and emotional fatigue.  I found that even these situations, sugar had been my confidant supporter and gentle buttress through stressful circumstances.

As I reflect on the last twenty-seven days, I am grateful to have made it further than I had since I was a child.  I had cut down, cut out for short periods of time, or totally binged on sugar just because.  I did not want to be controlled or told what to do with my food.  I was stronger and better than that.

Not sure who or what I had been fighting against except for myself because I should have done this long ago. And, . . . I am glad that I took on this everyday in February.  It has been a nice ride through all kinds of explorations.

I am not done.  I'm going to take the next few days to consider my next steps.  I like these changes and look forward to keeping it going.  For today, the rewards outweigh by a long shot any negatives that may come.

The good thing about being an adult is that you do not have to be beholden to your childish impulses and mindless dabbling into nonsense.  I had been as innocent looking as the child in the photo, kind of vulnerable to the family, community, and habits that nurtured me. One of the habits has been a deep fixation on anything with sugar in it.

Good to wake up and see all the possibilities.  Good to not be under the thumb of cravings that seemed impossible to control or I had been unwilling to deal with.  Although I'd like to savor being innocent and ignorant to taste the blissfulness that comes with it, I'd rather replace it with the guiding wisdom that has shown me a path moving forward to live my own happiness without sugar.

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Day 16 - More Austin, East of I-35 Love

Picture of Joe Sing

Thursday morning was not the same pop up and kiss the sky kind of morning as was yesterday.

I was dragging ass like lard was a paper weight in my pants.  I heard the clock alarm go off . . .

I just looked at it, noise blaring in the morning chill.  I finally turned off both my clock alarm and the cell alarm  that followed moments later.  I could not stand it anymore.  So, I laid in my warm bed, studied the numbers on the neon green clock radio and listened to National Public Radio talk about the Republican Presidential primary and the economy.

This was not in God's plan.

I had a few days under my belt and, as tired as I felt, I still felt compelled to rise this morning.  With dry spit on my face, I sure did not give a goddamn how I looked.  I rolled out of bed in my Batman underwear, grappled with staying atop my two left feet, and somehow made it to the restroom. With the lights off, I'm pretty sure I was in the right position to unload the two quarts of water I drank the night before as I went to bed.

My eyes did not need to adjust yet as I returned to sit on the corner of my bed contemplating the apparent insanity that rose me from death's grip.  My heart was not into this morning exercise thing, but I went with what little willpower I could muster.  I listened to the Republicans hammer at each other and again at President Obama.  It was enough to peek my curiosity to listen more to the story and clothe myself in the dark.

I watched the clock strike six o'clock in the morning, which was pretty late if I was going to get a good start.  However, I had already decided that I needed to make a short stop on my walk this morning.

I could not recall one of the Asian family's  that settled in East Austin. So, I rose up and intently walked around the Cesar Chavez area near Lady Bird Lake in search of the Texas Historical Marker to jog my memory.

Many people may not think of East Austin as home to any Asian Americans, but long ago, there was a prominent Chinese immigrant who ran a laundry business on 5th Street.  In the late 1800's, Jo Feng Sheng or Joe Sing came to Austin by way of New York City and New Orleans.  A native of southern China off the South China Sea, Mr. Sing came to Austin during a time when there were only thirty Chinese people, almost all men, residing in the city.

Mr. Sing remained while many other Chinese left due to discrimination (i.e., racism and inability to own property) and difficulty finding work and opportunity.  However, he met and later married Frances Moreno (Sing), a Mexican American who subsequently lost her citizenship when she married Mr. Sing. They went on to have four children.

I thought it important to mention, even if brief, the legacy of Mr. Sing and the other Chinese immigrants who came to settle in Austin.  Although many Chinese would not come to stay in East Austin, I thought the Sing family story was an important one to share.  Sing and other prominent Asian immigrants and Asian Americans came to provide a contribution to the history and culture of Austin.


In particular, Mr. Sing's life illustrated his integration into East Austin, managed a business, and thrived in the community.  His story and that of many Asians can be easily overlooked due to the small numbers who initially resided here.

I cannot clearly articulate the importance of telling part of the Sing story.  For some reason, it felt dishonorable to leave it out.  Of course, there are plenty of stories being left out.  However, on my walk around the East Austin, the Sing family story, the house Mr. Sing's daughter bought on Willow Street, which is the one I pass on occasion during my walks, are meaningful tidbits of what I learned to be part of the East Austin identity.

There is more to learn, experience, honor, and criticize.  As I walked home, I wondered what it was like for a man during the turn of the 20th century in a foreign land, nurture a family, grow a business, and develop friendships. Mr. Sing's story and that of the thousands who have lived and worked in East Austin would probably fill volumes.  I hope my legacy in some small way honors the path these trailblazers made for us.

Today, it was not hard at all to stay on track by staying away from sweets. There were a few tempting situations.  The pound of chocolates and fruit flavored candies in my car trunk was one.  The other came from a box of post-Valentine's Day candy sitting in the office all day.  Neither of the temptations were worthy of my attention.  I did remove the candy from my trunk as soon as I realized I might be driving back home with it still in my car.  Yeah, I had to get rid of that satanic sweetness.

Water . . . check, fruit and vegetables . . .  check, glass of wine while I write this blog entry . . . double check.  Today is a good day!

Now, will someone tell those hipsters walking about my neighborhood to shut the hell up?!!! Can't they talk softly as they traispe down the street!  Day workers like me have to get up and walk in the morning. :)

Day 6 - Hunger Games

The one thing going through my mind all day and went unaccomplished was the call to the life coach from the wellness program through my health insurance. As I sit hear contemplating the day, I cannot really give a good reason for not calling.  It wasn't a priority.

The first excuse was that I did not have the phone number, which led to me thinking I needed to look up the information online.  So, I pushed the chore of finding the number off until I had time to search through the Human Resources webpage.

The next excuse included my desire to have lunch, since it was already the late afternoon and I wanted to take a break from work instead.  I thought when I was done I would locate the number and call before going home.

Finally, I wanted to call after noticing that the end of the day approached quickly. I saw the remnants of my four servings of water sitting still in my recycled Powerade bottle.  I checked my email and recalled that I needed to enter grade changes for a few students. I got up immediately and planned on getting something to eat (yeah,  I still didn't eat).  On the way back, I'd go to the office across campus to completed the required paperwork.

When I returned to the office, the day was over and I was certain that the wellness program wherever it was located probably closed by then. I checked my email, responded to messages, made a few phone calls, and locked my door to go home.

Once I arrived home, I went to an early evening community presentation, ate dinner, and sat down to write this blog. Sitting here, I wondered how much time did it take to find that wellness program phone number for the life coach.

Wait for it . . . .

Approximately 40 seconds.  I opened my email, searched for Wellness Program, and there it popped up.

It is interesting the games we play with ourselves to avoid making change or steps toward making meaningful change.  I do not attempt to overestimate or underestimate the importance of talking with the life coach. Rather, I consider the power and deep psychology present in procrastination, which helps to delay important tasks to a later time.  Some say procrastination serves the person by providing a mechanism for coping with anxiety.

What am I anxious about?  Failure, not fulfilling my expectations and unsaid goals to be healthier and not continue the legacy past down the generations.  My mother, maternal and paternal grandparents all died from causes related to heart disease and/or cancer.  The goodness of their hearts did not suffice to lengthen their lives or make the quality of their last days pleasurable.  My mother died incoherent, unconscious of her circumstance, while my maternal grandfather died alone in his apartment after an apparent heart attack, and my maternal grandmother died of colon cancer in a hospital while battling advanced diabetes. My paternal grandfather died around the age of 52 related to cancer.

So, I know the burden a family can take on caring for loved ones who are gravely ill.  Some elder family died when I was too young to remember their presence.  I cannot tell you what my paternal grandfather looked like at all.  Although we could not do anything about my maternal grandmother's cancer, I could tell you stories of my grandfather's struggles with the government to provide proper medical coverage for my grandmother.  My grandfather's lasting description of President George Bush I: Pork chop.

There were hours spent at hospitals, sitting in waiting rooms to hear word, caring for proud people who spend their whole lives fighting for a better life.  My maternal grandmother, who was a school teacher, died at 63 and my maternal grandfather a WWII veteran extended his life to 77.  My mother also accomplished much in her short life, when she died at age 62.

I had accepted my mother's early death as a reflection of Black folks plight.  However, in a move to better appreciate and understand my family heritage and the legacy bestowed to me, I started plotting out my family tree online.  I learned going back at least  four or more generations on both sides of my family that it was not common for people to die so young. To the contrary, many people lived well into their nineties and beyond one hundred years.  The new information saddened me. It also invited me to fulfill my legacy.

I'm calling the life coach first thing in the morning.  I have the number and hope in hand.  It's hard to imagine being anxious about living up to what was given to me freely. The games continue.