One Love

Thirteen years ago I married my best friend in an outdoor garden with bagpipes playing and our dear friend officiating the ceremony. We had been together two years at that point, engaged after a year, moved in together two months into our "summer fling." We worked together at The Rocktide Inn, he was a cook and I was a waitress. Our first encounter was during his 21st birthday party, music blasting, people overflowing out of the cabin. He kept trying to kiss me. I escaped outside and met Ziggy. Who's dog I kept asking everyone, I had to know. Jason's...I was won over.

One year later we told Jason's parents we were engaged while on a whale watch - his Mom was so excited she nearly bounced out of her seat - wonderfully appropriate. We announced we were getting married to my parents on the 4th of July, received a less than enthusiastic reaction and then had to cram into the car and go strawberry picking with them. Warm family moments. I think my friends were probably feeling the same way after watching our crazy drunken partying, totaled cars, car-surfing/hospital/life support days. After all, I was 24 and Jason 23, we were so young and still had so much potential in our lives (once we left the bar hopping days)...did we really want to get married?!

We did, there was no hesitation on our part. It felt right, we were passionate with no idea of what we wanted to do with our lives, but we'd figure it out together. And that we have . . . well, not really "figured" it out, but experienced many adventures together both good and bad. We were married 5 years before I got pregnant with Brendan (I did not want to become a Mom until I graduated college and got a job). He was conceived approximately 2 weeks after I had to call my husband at 3am to come bail me out of jail (we'll save that story for another time). Anyway, back to the adventures together...Commuting to USM, traveling, hiking & camping, raising dogs, birthing our babies, buying a house, quitting our jobs to buy a fish market-then working and living together 24/7 while raising two kids and our enteurage. We've battled alcoholism, cigarettes, food addictions, post-partum depression, depression, losing a business, losing jobs, losing animals . . . nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing that can't be overcome . . . and they always made us come out stronger on the other end. Jason is my yin and I'm his yang. He is kind, patient, gentle and funny. He is supportive, loving and determined. Don't get me wrong, he has his asshole moments, but I mean who doesn't?!

This summer has been a major turning point for the two of us. We have finally battled our weight. I was watching the two of us spiral out of control and wondered when we would hit rock bottom. Fortunately we got our act together after years of overeating, not exercising and basically living an unhealthy life. Thankfully we closed that door and have opened this new one together.
I am looking forward to see where our journey takes us next. We are feeling strong, positive and alive! Cheers to thirteen married years, and to many, many more ahead.

No Excuses

It has occurred to me many, many times over the past few months that I have not written a blog in a longgggggg time. It's very much like the diaries I kept as a kid, the intention is there . . . the follow through is not. Entire months nothing is written and then an in depth juicy

entry is presented with the promise to make the journal writing more routine. But . . .

Recently I experienced a "high" while driving with the windows down in the sunshine, Toots & The Maytals blasting. It was wonderful. Upon some reflection I realized I haven't been this happy with myself in a really long time, 8 years or so. I don't mean for that to sound as if I've been miserable - life is good . . . very, very good - I just haven't been doing my best at taking care of myself. Even when I trained for the triathlon a few years back, I continued to drink, eat processed foods and socially smoke the entire summer and then beat myself up for it. The mental anguish, the guilt and then the repeat of bad behaviors. Such a vicious cycle. Addictions are hell.

I went on my first diet my freshman year of highschool when my mother thought I had gained too much weight. My second diet was Senior year of highschool when my mother signed me up for Nutri-System. Throughout my years I've gained and lost between 10 and 30lbs more times than I know. And don't think I don't know the issues with my mother having control over my weight, that is a whole other blog in itself - and we are not going there. About 11 years ago I lost 30lbs by attending Weight Watchers meetings, exercising hours on end and researching and learning about nutrition. I was mentally and physically healthy, feeling on top of the world. I was able to maintain life this way until I became pregnant for the first time. For some reason being pregnant made me feel I had the license to eat anything and everything.

It's amazing how many times one can yo-yo their weight in a lifetime. For someone like me who emotionally eats, LOVES food, the tastes, smells and celebrations we use for excuses to indulge in it - it is very easy to ride the weight rollercoaster. I binge on sweets when I'm bored, tired, irritated, angry, happy, excited, you name it. It is my vice, my addiction and my love/hate partner. I remember the first binge I ever had was in the 6th grade. Home alone during the summer, bored, I watched Santa Barbara and ate a plastic cup full of Chips Ahoy mixed with milk. I ate my way through freshman and Junior year in highschool, freshman year in college, my mid-twenties, my first pregnancy, 2nd pregnancy until my midwife threatened me, (lol)then through depression both post-partum and "regular" depression . . . and most recently this past year.

I kept using life changes as my excuse to eat. Then I would use it to not exercise. I'm so busy, I don't feel like it, It's too cold. I know all the excuses - I've used them. I'm very good at rationalizing my behavior as well. It is easy to lose oneself between a fulltime career, marriage and parenting and then excuse that. Eat, eat, eat right out of the clothes. I had one pair of pants left I could squeeze myself into. I refused to buy bigger clothes, I was NOT going to be fat. I had temper tantrums in the morning, I cried, I hated myself, negative talked to the mirror, swear I wasn't going to eat and then eat to soothe myself. I'd try, fail, beat myself up, wallow and then start all over again. But then it got to the point where I didn't try again . . . I just kept wallowing . . . and pretending I didn't see the wallowing. At some point I believe I even thought to myself "what's the point? maybe I should just accept being fat?" BUT I got sick of listening to myself. I was so tired of hearing myself complain about me. Daily internal battles were wasting so much time I had to do something to get myself back mentally & physically. I just didn't have it in me to join Weight Watchers again for the umpteen millionth time. I needed something new and exciting that would rope me in. Thank the Universe for facebook. There it was in my newsfeed, a post about A Biggest Loser Challenge in Wiscasset. I joined immediately, making the decision to take my life back no matter how hard I would have to work. It is the best thing I have done for myself in a really long time. One of my favorite quotes to help me through the "No excuses" part of this Challenge is "Whether you think you can or think you can't - you are right," Henry Ford. This is totally true. If you believe in yourself, anything can happen. This, I know for sure.

Home Sweet Home

Everyday I drive by the house I grew up in. My family moved to Maine from D.C. when I was 2. My parents sold the homestead when I was 21. The house and land are my childhood. They encompass almost the entire first half of my life. I have the most wonderful memories of childhood - and feel very fortunate for the life my parents gave me. My only regret is that my husband never got to see it, to experience my life foundation - that makes me sad. At times when life is feeling hard for me I think back to this special place, I miss it very much.

I grew up on a farm in perhaps the cutest little village on a river there is. Up a small paved road lined with giant trees and old well taken care of Victorian houses, sat our red farm house. With tall maples and pines in the front and an old cemetary on a giant hill across the street. A gravel driveway, green grass yard, stonewalls, a giant garden with the fastest growing asparagus around. We had horses, goats, bunnies, cats, a dog and many, many rodents over the years.

The house was 100yrs or so when my parents bought it in the 70's. They renovated the entire thing over the years, adding on a screened-in porch; the most widely used room of the house in the summer - and eventually moving the house onto a new foundation when I was in the 8th grade (a very cool thing to miss school for). The house came with a cat, Fred, who was given to a new family when the owners moved . . . but Fred wasn't up for moving so he wandered back and we kept him (until the elderly neighbors across the street ran him over in their garage many years later).

The house was set back from the narrow quiet road, with lush fields, a border of woods and a marvelous old barn complete with hay loft. The barn was filled with the sweet smell of hay, oats & corn for the animals and pine shavings for the stalls (ok, and probably horse and goat shit). Dad had a parking area for his motorcycle, near the stairs for the loft and the only other phone on our property besides the one and only orange rotary in the kitchen. The barn phone. This is the phone I would hold my private conversations on throughout highschool - it beat trying to sit at the top of the stairs with the kitchen phone cord stretched as far as it would go.

The cement entrance to the barn had my sister's and my initials - the thrill of putting one's finger in wet cement! This was the hubbub of the barn - where the rope swing was, the tie-offs for the horses and where you could look up and see all the hay stacked up like giant legos. Another fabulous place to play, hide, find the cats, lie and watch the swallows, read, spy or just relax. I remember many a time lying on the bales and listening to the staticy radio blaring the Red Sox from below as my Dad tinkered on his bike, or cleaned horse stalls. If the electric fence was on it came through the radio . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . .as the announcers yelled out plays. The cats would come out of hiding to snuggle, rub and purr - the first batch Fred, Dig'em and Tiger, later it was Lucy & Henry.

While they had the most giant presence, the horses never captured me like our other animals did. I was intimidated by them and just never truly comfortable around them. I took riding lessons on our neighbor's horses with my sister, who began showing with them and then became a horse freak. My parents jumped on board and well then I wanted to (but not really). I had the neighbor's horse take off out of the riding ring and gallop back to the barn with me on her freaking out - that was my first experience of complete horse chaos. My family ended up buying horses - Moon Glow Elegant Duke was my Dad's horse, or just Duke. Never liked him. He came up behind me in the pasture in 3rd grade right after we got him and pushed me to the ground with his nose and bit me square on the back. He did it again a few days later - and over the years bit other kids so a sign had to go on the gate and people were forever warned about him. Never trusted him. My Mom had Stardust first and then later sold her and bought Mystical Mutt, or Mutt. He was part draft horse and a giant love bug - but clumsy as all hell. While I was thrown off Duke (with my Dad who landed on me and knocked the wind out of me) I would fall off Mutt as he stumbled and tripped at least half the ride. My sister had her own horse for awhile, Amanda, who I never really got to know. I sold a ton of girl scout cookies one year as my Dad brought me around the village in horse and sleigh - what type of person doesn't by from the little brown haired girl in the horse and sleigh??? Like enormous dogs, Duke and Mutt would wait at the opening in the corner of the field around 5:30 every night until they heard my Dad's motorcycle come down the back dirt road and then they would gallop to the gate and prance around snorting as he drove into the barn . . . every night.

Just the physical landscape was enough to make one smile. The yard was used to play everything from tag, rolling inside inner tubes, kickball (don't let it go in Margie's garden! - our old next door neighbor). There were apple trees to climb, blackberry bushes to disappear in, an old tire swing. An entire graveyard considered an extended yard to us kids. We played everything from Barbies, Little House on the Prarie and flashlight tag in it. A unique cemetary, it was rather large on a giant hill that sloped to the river. It had a giant rock with stairs carved into it, gated family areas with benches and extremely large graves we could have a picnic on top of. A great place to sled in the winter, an intriguing place to spy on during a burial.

The surrounding countryside captured us daily. Not a moment went by that I didn't appreciate the beauty - even as a kid when I felt "so far away from town" I knew that our home was a special place. I thank my parents everyday (even on the winter days I'm stuck inside feeling crazy surrounded by 3ft of snow) for exploring Maine in their old Ford van (bright yellowish-orange and white with a giant Mickey Mouse on the side) and picking the Damariscotta area to move their business and raise their family. Everyday as I drive to work or home for the day, I drive through this special place and am flooded with memories: the bus stop I spent most weekday mornings at 7:15 with the neighborhood kids, the Harriet Gertrude Bird playground where we used to rollerskate on the ancient tar tennis courts, swatting huge green-
head flies while swimming in the river. I will always miss the close personal ties I had with this village and will continue to appreciate the memories and beauty on my daily drive.

Her Klutziness

If you've never dropped a drawer on your toe, shut your fingers in the car door, fallen while getting off a chairlift, knocked a display over at a store, grabbed a hot pan from the oven with a bare hand, repeatedly . . . you have absolutely no notion as to how my life is lived.

Grace Stone, that is what my name really should be - just call me Gracie, my husband does. I am a complete klutz, always have been, always will be. I am okay with that. When I was younger it embarassed me. Now, much more comfortable in my skin - it makes me laugh and even if I do feel stupid I can recover just fine. I have a bumper sticker that reads the difference between an ordeal and an adventure is attitude which is so true in many situations including klutz attacks. Adding to my graceful moves are the many furry bodies around here that don't understand their own personal space let alone others. They enable the klutz button much more than necessary.

My klutz resume ranks right up there with the best of them. I've sliced my big toe on a vegetable peeler (that for some reason was on the floor?), tripped and fallen on an uneven tile and sliced my knee open, canoed the white water with my Dad and then slipped on the riverbank, landed on the canoe and broke a few ribs, fallen down many, many stairs, fallen up the stairs, conked my head on just about everything - car doors, bunkbeds, freezers, counters to name a few. I've fallen in bird shit, dog shit and lots of muddy patches. I've been dragged down main street on my bare knees with my skirt up to my waist by 2 determined dogs, I've actually been flung backwards on the treadmill at the gym - yes, I am THAT gal. Sightseeing with my other half in D.C. I tripped over my own two feet, fell on the sidewalk and ripped a whole in my jeans. Backpacking in Great Britain with my sister, I got stuck in the doors of a train - my pack on the outside and me inside the train. I've fallen off my bicycle, crashed on rollerblades, landed a hammock on the ground. Once I ran into a coworker while waitressing, both of us carrying platters - I fumbled and he caught both trays and saved everything (graceful Richie). My klutziness has destroyed many a thing. I've dumped an entire cocktail on our laptop, washed and dried my ipod (brain klutz - BUT it still works), dropped the transmission in my Dad's car while learning to drive a standard, don't even ask how many vacuum cleaners I've been through.

After years of belly flops, falling out of trees, getting zapped by the electric fence -

I truly began to notice my klutziness in highschool. Realizing there was a reason I didn't thrive in sports. It didn't stop me from joining the UMASS novice crew team - which I quickly learned I was not cut out for when practice included climbing 12 flights of stairs, skipping every other step with hands behind the back . . . 5 times in a row. In my 20's I climbed Mt. Washington successfully and then tripped in the parking lot at the bottom skinning my chin, twisted my ankle on another hike and one winter wore bruises the size of a baby on my ass attempting to be a cool snowboarder chic (uh, no). In my 30's, as I mentioned, I've been able to truly embrace myself for the disaster I can be. I think of Lucy or Carol Burnett - truly fabulous klutzs. If you can't laugh at life then what is the point? Klutziness is out of my control . . . nothing to do but go with it.

"Best blush to use is laughter: It puts roses in your cheeks and in your soul." Linda Knight