Okay, so it's been 17 months (give or take) since my last post. Most likely by now you've figured out that this blog has died and gone to cyberspace heaven. And, no, I'm not here to revive it.

A lot has changed in the last year and a half. I've changed. You've changed. We've moved on. You probably don't even remember that you were ever subscribed to this blog. That's okay.

I am happy to say that my efforts at "lifting the weight" of depression are succeeding for the most part. And without depression weighing me down so intensely, I have been able to focus on other things. Things that are fun and creative, passions that I had long neglected.

Last year I started a new blog,  “What Rhymes with Stanza? ~ Words at Rest, Words at Play.” My elevator speech description is this:

I invite you to check it out and, if it interests you, please subscribe and join me on this new path of discovery. And if it's not your cup of tea, no problem.

Either way, I thank you for sharing in the Lifting the Weight journey with me.

Wishing you all the best,​​​​

“20 Amazing uses for Epsom salts”

"The foods the experts don’t want you to eat”

“Wrinkle Solution Horrifies Surgeons: Scientists have discovered a shocking natural skincare solution. Try this one weird trick & look years younger.”

“1 evil trick to lose fat”

Really?????

I’m sorry, but I’ve never been amazed by Epsom salts. I don’t care what the “experts” do or don’t want me to eat (I’ll research that myself and make my own informed decisions). If surgeons are “horrified” by a “weird trick” to look younger, I don’t think I want to try it. And why would a “trick” (there’s that word again) to lose fat be “evil?” Is it some kind of malevolent voodoo that strips fat off of you and magically transfers it onto the body of your arch enemy? Now that would be evil!

Who writes this stuff? Do consumers really fall for this hyperbolic advertising? As for me, I just find it an insult to my intelligence. Make that a shocking insult to my amazing intelligence; an intelligence which experts would be horrified to learn the evil trick I used to acquire. Not to mention how it astounded scientists to see how much younger and thinner I looked after using this weird trick.  And by the way: doctors, surgeons, insurance companies and even veterinarians don’t want you to learn this miraculous trick because obviously they are all scam artists and would rather you pay them obscenely huge fees to deal with your problems (ineffectively, no less) than let you in on this carefully guarded secret.

Do you think I could get a job writing ad copy? Of course, overstated – and often misleading – advertisements aren’t new:

From a 1930s magazine advertisement --
"Why our Physicians call our new brand a 'Health Cigar'. I recommend Thomson's Mell-o-well cigars to any who are interested in regaining or keeping physical fitness...." Signed by G. Edward Roehrig, M.D., who passed away from lung cancer at the age of 73.

From the 1850s -- “Dr. Thomas’ Eclectric Oil… It will positively cure… toothache in 5 minutes… lameness in 2 days… deafness in 2 days… One bottle will go farther than half a dozen of an ordinary medicine.”

And then there are the ads at the other end of the spectrum, nicely understated. I saw an online scrolling ad for a two-piece outfit for $25. I couldn’t read fast enough, but I think the company was Fabletics, which sells women’s sportswear. The ad said something about the good fit of the clothing, then ended with, “Your butt will thank you.” Simple. Succinct. No hyperbole. And maybe even true, butt who knows?

I haven’t watched TV for quite some time, so I don’t know the current state of television commercials. For simplicity’s sake, you can’t beat the Grey Poupon commercial, which came out in the mid-1980s. Thirty-two seconds, two actors, two lines. And yet it still plays well:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwOCOm9Z0YE

Given the proliferation of outlandish statements in online advertisements, I can only assume that they work, and that Epsom salts and wrinkle cures are flying off the virtual shelves of their sellers. And evil people are losing fat, and experts continue to roll over in their graves because of the foods we eat.

So I guess I’ll have to put up with the horrifying, shockingly evil hyperbole. Maybe a “health cigar” and a shot of snake oil will make it more palatable. Wouldn’t that be amazing?!?

I am proud to announce that I just completed my first Whole30® challenge, a 30-day nutritional program intended to reset one's metabolism, stop unhealthy cravings, help heal the digestive track and restore balance to the immune system. That's a lot to ask for in just 30 days. I don't know if I accomplished all of that, but I am definitely pleased with my results.

I won't go into great detail about what Whole30® is. There's a ton of information online and everything you need to know to take on the challenge can be found on the Whole30® website.

At first glance, it looks like a bunch of "no's." No alcohol, no grains, no potatoes, no legumes, no added sugars, no carrageenan, MSG or sulfites (essentially no highly processed foods).  So what's left? A whole bunch of healthy veggies, fruits, nuts, proteins and fats.

I kept a log/journal on the Whole30® forum site, and it's been helpful to track my journey. On "Day Zero" I listed my goals: losing weight, getting rid of that pervasive "I think I'm coming down with something" feeling, greater self-esteem. And my biggest challenges: stopping sugar, eating more veggies, and eating three balanced meals daily. 

The first week was the hardest, with so many adjustments.

"Day 1: I went to the grocery store. They have a whole section there devoted to vegetables. All sorts of vegetables! Who knew!?! I bought some."

"Day 2: I've never thought this much about food before. It's kind of interesting to pay attention to what you eat. What a concept!"

"Day 3: According to the Whole30® timeline, this might have been a day for starting to feel cranky. I didn't notice any difference, so either I'm always cranky, or I'm not having that particular response. Yet..."

"Day 4: I haven't been truly hungry since starting this program, so each meal feels like a chore. A chore to cook, a chore to eat, a chore to clean up. Is this the crankiness coming on???... Okay, enough whining about having to eat healthy food. Talk about a First World Problem."

"Day 6: [After five consecutive days of eating chicken] The plan is to go to Whole Foods tomorrow and buy pretty much anything except chicken. Guess that's not really much of a plan. I will try to refine it before I head out the door."

In the second week, I began to notice some changes.

"Day 11: Really starting to get some energy going. And getting motivated to take on some projects that have been lying fallow in the morass of my (apparently) sugar- and gluten-induced torpor (in other words, things I've been too frickin' tired and bummed out to do)."

I learned new ways of cooking and discovered the versatile coconut: coconut milk, coconut water, coconut oil, coconut butter, coconut cream, coconut aminos, coconut flour... "Whoever invented the coconut was really onto something."

I had some epic recipe fails, especially when I went off-road and tried to create my own recipes. "And the winner of the Worst Concocted Meal Ever award goes to... [my pulled pork, salsa, spinach, almond and ginger creation]. Going to crack open some recipe books tonight. I think I need to seek 'professional help'."

By Day 25, I was feeling more confident about cooking. "[Whole30®] has taught me that the kitchen is not my enemy. I can actually cook things! And they sometimes come out edible! Maybe that makes it all worth it."

In the end, I managed to face and conquer all of the challenges I listed on Day Zero, and I met all of my goals as well. So as I come to Day 31 and the end of my Whole30® challenge, I am free to eat whatever I want. What will I choose? Actually, I think I'll just go for more of the same. Why mess with a good thing? (Okay, maybe I'll have some dark chocolate. A girl's gotta live a little.)

“You fail only if you stop writing.”
~ Ray Bradbury

It seemed like every year when I was in grade school, when classes resumed in September we would be assigned the task of writing an essay on “How I Spent My Summer Vacation.” I never felt like I had much to write about. Obviously I had spent the prior three months doing something, but none of it seemed noteworthy. And to some extent, being an extreme introvert, I didn’t feel like it was really anybody’s business how I had spent my vacation. (I did say “extreme” introvert, didn’t I?)

It’s been seven months since my last blog post. In part, it’s because I’ve been stirring my creative juices elsewhere, designing and building stained glass panels. But on another level, I began to feel that I was exposing too much of myself through blogging. Okay, I write under a pseudonym (sort of), I don’t post photos of myself, and I’ve never met – nor will likely ever meet – many of my readers. But still… did I really have to tell the world that I’m from another planet? Isn’t that just a little TMI?

Despite my reservations, I’ve decided to dust off my muse (and my keyboard) and blog again. Why? Good question. I wasn’t sure why myself, so I went looking for other people’s motives. I Googled “Why do people blog?” and came across several articles about making gobs of money by blogging, and about getting as many readers as possible as quickly as possible by any possible means. But none of that bigger/better/richer/faster hype rang true for me. I’m not trying to sell anything, tangible or intangible. 

Then I found a post, 15 Reasons I Think You Should Blog by Joshua Becker, that looks into the more introspective side of blogging. The two points that appealed the most to me were #3:

“You’ll live a more intentional life. Once you start writing about your life and the thoughts that shape it, you’ll begin thinking more intentionally about who you are, who you are becoming, and whether you like what you see or not…” 

and #4:

“You’ll develop an eye for meaningful things…[B]logging is a never-ending process of choosing to articulate the most meaningful events and the most important thoughts. This process of choice helps you develop an eye for meaningful things. And remember that sometimes the most meaningful things appear in the most mundane… “

Okay, so who am I kidding? When I look at some of my previous posts, I can’t say that they are particularly insightful or meaningful. Mundane? Yeah, that fits many of them (i.e. Dusting my Cats).

But there is some introspection, and being the introvert that I am, writing is the only way I’ll ever get 500 words out of my head in one sitting. Plus, for me, it’s simply a lot of pleasure. Writing brings me pleasure, and if it brings pleasure to my readers as well, that’s a huge bonus. So for now, I’m going to open up my little corner of the world again and see what odd bits come to surface in my blogging. Of course, I’ll be wearing a ski mask and sitting in a dark corner while I write, so please excuse any typos.

And if you’re actually wondering what I did over winter (and fall) vacation, you can take a look here:

http://www.liftingtheweight.com/glass.html

I have completed my stained glass project. Once I got going on it, it came together rather easily. But in the process, I managed to learn a few things about myself. Or maybe I just remembered a few things.

I regained some confidence that I can set goals and achieve them. I reminded myself that it’s okay not to be perfect. I allowed myself to be a more reflective person (no glass pun intended). And I relearned the importance of locating the Band-Aids before you start cutting glass (and fingers). 
 
So what now? On to my next project! Maybe another window, something more challenging. Maybe something else entirely different. Writing the great American novel? The great American poem? Relearning how to play the guitar? Perfecting a chocolate mousse recipe? Learning to clog dance? The options are limited only by my imagination. Okay, and my budget, to some degree. 
 
It’s amazing how much motivation you can stir up once you get past the initial inertia. The trick now for me is to keep the momentum going. Keep learning, keep stretching, keep growing… because I’ll never be a totally finished person. I hope!

There are at least two ways to create art. One way is to add in. You take a blank canvas and add paint to make the image you wish to portray. Or you take a blank piece of paper and add lines with pencil or charcoal or even crayon until you have the depiction you desire. 

Another way to create art is to take away. To carve a statue, Michelangelo would have you believe that you simply remove from a block of marble everything that isn’t the figure you want to end up with. 

Stained glass work does a little of both. Okay, so I’m no Michelangelo, and some would argue that stained glass work is more of a craft than an art. But I’m going to make the analogy anyway. First you take sheets of glass and cut/break/grind away the parts that aren’t your final piece. Then you take all the pieces and put them together to create something totally new. 
 
And now for the real analogy: life is like a stained glass window (and a box of chocolates, but that analogy has already been used). Much of the time you are adding things into your life: new skills, new relationships, new knowledge... and you are creating something totally unique. Just like there is only one Mona Lisa, there is only one of you on this planet. 

But sometimes, in crafting your life, you have to take things away. Unnecessary obligations that suck away your time and energy, toxic relationships, material possessions that cost so much to maintain they end up owning you rather than the other way around. 

It’s an ongoing process. As I position my glass pieces into the panel and fit them into the channels of the lead came, sometimes I need to pull a piece back out and rework it a bit – grind a little more off the edges, reshape it to fit more snugly. Sometimes it just plain doesn’t fit, and I need to cut a new piece. If I were the perfect artisan, I wouldn’t need to do that, but I’m not perfect. And so I make adjustments as I go. 

I’ve done a commissioned window for a church before, and the project I am working on now, a 14” by 16” panel depicting a sea shell surrounded by rectangles, does not compare to the five foot high Jesus beckoning to all who pass by on the street. But that was then, and this is now. My goals have simplified.

It’s not that I am settling for less. It’s that I need less, or maybe I’ve just figured out that I never needed more. Besides, my current project is destined for the nursery of my soon-to-be grandchild, and I don’t think the little tyke would want to be stared at all day by a strange man looming over the crib, no matter how benevolent he looks. 

Michelangelo said, “Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.” As I continue to sculpt my life, it is intriguing to see the form evolving. The pieta is carved in stone and will never change. It is done. The cool part about life is that it can be a masterpiece even before it is done. And each day as it changes, as we add in and take away – it becomes a new masterpiece.

So maybe we are all Michelangelos. And this day, whether we pick up the paint brush or the chisel, we will be creating a work of art. I think I’ll call this piece “Wednesday.”

I’ve got my design ready to go now for the stained glass panel I am making for my first grandchild. I know, it’s going slow, but the baby’s not due until late December, and I am looking on the project as a sort of “stained glass therapy,” taking the time to contemplate a few things about my life as I go through the stages of building this project. (In case you haven’t noticed, this theme is turning into a series of posts.)

It’s not like the baby is going to be interacting with the panel right off, anyway. I don’t foresee my daughter and son-in-law sticking it in the crib so the child can teethe on the lead or smash the glass against the crib slats.

What I am imagining is that they may place the panel in the window of the nursery, where the sunlight will shine through it, bringing the colors to life in a parade of hues as each day progresses from dawn to dusk. Maybe it will inspire the baby to become the next Picasso.

Or maybe it will just sit on the window sill gathering dust. 

Now it’s time to choose the colors. Here is what I came up with: 

• Green – the color of growth and renewal; a celebration of nature and all things living.
• Orange – for warmth and vibrancy. The glow of embers in a welcoming hearth on a cold winter day. The color of California poppies dancing in a summer breeze. 
• Yellow – to inspire happiness and cheerfulness and optimism. 
• Purple – for nobility and opulence. A reminder to appreciate the richness and preciousness of each day.
• Red – the color of passion and fire, for when the baby is crying inconsolably at 3:00 a.m. Mom and Dad can walk the floor with Junior and keep telling themselves that it’s a sign of the little one’s feisty spirit and zest for life. 
• White – the symbol of purity and cleanliness. A reflection of the beautiful innocence and profound naiveté of youth.  And the color of a fresh, clean diaper!
• Brown – an earthy color that to me signifies stability, and the hope that my grandchild will find deep roots in his or her culture and family and community. (We won’t talk about diapers with this color.) 
• Blue – for peace, hope, and calmness. The color of clear skies and deep, placid lakes.
• Pink – for softness and compassion… and in case it’s a girl.

So I have my palette in order. This was the easy part. It’s all still in the
visualization stage. But now it’s time to do the work. What are the colors for motivation, energy and perseverance? I’ll be needing those quite soon.

In designing my latest stained glass panel, I decided to incorporate the shape of a sea shell into the pattern. I ultimately chose the form of a chambered nautilus, a spiraling mollusk shell that gets segmented into “chambers” as the nautilus grows.  

Someone mentioned to me that the nautilus shell is an example of the “golden ratio,” a mathematical ratio based on the number Phi. Phi (with upper case “p,” Greek letter Φ) represents the number 1.618… It’s reciprocal, phi (with lower case “p”, Greek letter φ), equals 0.618…  Since math is all Greek to me anyway, it was hard for me to grasp the concept of Phi, but the ratio it represents can be seen in relationships all throughout the universe. 

The website GoldenNumber.net explains the ratio in detail (I won’t attempt to do so myself), and gives many examples of how it appears around us: in proportions of the human body, proportions of some animals, DNA, plants, music, art, geometry, the solar system, the movements in the stock market... even in the designs of the Egyptian pyramids and the design of the Star Trek spaceship, the USS Enterprise. And, as noted, in the shape of the spiral of the nautilus shell. 

Some people would argue that the application of the golden ratio, in many instances, is based on arbitrary points of proportion that happen to match the equation. Kind of the idea that when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. If you set about looking for a particular pattern or ratio, you can find ways to fabricate its appearance in almost anything. 
 
In the case of the nautilus shell, the actual shape of the shell approximates the “golden spiral” shape as defined by the golden ratio, but it is not an exact match. GoldenNumber.net tells us that, “There is, however, more than one way to create spirals with golden ratio proportions of 1.618 in their dimensions,” and goes on to demonstrate that the golden ratio can, indeed, be seen in the nautilus shell, just not in the way that is typically – and incorrectly – demonstrated. 

But then the plot thickens. According to Wikipedia,  while the nautilus shell does not directly correlate to a golden ratio spiral, it is in the form of a logarithmic spiral. The logarithmic spiral, first described by French mathematician Rene Descartes (he called it Spira mirabilis, "the marvelous spiral"), can also be expressed mathematically.  I will again defer to the internet to explain the math (I guess in this case, it’s all French to me). 

The logarithmic spiral also occurs in many forms in nature. Examples given by Wikipedia: the approach of a hawk to its prey; the approach of an insect to a light source; the arms of spiral galaxies; the nerves of the cornea; the bands of tropical cyclones; patterns in sunflower heads; and, of course, the shells of mollusks (i.e. the chambered nautilus shell). 
 
So what is the significance of all of this? To me it indicates that there is a strong interrelationship between virtually everything in nature (and the aesthetics of some things manmade); that there are forces bigger than we can imagine at work in the universe; and that on some level there is, indeed, a “grand design” to everything. This is, perhaps, where science and religion come together in a very tangible way. 
 
So whether the nautilus depicts a “golden ratio” or a “marvelous spiral,” the bottom line is that it’s a really cool design to have in my stained glass panel. What, you expected something deeper?  You’ll have to wait until I brush up on my math. And my Greek.

* This Wikipedia and Wikimedia Commons image is from the user Chris 73 and is freely available at  //commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:NautilusCutawayLogarithmicSpiral.jpg under the creative commons cc-by-sa 3.0 license.

The stained glass project I have recently undertaken is going to be a gift to my daughter and son-in-law in celebration of my first grandchild, who is due in five months. I am using small rectangles of colored glass that came in a sample pack from a glass manufacturer. The idea is to have the various colored rectangles resemble a block quilt, once assembled.

It will be a very simple design, as I am trying to hedge my chances for success and build up my confidence for something more challenging down the road. Of course, the underlying fear is that I will fail at even this simple project, and drive myself deeper into the trenches of seeing myself as a failure. 

In truth, I don’t fear failure. I fear being a failure. In response to my previous blog post about fear of failure, a friend of mine, Mike, asked, “Doesn’t ‘success’ or ‘failure’ always relate to a goal of some sort that has been set? The words are meaningless unless something concrete has been chosen to try and accomplish; then the words apply depending upon whether or not one achieves the goal, or how far one misses it by.” 

Mike is right. Labeling myself as a failure or as a success is meaningless. One is never completely one or the other. We fail at some things and we succeed at others. Failing and succeeding are facts of life that occur every time we set a goal. And the world keeps spinning regardless of whether or not we fail at any given goal. Or whether we succeed, for that matter. 
 
So I’ve got the design for the glass panel conceived in my mind. The next step is to actually draw the pattern, to capture the intangible image onto paper. And to draw a parallel here, one could note that success and failure are merely intangible concepts, too, captured only in the essence of the outcomes of our goals. I should fear them no more than I fear my project design concept.  

In drawing the pattern – the blueprint – for my project, I am developing the guide that I’m going to follow. I'm setting the parameters within which I will want to work if I am going to achieve my goal. The path can take many routes, but this represents the destination.

In patterning my life, I know my destination: peace. Spiritual, mental, emotional, physical… peace. The particular path I take to get there, the specific materials and methods I will use are irrelevant at this point. And successes and failures are irrelevant, as well.  That’s a parameter I need to set. 

It’s time to draw some lines, literally and figuratively. 

It’s in my mind as a construct, an idea, a visualization of something that doesn’t yet exist. I think I can make it happen, but I have doubts, concerns, fears. I want success and acceptance and approval. And the value I place on the ultimate outcome leaves me nearly paralyzed with anxiety such that it’s difficult to even take the first steps to move this thing from imagination to reality. What if I completely fail? 

What am I talking about? Career choices? Finances? Relationships? Happiness? My life has kind of come to a standstill in all of those areas. It’s hard to break free of my fear of failure, and so I have given in to inertia. I don’t attempt to do things, even things that I have been successful at in the past. And yet that lack of action is, in itself, a form of failure. I am failing to even try. 
 
So how am I going to bring my ideas to reality? Where do I begin? The answer lies, in part, in realizing that there is no such thing as a “complete” failure. Any attempt I make is a success in trying. 

For starters, I’m not really talking about career and money and relationships, because I can’t visualize what I want in those areas. Ultimately, in life, what I want is contentment. I am wise enough to know that contentment doesn’t necessarily come from climbing the corporate ladder to a six figure income, or from finding a mate, or from winning the lottery. And I know that I could theoretically find contentment in my life right now without changing a thing. But I’m not there yet, and even so, there are twenty-four hours a day and seven billion people to contend with and a physical body to maintain, and as long as I am in this physical form, I have to participate with life on some level. So I have to decide what to do with myself. 

But rather than trying to figure out the big picture, I’m beginning with something much more concrete than the concepts I listed above. I’m going to build a stained glass panel. In the process, I’m hoping to learn about myself and gain insight into those other areas. The parallels between constructing a stained glass panel and constructing my future are endless. 
 
I’m going to create a pattern, select the glass in colors that are pleasing to me, cut and shape the pieces, and fit them together to form a panel, a whole that – while maybe not “greater” than the sum of its parts – will give me a sense of accomplishment, will be something of beauty (I hope) to look upon, and will give me pleasure in the simple act of creativity.  And as I fit together the pieces of glass, maybe I will begin to piece together some greater aspects of my life. Maybe at some point, as with the glass, I will be able to hold my life up to the light of day and see a vibrancy shining through in hues that I could hardly begin to imagine. And with that, maybe I will be content. 
 
So bring on the Band-Aids. I’m going to break some glass.