You can lead a horse to water...
But you CAN'T teach Mom to copy paste!

Is so hard.

Our class watched a movie about Denmark's nonviolent resistance during the Holocaust. Every time I learn a bit more about the Holocaust I feel so uninformed. In my understanding this was the single biggest act of overt violence in the long tragic history of this world. I say overt because other maladies kill more individuals than the Holocaust indirectly, but the Holocaust was malicious. I always want a better answer to this question: why did the Nazi's kill the Jews, the gypsies, the gays, the unable, and all of these prescribed group? If the Danes could resist Hitler in solidarity and oppositional defiance, why couldn't the German Nazi's and the other troupes that joined that hate spreading army, why couldn't these people stop the war before it was a war? WWII was not all about Hitler. It was about people with names on both sides. It was about power too, power that those German Nazi's forfeited to Hitler when they picked up a gun or drove a tank. When I think of these things, my heart sinks. I don't want to worry about these things. I can put on headphones and walk on by. My last name is Hess. Someone in my family might have been on either side. We don't know our European ancestors. Our immigrant family members moved to the US before all of the war and madness of the early 1900's. But what if my great great uncle was killed in the war? Or what if some distant cousin killed someone? I am just exploring those thoughts, though both make me cringe and teary. Our class reading said that the Jews and others killed did not have enough brute force to drive out the might of the Nazi army's. But in Denmark, the entire nation drove the Germans Nazis out with little deaths until the war ended. In Denmark, there were subversive attempts at printing newspapers and informational fliers, Danes blew up train tracks and worked intentionally slow on Nazi factories so as to sabotage things, Danes froze stiff for two minutes on the hour in similar attempts, and had singing days in the open like in Estonia. They were unified. It is spring and I have been watching flocks of sparrows and commenting on the collective conscience they seem to have. I think people think too little for themselves, but in Peace and Justice I am coming to wonder if maybe group think is inevitable. If so I want to use my group thinking for good. So when am I in a group? For one, in the Peace and Justice class. In the class discussion, Meta asked us to all think if we are pacifistic. I said I want to be, but I can b verbally belligerent and that my purchasing habits contribute to war mongering all over the world. When I said these things, I put them aside and forgot them, but doing that is in itself being violent by not acting to stop the killing. You see, my purchasing power includes buying petroleum, plastics, and other items that were shipped long distances to get to me. And oil is reaped from the environment almost always because of a strong arming country that puts a small developing country in hardship if they do not comply. Not the mention the fact that I read in Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and Steve Hopp that the average item eaten by US Americans travels 1,500 miles to get there. There are so many problems like this in the world. It makes me think that the human obligation is to find an issue that needs you and devote your life to that issue. I cannot say I have yet done that. Writers are in a debatable grey area, for sure. But if I can focus more of my writing on Peace, Justice, and Environmentalism, I am heading in the right direction at least. We may be herd or flock animals, but we are also free thinkers, and we get to decide what we do with our lives.

I am so torn right now.
I never explain my poems but I also am afraid of tossing around terrible words.
And if my poem doesn't speak for itself, it is not necessarily doing the job. This is making me ill, but that is not the problem.
Controversy has a place.
I will take it down if the need rises.

One of our writing prompts for creative nonfiction writing involved observing a place where we don't normally go. I used my car garage piece for this, but someone in my class used a local coffee shop. This particular coffee shop is a hippie establishment, according to the taxi service I use too much. I like going our town's hippie coffee shop especially because they make biscuits and gravy to order. I also like the two regulars who frequent the shop when I like to go, early. Enter the "character" that one of my peers wrote about in her creative piece. When I see him there, I know instantly he is the one she wrote about, I wonder why he has just recently started using the shop since he is a local, and I wonder what percent of labeling a person a "character" is age based. I cannot wait to be more of a "character". Tired of the word? What is wrong with being a unique human being?!

Since there are only ever a maximum of four people in the room, we all are part of the conversation. There is one friend of a close friend who I'd like to get to know better, talking about his experience working in the navy. There is the campus grounds worker who likes rock and roll and who I also have come to know in this small town. There is the amazing cook/server who let me in early when I was sitting out in the freezing cold. I like her humanity. Finally, there's the man with the white feather in his hat. He sticks his foot in everyone's conversation, which feels odd, but also could be defended in a court of law as perfectly normal. Anyway, he is the "character". When the other two men leave, the old man comes up to me and mentions that he grows some good stuff to smoke, indicating with his fingers against his mouth how it's done. I ask him if he means tobacco. I am joking because I have a sense of what he means. But he proceeds to explain in a hushed voice that he means marijuana.

Maybe the taxi drivers are right about this establishment, maybe it is a hippie place. Maybe my classmate is right about the man being a character. Either way, it doesn't bother me one bit. I see my favorite professors come here. And Christian students gone astray, or lost in this small town. It is my new favorite place probably because of the marijuana man/men. Honestly I am pretty burnt out on the other coffee shop in town. I wish I had a picture to leave you of my "character," but I don't want to get him in trouble. Considering who reads this, though, he might gain business.

This is the sign of a good teacher. There will be tension in the room. I like the ones that excite me to pull it to the surface much more than the ones who cover it over like mulch or a landfill. Can poems be considered Creative Nonfiction? I think so but it is a bone of contention in my class. This is also the sing of a good teacher. After a recent misuse of a word that can be considered racist, (think Germany), I consider researching all words and expressions before putting them in poetry. Being intentional every second is so counteractive to my person. I am a randomness generator. Who needs computers? Impulse is my second nature. Laughter is tension released. What is poetry?

This chick busting out
sacred egg, fragile lyric of
literature; entropy.

1. Why did I go to college?
   
2. What is a professional poet?
   
3. How can I act intentionally when I am giddy?
   
4. To be continued.

At the root of all the harm we cause is ignorance.
— Pema Chödrön

For Dr. Felicia Mitchell

I am ignorant. I don’t think about it a whole lot.
I am ignorant. I use fossil fuels to get places when I could walk.
I am ignorant. The food I eat migrates to my plate and I usually am not grateful.
I am ignorant. Refuge children are shot and orphaned because of my ways.

We are ignorant. We pay into the military industrial complex with war taxes.
We are ignorant. We elect the lesser of two evils. He is weak and feeble.
We are ignorant. We push migrant rights to the back of our minds.
We are ignorant. We never lifted a newspaper to read about Rwanda.

We are the eyes and ears of earth. Speak clearly and listen.
We all are dying. The planet is dying. We are the river, the desert, the pasture.
We are the skin of a sad earth. We ignore too much of what pains us.
We have a choice. We don’t have to be ignorant.

I can slow this self annihilation. It will be hard.
I must go against the stream, even if the rest of my school beats on me.
I will talk about the destruction.
I will not be ignorant. I have a choice. I can have a “wild and precious life.”

I can decide what this means for me. It might mean a simple diet of beans and rice.
I might give up riding in cars for life, not just lent. I am powerful.
I can write poems! I used to be ignorant, worst. I used to kill without much thought.
I have a life that matters. My life has an impact; the way I live can inspire other minnows.

Maggie Hess

Morning sun grips shoots -
like a body stretched from roots
rising, springing up.

II.

High up in the tree
invisible song rings shrill
branch swings, robin flies.

III.

Puddle of water
here where water is clean-ish
wind sets wave across.

IV.

Quiet professor
sits perched, attentive, like monk.
Rings bell. Good Morning.

5

Exuberance hulls-
up in hollers and cries in
one Friend's voice; live beard.

I don't know why I am a Quaker.
I became a Quaker so my voice could be heard.
In this quiet moment before lunch, the chapel bell rings.
I need to be quiet, to hear, to listen.
I need to be quiet and empty so my voice can be heard.

Rich life
Open mind
Big heart
Full belly

Rich belly
Open heart
Big mind
Full life

A couple blog entries ago, I tried to hammer out some haikus, partially to express to my family that I already knew about the poetic form before they all pointed me that way. Silly! I actually am grateful for their comments because they encouraged me to recognize zen and haiku elements in what I say. My initial knowledge of haiku, carried over from a Poetry class a long time ago, entails the following: haiku generally have 5 syllables in the first line, then 7 and 5 in the two lines that follow; haiku is largely about nature; and it is almost pertinent the haiku embody/ represent a season.

Who invented the form? Who invents forms? Did Basho invent the form? Basho was the poet so famous for the poem about the frog jumping in the pond. Did a cluster of poets invent the form we call haiku? Since the form was originally Japanese, what element of the form was lost in translation?

What element, haiku
was carried away in the
windy heave of time?

If I was to invent a poetic form, what shape would that have? Could I achieve a form that oscillated with the tensions and moodiness that occur so real in my life so the poem was not in lie? What would be three elements of my poetic kind? Misspellings, mixed metaphors, chaos? Maybe it would mix poetry and creative nonfiction, if they are not the same breath.

Wikipedia says haiku juxtaposes two ideas. According to Wikipedia, a haiku is not necessarily about nature, because of the seasonal element. Modern haiku tends towards dropping the 17 lines.

Maybe Arakida Moritake was the first to write haiku:

I came across Moritake's most famous poem:

A fallen blossom
returning to the bough, I thought --
But no, a butterfly.
(Translation by Steven Carter)

Two monks embrace. His
devotion pressed into hers.
Stripped of Her habits.

Hess according to Wikipedia
is a crater
on the far side
of the moon.

I found this a long time ago, but couldn't relocate the link until now...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hess_%28crater%29

Ironically, venture on Wikipedia. "Luddite." Origin of word. Robin hood bandits, who sabotaged looms. What change did they see/fear, looming in our future?

Mom commented on my blog. Lifting my spirits for eternity.

Connected.

PS Daddy lost that race!

I want to write something on the ceiling to read when I first get up in the morning, something that will send me on my way, moving along with a pensive kindness in every step that day.

Then that evening when my ideas are bubbling to the surface, I will write another page about all the accidents, mistakes, and hazards of trying to be intentional.

Have you ever written something and reread it a bit later? Shit this is some good stuff. Did I write that?

I am on a bus RIGHT now!

Only intention
morphs numb morning mind from numb
to silent, quiet.

I didn't walk to
where I am; but flat rock skips
over tense water.

Two carpenters, my dad
making sturdiness of sweat;
one poet listening.

Shaggy dog, girl catch
sun; move to shade: he then her.
Loyal mirror eyes.

The Greyhound took an hour detour on a back road! Like a bus in Costa Rica or some far away countryside. We wound through hills, on a one lane road, and I was afraid we were going to end up in the river, twenty to fifty feet below. It must have been next to a dry county. There were more pubs than homes there. One of the most beautiful rides of my life. We came out in Jellico, TN.

Because of the detour, the bus landed in Asheville at 11PM. Because of the missed connection, Daddy would have needed to pick me up an hour and a half from his home at 3 AM. So I called Joy Anna to spend the night with her in the city we were in.

I saw Joy Anna for five minutes that night before we went to our beds. My bus was due out at 9 in the morning. Since my friend was still in her room at 8:30, I knocked on her door to see if she was awake. Joy Anna meditates an hour in the morning, something I always wanted to do, and I knew I might be disturbing her. Later she told me she had already meditated and went back to bed for a moment. I saw her sprawled on her back with a little pointy turtle nose poking through the covers. Cute. I whispered to her, "are you going to be ready soon?" And she nodded. As I left, I saw a map on her wall of Sudan, where her parents have been for mission work.

I decided a couple days ago I wanted to meditate for an hour in the morning. But I didn't discipline myself to do it yesterday. So this morning I decided to write for an hour. I produced four haikus and this little entry.

I am having a wonderful visit.

Daddy and I went out for a rare breakfast at Chadwicks. I probably demanded too much conversation for him before coffee.

I am in a Costa Rica mood. Looking into an adventure. Gulping coffee.

I push the plow, pull
turnips, wash carrots, weave; write
lies for idle fun.

Listen to the bam
of the hammer happening.
Choose now. Choose this. Choose.

Like the inner light
of Pirate Quaker, sun burns
off. Haze ascending.

If I was naming a coffee shop, like this one in SC, I would play a little more with the last syllable of the name they have: "Coffee Underground." As is, it sounds like the coffee is not well enough beaten into black pulp. Enough on that though.

I have been doing this amazing new thing: reading like a book glutton. First, I spent most of my time in SC reading the dissertation that I read as part of my job. I was glad to do that. Oh I could go on and on. It enriched me in so many ways and was the push I need to explore careers, further education, or just added literacy.

Then I got a book on kindle: Healing Depression and Bipolar Disorder w/o Drugs. This is such a big topic. Worth breaking down in many entries.

My passcode to use the internet here is BE4PHD. A sign saying enrich your mind. Continue learning and reading and writing after graduation.

Currently I am working on cleansing my body of a number of harmful substances that I have been consuming for a long time. Chocolate, coffee, red meat, wheat, white rice, refined sugar, fried foods, dairy products, peanut products, soft drinks, black tea, exposure to hormones or pesticides oh my! Additionally, I am taking a woman’s daily vitamin that is good for moods and a complex of Omega 3 fatty acids. I felt the lack of my junk fix today, especially caffeine, but I think I will feel a lot better in the long run this way.

Since going cold turkey off of several kinds of addictive or harmful foods, I had a few moments that paid to have a strong will.

One of the nicest places on campus is the Learning Center, where I used to help myself to coffee, tea, candy, and hot chocolate. Now that is narrowed down to herbal tea. I also ran by a snack machine when I was craving "elevenses." I went by the items one by one. All these things I used to snack on are now out of bounds. I also am noticing my peers walking around eating star burst candies and turning up my nose.

I did eat some candied fruit that had refined sugar, which is crack. At first I wasn't thinking to look for the ingredients on that. It also had food coloring. I think it is making its way out of my system now.

One of my friends said something particularly touching, a simple offer of support for this diet. She then told me she thinks refined sugar would not be permitted by the FDA if they were being honest. I totally agree.

Nutrition first!

Tradition and culture have many of us eating diets involving wheat and corn in (to) many processed forms. Enter the Health Food store. The funny thing here and the good thing is that it is really very easy for a busy person to buy basic essentials without making gluten free bread every week or dairy free yogurt. Everything in my list of evil foods, has a positive food that I can substitute it for. So I bought some tortillas that were made with corn. And I bought some frozen bread that was made with a medley of wheat free meals. I bought some cheese that came from almonds as well, in a large effort to diversify my diet and cleans my pallet of harmful agents. I feel comforted to finally have a restocked pantry after eliminating the things that very likely cause me harm. This is good because I was getting a bit tired of the lentil and rice dish I made yesterday.

Praying mantis, why do you pray? For world peace, a hunk of bread, a decent meal, to not have to steal for that meal, for no pesticides and toxins in that gluten free flax meal? Praying mantis, maybe you are here to remind me to pray before my meal, to be thankful for what I have, thankful for a cool house when others swelter, thankful for a meal, a mate, a meal, a mate… I never am certain if I am dreaming, or if it is realistic that a praying mantis might descend, eat me head and all. A bigger mantis in the sky. Something to believe in.

The most important point in a new dietary regime are the reasons for making the changes. I have been gathering my information on getting a fitter brain reading one book. There is another one coming to me, but so far, my information source has been Gracelyn Guyol's book: Guyol, Gracelyn (2009-05-26). Healing Depression & Bipolar Disorder Without Drugs: Inspiring Stories of Restoring Mental Health Through Natural Therapies. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc. Kindle Edition. Don't let the title throw you off though. I am not going off my medicines any time soon, though the term, "drugs" they used does speak to so many substances that I am no longer willing to put in my body.

For every drug there is a reason, right?
Here they are in my short summary.

Dairy: Galactose is in dairy, and it is needed to boost our immune system, but it can also be found in beans, black eyed peas, figs, grapes, and tomatoes. I am a milk lover, but now I know that dairy is inflammatory which can lead to Alzheimer disease and other diseases.

The brain is a tight machine. And from what I know about mental illnesses, parts of the brain work on multiple responses. Also, people who develop Alzheimer tend to have depression. There are lots of complications like that. Unipolar and bipolar depression seem to run along a continuum, and bipolar disorder can overlap with disorders of psychosis like schizophrenia.

I am sure milk is good for me in many ways, Mom. But it also has inflammatory traits that put it in a classification of diseases that are in the trouble zone at least for me. So I have three kinds of alternative milks in my Frigidaire.

Wheat and gluten: wheat is one of the most common food allergy triggers. It also, being a carbohydrate, has empty calories. Replacing wheat with other grains that are higher in nutritional value is pretty easy because of how many other grains exist. (Similarly cutting white rice is simple unless you are going out to eat somewhere, which might be more difficult.) Gluten is also a common food allergy trigger and it is so often bound with wheat in the processed foods we buy. Like wheat it is easy to avoid though. I think avoiding wheat pretty much presumes avoiding gluten, though I am open to disagreement.

Peanuts and pistachios: actually have a lot of mold in them which is bad for a body with more than enough yeast.

Chocolate: exhausts our glands, generally just when we need our glands to naturally perk up. It contains phenylalanine, an antidepressant of its own. It is high in zinc and copper, which is often unbalanced in people with mood disorders. It also contains caffeine, which depressed people crave, though it makes them more depressed. Yep, Daddy. A ritual down the drain!

I will continue this summary of reasons later.

I am not going to
pass on. I'm not going to move
away. Or am I?

At first, the caffeine headache fogged my eyes from the view of the fact that I was beginning to feel better. Well, maybe that first day, I hadn’t eliminated enough of the problem foods yet, and that is why I was craving junk. But now that I have made it through, and restocked my pantry, and finally eaten breakfast on a new day, I feel terrific! On an ordinary day, a little yogurt and an English Muffin would leave me hungry by 11AM, but I still feel full. My trick? The bread was gluten free, wheat free. The yogurt was absent of dairy. It actually was coconut, almond yogurt. It might see this immediate happiness comes from a contrived place, or that it is “psychological.” But I am happy for it, and most things in life are psychological.

Am I still that girl?
The babe in arms? The wanderer
Or am I just this now??

Musings on Shutterfly

I don't even remember the pants I am wearing. Was this Photoshopped? It had to be! Joey never was in a tropical paradise with the three sisters.

Three heads arch back further than possibly imagined. Yet, here we are in a tropical paradise. And there is the forth head - Anna - coy and mischievous in her posture.

A song I recall from K through 6 says,
"Make new friends and keep the old."
This is for the gold.

On my walk back to school
I noticed a lone dandelion
in a thick rug of phlox.

My curious tug on the yellow flower
procured a stem, pre-broken. Then, several
weeded dandelions amidst the phlox.

You taught me to see the world in poems.
Little children poking flowers in mats of dreaded purple.
Giggling. Tickled with humor.

Before, Kaleigh and I were sharing
about friendships that sometimes
make us feel forgotten or unloved.

Mid walk, I find a grey topped flower
of dandelion seeds, pluck it by habit,
Blow the seeds off. Watch them like bubbles, dispersing.

I am still on the diet and glad for it. There are some hard parts that I have really been feeling today, though. For the first time since the beginning of the diet, I left the house in a hurry and did not eat breakfast this morning. This was foolish. I should have known I would feel weak by one o'clock when I returned home not having eaten breakfast or and only eating the pickings of meat off of the sandwich at lunch. I was at a publisher's conference this morning, you see. But when Panara Bread caters an event as they did this one, I couldn't find a single thing to tide me over beyond the orange juice.

Another question is, how much am I budgeting for this health food store diet? I receive Food Stamps for goodness sakes. I am well within the bracket of financial neediness. I make about a fourth of what most 29 year old women make according to Wikipedia. And health foods are expensive. Ideally I would make my own bread (with gluten free/wheat free flour.) But for practical purposes, I didn't have time to pack eat my corn flour English Muffin this morning, let alone pack my usual lunch. There also is the issue that I don't have a car to get to the grocery store. So where a month ago, I went out whenever the milk ran out, I really am having to plan ahead now.

And that is the moral of today's story. Missing breakfast and pretty much missing lunch made me feel weak, even vulnerable. Every time I have to choose between poisoning or self medicating my body with Doritos or coffee, it is a serious choice to take. I hate being hungry and it is difficult to go around with low energy. But that is not the whole story. That is the story at the end of a messed up day. But tomorrow I will learn from this mistake. I will set my alarm in the morning so I can cook my corn muffin. I will make time for cooking and packing food. Food is so vital to life and so integral to our emotions that it is self denial to choose Doritos. I should be proud of today for today I was a conscientious objector. Today I looked in the eye of unhealthy foods and chose health over hunger, long term over immediate gratification.

Once I went to a pot luck in a Unitarian Church. An old man was complaining to me about his brother, who was eating himself in the direction of heart disease. I remember him resenting his brother for his lack of self control about food. I have devolved over the past 10 years in the food I eat. When I was 19 I had an endless supply of chocolate chips in my place of internship and residence. I was unafraid of the chocolate chips, then, when I weighed 125 degrees. I knew I was gaining weight, and I felt sad, but I wasn't aware of the significance of the unlimited chocolate then. When I figured this out, my habit had grown. I opened Pandora's box and found an addition equation of food after food. I tried cutting back now and then, but never stuck with it, or examined it in writing, or saw the connection with my mood.

This moment in time is a courageous time for me and nutrition. It is a great time for me to extend my life expectancy. I am going to help myself live much longer this way.

The sky's gonna break.
Labor of love for daisies.
The sky's gonna break.

They drive me to school in the morning. Melanie and Bradley, one of my favorite campus couples. I like our morning conversations, always a mix of a load and levity. Sometimes we listen to this same old CD's song, Brad serenades us as we drive. This morning the topic is Melanie's ten year old daughter. Since they have been physically close, the daughter has turned up her nose. "Bradley stinks." "I don't like Brad." At first he brushed them off, but the words hurt like spears to the heart. Melanie pulls up under a tall tree with white flowers and heart shaped leaves. When we get out of the car, I make a Maggieism, laughing, "here we are under a Bradford pear." The putrid flowers, so tall. "But I don't make fruits," says Brad. "But with the help of Melanie," I cheer.

I didn't always like it at first when my brother in law was with my sister. But now, I am glad for the fact. It can be hard for us to grow distanced from our loved ones when a new person comes into the pack. Now I am glad Anna has Mark, and I know I was hurtful to them. From levity comes a fruitful lesson.

Boil this up...

I used to cook for this one friend of mine named Eric. I was never a very good cook, and I am sure he clued in to that. But the point was that I would fry for him potatoes, and they were food. And we would eat the potatoes with my special ingredient, turmeric, and share catching up stories. Actually I used to cook for another friend of mine named Joy Anna. She went through a long gluten free phase, and though I loved wheat, I would make her rice flour waffles in the mornings she stayed over. Rice is stickier than other flours and when I made that, it always seemed to stick to the waffle iron, and I would dig it off with a knife or a fork. I am a pretty unsanitary cook, and Joy Anna pays attention to things like that. But she always was grateful because I'd cook it with love.

Crack these eggs for me...

Now my mind opens up to cooking with friends and loved ones, eating at the Trivet Marion house in an unstable time for me emotionally. My digestive juices gnawing on the inside of my stomach while I waited for their fish which they whipped out of the oven at nine or ten PM. What about eating regularly at 5PM? And Janese carrying on about Turkey, and in Turkey how she and Ken would eat long meals that lasted three or four hours. And the foods were light, but just what they needed. And me sitting there peeved or faint. "Crack these eggs for me." Janese always cooked like a choir director or a conductor, designating tasks all of us. This is my body for you. There is ritual here. There is sacrifice.

Snap these beans...

Mom had just picked the green beans ten minutes ago. Anna's blog informed me that every minute from the vine, the beans loose vital nutrients. Barbara Kingsolver's book "Animal Vegetable Miracle" contributed that every product of food travels 1,500 miles to get to our plates. So sitting here in Mom's front porch, where the concrete grounds me and I can watch the sun rise and set, soaking in D vitamins, I believe it is true what Melanie told me, that looking at the sun a bit every day is actually something dieters can do to eventually not eat at all. And Melanie has a sense of humor. And I take it seriously. Mom made so many green beans growing up and potatoes. We might have well have been Irish. Potatoes and beans. Really? Potatoes and beans, again?

The bread is leavening...

It is winter and I am still in high school. Daddy taught me to make bread a while back, over time actually. I miss him now. He is in Washington DC where he has moved. I guess you'd say they separated though not legally yet. But I miss his air roles that he made like clockwork on Sunday before moving away. I like the tick of the clock: faint, sturdy, true. Mom is substitute teaching. I am going to make some bread. I open up a Fanny Farmer Cookbook to bread, but nothing is just right. So I locate "the Joy" (of Cooking - what else?) and paw through the pages to French Bread. As I kneed the dough it starts snowing, which felt rare then. In the late nineties in Tennessee, in that whimsical place and time, it was. Mom walks in the door, "WHAT are you doing?" I misread her, feeling defensive. "I am just making bread." "You're making bread." She almost is crying. Maybe she was. So proud of me.

I used to walk in long strides, up and down mountain hills and hollers in Appalachia, in Central America, on Capitol Hill. Women's bodies are not for industrial sewing jobs. We are not fragile. We are not easily broken. When I put on my trousers this morning, these jeans I barely could put on before, were loose at the waste. I could stick both of my palms down them if I had to. Jessica says cutting flour, gluten, and sugar helped her loose 150 pounds. She used to weigh what I weigh now.

I am so energetic now. The other day, I was walking and it felt like I was flying, coasting, gliding along. I already feel so liberated, so light on my feet. I am getting a regular workout in Walking for Fitness too, and that is good for me. Women are built for rugged mountain climbing, just like men. I used to scale trees, walk on logs that carried me over streams that ran deep in the orifices of coves. And now, just walking here and there around this campus of life, I am learning to fly.

This spring I am living in a room with a beautiful view. If I watch the white blossoms all day, on either side of the glass, it is much like an botanical action film. I sit on the edge of my seat. I missed them turning white with the blink of an eye. And now I cannot miss it when they scatter and collect on the tended grounds. And there stands Libby in the foreground, extending her arm.