B’nai Shimon

One of the prayers that I wrote for myself, when I authored a personalized version of the Amidah[i] for my daily ritual, makes the petition that I hear my own prayers and the prayers of others. It is based on the standard appeal for God to hear our prayers, but in my attempt to make this request meaningful to one who may not be so sure about the existence of God, per se, I sought to connect to that piece of divine spark that resides within—surely that is more palatable to the agnostic who also resides within. Even with all that manipulation, hearing my own prayers is still elusive—much less hearing the prayers of others—and yet it is one of the prayers that I recite (almost) daily.

I sometimes find clues to my hidden prayers in my dreams. This morning I would like to thank my cat for her assistance in this regard. Sometimes, ironically, we cannot be aware of our dreams until they are interrupted. Mayla, as has become her recent habit, signaled her desire to leave the house at about 5:30 this morning. Technically I was no longer dreaming, nor was I fully conscious. I was in an interstitial space of restful reverie. I was gently drifting along in the wake of a dream and observing the ephemeral patterns it was leaving across the river of my consciousness. The cat’s insistence at having the door opened for her opened the door to my wakeful awareness.

In the dream I was home, clad in my pajamas. Jacob was in the house. The doorbell rang. It seemed to be a distant cousin with his toddler twin girls in tow making a sales call. I thought of Ken Ungar, though it was not literally Ken, and his twin daughters who I have seen only once in person, but who are very clearly in the image of the girls in this dream. Ken, let’s just call him that, had barely uttered a word about whatever business he was proposing, when the toddlers chimed in, talking at length about their use of some computer media. At this point my mom was there spellbound, as we all were, at the sophistication—at least to our uneducated minds—of the technology these children were able to access as effortlessly and nonchalantly as if they were playing with sock dolls. They were so sassy that I commented to my mother how they were surely related to her. I also acknowledged that they were indeed the leaders of the 21^st Century (even though the Mickey Mouse Club of the 1950’s used to refer to my generation of viewers as such). Another detail of the dream was my perusing the file drawers of what appeared as one of the early architecture firms in my career. Everything was in perfect order, and yet just the thought of having paper stashed away in alphabetically arranged folders seemed highly anachronistic. (Why paper? Why alphabetically?—when there are much more logical and efficient ways to store information today!)

In my post-dream reverie I started to imagine the generation immediately ahead and the generations that may follow. I connected this thread to the generations that have preceded us and the dream my father was expressing when he typed his Rosh Hashanah sermon 47 summers ago, in 1965.[ii] While he hoped for the best—for Jews to live actively Jewish lives of Jewish study, good deeds based on Jewish values, connecting to Jews of all nations and of all times, attending and supporting the synagogue—while he prayed for all of this, he also seemed aware that for many it would not become a reality. Despite that realization, he held onto the fervent belief that Am Yisrael Chai—that the People of Israel would still live, that a remnant would always survive despite our greatest challenges.

I continued to lay in the predawn darkness wondering about these twins, the progeny that God willing will ensue within my own family, and the subsequent generations. Of what relevance would they find the words of Torah that my father crafted and that I am lovingly and optimistically preserving. Will these generations be part of the remnant of Israel to which his hope clings? Will they be able to comprehend that they are literally b’nai Yisrael, b’nai Shimon, and b’nai Yeshaya—the Children of Israel (Ballon, my grandfather), the Children of Sidney (Ballon, my father), as well the Children of Yeshaya—me!

It dawned on me that that is my prayer, that I petition that this remnant be connected to their father’s fathers (and certainly their mother’s mothers) recognizing that there is a reason we are not called b’nai Avraham or b’nai Yitzchak. The reality is that Abraham and Isaac had children whose paths led to other religions. Nor are we called b’nai Yaacov. The reality is that until Jacob wrestled with God he was not on his highest spiritual path. Only then did he receive the blessing. Only then did he become known as God-wrestler.[iii] Only then did he become the patriarch of the Jewish nation. With obvious discomfort at comparing myself to Jacob, I would at least want to see the Jacob in me that wrestles with the angel. I would go forth from that struggle limping but blessed so that I may bless, so that I may not only hear, but fulfill the prayer that my father and his father’s fathers had—simply that succeeding generations live lives imbued with the ideals, knowledge, and practice of our Jewish heritage.

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[i] The Amidah is the central prayer of the Jewish liturgy. Observant Jews recite it at each of three prayer services in a typical weekday: morning, afternoon, and evening. viz. my blog for the full text of the personalized Amidah that I customized for my personal practice, http://yeshaya.net/Ethical_Will/Sulam_Shalom.html

[ii] viz., http://harav-shimon.blogspot.com/2012/08/jews-without-problems-rosh-hashanah.html

[iii] Jacob’s name was changed to Israel (lit., wrestler with God) after he spent the entire night wrestling with a stranger—perhaps a man, perhaps an angel, perhaps God; Genesis 32:29 And [the angel] said: 'Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel for thou hast wrestled with God and with men, and hast prevailed.'

Fast and Furious

The lessons are coming fast and furious. After a weekend of brown rice cakes and kimchi, after carbo and electrolyte loading for my big bike ride yesterday, I stepped on the scale this morning to find I’ve lost a week and half in the battle of the bulge. I weighed in a full three pounds heavier than Saturday morning! How does that happen!!! It doesn’t seem as if I even ate three pounds of food! My little experiment with low calorie noshes may or may not be conclusive scientifically, but it serves well to alert me to the slippery slope of careless eating.

I described my foray to the Korean market in yesterday’s blog (http://yesh-indeed.blogspot.com/2012/08/of-crackers-and-cabbage.html). What I was a little vague on was whether I had eaten my kimchi and puffy wafers as part of a conscientious eating plan or stood before the open refrigerator with fork in hand, eating out of the kimchi jar and had grabbed a bag of wafers and mindlessly munched on them while watching a Top Chef season 3 marathon. I didn’t do either of those exactly, but in all honesty it was closer to the latter than the former. I managed to close the refrigerator and stand dumbly over the counter eating out of the kimchi jar, sometimes delicately topping a broken wafer with the stuff to make a nice little canapé, sometimes just throwing the cabbage right down the hatch. That was especially true when I returned from my 32-mile bike ride yesterday that included a big climb up Old La Honda Road (famous in these parts).

Sunday morning, since I knew I was setting out for a long, strenuous day of cycling, and remembering how the weight management plan failed to give me adequate energy for the big ride I did in May, I also started the morning with a conscientious bowl of oatmeal, raisins, and a bit of maple syrup. I can say "conscientious" because I looked up all the component calories and figured it would all work well given the calories I would be burning over hours of cycling. I also had a piece of toast topped with butter and some shavings of hard cheese (the calories for which I did not look up). Out on the road I had maybe a half dozen Shot Bloks (Clif Bar’s chewable, 33-calorie cubes, designed to customize and track caloric and electrolyte intake during long outings and races. I just didn’t track ‘em so well.) And a mini-Clif Bar. And some other power bar I had stuffed in my Jersey pocket on the way out of the house—a paradigm of consciousness, yes? No.

Today will be different.

This morning I sat down with my seven o’clock chocolate shake, recited the blessing for all manner of food—Baruch attah adonai eloheinu melech ha-olam, she-ha-kol nihyeh bi-d’varo—Praised are You, Lord our God, Kind of the universe at whose word all things come into being (forgive the traditional gender biased language). I took a single draw on the tiny flex straw that comes glued to the side of my box drink, set the drink down, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and imagined all the nutrients diffusing throughout my body from head to toe, providing sustenance and satiety for at least the next three hours, until my next food replacement infusion. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. And then took another sip, repeating the entire experience, one conscious, meditative sip and savor at a time.

When I got to that last straw sucking gurgle at the bottom of the container I took one more relaxing breath and sang quietly to myself the blessing after meals that I have learned in recent years—Brich rachamana malka d’alma maray d’hai pita—You are the Source of Life for all that is and Your blessing flows through me. Then I sat a little longer, eyes closed, making the entire little meal a spiritual act.

Upon rising I went to the cabinet and grabbed a small plastic container, shook out a few capsules and washed them down with a long swig of water. With all the rice cakes this weekend, a little Metamucil couldn’t hurt.

Of Crackers and Cabbage

Our friend Judith gave us a package of Kim’s Magic Pop that she discovered on a recent trip to New York. Korean wafers of puffed wheat, brown rice, and corn, about six inches in diameter, the critical feature of which is that they are a fun snack and only 15 calories each! While that particular brand is only available back East, Debbie and I decided to take a short spin down to Sunnyvale where there is a large Korean population and correspondingly large Korean markets. We love walking into an environment where there are virtually no English conversations to be overheard, where we are among the few, if not the only Caucasians, and where we can pretend we have just taken a mini-vacation to Asia. It’s a cheap thrill.

It took all of about 16 seconds to determine that puff wafers of the kind we were seeking were plentiful along aisle 5A. There were many to choose from—lots of variations on the theme. I read every label for ingredients and calorie content and selected a few to bring home and sample. To take full advantage of our virtual trip to Korea we decided to peruse the rest of the store in search for other interesting Seoul food (sorry, I couldn’t resist). Making the highlight reel was a tank of slug-like creatures wiggling around in a tank of water. We didn’t buy any of those. We did pick up a few types of vegetable noodles some of which claimed to have zero calories. Those should make the remainder of my ersatz high protein Optifast chicken soup meals a tad more captivating. Later I lingered at the kimchi case a while noticing that an entire jar of the spicy fermented cabbage had 200 calories! As much kimchi as I would likely eat in one sitting would barely make the radar screen of my daily intake.

Now that I have all these crackers and cabbage I wonder: is this a good thing? Our weight management facilitator/coach has encouraged us to start reading labels and searching for healthful choices as we start to reenter the world of real food. The products I just purchased may cause little harm. On the other hand they provide little nourishment, and the big question for me is: does grabbing a snack of these demonstrate a sensible way to respond to the need to munch on something crunchy and tasty, or are they reinforcing old bad habits of thinking I gotta eat something just because I wanna eat something. In other words, would I be better off postponing this oral gratification, benign as it may be? or is this a reasonable response to a natural desire?

I will pose this question to our aforementioned coach. Meanwhile I will imagine what her response will be. Let’s see how close I come…. The answer is outside the boundaries of the question. Whether it is responsible or irresponsible depends on the mindset with which one approaches the behavior. Is eating kimchi and puffy wafers part of a conscientious eating plan? Have their nutrients been accounted for in advance as either part of a planned meal or snack in the context of a full day’s intake? Are the snacks measured out, eaten consciously, and logged in a daily eating journal? If all of these are true than we’re good to go! If, on the other hand, one were to stand before the open refrigerator with fork in hand, eating out of the kimchi jar, or grab the bag of wafers and mindlessly munch on them while watching a Top Chef season 3 marathon—not so good! What I am telling myself is that it almost doesn’t matter what food I insert into this question—lo-cal, hi-cal, Korean, Mexican, whatever—is it planned? is it conscious? is it recorded? These are what it takes to eat responsibly.

Did I get it right, Coach?  

That Church in the East

Sometimes a man stands up during supper

and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,

because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

And another man, who remains inside his own house,

dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,

so that his children have to go far out into the world

toward that same church, which he forgot.

Rainer Maria Rilke

translated by Robert Bly

This may not be anything new or startling, but after some reflection the following is my takeaway from last night’s conversation in Men’s Group.

There are at least three distinct phases of life: childhood, adulthood, and eldership. Each of these has an overriding quality or role—play, responsibility, and wisdom, respectively. I must quickly add that the primary quality of each phase is not to the exclusion of the other two. Moreover, the inclusion of the other two qualities is an essential ingredient to living a balanced life.

We must vacate one phase and move to the next, not only for our personal evolution and satisfaction, but also to create the space into which the next generation may grow. In addition, as we inhabit each succeeding phase we provide models for our children. When we model responsibility as adults, were we not to demonstrate balance by exhibiting childlike playfulness or elder-like wisdom, we would be giving them an incomplete picture. We might even be discouraging them from moving into adulthood were we not to show that it is more than keeping the roof over their heads and driving them to the orthodontist. As we demonstrate the balance that is part of adulthood we also give them the message that their days as children need similar balance including a modicum of responsibility and wisdom in addition to their primary role of play. And on it goes in each successive phase.

When Greg comments, “It seems Rilke is suggesting that we must go out to that church in the East while our children are young.” I say, “Yes, we must seek that wisdom, but without abdicating the responsibility that is demanded of us at that time.” And we must continue to be responsible as we become sages. And we must be playful in each of those parts of our lives. And our children must — better, they get to—continue to be playful and wise as they mature into being responsible adults. When we fail to move along this continuum, when we fail to exercise balance by including aspects of each phase in our lives, we lose the full breadth, beauty, and blessings that the span of our years provides.

Moderation Is the New Extreme

People remark on the amazing discipline I have shown—the self-restraint in sticking to my extreme weight loss diet while others around me gaily ingest all manner of delectables. I repeatedly respond by saying that I do extreme behavior exceedingly well, it’s moderation I find a challenge. What brings that up this morning is that today is Tisha b’Av, literally the ninth day of the month Av on the Hebrew calendar, a day in which we commemorate a litany of tragedies that have befallen our people over the ages, and a day of fasting. So here I am, in the midst of a 16-week “fast” taking it to a new level, going from 960 calories a day to zero.

I awoke with the same question that frequently has run through my mind since and even before this all started, “After the crash diet, will I be able to maintain the moderate diet required to sustain the weight loss?” The answer may come from reframing the question. For maintenance, the experts recommend a behavior consisting of daily meal planning, recording of calories consumed, regular exercise, etc. That is anything but moderate. It requires extreme vigilance. It demands absolute consciousness, determination, commitment, and discipline. It may be deemed “moderate” in the sense that large quantities of high calorie meals and snacks are abandoned in favor of more modest amounts, but as changes in behavior go, that’s anything but moderate. It is a radical transformation. It is extreme. Therefore, I say, “Moderation is the new extreme.”

It has crossed my mind more than once that they are taking a population of people for whom food has been an obsession, and not ridding them of the obsession. They are merely asking us to obsess about food in a different way.

As I further contemplate the discipline that this will require I think of one of the assistants at Kol Zimra, the recent workshop I attended on Jewish chanting. As we all did, she selected a middah[i] to focus on in the next six months. As one who sees herself as a free spirit who is embarking on a new field of study in a rigorous academic setting, she realized that discipline was the big challenge and the path to her success. I can relate to that. So she selected discipline as her middah.

It got me wondering about the middot of all the other attendees at Kol Zimra—awareness of God’s presence, courage, devekut[ii], faith, flow, generosity, inner calm, lightness (the middah I chose), mindfulness that life is good, openheartedness, openness, rest, self-love, self-trust, surrender to God’s call, trust. Is there any one of these I would not aspire to? I should think not. Those of us in Kol Zimra have added the daily practice of holding one another in our hearts and praying for all to attain their aspirations. Why not accept all of these middot into my heart for myself as well? This reminds me of the long list of blessings I developed for my family as part of my ethical or spiritual will.[iii] After penning all those blessings for them I realized they were really blessings I would like in my life. Perhaps that’s the way it works—we confer blessings on others and we too are blessed.

If it is lightness that I pursue in body and in spirit, it may require similar discipline for both—an extreme commitment to daily, conscious, loving, and moderate actions.

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[i] Quality of Presence, viz. previous blog, The Incredible Lightness of Being, http://yesh-indeed.blogspot.com/2012/07/the-incredible-lightness-of-being.html

[ii] Devekut, deveikuth or deveikus (Heb. דבקות, Mod. Heb. "dedication", traditionally "clinging on" to God) is a Jewish concept referring to closeness to God. It may refer to a deep, trance-like meditative state attained during Jewish prayer, Torah study, or when performing the 613 mitzvot (the "commandments"). It is particularly associated with the Jewish mystical tradition.

[iii] viz., http://yeshaya.net/Ethical_Will/Home.html

The Incredible Lightness of Being

This one may be hard to explain, and like most of my writing I will try to explain it to you so I may better understand it myself (the true sign of an extrovert). Then again, what we’re dealing with here is not for the rational mind. What I am about to describe exists in a non-rational state I almost want to call grace, although that’s not a word I recall ever using before. What’s this about? I just returned from a week of deep spiritual practice in Albuquerque New Mexico.

First of all, as I soon understood, this is the Land of Enchantment. I had some apprehension about heading to the desert in the middle of the summer. Not that it wasn’t hot, and not that the San Francisco Peninsula isn’t a desert as well. It’s just different. I may actually appreciate the overused expression “dry heat” for the first time. There were moments when it truly felt like a sauna—in the best sense of the word—in a therapeutically satisfying and nurturing sense. Maybe it’s the meditation talking. Albuquerque is beautiful.

We took occasional walks to an oxbow in the Rio Grande.

The workshop I attended was the first of a four-part series entitled Kol Zimra, led by Rabbi Shefa Gold, each a week long, separated by six months. I had read all the descriptions of the workshop and had heard about it from others, but nothing prepared me for the actual experience (I suppose like most things). My Hebrew’s not so great, but I believe Kol Zimra translates to Voice of Song. This is a Jewish chanting workshop. I now appreciate what draws people to Eastern chanting. (I just grieve that so many people left Judaism to find it.) I confess I had more a sense that this would be about singing because I had never experienced chanting in this way before. Chanting, as differentiated from singing, brings with it a very different focus and intention that I am familiar with through meditation. The lessons of this first week, as described on Shefa’s website, are, “Forming the container for Sacred Work, Clarifying our Intention. The Basics of Chant - Exploring the Uses of a Sacred Phrase and the Variables that Effect Consciousness. Cultivating Middot, qualities of Presence.” I suppose I had read that before, but still had no idea what I was getting into.

Let me fast forward a bit—not skipping, just moving the recording to at least 5x on the DVR. We arrived strangers. We departed siblings. If I had not been there the rest of the class would have been able to say, “We departed sisters,” because, as it so happened, I was the only man in a class of thirteen women. Not a situation I am unfamiliar with to some degree going back to art classes in high school, being the only guy in a design firm back in the ‘80s, and just being a “sensitive” dude in general. None of this will shock my children. And none of this bothered me or, seemingly, my classmates. Okay, I’ll admit it—I rather enjoy being the only guy. (If need be, some refuge could be taken in the company of Shefa’s partner in delivering the workshop and in life, her husband Rachmiel O'Regan.)

We laughed. We cried. We shared. We chanted. We danced. We drummed. We prayed. We sat in silence. We created art. Your typical week at summer camp.

Back when I studied Transcendental Mediation in the ‘70s I remember Maharishi Mahesh Yogi explaining that we do not meditate for the experience of the meditation. We meditate for what the meditation will bring to the rest of our life. That is a mantra I use for all education, all mind expanding practices. So too for Kol Zimra. As truly pleasant as this week was, it is only valuable for what it may bring to my life going forward—otherwise it is just a “vacation.” The specific channel for affecting our lives after the workshop is the selection of a midah (midot, plural cited above as qualities of Presence). Each person selected a midah before departing the workshop with the intention of paying close attention to developing that particular quality of presence between now and when we gather again in January. As you may well imagine, the selection of such a focal point of self-development becomes a transformational act in itself. Moreover, all fourteen participants plus our two leaders and their two assistants shared our midot with one another with the express purpose that we will all provide prayerful support for one another every day, visualizing each other as successfully achieving this quality of Presence.

There are many areas in which I might want to develop myself. Nonetheless, my midah came relatively quickly, aided in no small part by a walk and talk I had with a classmate who had been assigned as my “spirit buddy.” We will be checking in with each other regularly during the next six months—“chanting in” to coin a phrase. I selected lightness as the quality I am pursuing. I selected it for specific reasons, but also because the word has such broad applications—lightness of being, lightness of body—not carrying a heavy burden, ridding myself of unnecessary baggage, simplifying parts of my life,  (starting with the clutter in my office—in one day devoted only to bringing order to the storage closet in my office I have already filled three large garden bags with stuff for Goodwill and another bag and a half for recycling).

My "spirit buddy" Judy and I pose before Kabbalat Shabbat.

Months ago I spoke with the rabbi about ways to connect the huge physical transformation I am undergoing with the spiritual transformation I anticipated by engaging in Kol Zimra—two 18-month pursuits that overlap for the most part. I had not anticipated that a single word would unite them as aptly as does lightness. Lightness in body and lightness in spirit—what these practices have in common is that neither will be accomplished in a day, yet commitment to them came in a single timeless flash of clarity. Neither has an end point either. Regardless of how quickly I shed pounds, or clutter, or other unhealthy, unproductive attitudes and behaviors, the work is never done. Maintenance is key. As I stated in my previous blog, “Relapse is the rule,” and as Shefa warned us, the pursuit of a midah invariably gives rise to its shadow opposite. But this does not deter me. These are big challenges that energize me. As it says in Pirkei Avot:

The day is short, the task is abundant, the laborers are lazy, the reward is great, and the Master of the house is insistent. You are not required to complete the task, but neither are you free to desist from it altogether.

And as Tom Bodett would say: "I'll leave the light on for you!"

Relapse Is the Rule

Debbie has close to forty years of experience as a mental health nurse. From time to time I’ve heard her say, “Relapse is the rule,” and asked her about it as I contemplated my actions of the past week. What kind of week has it been? One in which I went “off plan” –some more or less as anticipated and planned, some most definitely not anticipated or planned.

Before I go further, it occurs to me that my perspective on what constitutes out of control eating may have shifted. I have seen enough television and read enough articles on eating disorders to know that there are differences among people on how they gauge a quantity of food. I am not suggesting I have an eating disorder—at least not at the anorexic end of the continuum. I merely look at that as an extreme example of how individuals might look at the same modest portion and one sees too much while another sees too little. I suspect that my “bingeing” this week would have barely registered on the seismograph of my old eating behaviors.  

It all started, innocently enough, when I once again faced the challenge of attending a wedding on Sunday, July 1. This affair was very informal and truth be told, I probably could have gotten away without eating anything and no one would have noticed. But based on both my philosophy and my practical experience at that wedding a month ago, I decided once again to celebrate with others by participating in the wedding meal. A significant difference this time was that I faced a potluck buffet! The groom’s family hosted the event in their lush Pacific Northwest garden, and they also grilled salmon, steak kabobs, and chicken complemented by a vast array of side dishes provided by the guests. I went through the line with reasonable determination and discrimination, selecting a small skewer of beef and a small portion of salmon. To that I added some green salad modestly dressed, a spoonful of chopped liver and I just had to taste that deviled egg. Ouch! At the time my plate looked positively barren compared to most others at the table, but now as I write it down, I’m less impressed with my restraint!

Speaking of restraint, or the lack thereof, the real issue became the amazing chopped liver. I needed just another taste. And another. And pretty soon, well let’s just say I may have hovered over the chopped liver a bit too long, smearing it on a succession of little oval slices of French bread. A couple of bites of wedding cake later and you can see what I meant by “more or less as anticipated and planned.” But let’s put this in context. The previous night, after we had landed in Seattle, we went to a pizzeria (please note, this was with my buddy from my halcyon New York pizza days) where I had zero tastes of pizza and one Optifast chocolate mint bar and club soda. Moreover, there we were on the road and I worked out in the gym in our building each morning! Just saying.

Everyone in our weight management group knows that I had publicly declared my intention to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July. On the evening of the 3rd I went shopping. I read the nutritional information on nearly every hot dog in the store. Amazingly I found the Applegate Super Natural Uncured Turkey Hot Dog with no nitrates and only 50 calories. Moreover it tasted great! As planned I downed it with brown mustard, sauerkraut, Diet Coke, and owing to the minimal calories of the dog itself I bought a smallish bag of Tim’s Cascade Potato Chips to share—only 90 calories per ounce, so a small handful would fit reasonably into my plan.

It didn’t exactly work out that way. Close, but not really. Elliot put all the chips in front of us, and while I managed not to dump the whole bag down my throat with a single crunch, I did eat a few more handfuls than I had intended. Not to mention the corn chips and mango salsa Karen served. Other than a few bites of watermelon I resisted all other temptations that night and they were considerable, and I skipped two regular “feedings” to compensate for the other damage. Oh, wait, I forgot the deviled eggs. You see I had spent much of Wednesday packing up all the edibles in our house so that the house could be wrapped in canvas and lethal gas pumped into it to exterminate our resident termites. We couldn’t just dump a dozen eggs into the bags in which everything else was enclosed, so we boiled them. You see where I’m going with this—Fourth of July, heading to friends for grilled food, who wouldn’t devil the eggs?

Who wouldn't devil the eggs?

That brings us to Friday, the 6th—an unusual day. Given the house fumigation, Debbie and I took shelter Thursday and Friday nights at Karen and Elliot’s house (while they were in Southern California). The accommodations were superb, but the experience was still disorienting. In the weight management program we often talk about controlling our environment to be successful. These days—before, during, and after the fumigation—my environment was as out of control as I can imagine. Friday, I sat working in someone else’s kitchen—a kitchen that is well stocked under ordinary circumstances, but this day I had special knowledge of all the Independence Day leftovers. It was a ticking time bomb.  By the time I reached my midday feedings the leftover chips, salsa, chicken sausage, and sauerkraut had all emerged from cold storage and were being voraciously consumed.

Saturday, July 7, the Terminix tent having been removed, and fresh air having been reintroduced to our house, Debbie and I spent the day restoring order in the place in time to head for the San Jose Repertory Company. This was the last production in a series we had attended down there all year. We are well acquainted by now with many of the neighboring food establishments including one particularly enticing place with the yummiest Vietnamese chicken sandwiches. By this time I was in full justification mode. It had been a stressful few days surrounding the fumigation. It was a holiday week, etc, etc. I couldn’t get the darned thing out of my mind! I can say one thing: I ate that sandwich slowly and savored every delectable bite.

It had been a stressful few days surrounding the fumigation.

Now you have some understanding (I also must confess, I have not chronicled every indiscretion of the week) of why I asked Debbie about relapse being the rule. She explained that with most behavior change, whether relating to addiction or not, it is common for people to revert at some point to the prior behavior despite best intentions. The important thing is to look at it with compassion and not to judge, just to note it and move back to the new behavior. I did a little Googling about this and discovered that not all are in agreement with this concept. Some argue that to imply that relapse is “part of recovery” is flawed for a list of reasons, and that relapse needs to be considered as part of the original problem. Be that as it may, I’m choosing Debbie’s approach as much as possible. Today I executed the weight loss program flawlessly. Tomorrow is another day. As they say in the 12-step programs (ironically the subject of the play we saw), I’ll simply take it one day at a time.