February 6, 2010
Wii Fit Plus
Okay, so I promised over at the Facebook that I would give a review of my new Wii Fit Plus after I tried it out. (Click any image to enlarge.)
(How cool is it that Archie can be a Mii now, rather than just being a lump on the floor at home while I train?)
Well, it's day three. And I'm obsessed.
Of course, I was obsessed with the Wii Fit (regular) too, so this shouldn't come as a surprise. I do loves me 1's and 0's that are put in order just to motivate me!
So, today I snapped some photos during my workout, and today was the first time I tried out the pre-programmed workouts that are designed to target certain areas.
One of the options--like Catherine mentioned to me on Facebook--is to combine some of these 12 groups of three exercises each, into a personalized workout that flows from one exercise to the next, without having to stop and prompt to move ahead (which was, truly, a time suck on the Wii Fit).
So, despite the caution by the Wii Fit Plus that I'd created "too long" a program (39 minutes), I went ahead and hit START (and then ended up adding another seven minutes onto my workout at the end, so I could do three more things I enjoy but that weren't offered in my combo program).
Time to train!
Checking my balance using the pressure bar during the warrior yoga pose.
OMG, this is so cute. I'm dressed up as a bird. I'm going to fly to a cruiseship. (I've decided it's our SMFA Seminars cruise!) I love the penguin costume I get to wear in the old fish-catching exercise. This one is crazy fun too.
I do love the advanced step class. I do this one every day, anyway. Usually several times in a row.
Time for a snowball fight! I love this one, even though I'm not very good at it. Yet. (You were right, Holly. It's a blast!)
Detailed instructions on how to do one of the new exercises added to the mix. (This one is hard!)
Okay, this is one of my new favorite exercises. It's Kung Fu Rhythm. I love this! I get to do punches and kicks along with my fellow Miis.
So pretty! Time for a rhythm parade. :)
Can't tell for sure, but it looks like my yoga trainer has been revamped to have a healthier-sized booty.
My programmed workout is over. I love that the Wii Fit Plus asks for feedback. (But my only answer option is the A button. Heh heh.)
After my programmed workout, I added some island cycling. I love this. It's like mountain biking, but with a lovely view! And Archie runs alongside me.
There's me on a Segway! I love this exercise. I chose to add this after the programmed workout, because it's fun, and it's a bit of a cool-down compared to the biking.
I'm nearing 100 total hours of working out with Wii Fit. That's so cool. If I click the piggy bank, it shows total calories burned too. Today? 161. Awesome.
One of the coolest parts of the Wii Fit Plus is this "switch" button that lets us trade off, if Keith and I both want to work out at the same time. We used to have back all the way out of the system to share workout time.
Now, we just switch to whomever wants to work out next.
This is Keith doing the "Perfect 10" workout. I love it. You have to hit the bumpers with your hips to add up to ten. (He also really loves the flapping bird exercise and, of course, golf. He's playing that one a lot. It analyzes his swing.)
After three days, I'm sore. Good sore. Reminiscent of when I first started the old Wii Fit (and then the Jillian Michaels' 2009 Wii Fit Ultimatum) sore.
That's fun. Because I had gotten a bit "over" my Wii Fit routine (and let it sleep, like above), but had begun using it daily again to try and rehab my ankle after having sprained it in Australia late last year.
And now, my arms are sore from flapping like a bird. My thighs are sore from steering a Segway. My calves are sore from mountain biking. My glutes are really feeling everything. This is kind of nice. I'm using different parts of my body again, and enjoying the feeling of that. Also totally motivated to cut way back on my daily caloric intake (I've already been counting calories for over a year now with the help of the Lose It app for my iPhone, but when I'm feeling good work happening, I'm somehow even more interested in keeping my calories low each day). At least so far. ;)
So, my review of results will be coming. (The above is from 2008, when I had just started.) I keep moving my weightloss goal down, so I keep not reaching it, but I'm thrilled with all I've been able to do in just over two years already. Hoping to be at my current goal weight by my 40th birthday (in five months). Looks like Wii Fit Plus will be a big help in getting me there.
Posted by bonnie at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)
January 29, 2010
GSFiSCC: Miss Peaches
What is the Great Southern Food in Southern California Challenge? Click here for the low-down. (And click on any photo below to enlarge it.)
Our first stop on the GSFiSCC was Miss Peaches, 5643 Lankershim Blvd., N. Hollywood, CA 91601.
Miss Peaches' grandson, Connell Moss, hails from Chesapeake Bay, VA, and learned how to cook from his momma's side of the family, while learning how to adapt recipes from his daddy's side of the family (although, his granddaddy took his BBQ sauce recipe to the grave, as his daddy says he'll be doing). So, while he admits his recipes aren't exactly the same as those his ancestors may have whipped up, he boasts a kitchen-eatin' experience just like his grandma used to do.
He's also adapted recipes to make 'em healthier. Yep. No meat in any of the side dishes. I cannot imagine how he got his greens to taste so good without a hamhock, but man, they're good.
Lemme back up.
We arrived right about 7pm to the kitchen-sized restaurant (let me clarify: It's a kitchen-like dining room. Tables are pulled around to accommodate how ever many folks happen to show up. There's a counter. A kitchen sink. Dishes drying in a rack. Knickknacks. And then the restaurant's actual kitchen is twice the size of the eating space. Turns out this used to be a Domino's Pizza. Then, it was a Miss Peaches for takeout only. But people stood around in the "waiting for your order" area and ate their fried chicken standing there. So, since his brother's restaurant--Angelena's, named after Connell's other grandmother--is a sit-down place, folks started coming in and expecting to sit there. "So, we put this table here," Connell said, gesturing to a two-top, and that's how it all began).
Joining me for the first stop on the GSFiSCC were Derek, Eric, Kathi, Marie, Ryan, Shirley, Tanya (and, briefly, Phoebe, whose visit was fodder for great comedic moments with Connell--who really could be a stand-up comedian--since Phoebe appreciated that the veggies were made without meat, but dared to ask Connell about the butter content--seeing as she's a vegan and all. Connell's response was a look that would chill your bones and make you laugh out loud at once). In fact, Phoebe and Tanya arrived a bit after we had placed our order. Connell asked, "Is you with them?"
They nodded, cheerily.
"Y'all's late!" he responded.
Okay, so before we ordered, Connell asked if any of us had been there before. Nope. So, he gave us a little overview. The first most popular dish is the fried chicken, closely followed by the fried catfish. "After that, you're on your own. It's all good, but it's up to you. We do serve Kool-Aid. Tonight, if you want to know what flavor it is, it's red."
I don't think we stopped laughing at all during our visit... except for when we were eating. But I'll get to that.
I had decided on the hot links, as my gluten-free guru Anna told me that would be the safest item on the menu for my gluten-free eating needs. But then I decided to ask Connell about the catfish. "How is your catfish battered?" I asked.
"Darlin', where you from?" was Connell's response.
"Atlanta," I said.
"Well you know I'm from Chesapeake Bay, Virginia, and we do it just like you do it: with corn meal."
"Excellent!"
That meant catfish for me! Along with black-eyed peas, string beans, and even some mashed potatoes.
"I like this woman," Connell told the table, after I ordered. Sweet iced-tea, of course, which I usually don't love, but how can you not get tea like your momma used to make when you're at a place like this?
When Ryan ordered unsweetened iced-tea, Connell took a step back and said, "We don't have unsweet tea." That's right. No booze (the wine on the "kitchen counter" is a knickknack), no unsweet tea, and no Coca-Cola products (which I find a bit offensive, but I'll overlook it). Of course, there was the Kool-aid, which Eric ordered. "I'm a 56-year-old man drinking Kool-aid," he marveled. They also had milk, which Derek ordered. From then on, he was known as "the milkman," according to Connell. We suspect he'll remember him by that name when Derek goes back (which he says he will). But, again, I'm getting ahead of myself.
After we ordered, Marie took a visit to the restroom, which has a keyboard and drumkit next to it. We'd learn why later. When she returned, she reported that the restroom had a "Tallahassee truckstop quality, with an obligatory touch of Hollywood: a poster from Stargate-1." Awesome.
Drinks started coming around. In mason jars. Of course. The tablecloths were exactly like my grandmother's (not in pattern, but in that they were plastic on one side, puffy cotton-like stuff on the other side). We ended up having a conversation with Connell about my grandmother keeping her newspaper articles and BINGO cards under that tablecloth (it was her vault; BINGO daubers lived in the windowsill) and it turns out his grandmother didn't have a gambling vice, but he sure thought she could've used it. "Because her vice was WWF. She thought it was real!" Connell told us all about her cheering and squealing and believing in it all. "BINGO would've been better," he said.
When the food started coming, no one waited for anyone else's food to get there. Just like no one did formal introductions upon arrival. I s'pose I could've been a good host and taken care of introductions, but it just felt so much like my grandmother's house that I went into another, safe, childhood world. And everyone just introduced themselves to one another. People shared food with one another. There was no more Hollywood. Only Miss Peaches' dinner table.
Considering we slammed the kitchen by putting in eight orders at once--and we weren't ordering light--they did great. Food was up quickly and what was forgotten was brought around to us also quickly, once recognized as forgotten (an extra side, a refill, more butter, extra napkins). If you wonder how eight people can slam a kitchen at 7pm on a Thursday, let me assure you, the entire restaurant seats no more than 15. A table of four was there when we arrived, and more people arrived after we did. Some stayed, some ordered takeout, some stood outside peering in, trying to figure out if there'd be room for them soon. There are additional tables outside, but no heatlamps, so that'd be for daytime use. Connell and Guillermo manned the kitchen. They sent their third guy home at 5pm, because it looked like it'd be a slow night.
Anyway, the food was awesome. Seriously. Things got quiet while we devoured our yummy goods off mismatched plates. "Mmm" and "ooh" and "aah" -- those were the only sounds. And they were good sounds. The first full sentence I heard came from Tanya: "I'm devouring this like I've never eaten before." Yeah. She wasn't the only one. I think I inhaled my string beans. Shared my black-eyed peas. Shared my potatoes. Shared a little catfish but brought half of it home for tomorrow. It was all sooo good. "I'll come back for the baked beans alone," Derek said. Since both Derek and Tanya live very close to Miss Peaches, I suspect they'll be back soon and often. I think I will be too!
When another table of guests finished up and settled their bill, Connell looked at their plates and said, "Y'all ate pretty good!" And then he said to us, "Everybody happy over here? Eat slow. Save room for dessert." I think our table ended up ordering two items, which I didn't sample, figuring there was no way they could be gluten-free (and I really was too full--and taking leftovers home--to have anything else). We asked about the sock-it-to-me cake and were quickly steered toward the gooey butter cake. Well... "steered toward" like a drug dealer offers up a sample before earning a customer for life.
"I'll warn you. It's crack. Don't call me in the middle of the night trying to get it," Connell cautioned.
So, that, plus some piping hot peach cobbler came to the table and got passed around. Tanya's first bite of the butter cake yielded the following, "That is STUPID!"
Raucous laughter poured through the restaurant at that point. And Connell and Tanya may be engaged. It was adorable. Turns out the butter cake recipe was adapted from a piece Connell had while in Savannah, Georgia, years ago. He wasn't sure anyone else would appreciate it, because it's lighter and fluffier than a cheesecake, but tastes like sweet butter.
Um, yeah. Sweet butter? Not a problem.
I finally did stick my finger into a bit of the smush left on the plate by the end of its third lap around the table. Reminded me of the Gillespie household classic: Karo Syrup drizzled on butter, whipped into a creamy dip for hot biscuits. Yeah. That is stupid good food.
So, let's see how Miss Peaches measures up, in the criteria I set out when issuing this Challenge.
- Is the eatin' good?
Um, yeah. It's good, it's plentiful, it's delish!
- Is the eatin' authentically southern?
Absolutely. I would've loved some fried okra and I think someone else mentioned fried green tomatoes, but even so, there was plenty of yumminess to choose from, and it all represented the food of my childhood very, very well.
- Is the price right?
Eight people ate dinner, had a few extra sides, had drinks with refills, and shared two desserts for just over $150 ($190 with tip). Marie way overpaid, so I'll make sure to keep her from doing that next time. Everyone brought small bills for check-splitting, which was very much appreciated. No one had a problem with the decision to overtip. The experience was so worth it. We really did get "dinner and a show." Fun fact: Connell is a musician. He used to write songs for Burt Bacharach!
- Does the staff make you feel like you're sittin' at your grandma's table?
Without a doubt. The whole place--with the exception of the music playing--was 100% authentically southern in vibe and style. But the music was still good! (Connell even replayed an Otis Redding song at a louder volume when he realized some of the patrons were really enjoying the tune, halfway through it.) Just not like home. Still, that's a tiny thing. Everything else was right on point.
- Is the place worth visiting, if you grew up on the type of food they say they make?
Oh, yes. Definitely. But come hungry! The portions are huge! There's plenty of street parking at Miss Peaches, but the place is small. Connell will admonish you for not calling before you came over to his house for dinner, but that's his "thing." It's very cute. You don't actually need reservations. They're closed on Sundays and on any day it's raining too hard, as the drainage on Lankershim Blvd. is so bad that you can't get from the curb into the restaurant. That means Miss Peaches was closed most of last week! Luckily, Connell gets a lot of catering gigs from TV series and film production going on in the area, and that keeps him afloat when he can't operate the restaurant for customers.
I have to tell you, if I showed up on a set and Miss Peaches was craft services, I don't know that I would get much work done. I'd have to eat all day instead.
Absolutely, this place gets my highest recommendation. Yeah, yeah, yeah it's the first stop on the tour, so there's nothing else in the running for first place, but when we told Connell what it was we were doing, coming into his place and experiencing it so fully, he listened to the list of other places we'd be trying out this year and nodded along with each one, then said, "You go to all of those, then you come back to Miss Peaches and tell me who's best."
He knows he's got that one in the bag. I have to say, the bar is set pretty dang high. Authentically southern, plentiful, delicious, affordable, and entertaining. Doesn't get much better than that!
Posted by bonnie at 12:39 AM | Comments (5)
January 17, 2010
Post-Clutter-Busting
Well, to be fair, I should call this post Post-Clutter Busting Workshop, because I haven't done any actual Clutter Busting just yet. But I will. Oh yes, I will.
So, I show up (early, as always) to the Clutter Busting workshop, immediately scrape my knuckles on a fast-slamming screen door (Ow!) and am greeted by the most wonderful Colleen, the brilliant Brooks, and a woman who refuses to shake hands (but likes to "touch elbows," so you have to kind of get even MORE into her personal space to do a weird greeting), and another who says by way of greeting, "You brought a shitload of clutter!"
Um... wasn't that the point?
See, the workshop included instructions that we bring a bin of clutter. So I did. And I didn't just go for the easy stuff--the stuff that even I wonder why I keep and know could easily be thrown out if I just took the time. I put some challenging things in the bin. I wanted to learn why I ever felt the need to hang on to any of this stuff.
Realizing I was already--just 30 seconds in--focusing on lots of "noise" of my environment to try and distract myself from the big work we were about to do, I moved across the room to pet our host's cat, I chose a seat, and I reached for my trusty journal, in which I write about all things I experience as I live my life.
Only... the journal wasn't in my purse. I totally forgot it. I was so excited about the Clutter Busting that I neglected to bring my journal and "right colored pen" (because each entry must happen in another ink color than the one before it, so it's always easy to tell where one meeting ends and another begins) and was stuck, journal-less.
"How am I going to take notes about this?" I asked myself. Suddenly, I remembered that one of the bits of clutter I put into that bin they told me to stash by the door (the same door that bit my hand) was paper-based! I went over, reached in, fished out a few pages from the clutter bin, and happily began scribbling notes about how this process was already feeling, right there on the best desk I've got: my thigh.
I laughed at myself for the ways I was trying to derail this experience already--laughed again as I found myself distracted by the professional "expert" who came (Why pay to take a workshop if you already know everything?), the unsolicited-advice-giver (We ain't here to hear you, lady.), the smoker, the latecomer, the noisy eater, and the woman who took notes so loudly I felt as though her aggressively darting pencil was a device meant to punish her ridiculously loud and crinkly paper.
Every time I felt myself focusing on any of this "noise," I reminded myself that it was okay to be scared about what breakthrough was on the other side of the good information I was about to receive. And these tactics to avoid feeling truly open to hear and experience and GET the lessons are just defense mechanisms.
"Be here, Gillespie," I told myself. And I--finally--tuned everything else out.
Brooks was brilliant. Let me just say that, now. I knew he would be, because of the impact I've seen him have on Colleen, who is also brilliant. She already has so much good stuff in place for navigating her life (and sharing it all) that if she felt great impact from Brooks' teachings, I knew I certainly could.
As I mentioned yesterday, I have lots of clutter!
More importantly, I have lots of justifications for keeping what I keep.
As we spent a half-hour on the first person, then five minutes on the next, and then twenty minutes on the third--always allowed to interject questions that each person's process brought up for us--I realized not everyone's bin would be dealt with, here. So, I began reviewing in my mind each of the pieces I knew I had put in my bin (which was still over by the door).
I had chosen each thing to represent a "theme" I seem to have. Like, this piece is here because it goes with an art project I never really finished, and I wanted to finish it and this would be how I could do that. And, this is in here because it's a placeholder, a to-do list item, and by having the thing in the way, it reminds me--more than a note on a list could remind me--that I have this thing to do. The three biggest themes represented by junk in my bin were these:
1. Gifts.
2. Empty boxes.
3. All-or-nothing items.
Let me elaborate.
Gifts. Well, that's easy. That's something that Brooks covered with a couple of the night's participants. And I asked a clarifying question to help me get at what kept me so bound to things that have been given to me.
We keep gifts that others give us because we have a need to please. We worry so that we will disappoint the gift-giver by not liking the thing they've given us that--in addition to not liking the thing (which is already the case)--we hang on to the thing we don't like because to let go of it would be somehow more insulting.
Got it.
That makes perfect sense. And if I consider the intention of the gift-giver, it gets very easy. "She gave me these earrings because she loves me and wants me to have these nice things. She hasn't been observant enough to realize that I don't--can't--wear earrings. I can either force myself to wear these earrings--causing horrible infection and great pain--or I can keep 'em in the box on a shelf and feel like shit for not wearing them every time I pass by the box. Or I can squirrel 'em away into a place where I never see 'em and they'll continue to fester at my psychic energy just by being here and keeping space occupied, preventing something that I would actually love, wear, use, and find great joy in from coming into my life. Or I can clutter-bust. I can say, 'Wow, thank you so much for the gift,' and then give the lovely earrings to someone who will treasure them. Because the giver did not give me the earrings in an attempt to make me feel like shit--which I do, every time I look at them and think about not wearing them, which is all I will EVER do, since I cannot wear them--it is my gift back to me and to the giver to be free of all that psychic--and physical--baggage."
Awesome.
Empty boxes. A little stickier, because the boxes I used as an example are the cute iPhone boxes (3) that I still have, years after having first purchased iPhones. They're cute. And fun. And well-crafted. And a piece of marketing genius. So, the lesson Brooks drew here was that I keep the empty box because it reminds me of the joy I got when I first brought home my new iPhone.
True.
He asked if I could get to that place of joy without the box.
Absolutely! Just holding my iPhone brings me that joy.
Okay, cool. Then the box can go, right?
Sure.
But.
(Ah, crap. A but. You knew that was coming.)
I also really think the box is cute and I could maybe store something little in it. It's such a well-made box and I have a lot of little things. Couldn't that be a good use of the box?
"If you use it like that."
Got it. And that brings me to the second half of the "empty boxes" item, because I also keep a fuckton of less-lovely empty boxes (like shoe boxes and the big boxes the printer paper comes in from Office Depot or Staples) and that way I always have a box when I need one.
Think about that.
I always have a box when I need one.
Who fucking cares?
Why do I take up a full eighth of a room with a Matryoshka Dolls-like configuration of boxes inside boxes inside boxes, just so I'll have one handy when I need one? When I need to store another mess of actor headshots or postcards--which I'm desperately trying to dispose of, with the help of casting interns working with me--I'll have another damn box, allowing me to KEEP stuff I'm trying to get rid of. Right? Oh boy...
Out they go. Got it.
Next.
All-or-nothing items. This one gets even stickier, and I didn't get a direct answer to this question, when I posed it early on in the session, as Brooks was going through Dyana's awesome bin. "What about self-imposed rules about 'all or nothing,' when it comes to getting rid of stuff?"
That's what I asked, and I didn't realize until the end of the workshop that the entire concept of Clutter Busting is the answer to that question.
See, I have this "all or nothing" issue. With lots of things. It's sometimes very difficult for me to do something that's only "a little" done. If I get rid of a headshot an actor tossed into a bin for me at a speaking event, I'm convinced I have to get rid of every headshot that actors tossed into that bin for me, at that event. And then all similar events come into question.
If I delete an email that's a part of a conversation that has six back-and-forths, I am convinced I must delete all emails from that conversation. Once I've deleted one, they all must go. And if I keep one, they all must stay.
If I throw away a holiday greeting card with a sweet, sentimental message scrawled inside, I must throw away all cards from that holiday. I can't keep any of 'em. Because once I hang on to one special card, I have to keep them all. It's only fair.
WTF?
Didn't I go through this exact issue when I Embraced Inefficiency four years ago? Yes. Yes, I did.
And I also do this with people--and Brooks tells us that clutter is defined as anything that's holding us back--by saying, "Well, I've invited showcase alumni to this party. I have to invite all of the alumni. Not just my favorite people." Why? Why invite people I don't enjoy to parties I'm paying to host? Why do I let this "fairness voice" overrule happiness? That's messed up.
But here's what was really fantastic about what Brooks taught me, through his every query of a participant in the hotseat, going through his or her bin of clutter: "Address one thing at a time."
And, hey, that takes care of the "all or nothing" issue, every time, because you're only ever considering one item.
"As you hold that one thing, ask yourself how it makes you feel. Ask, 'Do I need to hold on to this or can I let it go?' And if your answer gets long-winded, it's a piece you need to deal with."
More importantly, if your answer gets long-winded--like, "I have to keep this because it's an heirloom," or, "I can't get rid of this because it was a gift," or, "I've never liked this, but it meant so much to my mom," for example--you need to know that that very item is constantly pulsing at you with that energy. Even from its box, hidden in a closet! And far more importantly than even that, if you're holding on to that stuff, you're preventing new stuff from coming into your life! You're holding on to things that you think have the potential of making you feel great (like you felt when you first got 'em, for example), it's like chasing the dragon. You can never get that first high back, so you keep trying harsher drugs or weirder combinations. And it still falls short. But by keeping that "old drug" with "potential" to make you "feel good" hanging around, you're keeping away the NEW thing that has absolute ability to fill your life with joy in THIS moment.
You're basically telling your life--by holding on to stuff--that the old stuff, the old "you," the stuff that you collected as that person--is all more valuable than the you now, the stuff you could invite into your life now, the happiness you could create today.
Fucking awesome.
Now, I wanted to know why I keep the things I keep. Brooks says the WHY is not important. "Look at the effect it's having on you," he said. "The reason it's choking you doesn't matter. Just stop the choking." I love it. The why is less relevant because the why is that we're taught to attach meaning to things. We are not taught how to let go. And when we watch others go through their stuff--stuff to which WE have no attachment--it gets very simple. Just like producers selecting top actors for a role. There's no attachment other than "what's gonna work, right now." Brooks also suggested we ask, "Would I buy this today, if I had a gift card?" I like that! I also really loved his analogy about how these "treasures" are like a nail made of gold. We step on it, and instead of realizing we are being HURT by the nail, we focus on, "Oh, but it's made of gold! It's valuable."
Is it so valuable we'll let it keep us apart from the better stuff we have headed for us, as we've evolved and expanded our capacity for inviting goodness into our lives?
Never.
So, as I go around my house, I touch a thing. I ask, "How do I feel about you?" And if I feel thrilled to have it in my life, on display, out for the world to enjoy with me, it can stay. If I am embarrassed or worried or anxious or feeling like I will someday have a house in which this thing will be appreciated, I have two choices.
1. Toss it.
or
2. Put it out and on display to enjoy RIGHT NOW. Not someday.
And if I cannot enjoy it, if it causes me stress to look at it (perhaps because it is a reminder of how I don't yet have the space to showcase it the way I would like to), OUT it goes. Because holding on to it not only keeps that anxiety in my life--that "loss of clarity," as Brooks puts it--but it also prevents the very thing for which I'm hanging on to it (that future house) from coming into my life.
So, Keith and I had a big talk last night over dinner after the workshop. We agreed that even if we have to buy stuff all over again, if the keeping of the "stuff" is preventing us from getting the house that is where we want to showcase the "stuff," we would rather have the house and have to buy stuff all over again, than to have the "stuff" and no house.
We're ready to have a space into which we happily invite people. About which we don't apologize for the state of it. "Oh, we are storing that for when we get our house," is something we no longer want to say. We're ready to live here, now. And addressing each item all by itself, asking whether it makes my heart sing... that's a ONE THING I can--and will--do.
Because if it's not filling me with happy, right this second, what am I doing hanging on to it?
Posted by bonnie at 3:50 PM | Comments (7)