Jun
3
Memorial Day is usually when some brave soul gets in the water at the cabin for the first brief shivery swim of the season, but we’ve had such a warm and dry spring everyone was in the water all weekend long. This particular section of the Umpqua is still pretty chilly but definitely bearable, and unusually clear right now because it hasn’t yet slowed to its algae-choked summer crawl. I spent a few lazy hours on a floatie, facedown and peering into the typically hidden environment of tree snags and rocks and long rippling ribbons of mysterious green vegetation and a startling amount of curious smallmouth bass peering back at me with bright red eyes.
It can be shamefully easy to take our time at the cabin for granted. I was thinking about that this weekend, how I used to feel something akin to resentment for this lovely family getaway because it was so clearly hugely important to John and yet we were eighty bazillion miles away in Seattle. Okay, technically about 350 miles but factor in driving with a baby, then a baby and a toddler, plus both Portland and Seattle area traffic: it felt like eighty bazillion.
Now it’s a pleasant hour-and-change trip that typically involves zero dual-diaper changes in the pelting rain at a highway rest stop. It’s also far more relaxing to be there than it was when the boys were unpredictable darting toddlers: for all its bucolic serenity, the cabin itself is sandwiched between a steep riverbank and a busy highway.
John’s parents own the cabin properties; there are actually two right next to each other, one was purchased decades ago and the other somewhat more recently. The third cabin in this little row along the river belongs to John’s uncle’s family. Visiting is always a family affair in the summer, it’s a nice setup where everyone can spend time with each other in the water or on the lawn and then retreat to their various spaces.
As lucky as we were to have access to the cabin back in our Seattle days, it feels far luckier now. I sometimes watch our boys goofing around on the rocks or fishing and think how if we’re very very VERY lucky, their own children will be enjoying the cabin someday, and I’ll be swanning around in my flowy caftan being the most awesome grandma EVER, and when I get even a tiny bit tired of small-child-wrangling I can GIVE THEM BACK.
May
27
I hate feeling like I need to clarify a post but it’s worse to come across in a way I didn’t mean, especially if it’s potentially hurtful. I keep thinking about the way I wrote this and how even the title has this vibe of “I let myself eat all the food and now I need to fix that because eating all the food is bad.”
This is in fact exactly what I was saying, but I want to emphasize that “bad” for me isn’t going above some holy grail number on a scale, it’s about disordered behavior. Treating food like an addict treats a mood-altering substance — because I am an addict and food is definitely a mood-altering substance.
It’s important to me to keep working on my relationship with food not so I can fit into a certain size, but so I don’t have to live in active addiction.
Everywhere I look lately there’s crappy diet industry messaging about losing the pandemic weight and man, I sure don’t want anything to do with that, so here’s a whole-ass follow-up post that no one asked for. Unraveling decades of diet mentality isn’t easy but being more thoughtful with words is so important for making things better.
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