Happy Birthday Mom

Happy Birthday Mom,

Boy, is this site dusty. I haven’t posted anything for two years.  I’m sorry I didn’t write to you last year, I was busy driving to Vegas to test out a potential dream.  It didn’t work out, and in hindsight, it wasn’t supposed to.  We have a lot of catching up to do Mom, so here we go.

2015 to 2016 was weird. I moved back to Stockton early in 2015. I wasn’t flourishing in SLO and I felt like it was time to come home and regroup.  I didn’t like it at first, but I got into a rhythm   I started spending my time with lots of old friends from my college and Brookside days.  Nobody would hire me, so I started a business that is still going strong today.  I help people “get shit done” whether it be in their home or office.  I love it, I’m good at it, and it satiates my need to purge, clean, and organize.  Oh, and it’s even profitable!

In 2015 I became friends with one of the most wonderful families you could ever meet. They are close friends with some other dear friends and we have cultivated a beautiful Framily that spends incredible moments of time together.  Mom, they saved me.  I was struggling with being alone and home.  After spending months with Bill and Kelly and the boys, it was very hard to come home to Stockton.  Everywhere I looked, my friends were knee deep in kids, careers, and the other demands that life presents.  There aren’t a lot of single people circles to fall into here and for the first time in a long time I didn’t feel alone, I felt lonely.  Painfully lonely.  I am so grateful for this unit of people.  We definitely came into each other’s lives for a reason, as I needed a local family, and little did I know at the time, they would need family strength and support down the road.  One of the families in the group just came home from Boston, where they spent seven weeks treating their four year old for Cancer.  Although this chapter sucked for them, it has been incredibly fulfilling for me to be able to be there for them.  Anna and I snuck in several times and cleaned their house.  It felt like a very Sharon thing to do.  Anyway, this group has given me purpose again, and I can’t imagine my life without them.  I spend lots of my free time with them and the grand total of this hodge podge is five grown-ups, five children, four dogs, and one cat.  It’s entertaining and fulfilling in ways you can’t even imagine.

I’m still having dinner with Gram every week. We’ve been doing it since I came home.  Rain or shine, I’m there for dinner on Wednesday nights.  Sometimes we do Sunday breakfast, but either way, it happens.  I always pop into your bedroom and say hello, I chuckle every time I see your stuffed kitty and sparkly ballcap.  Gram is slowing down, but she’s still going strong.  She sold the Motorhome!  She said it was time, she didn’t want to fall down in it and break a hip.  If anyone asks, she could still drive the damn thing just fine!  We had a good time watching all the presidential debates and coverage together.  I got her set up with DVR so she can record all her favorite shows.  She’s in Heaven.

2016 was a good year. I moved into my own place and it feels so therapeutically good to be in my own space and unpacked after that short period of living like a gypsy.  You’d love the house, it’s old and adorable, just like the house in Linden.  I get to work from home with the job that I took last February.  Like I said in the beginning, the Vegas thing wasn’t supposed to work out.  I was supposed to get this new job, I was supposed to stumble upon this rental, and I was supposed to spend this chapter of life here in Stockton.  I’m in a Leadership group that’s brought me spectacular new circles of friends, and we are working on an awesome community service project with the Downtown Library.  It’s more fulfilling than I ever imagined, and they appreciate my cartwheels.  Oh, by the way, can I give your piano to the Library?  Cool, thanks!

I’m excited for 2017. I’ve got a few unique goals for the year, and I know you’ll like one and hate the other.  I’m going to learn to play the Harmonica, and I am going to apply for and use my very first Passport.  Not sure where I’m going yet, but I promise to be safe, frugal, and smart.  A dear friend of mine just finished her LPGA Class A certification, we are going to plan a few golf trips which should help with my ongoing golf goals.  I’m going to be a 16 handicap by 2020, mark my words!  I know it’s a ways off, but I want to start saving for my 40th birthday celebration adventure which will consist of 40 charity golf tournaments in the year of my 40th birthday!  Isn’t that fun?  Anyway, I have to start saving for it now, so I might as well work on my game too.  Maybe I’ll get my LPGA Class A after that, who knows?

Ok Ma, time to wrap it up. In a nutshell, I’m feeling (almost) content and doing good, slowly working upwards towards feeling happy and doing great.  Some days are harder than others, but I’m learning to navigate this new me fairly well.  I miss you, especially when I don’t know how the heck to cook something, or when I want to share how well things are going with work and Leadership Stockton, and everything else that I am so grateful for in this chapter of my life.

Love you Mom.

Happy Birthday Mom.

Happy Heaven Arrival Anniversary Mom.

Your grateful kid,

Kare Bear

Happy Birthday Mom!

Hi Mom,

Happy Birthday.

I can’t believe you’ve been gone for two years already, it somehow seems like a lifetime ago.  I suppose in a sense, it was.  The new year was awhile back, but I like to think of today as my new beginning as opposed to January 1.  The fact that you left this earth on the same day you came in to it speaks volumes to me, and your birthday and anniversary of your passing will always be a very important day to me.

I’m not sure exactly when it happened, maybe after the flowers wilted and the back door bell stopped ringing (it IS true, back door friends are best).  There was so much nice company to see, so much food to store, and so many thank you’s to write that it took awhile to get back into the swing of things.  I can’t really even describe “it” other than as a sensation of overwhelmingness.  Is that a word?  Well, my blog, my rules I guess.  Mom, what I am trying to say is that 2013 really sucked.  BAD LANGUAGE ALERT; it REALLY FUCKING SUCKED.  2014 wasn’t so great either.

Everything was kind of a whirlwind.  I became more self-absorbed than I could ever have imagined possible.  Anxious, nervous, insecure, you name it.  I lost every bit of patience I had ever had in my life.  Work became frustrating, redundant, and pointless.  My hobbies were no longer my escapes, but just another thing to fit into the already sparse schedule.  Relationship with fella struggled because I no longer had the energy to nurture that still delicate, still growing seed.  I felt abandoned by friends, frustrated that they didn’t see my needs or reach out.  In hindsight, I don’t know that anything they would have said or done would have helped, but it still hurt that people just went about their business without realizing how much I needed them (I know, I know, so self centered, right?). I became sad and introverted and didn’t want to talk to people because I had nothing good to share.  Running into people or coming home to see my roommate already there made me anxious.  I hated it and I hated the temporary me.  I confided in a good friend who said something to the effect of “Karen, you’re so strong, you don’t realize that your sadness and “depression” is still way more charismatic than most.  I don’t think people really recognize that you are that far off from your normal self.”  That sucked!  I felt even worse, because how could I feel so different on the inside and seem so normal on the outside?  I became even resentful and cynical.  It was exhausting.

I quit my job in November of 2013.  It was the scariest, yet most liberating thing I had done.  It felt amazing for a few months, but even that high wore off quickly.  People praised me as brave and confident.  I labeled myself as a chicken.  I felt that I had given up and just couldn’t go on like I had before.  With no job, there was even more time to sit and stew and think and weep.  Oh the thinking….  I think people started to hide when they saw me coming; “Oh here comes Karen again with her word vomit of feelings and emotions…”  Again, probably a little dramatic, but maybe not.  Even with the highs and lows of emotion, I am so very thankful for that time off.  The only reason was I was able to do it for as long as I did is because of you.  You taught me to be frugal and thrifty.  You taught an amazing sense of awareness of what one really needs to get through life, like a true minimalist.  Did you know I lived off of my savings for almost a year?  In hindsight I am so proud of not only myself for doing it, but of you for teaching that.

Anyway, 2014 was starting to look up; did a lot of freelance work in Stockton, spent a lot of time with old friends and family, and got a new dog.  Walter Elias filled a nice void, and I bet you would love him.  I was feeling like life was on the upswing, then it was time to finish the remodel of your house.  That was an unexpected emotional punch in the gut!  I must have cleaned out that garage six times.  Between the first emotional trips to goodwill with your clothes and the final sortings of Yard Sale stuff and Christmas Décor with Sis, every moment in that garage felt like I was stepping into a time capsule.  The spring and summer spent working on the house was exhausting.  Good childhood memories, as well as not-so-good young adult memories overflowed the memory bank, bringing the overwhelmingness back once again.  We got the house finished, painted the front door red, and invited lots of people over to see the finished product.  Everyone’s reaction was the same; tears of joy that you had finally gotten your big kitchen, and that the house was just what you would have wanted.  Then I left.  I put the air mattress away, and headed back to Livermore to restart the life that I had kind of put on hold for a few months.

To put it short and sweet, it sucked.  Fella and I called it quits, the unemployment ran out, and Landlord asked me to move out so he could sell.  I packed my dog and my stuff and moved to SLO, where Sis was waiting with open arms.  Took forever to find work, still haven’t found a place of my own, and after four months of living here, I am still not sure that it fits just quite like I had hoped.  Don’t get me wrong, the move was great, it gave me just the space I needed to get away and digest my newfound singleness, with plenty of space for Walter to run around and digest Nerf Darts and stinky kid socks.  It has been very fulfilling, spending time with these Monkeys in their forever home, getting it organized, getting back in touch with the skills and characteristics that define me and make me proud to be who I am, and slowly getting back to where I was before we lost you.  I don’t know that I will ever get back there fully, but I feel a lot more like myself than I did over the past two years.Dog Park

2015 will be good.  Maybe even great.  I wrote a Patent Application last year and I just received word that I should have First Action sometime in May.  Isn’t that cool?  It is very possible that the United States Patent and Trademark Office will soon recognize me as an Inventor!  Once that happens, look out!  I have a business plan just waiting to go, and there’s this cool concept called “Crowdfunding” that I think will be perfect for my small business adventure.  After I wow the panel on Shark Tank and make a cool million, I am going to live another dream of opening a deli. harveysdeli_finalproof_a  It’s a little different from your dream of owning a Hot Dog Cart with a red and white striped awning, but its close and I will do it with your spirit of entrepreneurship driving me.

Well Mom, that’s what I’ve been up to.  I kinda feel like you already know all this, because you are in a beautiful place watching over me, but I felt like I needed to get it out on this special day.  I know you are with me because I can feel you when I find your pennies from heaven in the most random, but not really random places, or when I catch myself washing a Ziploc bag.  I find comfort in knowing that you are in a place of complete understanding and peacefulness.  I love you so much, I hope birthdays in Heaven are as special as I think them to be.IMG_1546

Love,

Kare Bear

Oh Lord, What Have I Done????

I grew up in a conservative and frugal household and community. Although I am so thankful that I learned the true definition of work ethic and loyalty, I’m not sure how I feel about also learning that you should always have a job, you should always play it safe, and don’t ever make a move without having things well thought out with a back up plan. And always have a job.

As I take a snapshot of my work history, I have come to realize that I have ALWAYS had a job. Actually, I have always had multiple jobs. Come to think of it, 2013 will be the first year of my life that I record only one W-2 when I file. You name it, I have done it; Agriculture, Retail, Tax Assembly, the list goes on. My craziest years of multiple jobs took place at multiple Malls (yes, MALLS) that involved a lot of weekends and holidays behind a cash wrap (the place where you get rung up for your over priced goods while simultaneously agreeing to purchase “add-ons” that will enhance your experience or increase your savings). Thanks to the Corporate Retail world, I can sell anything to anyone and that’s not a bad thing; until I sold myself on quitting my job and chasing my dreams.

Yes, I quit my job. I do not have anything lined up except for a prototype and a How-To book. Oh wait, I also have half of a business plan and a lot of passion. I should be okay, right? RIGHT? Oh please someone tell me that they have been in this boat.

Several months ago I began to struggle with my work. Keep in mind at this point I had only been at my current job for just over a year. Although I was thriving professionally and financially (beating budgets and raking in commissions), internally I was drowning. No one can prepare you for the emotional train wreck that is the passing of a parent. I take pride in being pretty “tough” but after the dust settled from family time, sympathy cards, and the occasional visit, I very quickly became (by self diagnosis I assume) a combination of depressed and anxious. I didn’t like my attitude, so therefore I became withdrawn. I didn’t want to be out in public or meet new people because I felt that I was at my lowest and had nothing to offer anyone new. I didn’t want someone to meet Mediocre Karen, so I decided to keep to myself until Magnificent Karen returned to form.

Weeks went by, months went by, it got worse. I became very isolated at work, and very anxious when I thought about having to be in crowds. I only felt safe at home, in my bed, or at a familiar place; a ballgame, a road trip to Disneyland, or at immediate family’s homes. I began to think that this was just a rite of passage, that the older you get, the more content you are with keeping to yourself. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized the root of my unhappiness (besides my grief and mourning for Mom). My work was no longer fulfilling. I worked hard and it still wasn’t quite enough. I reached out to my co-workers, asking for help in the areas that I knew I was struggling and was met with little support. In hindsight, I don’t blame them, I was in a constant state of “poor me” syndrome. I effortlessly developed great working relationships with bright eyed Brides and eager to play golf Grooms, only to get an occasional Thank You note expressing their gratitude for making their dreams come true. It sucked.

I began to search high and low for a different job. I diligently perused Craigslist, Cal Opps, and other sites that offer change. The more I searched for what I was eligible or qualified for, the more anxious I became. The darker the road seemed. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my current situation for greener pastures, only to realize six months later that the water bill is higher on that greener, grassier side. I couldn’t stomach the thought of being trapped in a job that didn’t fulfill me, the anxiety was at an all time high.

Then a blessing came along. Sure it was ugly and disguised as a formal write-up at work forcing me into a probationary period, but damn, was it the best worst day of my life. After being told that my performance was slipping and that my attitude was affecting the team, I immediately knew that it was time to part ways with the root of my anxiety. I don’t mean to blame the particular place I worked at, there are some great people there, but my role did not leave me feeling accomplished at the end of each day, it only left me distressed to go to sleep each night, knowing that I had wasted yet another day doing something that was slowly killing me. A small circle of friends told me this was okay, but I didn’t believe them. Thanks to those who listened and also to those who let me be quiet.

So here I am, with a few weeks of vacation accrued, and no game plan for what to do when the severance runs out. I am now the opposite of anxious and depressed; I am feeling more free than I ever have in my life (except for maybe the days of recess, those days were pretty awesome). No longer will my dreams be a cocktail conversation or a journal entry. As of now, my dreams are my full time job. The next few months will be devoted to educating myself, meeting people that can influence me, and taking some risks. And the Happiest Road Trip on Earth, of course.

The way I see it, what’s the worse that could happen? My invention will flop, no one will like my Children’s Book, and I will make some mistakes that cost me my Deli Start-Up Capital. So what? I’d rather be trying to do what I love and fail, than be trying to do something that I don’t enjoy yielding the same result.

Anne Frank said “No one ever became poor by giving” and I can’t wait to start giving back. Not only to my family, but also to my friends, my awesome fella, this incredible community, and even to myself. Wish me luck, should I fall short, run out of money and come knocking at your door, I promise to only ask for a couch and a smile. And maybe a connection to a job that yields a W-2.

Sharon Ann Amestoy

3 Gens

This was written several months ago, but I wanted to preserve it here.  I miss you so much Mom, tonight and every time I need help with a recipe.  I smile every time I reach for a kitchen gadget or my add-a-pearl necklace.  I hope that Heaven is as wonderful as you deserve……

On January 11, 1950, a fighter was born. Sharon Ann Garsino Amestoy, daughter of Joe and Phyllis Garsino, sister of Stephen Garsino, and mother of Allison Rogers, Kelly Isaman, and Karen Amestoy, lived her entire life in Linden, California where she courageously tackled a series of illnesses and setbacks over the course of her lifetime.

Sharon was a busy, compassionate, organized and dedicated contributor to her community.  Born and raised in Linden, California, Sharon attended the Linden Unified School District; beginning at Greenwood School and graduating from Linden High School in 1968. After High School, she pursued a modest career in bookkeeping for prominent Linden and Stockton businesses.

Active in raising her children, Sharon divided her precious time among Linden-Peters and Waterloo-Morada 4-H, Linden FFA, the Linden Athletic Boosters Club, and the Linden Lions Club.

As her family grew and left the ranch, she continued to maintain her passion for community involvement by pursuing her AA Degree at San Joaquin Delta College, raising funds and chairing various committees for the Native Daughters of the Golden West, and most recently, becoming a member of the United Ancient Order of Druids.

Sharon is survived by her aforementioned mother, brother, and daughters, sister-in-law Susan Garsino, sons-in-law, Bill Isaman and David Rogers, her niece Anna Garsino, great niece Julianna as well as several grandchildren: Tyler, Brandon, Matthew, Alyssa, Will, Aaron, and Joe.

Sharon’s hobbies ranged from piano playing and cooking, to gardening and water skiing. Anyone who knew Sharon knew her ability to effortlessly entertain and feed any guest dropping in to visit with her or her family.

The last several years of her life were inundated with a series of illnesses and complications due to Renal Failure and a Kidney Transplant which occurred in her thirties.  Over the course of her lifetime, Sharon maintained exceptional diligence in taking care of her health, and always pursued with confidence and unparalleled courage any procedure or surgery that offered her an opportunity for wellness and peace.

Her family invites all who had the pleasure of knowing her to attend a Memorial Service in her honor on Thursday January 17 at 10:00 am. The service will be held at Bear Creek Community Church at 11171 North Lower Sacramento Road in Lodi, California.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to Hospice of San Joaquin, 3888 Pacific Avenue, Stockton, CA or the Linden Library, 19050 E. Main Street, Linden, CA95236.

My Mulberry Musings

For as long as I can remember, my life has been surrounded by trees.  The earliest memories of my youth were of playing in a freshly irrigated Walnut Orchard, goose-bumped from the frigid well water, and covered in mud as thick as peanut butter.  OrchardThe complex that I live in now is filled with trees that house my Arch Nemeses; Birdfrog.  The home that was mine for 23 years sat on the edge of a 40 acre parcel that rotated out row crops, but the surrounding plots belonging to the neighbors were filled with Walnut and Cherry Trees.  The Farm town that I grew up in was filled with Orchards.  As I grew older, the trees evolved from jungle gyms and play structures to obstacles and allies.  I crashed into one of those Walnut Trees in a Chevy truck, and the Cherry Trees became a great hiding spot for a beer kegs that weren’t supposed to be in orchards full of high schoolers and 4×4 trucks.

Our humble little lath and plaster home took up approximately 1,000 square feet, with a yard that most people today could only dream of.  The wee little farmhouse was surrounded by a moat of Ryegrass and Dichondra and a wood slat fence enclosing dozens of shrubs, a partially sunken in Doughboy Pool, a Rabbit Cage, a Dog Kennel that was converted into a Pig Pen (more on that later) a hand crafted Tree House with a slide, a “Feed Me Seymour” sized Rosemary Bush, and the two most majestic, breathtaking Mulberry Trees that you ever saw.

Most of you know a Mulberry Tree as the kind that people cut the stems off right at the base of the tree so that the top of the tree is nothing but branchless knobs.  If you let the branches grow and flower, the Mulberry Tree produces gigantic shiny green leaves the size of a shoe, or something else really big.  It also produces these little caterpillar looking things that take over the lawn, the sidewalk, the dog’s water dish, and anything else in the way.  Think of a snow capped cottage out in the woods, replace the word “snow” with “little caterpillar looking things” and you have yourself an idea of the picture I am trying to paint.

Caterpillars

To give you a better visual of how big these trees were, picture a little plastic red Monopoly House, then picture a stalk of Broccoli hovering over it.  That’s how big these damn trees were.

As I grew up, I didn’t pay much attention to those two trees; just when I had to sweep or hose down the sidewalks in the fall (little caterpillar things), or when Papa Joe conducted his annual pruning.  It wasn’t until I was in my twenties, living in town where my neighbors actually shared a fence with me that I drove home one afternoon that I realized how high the trees towered over the house, and even towered over the 80 year old Walnuts next door.  They were something to be proud of.  A few years ago, my mom had them removed, due to the fact that a highly trained arborist (jerkface) told her that the root base was ruining the foundation of the house.  I was devastated when I heard the news, and even more saddened when I drove home last summer and saw our wee little farmhouse sitting in the great wide open, with no shade to protect it.  Truth be told, I am still mad at my mom for this one, and she knows it.

Tonight, I pulled into the parking lot in my Apartment Complex, and where I normally park was full.  As I drove around the corner, I found the only open spot which happened to be beneath a Mulberry Tree that I had never noticed before.  This tree is a baby, nowhere near as big as the ones that were at the Ranch, but I felt a little bit of joy as I pulled into the parking stall and let the giant shiny leaves brush up against the hood of my car.  I almost can’t wait until Fall to see the caterpillar thingies.

I did some googling to see if Mulberry Trees have any major symbolism, but all I could find was an excerpt from theroselabrynth.com; The Mulberry Tree is a symbol of wisdom, and associated with the goddesses Minerva/Athena. The mulberry puts out no growth whatsoever until all danger of frosts are past, then it works so swiftly that all the buds may appear almost overnight: thus, the tree is both prudent and patient.

I find comfort in that.

I miss my mom, I miss my home, and I miss my trees.  I long for the day that I win the Powerball, buy a parcel of land, and plant myself one hundred trees on my sprawling estate.  In the meantime, I will take time to stop and gaze at all the amazing trees around me.  When my time comes, please bury my ashes beneath a baby Mulberry Tree so that I can be prudent, patient, and most importantly, fifty feet tall.

Mulberry

Nice is my purpose

I wake up every morning happy because I love my life, but a little bit sad because I don’t have my dog. Harveygave me purpose.  He was the reason I woke up each morning, and the reason I raced home after work each day.  It’s been nearly five months since I lost him, and while I don’t miss vacuuming and sweeping and having to share the bed, I really miss vacuuming and sweeping and having to share the bed.

I woke up early today after an odd dream aboutHarvey, and felt empty.  I had a moment of “I have no purpose right now.”  It is summertime and all I do is go to work and plan weddings and come home.  Sure I have hobbies; Bike riding, Golf, Baseballing, but what is my PURPOSE if I don’t have someone to walk, feed, snuggle, and care for?

So I got up and baked.  Fella is headed to the A’s game with some friends and of course I can’t go because it’s wedding season, so I decided to make them some tailgating treats.

As I measured flour, preheated the oven and greased a baking dish, I felt content.  Doing nice things for others gives me purpose.  Surprising my favorite guy with some homemade treats and getting a big hug and kiss for them made me feel good again.  Sure it wasn’t the “thump, thump, thump” of a big furry tail that I miss so dearly, but it felt just as good, and I didn’t have to vacuum after he left.

To everyone that I have ever done something nice for; thank you for allowing me to do so.  It gives me purpose.  We all need a purpose.

Fatty Fatty 2×4

ImageI am fat. I have been most of my life. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t look morbidly obese and I could run a mile if I had to (although I’m not sure why anyone would want to MAKE me), but the bottom line is I have always been a chunky little monkey.

Notice I don’t use the term “struggle” or “battle” when I talk about my relationship with the scale. To say that I struggle with weight loss would imply that I put up somewhat of a fight. I don’t. I drink, I splurge on nice steak dinners, and I pass on workouts if I’m not in the mood. When the loose pants become not so loose, I panic, race to Trader Joe’s, and collect the biggest reusable bag of produce I can carry. Two weeks later, my fridge is abundant with moldy soggy vegetables that were supposed to be the stars of my makeover show.  Those poor little Asparagus spears, they didn’t stand a chance.  I would hardly call this “managing” my weight.  I get on the myfitnesspal bandwagon and it tells me that in order to lose weight I need to consume 1200 calories per day.  That doesn’t count when I am at a ball game, right?  Try and live healthy while attending three hours of hot dogs and pretzels and nachos, oh my.  A heavily processed, carb loaded bazaar disguised as a family friendly outing.  My ass! Well, my ass enjoys the Cholula Kahluah Nachos, but I digress, let’s get back to the point.  I am fat and need to be not so fat.  Enter Stage Right: Crossfit!

In 2009, I was introduced to Crossfit (and a super hot, friendly trainer).  We’ll call him Gabe.  Well, because that’s his name and he deserves all the credit in the world for changing my life and being super hot.  As a chubby lil bunny who mascotted and tap danced her way through life (hence the scary man calves), I NEVER in elevendy billion years thought that I, Karen the Thick, would be capable of ANY of the workouts that are commonly found being tackled in a Crossfit Box.  After three months, I was working out six days a week, jumping up onto tractor tires, perfecting my burpees, and not shaving ANY time off my runs (we can’t win ‘em all).  I was amazed that after a few months I could hang with the big girls.  Not only was I now ABLE master things I thought I could never do, I was mastering things that I never thought I would WANT to do.  Fat Girls don’t run twelve miles in the mud with obstacles.  Fat Girls root for their fit friends running twelve miles in the mud.  For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like a fatty, I felt like a fitty.  I knew there was no turning back, the feeling of accomplishment after each WOD was indescribable.

This is the part of the story where you would think that I go on to tell you that I shed 30 pounds, competed in the Crossfit Games, became certified, opened my own Box and became an inspiration to short Chubbies all over the world.  Sucker, you lose.  I moved to a new town, started a new job that was incredibly time consuming, began to devote the majority of my time to my ailing dog (pour some out for the HD) and basically quit Crossfitting.  In the back of my mind I was mad at myself for not making it a priority, but the Pulled Pork-Eating Devil on my right shoulder told me it wasn’t my fault, and that I would get back into the swing of things eventually.  I’m not sure where the Angel was, perhaps at Taco Tuesday or Whiskey Wednesday.  I should have a talk with her…..

I think I have finally had enough.  I lost some lb’s for Spring Training, thought I was back on track, then Wedding Season smacked me in the face with Hydrangea and Stephanotis.  I’m back up to my Mayday weight and I find myself once again wondering, “How the heck did I get here?”  Instead of blaming Age and Metabolism, I have decided to do something about it.  Earlier in 2012 I had a friend that was exhausting me with his woes.  It was a great lesson for me and my motto for 2012 became “Don’t bitch about stuff if you aren’t going to do anything about it!”  Don’t act like a victim and cry about your problems, be proactive and fix them.

I wiped out my cupboards yesterday.  I spent $100 at Trader Joes’ this morning on grass fed beef, vegetables, nuts and fruits.  Crossfit preaches Paleo, and it’s a no brainer.  Eat clean and get results.  To plagiarize from my new favorite website, www.nerdfitness.com, we were once hunter gatherers and life was good. 

The average Homo Sapien back then: tall, muscular, agile, athletic, and incredibly versatile.

The average Homo Sapien now: overweight, out of shape, stressed out, unhappy, sleep deprived and dying from a myriad of preventable diseases.

So what the hell happened? Agriculture! A few thousand years ago humans discovered farming, the agricultural revolution took off, and we advanced from hunter-gatherers to farmers. We settled down, formed societies, and the human race progressed to what we are today.”

Thanks Steve Kamb, eloquently said.  It may sound extreme, but it also seems so simple.  Here it is, I’m officially saying it, “K-Ron is going Paleo!”  I am now dairy and gluten free! I will keep you updated on my progress.  I think it’s important to make public some of our weaknesses.  It holds one accountable.  Now that you all know that I weigh a whopping 163 pounds, I will be forced to take my desire seriously.  I will have friends rooting for me or reminding me of what’s important to me.  I want to be able to push a golf cart when I’m Eighty.  I believe everyone has a breaking point with their vices or displeasures, and I am happy to have found mine.  Wish me luck friends, the nacho monster doesn’t stand a chance!