My Frugal Accomplishments

Monday, I received a check for $17 for writing a tutorial about rebuilding a carburetor (after Googling “what is a carburetor,” then “how to rebuild a carburetor”).  It was unusually warm for January, so I decided to walk to the library, and then swing by the thrift store to spend my income-stream money.  I had a dozen library books to return, and they didn’t all fit in my backpack, so I put them in our wheelbarrow, after power-washing it in the garage.  It’s a two-mile trek to the library, and the wheelbarrow was listing pretty seriously to the right, so I returned home after a block.  I put half the books in my backpack, and the other half in the ticking-striped front-pack I used when my son was an infant.  It smelled faintly of breast milk, Desitin, and optimism, and I slung it on happily.  I hurried to the library, realizing I looked a bit like a post-menopausal suicide bomber.

After returning the books, and checking one out (the book jacket promises that I’ll never buy graham crackers again, once I realize how easy they are to make), I stopped at the thrift store.  First, I donated the ticking-striped front-pack, and scored a 30-percent-off coupon.  I then bought an over-sized Fiestaware mug, an unopened package of embroidery floss (50 colors!), a flannel sheet that I’ll use to make 36 cloth napkins, a maroon sweater-vest from Lands’ End in a boys’ husky XL that I think will fit me, and eight Mason jars (they’re actually less expensive when purchased new, but they’re “greener” when thrifted) (not literally…literally, they’re blue).  I couldn’t carry everything, so I called my work-at-home husband, and he picked me up.  We stopped for Mexican food, because we love Mexican food, and because it was a special occasion (MLK Day).  I used a coupon, but tipped generously.  I took half of my enchiladas home, and cooked them with eggs the next morning.

Tuesday, after a delicious and economical breakfast, I walked to my neighbor’s house, and offered her two homemade pumpkin muffins in exchange for a 4-inch sprig of rosemary from her indoor herb garden.  (Recently—after Halloween—the same neighbor gave me four carved pumpkins in exchange for walking her Labradoodle for 20 minutes.  I cooked, pureed, and froze the pumpkin, and later used it to make the muffins.)  She agreed to the swap, and I immediately used the bartered rosemary to make Rosemary White Bean Soup.  (For my birthday, my sister gave me a Door Snake that she filled with white beans, but I already have a Door Snake, so I cut the new Door Snake open, poured out the beans, and soaked them.  I then cut the Door Snake fabric into 5-inch squares, and tucked them into my quilting cubby.)  When the soup was done, I took a photo of it, and attached the photo to a thank-you email I sent my sister.  My husband and I enjoyed the bean soup for lunch.  (To be honest, he didn’t specifically claim to have “enjoyed” it.)

I put the leftover soup in the thrifted over-sized Fiestaware mug, and walked to my aunt’s house, a block away.  It was a chilly day, but the hot soup kept my hands warm.  While I was visiting my aunt, I trimmed her polydactyl cat’s claws, and—to show her appreciation—my aunt gave me a box of empty baby-food jars (the cat is a picky eater).  I returned home and organized my office-supply drawer, using the jars.  She also gave me a cutting from an aloe plant.

Wednesday, I got word that my great-niece lost her first tooth and had her very-long hair trimmed.  I requested the tooth and the hair trimmings from her mother (my niece).  She agreed to the request (“whatever”), and I dropped by midmorning and picked up the tooth and the hair.  I then cut two 3-inch circles from the Door Snake quilting squares, embroidered my great-niece’s initials on one of the circles, and stitched the circles together using embroidery floss.  Right before I finished the circular stitching, I stuffed the hair and the tooth inside.  I added a small loop for hanging, and I plan to give the ornament to my great-niece next Christmas (it’s very cute…the fabric is red plaid).  Tangentially, my niece (the mom, I mean) recently began using flannel sanitary pads (guess who made them for her?!?), and I asked if I could have some of the “soaking water” produced, because I read that it’s excellent for plant watering (I was thinking about the aloe start), but she said no, and I respect that.

At 2:30 that afternoon, I had an appointment with my OB/GYN (who happens to be my best friend from high school!).  In exchange for an Annual Exam, I gave her a pint of apple butter (made with gleaned apples), a halter-style gingham sundress for her school-aged granddaughter (made with fabric inherited from my mother-in-law), pumpkin muffins for her staff (see above), and a handwritten haiku about my vagina (matted and framed at JoAnn’s, using a gift card and a 50-percent-off coupon).  (The haiku was matted and framed, I mean.  Not my vagina.)

Thursday, there was a snowstorm, and I stayed home.  I watched a few youtube tutorials, located a box of nitrile gloves in the home-improvement closet, and expressed my dog’s anal glands.  I sent a group-email offering to express the anal glands of friends’ and neighbors’ dogs, but there were no takers.  There were some off-color jokes, but no one was willing to rototill my garden this spring in exchange for a monthly Expression.  There were also some off-color jokes about “rototilling my garden.” 

That afternoon, when a young Hispanic man knocked on the door and offered to scoop our driveway and sidewalk, I was enthusiastic.  I gave him a list of a dozen tasks that I would trade for snow removal, including data entry (QuickBooks), medical transcription, button replacement and zipper repair, small-group non-kosher catering, and—of course—anal gland expression, but he insisted on ten dollars, cash.  I think if my Spanish were better, I could have made my case. 

Friday, I made a coupon book for my husband’s birthday, with one coupon for each year he’s been alive.  I included coupons for his favorite meals and desserts, for his favorite…wifely duties, for pretending to listen when he talks about Pink Floyd, for not gagging when he puts green olives on his turkey burger, for remembering to wish him a happy Aphelion Day and a happy Perihelion Day, for laughing when he shares a Brian Regan line, for refraining from rolling my eyes when he calls me to his computer to see yet another photo of Emilia Clarke, for loving him even though he refuses to concede that Rush Limbaugh has no redeeming qualities, for watching all three Bourne movies in one sitting…that kind of thing.

Saturday morning, after staying up late and being inspired by the hunkiness that is Matt Damon as Jason Bourne, I asked my husband to cut my hair.  “Scary version?” he said, which made me laugh (even without a coupon).  He used my Dollar Tree scissors, finished in less than a minute, and I looked nothing like Franka Potente or Julia Stiles.  I didn’t blame him.  “It all went sideways,” he said, and I laughed again, there in the bathroom.

That afternoon, my sister and I went to Walgreens, suspecting that the price of Christmas candy had been drastically slashed.  90-percent off!  Better than expected!  We bought everything that wasn’t obviously for Christmas (so we could pass it off as Valentine’s Day candy).  We bought 82 boxes of chocolates for $26.  Once home, using red construction paper from my art-supply stash, we made 82 heart-shapes with the words “From a Fellow Traveler” scrawled across the front.  We drove 40 minutes to a neighborhood near the homeless shelter, and began handing out boxes of candy.  There were requests for money, cigarettes, sex, real food, and transportation, and one suggestion that we take our privileged white asses back to the suburbs, but no one turned down the chocolates.

Sunday, my great-nephew visited, and we made cookies.  He wanted to make snickerdoodles, and I had cream of tarter, so I said yes.  I substituted whole-wheat flour for white, brown sugar for granulated, olive oil for butter, flaxseed for eggs, baking powder for baking soda, and nutmeg for cinnamon.  I’ve been “shopping from the pantry” for a while, so stocks are getting low.  We’re out of salt, but I suggested omitting it, after considering using fish sauce.  “Are they supposed to get all flat like that, and touch?” he asked as they were baking.  “That happens sometimes,” I said, which wasn’t a lie.  They were tasty!  I washed out a baggie and sent some cookies home with him, for his family.

That evening, my husband and I went to my brother’s house and watched several episodes of “Game of Thrones” on HBO.GO.  I took some of the snickerdoodles-in-bar-form, a quart jar of hot spiced cider, and some sliced meatloaf from lunch.  We ended up taking all of that (and more) back home, ‘cause their snacks were better.  We had fun, though!  It was a good week!

A Weight-Loss State of Mind

I recently lost 50 pounds in five months.  To achieve optimal health, I need to do it again immediately.  So, this is an interim report in the form of a blog post, focusing on Lessons Learned.  Item #2 includes two rules, and the rest of the items are guidelines, or musings, or hypoglycemic blather.

1. Eating less than you want to in an attempt to lose weight can really mess with your head.

The instant I form the thought, "Starting immediately, I'm going to eat less than I want to in an attempt to lose weight," a less-reasonable part of me responds, "No!  Please...no!  We'll starve!  And if we manage not to starve, we'll always be hungry!  We'll never be full!  We can't possibly be that attentive, day in and day out!  If we're not allowed to spontaneously and un-self-consciously eat French fries from a loved one's plate, there's no reason to live!"

Occasionally--infrequently--I recognize this less-reasonable part of me as wrong.  I created her, of course, and I did so by depriving myself of food in my late teens and twenties, by telling myself that half of a small baked potato sans toppings constitutes a meal.  The more-reasonable part of me can quiet her (gently, affectionately) by pointing out that my plan is to eat slightly less, but still plenty, and all the good things.

It's easy, though (if one has known only over-eating and under-eating) to suffer Leonard Cohen's "panic of loss" when faced with an alien and perhaps-tedious middle ground, and to anticipate facing it forever.  Equanimity, patience, and assertiveness are key, as are self-awareness, self-care, and expectation management.  And it's a good idea to limit blaming, complaining, and excuse-making (especially if you spend any time at all hanging out with me).

2. A plan-of-eating needs to be less like a balance beam and more like an airport runway.

In the beginning, eating less than I want to can be difficult, and after a month or two I begin to look for a way out.  The easiest way out is to fall off the wagon, eat everything in sight, and then climb back on the wagon a year (or five) later.  Desiring a long-term solution to my recurring obesity, I designed a plan-of-eating with only two rules:

Daily, count the calories of everything I eat, and log that number.

Weekly, log my weight.

The first rule prevents mindless eating.  At restaurants, I make one careful estimation of the caloric content of a meal, and then I stop thinking about it.  At home, I'm more careful; I weigh and measure the ingredients of most meals.  During the last five months, I've eaten as few as 950 calories and as many as 3600 calories (my average is about 1650, and I always round to the nearest 50 calories).  Physical, emotional, and social states affect my eating choices, and I'm comfortable with that.  Sustainability is everything.

The second rule ensures that I'm actually on a weight-loss path.  After the first two weeks, I've averaged a 2-pound loss a week, losing a minimum of 0.6 pounds and a maximum of 3.8 pounds.  This rule dictates that I must hop on the scale at least once a week, but I can do it more frequently if I like.

I cut myself a little slack with this rule, allowing myself to record any weekly weight as my official weekly weight.  My weight-logging day is Monday, but, if my lowest weight happens to be on another day, I  can log that weight.  I find that this results in fewer bleak Sundays (Sundays are bleak enough without limiting dinner to a bowl of watermelon, 'cause it's a diuretic).

3. A plan-of-eating needs to include plenty of protein, fat, and fiber.

There was a time when about 90 percent of my calories came from carbohydrates, and I was willing to feel ravenous day after day because I knew the feeling would culminate in skinniness.  No more.  For the last five months, I've been aiming for 20 to 30 percent of calories from fat, with the rest of the calories evenly divided between protein and carbohydrates (with lots of fiber and very little sugar).  I'm no longer ravenous.

4. A plan-of-eating needs to include all the foods you enjoy.  In fact, those are the only foods that a plan-of-eating should include.

I know this is obnoxiously first-world, but if your meal is disappointing, stop eating as quickly as possible.  Put your fork down, take a deep breath, and imagine what you want to be eating.  Then, if possible, eat that.  It's a mistake to gaze at a menu, or gaze into a pantry or refrigerator, and ask, "What choice will make me thin?"  Keeping in mind that sustainability is everything, a better question is, "What's yummy?"  Or, "What would I choose if this were my last meal?"  Or, "What would I choose for someone else, perhaps someone I was attracted to sexually?" 

5. A temptation-free environment is a fantasy.

I know it's widely recommended that we purge our environments of foods on which we might binge.  And it's true that I don't want to see a 2-pound box of See's chocolates or a family-size bag of BBQ chips every time I open the pantry.  But if one is adequately motivated to overeat, one will, whatever the environment.  I once made a decent batch of bar cookies using nothing but oatmeal, peanut butter, and concentrated apple juice.  And if you melt enough part-skim mozzarella over any whole grain, and add a few drops of Sriracha, you've got a tasty snack.  Additionally, there are five fast-food restaurants within a half-mile of my house, and they all take credit cards.  Or, if I'm already in PJs, I can have pizza and/or Chinese food delivered to the front door, and--because of efficiency and proximity--the orange chicken and crab rangoon will arrive within five minutes.

It's a friendly neighborhood, so just as I purge my home of temptation, a neighbor might drop by with fudge, a Girl Scout might drop by with cookies, or my sister might drop by with lasagna.  All are welcome.  Because temptation is everywhere, it's much more realistic to learn to resist temptation (or to succumb to a degree with which you can live) than it is to cocoon yourself in a temptation-free zone.  Who wants to live there?  When my nephew suggests a late-night trip to the Chevron ExtraMart for snacks, I don't want to respond with, "But sweetheart...you know Aunt Polly's on a diet!"

6. Exercise is a great idea, and I admire anyone who occasionally gets off his or her ass.

For the last five months, I burned calories by running errands, by traipsing around a split-level home, by standing up while waiting for a booth at my favorite Mexican restaurant.  I did a modicum of housework, a soupçon of yard work.  At least fortnightly, I took the dog for a 20-minute walk.  Now that I'm in Phase II (the next fifty pounds), I take the dog for a 30-minute walk every morning.  Eventually, I'll do a bicep curl with a soup can, or attempt a half-dozen jumping jacks, or power-walk a 5K.  Just not yet.

7. Weight loss doesn't need to be physically painful if you're making the right choices, but be prepared for emotional pain.

I numb myself to painful emotions by eating and--especially--by bingeing.  Grief, guilt, fear, anger, envy, and uncertainty all melt away during the process of becoming painfully overfull.  While adhering to a plan-of-eating that results in weight loss, I'm frequently visited by these unwelcome feelings, and I have no tools, no strategies, no defense mechanisms to make them go away.  I am bereft.  These feelings wash over me like ocean waves, and I let them.  I sit quietly, and I let them.

That said, there's no harm in trying to maintain a serene (if not cheerful) mood.  When crap happens, I pause and ask myself, "Is this important crap?"  It usually is not, and, while I don't banish the feelings of agitation or upset, I do nothing to encourage the feelings to linger.  

There's also no harm in trying to have a good time.  Right now, I'm working on a list of Activities That I Always (or Almost Always) Anticipate With Pleasure.  I'm up to seven.  And I try to schedule one for today, one for this week, one for this month, and one for the next six months.

8. Beware the crutch, especially if you don't have absolute control of the crutch.

A crutch is a useful--and temporary--tool for navigating a difficult situation.  Maybe, when I'm eating less than I want to eat, I shop a bit more, or nap a bit more, or watch "Ally McBeal" on Netflix a bit more.  I pay close attention to what affects my mood, and I protect my mood, as much as possible.  If that borders on narcissism (or laziness) (or both), so be it.

But it's essential to avoid crutches that can be unceremoniously kicked out from under you.  Years ago, I relied on a malfunctioning gallbladder to keep me from overeating.  As a crutch, it worked well for months, but eventually I had surgery, and two days later I was making up for lost time at an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I've also used the attention of men (in person and in cyberspace) to distract me from eating.  That particular strategy makes relying on a diseased body part seem like a brilliant idea.

9. Don't be influenced by the weight-loss efforts of those around you.

A weight-loss buddy, or even a group effort, can be--but probably isn't--helpful.  Perhaps you've been inspired by others, so smile gamely when someone is inspired by you, and wants to hop on the weight-loss bandwagon.  Keep in mind, though, that it's not really one big bandwagon, but many individual bandwagons.

As stated earlier, the best weight-loss state of mind is one of equanimity and patience.  Competitive feelings of envy and/or superiority are not useful in this endeavor.  I sincerely wish everyone the best, because if people are successful in achieving and maintaining healthy weights, it's good for the individuals, the nation, and the species.  However, my path is the only path that I can see clearly, and it behooves me to train my focus there.

10. If you feel pressure from anyone to eat more or to eat less, ignore it.

I once said to a friend, "Don't you hate it when people exert subtle--or not so subtle--pressure on you to eat more or to eat less than you want to eat?"

"No," he said.  "I ignore it."

Freak show.  Could that possibly work?  Could I change my responses to people, rather than trying to change...people?  When my stepmother jokes that my helping of veggie fajitas could feed a small village...when my sad friend suggests that the only way out of her bad mood is to share a family-sized sundae...could I remain unaffected by the comment, and eat exactly what I want to eat?  Of course I can!  I am always in charge of what I eat.

11. The rules and guidelines don't change simply because there's a well-loved child in the room.

Eating with children has always been a challenge for me.  I'm already feeling a little stress (because I'm temporarily responsible for another human life), and suddenly we're at Wendy's, and someone wants nuggets, fries, and a Frosty.  Or at least a couple of nibbles of nuggets, fries, and a Frosty.  I don't want to throw the leftovers away, and I don't want to take them home, and all that grease and salt and sugar is calling my name, and I cave.  Later, there are additional snacks during a movie or a tea party, and I find myself eating gumdrops and animal crackers, and sipping some turquoise version of juice.

Recently, I quit that behavior cold turkey.  I was actually beginning to resent the children, which was ridiculous.  Now I ask myself, "Would I eat this if I weren't with this child?" and I only proceed if the answer is yes.

12. As much as possible, detach from outcomes.

Granted, it's almost impossible to do.  When you weigh yourself, you're going to care about the number.  I like to imagine measuring other things: chopped walnuts for cookies, fabric for a skirt, a room for new carpet.  I can do those things without an emotional investment.  Weight-taking is merely an element of charting; it's not an indictment of my body or my character.  It's useful information, and that's all.

I follow my two rules, and I manage expectations.  Sometimes, after a couple of days of Big Macs and TV, I lose 3 pounds.  Sometimes, after a couple of days of veggie chili over brown rice, with dog walks at both sunrise and sunset, I gain 3 pounds.  I don't know why.  And it's not in my best interest to get all spun up about it.

In all of my endeavors, it doesn't make sense for my mood to be dependent on something I cannot control.  I can control how well I stick to my rules and guidelines, and it makes sense for my mood to be somewhat dependent on that.  I'm a firm believer in the science of weight loss (and I roll my eyes at the suggestion that losing weight after menopause is tantamount to raising quadruplets or winning an Oscar), but there will be fluctuations in weight that I am unable to predict or control.  The only option is to detach.  Obsession and extreme behaviors will lead to agitation, when what you need is serenity.

13. The bad news: Weight loss doesn't make everything okay.

It will almost certainly improve your health, but--even as you wiggle into those size-eight jeans--loved ones are still dead, dreams are still dashed, cruelty and tragedy and inequity and despair still reign.  You're only thin.  That's all.  Don't expect more.

14. The good news: Jettisoning the impediment of obesity is worth the angst, and worth any sacrifice of food or drink.

Obesity is unhealthy, uncomfortable, embarrassing, and expensive.  It's limiting.  It can make bold people shy, and active people sedentary.  It can create people who are experts at avoidance, rationalization, and deception.  But once you figure out a way to walk away from it, it quickly loses its grip, and the freedom is exquisite.

Girls' Guide to Being Jack Bauer

Recently, I started carrying a 4-gig USB drive in my purse. For what reason, I know not. It isn’t for work or school, but perhaps for something larger. Perhaps it will come in handy should I be called upon to save the world.

But other than my ability to quickly download data from a terrorist’s hard drive, I’m woefully unprepared. And if my experience organizing potlucks and bake sales and office Christmas parties is any indication, saving the world will best be accomplished as a team. So, my fellow women (or at least the half dozen who choose to skim this blog entry): Let’s acknowledge that it was fun shopping for shoes we didn’t need, it was fun spending Christmas Day in our PJs watching Keira Knightley movies, and it was fun amassing throw pillows in shades of avocado and dark avocado. But it’s time now to leave all that behind, and embrace the Jack Bauer in each of us. Consider this a primer.

Jack is prepared for anything. He speaks four languages. He pilots planes and helicopters. He’s well versed in military strategy, current events, history, psychology, culture, politics, and protocol. He can hotwire a car, treat a sucking chest wound, and decrypt your encrypted files. To get up to speed, you’ll need a carefully selected reading list, a dozen college classes, and a few hundred hours of professional instruction. More importantly, though, Jack adapts quickly to changing situations. And so do you! As a woman—and perhaps as a wife and mother—adaptation is your strength. Remember when your mom left her entire estate to The Mormons, because a couple of bored missionaries offered to mow her front lawn one autumn afternoon? Remember when your first husband announced he was gay, then straight, then gay again? Remember when your eldest daughter dropped out of medical school to pursue her dream of playing the didgeridoo professionally? You adapted!

Next, Jack is physically robust, with muscles aplenty and a low body-fat percentage. As women, we probably can’t match that. As middle-aged women, we’d look silly trying. However, we each have a personal best, and there’s no good reason not to achieve it, and soon. When Katrina hit, perhaps you felt inclined to join other civilians rescuing abandoned pets; when the earthquake ravaged Haiti, perhaps you imagined yourself donning a Kevlar vest, strapping on an AK-47, and protecting much-needed food supplies from looters. So did I! But those dreams were soon quashed by the realization that my overweight, hypertensive self would merely get in the way. Also, I have only the vaguest idea what an AK-47 is. So, there’s much work to be done on this front. There’s a slightly smaller gap between fantasy and reality as we examine his third essential attribute…

Jack is emotionally robust. He doesn’t whine, burst into tears, or crawl into bed when things fail to go his way. He might want to, but—always the soldier, always the stoic—he refrains. He doesn’t have a never-quite-satisfied need for praise or reassurance. He doesn’t need others to agree with him or validate him. He’s the opposite of needy; he’s self-contained and interior. Next time you find yourself complaining about the raise that should have been yours, the son or daughter who didn’t call on your half-birthday, or the diminishing space between your bust line and your waistline, ask yourself WWJBD, and then spend an afternoon at the shooting range. Speaking of the shooting range…

Jack is dangerous. Like James Bond without the lame jokes, or Jason Bourne without the pesky memory loss, Jack is formidable. Granted, he has trained as a Special Forces soldier, and has worked for the CIA, FBI, and Counter-Terrorist Unit. I have not. It’s never too late, though…not for any of us. Self-defense is offered as a community ed class, and shooting ranges often advertise Women’s Night. The very earnest can seek out professional instruction in hand-to-hand combat and evasive driving techniques. Consider it an exciting alternative to spa day. And don’t worry for an instant about losing The Cute, and being mistaken for Rosa Klebb in “From Russia With Love.” Because…

Jack always looks terrific. Sure…he’s dressed for a particular brand of sexless action, in sturdy shoes, boot-cut jeans, a leather belt, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, and a canvas jacket. But he’s handsome, comfy, and protected from the elements. He has plenty of pockets. Most importantly, he’s not hampered by his fashion choices: His clothes increase—rather than decrease— his ability to respond effectively in an emergency. Add a little color/pattern/texture/shine to his outfit, and you, too, can be ready for anything. And unless you’re about to go through airport security, consider the ultimate accessory: a knife strapped to your calf. And jettison that most nonsensical accessory: the clutch. Instead, opt for something that leaves both hands free (see below).

Jack wears a canvas cross-body, chockfull of world-saving gizmos. It contains a laptop, a USB drive, an extra cell-phone battery, a monocular, a knife, a gun, and extra ammunition. In all likelihood, it also contains sunglasses, leather gloves, phone chargers, cable ties, waterproof matches, first-aid basics, a flashlight, several hundred dollars, and a couple of energy bars. Just imagine how powerful you’ll feel—how powerful you’ll be!--when equipped thus. You’ll never miss your Great Lash mascara or your Arby’s coupons.

Next, Jack keeps his word. Like other characters of the same ilk (Robert Crais’s Joe Pike, Robert Parker’s Spenser and Hawk), Jack does what he says he’ll do. He doesn’t agree to anything frivolously or casually, whether he’s talking to a girlfriend, a terrorist, or a Commander-in-Chief. He values the truth; he has no time for bullshit. How refreshing! How freeing! Let us commit to be trustworthy, to be true. Let us allow no exceptions.

And finally, Jack doesn’t engage in small talk or gossip. He’s comfortable with silence, with an unexpressed thought. It bothers him not at all that friends or strangers might perceive him as cold, unfriendly, or too intense. He’s not exactly humorless, but he doesn’t attempt to amuse by quoting lines from sitcoms, SNL sketches, or standup comedy routines. He avoids distractions; he doesn’t embrace them (despite ever-increasing encouragement to do so, especially among middle-class and affluent Americans). We can make these fairly easy changes, and we can make them today. We can take a break from the chatty, outgoing, beguiling, pleasing self we perfected in high school, and find a quiet place—a slightly menacing place—inside.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I didn’t choose a female role model. I mean, Peta Wilson portrayed TV’s deadly Nikita, and it seems that Angelina scores a new ass-kicking role every year. However, both women routinely squeeze into size-zero black leather pants. That seems more difficult, really, than learning to disarm a nuclear device.

And perhaps you think I’m attempting to diminish the importance of traditional feminine strengths such as nurturing, peacemaking, multi-tasking, and ovulating. I am not. Women—now more than ever—are an efficient lot. We can embrace both ways of being.

There’s much to be done, so let us begin. And since luck favors those with mental agility and sufficient bone density, let’s make significant progress before menopause looms large. Master one area and then move quickly to the next. And it won’t hurt to occasionally yell “Drop your weapon!”—to the postal carrier, the receptionist at work, the cat. Embrace the spirit of being Jack Bauer, and the rest will follow.

P.S. Please Write

Most people are thrilled to receive an unexpected letter in the mail…not a bill, not an ad, not a notice that the cost of your strep test was applied to your deductible, but a real letter: a friendly, chatty missive from someone you care about, from someone who clearly cares about you. It can be typed or handwritten, organized or rambling, intimate or not-so-much, but it should have meat and meaning, and it should cause the reader to settle in for a moment to enjoy. Some tips:

Embark with enthusiasm. “Hey you!” or “My dearest—and my loveliest—aunt” or “How do I love thee? And, more importantly, when and where do I get to love thee next?” Let the reader feel adored from the onset, and assured that he or she has your full attention. Stifle any tendencies on your part toward aloofness or sarcasm. Remember: A good letter always flows from an open heart.

Capture the moment. “I’m at the computer, listening to a pre-disco BeeGees CD. Henry’s in the garage changing the oil in the Corolla, and the twins are napping.” Or, “I’ve been in bed all day with Salinger’s short stories, and now I’m depressed, and all. I’m wearing those PJs you sent for Christmas. God, I miss you.” Then, capture a slightly broader moment: the movie you watched last night, a failed attempt to make ice cream at home, your child’s latest unreasonable fear. Depending on the recipient, mention your mammogram or the NCAA standings.

Write the way you talk. If, in conversation with a friend or family member, you’re stilted and humorless, write that kind of letter (but not to me, okay?). If, in conversation, you’re candid and gregarious and you seldom finish a sentence, write that kind of letter: “The other day, I was at the grocery store buying tampons and a case of Mexican-style stewed tomatoes because they were on sale and you’re never gonna guess who I saw. Becky Callahan, you know, the student-council secretary when we were juniors? And she had four kids with her, and the youngest was sucking on a Lion King toy…Simba, I think. I said hi, but she obviously didn’t recognize me. Well, maybe she did, and just pretended not to…” Like that.

Don’t be afraid to bond. “This is what I like about you.” “This is what I’ve learned from you.” “This is what I remember most fondly about our time together.” And don’t spare the details; when you think you’ve provided enough detail, go ahead and provide a bit more. Take a moment to say thank you for a long-ago gift or compliment or piece of advice. Allow yourself to tumble into love with this person (even if it’s your mother-in-law, and even if the feeling is fleeting).

Ask questions (but only if you really care about the answers). What have you been reading? What have you been watching? Which celebrity would you choose to be the father of your child? If you were to move to another country, which would it be? What’s your take on the health-care debate? Have you come across a really good recipe for low-fat cheesecake? Think: What is the most intriguing thing about this person? Follow that lead.

Divulge something. Describe the romantic details of your first date at age 15, the time you dropped a full tray in the college cafeteria, the time you ate a dozen glazed donuts for lunch, the time you checked out the men’s room when you were working alone on a Sunday afternoon. And feel free to ramble for a moment. Describe your dream last night, your take on the Kennedy assassination, your recent (brief) foray into vegetarianism. Reveal yourself in all your goofy, messy, joyful glory.

Share a quotation. It broadens the scope of communication by inviting a third person to the table. I like Thoreau, but I usually opt for Leonard Cohen (especially if the letter has become too cheerful). Or quote someone from your household: “Tom says ‘Hi, Mom!’ He says thanks for the $33 you sent for his 34^th birthday. He bought a package of socks, a bottle of pinot noir, and two apple fritters.”

Imagine your letter being read aloud. (I imagine my letters being read by Mr. Darcy to Miss Bennet.) A good letter will be tucked into a pocket to be reread in a more private setting, like a bathtub, or a parked car, or a grassy meadow at dawn. Take the time to make the second reading worthwhile: “I’ll never forget that night you made me a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. Remember? It was August, and it was raining, and we’d been to the nursing home to visit my grandma, who was dying…” It isn’t necessary to hold back. Really…it isn’t. “Remember that first time I said I love you, and you said thank you, and I stood and pulled the sheets off the bed to wash them, and you said don’t be like this, and I said don’t tell me how to be goddamnit…”

Assume the letter will be saved. Maybe it seems unlikely today, but a good letter can survive decades; it can survive marriage, divorce, an out-of-state move, the occasional house fire. So take a minute to review the big picture. Mention a war in which the country is engaged. Mention the latest political scandal. Mention the price of a new pickup truck, a one-bedroom apartment, a gallon of milk.

And save a copy for yourself. This is a journal entry of the best kind, especially if you were forthright and revealing (and of course you were). Years from now, when you’re home alone, you can eagerly retrace the to-and-from steps of a relationship, whether it was with your mom who died unexpectedly, a lover who dumped you unceremoniously, or your best friend from college who was at your side on both occasions.

Before sending, and if you feel so inclined, add something extra to the envelope. Enclose a snapshot, a recipe, a $2 bill, a coupon or free sample, some postcard stamps, some stickers, a paint or wallpaper swatch, an editorial from the Sunday paper, a magazine article, a snip of something from your herb garden. Stuff that letter. Nothing says “I love you” like extra postage.

“They don’t need to be immortal, just sincere,” says Garrison Keillor, about letters. So write! Today, spend 44 cents and half an hour delighting someone and, perhaps, learning a little about yourself. Start with “Hi there” and don’t stop until you find yourself describing the weather.