Musings from a Pastor's Wife, Mother, nurse, sister, daughter, friend... I think life is funny and glorious and spiritual and should be blogged about. Apply levity and read with coffee. (Extra sugar).
Gosh it's been so long! We moved and then I had a hysterectomy and I've been VERY lazy about catching up with my weigh ins....in fact, I've missed a few meetings. Do you know what happens when you miss a WW weigh in? You get a friendly text from your leader...."want me to come weigh you?" The first time I missed, I was on call at the hospital - in the Operating Room saving lives doing paperwork when I suddenly realized it was Saturday and I was going to miss my meeting! During a brief break I shot her a text - "Can't make it, in surgery." But this WW program is an At Work program so she knew the lingo....the circumstances of being on call...she knew surgery didn't last forever so.....she texted back. "I'll wait for you." Oh crap. She's going to wait for me.
My uterus's Farewell Party
So, I didn't miss my weigh in. She waited patiently for me in the waiting room (how appropriate) with her $900 scale plugged in and ready. In under 30 seconds I had weighed in, got my WW weekly pamphlet, had her record my weight AND got my little sticker. The next week my husband took my keys. I was stuck at home. I texted her..."so sorry..." She answered. "I'll be right over!" What? She was coming to my house to weigh me? Yes. Indeed. And there we were at my house, her pen marking my success, high fives on my front porch. "We don't want you to lose momentum," she explained of her willingness to meet me anywhere, at anytime. Then I had surgery - goodbye uterus! I was hoping it weighed 25 pounds but alas, it only weighed 133 grams. Did I make it to weigh in? No. Did she come to me again? She did. I started to feel pretty special. I am convinced that if Osama Bin Laden had been a WW member, - his leader would've found him within the week. There is no hiding from the WW scale once you hold yourself accountable. And I'm okay with that. 20 pounds. That's how much I've lost so far. I hit a plateau. She told me I needed to shock my system. "With pizza?" I asked. "No, maybe exercise," she answered.
"What about a hysterectomy, would that shock my system?" No, because I'm 3 weeks post-op and still, not shocked. But it's okay...I haven't gained. I'm good with holding steady because 20 pounds lighter feels good. You know what my favorite thing is about weighing less? It doesn't take nearly as long to shave my legs. I'm saving a fortune in shaving cream and razors. I digress. According to the little WW chart, I'm a pound or two away from "maintenance" which means, they'll add points to my daily consumption - I'll be "done". Can you believe it? So I'm holding my breath and counting every point until my next weigh in...and if I fail....I'll know by exactly by how many ounces....because she will find me....and she will weigh me....and it shall be recorded....and I'm okay with that....because I know, she's rooting for me.
I have good news and bad news. We closed on our house and moved. I am a stress eater. It's been a stressful week. So there I was...amongst a mountain of boxes and wrapping paper, panicked and indecisive over every single thing I unpacked...where do I put it all? I'm hungry...there's nothing to cook on...no groceries....no fridge even! (Except the one in the garage that came with the house - empty.) We order Dominoes. And that's when it happened. I don't remember how the first Parmesan Cheese Bread Bite got into my mouth, but I came back to my senses around #14. It was so good and carbohydratey. The grease covered my lips...the little flecks of Parmesan cheese laid gently on my chin. I wiped them off with my finger so as not to spill any on the new carpet and then sucked my finger dry. I had an out of body experience.
(I shared them with no one.)
"Oh no. What have I done??" Immediately I cut a zero point cantaloupe and devour it in its entirety. "Maybe, it will soak up the cheese and starch and cancel out the bread bites," I reason. Then the next day, we were so exhausted we went to Whattaburger. I vow to eat only a little. But their onion rings...they call to me....and I answer. I ask my honest, young son if I'm getting skinnier. "Well, your butt is getting smaller," he says and my heart leaps with joy. "But it's still not small," he adds quickly as I go in for a hug. So, today at our meeting I stepped on the scale and did the head hanging walk of shame back to my seat. Two ounces. I lost 2 ounces this week. I wondered if they wanted their WW charms back that I got two weeks ago. They didn't. Two lousy ounces. That's the bad news. Here's the good news. A few months ago I went shopping for some blue jeans. I found a pair and went to try them on. I couldn't get them over my calves...without great effort. And once they cleared my calves, I couldn't get them passed my thighs. I sat in the dressing room and beat myself up. I peeled off the jeans and looked at them with their cute little white stitches. "I'm going to buy you anyway," I said to them - vowing that I would fit in them eventually. No piece of denim is going to tell me what to do or how to feel... Today I wore those jeans to my meeting. Like a boss.
In my ongoing endeavor to learn one new thing about my mom every time I call her....I give you: Henrietta's Sacrifice. My mom told me a lot about my grandfather during this particular conversation. He worked for the railroad like her father. He was from Virginia and fell in love with North Carolina when he laid eyes on her majestic foothills. He brought his family to live there. He used to give my mom a nickel for every bucket of acorns she could gather. He used it to feed his hogs. Sometimes he would carve the acorn into a ring for her finger. "He would peel it like an apple," she said. "It had the most beautiful colors. Red, orange, gold, brown...but the next day it would turn dark brown and shrivel away."
That's not all he made for his grand daughter, my mother. Out of the branches of a sugar gum tree he would use his knife to whittle her a tooth brush with bristles. "We'd dip it in baking soda," she informed me. (Side note: she still has all her teeth :) One day my mom was at her grandparents' house and it was nearing dinner time. Henrietta, one of their hens, had stopped laying eggs. So...she was to become dinner. Her grandmother enlisted my mom's help in chasing Henrietta around the back side of the house. Her grandmother used her apron to scare it out and get it on the run....when my mom came around the corner, she witnessed her grandmother going inside the back door...with a limp Henrietta in her hands. "She didn't want me to see her wring her neck. She plucked her and boiled her and made dumplings too," my mom recalls. She was devastated that sweet Henrietta who had given all she could had now paid the final sacrifice for the good of her family. She was Sunday dinner. In comes my mom's grandfather to eat. They are all seated around the table when her grandfather bows his head to say the blessing and as he gives thanks to God for the food on the table and for all His provisions, he weeps. "I knew, in my little girl mind, that he was crying over Henrietta. So I joined him in protest and refused to eat her," she said. It was years later that my mom realized her grandfather wept a lot when it was time to pray. "I only thought he was sad over Henrietta that day. He was just overwhelmed with God's goodness. Now, I understand." And so do I. I had to pack and move house this week. We found a great deal and great, selfless friends helped us pack and move. I know how my great grandfather must've felt. So many blessings surround me.
I am thankful for an army of allies who swooped in to take my kids to school while Rob was out of town and they missed the bus while I was at work (twice). I am thankful for a great grandfather who was strong enough to farm the land and meek enough to weep in front of his grand daughter. I am thankful that grand daughter was marked forever by his prayers and passed it along. I am thankful for Carolina acorns and homemade dumplings. I am thankful that I don't have to chase my dinner before I cook it. I am thankful for tooth brushes that are NOT homemade and memories that are.
James 1:17 "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."
Stop the presses. I just found out that WW gives out jewelry. I got a little charm for making it four weeks and another for losing 5% of my body weight....I'm down 11 pounds. I even got another 5lb sticker. It was a fun meeting. I think these little charms are adorable but I don't really know what to do with them. You can't put them on a key chain and it's not exactly a bracelet although it should be because if it was...we could spot other WW members in their native habitats. And they should have a rule that if you spot another member with their bracelet on and they're eating a Snickers bar or something - you can slap it out of their hand. It could be called the accountability bracelet. I'm on to something. (Note to self: write WW execs ...) So, there I was at Goodwill. I almost ran into a man heading for the same aisle. "Excuse me," he said and held out his hand as if to motion me by. So I said thank you and slipped ahead of him and starting looking around. Fast forward, three aisles later, I'm bending over looking at some china and that's when it happened. The aforementioned stranger slipped by grabbed my left butt cheek, said excuse me again and acted like he was looking at something on the shelf. I was mortified. I had just been molested. I couldn't catch my breath. I ran to the front of the store. I panicked. I thought about going back and slapping him. I thought about calling the police. I thought about telling the cashier. But suddenly I found myself in my car hyperventilating. I felt SO violated. I called my husband, told my kids, group texted my soccer moms. "Are you sure it wasn't an accident," my husband asked. I'm positive - it was not an" accidental brush by". It was a full-fledged "land and squeeze". "Well, I'm sorry that happened but you should've done something right then. Not a lot you can do now. It's not like they have cameras. It's Goodwill. Not Dillards." He's no comfort. In my need to process the situation, I reenact the ordeal for the kids. "Mom," says my 11 year old, Elijah. "Your butt is still big. Maybe he was trying to move it out of his way." No. That wasn't it. Goodwill has wide aisles. It doesn't explain the "land and squeeze." "Maybe God was trying to keep you from spending money," suggests my daughter. I pretend not to hear her. "Was he cute," asks a soccer mom. No....short and fat...squatty. "Would you have been less offended if he were tall and handsome," she asked. Hmmmmmm.....if I say yes, I feel ashamed of myself....if I say no.....I'm a liar. "That was definitely assault and you could've called the police but it would've been your word against his," says another soccer mom. And so I'm satisfied that I've vented and got some sympathy. But why am I putting this in my WW blog? Because...I have to ask the question....11 pounds ago, would my rear have gone untouched in Goodwill? I think maybe so. It's the price of my growing svelte-ness. I'm going to have to beat off short, fat guys at Goodwill from now on possibly. And I'm okay with that. Annoying man was there and it was his birthday. He was less annoying today. He talked about "mom issues" that made him clean his plate. I felt compassion....he's endeared himself to me with his childhood story....I determine in my heart to be more patient with him. (Until next week....)
This recent cold snap had me thinking about my mom and my resolution to learn one new thing about her every time I called. "I wonder how she kept warm in a winter like this?" I thought....and so, I found out. Coal. A coal burning stove heated the house room - one room - where they all gathered and lived all winter. Her mom would put a quilt down by the stove and they stayed there all day, coloring or doing homework...in that one warm spot. For fifteen dollars her dad would buy one ton of coal. One TON. It was usually enough to last all winter but some winters were tougher than others and that's when the whole family would make their way to Mud Cut Curve. That's where the coal train would take a curve and, if they were lucky and the train took it fast enough, coal would fall off the top and land by the tracks. Each kid was given a sack and they filled it with whatever coal they could find along the tracks. "It was heavy!" she said of this chore. It was cold out - and because they had no gloves or mittens, their mom would put their dad's work socks over their little hands. At night, their mom took a brick, heated it in the stove, wrapped it up and put it in their beds to keep them warm. "We'd have so many quilts on top of us, we couldn't move," she said. "Once I got up in the night to get a drink from the water bucket but it was so cold the dipper had frozen into the water - it was all ice," she said. I was about to suggest that she should've just gone to the sink but then I remembered...no indoor plumbing. (We're so spoiled, rich, blessed.)
"I was in charge of keeping the coal bucket full," she informed me. "I'd take my bucket out to the coal pile to fill it but I had to be careful because of the rooster.""What? A rooster? Please. Continue," I begged. "We had a banty rooster," she explained. "We had no underpinning to the house so it would stay up under the porch. Every time I went to the coal pile, it chased me and attacked my legs. I spilled half the bucket getting back into the house."
"Mom," I say...."this is heartbreaking. How did you survive your childhood?"
"We were fine. We were never sick. We didn't know we were poor. We had a hog in our closet."
Hold it right there.
My mom had a pig in her closet. I had to pause and let that sink in.
Not a pet pig and not a regular closet. It's the tiny room where they hung up their salted meat for the winter. Can you imagine having a pig hanging on a meat hook in your pantry? And just slicing off whatever you needed, whenever you needed it? Imagine the endless bacon.
"So you had hogs and chickens? Mom, your dad worked for the railroad but it sounds like he was a farmer," I say.
"Everyone had to have those things, and a garden too, just to live," she said. "My earliest memory was there in that house on the front porch. My legs were dangling over the side and I was swinging them back and forth watching my daddy fix the plow."
"No," she said again. "We didn't know we were poor."
It was our second weigh in. Last week I lost 6.2 pounds. This week...a measly 1.8. Two weeks in, 8 pounds down. I guess that's ok. I didn't get a sticker though :(
It's been a rough week. I posted my blog on the weight watcher site and people called me a racist for my remarks about the Indian call center. Don't people know that India is known for their call centers? Haven't they seen Slumdog Millionaire? If I point out that a car was probably made in Detroit, is that racist? How much sense does that make? Then, a girl said I shouldn't call myself fat. That it was self deprecating and a sign that I'm "hurting." Uh....noooo. I called myself fat because I'm fat. I'm a fat realist. (Although, this week I guess I'm a less fat realist.) The only hurt I'm feeling right now are hunger pangs because I'm STARVING. So...I decided that folks on the weight watchers message boards aren't ready for me. I need politically incorrect folks who have the intelligence to recognize the art of sarcasm. I need you. Yesterday we went to Buffalo Wild Wings. (Note to self: Don't go to Buffalo Wild Wings when you only have 7 points left for the day). Everyone around me is ordering wings....the honey BBQ ones. I listen....and weep silently in my heart. I look at my little WW app to see how many points are in an order of wings....33. That means, I couldn't eat for the next day and a half. So I search in a frenzy for something that fits in my 7 point range. Finally I find it. The kid's meal - cheeseburger....with fries mandarin oranges.
I do like my little WW app. It has a scanner. You can go to the grocery store and scan items to find out how many points are in it. Of course I head for the WalMart pizza section to discover that their pizzas are only 8 points a slice. How awesome is that? I take it home and cook it....and then it dawns on me....maybe their slice/serving, is different than what I'm thinking. Hmmmm. I check the label. Twelve servings in one pizza. Okay....so I'll cut it into 12. So my serving size went from envelope size....to postage stamp size. Eight points per bite basically.
A few things from our meeting today.
I found out you can use your hand to figure out portion sizes. Your palm is about the size of what your meat serving should be. Make a fist and that's a cup. Make a cup with one hand and that can hold 3 ounces of nuts. Your thumb tip is about a tablespoon and your finger tip is about a teaspoon. There. Now you don't need a scale. I personally plan on using Rob's gigantic hand when I need to know how much steak I should be eating.
Annoying man made his appearance as well. Our speaker was talking about how her husband over did his points and couldn't sleep because his belly hurt. She had an "I told you so" moment with him...annoying man raises his hand.
"I have a point of contention with that," he says. "You shouldn't shame him into this program. He shouldn't feel shame. I don't want to feel ashamed for overdoing it." Blah Blah Blah.
I imagine my hands around his throat while he's talking. Tightening...slowly...then all at once. Then I think to myself, "Why am I so grumpy? Why do I want to hurt him?" Oh that's right....I'M STARVING. And I was eating mandarin oranges last night while everyone else was sucking Honey BBQ sauce off their fingers. The other guy in the meeting starts to speak up but his observation dies down into a whisper. I see that his wife has placed a death grip on his knee. I give her a mental high five.
The sweet speaker, who is always encouraging and joyful, finesses the annoying man until his grumblings subside and we're dismissed to face another week.
And as I walk out the door a friend sends me this....and I'm thankful for friends...who get me.
Hey It's me Rhonda. You probably don't recognize me because: I'VE LOST SIX POINT TWO POUNDS. 6.2lbs. Six. Point. Two. And I know the point two is correct because Weight Watchers uses a thousand dollar, mind-reading scale each week to weigh us.
That's almost a pound a day I've lost. It's only been one week and I'm no expert but here are a few things I've observed about WW. First of all, late night runs to Taco Bell aren't as fun as they used to be.
After a long day this past week, dinner time came around and my husband decided to make the usual Taco Box run. But wait. I only had 4 points left for my day. So I pulled out my little WW app and to my surprise....Taco Bell is not very WW friendly. I had to settle for a Chicken Chalupa. Who orders that? Ever? Desperate fat people with the WW app....that's who! I also discovered that no matter how hard I try, I can not fit a full pan of walnut brownies into 3 WW points. Also, a salad is not always the best choice. Especially if you're at Newk's. Just for the fun of it, I calculated the points on my favorite "go to" combo meals at my beloved Wendy's. My spicy chicken combo...I thought I'd control myself and type in "medium" instead of my usual "large." I learned that one combo meal at Wendy's accounted for one whole day of my 26 points. That means, I should be dividing it into thirds and eating one third for breakfast, lunch and then dinner to stay within the WW guidelines. Are they asking too much? Or are we just gluttoness combo lovers? I think the latter. I also learned that the WW app with its 24/7 chat helpline is a bit iffy. There I was, at Huddle House (who among us has not been to a waffle specialty truck stop?), when I found myself needing point values for a Golden Waffle with Pecans....it's not on their app under restaraunts....so I searched for the equivalent: Waffle House. No where to be found. How could this be? Don't they know people who attend WW are going to find themselves at a fine dining Waffle establishment within the first week? I hit my chat line up. She answered. I texted out my dilemma. No Huddle House, I said. No Waffle House either. "Are those local places that only your area has? Maybe you should try the next best chain restaurant." That was her answer. And that's when it dawned on my that Hillary from Omaha whose bio says she lost 45 pounds was actually probably Mr. Patel from India working the phone lines. Who doesn't know Waffle House is a chain? I digress. At the meeting we were given tiny little stickers if we lost 5 pounds or more. If I had known there were going to be prizes, I would've worked harder. The .003 cent sticker felt like an Olympic Gold Medal. That's the upside of the meeting. The downside of the meeting is still the whiny, attention-seeking guy who says he feels trapped by the points. But I can't hear him because the sound of my shrinking rear end drowns out all negativity concerning this WW gig. Boundaries are good. You can find freedom inside them. I hope he gets it soon. Am I off to a good start? Yes. Can I keep up this pace? I don't know. But I just discovered that you can put 3 tablespoons of cake mix and 2 of water in a coffee mug for one minute in the microwave and it makes a little 3 point cake! Maybe it's only a few bites but I'm discovering, a few bites is plenty. -----------------------------------------------------------------
My mom posted this on my daughter's facebook page. So beautiful, I thought it deserved its own space on my blog. Dear Arianna, I love seeing your pictures and
watching you grow. You’re like a Monarch. A butterfly can only hide
in its cocoon for so long. I’m watching you immerge and color the world
with your beauty. I was thinking about when I was 14 years old.
Now that I am a “senior”, I reflect back and remember things about that
time in my life. If I could write a letter to my 14 year old self—I’d
have a lot to say. I thought I’d share a few things with you. When I
was 14, my face was covered in freckles...like yours! If I could go
back, I’d never try to cover them up. I know now, they were beautiful.
Freckles are a sign of youth so I hope you treasure yours.
That's me, your Nana, on the right!
When I
was 14, me and my cousins went down to the creek to swing on the
muscadine vine. Muscadines were sweet and their vines grew on the trees
by the creek. They looked like grapes. I couldn’t wait to swing
across. I ran ahead of my cousins and grabbed the vine first and as I
sailed across, it snapped and I fell. If I could talk to my 14 year old
self I would tell me: “Wait your turn.”
When I was 14 my mom bought
me ugly brown shoes. It’s all I had to wear. If could write a letter
to me, at 14, I’d say “Don’t worry. They were ugly but, they were
comfortable and that’s what mom wanted for me. Comfort.” I should’ve
been more thankful. But you don’t know these things when you’re 14. When I was 14, I tried not to smile very much. We didn’t have braces
back then and I didn’t have the best teeth. If I could talk to me, at
14, I’d tell myself to smile anyway because now, all these years later, I
know smiling...makes my eyes twinkle. I wouldn’t worry about my teeth
if I could do it over again– I’d just smile….REALLY big. I had a lot to
smile about. Looking back, I think my opinion mattered more to my
friends than I realized. I should’ve spoke up more. I should’ve been
more confident in my convictions. They would’ve listened to me. But I
didn’t know then, what I know now. Your thoughts are important. Don’t
be afraid to share them. When I was 14, they voted for a “Halloween
Queen” at school. You had to pay a penny to vote. There were lots of
pretty girls who wanted to be the Queen and all my friends said they
were going to vote for me. That day, they all brought as many pennies
as they could find. As they were tallying up the vote, another girl’s
dad brought in so many pennies...he had them used to vote for his
daughter and I lost to her. I was so sad, I cried. I wish I could go
back to that moment. I’d take myself by my shoulders and shake me! I’d
tell my 14 year old self that titles in life are meaningless. True
friends are the real prize and I was surrounded! I would’ve treasured
those sweet friends who had sacrificed their last few pennies to see me
happy. Cherish your friends Arianna. Don’t be so distracted by
popularity contests. I pray that you can learn now, at 14, that the
real blessings in life are living and breathing. When I was 14, I
talked a lot to my grandmother. Her name was Laura Bryant, my mom’s
mom. I asked her what she was having for dinner one day and she told me
“Hoover Gravy”. This sounded delicious to me. I thought it must be
terribly good if it was named after a President. I told my mom that
day that I’d like some Hoover Gravy. She laughed. She explained to
me that Hoover gravy was also called “Poor Man’s Gravy”. It was
watered down and named after President Hoover who was in office during
one of the worst depressions of our history. So, I would tell my 14
year old self, like I would tell you, things may sound good, but before
you convince yourself that you need it, ask your mother. ;) I love
you darling granddaughter. Smile big, wait your turn, count your
blessings, speak your mind, ask your mama and....wear comfortable shoes.
Nana Loves You.
The
older I get, the more nostalgic I grow. One of my New Year's
resolutions was to learn one new thing about my mom every time I called
her. I
thought it would be tough - surely I knew everything there was to know
about her, I mean seriously, she's my mom. Hasn't she told me
everything that could possibly be told? The short answer: no.
There
are things my mom considered so ordinary (that were in fact
extraordinary) that she failed to mention them along the way. Here's a
few:
My mom was born in 1942. She never had an indoor toilet until she was fifteen years old.
Fifteen. Think of going through middle school with no bathroom in your house.
"I'll never forget when Daddy finally built us the double seater," she said in the course of this conversation.
Let's pause right there. Join hands and gather with me around this mental image of the double seater outhouse. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Who do you take with you to the double seater outhouse? Do you decide to go together and if you do - what is that conversation like? Or does one knock and then just come on in and join you on the wood? And if they do...do you scoot over a little to make room? (Did I just say do do?) And if you do scoot over, would you get a splinter?
Who do you love (or despise) enough to let into the double seater outhouse with you? Are there unwritten rules regarding the double seater? Do you make eye contact? Have conversations?
"Mom, who would go with you??"
"My little sisters," she replied. Of course. Come to think of it, I think that's about the only person I would head to the double seater with myself.
My mom had a cow named Tootsie. As if that's not priceless enough, she got to milk it every morning. Not for fun or for 4H but because they needed milk for breakfast...and butter.
"Mom would strain it through a cheese cloth and we'd drink it while it was still warm. With some peaches," she informed me. (Note to self: google 'cheese cloth').
That's right. My mom was organic before organic was cool.
"Then we'd let it sour in the churn and churn it with the dasher for a while till the cream rose to the top. Mom would pour it into the butter mold." (Note to self: google 'dasher').
That's right. My mom was organic AND practically Amish.
"Sometimes, if I didn't want to use the the double seater, I'd sneak to my Aunt Arzie's up the hill and use her outhouse," she explains.
What did Aunt Arzie have that my mom didn't?
Toilet paper. They were big time. No Sear's catalog in their outhouse.
"Aunt Arzie never caught me," my mom continued....
That's right. My mom was an organic, Amish Ninja.
"What did you do about a bath?" I had to ask because I secretly wanted to use the information against my daughter somehow to explain that she didn't need a two hour shower every day.
"We had a tin tub," she said. (Just as I had hoped!)
"In the winter we filled it with two kettles of hot water and one of cold and we'd get to bathe inside. In the summer we bathed outside. We filled it in the morning and let the sun heat it up all day."
That's right. My mom was an organic, Amish, Ninja, Exhibitionist , Naturalist.
My grandfather never finished the house my mom was raised in. During World War II all supplies were cut off. He couldn't get metal or sheet rock.
"I had no ceilings. Just the rafters," she said. "And there was no fascia on the window sill. When it snowed, it came right into my room and settled there on the ledge."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Got a spoon and ate it," she replied.
My mom was an LPN in the labor and delivery department during desegregation.
"If a black laboring mom came in, she'd have to have the baby in the hall on a stretcher. Usually me and the nurse would deliver it. The doctor would just come by and sign the paper work. They wouldn't give them a room. So I would always sneak extra gowns and diapers into their going home bag. And when I made my rounds with the juice, I went to them first there in the hall so there would still be some good cranberry juice to choose from. Eventually they told us to put the black babies by the white babies near the viewing window. We had to line them up: Black, white, black, white. This mountain man came in and complained. He told me to get his baby away from the blacks. So I took his baby and rolled it into the back of the line where no one could see it."
That's right. My mom was an organic, Amish, Ninja, Naturalist, Civil Rights Activist.
And this, friends, is after ONE conversation. It's going to be an enlightening year.
Before she hung up she shared with me my grandmother's favorite song. I never thought about my Grandma appreciating music. It made me smile.
"She ran to the radio and would turn it up when this song came on," she told me.
(Note to self: Google "Red River Valley"..........and play it endlessly.)
For more wisdom from my incredible mom, read the post she left on my daughter's facebook: "When I was 14" or read her article about life in the foothills of North Carolina in Mature Living Magazine (page16-17)
My nine year old, Arianna, was VERY excited to hand over her Christmas list this year. The list had been edited, scribbled on, thought through, folded and refolded. The requests were numbered and at the top she had put "iPhone".
"Arianna honey," I said. "For real babes. You can't get an iPhone. You're nine and me and your Dad don't even have an iPhone."
"I don't want it for the phone part," she explained. "I want it for the cool apps."
"Probably not gonna happen," I said as my eyes drifted up and down her wish list.
There was a Nancy Drew PC game, a game for the Wii, she wanted a Razor Scooter. I began to wonder if she truly understood the value of things. Had me and Rob fought so hard to give our kids everything that they somehow didn't realize some things were more valuable than others? Did she understand that one silly Wii game cost a few hours of solid work out of us? And then my eyes caught Number Seven on her list.
A plane ticket for Piper. Piper was the golden hair beauty two doors down in our old neighborhood in New York. They went to the same school and had countless sleep overs. They traded friendship bracelets, painted each other's nails and giggled through High School Musical (1,2 and 3).
Arianna made no secret of her despair in leaving her behind when we moved last month.
"Good grief Ari," I said, ready to give her a lesson in economics. "Do you think we're made of money? A plane ticket? Do you know how much that would cost? If we got Piper a plane ticket, that would be all you got...we wouldn't be able to afford another thing on the list."
"Okay," she said solemnly.
"Okay what?" I asked. I wanted to hear her say it - I wanted to know that she got the lesson - that money doesn't grow on trees and hard earned cash is...well, hard earned.
"Okay," she said. "She's all I want. Use all my Christmas money on her ticket. Can we call her mom when we get home?"
"Oh gosh," I thought to myself. "She's not kidding." As I fought to explain that Piper was probably equally wanted by her parents on Christmas Day, it dawned on me:
Arianna knows the meaning of true value after all. Money doesn't grow on trees, and neither do best friends.
(Just noticed I had written this blog and never published it....wow....it was so long ago. Still adore us some Piper. :)
I don’t know when I got fat. It kind of snuck up on me.I’ve always been thin growing up and in my
head, I’ve always been skinny but here lately I’ve had to wear jeggings…all the
time.My son was the first to point it
out. “Mom, I’m not saying you’re fat,” he said. “I’m just saying your arms are
fat.”
Then one day I noticed my jacket kept getting hung up on
something.It was my butt.
“Hmmmmm, maybe I should do something about that,” I thought
to myself.But then I took a nap instead
and forgot.Then, I hurt my back at
work.I was sent to Physical Therapy
where my therapist kept using the terms “women your age” and “working on your
core.” In other words, I was old and
fat.
Then my foot started hurting.Plantar fasciitis.Crippling.Again, the foot doctor mentioned weight.
The last straw was my husband.I had begun wearing elastic banded anything
around the house.I refused to buy a
higher size even if that meant I was going to have to wear my Oscar Mayer Wiener
pajama bottoms constantly.So be it.My husband came in and beheld me in all my
elastic banded glory.
“So that’s it then?” He asked after giving me the once over
with his eyes. “You’re just giving up?”
So this year, it’s our 25th Wedding Anniversary –
and my 45th Birthday too….so I’m giving myself the gift of health –
hopefully.At least, that’s my plan.
I joined Weight Watchers.And this is my journey, if you care to take
it with me.
Day One:
It was our first weigh-in.Just as I suspected – I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life.I got all the startup material for the 17
week program.Luckily, my work is
providing the venue and is kind enough to take the payments out of my next few
checks.There is a joker who likes
attention at the meeting who continually asks useless questions.This is already getting on my nerves.I look through the book….overwhelmed.I forgot to tell them I don’t cook.This may be a problem.Immediately I realize I’m going to have to
put every organizational tool I have into place if this is going to be
successful.I leave the meeting a bit
deflated….like a Belichick football only fatter.
I got home and signed up for my free eTools app so I could
keep track of my binges on my smart phone.For fun, I used the recipe builder and input Rob’s awesome Chicken
Casserole to see how many points I consumed last night for dinner.If my calculations are correct, Rob’s Chicken
Casserole with its sour cream, cream of mushroom soup, jasmine rice, a sleeve
of Ritz Crackers and 3 cups of Shredded Cheddar Cheese and broccoli……was 26
points per tablespoon.That’s all the
points I’m allowed in one day, in one bite.
Donna Douglas stood obstinately with one foot on the train
and the other on the platform.
“My friend needs to get on,” she said to the conductor as
she pointed at me.It was clear the
train, that was already full, wasn’t leaving without me because Donna Douglas
wasn’t going to let it.It wasn’t
because she was a diva, she was just persistent and practical.If you were her friend, there was no limit to
what she would do for you.
We were in Baton Rouge at the zoo and we were ending our
eventful day with a train ride around the park.Donna brought her friend from High School, Winona, and another friend, a
Professor of Psychology from LSU. She
sat behind us and once, while I was lost in conversation with her
Professor/friend, she tapped me hard on the shoulder.
“What are y’all doing?Look, look!You’re missing all the
critters,” she motioned to a turtle and yes, she really used the word critters.
(A lot)
We were at the zoo that day because I had invited her to
speak at our Church of God mother/daughter day at the zoo.We made special shirts with her image.They said “I spent the day with Elly May…”
and they had her likeness on the front.She loved them.Because they were
pink and Donna Douglas loved pink.She loved
them so much she ordered extra to give away.That day at the zoo we had an Elly May lookalike contest.My daughter wore a rope belt and as she
exited the bathroom at the zoo she struggled to retie it. “Here, let me do it for you, I’ve got a little experience,”
Ms. Donna said and bent over to tie my daughter’s rope belt.I took aim with my camera…the iconic moment was
not lost on me.
People enjoyed her so much that day and I marveled at how
very easy it was to book her.I saw her
at a library, asked for her card and called her home number.She was her own agent.She hated to ask church organizations for
money she had told me but at the same time she said, “I can’t let you starve
me.”After all was said and done she
actually sent money back to us.“I
always like to give some back,” she told me later.
Ms. Donna will always be known for Elly May and I think that
was okay with her.But I think more than
that, she was a defender of Elly May’s image and innocence. She hated the sexual
objectifying of Elly May. Max Baer
(Jethro) wanted to start a restaurant/theme park in Vegas of some sort that
included hamburgers on “Elly May’s Buns”.
She rolled her eyes at the thought.“Me and Max always differed on the idea of
family entertainment,” she would say.
There are some things that people don’t know about Donna
Douglas that I discovered during my time with her….
1)Yes, she starred with Elvis.But no, she didn’t want to talk about
it.“Put a period on it,” she would say
if you brought it up. 2)She loved pink and if she found a pink shirt
with ruffles and lace that she liked, she bought five. 3)She wore her Elly May wig….all the time….everywhere. 4)She loved vitamins.She had a strict regimen and would be happy
to tell you all about it. 5)She would not take advantage of your goodness
toward her… she must’ve called a hundred times before our event to let me know
she was bringing guests…and that she would pay extra for their meals and their
tickets.“Is that okay?” she’d ask.And of course it was….and of course I didn’t
let her pay…but she asked and for that, she was golden in my book from start. 6)She was private. “I need your address so I can send you this….”
I asked her once. “Okay,” she said, “but don’t tell anyone
where I live.I don’t want anyone out
here taking pictures of me on my John Deere.” 7)She liked kids. We were at PF Chang’s once and
my son dropped his straw under the table.I told him we’d get another but he obsessed about that one.Before I could stop her Donna Douglas was
under the table.Far under the table…retrieving
it.“If he likes this one, he should
have this one.” And so he did. And when the kids pleaded for the delectable chocolate dessert after dinner, she made sure they got that too. 8)She could put away some General Tso’s Chicken. 9)Her legal name was Doris….Doris Leeds.(Mr. Leeds was a director of the Beverly
Hillbillies and her second husband.) 10)She deeply and truly loved Buddy Ebsen.“He was like a real father to me,” she said
of him. 11)She also really loved animals….she owned cats and
could tell you the name of every dog that she played with on the set of the
Beverly Hillbillies.There was one in
particular she would point out in an old Beverly Hillbillies promo shot.“This one was my favorite.He went on to be on Petticoat Junction.” (see photo below) 12)She loved Jesus.She had reached a time in her life when she would only speak if she was
going to speak about Jesus.The Elly May
gig just became a sidebar to the main message.Christ changed her life and she couldn’t wait to tell you about it.And then sing….what a voice. 13)She had a flip phone….that she wasn’t quite sure
how to use.“Can you tell me who just
called me?” she would ask, and hand it to my husband. 14)She was independent. She drove herself.She had a gray Honda Pilot and she kept the
roads hot with it.
15) She disliked the internet. "They get so much wrong," she told me when I was trying to write up her introduction bio. "Just introduce me as a friend who has a story to tell them," she said. And what a story it was...
16)She loved her fans.There was a line a mile long for her
autograph at the zoo.She
"He loved to play," she said of the terrier mix.
signed them
all.(Proverbs 3:5,6 was always
included.) And she posed for pictures.Countless
pictures. Later she called me, “I think everyone enjoyed it, don’t you?”Indeed they did. 17) She could really whistle like she did in the show. She ended each event with it. 18)If you called her at home she was going to put you
on speaker…and there was going to be southern gospel music in the background.And she was going to call you “sugar.”Before we’d hang up she was always careful to
ask how I was.“That’s what’s going on
in my world sugar,” she’d say, “What about yours?”
When she turned 80, I called her to wish her a happy
birthday.“I’m holding, I’m
holding! No more birthdays for me.” she said.And we laughed and
we made a renewed commitment to get together again soon.Maybe in the spring I said.“I’d love that.Let’s get it on the calendar,” she said.And I meant to…
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