Rocket Socks is still hanging in there. She is thin and doesn't eat/drink or eliminate much but is up and around and annoying the heck out of the dog. I am giving her subcutaneous IV fluids as needed. The antibiotics are finished and we are both relieved. She goes outside and stalks around the yard like her old self for a few minutes, then is pooped and comes in and sleeps. She seems happy enough. I guess I will know when the time is right to let her go.
Life here is returning to normal after the hubbub of the summer. I am glad. We bought a snow blower so I won't have to kill myself shoveling this winter. I washed the windows and we put up the storms. We have been having some nice days so I washed all the blankets and rugs and dried them on the line. I am back to teaching adult Sunday school, and choir practise starts tonight. I am thinking about volunteering at the Senior Center one day a week delivering meal-on-wheels. I went for a ride along yesterday. Threw me into an unexpected emotional tailspin. Too much like nursing I suspect. I am not sure I want to start driving around in blizzards and fending off dogs again to visit people in their homes. But I have to do something. I am seldom out of my comfort zone anymore. I do not think that to be a healthy situation. (The neighbor's four ducks just strolled by, Huey, Duey, Louey and Donald. Three black and one white. They walk upright like penguins, chatting up a storm the whole time.) I love being at home but I am losing touch with the wide world. It worries me.
I was counting on the new computer to pull me out of my backwater and into the river of life. No money for computer. Snow blower and vet bills took our stash. Phooey. Mark has screwed this old computer up so much I now can't get to one of my email accounts. He broke another printer so I can't print off anything, and the mouse pad has gone missing. I am currently using a piece of cardboard for a mouse pad. Like Virginia Woolf, I HAVE GOT TO HAVE A COMPUTER OF MY OWN.
Okay rant finished. About the comfort zone thing. What do you think, is being content at home worth the trade off of letting "life" pass me by?
I want to stay at home and be a sheltered housewife and write. I love being able to see the ducks walk by and hear the pigs snore. I love the silence of the house. I love hanging clothes on the line and seeing the mountains. I love doing the dishes and gazing down the valley through my kitchen window. I love being at home with this silly dog. I love not being responsible for anyone but myself and my immediate family. I do not love not having current marketable skills and being out of touch with the times. I still write letters and send them snail mail for God's sake. I do not love not contributing anything to anyone. Phooey. I fear I am becoming an anachronism.
Okay whine over. Take Care. Love Bea
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Perspective
My Rocket Socks is dying. We have had her for ten years. As she was a starving stray when we took her in I have no idea how old she is. In dog years my cat is probably ancient. Anyway she is coming to the end of her long and sweet life. I cry all the time.
I knew she was not well when we left for the wedding. She was a bit lethargic and her breath smelled awful. She has had bad teeth for years. I kept putting off getting them all pulled as I didn't want her to be without teeth. As she was still eating like a horse and drinking like a fire engine I figured she was fine and I would take her to the vet and get the teeth attended to when we got home. I checked on her during the week we were gone and her caretaker said she was about the same. I was not worried in the slightest.
She had lost two pounds by the time we returned home. She was so dehydrated her skin was tenting up. The whole house stank of her foul breath. I rushed her to the vet. You guessed it. Renal failure. I should have guessed it too only I was so focused on her teeth kidney failure never occurred to me. I felt pole axed when the nice young vet told me she was dying. I couldn't think. He kept gently asking me to make a decision about putting her to sleep vs. treatment. I was unable to process what he was saying. Finally he left me alone and let me sit down and hold her and think. Eventually he came back into the room and talked to me. He said although her lab work was "off the chart" he thought she had a good chance of "coming out" of "this episode." She was still eating and drinking and eliminating. She did not seem to be in any pain. She was still alert. After much conversation I decided to opt for treatment. I was not ready to lose her.
She spent two days at the vet. They gave her two bags of IV fluid. A bag of IV fluid is almost the same size as a cat. They put her on antibiotics for her teeth. They let me bring her her rat. She curled up around it and slept. I spent the two days holding her basket and howling like another sick animal. Grief like I have never experienced it. I think I have lived in a house of grief my whole life but have never ventured beyond the foyer. Her death is allowing me to finally enter all the rooms and wash them clear. One more blessing she is giving me.
We brought her home. I am giving her oral antibiotics daily and irrigating her mouth with peroxide and salt water every few hours. She hates it all. Me too. She perked right up after all that fluid. Was almost like her old self for four days. But it was not to last. In the past twenty-four hours her eating, drinking and eliminating have slowed way down. We are going to the vet in the morning. I hope it will be for more IV fluid and a return home, but I am not counting on it.
When we were at the vet's the first time he told us how they dispose of their dead animals. They take them to the dump and throw them on the pile of all the road kill and untagged wild animals found during the past month. Then they burn them. I was so grateful he told us that. We will bring her home. I have picked out her favorite basket and blanket. We will wrap her in her blanket, put her in her basket with her blue rat, put all of that in a big garbage bag and then bury her beside the rose bush. It has been getting below zero here at night. Mark dug the hole a couple of days ago while the ground was still soft.
I intend to spend the evening holding and petting my kitty whom I love. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
Take care of yourselves. Love Lynn
I knew she was not well when we left for the wedding. She was a bit lethargic and her breath smelled awful. She has had bad teeth for years. I kept putting off getting them all pulled as I didn't want her to be without teeth. As she was still eating like a horse and drinking like a fire engine I figured she was fine and I would take her to the vet and get the teeth attended to when we got home. I checked on her during the week we were gone and her caretaker said she was about the same. I was not worried in the slightest.
She had lost two pounds by the time we returned home. She was so dehydrated her skin was tenting up. The whole house stank of her foul breath. I rushed her to the vet. You guessed it. Renal failure. I should have guessed it too only I was so focused on her teeth kidney failure never occurred to me. I felt pole axed when the nice young vet told me she was dying. I couldn't think. He kept gently asking me to make a decision about putting her to sleep vs. treatment. I was unable to process what he was saying. Finally he left me alone and let me sit down and hold her and think. Eventually he came back into the room and talked to me. He said although her lab work was "off the chart" he thought she had a good chance of "coming out" of "this episode." She was still eating and drinking and eliminating. She did not seem to be in any pain. She was still alert. After much conversation I decided to opt for treatment. I was not ready to lose her.
She spent two days at the vet. They gave her two bags of IV fluid. A bag of IV fluid is almost the same size as a cat. They put her on antibiotics for her teeth. They let me bring her her rat. She curled up around it and slept. I spent the two days holding her basket and howling like another sick animal. Grief like I have never experienced it. I think I have lived in a house of grief my whole life but have never ventured beyond the foyer. Her death is allowing me to finally enter all the rooms and wash them clear. One more blessing she is giving me.
We brought her home. I am giving her oral antibiotics daily and irrigating her mouth with peroxide and salt water every few hours. She hates it all. Me too. She perked right up after all that fluid. Was almost like her old self for four days. But it was not to last. In the past twenty-four hours her eating, drinking and eliminating have slowed way down. We are going to the vet in the morning. I hope it will be for more IV fluid and a return home, but I am not counting on it.
When we were at the vet's the first time he told us how they dispose of their dead animals. They take them to the dump and throw them on the pile of all the road kill and untagged wild animals found during the past month. Then they burn them. I was so grateful he told us that. We will bring her home. I have picked out her favorite basket and blanket. We will wrap her in her blanket, put her in her basket with her blue rat, put all of that in a big garbage bag and then bury her beside the rose bush. It has been getting below zero here at night. Mark dug the hole a couple of days ago while the ground was still soft.
I intend to spend the evening holding and petting my kitty whom I love. Tomorrow will take care of itself.
Take care of yourselves. Love Lynn
Friday, October 16, 2009
Greetings
From the "biggest little city in the world." Reno is great. The fall colors are magnificent and the sun is shining.
We left Tuesday in a welter of last minute details. I forgot friend Kim's phone number and address, and the confirmation code for the hotel. We had to go back home to get it. Mark was not amused. We eventually got down the road. We made it as far as Wells, NV. The drive was wonderful. We toured southern Idaho to circumvent the Salt Lake. The trees were blazing red. Was a great drive. We then rode an old Nevada highway to Wells. Was like being in Wyoming twenty years ago. We did not see a soul for hours. I don't suppose on an August afternoon this would have been a wonderful route, but on a rainy fall afternoon it was magic.
The motel in Wells was dirty and noisy but at least it was expensive. Sigh. We drove into Reno the next day. Sunshine all the way. We drove right to the Peppermill even though I forgot the directions. We felt blessed. Here is where my story takes a u-turn. I had not been in a casino for years. And never one this big. Gad. It was like entering Dante's Inferno.
Can I tell you first about the cigarette smoke. I grew up with people who smoked. It was no big deal. At 52 after not being around it for years, it is a BIG deal. My eyes are gritty and I cough. My hair stinks, in fact everything we own stinks. I will even have to launder the suitcases when we get home.
In an effort to save money I booked the cheapest room available at the "Pep." Big mistake. We are in a ground floor room next to a busy street. I firmly believe freight trains playing loud mariachi music go by once an hour day and night. The room looks plush but is missing many of the amenities we have come to expect in hotels. Like tissues, towel racks, a microwave and fridge, and a coffee maker. It does have a fully stocked mini bar, a huge tray of candy and nuts in little jars, and a huge t.v. for in room gambling and porno movies. About that tray off food, everything is on a sensor. If you pick it up you have just purchased a five dollar bag of nuts. We don't go anywhere near it. Our room is in a small building miles from the main casino. This is good in that the smoke doesn't seem to have drifted this far, yet. The bad thing is that the building is made of cardboard walls. We seem to have a troupe of clog dancers above us. They must practice their various routines during the night. These numbers are punctuated by one of the troupe dropping five pound bar-bells intermittently. Mark is snoring through it all. Phooey.
We have seen friend Kim and her intended. They are in love, and lovely. A fine sight to behold. This should be a fun wedding. We have visited the art museum and the historical society museum. Both places well worth seeing. Okay I have to hurry I am having a manicure in five minutes. The hotel has a huge plushy spa attached. We are going to Lake Tahoe for wedding practise this afternoon. Then the rehearsal dinner.
Clothes and fat have turned out to be a non-issues. I am so happy to be here what I look like doesn't matter.
Take care, Love Bea
We left Tuesday in a welter of last minute details. I forgot friend Kim's phone number and address, and the confirmation code for the hotel. We had to go back home to get it. Mark was not amused. We eventually got down the road. We made it as far as Wells, NV. The drive was wonderful. We toured southern Idaho to circumvent the Salt Lake. The trees were blazing red. Was a great drive. We then rode an old Nevada highway to Wells. Was like being in Wyoming twenty years ago. We did not see a soul for hours. I don't suppose on an August afternoon this would have been a wonderful route, but on a rainy fall afternoon it was magic.
The motel in Wells was dirty and noisy but at least it was expensive. Sigh. We drove into Reno the next day. Sunshine all the way. We drove right to the Peppermill even though I forgot the directions. We felt blessed. Here is where my story takes a u-turn. I had not been in a casino for years. And never one this big. Gad. It was like entering Dante's Inferno.
Can I tell you first about the cigarette smoke. I grew up with people who smoked. It was no big deal. At 52 after not being around it for years, it is a BIG deal. My eyes are gritty and I cough. My hair stinks, in fact everything we own stinks. I will even have to launder the suitcases when we get home.
In an effort to save money I booked the cheapest room available at the "Pep." Big mistake. We are in a ground floor room next to a busy street. I firmly believe freight trains playing loud mariachi music go by once an hour day and night. The room looks plush but is missing many of the amenities we have come to expect in hotels. Like tissues, towel racks, a microwave and fridge, and a coffee maker. It does have a fully stocked mini bar, a huge tray of candy and nuts in little jars, and a huge t.v. for in room gambling and porno movies. About that tray off food, everything is on a sensor. If you pick it up you have just purchased a five dollar bag of nuts. We don't go anywhere near it. Our room is in a small building miles from the main casino. This is good in that the smoke doesn't seem to have drifted this far, yet. The bad thing is that the building is made of cardboard walls. We seem to have a troupe of clog dancers above us. They must practice their various routines during the night. These numbers are punctuated by one of the troupe dropping five pound bar-bells intermittently. Mark is snoring through it all. Phooey.
We have seen friend Kim and her intended. They are in love, and lovely. A fine sight to behold. This should be a fun wedding. We have visited the art museum and the historical society museum. Both places well worth seeing. Okay I have to hurry I am having a manicure in five minutes. The hotel has a huge plushy spa attached. We are going to Lake Tahoe for wedding practise this afternoon. Then the rehearsal dinner.
Clothes and fat have turned out to be a non-issues. I am so happy to be here what I look like doesn't matter.
Take care, Love Bea
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Garbo and Me, (Greta not Marx)
We have been traveling around the state visiting friends and relations. A good time was had by all. The one exception was having to travel a whole gob more miles because Yellowstone was on fire, again.
I am out of step with the times. I do not want to:
1. Twitter or tweet
2. Face up to Face book
3. Read all the emails forwarded to me
4. Text
5. Keep my cell phone turned on
6. Ride the continual wave on the blog surf
7. Kindle my books
8. IPod my music
9. GPS my travels
10. Pay my bills on-line.
Because I stubbornly refuse to be available to all comers at all hours, I am losing contact with people. I most bitterly regret that.
I love silence. I luxuriate in silence. I stretch and relax and purr in the silence. I regenerate in silence. I pray and am heard in silence. Continual noisy activity jangles and jars me. It sucks out my being. It is no surprise I wrote a thesis about medieval anchoresses, women walled up in a cell connected to a church. A bed, a table and chair, a good fire, a loving cat, a few victuals, books, pen and paper, and a small window to the outside world, my idea of Heaven on Earth.
My need for long stretches of quiet time is always misunderstood as lack of love and interest. Not true. I value my family and friends much more than they know. My need for contact is vital, but not daily, weekly, monthly or God forbid by the minute. This attitude is considered selfish and narcissistic at worst or standoffish and odd at best. It has cost me relationships, opportunities and experiences I was loathe to lose.
In my doldrums I believe myself to be a mentally ill neurotic who isolates herself in fear of a world she cannot control. Like my mother. In my blessedness I believe myself to be a quiet deep reservoir into whom flows Grace and out of whom flows Love and Peace. Like my God. I expect it is some of both. Anyway if you are still out there reading, for my part know you remain connected to me by intention if not deed.
We will leave soon for friend Kim's wedding. I am looking forward to it. I hope to heck it doesn't snow the whole darn way. I haven't yet got my winter legs.
Take care, Love Bea
I am out of step with the times. I do not want to:
1. Twitter or tweet
2. Face up to Face book
3. Read all the emails forwarded to me
4. Text
5. Keep my cell phone turned on
6. Ride the continual wave on the blog surf
7. Kindle my books
8. IPod my music
9. GPS my travels
10. Pay my bills on-line.
Because I stubbornly refuse to be available to all comers at all hours, I am losing contact with people. I most bitterly regret that.
I love silence. I luxuriate in silence. I stretch and relax and purr in the silence. I regenerate in silence. I pray and am heard in silence. Continual noisy activity jangles and jars me. It sucks out my being. It is no surprise I wrote a thesis about medieval anchoresses, women walled up in a cell connected to a church. A bed, a table and chair, a good fire, a loving cat, a few victuals, books, pen and paper, and a small window to the outside world, my idea of Heaven on Earth.
My need for long stretches of quiet time is always misunderstood as lack of love and interest. Not true. I value my family and friends much more than they know. My need for contact is vital, but not daily, weekly, monthly or God forbid by the minute. This attitude is considered selfish and narcissistic at worst or standoffish and odd at best. It has cost me relationships, opportunities and experiences I was loathe to lose.
In my doldrums I believe myself to be a mentally ill neurotic who isolates herself in fear of a world she cannot control. Like my mother. In my blessedness I believe myself to be a quiet deep reservoir into whom flows Grace and out of whom flows Love and Peace. Like my God. I expect it is some of both. Anyway if you are still out there reading, for my part know you remain connected to me by intention if not deed.
We will leave soon for friend Kim's wedding. I am looking forward to it. I hope to heck it doesn't snow the whole darn way. I haven't yet got my winter legs.
Take care, Love Bea
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wardrobe Malfunction
Remember a couple of years ago the Spanx discussion on AFGZ? In my self righteous new lighter body I thought, "I will NEVER resort to wearing a girdle again." Pass the foundation garments, with gravy.
Maybe the darn thing is too little. I swear to God, I can hardly move in it. I got the over the waist down the thigh model. With the "crotch gusset." (Like that is a major selling feature.) If I attempted to p** through that small hole I would have the same results as when I relieve myself in the forest while hiking. Wet hiking boots. The Flex camisole is a little better. I can breathe in it. Unfortunately when I inhale it snaps upwards and rolls into a rubber band around my waist. Not the look I am going for. Sigh.
I did find a big purple outfit. A skirt and top. A crepey polyester elastic waist tunic top affair. An XL is too small and a 1X is too big. I opted for the 1X and will take in the elastic on the skirt. With the tartan sash and black shoes and pearls I am passable. I look like the mother of the bride but "Oh well." As matron of honor I figure it is my duty to make the bride look swell. Now I just need clothes for the shower and the rehearsal dinner. Sigh.
I watched a sermon the other morning that went straight to the heart of me. It was about the safety of living within your boundaries. As a person hooked on security I was all ears. According to Joyce (preacher) living outside your boundaries sets you up for danger. Breached food boundaries equal ill physical, emotional and mental health. Breached money boundaries equal debt and stress. Breached sexual boundaries equal disease and broken hearts and self respect. As a pacifistic people pleaser I frequently step outside of my boundaries and get mugged. I love the idea of living within my boundaries and being safe.
My new anti-people pleaser answer to everything is, "I'll get back to you." Then I go home and figure out all the consequences of saying yes. A really
safe and smart way to live I think.
Take care. Love Bea
Maybe the darn thing is too little. I swear to God, I can hardly move in it. I got the over the waist down the thigh model. With the "crotch gusset." (Like that is a major selling feature.) If I attempted to p** through that small hole I would have the same results as when I relieve myself in the forest while hiking. Wet hiking boots. The Flex camisole is a little better. I can breathe in it. Unfortunately when I inhale it snaps upwards and rolls into a rubber band around my waist. Not the look I am going for. Sigh.
I did find a big purple outfit. A skirt and top. A crepey polyester elastic waist tunic top affair. An XL is too small and a 1X is too big. I opted for the 1X and will take in the elastic on the skirt. With the tartan sash and black shoes and pearls I am passable. I look like the mother of the bride but "Oh well." As matron of honor I figure it is my duty to make the bride look swell. Now I just need clothes for the shower and the rehearsal dinner. Sigh.
I watched a sermon the other morning that went straight to the heart of me. It was about the safety of living within your boundaries. As a person hooked on security I was all ears. According to Joyce (preacher) living outside your boundaries sets you up for danger. Breached food boundaries equal ill physical, emotional and mental health. Breached money boundaries equal debt and stress. Breached sexual boundaries equal disease and broken hearts and self respect. As a pacifistic people pleaser I frequently step outside of my boundaries and get mugged. I love the idea of living within my boundaries and being safe.
My new anti-people pleaser answer to everything is, "I'll get back to you." Then I go home and figure out all the consequences of saying yes. A really
safe and smart way to live I think.
Take care. Love Bea
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Fake Me
Question: Why do I feel like a fake all the time?
This week I have felt like more of a fake than I have in years. I am tired of being the me others would like me to be. I am frustrated with going along to get along. I want to know what I think and feel, and say and do so.
I want a simple uninvolved life. I want to do what I want to do when I want to do it. "IRRESPONSIBLE AND UNCHRISTIAN" clang back and forth in my brain. If I do not feel concern or compassion I do not want to be forced to care or take action. "With that attitude you will end up miserable and alone." "What if everyone felt like that?" "You will hate yourself if you don't help." "That is not Christ like behaviour." Jesus have mercy.
I have spent my whole life being manipulated by people and situations into doing stuff I did not want to do. I have gone along with it because I figured that unless I was pushed I would sit on my ass and not do or care about anyone or anything.
This morning I rescued a horse.
Most every day at the crack of dawn we walk down a country road. We know all the dogs and cats and horses. This morning there was a big beautiful bay horse in a pasture full of hay bales. A pasture with an old, old fence and no gates. A pasture that is not meant to house livestock. It was dark and foggy. A busy county highway runs parallel to the country road we walk on. As we walked past the horse came tearing out of the pasture and ran up on the highway. I did not think twice. I ran after the horse. It stopped in the middle of the highway frightened by the lights of the oncoming traffic. I ran up to its head and said, "Come here." I was scared out of my wits so sounded very stern. The horse turned, looked at me and then followed me down into the bar pit and back onto the dirt road. I got between it and the highway and kept urging it forward. When we got to the place where I thought it belonged I took it into the corral and shut the gate. I then went up to the house and rang the door bell. Keep in mind it is only 6:30 a.m.. I said to a very startled woman in a bathrobe, "Your horse was on the highway and we brought it back." She yelled and ran to get her husband. At that point we left. I sure hope it was their horse.
The point of all that was, no one forced me to care about that horse. I could have just walked on and assumed someone else would care about it. But I didn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to help. I was in fact desperate to help. Like with Mollie. And the cats. What if I can trust the Love within me to direct my caring and concern? What if I don't need to be pushed and guilted into helping others? What if I can trust I will be led and motivated to help where I am needed? What then? I'll bet I will be way less fake. And way less frustrated. If I have something to offer in a situation I will want to get involved. If not...God has someone else in mind for the job. Whoa Nellie.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
This week I have felt like more of a fake than I have in years. I am tired of being the me others would like me to be. I am frustrated with going along to get along. I want to know what I think and feel, and say and do so.
I want a simple uninvolved life. I want to do what I want to do when I want to do it. "IRRESPONSIBLE AND UNCHRISTIAN" clang back and forth in my brain. If I do not feel concern or compassion I do not want to be forced to care or take action. "With that attitude you will end up miserable and alone." "What if everyone felt like that?" "You will hate yourself if you don't help." "That is not Christ like behaviour." Jesus have mercy.
I have spent my whole life being manipulated by people and situations into doing stuff I did not want to do. I have gone along with it because I figured that unless I was pushed I would sit on my ass and not do or care about anyone or anything.
This morning I rescued a horse.
Most every day at the crack of dawn we walk down a country road. We know all the dogs and cats and horses. This morning there was a big beautiful bay horse in a pasture full of hay bales. A pasture with an old, old fence and no gates. A pasture that is not meant to house livestock. It was dark and foggy. A busy county highway runs parallel to the country road we walk on. As we walked past the horse came tearing out of the pasture and ran up on the highway. I did not think twice. I ran after the horse. It stopped in the middle of the highway frightened by the lights of the oncoming traffic. I ran up to its head and said, "Come here." I was scared out of my wits so sounded very stern. The horse turned, looked at me and then followed me down into the bar pit and back onto the dirt road. I got between it and the highway and kept urging it forward. When we got to the place where I thought it belonged I took it into the corral and shut the gate. I then went up to the house and rang the door bell. Keep in mind it is only 6:30 a.m.. I said to a very startled woman in a bathrobe, "Your horse was on the highway and we brought it back." She yelled and ran to get her husband. At that point we left. I sure hope it was their horse.
The point of all that was, no one forced me to care about that horse. I could have just walked on and assumed someone else would care about it. But I didn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to help. I was in fact desperate to help. Like with Mollie. And the cats. What if I can trust the Love within me to direct my caring and concern? What if I don't need to be pushed and guilted into helping others? What if I can trust I will be led and motivated to help where I am needed? What then? I'll bet I will be way less fake. And way less frustrated. If I have something to offer in a situation I will want to get involved. If not...God has someone else in mind for the job. Whoa Nellie.
Take care of yourselves. Love Bea
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Limpimg Along
I feel like my body is living at hyper speed and my brain is foggily attempting to catch up. Much going on around here at present.
In the midst of the hubbub I am attempting to find a purple dress for friend Kim's wedding. What an emotional nightmare. I am in agony about my 15 pound weight gain and each dress I try on is a fresh hell. When you gain weight nothing fits. Not your underwear or your coats or your jeans or your shoes. It costs money to replace all of that so you make do with the couple of pieces that still fit while telling yourself you will soon lose the weight and won't have to replace everything. But then comes life. I want to have clothes that fit for the week I will be at Kim's. So what was just a hunt for a big purple dress has now turned into a marathon shopping event for a whole new larger sized cheap wardrobe. I hate it.
Over the holiday weekend we went to Jenny Lake Lodge for lunch. Having thrown caution to the winds I was eating the sumptuous repast and not counting the cost when I noticed a lady at our companion table staring at me. She was drilling me with her eyeballs. I was unnerved and faltered getting my chocolate cake into my mouth. When I dropped the bite she sort of came to and looked away. As we were leaving she stopped me and apologized for staring. "I have been on a diet for a year now and I almost couldn't tear my eyes away from that cake you were eating." As she was the friend of a friend and we were in no hurry I asked her about her diet. Turns out she has lost 75 pounds so far. She has plateaued and has been stuck for six months. She is living in abject fear. We sat down at this point and talked for an hour. We discussed "failure."
I feel like a failure and so does she. To be a failure at weight loss negates every good thing in one's life. We discussed our successes and blessings. Between the two of us it was quite a list. And it didn't matter a hill of beans. If you can't get and keep the fat off you might as well be dead. I see this is stupid thinking even as I write it, nevertheless....
I have no answers and am aware that this is not an encouraging post. But it made me feel better to say it out loud.
Cheers, Bea
P.S. I look like Barney in those big purple dresses.
In the midst of the hubbub I am attempting to find a purple dress for friend Kim's wedding. What an emotional nightmare. I am in agony about my 15 pound weight gain and each dress I try on is a fresh hell. When you gain weight nothing fits. Not your underwear or your coats or your jeans or your shoes. It costs money to replace all of that so you make do with the couple of pieces that still fit while telling yourself you will soon lose the weight and won't have to replace everything. But then comes life. I want to have clothes that fit for the week I will be at Kim's. So what was just a hunt for a big purple dress has now turned into a marathon shopping event for a whole new larger sized cheap wardrobe. I hate it.
Over the holiday weekend we went to Jenny Lake Lodge for lunch. Having thrown caution to the winds I was eating the sumptuous repast and not counting the cost when I noticed a lady at our companion table staring at me. She was drilling me with her eyeballs. I was unnerved and faltered getting my chocolate cake into my mouth. When I dropped the bite she sort of came to and looked away. As we were leaving she stopped me and apologized for staring. "I have been on a diet for a year now and I almost couldn't tear my eyes away from that cake you were eating." As she was the friend of a friend and we were in no hurry I asked her about her diet. Turns out she has lost 75 pounds so far. She has plateaued and has been stuck for six months. She is living in abject fear. We sat down at this point and talked for an hour. We discussed "failure."
I feel like a failure and so does she. To be a failure at weight loss negates every good thing in one's life. We discussed our successes and blessings. Between the two of us it was quite a list. And it didn't matter a hill of beans. If you can't get and keep the fat off you might as well be dead. I see this is stupid thinking even as I write it, nevertheless....
I have no answers and am aware that this is not an encouraging post. But it made me feel better to say it out loud.
Cheers, Bea
P.S. I look like Barney in those big purple dresses.
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