Weighty Matters

"I need to go buy some smaller clothes. All the ones I own are hanging on me."

She stopped mid stride, mid parking lot to look at me. She didn't quite snort but almost, before she said she wanted whatever I had. I bit my lip before I said something I'd regret. I felt a surge of anger that caught me off guard. If I couldn't tell my best friend about needing new clothes who could I tell? If she couldn't hear the worry beneath my words, who then?

I hate that this is often the way it seems to be between women. Weight loss being the thing that matters. I've listened to co-workers the past several years exchange weight loss tips and diets and have seen them lose and gain the same 30, 40 or 50 pounds. Last week one of them yelled in the background as I was talking to another on the phone, "I'll have whatever she's got." and I thought, "Really?"

Did she forget that the doctors have been puzzling over what is causing my steady, unexpected weight loss? Did she forget the dreaded "C"word that has been bandied about for months now? Or is it really all about the number on the scale?

I think of an elderly woman I know who, at 83, talks about losing those last 10 pounds. I look at her frail body, the kind that looks like it would break if hugged too tight, and feel angry that this is her desire in old age. I wonder what she sees when she looks in the mirror or steps on the scale?

I have lost count of the number of women who have vocalized to me the past few months that they'd gladly have whatever it is that is going on with me if it meant they lost weight without effort like I am. They look concerned about the uncertainty of it and in the same breath tell me how great I am looking. How can it be bad when you look so great?

I've never felt twinges of guilt like I have these past few months for being concerned about weight loss. I feel like I have a dirty secret and there's an unwritten code of silence. It's made me question just how we, as women, relate to one another when it comes to body size and image. It's made me hesitant to tell someone, who has lost weight, that they look great. Who are we under all that? Surely we are more than the number on the scale.

I am closer to getting a confirmed answer about my unexplained weight loss. One, that if proved true, is far less sinister than what has lurked in the shadows all year. One that might mean the weight loss will go on and on with no ill effects, just the nuisance of having to buy ever smaller clothes. If so, it will feel like I dodged a bullet. And in the process stepped in front of one I never thought I'd face.

Mirror, Mirror

Oh, what the heck, might as well write a new post. Better than letting stuff stew in my head. I've heard people say they've never been to a bad recovery meeting. Don't believe it. Today's meeting did teach me something and had I not given a friend a ride I would have walked out in the middle of it. I truly wish this meeting had a no cross talk rule because it was all about cross talk today. The poor guy who bore the brunt of it had made himself vulnerable at the beginning. I don't recall him asking for advice. His wounded, broken, vulnerable self was written all over his face. I recognized that look. I've seen it in my own face. Advice never helped me while in that state. Ever. Which is probably what I was reacting to. What I really wanted to do was to tell them to leave him alone. I didn't. I do need to remember how easy it is for me, too, to think I know what someone else needs to hear, as if my words will perfect their life. Christ have mercy.

That Guy?

Just moments before he had been running a little car up and down the pew when he'd noticed the Stations of the Cross on the wall. He whispered to his mom  and gestured towards them. She leaned down and whispered in his ear and he turned towards the crucifix, with his tiny pointer finger raised and said, "That guy?"

Now, his little hands gripped the ciborium and his eyes focus on his destination as he made his way towards the priest. The priest who has explained to us that the procession of gifts is about our journey towards Christ.

As his two little hands reached out to meet the priest's the gap between the giver and receiver held something so earnest and innocent that tears welled up and pooled at the corners of my eyes. It was a blink your eyes and miss it moment.

Occasionally I get the impression from some people that they feel sorry for me stuck in the boon-docks in a tiny church with a handful of people showing up on a good Sunday. A church where someone needs to go early and turn up the heat so we can get through the Mass with our coats off. But no one can orchestrate moments like the one described above. They are pure gift and I receive them gratefully; the gap between the giver and receiver holds so much promise.

Scared

Yesterday as I drove to my home group meeting I prayed to be able to share with honesty and humility. Sometimes I care too much what others think. Sometimes I get so self absorbed that I forgot that it's not all about me. I had to think about this video and know it to be true. When someone looks like the poster child in AA I don't trust them. It doesn't stop me from wanting to be one. I know - so full of ego. And fear. And pride. There is someone in one of my meetings who comes across as a poster child. I don't trust them. Occasionally the person shares from the gut. Those times I think to myself, okay, I can trust you, now. The only way I can quiet what is going through my head at a meeting is to decide not to share. That frees me to listen to others. So when I was called on to share I talked from my gut. About waking up in the night and feeling scared and having a talk with God about that. That relatioship is where my hope comes from.

Quiet Bits of Simplicity

It's snowing to beat the band out there as I type. I'm disappointed to miss my home group meeting this morning because of the resulting wretched roads. The change in plans most likely means a quiet day with bits of housecleaning and cooking and the simple things that fill me with the most contentment. I am pretty grateful these days for those things. People keep telling me that getting older is the pits and I keep replying that getting older is a gift, a privilege that not everyone gets to experience.

The Rules Don't Apply

This morning as I'm on my way to see Fr. Charlie - going to confession about having a bad attitude amidst other things - I start belly aching to myself about the decreased speed limit ahead. Last summer there was road construction along this stretch of highway and the construction pretty much, but not quite, came to a stand still when winter arrived. For a little quarter mile stretch of construction they kept 15 miles of highway traffic slowed right down. Ridiculous, I tell, you, utterly ridiculous.

I tell myself that I'm going to ignore the posted speed limit. Screw the law. I'm not slowing down for anybody. I start boasting to myself about having a 35 year clean driving record. I wonder why I think I shouldn't slow down and the first thing that pops into my head is because the rules don't apply to me. As I think this the first decreased speed ahead warning sign appears complete with a red and white sunburst of stripes around it. They're making sure I am without excuse I tell ya.

I shake my head at my ridiculous conclusion that the rules don't apply. Of course they do. But still, I want to fudge them.

So I make a compromise within myself. I will only slow down if everyone else who is driving that stretch of highway slows down, too. As I mull this over the second red and white striped warning sign appears. I envision getting stopped for speeding and pointing to the vehicles ahead of me and protesting that they, they were speeding first.

And then I ask myself if I'm willing to take the consequences of believing the rules don't apply to me. Turns out I'm not. So I slow down and set the cruise control to the posted speed limit. I shake my head at myself. How quickly my thoughts can be not only illogical and self righteous but also how ready I am to defend them before putting any of it into action.

As I crest the hill I meet oncoming vehicles who are also going the speed limit. In fact all the way through this stretch of highway I see not one speeding vehicle. No one passes me. No one passes anyone.

Which might be explained by the cop car sitting in a wide turn out on the highway less than ten minutes after I entered the construction zone.

Thankful Thursday

I'm grateful to be done work for the week. This week has been a journey of accepting what is in front of me instead of railing against what isn't. The more I do it, the easier it gets or the sooner I recognize it's the only solution if I want inner peace.

An Utter Lack

It's been a long, full day. One of those that ended with another reminder for me to check my attitude and ego at the door. I've lost count of the number of times in the past few months when I have run ahead of myself with an utter lack of humility. I haven't had a train wreck because of it but pretty darn close. I've been so judgemental of people who have acted too big for their britches. One of those things I thought was behind me. Ha. Still capable.

This Lent I've been praying specifically about this. Have felt the check in my spirit and heeded it before I opened my mouth several times. I'd felt that check in my spirit many times before and chose to ignore it. The world wouldn't know of my greatness if I didn't open my mouth. Or so I thought. I'm learning that I'm capable of hearing and heeding the Spirit. I didn't know it could bruise my ego so to do so. The only kind of good bruising there is to be had.

Purple Striped Joy

She was just a bit of a thing - dressed in purple stripes from head to toe - yet she captivated the whole waiting room with her joy. She was the brightest spot in my day. I was disappointed when the nurse called her in for her appointment.

Between her and later going for a walk in the mud puddles I am one happy gal on my way to a good sleep tonight. I often pray that God will give me the eyes to see Him, the ears to hear Him and the heart to respond to Him. Today I think I did.

Of Impressions and Miracles

I attended the funeral today of a man with decades upon decades of sobriety. As I listened to his eulogy I was left with the impression that he not only knew what was important in the whole scope of life, he lived it thoroughly. Thoroughly enough that nearly a thousand people turned out for his funeral. He touched many, many lives.

Our paths crossed last year for the first and last time as we shared service commitments. Within minutes of meeting we realized we'd grown up in the same area and attended the same school. That we we came to this conclusion many hundreds of miles from our original homes left us shaking our heads at the miracle of sobriety, tears in both our eyes. He took me under his wing for the brief time we spent together, a big brother with a twinkle in his eye and goodness in his heart.

Hope has many disguises.

Sunshine On My Fingertips

There is a strip of sunshine running across my fingertips as I type. It makes me smile.

A year ago tomorrow I stepped away from blogging, unsure of whether I'd start again or not. It took months for me to stop looking at happenings in my life as bloggable moments. The break has been good.

But here I am, giving it another go.

I don't know what exactly I've learned in the past year. I do know I'm further down the road including the times when the road has seemed to circle around to the same stuff. My spiritual director would say that even though the view sometimes looks the same it's from a different place on the road.

Deeper awareness. Hopefully, deeper acceptance. The more layers that get peeled off, the deeper the hope. Funny how the more aware I've become of my humanity, the more I've been able to accept myself. And then when that happens, change not only becomes possible, it happens.

I spent so many years fighting to distance myself from my humanity, protesting that "no, I'm not like that", whatever that was in the moment. Whatever I see in others is in me, too. I'm much more the same as everyone else than different.

I'm embarrassed at how long it took me to accept that reality. I was never going to be human. I was aiming for super human, better than, better. These days I am content to be me.Yes, there are moments what seems like long stretches when my ego runs the show. Sometimes I recognize it in the now and sometimes after the fact.

Yesterday I jumped off a diving board. Water went straight up my nose and burned like hell. I coughed and sputtered when I surfaced and swam to the edge of the pool where I heaved myself up and rested. One of many who jumped. No need to be the only one, the best one. Just me. Being a kid in a middle aged woman's body.

It's Time

I've known for a while that it's time for me to step away from blogging, be it for a time or permanently. I haven't wanted to heed that nudge so I let it sit until I could feel peaceful about it. Peaceful and a bit sad. You have no idea how your comments and readership have influenced my life for the better these past six plus years.

I started blogging to prove to myself I could write. Blogging regularly has improved my writing, there's no doubt about that. I learned to delete whole sentences, paragraphs and posts. Before blogging I used to fall in love with every single sentence I wrote. Not so much anymore.

Today I celebrated with my home group 23 years of sobriety. Technically my sobriety date is another 5 days away but my home group celebrates birthdays on the last Saturday of the month so today was the day. The picture with this post is a reflection of some gifts I received today. I feel blessed to be loved so much. And not just because people buy me stuff! But because they continue to walk with me in the fullness of my humanity. Like you folk have. I am grateful.

For now, I have other writing that I want to focus on. Maybe in time that will bring me back here. Part of me wonders if I have it in me to shut my mouth or the ability to stop looking at the world around me outside the realm of whether or not it's bloggable. If I can't then I might reappear tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year.

Whatever it turns out to be I'll catch ya on the flip side.

Oh, Spring Where Art Thou?

You'd think that after seven and a half feet of snow we could be done with it now. Apparently not. Oh, Spring, where art thou?

I drove home in a blizzard yesterday. Thankfully there were stretches of no snow, no ice. It was a long 600 kms. For quite a ways a big truck followed me and I chose to see it as a big angel. Which made me chuckle at how we humans need to assign divine identities to inaminate objects. However, it made me feel better to do so especially when the trucker waited until the roads were bare and wet to pass me even though he had the chance to do it over the course of 100kms and didn't. I was gripping the steering wheel so tight there for a while that I thought I was going to get blisters.

Last week I was reminded, again, of the truth of the saying,

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Reminded after the fact, of course. It's been haunting me ever since in a slapped up the side of the head kind of way. I realize not everyone has a God of their understanding who slaps up the side of the head but mine does. He hugs fiercely, too.

This past weekend I took my best self to some service work instead of my dragging my butt self and the difference in the experience was enormous in a humbling kind of way. And in a Godincidence happening I crossed paths with someone from a very long time ago. There we were 600 kms from our home that is 1000kms from our original home. It was pretty cool.

The way the tires sound when they are driving over ice? Not the most pleasant sound. I turned up my music a little loud yesterday on the drive home so I could pretend I was driving on anything else.

Tomorrow I'm not driving anywhere. I'm pretty pleased about that. There's this most pungent smell that wafts like a fart under blankets coming from my fridge every time I open the door so I'm guessing getting rid of that is on my to do list tomorrow.



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Fluff and Depth In One Package

Holding a baby is a very healing pastime. Dearest one and I took turns on Sunday doing just that. Couple that with good, deep conversation with our guests and it was a great way to spend our time. They were unexpected company to have. In God's good humourous way and timing because I'd just left Mass where I had bemoaned my self centeredness to God only to came home to a baby and her mom waiting to visit the day away. Later we were joined by another couple and the conversation went deep and there's nothing I quite like so much as deep conversation about the guts of life.

Even if we continue to get snow at least when the sun shines it is warm and comforting and a very hopeful thing. I lay on the couch the other day reading a book enjoying the sun tickling my feet with kisses as I lazed away the afternoon. I used to read 100+ books a year and since I've gone back to work that number has dwindled to a handful. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I requested a passel of books from the library and began devouring them. I do have time to read after all. I've read half a dozen books in the past 10 days. I have always been the type that really couldn't care less about the state of the house around me if there was a good book waiting to be read.

One of those books was this one. I ordered it in to read because a writing teacher had recommended it as a great example of writing. It is a purely fun read that left me with great admiration for the author and how she ramped it up all the way through and made me laugh, too. The kind of laughing that begs you to go find someone and read a little bit to so that they can enjoy a belly laugh,too.

A "fluff" book as I used to declare derisively to my kids when they were growing up. A stage I went through where fluff was the enemy. Now it is fun. Oh, Lordy - when I looked it up to give you a link I found there is a whole series of books about Miss Julia. I have my fluff reading in order for years to come now. I am thrilled! (Only daughter is alternately feeling vindicated and horrified I bet!) HA!

Another book I read was this one. I remember a friend sending me her essay in the New York Time the summer I was going through the very same marriage journey. Laura Munson and I handled it in the same way so reading her book was both painful and affirming. I guess the point is that I went through it and came out the other side with a much deeper and satisfying marriage. Enough said.

And here I thought I had nothing left to blog about, that it was time to close up shop and put my energy into other things. For today I'm content to write and read although the only fluff I will encounter are the growing piles of dust bunnies.



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Easy, Peasy. Not

This week I was given multiple opportunities to once again acknowledge that I am not God and don't know what's best for anyone else. How easy it is to think that I do! And how easy it is to forget that I can't see the whole picture. Even the most put together people can be fighting battles that are invisible to the casual observer or even friend. I got reminded of that this week. It was humbling.

And then I spent time with someone whose praise and applause I so desperately want and who I often feel judgement from. Someone that made me want to bang the table and shriek, "Change already, you thick headed fool."

I hashed it all out with my sponsor last night who knows everyone in the story and she gave me good direction in seeing my part in it. There's always a my part of it in any situation. I'd really be screwed wouldn't I if there wasn't? I mean trying to do something about someone else's part in it could be very frustrating. Just ask me. I know.


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Even When It's Frozen

It was -45C before factoring in windchill here the other day. Dearest One figures it was -55C with the wind. That's -67F for my American friends. We live in a bit of a valley and are often colder than other places. We were 10 degrees colder than town. At any rate too darn cold to be outside that's for sure. Today was snowy with -35C windchill. People are starting to make tongue in cheek comments on how warm it is because, hey, -35C is better than it was! At least we are driving to and from work in near total daylight now. That is a bonus. And, and, it can be too cold to be outside and yet the sun is high enough in the sky to melt snow while the air is cold enough to freeze pee at the same time. Just sayin'.

It's a luxury to be able to blog about the weather. Serious shit is happening to people every day and all I have to whine about is the cold and snow. This does not mean I am happy being cold and driving in blowing snow. I'm not. I am surrounded by people who are so totally sick of winter they want to boycott it. I do, too, some days. But in the whole scheme of life, it's not that big of deal. I can say that because I'm warm and dry and fed tonight. Which is a luxury, too.

Tonight when I got home from work there was a message on my phone from someone that got my blood boiling. You'd think in cold weather that would be a good thing. I spent some time stewing it over in my mind before I called them back. I toldl myself to keep an open mind while convicting them of such and such a thing before giving them a chance. And after a long while I picked up the phone and found out that all my blood boiling, convicting without proof was a total waste of time and energy. I picked up the phone again and called my sponsor to tell her the whole spiel. We laughed. Then I told her how I hadn't felt good today, nausea and not exactly dizziness, just well, you know, not quite feeling right in the head. She laughed long and loudly before telling me she wasn't touching that statement with a ten foot pole and if dearest one knew what was good for him he wouldn't either. And then we both laughed.

Yep, not quite right in the head sums up how sick we can get in our thinking. I'd blame it on the weather but I am perfectly capable of having a case sewn up against a person sun or rain or wind or snow. It's not a luxury to realize that, it's a life and death thing, really. My head is truly out to get my ass. Even if it's frozen.

A Whine And A Prayer

All I want to do is gripe about the weather. Wouldn't you if it was -50F at your house. That's what it was here last weekend and it's gone up and down all week. Bah Humbug.

Other than that not much is happening. Well, that's not entirely true but nothing bloggable. The brightest spot in my week has been the discovery on a bookshelf of a book I bought for Lent last year and never even opened its covers. I picked it up this week and have felt nourished by its contents. Here is a snippet:

A Blessing Prayer

What is a blessing but a rain of grace
falling generously into the lives of those in need;
and who among us is without need?

May the Spirit touch your spirit in this midmorning pause.
May this day be a pathway strewn with blessings.
May your work this day be your love made visible.
May you breathe upon the wounds of those with whom you work.
May you open yourself to God's breathing.
May you honor the flame of love that burns inside you.
May your voice this day be a voice of encouragement.
May your life be an answer to someone's prayer.
May you own a grateful heart.
May you have enough joy to give you hope,
enough pain to make you wise.
May there be no room in your heart for hatred.
May you be free from violent thoughts.

When you look into the window of your soul may you see the face of God.
May the lamp of your life shine upon all you meet this day.

At What Age?

"What age were they when they became so matter of fact about what their children were doing?

I used to wonder about that when I gathered with a group of elderly grandmas for Bible Study when my kids were all pre teens. I'd listen to them share the latest news about what this daughter or that son was doing and be unable to identify at all with their matter of factness. I know now they had the ability to see themselves as separate beings from their children and I could not. Every action of my kids was always about me in my mind. I really believed that. They were a reflection of me. It was a painful and thank God, necessary, process for me to learn to detach and see my kids as separate from me. I cannot imagine being in relationship with them today had I not been given that gift. They'd want nothing to do with me, I'm sure.

The other day I was observing my mother-in-law walk across her kitchen floor. Her movements seemed a little stiff like she was the Tin Man getting her joints oiled with every step. For the first time I realized she's frail. Not uncommon for someone who is over 80 years old.

So it seems like an oxymoron to be 80 something and still wishing you could lose those last 10 pounds. I've heard my MIL talk about it my whole married life. Dearest one heard her kvetching with one of her daughters about it not too long ago.

Later that day I wondered what age a woman has to get to before she stops talking about the need to lose weight, to reach that magical number in her head that will never be hers again except by default of getting an insidious disease.

There's a scene in one of Anne Lamott's books that has stuck with me:

When my best friend Pammy was dying, I asked her if I looked fat in a certain dress, and she—from a wheelchair—said, “Annie, you really don’t have that kind of time.” I live by that.

I look at pictures of me when I am the mother of a one year old and remember how proud I was to come home eight days after having gall bladder surgery and the number, THE NUMBER! on the scale, I hadn't seen since before pregnancy.

In those photos I dont' look like I have any extra skin on me at all. A few years and another baby later I went on a weight loss binge and in those pictures I look anorexic. I remember the powerful feeling of losing weight and telling dearest one to please keep an eye on me because I didn't think I could stop losing weight, it felt so good. THAT NUMBER on the scale I hadn't seen since 9th grade. I only came to my senses after I slipped on a pair of 28 inch waist jeans and realized that size of jeans and fat couldn`t belong in the same sentence. I`m embarrassed at how much of a jolt it was when that realization hit me.

Twenty five years later I`m about being at home in my skin. It's taken that long to reach this place. I could write reams about the journey to get here. Being at home in my skin has nothing to do with the number on a scale. My younger self would never have believed that. A few years ago my cardiologist was raggin on me to lose weight. She wanted 20 pounds gone before she saw me again in a few months.

I looked at her and the part of me that is competitive, that has the I'll show you mantra threw down a glove and said, "Game on." The other part of me, the side I've worked harder to nurture, looked at her and thought to myself, "I will never do that crazy making dance again. Not even for you."

The other day, as part of my job, I had to weigh someone and record their weight for a contest. She can't be any older than I was when I was in my near anorexic days. She was excited for the contest and was off to the gym to exercise. I encouraged her in her desire to be healthier but I felt a real sadness as I watched her walk away, pining for a number on the scale. Wondering what age she will be when that pining goes away.


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Gambling On The Life Span of A Motor

"Have you heard the expression the truth will set you free?" The elderly man thinks a bit and says, yes, it does sound familiar.
The mechanic wipes his hands clean and replies, "Well that's what we believe around here." He said this in response to the man's comment on his good work, not charging more than was necessary for mechanical work.

Dearest one overheard this conversation yesterday at our mechanic's shop. My car had lost its heater and there's no driving a car here without a heater. Last night it was -33C and I can't imagine trying to go anywhere without heat, let alone having to then scrape the windshield from the inside just to see where I'd be going!

Dearest one has always done all the mechanic work on our vehicles for the past nearly 30 years. From rebuilding motors and transmissions to changing tires and oil he's done it all. Last year we decided that the bigger stuff could be handed over to someone else now. We'd heard about this mechanic through word of mouth, from a single friend who told me the guy didn't try to take advantage of her lack of mechanical knowledge by charging her for stuff that didn't need fixing.

A quick phone call to the shop from the grocery store parking lot was answered with a "bring it right down and we'll take a look at it." And that sweet, honest, upright man who looked under the hood, diagnosed a broken heater motor. He pulled it out, thumped it a good one and oiled it then put it back in and it worked.

He ducked his head out from under the hood and told dearest one that it might last a month or a year, who knew. At least we could be on our way. Then he checked around for prices on a new motor and left the decision up to us. If we didn't live so far north we might have gambled on the life span of the heater motor.

When dearest one went to pay for the thump and oil trick, the man said there was no paperwork, it was free. Dearest one asked him to order in a new heater motor and told him to call when it came in so we could bring my car back and get it fixed. The guy doesn't know us from Adam. It's only the second time we've been to his shop. This was no reward for being long time customers, it was just his way.

Which gave me a lot to think about.



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Expanding

"I think these things happen as a way for God to prepare us to be willing to leave this world."

He sighs as he says it and turns his hands palms up in a "what are you going to do?" kind of way. He's referring to his loss of hearing, his unsteadiness on his feet, the headaches that sometimes last for days. Even though I'm sitting a few feet across from him his voice is so loud that the people in the next unit probably hear his commentary on life as well.

Bit by bit his faculties are dimming. It's a miracle he's still with us after 3 open heart surgeries and many mini strokes. As he talks I am reminded of his own father who longed to go "home" many years before he did. I feel a little taken aback by his statement though. I don't think I agree with his belief, almost certain it would take a punitive God to believe it.

The last time we were together he had uncharacteristically taken my face in both his hands as he said goodbye and dished out some good natured ribbing his eyes sparkling all the while. It was one of those moments I will treasure forever because it came from the heart.

I've long thought growing old was a privilege. Maybe that's easier to think because I'm not there yet. Sometimes I wonder if the litany of ill health that sometimes peppers the conversations of older folks is really a way of grieving what was and never will be again. I wonder what it would look like if we could honour that process instead of getting irritated by those in the midst of it. Dearest one's Pa has the same litany day in and day out. I wonder if he felt like he had been heard his conversation could expand to other things. Or if it's me who needs expanding.