The Corn Maze

With October now come and gone I am reflecting on traditions we have developed since our move to the Northwest 7 years ago.

We naturally decorate every year,  Our front yard graveyard changes shape and form each year, but its a mainstay.


Instead of buying pumpkins at the local grocery store or big box store,  we actually wander through the pumpkin patch and take the time to pick the perfect pumpkin.  In a pinch, we can still grab them at the store, but the preferred choice will always be the Pumpkin Patch, fresh off the vine, not staged on a bale of hay.

The Corn maze is new to us. Living in Orange County, California we didn't have fields of corn and corn mazes. So we went to our first corn maze in 2006 and they have since become and annual tradition for us. For anyone who has never seen or done a corn maze, let me tell you about it.

They are like the labyrinth of hedges you see in movies like "The Shining" and "Harry Potter-Goblet of Fire".  They are walls of corn 7-10 feet high 3-6 feet deep planted and plowed and harvested in a such a way as to create a Maze. They are intended to shut out the noise and lights of the nearby city and people, to transport you someplace else.  Some Mazes are indiscriminate in their design, and others like the ones on Sauvie Island are two miles of winding paths which from and aerial view are a reflective of a Trail Blazers or Oregon Ducks logo.


Corn Mazes can be done in the day time, which is great for family entertainment, or for the more adventurous at heart, they can be done at night when they are frequently deemed "Haunted Corn mazes".

The Haunted Corn maze is easier than the the one simply done at night without haunting because at least there are Haunted Cast members staged at various points throughout the maze who can help direct and guide a lost wanderer in the right direction.  The unmanned maze requires, in addition to nerves of steel,  more focus, a sense of direction and confidence. 

Newbies should always start with the Daylight mazes.  As you gain confidence and comfort with your ability to wind your way through a maze, you can venture into the Haunted Maze, and when you are an expert, try you hand at the Maze at Night, completely unmanned.

Our first year in the Northwest, after hearing from some friends at work about how much fun they could be, the boys and I decided to hit a corn maze close to our home. Our only mistake was starting off at the expert level because we chose to go after work in the middle of the week. Jeff was sick and did not join us, so I took the boys and they each brought a friend. I realize now, I didn't really think that through very well because that left each of them to pair up, and me alone.  That summer I had injured my right ankle and was barely recovering still wearing the brace when we hit the maze that cold October Thursday night.   We paid for our entrance and made our way across the farm fields to the corn maze. It was enormous.  As we entered the maze both sets of boys took off challenging each other  as to who could make it through the fastest and I began my own journey, alone.

I was confident that I could do this, I am good with puzzles and I had a map of the maze, how hard could it be?  I soon ate my words and found out that I have no sense of direction when my field of vision is closed off.  The boys loved it.  They wound their way through the maze forwards and backwards several times. Sadly, and somewhat embarrassingly, after and nearly 90 minutes in the maze, I was a mess.  I was disoriented, claustrophobic, and panicky.  I had fallen down on the slick rain drenched trails numerous times, and my ankle was unable to support me any further.  I was using corn stalks to pull myself up and to hold myself steady, and I was certain I would never find my way out.  I could hear voices of other maze travelers through the walls, and even thought I heard my boys and their friends a time or two, but I never saw anyone.  I was going in circles, and going nowhere slowly.  I finally used my cell phone to call Jeff and tell him I was lost and alone and that perhaps the only way out for me was rescue.  He just laughed.  Finally as if by miracle, the boys realizing they hadn't seen me since we arrived, organized a rescue party. They found it hilarious when they learned I had never made it through, and that I needed them to help me find my way out.  a short ten minutes later we were drinking hot chocolate by the fire pit and I was wiping mud off my shoes and jeans getting ready to go home.  I was laughing to avoid crying, but happy that the boys liked their new found annual adventure and I knew we had a tradition in the making.

My advice for first timers to ensure maximum fun and return desirability, always have a partner.  Start off in the Daylight, then try a nighttime. Having someone with a sense of direction is a plus, but remember your senses are compromised when your field of view is obstructed.

I could have decided never to go back after that first time, but never one to run away from a challenge, I faced my fear and got back on the horse (or back in the corn maze as the case may be) the very next year, with Jeff at my side, and made it through in record time, for me (although beating a record of two hours was pretty simple).

The corn maze, the pumpkins, the hot chocolate and hot apple cider, its all so natural and so fresh, its almost quaint.  Its a tradition we will maintain for years to come and the next generation in our family will know it as tradition.  A tradition started with my boys and carried forward.  Halloween is simply the precipice of my favorite time of year, and I cant wait for the smells of Thanksgiving and Christmas to come.

Religion - Seeking Enlightenment

I was having lunch with a friend the other day and we started discussing religion.  I don't know exactly how we got on the topic, but we did, and the discussion was invigorating and thought provoking.   To begin with let me say that though I spent most of my childhood and subsequent early adult years actively engaged in organized religion and seeking both answers and direction, I am not now an active participant in any ideology.  It's not that I don't appreciate or value the concepts behind the various institutions, I do in fact subscribe to the existence of God, for me the "Devil" as you might say, is in the details.

Before I go any further, let me state a disclaimer.  This blog is not intended to offend or diminish in any way other people or their faith.  Many of my friends and family are devout in their religion and I respect and appreciate that.  I believe that it is a VERY personal issue for each of us, and my feelings or views are shaped and influenced by my own personal experiences, and could never be duplicated by someone else.   If you are sensitive or passionate about your faith please know I have intense respect for everyones view point and I hope that you can respect mine as well even if you disagree.

In my late teens I lost a good friend to suicide.  At the time of Maureen's death, she was distraught, depressed and not in her right state of mind.  She was by all measures and means a good person. She was popular at school, she was kind, she attended church, and she had hopes and dreams for her future.  Unfortunately, the pressure she placed on herself for perfection and a tragic error in judgement, led her to a point where she believed in that moment that she had no choices left, that her dreams were over, and she ended her life.  She was young and foolish and unable to understand the impact and consequences of her momentary rash decision. Maureen lingered on the brink of life and death for nearly 12 hours before passing, and in that 12 hours I like to think she realized her mistake and even though she was unconscious and unable to iterate it aloud, I hold in my heart the faith that she asked heavenly father for forgiveness and understanding and expressed repentance for her actions.  Maureen was a beautiful young woman, who made a critical mistake.

Most religions condemn the purveyor of suicide to an eternity in hell, equating the act with that of murder.  However, even murderers confined in their small 10x10 cells in our overcrowded prison system, are lauded as having found Christ, found forgiveness, found Christianity and repentance. So if its possible for a murderer, someone who takes the life of another in anger, or greed, or depraved lust, or in the name of seeking power, to be forgiven, then is it not feasible that forgiveness be given to the suicide victim, who acted in broken spirit, in a weak moment of hopelessness and heartbreak?

As a result of the outright condemnation of Maureen and the lack of faith that her eternity could still hold peace, I sought answers elsewhere, I began to lose faith in the teachings of the church and the men who claimed to be conduits for god.  I studied various religions theologies. Read their doctrines and covenants. I spoke with leaders in various churches and ask questions about origins, and spiritual guidance, and what happens in the afterlife. What about the in-between, between now and resurrection.

What I found was interesting,  There are commonalities in all religions,  just as there are disparities.  Each religion has pieces and parts that make sense, and some that have no factual basis.  There are common threads that tie each religion to various others, but non share the exact identical ties or threads, each religion has something unique and proprietary to its doctrine.  Christianity is a broad based term.  It simply infers that you believe in Christ.  This encompasses many religions including Catholicism and its various derivatives, Mormonism, Protestant which includes the Baptist, Lutheran, Adventist, and Pentecostals,  to name a few.  Rather he is God, Allah, Buddha, Jehovah, Brahman, Yahweh, or any other of the 900 plus names found for him across the globe, he is a higher power, a creator, the beginning. We seek religion because something inside us is wired to need answers.  We want answers about where we come from, where do we go after we die, what is our purpose, are we alone. We seek solace and comfort when we are in peril either emotionally or physically.  We seek hope. We seek validation.

What I found in all my soul searching years ago and realized in my discussion with my dear friend just the other day, is that it's a unique recipe for each of us.  There is no "One-Size-Fits-All" solution. To assume so is an exercise in futility.   We are introduced to religion as children but its not really a conscious choice until we are adults. We settle on a religion because at any given point and time in our lives it suits our purpose. It best answers and addresses our concerns and makes the most sense...for now. We find bits and pieces that make us stand up and shout "Eureka". Sometimes we feel indebted to it for getting us through a tough time or low point, and sometimes we throw the proverbial crutch away when the leg is no longer broken.  We always know it will be there if and when we need it just as it has been since the beginning of man and will be to the end.  Sometimes we commit ourselves to making organized religion a part of our daily lives, and sometimes we are not seeking so much the institution but spiritual enlightenment.  An epiphany of sorts that helps us to accept our place in the world and to face each day on faith and with courage, even without knowing what tomorrow holds.

I know whats in my heart, I have a very firm and deeply rooted set of core beliefs, but my spirituality, just like my finger print and my DNA is very personal and specific to me. Its not for public scrutiny.

In the end, I believe I will be judged by the life I led. By the purity of my heart and my intentions in life. I believe I will be judged by how I treated others and did I do my best to live an ethical and moral life. I don't believe I will be judged on rather or not I chose to spend my time in a man made building surrounded by others seeking restitution one day a week for the choices they make the other 6 days.  I don't believe in the business of religion and giving my money to yet another greedy and corrupt, hypocritical organization run by men who stuff their pockets and live in mansions and claim their success is the result of blessings bestowed on them by heavenly father.

I don't agree with any organization that promotes hate and rejection of others based on their creed, color or sexual orientation. I watched a documentary last night on the aggressive and deceptive tactics used by the church to influence the outcome of Proposition 8 in California and I was deeply disturbed by the air of entitlement in the church and its inclination to pass judgement.  Right or wrong, rather you agree with gay rights or not, no human being should be subjected to hate and the intolerance that the church demonstrated towards the gay community.  I question any human being who stands on a pedestal and demeans and rejects another simply because they are different or follow an alternate system of faith.

 As long as I follow the basics, respect and love others, be honest and true, and be fair in my dealings everyday; as long as I do my very best to be a good person and raise my children to be the most moral and ethical they can be, I've done well and I'm confident of what lies ahead in this life and the next. My children may not be god fearing, but they are true and genuine. They are loving and kind and compassionate. They have a strong core understanding of right and wrong and they are making the correct choices. 

Judge not lest ye be judged.

Merry meet and Merry part and Meet Again, Blessed be.

Popular

Popular.  It was something in high school lots of kids aspired to be, part of the Popular minority.  They were the quarterback of the football team, the head cheerleader, & Class President. They were the kids who seemed to have the word at their feet and they had their own society.  If you were special enough to be part of the popular crowd, your high school years were guaranteed to be memorable and somewhat happy.  As happy as a hormonal teenager can be at least. There was the extra pressure of being perfect and not allowing anyone to see your flaws, and for some that resulted in dire choices and consequences, but for most, Popular was their ticket to a smooth four years.

There were tiers of popularity just as there were tiers of obscurity.  As for me, I simply wanted to fly under the radar, do my best academically, make it through, and get out. To start my life with bigger and better dreams.  I couldn't wait to leave the small town life and move on to the city.

The musical Wicked portrays the idea of Popular, almost perfectly to the exact personality traits and self promotion it typically required:

whenever i see someone less fortunate than i,
and let's face it, who isn't less fortunate than i?
my tender heart tends to start to bleed.
and when someone needs a makeover,
i simply have to take over!
i know i know exactly what they need!

and even in your case,
though it's the toughest case i've yet to face,
don't worry, i'm determined to succeed!
follow my lead,
and yes indeed, you will be...

POPULAR! you're gonna be popular! 

Galinda, is determined to help Elphaba become popular despite her unique traits and aversion to people.  Galinda believes simply by allowing Elphaba to spend time with her, that her own society value will raise Elphaba up to being Popular.  

I don't begrudge those kids their popularity, the truth is , I never wanted to be part of the crowd.  I was always looking to where I wanted to be after high school.  I think in way, that prohibited me from truly enjoying it, being in the moment, but I have no regrets.  What I do notice now is that many of those "popular kids" are the same ones who proclaim that high school was the best time of their lives.  I think I got the better deal, because I simply say, I survived my teenage years relatively unscathed and I love every day of my life now and whats to come. No looking back for me.  Everything is yet to come.

I have some wonderful friends now. And there are days, I actually feel Popular, turning down one social engagement for another.  But I see some of the relationships and virtual lives of people I grew up with, and I do lament over the notion of having a life long friend. I wonder what it would be like to still be close to someone who knew me all along. 

As kids, and teenagers transforming into young adults, we don't have the vision or perspective to see the big picture.  I think a nice middle ground would be where I would recommend for my kids.  Enjoy your youth, make the most of it, but don't invest so much that you forget to plan for and appreciate your future.  Nurture and develop your friendships, and cherish them, Carry them with you if you can, and if not then safeguard your memories of them. 

POPULAR,  I think we all have it sometime, in some measure, at someplace in our lives.  I'll save mine for later. 

Moral Blind Spots

“Every age has its massive moral blind spots. We might not see them, but our children will.” 

Bono - U2

A moral blind spot is a feature of our vision of ourselves and the social world that is occluded to us as moral subjects.

I read an article recently in which they discussed many of the pro-slavery arguments from the antebellum South. It is disturbing, shocking, and disappointing to read arguments which include the attempt to defend the indefensible. During this time period, there were individuals who offered arguments in defense of slavery based on politics, economics, religion, and medical science. The logical discrepancies of these arguments are many, and the arguments themselves are so clearly wrong. We look back and wonder, "how could educated people believe that slavery was a moral institution?" But they did, however inconceivable it is in modern day society, they did.  They were not bad people, or evil in nature, they were simply flawed in their logic and privy to the pressures and influence of the world and times around them.

So the question that begs to be answered is "What will future generations think about us? What moral blind spots of ours will they see, that we miss?"  There are many possibilities, but I think that future generations may look back at the disparity of wealth in our world and wonder how we could have missed the injustices that exist related to this. The elitism and economic prejudice, the failure to help those first at home and then in distant countries.  We send billions of dollars in support to countries all over the world, but we turn a blind eye to those in need right here in our backyard. 

I know it's not simple, that there are always extenuating circumstances.  I know that things like conditions, limitations, and possibilities for self-knowledge for both individual moral subjects and political regimes can impact the direction of our moral compass. Its complex. Moral Blind Spots can be identified in every generation in every point in history dating back to the beginning of man. In ancient literature the blind spot hides behind or within the folds of the virtue or excellence of character that distinguishes the hero.

If blind spots are unseen and unknown to us, how can we fix them, reverse them or repair any damage they might cause to ourselves and future generations?  I think the first step is good judgement. Following your instincts about what feels right and wrong.  Being courageous enough to stand up against injustice and to stand apart from the masses. 

I teach my boys everyday that actions have consequences, both positive and negative.  Carry that thought process further through and realize that like the purported Butterfly Effect, every choice we make effects the future of the entire world. One man/woman can make a difference.  Don't let the generations to come look back on us with scorn and embarrassment. Don't them believe that with all the injustice and moral ambiguity around us, that no one was willing to stand up.  Give them something to be proud of.   

Gag Reflex

Am I the only one with an overactive gag reflex?  The older I get the less tolerable it becomes.

As a young mother, you have to develop a countenance made of steel.  You have to get through boogies, and diapers, and vomit.  There are times when you discover the grossest of things created by and resulting from your child.  The fact that its your child, makes it more easily stomached, but you find a way to shut yourself off to what our doing.  The mere thought of some of the things we touch and respond to with our children, triggers my gag reflex.

Its not just the bodily functions that get me these days.  Though they are a huge and always reliable source.

Smells make me gag:  Cheap pizza smells like vomit to me and thus I gag.  The combination smell of syrup and eggs together makes me gag. Dog feces and cat litter boxes make me throw up in my mouth.  The smell of Urine in a tucked away doorway walking down the street, the smell of the deodorizer cakes they use in urinals, and the smell of un-bathed people especially musty from the rain, makes me choke. Dirty feet and stale beer and bad coffee and raw eggs, all make my gag reflex jump to attention.

Sounds make me gag too.  Sniffing and snorting and hacking up phlegm are disgusting and even mentioning them makes me gag. Things that go squish or splat, make me gag.  Clipping of toenails and fingernails. Other people throwing up.

The sight of an uncooked egg white,  slimy white bread, that jelly like substance that forms on meats sometimes in the fridge. Mold, and any number of mystery items found on the sidewalk walking through the city.  I gag when I brush my teeth because of the foamy toothpaste getting stuck in my throat. Hearing a dirty joke, or someone talking about any of the aforementioned items, the visual in my head, makes me gag. I don't do city dumps or even like to take the trash out because of the smell of the dumpsters when you lift the lid.  This city Compost program,  it only exacerbates the problem and reinforces my need to avoid the trash.

What am I to do?  Is it because I see things in my imagination in technicolor?  Is my imagination so vivid as to invoke sights and smells and textures with the thoughts?  How will I ever handle the grossness that accompanies caring for my future grandchildren? Will the steel I developed with my boys return, long enough to get me through. Will overwhelming love and admiration trump the gag reflex?

Another Member of the Family

I read an article last week about two families feuding over the care of what they claimed was a beloved family pet.  As I read the article I found myself getting angrier and angrier at the disgusting and criminal behavior of these people. 

I am the proud owner of miniature dachshunds.  They are considered a toy breed in the dog world and if healthy should weigh somewhere between 7lb-12lbs depending on their heritage and bone structure. Some are naturally larger and some smaller, thus the 5lb range, but big or small they should fall in this window. Because of the long spine and the extra pressure this places on their internal organs, its important to keep Dachshunds at a healthy weight.  Granted age and hormone shifts after spay and neutering can effect the weight slightly but it is up to the owner of the dog to implement dietary restriction and changes to accommodate for the changes in the dogs health and weight as it ages. This is simple care for all breeds.

The dog in the story was a miniature dachshund and my heart broke for it.  The families were fighting over vet bills resulting from weight issues and problems the animal was experiencing because of it.  This poor animal weight over 24 lbs and was so heavy its little legs couldn't support it.  It had sores on its tummy and breast bone from dragging on the ground as it tried to move around.  There were internal problems with its digestive system and it had breathing complications.  In human terms it would be deemed morbid obesity, but in this case, the animal did not make itself this way, its human owners, those who claimed to love it did.

Animals don't go to the cupboard and make themselves a meal, they count on us to feed them.  They will eat whatever we provide and not waste it, they love their food, but it is up to us to feed them properly.  Is it funny to look at that really fat cat or dog and giggle at their struggle? Maybe for some, but if you really stop to think about what they are going through, maybe you wouldn't laugh. 

Its tragic that so many people claim that their pets are "BELOVED" members of their families, and yet for all intent and purpose, they are abusive and unkind.  They neglect the health and hygiene of their pet. They neglect their emotional and physical well being. The actions of these two families in regards to this poor dog, were absolutely criminal.  Now, neither of them want to pay the bills resulting from the health crisis THEY created. 

We have Child Protective Services, and need a more active route for our pets, Animal protective services.  There are activist groups and small factions who show interest but there really isn't a broad scope nation wide coordinated effort to protect these animals.  Did they starve the dog? Clearly not, but overfeeding and allowing it to reach a point of morbidity is as much neglect as not feeding it at all.

Some people simply shouldn't be pet owners, just as some people simply shouldn't be parents.  I think that before people are allowed to care for another living creature, human or animal, they should be required to pass certain psychological testing that demonstrates an ability for compassion, empathy, and selflessness. An ability to care beyond their own selfishness. And then, I think there should be site visits allowed periodically to check in on how things are going.  Doctor/Vet Appointments should be mandatory and Doctors/Vets should report anything that demonstrates a failure to administer and provide appropriate care.

It sounds extreme, I know, but maybe people would think twice before jumping in feet first to a commitment they are not ready for.  Maybe this poor animal who life span has been severely diminished would have stood a better chance if strict guidelines had been in place to protect it.  Maybe this poor creature, would have found a family where it was truly beloved.

It's not with a cruel heart that I withhold human scraps and fatty foods from my pets, it is with love, and care and a desire to have them happy and healthy and with me for as long as possible.

How DID That Spot Get There?

Have you ever stopped to notice the walls in your workplace lunchroom, or a hallway in the Mall, or the waiting room in a doctors office, or your own back door?  Do you ever notice spots that make little sense and seem out of place.

Finger prints are expected, and sometimes an occasional splash from throwing something in the garbage can, or rinsing a dish, but how on earth do some of those spots get in the middle of a wall in the middle of a room. Coffee runs, liquid splatters, odd stains, that are simply out of place and undefined?

Did someone trip and fall? Did something explode?  Perhaps someone had something on their hands and they shook them like a wet dog getting out of the tub.   How DID that spot get there?

I see spots on ceilings, walkways, if you look close enough, you'll see them everywhere. Sometimes they are mocha, tan, red, yellow, or orange.  Sometimes you can clearly identify them as ketchup, mustard, coffee, or cola, and sometimes they are a mystery.

Sometimes, I can close my eyes and imagine the scenario in which they happened, and it is hilarious.  Sometimes I simply can't fathom it, and sometimes, the scene I get in my head is gross and disturbing.

I wash the walls and baseboards and doors in my house regularly. But even if I didn't, I can't see how some of the odd things I observe elsewhere, could possibly happen. 

So I frequently think as I walk on by, How DID that spot get there?

Dirty Bowls

Lets talk turkey.  Truth is another confession, I don't do dirty bowls.  No we aren't talking about cereal bowls, or soup bowls, or even mixing bowls, this isn't about an aversion to washing dishes. I'm talking about toilet bowls.

There was a time, not so long ago, that the idea of using a public restroom would trigger my gag reflex, and send me into a panic.  I would rather hold my business for hours and days on end than use a public restroom.  It wasn't until I learned about the extreme dangers and risks associated with my choice to hold it, that I began to compromise and slowly accept that sometimes health takes precedence and I have to let it go.

I wasn't just afraid, however illogical it may seem to others, of the sufficiently plumbed restrooms in restaurants, gas stations, office buildings, etc., but I had an extreme fear of the germs and dangers lurking in your standard "Honey Bucket" port-o-potty, and direct sewer restrooms like you find in campgrounds and public beaches and parks.  The mere notion that the remains of other peoples waste was sitting unprocessed six feet beneath me was enough to cause night terrors and strike complete shutdown of my processing systems.

I use to let the potential of restroom proximity drive my desire for food and drink.  If I knew I wasn't going to have a place to go safely and securely, then I simply wouldn't eat or drink.

As I mentioned I learned about some of the inherent dangers of holding it for too long and I have managed to make adjustments along the way. It hasn't been easy, but I do feel a little more normal in social settings than I used to.   

Here are my standards today.  I still avoid the "Honey Bucket" and direct sewer settings,  unless I am in peril and I have no choice, then Jeff goes with me and waits outside the door providing reassurance that I'm safe. I still won't sit on the seat, electing instead to hover, and I restrict myself to a 60 second count inside.  I take my own tissue and sanitizer and will only use units with seat covers.  If they are out of seat covers, then they are out of the question.  Also I chose units with dry floors and seats, if there are signs of urine on the floor or seat,  it's a definitive NO GO.

Public restrooms have become, though not my favorite place to go (that's reserved for home), no longer feared. I do however have standards that they must meet.  They must be clean. If I walk into a public restroom that is dirty and has tissues tears all over the floor I immediately walk back out.  How do those tissue tears get there anyway?  Who just throws their used toilet paper on the floor?  Flush it ladies, be civilized.  Anyway.....we were talking about public restrooms.  If they pass the initial overall cleanliness test then it becomes a stall by stall observe and determine test.  I gently nudge each stall door to peak inside. Flushed toilets are critical, no toilet seat cover remnants, no tissue paper on the floor, no dribbles or marks on the seat, and the deal breaker for me, is no floaties,  I simply can't do a dirty bowl.  No marks inside, no floaties of any kind, not even disintegrating toilet paper.  A dirty bowl will shut me down quicker than an energizer bunny on radium.

I prefer my restroom at home, over and above ALL others, but if I have no choice I will go elsewhere with standards as long as specific criteria pass.  It is a PASS or FAIL system. There is no in between.

Dirty Bowls are a hard line for me.  There is a name for this phobia, it's called 'LUTROPUBLICAPHOBIA'. It's tied to a fear of germs, and people, and dirty places.

Hi, my name is Lisa and I'm a Lutropublicaphobic.  It's been 1 weeks since I last used a public restroom. 

Comfort Clothes

As I write this blog, I am yearning to put on my favorite sweat pants and a comfortable T-shirt and I know all of you would do the same. Have you ever gone to dinner and couldn't wait to get in the car to unbutton your waste band and breathe? Then maybe you will agree me.

I was thinking the other day about all the changes which happen generationally  over time.  From our style of clothes, to our haircuts, to the words we use to communicate and even the roles of the sexes in a typical household.   We have become increasingly less formal, less modest, more provocative, and more bold in our behaviors and choices.  One simple sign of this is Comfort Clothes.

You may not understand how I draw the parallel so I'll try to help make the connection.

When I was a kid, along with all the other very traditional behaviors and etiquette's we observed there was a time and place for comfort clothes.  It was very rare that I would EVER see my mother in her nightclothes.  She was always fully dressed from when she awoke and readied for the day until bedtime and the privacy of her own room.  If there was an occasion for her to wear her nightclothes in the family areas of the house, she donned a robe and slippers, modesty was the name of the game.

As a child I too followed suit to my mothers patterns.  I did sometimes where my pajamas out in the living area especially for things like Christmas morning and such, but mostly we were dressed before we joined the family each day, and we changed clothes only when preparing for bed.

BOY, how times change. In my home today, comfort is key.  We are of the belief that our time at home is for relaxing and being comfortable and we live it.  Monday through Friday I arise each morning and ready myself for work.  I wear all of the appropriate clothes and styles for a business environment and I spend the next 10-12 hours effectively slave to style and the judgements of my peers.  If this were my mothers generation, setting aside the fact that I would not be working and would certainly not be the primary breadwinner, I would be expected to remain modestly confined in my clothes until bed time.  NOT anymore..

Here is the routine in my home.......

Me - I dress each morning (Mon-Fri) for work. I go to work. When I leave work, having had enough, I remove my bra in the car on the way home ala "Flash Dance" starring Jennifer Beals circa 1984, the girls need freedom and are going to riot if they don't get it. As soon as I get home, its straight to my room where all things binding are removed and I redress myself in comfortable pajama bottoms or sweats and  a soft comfortable t-shirt (long or short sleeved according to season) or a tank.  Sometimes I elect for a night dress, but the key is COMFORT. The weekends are reserved for total comfort unless I have plans, at which point the Monday-Friday return home routine stands.

Jeff - He is all about comfort.  He lives in his comfort clothes unless he has to leave the house. He dresses only for leaving the house, and upon his return, immediately reverts to comfort clothes.  If he runs 10 errands a day, he changes 10 times a day.  If he runs zero errands a day, he never gets out of his comfort clothes.

The Boys - They follow suit same as Jeff, opting for comfort clothes as much as possible.

We are modest in that we don't wear revealing clothes, lingerie, and such in the living room, but by the standards of my upbringing we are rudely immodest.

If you come to my home and I'm in my Comfort Clothes, I encourage you to relax, let it go, and find your comfort clothes.  Please don't be offended or judge me for my lack of Emily Post's etiquette.  I just prefer to be happy and at ease and see no reason for formality in my own surroundings.  Its not a disregard for you, but simply me being me in my Comfort Clothes.

Hard Lessons Learned

I am back and am so grateful not to have lost my entire g-mail history, but more importantly this blog. It has been just over a month, but I realized when I thought I'd lost it, how attached I have become. I was devestated at the idea that all my hours and stories and thoughts could be gone forever.

Here is the lesson I learned,  sometimes cleanliness is not close to godliness.  Sometimes its best to leave things well enough alone.  I was ambitous and determined to streamline my account, to clean it up and make it faster and better, but I hit the wrong button and POOF*** it was gone. 

What it also taught me is I should be careful about what infomration I store or record on my account.  Because someone somewhere has access to it all and can if necessary or simply out of boredom peruse my account for anything they find interesting.

I'll stick to file and delete and compose in the front room of my google account and stay out of the back room where the storage is all in code and subtext. 

Glad to be back. Thanks for not giving up on me.

Confessional

So this is the month of October, the month of Jack-O-Lanterns and Haunted Houses.  The month for witches, and ghosts, and things that go bump in the night. The month for scary movies, and costumes, and trick or treating.  Our leaves change color and then fall to their annual demise, the grass dries up, the days get shorter, and the winds begin to howl their haunted call.

Its harvest season, and what better time for a confessional.

So here is mine....Only those people closest to me will know this with any certainty, and the rest of you may embrace it, but I ask that you don't judge me for it.  Here goes......I have a very creepy dark side.  I love creepy movies and creepy books, and creepy television. The darker and more deranged the better.  I prefer psychological terror, things that allow my imagination to run wild instead of the slice and dice gore fest of the 80's but I can watch the Jason, Michael, and Freddy marathons too.  Though they make me laugh, oddly enough.  I love a well done vampire, zombie, witch, or ghost story.

I love The Grudge, The Strangers, Paranormal Activity, and movies that leave the depth of the scare entirely up to me and my imagination.  I fell in fascination with American Horror story on FX last fall and am already enjoying this years installation and we are only at episode 2.   I am a huge fan of A&E's The Walking Dead. The Saw series made me laugh, mainly because it was so ridiculous.

While we are on confessions...I sing in the car, I talk to myself, and I take change left anywhere in my house and put it in my change jar. I frequently drive faster than the speed limit, and I sometimes don't wear my seatbelt. 

Time to share your confessions. Give me something juicy, I promise not to tell.

Handwashing - An Exercise in Being Healthy

Did you know that statistics show people spend on average less than 20 seconds washing their hands? This can be after using the restroom, eating a meal, working in the garden, changing a diaper, picking up after the family pet.  Less than 20 seconds?  It's barbaric right?  Many use cold water, and most don't even bother to use soap.

Here are the facts,  simple and true, 20 seconds of rinsing your hands is not enough.  If you are one of the 20 second club, please wear a sign and don't serve me food, shake my hand, or touch anything I do. 

Cold vs. Hot water,  truth is of course hot water sanitizes better, but cold water will work just as well. Its more about the time spent and the procedure followed.  It's the motion in the ocean.  Soap is also a plus, one with bacteria and germ killers, even better, but again, its more about the time and process, scrub a dub dub.

Being a bit of a confessed germ-a-phobe freak, I prefer the hot water, anti bacterial soap and the time and process.

When washing your hands its about sloughing off the germs, this takes motion.  Briskly rubbing ones hands together under running water, the palms, in between the fingers, the nail beds, the back of the hands and the lower wrist. You should spend 60-90 seconds washing your hands every time.  Its a small investment in your health and the health of everyone you know.

I can't begin to tell you how many times I have seen people simply not wash their hands after doing something gross, or who simply swipe their hands under the water and back out again.  These are the same people who pick at a buffet table, pot luck, or candy bowl. The snack from the pretzel bowl, lick their fingers and dive back in. They are the double dippers. They sneeze and don't cover their mouths, and they cough just the same. They are the reports on the news of E-Coli, and Staph infections.

In today's world of ever morphing viruses, new strains resistant to antibiotics, please show a little respect and courtesy to others.  Don't deliver your germs to me on a golden platter.  I don't want them.  I didn't order them. And I promise not to share mine with you in return.

In case I haven't said it today.......

I am a lucky woman.  I have two fantastic sons who make me smile EVERY day.  I am proud of who they are.  Just really good people.

I have a man who loves me, in spite of all my foibles. He loves me up or down, happy or sad, and he cares about what I think and how I feel in all situations.

I have AMAZING friends.  They lift me up like nobody can imagine.  They too accept me at face value and love me always.  I am so lucky to have them all.

I have a good job that I love and I feel very valued and appreciated at every day.  I have a very large network of professional supporters who continue to speak highly of my work ethics and quality, and it helps to maintain my reputation in the business community.

I have a small but comfortable home in a decent area with decent neighbors.

I have a very large extended family who I connect with on Facebook each day and a small family core who I continue to build relationships with each at their own pace and on their own measures.  This is an ongoing process and takes time and compromise by all sides, but hopefully in the end it will all be worth it.

I have reasonable health and each day stands on its own.

I am happy and hopeful and wake each morning with love in my heart for this life I have been given.  Its a gift, I know that, and not one I will ever take for granted.  

In case I haven't said it today.........I'm grateful for you in my life. :)

Clumsy

Yesterday I wrote about my lack of athletic prowess (that sounds much sexier than poor coordination don't you think?).

Today I've decided to write about my overabundance of clumsy.

Have you ever had your friends say "oops, I pulled a Lisa"?  I have, and the oops usually means it's not a positive.  It is usually accompanied by injury either to self or ego.

You see, I fall down, A LOT.  I can't explain why, but stairways are my nemesis. So are curbs, cracks, very tiny pebbles, and sometimes shoes.   You laugh, and I do too, but sometimes its treacherous.  If in public, it can be quite embarrassing, just ask my children.

 A few summers ago, I bought new pair of platform sandals, and to say I fell off my pedestal doesn't do it justice.  I was taking the boys to a Saturday afternoon matinee. They had walked ahead of me and into the lobby to play pinball while we waited. Brandon had my bank card and bought our tickets. I finished up my phone call to a friend and was casually strolling in to meet the boys when suddenly, BOOM, I was down on the sidewalk just outside of the theater lobby.  Lucky for me, a police man was driving by just as I went down. Funny little thing about police men, did you know that if you fall down in front of one, they are obligated by law to stop and provide assistance.  Oh JOY.  Lucky me (in case you can't read it,  there is sarcasm dripping from that statement of gratitude).   Mr. Policeman kindly stops and approaches me just as I am readying myself to stand back up and insists that I wait a moment.  He ask if I am o.k. and I tell him "I'm fine, really, I do this all the time, I just fell off my shoe".  As a matter of precaution he has already called the local EMT's and assists me inside the lobby where he seats me on a bench next to the pinball machines.  OH JOY!  My own personal hero, (there's that sarcasm again). At this point I can see my boys.  Wyatt has come to check on me and provide emotional support, and Brandon who can see I'm fine, is mortified at the spectacle this is becoming and after handing two tickets to Wyatt for he and I , makes his way through the red velvet rope and into the theater alone.  The EMT's are there now and taking my blood pressure, and listening to my heart, and asking a million questions about my medical history and how I'm feeling and checking my pupils, and it's crazy.  I just fell down, I do this ALL the time,  Seriously.  While the EMT's are checking me, the kindly policeman is talking to Wyatt.  He asks him if this happens a lot, "yeah, she falls down all the time",  he asks him does your mother drink, "well yeah, every body drinks", he asks him has she been drinking today, "of course", do you know what you mother drank today, "Diet coke, she drinks a lot of diet coke, she always one in her hand", does she put anything in her diet coke, "you mean like ice?", is your mother ever drunk,  "no, of course not, you can't get drunk from drinking diet coke, there's no alcohol in it".   Thank you Mr Policeman for implying to my child that I am a falling down drunk.  Are we done here, can we go to our movie now ? Thanks.  As we make our way into the theater, I glance at the seats we typically sit in together and notice Brandon isn't there, and then I spot him at the top of the theater obscured by the crowd and I realize for this moment he doesn't know us.  I get it,  it was embarrassing and humiliating enough for me, let alone my children.

Since that day, I haven't changed, I still fall down a lot, I trip over the invisible, I stumble both on and off of curbs. I stub my toes in the middle of night, and I laugh at myself every time after checking for skinned knees broken toes, and twisted ankles.  It's entertaining. My friends are always watching for the signs of an impending tumble in case they can grab my arm or my collar or my sleeve and help to prevent it.  When they themselves fall, they claim to be channeling me, they call it pulling a "Lisa". 

Thank you very much. I'm here everyday. Happy to entertain you all. :)

Uncoordinated.

When I was a little girl and it was time for P.E. Class at school I always found myself overwhelmed with anxiety.  You see, I've know from the start that I am remarkably uncoordinated.  My brain simply doesn't make the connection between thoughts and hands and feet. 

Rather it be kickball, jump-rope, foursquare, or soccer. Relay races, baseball, handball, or volleyball,  I had no coordination.  I was always the last picked for the team and there was good cause for it.  If I were competitive, I wouldn't want me on the team either.  The moans and groans were inevitable and I feigned illness and injury more often than not. 

The teachers must have thought me a sickly child, since I was always in pain or ill from one thing or another.  In the fifth grade, my teachers decided that one of the Physical Education components for the year would be dance.  This was really bad for me.  I finally got my mother to write a note and have me excused for religious reasons.  As if I wasn't already freak enough, this sealed the deal.  I learned to knit that year sitting in the hallway up against the wall next to Shirley Horne, she was from South Africa and an oddity just like me and she was thrilled to have someone to teach. I loved her accent.

As the years went on, middle school came and went and P.E. was the same as grade school. In high school, I found one thing I was o.k. at, Archery.  Archery was easy because it wasn't about my movement but simply my aim. The bow and arrow did all the work.  I enjoyed tennis too, but only because I was passable.

I never did a cartwheel though I was flexible enough to do back flips and handstands and other acts of contortion.

As an adult, I can still do sports requiring target and aim as long as it doesn't rely on my arm to complete the movement. I am a dead eye shot with a gun. Give me a gecko and I can shoot him between the eyes 200 feet away. (true story).

Horseshoes are out of the question unless you have a death wish.  They usually end up the opposite direction of where they should be or off in the trees.  Make sure there aren't any cars, or small children around.  The same goes for Frisbee and Darts,  lord have mercy if you are in the path of one of my wild throws. 

I don't play baseball, even it were on a tee-ball post I would hit the post, not the ball.  And catch it? Are you kidding me?  Football is out of the question, I don't like the idea of being tackled,  it could really hurt.  Trampolines are bad because I always land wrong and end up with a sprain. I'm also afraid of heights and so I won't jump hard enough to really get air.

Bowling is fun, but only because I can laugh at myself.  If your easily embarrassed by others mishaps, you may not want to bowl with me.  I like the bumpers and think of it more as pinball than bowling.  My Ball frequently ends up a few lanes over as it hops the rails and gutters to that one lane that is dark and I have to ask the staff to turn it on so I can get my personalized ball back.  Yes,  you heard me right.  I have my own ball and shoes,  primarily due to my germ phobia, but to see me walk in to a bowling alley, you'd think I knew what I was doing.  Until you saw me throw the first ball.  Then you'd figure it out pretty quick.  I spend a lot of time on my but on the oiled up lanes, trying desperately to pull myself up.  Even with the bumpers, I throw gutter balls.  I know, that takes talent. 

Croquet works, as does Bocce Ball, and miniature golf, but not real golf, because that tee off is asking for trouble.

All of this is to say,  I know I'm not coordinated or athletic. I know that it can be embarrassing to others to play sports with me. And I know that if picking teams,  you should always pick me last and only if you have no option.  My feelings used to be hurt as a child,  but as an adult, I get it.  It makes sense.  I don't mind my lack of athleticism,  I am always able to laugh at myself and know that this is the way God made me.

No one is perfect, but I'm pretty darn close. :) LOL

Bed Head

I have had a three day bed head.  You know that tousled, and somewhat frizzy unkempt look you get from laying in bed. Usually you wake up in the morning, and in the process of getting ready for your day, you brush your hair and all is well.  Some days you have a good hair day, some days you have a bad hair day, but most days you just have hair that suffices.  Its not great, it not horrible, but it will do. Sick days are different, you lie around so much you have perpetual bed head, so why bother with a comb.

Bed head is different from a Bad hair day. It says to the image in the mirror and the world at large, I don't care.  I don't feel like combing my hair today and I'm not going to. With Bad hair at least you give it the good college try.

For me Bad Hair days and Bed Head days are easily managed.  Put on a hat.  Now that's not to say that if you see me wearing a hat I was having a bad hair day or a bed head day. Sometimes I wear my hats simply because I love them and the way they look.  But my saving grace on those Bad Hair Days and Bed Head Days is simply, Put a Hat on It. 

Hats work for me.The worst bed head days ever  come from going to bed with a wet head, at least for me.  I usually end up with a sore throat too, but the bed head takes primary focus in the morning.

I love seeing those people on the train or walking down the street who clearly have bed head but are trying to pull off the sexy disarray look.  I can't pull off that look, it doesn't work for me, So I simply chose to put a hat on it.

BTW, I got two new hats this weekend at Charming Charlies in Hillsboro.  I meant to wear one today but forgot to grab it on my way out the door.

Heaven Helps Those Who Help Themsleves

Hello World! I've rejoined the realm of the living and glad to be back.  I've spent the last three days in bed sleeping and thinking of topics for my blog, and what I would have to say when I resumed my life phlegm free.

I have a woman I know who is a constant complainer.  She is a hypochondriac and is never content with where she is in life.  She is a bit like a soap opera in that no matter how long I tune out , when I tune back in the story lines are always the same.  Ultimately, I can't wait to turn the channel again. You see I'm not lacking in empathy or compassion, but I am lacking in tolerance and patience. If you find your allergic to peanut butter and every time you eat it your throat swells up and you can't breath, then stop eating peanut butter!!  Cause and Effect and Change.  If you know this about yourself and you eat peanut butter anyway, then you are a fool and I don't want to hear you complain about how awful you feel because of the allergic reaction you experienced for the umpteenth time because you chose not to change your course.

One of the many definitions of insanity, lies in ones actions resulting in the same result over and over again and yet the person chooses to continue that same action always expecting a different result and never receiving it.  If the popcorn in the microwave always burns at 3 minutes and 30 seconds then reduce the time.  Don't expect that by some miracle your going to chose 3 minutes and 30 seconds and its going to come out lite and fluffy.  Cause and Effect and CHANGE.

What frustrates me more, is when someone seeks my advice or input and then chooses to continue on the same path.  Perhaps the first time, it's about making your own mistakes and learning from them.  But what of those who DON'T learn from them.  They make the same mistake over and over and over again. And every time they complain about it, and every time they seek your advice, fail to heed, and make the mistake again.  Eventually I stop giving advice, and gradually I remove the person from my life.

It's like watching a bad train wreck, on the news.  You can only see the replay so many times before you change the channel.

The saying that heaven helps those who help themselves is so perfect.  If you are experiencing recurring failure in your life and what you are doing isn't working for you, then chose a different path.  Change your direction or the way you respond to life.  Help yourself and the universe will help you in return.

DISCLAIMER***This doesn't apply to kleptomaniacs....that's a totally different kind of "help yourself" and its bad......

Keeping a Diary

Did you ever keep a diary (or journal I guess might be a more modern term)?  Where did you hide your diary? Was it in a shoe or boot in your closet, under your pillow, in the bottom of a drawer, or someplace so secret you knew no one would ever look?  Did your diary have a lock on it or just an elastic strap that bound it together?  Was it pretty? Did it have flowers or one of the popular pop culture icons of the day on its cover?  How old were you when you started your diary?  Do you still keep one?

I was 7 years old when I started my first diary. It had  pretty little flowers on the front of it and a delicate little lock.  I wrote things I did with my girlfriends, toys I wanted, and what I did in school that day.  That first diary lasted me almost 4 years. I wrote little quips here and there. Not every day, and never very much, so it lasted a long time.  I kept that diary under my pillow.

When I was 11 I asked for a new diary and got one for my birthday. It had a picture of Shawn Cassidy of the Hardy Boys on the front and again a delicate little lock to help me keep my secrets.  This was a whole different diary.  I wrote about my frustrations with being a pre-teen, exerted my independence, talked about boys I thought were cute, girls I didn't like, and fights I heard my parents having. This diary was full of an 11 year olds' growing pains and big wishes.  I hid it in a box in my closet that had some old toys I never played with in it. It was full in 6 months and on to the next.

From that point on for the next 30 years, I was never without and active diary, though as an adult they were referred to as journals. The hiding places always moved in case someone caught on. They were paper bound, leather bound, laminate and plastic . There were flowers and teen idols and textures and warm rich colors.  I have a box in my attic that has journals going all the way back to my very first at the age of 7.  The writing is that of a child, a teen, a woman. There is printing, script, doodles, bubble text, hearts and flowers, tear stains, perfume scents, and varying colors.  I don't share them with people because they remain my private thoughts even after all these years.  But I when I moved a year ago, I did look through them and it was wonderful to see the simplicity and innocence of a child as she lived and grew each year into a young woman, a wife and a mother.  To see the heartbreak and poignancy of challenges she faced along the way and the strength and courage with which she faced them even while feeling broken.   And then I paused reading long enough to remember, this wasn't some random person, it was me.  And I felt great pride and power knowing that I have such inner strength and wisdom.  Seeing it from a readers perspective, I realized that I can face anything life throws my way, and come out of it better for the experience. I've lived it, I've proven it.

I haven't kept a diary for a couple of years now and I miss it. I think because I finally found my place and contentment in life I ran out of angst to write about and after a while, writing about rainbows and unicorns seemed to lose its power.  I wish I had not given it up because just as you think everything is peachy something comes along to rock your world, like losing a job , or battling for the well being of a child.  I wasn't tracking then, and so those experiences aren't recorded and they should be. And I've decided, just as I'm writing this post,  in this moment I have a strong desire to begin a  new diary.

In a way this blog is like those diaries from years past, it allows me to share my thoughts with all of you. The biggest difference is I won't be sharing my secrets or struggles.  Its not your job to usher me through or hold me up through my pain  and struggles.  This blog is about sharing experiences, random observations, and silly thoughts. I'll save my inner most joys and philosophical struggles for my eyes only. Some things are good to share and others should remain private.

Forgive and Forget or Forgive but Never Forget

Everyone experiences a time or situation in which they are hurt by the actions or words of someone they trust.  It may in fact not be an action at all but an inaction or blatant apathy.  Either way, at some point we have all been what can simply be defined as betrayal and we have all been betrayers.

The face of betrayal can be a friend, a coworker, a trusted caregiver, a counselor, a spouse, a parent, a relative, or any other person in which you might place your trust and faith.

The betrayal may be a simple lie, an act of omission, theft, deception, manipulation, or any other act resulting in destructive consequences large or small.

The question you will face will be can you forgive. I think we are all designed to forgive, some easily and quick, while others can hold a grudge much longer. People who forgive too easily are sometimes seen as naive and foolish.  Easy marks.  While those who are less apt to forgive so soon, are characterized as cold and vindictive.  I think both assessments are unfair.  Unless we know all of the extenuating circumstances and the heart of the person maligned, we have no right or place to pass judgement.  The  fact is that even if we know every finite detail we still have no right or place to judge.

The next question you will face, is Forgive and Forget or Forgive but Never Forget. The two are very different. To Forgive and Forget is complete absolution. It is a sign of not only empathy and compassion but trust restored.  The Forgive but Never Forget, is only partial absolution. It says I forgive you for this instance but I do not trust you to never do this is again and I am always watching and waiting.

I think its easy to give total forgiveness initially, but once betrayed, any additional occurrences, begin to compound the effects on your spirit and can lead to the unfortunate partial absolution with ever present doubt.

Betrayal has lasting effects; anger, paranoia, suspicion, and doubt are but a few.  But to carry a grudge takes energy and requires the carrier to also bear the load of constant present pain.

We have all faced situations which require forgiveness, some greater than others, but not one of us escapes this life unscathed.  The key to happiness is finding it in your heart to forgive, in time and when you feel able.  I implore you, PLEASE don't look back in 20 years and find you have been carrying the weight of an unforgiving heart for all that time.  Let it go, find peace within yourself, and move forward.

Personal experience has taught me that forgiveness can sometimes open doors you once thought were closed forever, and there may be blessings hidden behind those doors you never realized.

Peace be with you. Merry Meet and Merry Part and Merry Meet Again.

Curvy Women are Beautiful Too

Have you ever looked at a marble sculpture of a woman by a century's old artist? They are robust and full of curves and character.  They would be boring and not nearly and stirring if they were all stick thin, skin and bones, today's supermodel.  There is so much pressure in society to be thin that I think women spend their lives fighting happiness.  We fight to accept the changes our bodies go through due to age, childbearing, and health crisis. Some women are fortunate enough to be fit and trim, they work out and have a healthy metabolism and become the mark against which other women, the majority of women, are measured.

Most women,  do not fit into the ideal weight and body mass index.  Most women are made to feel inferior because they carry extra weight and are no longer the size they were in high school. Most women will spend every day of their lives, fighting to be something they aren't because society deems it necessary.

I have seen both sides of the coin. I have lived my life at the be thin at all costs spectrum.  I battled anorexia, then anorexia/bulimia, then bulimia for nearly 15 years.  I have tried the extreme diets and taken the prescription diet medications, and I have compromised my long term health and life expectancy for it. 

When I graduated high school I weighed 92 lbs and wore a size 13 in little girls clothes.  I started high school as a size 7, but late in my junior year under the pressures of society and media demands to be not just fit, but skinny, I became anorexic.  I lost my way.  I battled anorexia for nearly 8 years.  When I was 24 and pregnant with my first child, my OB GYN was concerned that I wasn't putting on enough weight, so under the scrutiny of everyone watching, I transitioned into what doctors called anorexia/bulimia, exhibiting behaviors of both disorders depending on my surroundings and situations. After my first son I resumed a size 4-6 figure and though I was unhappy with the extra weight, I adjusted.

Over the course of the next 3 years I shifted my behaviors to bulimia.  It was increasingly more difficult with a small child and a husband, to simply not eat, so I ate, and purged.  (Sorry, I know it's gross).

After the birth of my last child, I again found the need to adjust to a new me.  I was a size 7 intially but found my metabolism had changed and my eating disorder behaviors weren't managing the way they used to. I was soon a size 10 and in desperation turned to the highly popular and later controversial and dangerous , PhenFen.  It worked, but at a cost.

My point in all of this, is that I was beautiful at size 4 (though not healthy), Size 7, and even Size 10, but the pressures of reaching perfection resulted in self doubt and destructive behaviors which had life long effects.  Some simple facts are, that though starvation may work for a time,  our bodies are built to fight for survival.  So when you starve and then eventually eat,  you body fearing future starvation, stores everything.  Your metabolism slows to a crawl in an effort NOT to burn the storage of the calories your body believes it will need to survive the next time you starve yourself.

Today, suffice it to say, I have stores of calories in case of an apocalyptic event. LOL.  I am no longer that little girl with body dis-morphia.  I am a woman, with the curves of a woman & the life experiences of a woman, and I am beautiful.  You can use words like Curvy, Voluptuous, Vivacious, Full Figured, I won;t mind, just please don't call me fat.

Can being overweight be dangerous to ones health? Of course it can, just as being obsessed with being thin can also be dangerous and deadly. I think the key is being happy with who you are.  Don't spend every day starving yourself, depriving yourself of the joys life offers.  You don't have to kill yourself at the gym or go to bed hungry, to be beautiful.  If you want to work out, then do it because it makes you happy.  If you are happy eating lighter fare and you feel healthy, then that's great.  But don't waste your life, miserable because you are trying to meet someone else's expectations for what beautiful is.

I love being me.  I enjoy good food, and great wine, and divine desserts. I am a size 18 and not ashamed to say it. I live by the mantra, Love me or Leave Me, but don't try to change me.