Thoughts On Weight Loss and Goals

So, on this beautiful morning in the Sonoran Desert, I'm taking a break from earthquakes, wars and rumors of wars to talk about weight loss.  Yeah, that's right, weight loss.  Since I was 10, weight has been an issue for me.  I'm sure you've read all sorts of articles regarding this subject.  If you haven't, you probably don't  have any concerns regarding the topic.  May I suggest to  you that you may want to stop reading now and move on to something more interesting and more important?  For the rest of you what I'm about to write just might strike a chord.  Maybe you'll be able to relate.

I remember when I was 10 and  preparing to do a duet with my father in a community minstrel show.  We were going to sing  "Has Anybody Seen My Gal" on stage in front of a huge amount of people;  in my mind it was huge.  I was thrilled and ready to make him proud.  Of course shopping for the perfect dress was part of the fun. Mom took me to the best shops, with  beautiful collections.  The dresses I liked the most just didn't fit and that's when it was brought to my attention that "I still had some baby fat to lose".  Honestly, I don't know if it was her or me that brought the whole baby fat subject up, but   for the first time in my life I had a knotted, frustrated, sort of panicky feeling that my body was out of control and had a mind of it's own.  Mom commented to the lady at the store who was helping us saying,  "it's just baby fat, she'll lose it".  Of course, her words didn't help, and again, I don't know if it was my imagination or what, but I could tell my mother was a little disappointed too.. I wound up getting a horrible beige (I look soooo bad in beige) taffeta dress with an olive green velvet ribbon around the waist.  I don't recall actually getting on stage with my father and the dress, but I did.  Fortunately I didn't give my weight or the dress a thought ; at least not that night.




After that, the rest is history. Thanks to Barbie, (I adored that doll, along with her boyfriend Ken and her little sister Kipper...I think that was her name.) Twiggy, and a myriad of others in the late 50's and early 60's who bombarded us with images of beautiful, young, perfect women, long lashes, long necks, long legs and of course long blonde hair.  (Yes, Barbie came in dark hair like mine, but no one wanted her so I think they finally discontinued that one.)

 Perhaps that was the end of  the period of attractive women  such as Rosiland Russel, a plumper Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor.




The beautiful women now came in size 0, were flat chested and had bodies that almost looked like pre-pubescent little girls bodies, thanks to Twiggy.  Of course, if you had breasts, then Barbie was your model, but the breasts were the only real curves.










Even though I wasn't totally enamored by those images, I became  aware of the the thought that beauty seemed to be skin deep.  Fast forward to now.  In my life as a grown woman, I'm ashamed to admit that the tiny body icon still is alive and well.  I'll admit though, not as much.



 I did a lot of self brain washing, used some determination, and had a little help from my friends. Maybe I'm almost , that's the key word here, almost,  content with my body.  Subsequently, when I had my last child, who is now 32, I slowly gained a huge amount of weight. And that was after he was born. I went back to where I used to live for a visit and saw some old friends, one thought I was pregnant.  How embarrassing is that?

 I read all sorts of things to help me accept myself just the way I was.  All that did was cause me to push the issue of self hate deeper down and into a huge messy bucket of denial in my soul.  You see,  I was fat, not just a little chubby, I was fat.  I was lost inside  my body and lost inside a world of  having to care for others over myself.  Diets were not in the forefront of my life, and eating was an easy way to escape from the pressures of everyday life.  (I didn't drink then.  Probably should have. Ha!)






Fortunately I had a  husband who constantly told me how beautiful I was.  Nope, it didn't help my self image, but it helped our relationship.  But that's a whole 'nother blog. Then my other half had a birthday which escorted him into the throngs of a midlife crisis and he announced, "I'm old, fat, bald and ugly and the only thing I can do anything about is the fat part.  I'm joining a gym."  That was it, I wasn't going to let him go to a place where cute, tight little bodies walked confidently around carrying weights and running on treadmills.  I joined too.  Thus began my journey of conscientiously saying good-bye to my "baby fat".

When an intense life crisis finally ended (which caused me to lose another 20 lbs on top of the 20 I had already lost) I was on the road to happiness.  Sort of.   I gained about 15 to 20 lbs of  back, which really wasn't such a big deal, it was pretty minuscule compared to what I originally had to lose. Yet it was a dark reminder that I could let my body get the best of me, turn on me, instead of being my friend,  and I would be lost again, inside my own flesh.

Let me just insert some clarity here:  Am I vain? Yes.  Do I put too much emphasis on physical appearance? Probably.  Should I work more on that side of me rather than the extra 10 or so pounds I need to lose? Probably. But I know me by now, the weight has to go.

 Please understand, I didn't think my mother had any issues with weight until  I mentioned to my daughter that her grandmother didn't have any problems with losing, and she was free of issues like that. My daughter laughed and said something like, "Yes she did mom!" and proceeded to give me an example.  The light in my brain went on and showed me some of the things that fueled my obsession.  Okay, before you get all judgmental let me explain.  I'm not trying to blame my mother. God knows where her issues came from because that was way before Twiggy.  But I found a picture of her when she was 8 months pregnant with me. On the back, written in her beautiful script in pencil were these words, "I was 8 months pregnant with Peggy here. I weighed 108."  YESSSSSS....did you read that? Eight months pregnant and 108 pounds.  Just recently I was going over family photos when I saw a picture of her not many years before she died. She was literally skin and bones.  Yes, she had been sick, but still.  I know that at one point of her "sickness" she said she weighed 89 or so pounds and had t buy her clothes in the children's department. Geesh.

I have been working on an extra 15 to 20 pounds for a long, long time. I officially joined the nutrition side of my gym by paying extra money to help me reach my goal. When I do, my payments will go down.  You would think that I would be sooo determined by money alone, and I am , but am now seeing my old friend Discouragement.  The scale hasn't moved in months.  Another month, another payment goes by and I'm only 5 to 3 pounds short of my goal.  I've already lost 10 pounds, 12 altogether since I've joined the gym, 10 since I started the weight loss side.

Apparently I had a lot to learn myself, about weight loss and weight gain, and maybe even common sense when it comes right down to it.  But the most important thing that I've learned (Thank you Physix and Shannon) is that weight loss is only about calorie intake.  It doesn't matter where the calories come from, if you go beyond a certain point, you will gain, if you eat less than you burn, you lose.  Simple, but not easy.  My husband lost 60 pounds when he went on the weight loss program.  Now of course, he has kept it off for 6 months so his payment went way down.  He looks good and he feels awesome and healthy.  (Thanks again Physix and Shannon!)  So, it's like I'm climbing a mountain and I'm on a ledge viewing the summit.






But hey, it's been a freakin' long trek and I'm tired. And the view is really pretty from here and maybe I should just be happy with the accomplishments I've already reached and...and...and. yada yada yada. If I show no progress when trying to reach a goal,  I have no one else to blame or hold responsible except myself.

Friends and acquaintances have told me how great I look, you don't need to lose any more they say, and on and on. It makes it a little difficult, since vanity over health is a motivator, because I really like how I look now.  Even more so, yep, I'll admit,  I like how I feel.  I'm stronger than a lot of people who are 40 years younger than me, and I'm relatively flexible with a sense of balance.  But hey, all it takes is a few nods to my penchant, and I'm back at my 10 year old self, with that horrible beige dress, feeling panicky and separated from my own body.  I'd be back feeling like my body has taken over and I'm going to disappear in a deluge of "baby fat".

If you are a wise woman of a certain age and you are reading this 'tsking' and shaking your head in sheer pity of my woeful state of mind, if you are a women of a certain age who is happy with herown  self and knows the important things that matter in life really aren't fleshly,  here are my thoughts to you:  Yes, I admire you, yes, a while ago I wanted to be like you, and yes, you're right about a lot.  But I'm not you. I've accepted that I'm not. I've accepted me for me, with all of my spiritual and emotional imperfect blemishes.  I have pretty much learned to accept them instead of fight them these days. And it works for me.  Part of that "working for me" thing is to start each day telling myself that it's a new day and all I have left is 5 pounds.  (on some days it's only 3, so hey, I'm almost there.)

Someday maybe it won't be so important to me, but now it is so ce'est lavie.   Love to you all.

War

My most formative years began with the civil rights movement.  A fraction of the people in our country were tired of being second class citizens. They were tired of not being able to sit at the same tables as most others, and they were tired of not being able to use the bathroom in public places.  I can see clearly in retrospect.



 But then I would watch the news, or happen to hear it when it was on, about how these people in the South were trouble makers.



They didn't use those words, but as a young girl of about 11, that's how I took it. There was nothing said on the news, or in the headlines, about how people were discriminated against because they weren't white. Nothing.

Fortunately my dad was jewish and taught me never to judge based on a person's color, beliefs or personal life style.  I will always be grateful to him for that.  One time he came home for a party and told us how he waked out because of some racist comments they made.  He let them know too, why he was leaving.  Good for you Dad!!!

The world  started to become more complicated with the assassination of our young president.





 It was like dominoes falling after that.   Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy, the Viet Nam war.  My little world was slowly being turned upside down.


I am part Jewish, and really have felt more Jewish than anything else.  Since this war in Gaza, I have been very defensive of Israel.  It is part of my heart.  I love Israel.  But I DO NOT love Netanyahu.  He has no interest in peace or innocent lives being blown away.  It has been horrendous, and yes, sometimes I wake up thinking about it and it's horrors.  As selfish as I am, I am only grateful it is not my family who live in Gaza and are Palestinians.

The people in power, their children aren't dead or severely injured because of the power issue there.  They are in their bomb shelters, and nice homes and free of harm.



 It is the innocentPalestinians who are suffering. It is the innocent Israeli's that suffering. And it is horrendous.



(suicide bombing in Israel)





I wanted to write this because I am grieved at the hell we have created.  Will it ever be better?  Will it ever end? My generation is extremely unsuccessful at bringing peace to a troubled world. We wanted to, we marched for peace, we sang about peace, we wrote about peace, we posted it on the walls of our homes, we wanted peace.  It just seems it's a ghost of another time.  I get made fun of because I talk about peace, love and unity.  But lately I've been defensive of Israel, forcing myself not to think of the hundreds if not thousands of innocent people blown up by bombs and other horrible weapons.  I had to force myself not to think about it.  When I think about it, everything changes.  Israel doesn't matter.  War is bad for children and other lvining things.  That was the slogan during the Viet Nam war.  So easily we forget.

Doggy Momma

I have three dogs.



 They are my heart, to say the least.  Lexy is 14, Tasha is going on 3 and Milo is a little younger than Tasha.  You know how some parents have children and all but one are easy?  That's Milo...the "one".





 About 4 weeks ago I finally bought pet insurance.  And am I glad I did!  Our deductible for the year is $250, which in the last two weeks we have not only met, but exceeded,we will now be able to file a claim.  Let me back up a little. Today I looked at Milo's eye, after he had been scratching like crazy, everywhere on his body he was scratching, and the inside of the eye, around the eye itself looked as though it would pop out.


Of course I freaked, told the lady at the vet that yes, I would pay a little extra to be seen then and there.  We walked over and of course, Milo hates the vet and anyone associated with the vet.  It's actually embarrassing.  However, she let me put both muzzles on him.  Yep, I said both, as in two.  She had to put some sort of stain in his eye (which she also let me do) and then look at it with a black light.  His eye needed to open wide, which, yes again, I opened it wide so she could look with her black light for any abrasions. Which she did not find.


The whole prognosis was allergies.  UG!  One thing that is disturbing is that when I go to the vet they sort of just look at him, not a good look, not a bad look.  But it's that look that the school secretary gives problem kids when they are waiting to see the principal.

Anyway, on my way out, waiting to pay, this man and his wife were there, obviously waiting to pick up their dog. He looks at Milo and gives him an endearing smile. All I'm thinking is, "Please don't try to pet 'my beautiful Aussie',  he hates the vet and he'll probably hate you too."  But alas, my thoughts did no good.  He comes over and believe it or not, Milo walks over to him and sniffs.  Well you know how that goes right?  The man then reaches out to Milo, and surprisingly enough Milo is relatively fine.  That is until the man reached over Milo's head to scratch his back.  Milo proceeds to snarl and then snap.  As you probably can imagine it all happened very fast.  I humbly defended Milo by telling the man he hates being here and was a rescue dog, yada yada yada.  The man persevered with his sweet smile and told me he understood.  He then began to tell me that he has a mini Aussie and that they are prone to some sort of intestinal problems, and that this special enzyme will help.  The symptoms, according to him, are the same as allergy symptoms.  I listen with dread and curiosity.  I can't stand complicated problems, in any genre of my life, I truly dislike them...you might even say I hate complicated problems... with a passion hate! Talking about intestinal problems in any living thing is definitely complicated.

"What food do you feed him?" asked the man in his kind, concerned voice tone. When I told him he asked me if perhaps I would consider holistic food.  I wanted to ask him how much that would cost, and tell him that if it's expensive my insurance wouldn't cover it and oh, yeah, did you know I have two other dogs at home that eat quite a bit? YES, I realize holistic, organic food would be fantastic...but I am not rich.  That stuff is crazy expensive.  (By now I'm stressed not only because Milo's eye is bulging and looks sick and weirdly abnormal, but also because I realize I have a very high maintenance dog.) All I say though is, "I have two other dogs at home.  I'm not sure."  He smiles again, that kind smile of his as he tells me Milo looks a bit heavy.  I just roll my eyes and tell him okay.  He proceeds to tell me they are working dogs and really need a job.  "Does he have a job at home?"  (For God's sake, the guilt is piling on me like hot lava spewing out of a giant mountain.)



"Well, his daddy takes him for walks every morning on the mountain across the street. And yes, I have him chase the ball at the side of the house where there is a great area to run."  UG UG UG....Again, he smiles sweetly and tells me that "these dogs" can work from sun up to sun down. UG UG UG UG... As he follows the lady to go retrieve his pet, (Which is probably the perfect weight.  And his little four legged friend is probably everyone's sweetheart that is soooo gentle.) he tells me one last time about the enzymes.

Seriously?  I have my Milo....the "one" who I apologize to strangers for and try to convince them he really is a sweet dog and wouldn't hurt a fly, the "one" whom the vet gave me a number of a dog psychologist that might be able to help with his "vet anxieties"...the one who has already reached the deductible on his pet insurance, so now we can start getting back. So that's a good thing, right? My boy is my boy and I love him with all of my heart and soul. He is like the difficult child with ADD.  He is my one that no one else can really understand but me, and maybe his daddy.

So, I get to struggle with him when I have to put his eye drops in three times a day, but thankfully his eye isn't going to burst inside of his head like I thought it might. And I want to find that man and tell him he needs to get his facts right.  I looked up the normal weight of a male Aussie and GUESS WHAT YOU IDIOT????  HE IS TOTALLY NORMAL...AVERAGE WEIGHT IS BETWEEN 50 AND 65 POUND.  GEEEEEEEEEZ!!!!

I thought the guilt and regrets of parenthood were behind me.  Not!  I now have three more "children". Two of them are pretty darn easy to care for....but then there's Milo. Anyway, I hear that the dog psychiatrist is fantastic.  I wonder if insurance pays for counselling???  I mean, it won't hurt to ask.


In the meantime, this song is to my baby Milo.  Patty Griffin wrote it for her dog..I don't think she'll mind if I borrow it.  To you Milo you and me?  We'll take on the world!

Oh, heavenly day
All the clouds blew away
Got no trouble today with anyone

The smile on your face, I live only to see
It's enough for me, baby, it's enough for me
Oh, heavenly day, heavenly day, heavenly day

Tomorrow may rain with sorrow
Here's a little time we can borrow
Forget all our troubles in these moments so few

Oh because right now is only thing
That all that we really have to do
Is have ourselves, a heavenly day

Lay here and watch the trees sway
Oh, can't see no other way, no way, no way
Heavenly day, heavenly day, heavenly day

No one at my shoulder bringing me fears
Got no clouds up above me bringing me tears

Got nothing to tell you, I've got nothing much to say
Only I'm glad to be here with you
On this heavenly, heavenly, heavenly, heavenly day

Oh, all the trouble gone away, oh
For a while anyway, for a while anyway
Heavenly day, heavenly day, heavenly day
Heavenly day, heavenly day, oh, heavenly day

Songwriters
GRIFFIN, PATRICIA J.

Read more: Patty Griffin - Heavenly Day Lyrics | MetroLyrics