Family Joy....or not

Ahh families.  Gotta love 'em.  Or not. 

I've got a lot of family components:

•  My own 'blood kin' - my incredible precious daughter, parents, niece and brother.
•  In-law - son, sisters, brothers and mother.
•  Husbands - there's been all kinds of those - one divorced, one death, one current.
•  Steps - now here's where it gets umm...sticky.  I currently have 2 step-daughters and 3 step-granddaughters.  I also had (have?) 2 step-daughters, a granddaughter and 2 grandsons from my late husband.

Let talk a little step-joy.

One granddaughter has lived with me off and on the last 3 years while her mother serves in the military.  I love her like 'blood' even though I have only know her for 3 years.  She is 13 and we are on the same wave-length.  Her mother and I struggle to find the right place with each other - her daughter is our most common meeting place.  Maybe we will find our own one day - it remains to be seen.  I have not met the other 2 granddaughters and barely the other daughter - I don't think they are interested in a relationship with me or my husband.  Whole 'nother blog, OK?

My step-daughters from my late husband got angry with me after their father died and we have not been in contact for 7 years.  They also have not contacted my daughter - who, by the way, is their 'blood'.  I loved the oldest of the two a lot.  We had been part of the same family for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS.  The younger and I struggled much as my current step-daughter and I do.  It may surprise you to hear they have similar personalities.  Hmmm.....  ANYWAY, I have mourned the loss of the relationship with the older sister.  For 7 years.  I have mourned the loss of her and her dad. And that whole life we had.  It has been a steep steep mountain and a deep deep valley.  I learned that she was critically ill last year and I stalked her progress on facebook - I cried, I prayed, and it turned out that I still loved her.  When she recovered she reached out to me on facebook and I was overjoyed - we were at least connected by that.

Imagine how I felt when she showed up at my office last week to see me.  No wait, there's no way you can imagine because I can barely articulate it - overwhelmed, ecstatic, a little scared.  I clung to her and cried pathetically - 7 years of anger, sadness and mourning poured from me to her shoulder.  We spent a large part of the weekend together and talked some of our estrangement but mostly of our happiness at being reunited and restored.  We agreed that the whys do not matter to us today - they may, but we will not speak of it.  We want each other to be more important than the whys - I think.  I hope.

Families are messy, loud, difficult, delicious and joyous tapestries - they are woven from the fabrics of blood, steps, in-laws and ever how many husbands you have. 

Puppy Joy

I'm a cat person in love with a pup.  I don't know how it happened.  I didn't mean for it to happen.  I've always made fun of dogs.  They're not as smart as cats - we cat people know that.  They're waaaaayyy too much trouble - as demanding as babies. You can't go on vacation without making extensive plans for the DOG! You don't do that for a cat.

Momo (short for John the Baptist) is thoroughly put out with me.  He disdains the pup.  The pup wants to be friends.  Haha Momo says - we aren't gonna be friends.  They vie for who can sit closest to me.  I am covered in animal hair.  And I might smell a little funny.  To you.  To them I am delish. 

I am the world to a puppy.  And that is mighty hard to resist.  Mighty hard.

I did it again

In a fit of self-loathing because I saw a picture of myself from the weekend, I went and got a god-awful haircut.

I look ridiculous.

Not that I looked that great before.

I saw the picture.  I know.  Had no idea I could be even more pissed off or be more self-loathing.

I remember these days

of Johnny dying better than most birthday or anniversaries.

Wish I could coast thru them like I did so many days of our life together.

(That's the survivors's guilt.)

Another year,another crash

Every year I think I 'm gonna handle the anniversary 'better'. I tell myself "This is the year. You'll be your 'old self' and 'deal with it' and 'move on' and 'live for today' " and any other 'quotable cliche' I can think of.

I'm even in counseling this year (which honestly? feels kinda like I'm a failure) and I'm so low and slow right now I can hardly move. He advised me to write about the anticipation of what begins tomorrow.

So I am. Did.

I've had enough of silly love songs

And apparently so had John Lennon. He's the reason Sir Paul wrote this song after John bashed his post-Beatles song-writing.

Just call me and ol' John crazy cynics. But love songs just irritate me. Girls listen to those songs and believe that crap. And then expect real-life men to act like that. And they just don't. And can't. And won't. Then comes the hurt and disappointment. And the nagging. And the life-crushing let-down that can only come from expecting too much from a man based on love song lyrics. Honey, when he says (in a love song, of course, because men don't talk like this in real life),"I wanna love you all night long" he means maaaybe 5-7 minutes, OK? When he says "You've been on my mind all day" he means "I've been hoping we were having baked beans for supper" When he says "I just can't live without you" he means "Who's gonna do the laundry?"

I don't read romance novels for the same reason. Or watch the Hallmark channel. I don't want to be pissed off or disappointed. And I certainly don't need no crushing let-down.

Just make his beans and try not to expect too much.

'Cause life just ain't a love song.

Under the Big Top

No, this isn't about the circus though my life does qualify.

This about dressing the larger female body. Ahem.

It's been difficult dealing with this big ol' brick house. All my old body dressing rules went right out the window. (Yes, I had rules - so should you.) Add to that the menopause and we're dealing with big AND hot rules (what we like to call the double whammy of midlife misery). Brick house, indeed.

So, my bigger girlfriends - listen up. Pay attention. This is good stuff and you will thank me. Or you should 'cause some of y'all are making all these mistakes. And people can see it when you do.

1. Wear a bigger size. This is the hardest one so I put it first so you can get over it and enjoy the rest of these. You do NOT wear a size 12 anymore. Or a 14. And probably not even a 16. It's time to go to the other side of Cato's, OK? It only hurts for a minute and then the cute clothes take your mind off it. Go try something on ~ look how much better you look in clothes that FIT! (You can always cut the tag out.)
   
2. No knits! Knits cling - to every lump, bump and roll you have. You will spend all day long plucking that knit shirt out of that belly crease in the front. And for heavens sake, honey, knit pants will show every dimple in your lovely thighs and will wad up in your crack every time you stand up. We're walking behind you - we know this much is true. You need fabrics that will skim over your body - jersey, georgette. Polyester is the big girl's friend. Do not believe that Deschanel girl (Zoey?) when she sings 'cotton is the fabric of your life'. It's not true and she can't sing anyway.
   
3. Ruching and/or flowing is your friend. Any dress or top with ruching hides much and forgives more. And do not pull your shirt down smooth (especially if it's knit - see #2), They don't call it 'muffin-top' to be cute. They're making fun of you. Wear flowing not fitted cardigans or blouses - see 'The Stevie Method'. Fabric is important - lightweight and flowy will not make you sweat, uh glow and is easy to hike up in front of a fan or AC vent.
   
4. Do not belt it. I can't believe this even needs to be said, but I saw you and apparently it does. Do not put a belt around that big ol' belly. It does not make you look stylish or younger. It makes you look like a fatty with a belt flung around it. Really. Are y'all just not looking in a mirror? Do you not have friends? And in the same vein, do not tuck in that shirt. You might as well stamp "I refuse to compete" across your forehead (tm Emily-thanks!).
   
5. Create a distraction. Accessories are a big help. And the bigger and shinier the accessories the more distracting they are. A big honking necklace and spangly earrings will draw the eye up from that mess around your waist. Or away from that massive rear. And enough can not be said about big hair. Flat, unstyled hair is not for big girls - the bigger the hair, the smaller your rear end will appear. It at least will create balance and give you the illusion of hour glass. Fluff that stuff, baby. Then spray it good with Aqua Net. So it'll hold when you sweat.

This should be enough to get you started. This by no means is the entire set of rules. And we haven't even touched make-up ~ or chin hair. But I know many of you are sadly taking that belt off and plucking that double knit shirt out of your belly roll. And when you stand up, make sure to pull your pants out of your crack.

Delta Burke, where are you when we need you?

Cutesy don't cut it.

I love a turn of a phrase as much - sometimes more - than anyone. I love it when words come together in an entertaining, interesting and unexpected way. Just love it. Wish I was better at it.

But I loathe, detest, hate, can't stand how the current culture is kiddie sizing our convo. Heh.

Veggies.
Besties.
Hubbies.

I don't eat veggies (that's a whole 'nother story). I eat french fries.

You are not my bestie (and you oughta slap me if I even say such a thing). You my friend, girl.

And my hubby is not my bestie (are you hearing the ridiculousness now??) He's my MAN!

Cutesy ain't cute - it's...it's...makemewanttoscreamshutup dumb.

There. I said it. Whew.

What Momo knows

I've mentioned Momo (short for John the Baptist) before. He's my big ol' orange tabby cat. There will be kitty baby talk in this post. Here is my handsome boy:

I'm a cat person but I'm not a nut. Unlike 'dog-people' who believe their dogs really know stuff, I know what Momo really knows. Momo knows I'm his person but he doesn't know my name. He doesn't even know what 'names' are. Or that I have a job. Or what money is. And he doesn't call me 'momma'. He calls me 'maow'. But he does call me. And he does know things. This will be an ongoing list - kinda like the words your child is learning to say.

Here's what Momo knows:

1. Where his house is.

2. Who his people are.

3. Where the yum yum is.

4. How to get us to open the door for him.

5. How to get us to let him out.

6. Where the best napping spots are.

7. And that when I talkin' baby talks, I talkin' to him!

OK. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's all he knows. Maybe this won't be an ongoing list. But it seems to be enough. Momo said it was anyway.

Brick Houses

Did you know the song "(She's a) Brick House" was written about Chaka Khan?

Which makes me realize if I were African American, my size and shape would be appreciated and celebrated in song.

Ugly Shoes

I'm the professed Queen of Comfort (see the Stevie Method, big underwear and all references to stretchy waist bands).

But come on, ya'll. Crocs?

They ugly. Look in a mirror. Let somebody take your picture. Melt them. 'Cause they bad ugly. And they make you look like you have duck feet. And do NOT match them to your clothes. For heaven's sake.

If you do, be warned. I will make fun of you.

The Stevie Method

What with the fatexia and all, many times when I look in the mirror I see Stevie Nicks' eyes.

Well, it's not so funny. I do sound just like her when I sing in my car.

So anyways, this morning I'm putting the final touches on my snappy shag haircut and was reminded of Steve once again. I have big eyes like her and round features and kickin' bangs that highlight these things. It's not that far a reach. Really.

Then I realized that what may be reminding me of Stevie was the drapy way I dress my big fat ass in black clothes all the time. Yeah.

Doppelkitties

I'm a cat person. It's in me like red hair and short legs. I've had a cat(s) almost continuously since I was 6 years old. I like the idea of dogs and sometimes wish I was a dog person. Until I get a dog and realize they are the TMR class of the animal world. Then I'm glad all over again I love cats.

My current kitty is a big orange tabby named Momo which is short for John the Baptist. Momo is about 1 1/2 years old and is a big ol' mellow sweetie scairdy cat. In his short life, he has put up with a lot. First Pretty and Baby moved in - they were Tidbit's cats when she came to live here. Pretty was pretty high strung so she left pretty quick. Baby was ginormous fat and couldn't run away if she wanted to which she didn't so Momo tolerated her. Then last November Smudge and Lulu (short for Martin Luther) moved in - they were C&C's cats. For whatever reason Smudge left - I'm still sad about that. Lulu loved us, loved Momo, loved being outside - he was just a lover of life. Sweet sweet kitty boy (I just said that in kitty baby talk).

So imagine my surprise the day my Hussy told me Momo and Lulu were fighting in the front yard! He said he heard the awful 'cat'erwauling in the front bushes and out they ran! And Lulu had Momo down by the neck! Whaaaa??? Momo had about 5 or 6 pounds on Lulu. Just didn't sound like either one of them. They're just not the fighting kind. Head butts, purrs, lots of yum yum. Not fighting.

Then Jacquelyn tells me Lulu has been fighting with Boots? Huh? How can this be? Not my sweet kitty boy *kitty baby talk again*.

Then Big Daddy says something about Momo at the farm house. Then Hussy sees him on the road. This is not Momo behaviour. Is he mad at me for all the move-in kitties? Is he braver than I thought? Is this the life he leads behind my back?????

So Lulu goes back to live with his mommy and daddy - this is better for all.

Two days later I catch Momo chasing a black kitty into the woods that LOOKS JUST LIKE LULU!

Today Momo is skulking around the back door acting skittish so I walk out the door to prove to him everything is OK and there laying on Penny's blankie (2-day dog - another story or see paragraph #1) is a big ol yellow tabby THAT LOOKS JUST LIKE MOMO!

I knew my sweet kitty boys weren't the trouble. 'Cause they is sweet boys. And you know what voice I just said that in.

Sit Up Straight!!

Did you know if your jeans are too tight you can not sit up straight?

The best I can manage is an uncomfortable 'lean-back'.

Sigh. No telling how I'm gonna stand up.

Procrastination

I was going to write about it, but I think I'll wait til later........

Fatexia

So it's been fairly well documented and noticed by all that I have put on quite a bit of weight.

There are many reasons for this:

1. Lack of exercise
2. Too much food
3. Menopause
4. Gallbladder surgery
5. Too much food
6. Older metabolism
7. Cookies
8. Too much food
9. Feeding low blood sugar
10. Feeding migraines

I've reached that stage of weight gain where folks don't disagree with you anymore when you make mention of being fat. They just nod in agreement. What the.....

I've had to make peace with the size of clothes I'm wearing. That number is a really big deal to women. That's why a lot of them don't look good in their clothes - they refuse to move out of that number they've got locked in their mind. They oughta. Really.

I've had to learn to dress it. Not much you can do really, but I try. Nothing clingy - lots of flowy, high waisted stuff. And elastic waist bands. Good stuff right there.

But it's when I see a picture of myself that brings it all to a crashing reality. I don't see it when I look in the mirror. I swear. I still see 'me'. I don't see that woman that shows up in pictures of me. It's reverse anorexia. I've got fatexia. Can't see it the full fat effect of the double chin, the little round chin ball I'm developing and that massive - dare I say MASSIVE - rear end back there. Can't see it for the life of me.

Somebody take my picture. Please.

When it fits

There's a lot to be said for underwear that fits.

It makes for a miserable day when it does not. And it can go wrong in so many ways. Too tight - around the waist or the legs. I hate the too-tight legs the most. That tender bitten flesh will scream at me all day long. Too loose - wanders around down there all day long. Who can concentrate when their underwear is on the move? It's a fine fine line that too-tight too-loose one. And that line is permanently etched into my poor 'leg-meets-the-torso' area.

And who designs this stuff? I have a sizable asset and it's tough to find underwear that accomodates that - too low, too shallow, not enough rise, leg holes not equal to girth. So much to consider in underwear design. Who knew? My asset - that's who.

Today was a miserable underwear day. It's in the trash already. So there. If it was up to me I wouldn't even wear the stuff. But who's gonna know. Really. Hmmmmm.

Junk Food Joy

I'm not really sure how much joy is involved with junk food.

There's the intital "I'm gonna get these _______. I haven't had them in so long!" joy when you run across a particular item you really really like. No love - you really really love them. Or you did when you were 12.

There's the taking it out of the bag at home joy. Do I tear into now or save it for later?

There the opening the package joy. How many do I get? Start with 3 and come back for more or just go ahead and get 6. Or 8.

There's that first wonderful tongue-thrilling taste joy. Oh my gosh. So good. Just like I thought it would be. Yes.

Then comes the regret.

I shoulda only got 3 after all. Now I'm stuffed.

I am so damn fat. And uncomfortable. Was it worth adding to that?

Then the reflux when I go to bed. Not so tasty now, huh?

So...does the joy outweigh (pun intended) the regret?

Well, does it punk?

Yep. Yep it does. Today anyway. I'm gonna go drink my Grapico.

Grief is tiring

and a very individual thing. Writing it out helped even tho not another person read it but me. Help is help.

Callie says the dates don't mean as much to her as his glaring absence when she instinctively wants to share something with him or is reminded of him. Those 5 days loom for me every year. For a while, I thought I would never get the picture of what he looked like in ICU out of my head. That's why I won't watch stupid doctor shows on TV anymore - patients don't look like that - they look horrid. Swollen or gaunt, red or pale, tubes and oozes and funny smells and they are unrecognizable. Nightmarish even.

Yes, those days loom. But they're over this year so on we go. And now I remember beautiful strong fishing Johnny. The best is yet to come!

Joy in the Nightmare

I call this a joy buffet and I haven't served a bit of joy the last 4 or 5 days. But it is a story that I need to share and he is a man that should be remembered. So in this whole horrid week, there was one bright spot, one moment in all of it that was shining and bearable. So let me offer this bit of joy....

We had to go shopping for funeral clothes. Do you know how hard it is to shop when you're numb, in shock, can't make eye contact, and your brain is screaming nonstop, "JOHNNY IS DEAD, JOHNNY IS DEAD!!!" It's hard. We had to have something to wear to the funeral and something to wear that night at the visitation.

Ah, visitation. I only know the Southern way, but there's a lot of love, laughter, hugging, crying, talking, remembering, JOY at a southern funeral visitation. Of course, it's more enjoyable if you are the one doing the visiting as opposed to the one being visited and I spent all day long dreading it. I craved quiet and solitude. My brain was screaming at me. I could barely make eye contact - how in the hell was I going to greet visitors?

So we dressed in our new funeral clothes and we had to go early so we could see Johnny. We had a private hour before the visitation began. And he did not look like himself but he looked good - you know? And we cried and touched his rubbery hands and stroked his cold face - oh my God, oh my God there are simply no words. None. Oh God I still cry out to you with the memory. Oh God. Oh Johnny.

And then they opened the doors. And here they came. People and people and so many people and then more people. And they hugged us and clung to us and cried with us and told us memories and loved us and loved our Johnny and it was glorious! Glorious I tell you. And there were so many of them our visitaton ran 2 hours over the alloted time. And it was JOYOUS and GLORIOUS and God's hand was on us all. Our hearts were calm and encouraged and reminded. Reminded of how loved we were, how loved Johnny was.

This was good. Thanks friends. Thanks.