I Am Really 52?

Accepting middle age has been a slow process. Having a 10x magnifying mirror has been a necessary curse. Not a day goes by that I don’t lift an eyelid, pull back my cheeks and lift my forehead, you know, just to see if it would make a real difference.

Age 40 came with 70 pounds of weight loss in a matter of 6 months. I don’t recommend that. The obsession worked and a new creature was birthed. A younger, much sexier, more confident person was revealed. I remember shopping at the local mall, walking by the shops and seeing myself in the window reflection, almost shocked with delight, “OMG, that’s actually me!” I was stunned. Everyone was stunned. And that was fun.

So 52, 8 years of a wonderful marriage (finally), and 40 lbs of loving and enjoying life beyond my wildest dreams packed on. I swore I’d never let it happen to me again, the weight, that is. I battle to get back to where I can manage it again.  There’s exercise but clearly not enough. There’s this complete foodie obsession he and I both have. And it’s damn good. There’s this out of control food spending. It’s all played a part.  “Honey, we need to exercise and here’s this plan/spreadsheet. All you have to do are these three exercises every other day and some cardio on the off days,” he says. But he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t remember that when we first started planning our lives, I was up by 4:50am every morning running. Every. Single. Morning. Running. But he didn’t have that lifestyle. He liked to just roll over.. and over and over. It is the stuff love and life are made of but it was extremely detrimental to my health and weight. Thus the 40+ lbs. The rolling over and over, that is not just him. That was me, starving for affection. Starving for someone on the same page of life and love as me. And I had found it and him. My Mr. Wonderful.

As if the weight weren’t enough for these 8 years, I’ve passed over the half century mark into the official middle age. And I have this mirror. And the mirror tells way more than I want to accept. The weight. The effect of ever-loving gravity on my sweet face, my neck. The crinkles around my lips. The hoods over my eyes. If I had the money, there’s a fortune to be made with all the nip/tuck, lift/suck I need! I am paralyzed by fear of what all that messed up work does. I’ve yet to find someone that any of that facial work looks good on.

It’s been a sad kind of acceptance… the weight, the gravity, the puffy ankles, the inner and outer thighs love handles. So I seek the words of the empowered middle age warriors who say they have embraced all these wrinkles, weight gain, hot flashes, night sweats, snoring, and thinning hair. I for one am doing my workouts, cutting my calories, running (as soon as weather permits)… cause I know that’s what has worked for me. I hope it will again! 

Balancing Your Passion...What Really Matters

Back during football season, I watched all the energy, excitement and absolute insanity of behaviors of peoples’ passion toward this game. Do you see anyone that passionate about being a follower of Jesus? How about their own future? Do you see anybody wearing a Jesus jersey?  I mean, Alabama is a great university but it’s not Harvard or Yale or Oxford for that matter. If it fell off the planet yesterday it would have ZERO impact on my life, (forgive me, Dad).  However, Jesus, on the other hand.. well, He openly accepted a horrid, unspeakable death for you, for me, for everyone, JUST so we can spend eternity with Him in a place so wonderful words cannot explain it in a way in which we can understand it as humans. 

I don’t have a Jesus jersey, tshirt or hat. Do you? Do you know anyone that does? I mean, if you’re going to pour a passion into something, wouldn’t following Jesus be something worthy (the MOST worthy) of anything you have to offer?  This came to me as I witnessed people around me, tv, work and radio, fill the airwaves with talk of this “game” and these “teams” as if it was the end all, be all. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not casting stones, wait, maybe I am but I’m guilty as well. I witnessed the breaking of the 1^st commandment, “You Shall Have No Other Gods Before Me.”   What a great way to examine yourself, what are my gods before God? I’ve probably obliterated those commandments many times throughout my life. Thank Jesus that I am forgiven.

Motorcycles are Dangerous And That's One of Their Good Points

I'm the ripe old age of 48 and have been riding motorcycles since I was a mere 44 (Thank You Hubby!). All my life I was taught the fear of things, motorcycles in particular and how they are a death trap and the sort, how everyone knows someone who was involved in a bike fatality, (I could go on here), etc...The last bf rode a Roadking and I hadn't told my mother because I knew she would be worried sick. That's just what mothers do. However, when he came to her house one weekend (while I was staying with her) to pick me up, I had to tell her the dreaded reality. She was appropriately upset and our "discussion" turned to a more spiritual revelation. I told her that if and when it's my time to go, whether I'm on a bike or on my sofa, nothing can stop it. I told her that I wasn't afraid of death (however, I'm greatly afraid of being hurt) and if you believed in the bible as she and I do, you believe heaven is a place that you want to go. IF you believe. However, if it's just a theory, then you should fear death. Looking back, I had to have felt like I was 17 again, knowing all there is to know (as all teenagers do and aren't afraid to share it), trying to 'win'.

I had to give you all the background to tell you that, on my mom's 77th birthday, I rode my bike up to see her (80 miles away) and take her birthday present. I was secretly hoping to hide the bike so she wouldn't see it when she looked out the window. However, she saw us both pull up on our bikes. I assembled her gift (had to put the gift in the gift bag as it wouldn't all go in my saddle bags properly), and proceeded inside. We had just gotten back from Las Vegas for a week and she was extremely glad to see me. She asked, "Did you both come up here on a bike apiece?!" I
said, "Yes. I have my own bike." I awaited a disgust of a remark but she continued to smile and so did I... a smile of relief! Hubby told her that I had been riding for almost 4 years and that I was a very good rider. (I always feel like Rainman when I say that, "I'm an excellent driver.") He continued that I haven't had any incidences and that we take backroads, etc...
She continued to smile. I wondered what was really going through her mind though she rarely leaves that to wonder.I swore that she would leave this planet without knowing I ride a bike just to spare her any extra worry. Heck, I feel like I'm still trying to make up for being a hellion of a teeanger. I turned out ok. And from the look of this pic, I can't help but believe she's rather proud and admiring of the rebel I have turned out to be.

I think she would LOVE a ride through

the North Georgia Mountains on this

old vintage sidecar...

A Southern Mourning, Cowboy Style

It's been a cold January. The whole winter has been, really. A dark cloud hung over my family after Thanksgiving when my Uncle Jim was diagnosed with leukemia. He was hospitalized right after his diagnosis to begin more tests and treatments. It's as if he took a nose dive health-wise during this time. His immune system went extremely low and his struggles began. He was in the hospital for about 35 days when they were getting him ready to go home for a week before he was to go to Vanderbilt to prepare for a transplant when his body caught an infection that he didn't have the strength to fight off. He was in ICU for several days on a ventilator, on all the antibiotics, anti fungal and blood pressure meds they could give him. And on Monday night, after my visit on Sunday, he gave up his fight, and, as us Christians say, the Lord called him home. God wasn't taken by surprise, he wanted Uncle Jim to drive in His wagon train.

How do I eulogize a man that, since childhood, I had a personal relationship with? How do I accept his passing? I'm still trying. He and I were like kindred spirits, both raised in a strict, very religious, home, by strict disciplinarian parents but both very much rebels without a cause. We each stood out like sore thumbs within our families.

His family had planned his funeral in the town which he lived, where he was born, grew up all his life and remained living. If you didn't know him, you knew someone kin to him or knew of him. That's one of the sweet things about a small town. He wasn't so much a church going man. I think he had his relationship with God, as most do in their own terms. I think he believed that God would do His job and Jim would do his. And he trusted that. Even in his darkest hours. I think Jim's form of worshiping God was being out in nature with Him. He thrived best there.

The night of Jim's visitation was one that the small town funeral home (they had several) couldn't have really been prepared for. There were people there, coming to pay their respects to him and to his family as they got off work. Many of them reflecting the community for which this was, a true farming community. You saw cowboy boots, cowboy hats, belt buckles worthy of the WWF championship and you saw overalls. Yes, overalls. It was very picturesque of the culture of the area. And it was real. And it was sweet. There were over 300 people that registered that came that night. They were wrapped around every possible crevice of the funeral home. The tribute continued.

I met a man that I found talking to my aunt who has advanced Alzheimer's. I have no idea what she was saying to him and as he left her I stopped him and admired him for talking to her and let him know that she probably didn't make any sense because of her condition and he said she made perfect sense. I went on to introduce myself as Jim's favorite niece and he said that he and the man he pointed to still in the line were in the National Guard with Charlie. He went on to reminisce of his fondness for him. I told this man that I had even forgotten his name was Charles and I couldn't figure out why the funeral home had his full name as I thought everyone only knew him as Jim. He said, "Oh, well, he was Charlie in the Guard." Maybe Uncle Jim thought if someone called him Charlie, he'd immediately know that person was from the Guard. The military has a way of changing your identity.

As a beautiful tribute, there were pictures of Jim and family posted on boards, every one of them where Jim was having a great time. The man lived for fun, I will give him that. Aunt Sabrina had his Head Scout jacket and cowboy hat hanging next to his casket. She also had his saddle and blanket sitting next to that. It was indeed, beautiful, like he had done everything himself. Amidst the sea of flowers that amazed the eyes, there were many arrangements that touched the heart and were great works of art and many were just beautiful tributes and sweet sentiments sent from those Uncle Jim had a connection with or my Aunt Sabrina or his children. There were some wagon wheels, one in particular had two missing spokes. That was from my mother's family. It is symbolic of my Uncle Gordon and Uncle Jim, the two missing spokes of my mother's siblings. There was a beautiful tray that had a horse at a trough with plants all around it from Uncle Jim's veterinarian, never seen anything like that before. There were the Alabama A's, many masculine arrangements with tropical flowers, and amazing planters. When you see these kinds of arrangements sent in honor of your loved one, it is overwhelming. Do not underestimate the comfort and thoughtfulness that flowers can do for someone that is hurting.

The next day the funeral was at my Aunt Sabrina's church, Bethany Baptist Church in Horton, Alabama, the community my uncle lived in. It looked as though this really very nice, traditional yet new church was set smack dab in the middle of all this farm land. Jim's family planned a simple yet meaningful service. My cousin Sherry sang two songs acapella. She was flawless! I was amazed as I didn't even know the girl could sing! The pastor sang Amazing Grace in the traditional arrangement, some sang along. One of Jim's friends, James, this blind Jewish man that Jim knew through the Alabama Wagon Train gave a beautiful eulogy. He spoke of Jim's earnestness to keep everyone safe on the rides, especially him. He said Jim always seemed to be worried about him. I began to know my uncle's heart a little deeper. He told of the time that Jim and Sabrina took him all the way to Minnesota for a ride that was taking place up there. Well, Jim was probably looking for something to do. He ending his eulogy with -they were always looking for how much further to camp where they can rest. It was always "4 more miles".... Jim is at camp and we have 4 more miles. To finalize this beautiful send off, my Uncle Ray led his brothers and sisters in an old, most like post civil war hymn, "He's My Best Friend." Hearing the tune, the twangy Southern voices sing sweetly this hymn was a very moving experience. It was their send off for their brother, in their way.

Emotional, sadness that cannot seem to let up, the family leaves the sanctuary to escort the casket to the hearse or so I thought, when in actuality, the casket was placed on the back of a buggy which my Uncle Jim had built himself. The driver took it in the pouring rain and sleet to it's final resting place. We gathered in the rain for the final prayer and dismissal. With our umbrellas dripping, sleet that had begun to bounce around and our shoes that were sinking in the ground, we made our way back to the church.

The attendees for the funeral were invited to lunch provided by the church women. What I experienced here is like that you hear in some stand up routine of a comedian making fun of Southerners, Baptists and funerals. We arrive in the fellowship hall and find about 75 different dishes AND a dessert table and the meal wouldn't be complete without tea, sweet and unsweet which was sweet anyway. There was chicken, ham, chicken casseroles, potatoes of many kinds, vegetables singular, salads, greens, and have you ever had cornbread salad? The dessert table was filled with coconut cakes, fruit things, fried apple pies that were critiqued personally by my mother, the fried apple pie queen. The extent of what it took to prepare a meal for my mourning family touched me deeply. I had intended on the family being together for lunch that day but wasn't sure how it was going to happen until I found out this meal was planned. Never underestimate the comfort of food to someone hurting. Many times it take more effort to prepare a meal for yourself than you're able to do especially if you are emotionally exhausted and under duress. I am speaking from experience.

It was wonderful that we all got to eat, got to chat, reflect, visit and relax and not have to worry about anything. I am grateful for the women of Bethany Baptist Church of Horton, Alabama. There are many that laugh at the covered dish and how it is revered, but I hope it's a long time before I need it again.

Thank you Uncle Jim for visiting me in the hospital when I had my tonsils taken out. I was only three but I remember you and Uncle Gordon trying to raise the bed up and half scared me to pieces. That was back when you hand cranked those beds.

Thank you too, Uncle Jim, for taking me to the Talledega 500 for the first time. I think I was like 13. I was already showing my rebel teenager side and you exposed me to a little bit of the world that it's likely Mom wouldn't have wanted me to see. Thank you for getting sober before you took us all home. I think the infield had cleared out by that time and there wasn't any more traffic on the highway. It was the next year that was most memorable, I just had to sunbathe in the infield and ended up going home with what turned out to be sun poisoning. You were worried that Mom would be mad.... well, that wasn't anything new. Sun poisoning visited me some years later and would remind me of Talledega and you, once again.

So as the Cowboy Prayer was prayed and they told of you riding off into that last sunset, I began to accept the finality of it all, the bitterness that remains and memories of you, and the lesson of 'make your life fun, you won't be here forever.'

New Year’s Resolution Started With Not Writing Those Christmas Cards

Christmas cards have been, throughout my life, a means by which I touch others lives, to connect and express my fondness, care and friendship. I’ve always enjoyed finding cards and since I became a mother, I’ve had photo cards made every year. I took extreme care in having just the perfect photo of my son. One year it was my son and our new puppy. He wore a navy sweater and the dog was black, not the best choices but cute, nonetheless. I think I’ve managed to send cards out every year except for this year. Reason being, I had a snafu at the last minute while ordering my cards and had to cancel the order. I didn’t order a sentiment on the card and didn’t realize it until after I had placed the order and got back home to review it. I didn’t bother to reorder at that late date. There was just too much to do make extra trips for the cards. I had to let it go.

It’s December 28th and so far, I’ve received 2 cards. Both are from Maryland, my friends Terrell and Mary and his father Vic, both of whom I’ve not seen in about 10 years. We continue to remain in touch, thanks to the computer age. So my two cards got me to thinking. I wonder if all these years, I’ve received cards just because I sent cards. I mean, was I not on anyone else’s normal list or do people just send cards out as they receive cards in? Not that I’m any testament to a process but I have my standard list in a word document that contains all my family and friends and I even add to it during the year. It’s like a quasi-address book. I learned that after a few years of having to recreate the list, there had to be a better way. I was younger and dumber until then.

Now here comes some guilt for having even brought this subject into light. I know some of my family has seen some rough times this year. My Uncle Jim was just diagnosed with leukemia and holiday anything has to be the last thing on my Aunt Sabrina’s mind. She also has to care for her live in parents as well and she’s been taking trips, probably daily to Huntsville to see about him. Their daughter, Renea is a pharmacist and a mom of two young boys, I know her focuses have changed this season as well. My Aunt Irene is relatively invalid and doesn’t get out so that is understandable. My Aunt Yvonne is in advanced stages of alzheimers (I didn’t capitalize because it doesn’t deserve to be capitalized) and though she recognizes me, she doesn’t even remember what Christmas is. My mom who cares for both my Aunt Irene and my Aunt Yvonne is excused easily. I have some cousins that have suffered divorce this year and that whole process will make you want to avoid Christmas altogether. I’ve had friends who have lost their jobs, I’m sure they would rather skip Christmas as well.

I did manage to receive a couple of cards a work. One is a cute animal card from a co-worker and a beautiful photo card from a new mom who is a co-worker. I also received a couple of corporate e-holiday cards. It’s the whole “green” movement. It was nice. I mean, I guess I could say they didn’t HAVE to do that. My company even promoted a holiday E-card campaign. I didn’t followup on that.

Last week, I caught an interview on NPR with Senator Edward Kennedy’s widow, Victoria Reggie Kennedy. Now, I’m not a real fan of the Kennedys but I have marveled through the years of their life and their family relationships. The point I got out of the whole interview was that Victoria stated with great depth that Teddy “tended to his relationships. He took time for his friends.” That hit home with me. For once, I was envious of the late senator. “That’s what I need to do,” I thought. I need to tend to my relationships. I thought about those that I regarded myself as being rather passive with. I thought of people that I cared for but haven’t made time for. I thought of family, including my niece and nephew, my brother, I thought of my mom. I thought of how short and precious life is and how I will have regrets when it comes to her, God knows I did with my dad. I then began to think of the renewed friendships I’ve made this year through that crazy facebook. I tried, somehow in my mind, to think that just posting a comment on their page would suffice. I began to realize how I was starting to cheapen the whole friendship thing with facebook. Is that what Teddy did? Did he consider posting something on someone’s facebook as tending to relationships? I don’t know fully but I have this feeling he was somewhat of a purist, somewhat like me, wanting to do the right thing, wanting to actually have a part of his friends, wanting to give a part of himself to his friends. I call that making your life beautiful and rich. Do you think his encounters involved a meal, a bottle of wine or two, some music and great unforgettable conversations? Was it at his home or was it at a local restaurant? I would think it would be anywhere he would like as with his means, he had all the options in the world. Does it matter where, or how long? I think it matters most that he did it and he was remembered for it.
And so, here I am, at the close of a really wonderful year, a year with ups and downs, like everyone else. Out of the top 5 priorities I have listed for this year, Tending to My Relationships tops the list. Stay tuned to find out how I intend on breaking that down so that I do not get overwhelmed but find a place that I am satisfied with.

Happy New Year!