Waiting to start living has begun to live

I went back and read my third post...wow I was so much deeper when I was considering what life now would start to be like. Now I'm just a bundle of stuff. Lol I actually told a friend the other day I didn't want to explore certain emotions, that they were too hard and they had no structure. For those with delicate sensibilities close your ears. What a punk ass wuss I was that day! Phew, glad to get that off my chest. I am an adventurer. I was a scaredy cat as a kid, so when I hit college I decided to be scared but do it anyway. That's how I ended up in the river trying to remember all my white water rafting training. I had fallen out of the raft and I was the guide! It was a simple river clean up on a river on the Indian Reservation where I was living and interning. My field placement supervisor her fiance and a few students were in the raft with me. We were rolling right along when we got stuck on a rock. Yes, as guide, I should have steered us around it, but since I didn't, I felt obliged to stand up in the raft and push us off the rock. Foot slipped and down I went into the water. First thing I did was try to swim and fight the current...that's a no no. Remembered that and then tried to keep my eye on the raft as they tried to get to me...that's a no no. First thing they tell you. If you fall out of the raft float AND turn your feet facing down stream. Why? Because if you are on a river with lots of falls and/ or rocks the rivers gonna carry you and you'll tire yourself out maybe even hit your head on a rock in your futile attempt to swim. Now once you start floating, if you float trying to keep an eye on the raft, again you could hit your head and drown. If your feet are first you see whats coming at you and can possibly guide yourself to a safe spot where you can re-enter the raft or simply get to safety and meet up with the group downstream. I was scared you-know-what-less. But I had a group depending on me, so I kept my fright to a minimal and was able to regain command of my ship within a short amount of time and everyone seemed to think it was a great ride. Sure when you are younger the reality of death is not as vivid, but what makes us so timid about living and taking chances. It can't be the skinned knees or the embarrassing falls. I mean we survive those so we know we are resilient. What is it that stops us, holds us back, keeps us for saying and doing those things we want to? Why does fear grip us so successfully or cause us to hide behind things like weight or the abilities, charms and looks of others? How is it some "just do it"? I don't know what it is, but its what I'm trying to discover in myself.
I shared with a co-worker, I cry more now than I've ever cried, I'm not gonna beat myself up about it, cause I guess I'm feeling what I stuffed down with food before. Sad things are truly sad to me now and funny things are funny. I got irritated more easily and depressed. That wasn't even in my vocabulary before. I told someone I get why suicides go up after weight loss surgery. You have been waiting to live...without the weight that is. However, these first few months can be disappointing, frustrating and anti-climatic from what you expected. You are suddenly cut off from the love of your life, but otherwise life is still the same. You fail and succeed just as before, and you don't see a huge change for a while. So you wonder what were you thinking to have done something so drastic. You wonder will you ever feel okay again. You wonder whats the big deal when you look the same and in my eyes I was even bigger (swelling from the surgery)! So much for beginning to live. Its those times you REALLY need a support system, somebody cheering you own saying you can do it, its gonna get better, just hang in there, you are awesome for taking this step. And it doesn't hurt to have that song from the animated Christmas stories: "Put one foot in front of the other". Seriously stuff like that will get you out of bed, to the bathroom, the kitchen and back to the bed. Before you know it literally, "you'll be walking out the door." That's how, in this instance you develop the courage to start living and stop waiting. There have been days I just wanted to crawl under the bed, but that darn foot was tapping that tune and the other foot would catch the bug and there I was walking to the closet, to the bathroom and before I could mount a good argument we were out the door. It didn't happen super fast, but it happened. I'm not 100% now, but I'm a long ways from ground zero. So don't focus on the fear, the pain, the risk. Focusing on the here and now, getting that one foot on the floor, followed by the other. Come with me, lets stop waiting to start living and lets live.

Traitors in the camp

Ok, so by now in case you haven't figured it out. There is someone, I hang out with who has caught my attention and a bit more. Its a friendship, however being a controlling person, I've tried to define it, put it on a specific track, tried to set the pace...oh you name it, I've tried it. Fortunately, my friend is a bit saner about life than me and is frankly chugging along at his own enjoyable pace and when I manage to chill his pace is pretty cool.
Being the bright and intelligent woman I am, I see that the actions mentioned above can only irritate him, frustrate me and ultimately drive a wedge between us. So I am working reeaallly hard to do this chill thing and enjoy his pace.

Ok, ok, I told you guys I would be truthful with you and here is the truth. Tonight for the third time I have had someone I would expect to support me in my endeavors to say, leave him be...as in he's a nice man going at a nice pace and you should enjoy the ride.
When my best friend in this life tells me I better enjoy the friendship and don't try to push it other places, and literally twist my arm to get a promise out of me, I was a bit surprised. Then my own flesh and blood says the same thing and then to night my very own dear mother says the same thing. Well I don't have to eat the entire cow to know its beef. Guess I need to let the "nice man" be my friend and enjoy his friendship. Don't get me wrong, they aren't anti-him on the contrary the two that have met him, like him and would welcome him at anytime. The third likes what she's heard from gossiping family and what I have shared. They just have issue with his controlling friend.

Moi! Can you believe it? They subscribe to the theory all good things in their own time...what malarkey.
For those of you who have read my postings and you have half a brain, you've guessed I like to know how it works, when it works and how I can make it work. Not so I can boss it, but just so that I know. Its that crazy childhood thing again. Unpredictableness(is that a word?) causes you to crave predictability, and hopefully if you can predict it, it can't hurt you.

Fortunately I have people who love me and aren't afraid to tell me the truth when I need to hear it. And after they've beat me over the head with it several times I began to get it. Funny thing is when it clicks I usually think it was my idea. I thought some more about the "getting a life" post. Chilling out over this friendship is a part of that as well. Life should be lived to its fullest and each relationship should be enjoyed to its fullest exploring the possibilities. Both life and some relationships have limitations. We don't know until we hit those points along the way. Sure the limitations are disappointing and sometimes they even hurt, but hey that's life. Well, its a life worth living right? For the time being, thanks to the traitors in my camp who imparted some wisdom, I plan to enjoy life and this friendship to its fullest, who knows the possibilities could be infinite for both...then again there may be limitations. Well until the maybe's turn into realities I say "full speed ahead, bring on life!"

Getting a life again

I was reviewing my most recent blogs and I just need to tell you that I kept thinking, "you just need to get a life". If that's been your thoughts, your prayers have been answered. I did have a life...no seriously. My friends think I am a very exciting person. I think as I got closer to the surgery, I circled the wagons. I had individual and group activities going on. I read several post and asked, if this was a friend what would I tell her. I'd tell her "girl' get on with life. If it happens it happens and when it happens it happens. I feel as though I've been acting like a hamster continually running on a wheel that goes no where in particular.
How did I get here right? I mean what made me put the brakes on the whining about being scared and is someone really out there, blah blah blah,? Well I am not a pity party person and I'm not a depressed person. I can't stay down for long. I may hurt for a while, but I get up dust myself off and move on. Its a combination of Mary J Blige "You can't keep a good woman down" and Rhianna's "When a good girl goes bad"... by the way "she's gone forever".
So it started to fall into place last night. First I was told I would be happy, I deserve to be happy. I was told I am a sexy woman and then offered options that let me know I am desired and wanted. Ok so I considered the options, "don't judge me", i didn't accept the offer. Seriously there is something empowering to know that you are desired. Liked and appreciated are one thing, but as a woman being told someone wants you is, well its empowering. So I took a deep breath and started to do some thinking. I don't pay attention to most dreams, but sometimes they stick with me or they have themes that indicate my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I dreamed about a kind, patient, middle eastern man with quiet strength and he was preparing a meal for me. There was lots of chaos going on outside. My old boss was murdering people who knew what he had done and I was afraid I was next, but I felt safe inside with this man. I waited while he explained and cooked for me. That's all I remember of that. Then I dreamed that I was driving along but as I reached a very high bridge I somehow ended up on the outside of the car holding onto a very strong cord that stretched. As the car continued up the bridge, I was hanging on the side of the car and the cord stretched longer. I was not as heavy as I am now. I was actually about the size I hope to be. I struggled to get on the bridge. Eventually I crawled on the bridge and let the cord go. But when I got on the bridge and crossed over I was naked. Ok so here's the deal. The bridge dream has not occurred to my knowledge in over 10 years! It use to be fairly common in my late 20s. That was when I was trying to decide who I was and where I was going. I would dream that my car turned into a Flintstone car, with my feet making it go. I would get stuck on bridges all the time. Back then I figured it out that bridges were transition and my car was me going into transitions,with either doubts, hesitations or difficulty in accepting the transition. So I can only deduct, I'm in a time of great transition cause I don't recall ever hanging from the bridge outside the car! But the good thing is that I held on and I was close to the size I want to be. Being naked is always being vulnerable. That tells me that inside I acknowledge that I'm scared about this whole weight surgery thing and will I be successful, but that somewhere deep down I am prepared to hang in there till I cross over. Go me!!!! Cooking is a nurturing thing and feeling safe with the man tells me this is what I'm looking for. Like my earlier post said, I'm looking for a safe place for my heart. I deserve to be happy and I will be, but in the meantime I've got to cross the bridge and make my journey. I just love my subconscious and God. They always clarify things for me eventually.

So, lets see what post I can come up with while getting a life again. Trust me, I get into some really funny adventures and if I cross that with trying to be more vulnerable AND dealing with beginning to eat again, it should be interesting.
With the surgery, you graduate from clear liquids, to full liquids, to pureed, to soft foods (where i am now yeah!) and then more foods to experiment with and then more. Its so funny because at each level, I've jumped for joy about things I took for granted before. SCRAMBLED EGGS!!!! or SUGAR FREE PUDDING!!!!!! or worse, BABY FOOD!!! sad but hilariously true. I am totally amazed at the small amounts of food I eat. I am embarrassed to even compare before and after. I was so smug when I watched the shows about people consuming so much, but whether its super high amounts or just more than your body requires its still gluttony I guess. Oh well let the games begin...I'm going out to start living again!

Missing our blessings

My sister has had a good male friend from the time I can remember. He always reminded me of Richard Pryor in his mannerisms. He always had cool cars and dressed "fly" (hey my sister came of age in the 70's). I had a bit of a crush on him, and hoped he'd wait for me to get older. In the mean time he had a string of women. Attractive, accomplished women, but according to the stories he shared with my sister and she shared with me, each had issues. When I got older I began to hear fear in his words and actions. Being privy to the inside scoop I could have told each hopeful lady that there was nothing wrong with her, but he was afraid of settling down and what he might be tied down to. He never saw the other side of a committed partnership. He didn't foresee a time where he would not have the things he traded on then.
I had a bad day yesterday and had to stay home...I keep forgetting that recovery means just that. Anywho, I am at work today and my sister called to check on me. She advised me that she was with this childhood friend at his treatment. He has a serious illness. He called her because he was on the way to the treatment alone. One of the ladies he kept on a string all these years was going with him but then someone got sick in her family and she cancelled. My sister said his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas when he saw her. I fought back tears and continued to talk cheerfully with my sister about him, her date she cancelled to be with him and other things. When I got off the phone I thought about the tears. I had instantly thought had sad it was that he had squandered so many opportunities to build a life with someone and have a partner by his side to go through life's challenges. I wondered would his friend have cancelled if he was her family. More so I thought of a conversation I had last night where I was told basically, be glad you're single, you could be in a relationship where you are miserable. I hear this over and over again from men mostly and I ask if this is the mentality that's out there, why should I risk putting the wall down. Most women, myself included (I think) look for a place to rest their heart. A safe spot where it can lie peacefully protected and loved by a man who wants to care for it and cherish it like the one that beats within his own chest. If I'm hearing the men of today, correctly its ok if you bring your heart along for the ride, but don't get comfortable cause that spots not available for permanent occupancy.
It reminds me of the old hymn "What a friend we have in Jesus", specifically the verse that says Oh what peace we often forfeit, oh what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer." Studies show that people in marriages make more money, their blood pressures are lower, that in general they are happier people, men live longer in marriages, children perform better in a two parent home, and who knows what else. How many blessings do I and my sister's friend miss out on because of the fears we've let overrule our good judgement. I don't think its too late for either of us. I am afraid that my heart will end up in a precarious spot, but I'm taking the bricks down anyway. There are just too many blessings and special moments I don't want to miss out on. I've missed enough of them already.

What's behind Door # 3?

Insecurity, how does it start, when does it start and why does it start? Hmm, so if you're reading this post, scroll down and read my last post and the comment after it. The comment actually hit on something I've been bouncing around in my mind...well kinda sorta. There is a mention of letting down the mental wall. Its good advice and true. Why do people install alarms, change locks, put in security cameras, buy guns etc? Same reason we put up emotional walls to protect what we value from getting injured or defamed or mistreated. This week my niece and her husband had their mailbox vandalized and the neighbor's trash thrown in their yard. They had taken down their security cameras so they have no idea who did it. The cameras are going back up this week. If you've ever opened your heart only to have it end badly, you know how my niece's probably feeling and thinking right now. "What made me take the camera's down, this probably wouldn't have happened if the camera was still up."
I wasn't thinking this week so much about the emotional wall. I was thinking about failure and what's next. I shared with my cousin last week that I wondered if I would be the first person to not lose weight? I mean after all I have been big all my life or at least as long as I can remember. As the week went on, and I thought on it, my humble opinion is, I think its more like what if it does work. What then? I've read that fat is a way to not deal with other things, success, intimacy,unresolved anger and so on. I guess that's true because I find myself fearing not being successful, being successful, finding love, not finding love. Its a whole new wall I didn't expect. I always prided myself on being a free spirit and nonconformist. This has all thrown me for a loop, to discover that I have such deeply held hang ups. AND that I, the free spirit have been so "weighed down" by these issues. I think I need a trip out to Walden's Pond.
Anywho, it would appear that my journey is not only about the weight loss, but the stuff it uncovers in me along the way and how I deal with that too.
So let's go with identity first. I am the baby of my family, I am one of the three girls, and apparently I am currently "the big one". I am the only big child my mom has. Neither of my sisters have ever been larger than a size 10. Most of their lives they were 5,6,7 max 9. My eldest sister who has aging issues...not my story to tell, is struggling with middle age lbs. Its not bulge lbs just means you might want to reconsider hip hugger jeans or the spandex you wore 10 years ago. She and I were talking about the surgery and she advised me she had to work on her weight, because "I realized my sister is going to loose weight and then I'll be the big one." Its one thing to know that someone thinks a certain way, but its different to hear it come from their lips. Wow, I had to stop and think, then I reassured her that she didn't have to worry about getting that title. I have no intentions of becoming bone thin. I think I'd like to be a little on the thick side. She was surprisingly pleased and supportive of this. It almost made me want to get bone thin just so she would have to deal with her own issues. Again, not my story or my issues. So I'm going to deal with unbeing. As I drop weight i will stop being what some folks have relegated me to, "THE BIG ONE", not the youngest one, not the shortest one, not the one who went to college, etc. I like to think of it as unbeing, kind of like erasing the board and starting the equation over. Some people will want to keep me "the big one", while others will change who they are to fit the new me and yet others will scramble to redefine me. I think I will seek to be a true resident of Walden's Pond and simply "unbe". I will unbe the person behind the walls, unbe the big one, and unbe the person scared of the unknown trying to control every moment. Bring on door # 3, I can deal with a year's supply of broccoli or the new car. They each have a place and use in my life.

Keeping it real

Everyone has an idea of what life will be like for me sans the weight. Funny thing is it all seems to be centered around looks, my social life, and my prowess as a woman. Its funny cause its like the fat girl stereotype in reverse. Fat girls stay home, don't have men attracted to them and have no fun. On the other hand, skinny girls care only about manipulating men, going out every night, so on and so on. Its getting to be a bit insulting, I just wonder at what exact weight will I stop caring about who people are inside, and decide to take men for every penny their worth. Maybe its like a dress size. One day I'm a size 10 and then I wake up a size 9 and "poof!" a black book appears at my bedside. I start in alphabetical order calling poor saps who open their wallets for women size 9 and smaller.
I remember telling someone that I was excited about doing some things I had stopped doing because of weight. Funny but hoochism, skankism and just good ole fashion gold diggerism never entered the conversation. I listed things like white water rafting, roller coasters and walking in big cities.
I know that things will change, people will change and I'm told that I will change, but I just gotta believe that core me will keep it real. Real me looks beyond who people are on the outside and their window dressings, I connect with who they are inside. I value that and I expect to do that then. I can't imagine discarding someone I care about just because my "stock" has risen in the eyes of others.
I don't think I could enjoy an attractive jerk. I don't enjoy them now, yes I know some find it hard to believe a fat girl would turn down ANY dates, but I have. Some things are simply not worth the bonus points for being seen with the attractive jerk. So let me say it again for me, so that it will possibly stick with the cells that remain after the weight loss. Real me looks deeply, cares deeply and that won't change with the dropping of weight or dress sizes.

Four in the fire and That's Ex-Ms Independent to you

This started out as two separate post, but then I realized that they belong together and its gonna be a looooong one. So get something to drink and sit in the comfy chair. Don't get me wrong, I'm not even putting myself in the same category as the young Hebrew men cast into the fire in the Old Testament story, but I can only imagine how they must have felt when they realized they were not going through it alone and there was someone who was there for them in their time of need. The weekend before my surgery, I think it was clear to anyone reading this blog I was freaking out. I was trying to process what I knew at that point and get myself psyched. For weeks friends had been offering their support and the promise to be present on "D" day. Well as the day drew near one friend and I got so far off the same page I was wondering "can this friendship be saved?" Thank God for mom and another very good friend. In their own way they provided input as to why we were not on the same page and how to handle it. Day of the surgery, everyone that should have been was on the same page. Family and friends gathered and waited while I went under the knife or rather the scope and tools. I've said that if you met my friends all at one time you would walk away thinking they run the spectrum from very normal to "why haven't they locked you up or at least heavily sedated you", but you won't say, "boy can you believe how stuck up they were?" Apparently the bunch that came together that day fit that description to a "T". That's based on the stories they've all shared with me. Sounds like I missed quite a bit of fun, but of course I was having my own. I remember saying bye to the ones there at the time, but can't even recall making it to the OR, next thing I know they're waking me up in recovery. Wow! Even part of that had escaped me, just remembered a classmate was there in recovery and walked me to my room. I got to the room and there were all these lovely faces who kept their word to be there for me. I don't think I cried, but from that moment to this I've shared numerous tears of thanksgiving for those seven folks. There were jokes, hugs, and such. As I got settled in, each prepared to leave and head home or on to a few errands and one sweet soul had to go home and sleep since he came straight from working 12 hours to the hospital and stayed till late in the afternoon. I then found out that they had worked out who would stay with me at night for as long as I might be there! It NEVER occurred to me that I might need someone to stay or to even plan for that. I've done it before, but it just blows my mind that these people with lives of their own were willing to put it on hold and stay with me.
I made up my mind prior to the surgery that I would require minimum recovery time and support. When I finally woke up and had some semblance of "sense", I felt absolutely giddy. I was excited and thrilled primarily to have survived...no, seriously in the back of my mind I wondered if this would be the day I met my maker. I was whistling like the tough kid I always pretend to be, but I was quaking in my boots. Lets face it, you plan, cross every t and dot all the i-s, but then Providence can still throw a curve ball. So I was ecstatic to be in the land of the living (as the old folks say). Secondly was I hocked up on some wonderful drugs. I didn't realize that at the moment, but apparently they spared nothing to make sure the big girl felt nothing and I mean nothing (said with either a heavy Italian or Latino accent). Well since I was feeling so wonderful I assessed the situation and decided this would be a walk in the park. I had slept much of the day and when I woke at 3am, I was on GO! for the rest of the night, unfortunately for my sister who drew the short straw of staying with me that night. We washed me. I washed as far as possible and then my sister washed "possible". That's a quote borrowed from my granny on her sick bed. She told my aunts "you wash as far as possible, and I'll wash possible". So I decided one day of someone else washing possible was enough and the next day I would be to do it myself. Sure enough I got up the next day and I won't even tell you what all I did. My friend who stayed let me do it, but insisted I leave the bathroom door open in case I needed her. I was insulted but obeyed. She actually had a little base in her voice. I lifted a pan of water, moved some things around in the bathroom. Oh by the way, I highly recommend Western Wake Medical in Cary NC for weight loss surgery. They were absolutely on point. I've heard horror stories about professionals who have fat biases and treat big patients with disdain and disrespect. In the three visits I've made there, never I have felt anything other than they had my best interest at heart. I did report a jerk tech whose sole responsibility is to roll people back and forth from radiology to their room, and he did a poor job of that. But that was it. They kept me laughing in the lab even when they couldn't find a vein and it took 45 mins for my body to cooperate. The second time, the phlebotomist who had to give me to a more experienced person had studied up, and advised me she was ready for me...and she was, hitting it on the first prick. Day Surgery took good care of prepping me for surgery, and so on. Then I got a huge room with a queen fold out couch! Flat screen TV, Dang! We meant to bring the couch and TV home, oh well. So there I was being Ms. Independent, oh yeah forgot to tell yah, my drain site started leaking the night before on one of my "independent" trips to the bathroom. It happened several more time and then I became nauseous. I got medicine and it went away...for a while. Then it came back and I was tired to my shock and surprise, but by the end of the day, they were sending me home. I was thrilled cause I was still on schedule. Back to work in a week, yep I would make it. One of my sisters and the folks I call my second set of parents brought me home. When I got home I began to plot my recovery and how it would go. I thanked everyone and crawled in bed for a quick nap. I began to move around, but was not finding this liquid thing easy to deal with. I was uncomfortable in bed and kept sliding down. I couldn't lay on my sides, I was feeling nauseous every time I drank water, but I had a schedule and didn't want to be a bother. The next day I ran water in the tub and bent over to wash myself. By the end of the day I was exhausted, draining at my site and feeling utterly defeated in my recovery schedule. I went to the bathroom, and while sitting there I began to talk with God about how overwhelmed I was feeling and how I just didn't understand what was going wrong. It hit me like a lightening bolt that I, Ms. Independent needed HELP. That went over like a lead balloon. I kid you now I sat in the bathroom and cried trying to accept the fact that I needed someone else, I would have to ask for help and I would have to wait for others to either be there or not. Now here's the kicker, every single one of those seven people had made it clear that it was ok to ask them for help. One told me not to ask for anything, but I know him well enough to know that if I needed it he would have gotten it for me. So I get myself together, splash water on my face and proceed to ask for help. I advise my immediate family of my situation and then call my "other mom" to pick up something specifically for me. They all agreed.
Before you call me stupid or prideful let me tell you what happened next. My mom asked if there was anything she could do for me. I said yes could she put lotion on my feet. They looked like the hooves of a beast plowing fields for years, (they still haven't completely recovered). They don't allow you to put lotion on prior to surgery...there's a gold star in heaven for the person who creates a substance for ashy feet during periods like this. Well mom comes to my door and as she's walking in the room she says, "You know ___ would have loved to have done this", that was a subtle way of saying you should have asked your sister to do this. When she finished, she sat on the chair near my bed and talked for a while. She asked if I needed anything else. I had gathered everything I needed on my bed, but got tired before I got water, so I asked for a glass of water. She said ok, talked on a few minutes when her phone rang. She went to answer it. She had several calls during that initial call and advised the callers she would call them back. She did just that and an hour 1/2 later I still didn't have a glass of water. I could only laugh that the lessons of childhood had not been misunderstood nor had they changed much. "Be good, don't disturb the adults, good children take care of themselves and don't require much of adults who have more important things to take care of." I got up and didn't even want to make her feel bad that she had not gotten what I asked for. I hid my glass as I walked to the kitchen. I stopped at the bathroom, she was still on the phone and saw me. She saw me go to the kitchen and return. There was no way to hide the glass on the way back, but I still held it low. She got off her call and said to me as I got back in bed, "Oh bless your heart, I forgot you..." I told her that was ok. I absolved her of doing what she had done so often during my childhood. I joked it off and told her she was fired. I sat in my bed and cried again. I didn't have to dig deep into my psyche to figure out why I was Ms. Independent and why it was so hard to give up that title. I am soooooo very grateful though that I could look across in the furnace of life and there were still others standing with me. Sometimes, we are not fortunate enough to have what we need in childhood, but then God sends the most wonderful surprises later on and when we allow them, they patch some of the holes. If we are really smart we allow these friends into our lives and we allow them to repair some damage. One of my seven friends had a crappy...oh hell I can't sugar coat it, she had a shitty childhood(those are my words, not hers). She has the husband we would all kill her for, if she wasn't our friend, and she says she thinks God blessed her with him because of such a bad childhood. So the next time you hear someone telling the story of the three Hebrew boys and the fiery furnace, pause for a minute and thank God for those "go to friends" in your life, who stand with you in the furnaces of life.

Grief and regret

I woke early this morning and found myself humming Mona Lisa:
Mona Lisa Mona Lisa, men have named you
You're so like the lady with the mystic smile
Is it only 'cause you're lonely, they have blamed you
For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile?

Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?
Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?
Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep
They just lie there and they die there
Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?
Or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art?

After a moment of thought I realized how appropriate this was. Within a few moments my mother came to my door, she'd heard me moving around so early and wondered if something related to the surgery was bothering me. She was actually wanting to talk. The last of her close girlfriends died yesterday and the friend's daughter called her late last night to share feelings that maybe she had not done enough. Mom told me she relayed to the daughter, a story I had never heard about when my grandmother died and unfounded guilt she carried for a while. When she left my door I laid back on my pillow pondering how guilt and regret are like a bird that fly into the house of your soul. Its the weirdest thing that it finds that one opening to get in, but once in, it just can't seem to find its way out. It beats against the walls, bangs from one side to the other. Other emotions and reason run after it trying to lead it out, but it continues to hit here and there.
How does this happen? I can only look in me for clues to how it has happened to me. I said Mona Lisa was apropos and it was. More like the subconscious wanting some time with me. See yesterday I was reminded that like a super hero I have a secret weapon, its my invisible wall of protection. It would be cool if it protected me from bullets, fire, explosions or even the hurt that it came into existence to prevent. However it protects from none of those, it just keeps people at a distance increasing the chances of hurt. Some time ago I was told that to hide a certain part of my anatomy was like hiding the Mona Lisa...yes those were the exact words, and no it wasn't said in my 20s, thank you very much,(there is much to be appreciated in we 40 somethings, just ask Ashton). At the time it was said I laughed at being compared to such a famously loved work of art, but it came to mind this morning as a reminder of the wall and hiding my feelings away behind the wall. The book and movie, "The Joy Luck Club, are about four Asian mothers and their daughters. As their stories unfold you discover each mother has experienced great pain, hurt, betrayal and or misfortune and it has intertwined with who they became as well as greatly affected sometimes even emotionally crippled their daughters. It is the stories of friendship, making peace with yourself,and your mother or daughter and specifically the past. The main mother and daughter of the book each have their own regrets about each other and themselves. It has rested quietly on their relationship preventing them from seeing each other clearly. The author of the book, Amy Tan seems to have a clear understanding of the human psyche in the area of hopes, dreams and desires that are not allowed to flourish, but are denied sunlight, water and nutrients. However, her characters manage to survive, tunneling to sunlight, trekking to where the water and food are and growing in spite of.
I remember being about 6 years old and visiting my aunt and uncle in DC. They had their first child who was a toddler, so I got to play with other kids on the block. Sitting out on the front step of their house, with one of the girls, we selected neighborhood boys that we saw to be our boyfriends. One that I had picked out stopped by on his bike, my playmate quickly shared with him that I had chosen him and he immediately denounced such a match, " I would never go with a fat girl!". I can't remember my first grade teacher's name, I can't remember who many of my classmates were, it doesn't get better till about 3rd grade. But I clearly remember sitting there on that porch and feeling embarrassed and humiliated. I can't recall what the boy or even my playmate's face looked like, just the sound of his northern accent cutting me to the quick. My mother grew up in a family of ten who, while they had occasional fall outs, did not seek out opportunities to test out dirty dozens skills or other children's games that taught toughness and the ability to respond on your feet. Deep thought and reflection were encouraged instead. She brought these into her home and instilled that in her children, hurtful words were never to be used to resolve conflict. I probably could just laugh this off as one of those silly moments in childhood if I had responded in kind with something like "Well, I wouldn't have a boyfriend that looked like ....". you get the idea, but I didn't understand the art of standing up for yourself or battling to get respect and even to build bonds of friendship. The bird flew in and began to fly around. I took a 4-H class in sewing one summer. We each had a sewing partner to work on our project with. My partner and I got along famously. I don't know why this caught the attention of two classmates, but they advised the instructor that I had been talking about her and in the middle of class this adult instructor told me and the class that perhaps I could do a better job on my project if I was not talking about her during class. My partner and I looked at each other in astonishment wondering what she was talking about while the two culprits of this laughed with great pleasure. Lots of people say with great enthusiasm, so what shit happens or life is tough, or well we all have our problems. This is true, but that doesn't mean it hasn't affected you. I realize by opening myself up to the world in this blog it may seem like I spend a lot of time whining, bitching or stuck on stuff. It actually means I'm trying to identify the birds in my soul and trying to get them out.
Sometimes we are fortunate enough that someone helps us open a window to our soul and the grief/regret fly away, sometimes reason and the other emotions are actually quick enough to trap the fluttering creature and set it free...then there are those times that in exploring the depths of ourselves we come across the decaying remains of grief/regret in a hidden spot of the soul and you realize that you've simply incorporated the stench into your everyday mode of living. You and I owe it to ourselves(and the ones we love or hope to love), to catch and set free the creatures that keep our houses (souls) on alert and not at peace. We have to put on gloves go to the attic, move the clutter around find the thing(s) that's been festering and smelling up the place, you may have gotten use to the odor, but others who come in contact with you smell the odor and know some thing's dying there. Find it put it in a garbage bag and clean the spot.
Now do yourself a favor and discover Amy Tan, go check out the DVD Joy Luck Club or better yet read "The Bonesetter's Daughter, or The Hundred Secret Senses, or The Kitchen god's Wife.

Getting my head right to fly

Well first of all I got the surgery on July 8th. It was amazing! Tuesday I had some office mates witness my will and health care power of attorney. It elicited a conversation that is very common among blacks. Lots of times, people ask why is it that when given a chance a child from the hood does not take the opportunity. There is an assumption that everyone thinks the same. We don't, so much influences how we see things and approach things. I was a little disheartened that I was having this conversation with a young person I thought was enlightened. See, I grew up with black parents from the old school, and when I say old I mean OLD. My dad would drop his head when talking to a white boss. He said yes sir to white men younger than himself out of age old training. He called ghost "hanks". That group saw hard working men of color loose everything just because a white man wanted it, mom tells of a family member who was done out of land because the white attorney did not do the right thing. The worst beating I ever got was for watching the building of a house. I was standing in the woods where I could not be seen, while they built. I was about 12. Mom called for me and I ran back to our house before I answered her. She deducted where I'd been, and beat me like I never had been beat before. She said "if something had happened to you they would say what was she doing over there". I was in college before I realized what she was saying and why she beat me. She knew a girl the age of my sisters was raped by a white man and he was never charged. This was the world they lived in. From that world they developed a way of thinking that helped them coped. The foundation of that thinking is don't plan too far ahead, don't get caught up in the good that's happening, don't enjoy the fruit of your labor too much, and don't get above yourself...because at anytime something might and probably will happen. Its amazing how many blacks still think this way without a thought of its consequences on them or their children. Some fear flying, won't go on cruises, don't eat exotic foods, the list goes on. Perfectly intelligent and industrious people whose children then have to compete with families that have been to Europe for 2 or 3 generations. Families who can afford exclusive clubs, events, but won't, "I ain't spending that money to act like something I ain't" again they and or their children have to compete for jobs, promotions, school entrances against families who eat and socialize with someone who can help them in their endeavors. Those are other areas, but the one I started to talk about was preparing a will. I hate to tell you, but death is gonna get you. "Life", nobody gets out alive! Yet in the black community there is this unspoken rule, "don't plan for it or it will come get you as soon as you do. Yet we see over and over again the results of not planning. Families fall apart, estates are lost, undivorced spouses come out the wood work, get insurances, take homes and live in lovers, outside children, and other family members who have stood by through thick and thin are slighted even mementos of their loved ones. But for many in the black community you might as well shoot them as oppose to asking them to prepare for the inevitable. I see it as the most selfish thing a loved one can do to the people they CLAIM to love. Basically what you are saying is I am so stuck in superstition and ignorance that I don't care if my children end up with a family member who's a child molester, I don't care that since I made no plan, everything has to go into probate (held by the state) my family has not money to operate with until its released and some stranger will determine what if anything my loved ones get, I don't care that my loved ones may be so stricken with grief that planning a funeral, memorial etc is unthinkable I want them to do it anyway, all because I was selfish and scared so I chose not to plan.
I'm not saying its a walk in the park to do it, but there are so many resources online now that you can read, plan and do exactly what you want without a soul knowing what you've decided until the reading of the will. I highly recommend you advise your executor(s) and/or anyone you want to leave your children to. My mom went to a seminar on wills given by an attorney and I read the material he gave out. The thing that stood out for me was the example he gave of JFK Jr. I can't quote it, but that dude had planned for all kinds of contingencies. He left things to his wife, BUT he said if something happened to them at the same time and they had kids he had a plan, and if something happened then he had another plan. Its funny cause if anybody had cause to fear death it was that family, but he had it so well planned that his estate goes on in the care of a family member. I realize that when his grandfather was exploiting and manipulating so that his family could become an empire, my family was still subject to a rogue hanging by the Johnston County Klan. I get why my family is less likely to make elaborate plans.
So I drew up a will, and the health care power of attorney (which allows someone to make medical decisions if you are unable to). The young man shocked me, he said as he signed my will and POA, "I need to do this, but you know how they say, they must have knew they were going to die, they just did a will last week." That statement and "things are going so good, something bad must be gonna happen", are HUGE pet peeves of mine and yet I wrestle with them just like everyone else who grew up under that. Alice Walker wrote a poem about defying expectations and she has a line about going on whistling like a crowing hen. You have to be African American to understand that. I was always told " a whistling girl and a crowing hen always come to no good end." Defying these deeply held superstitions is like that whistling girl. I whistle whenever I get a chance. I whistle to move myself ahead, I whistle to clear the path for my siblings' children, for my younger cousins and family members I whistle to cut some of those chains that tie us to imaginary anchors. I am so glad I whistled enough to not get frozen in fear and back out of my surgery.

Getting there

I guess I'm a little weird. I don't freak all at once. It takes me a moment to recognize what I'm feeling. I am still nervous, but I'm not as afraid. I mean things happen, but I believe that everything humanly possible has been done...well almost, I could be lighter, but other than that, its in God's hands and even with that its still in His hands. So its like that old joke "why worry, you are either healthy or ill...." I have moved to preparing for life after the surgery. Meanwhile I've got friends who I think maybe could use talking down off the roof. I am so thankful for my mom, she came through in a clinch and allowed me to chill while folks get on the same page with me.

Nervous and scared

So, surgery is Wednesday and I'm starting to feel it. I am unable to take anti-inflammatory medications which may cause my blood to thin. Having a little joint pain. Friends are firing questions like I have all the answers, I still have things to purchase and for the first time in my life I'm actually facing something that really is a matter of life and death. For the most part I believe I'll be okay, but there's that little part that wonders what if...? I have to complete my will and health care power of attorney and a few other things, but I'm gonna spend some time over on the website for obese folks looking for support and information in weight loss efforts - Obesityhelp.com
I may or may not post before surgery, depending on where my head is, but I will definitely keep you posted.

food, love and desperation

Dwayne Wayne "Different World" was trying to decide what he felt for Whitley Gilbert and his mom (Patti Labelle) told him "Good love feeds yah like good grub". When I heard that I thought it was so profound. Now of course I realize that my "love" for food helped me make the connection. Actually now that I'm trying to unravel my love for food, it may be an even more profound statement than when I first heard it. Addicts talk about chasing that first high, which of course you never get again. We food lovers, I think chase similar highs. We chase a feeling or a memory associated with a food. For example, just the right tomato sauce evokes memories of when my mom introduced us to homemade pizza by Chef Boyardee. The crust was so thick and substantive, but it was so cool being able to roll out your own dough. The sauce came in a small can, and it was all in that yellow box. I thought that made me as normal as normal got. I couldn't imagine a normal household in the world that didn't have these yellow boxes. For that time my dad didn't exist and everything was right. There was no salad or vegetable to be seen anywhere. I didn't know that balanced meals require more than a good memory, after all tomorrow is coming and the realities of poor nutrition will have to be answered for.

What I perceive as love is sometimes like that. Its a feeling or a memory. My mom would sometimes refer to how my dad treated her family when her father died. I even had relatives who supported my mom's choice to stay talking about his respect of mom's mom and so on. Things change, people change and sometimes what you see is really not the whole story. In middle school we read this story, and I've never found it again. A boy much like us at that age was having what he perceived to be a great day and near the end he encountered a genie. The genie granted him a wish. Being young and impetuous like us at that age, he immediately wished to re-live that day and be able to know he was re-living it so he could enjoy every moment. His wish was granted and he started the day, but as it went on he realized that he had missed little nuances and the day was not as perfect as he thought. He was glad when the day was coming to a close, but to his horror he was not able to stop himself when he reached the place in his day where he wished to repeat his day, and like the best Twilight episode he was left entangled in his own warped world of imperfection.
I think lots of us, self included look at interactions with others through rose colored glasses and see the perfect day. Its only after we are completely separated from the interactions that we see clearly. The abused woman begins to see that her husband wasn't really caring and protective. He called her every hour or had her call him to control her, he wasn't supportive of her losing weight, he was wearing down her self esteem by throwing her weight in her face and comparing her to his secretary. Many times we mistake a high carb, high sodium, high fat pizza for normal and good.
When Mrs Wayne compares good love to good grub, I think she was trying to tell her son to get something sustaining. Chasing a high, a memory or a feeling doesn't allow growth, maturity, and stability. Its more like being on a treadmill, running in place. There's more to experience, more to learn, more to see, and and more to feel. You can always tell when you're in "non-good grub" relationship. You look for the next time you get that same feeling again, to reaffirm why you remain in the relationship. With good grub you have a pretty good feeling that you've made the right selection, and it will feed your heart and soul healthy nutrients. Choosing the other stuff means months of extra workouts, ways to balance it, because it throws everything off. A friend and I compared indigestion stories and she told about being on vacation. She developed severe indigestion, but because she was on vacation and determined to "enjoy" herself, she took antacids and continued to consume what was causing her severe indigestion. Don't look so shocked, she's not the first or the last.
Recently a "cousin" (in the Black community we have sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles etc that we have NO blood relation to, but they have the full rights and privileges of said office) tried to put the moves on me. He started by blowing sunshine up my butt (no not literally.) He informed me that he was attracted to bigger women, (that's an amature trick, on the level of pulling a quarter out of some one's ear). He then tells me his friends are the same and if I was in their midst, I wouldn't last 2 minutes. I would be like a rabbit in a group of foxes. This is suppose to have swelled my insecure head. Let me set the scene for my sarcastic and brutal tone. Imagine, Denzel, Taye Diggs, Omar Epps, and then imagine what they would look like mushed together, and having led a hard life. Now remove all but eight or nine teeth. Oh it gets better and put them outside a trailer after a few beers. This is what's talking to me. But the amazing thing is that he brags he has several children in the county that I live in and proceeds to name the cities and towns he has helped to populate. He brags that his girl drives an hour from that county to the county he lives in to see him. WTF!!!!!!! I need some alone time with this big girl. Then it hits me, in her desperation to experience a feeling or a memory she is chasing this shell of a man, mistakenly thinking he can give her that. I guess he makes her feel wanted and for that she is willing to eat an unbalanced diet and work it off later. OR maybe she has some of my control issues, and she feels here is a man that she knows where he is, she has something he doesn't and no matter what he will always be there or "want her" cause she's got what he needs. Unfortunately life is as unpredictable as it gets and under different circumstances I could have been the one piece of chaos that threw her world completely off.
I guess though until chaos does occur she will continue this nonsense. I for one want to foolproof my life against bad grub. I don't know about you, but I could use some of that good grub and good love Mrs Wayne was talking about. Hopefully as I grow through this journey, I will learn to discern good grub and good love for what it is and get lots of both into my diet.