Willowing in the darkness that daylight savings brings
Hibernation drawing nearer
The hours and days gliding by on tracks, preventing diversion
Eliminating adventure, restricting exploration
Temperamental weather covering the hard pan dirt
Packed down into pathways
Wrapping us in single servings of loneliness
The darkness highlights the breath escaping warmed bodies
Visible in the early darkness
Streetlights haloed in the mists of nightfall
A tight hunched stance to protect from the elements
Pink cheeks burnt with the bite of another screaming wind
Warm noses chilled with the icy touch of bitterness
Leaves left and gone, given up
Tired from the effort of holding on
Finding comfort in the comforter
Wringing with the near winter chill
Hot chocolate ringing my dear's darkest ills
The winter's pill swallowed for another long season
Sleep's long fingers inviting
Beckoning, bleating
Their wooly warmth fleeting
Shadows and shivers stretching along our length
Savings with nothing to bank
A necessary lightness withheld
Unsprung and undercover we wait
Lured by the comfort of our love
Warmth wishing us well for another long hazy winter
Tucked sweetly in the loving arms of Mother Nature
Awaiting the sweet gentle bounce of green bursting through brown and grey
The spring of another celebratory summer waiting to unwrap us gently
But for now the long winter's embrace enfolds us
A chilling reminder of summer's quick step
We wait, ever patient, we'll wait
Heading into the busy holiday season I thought I would try to organize myself. I would love to be one of those "5 year plan-It's all going according to schedule" girls but these are words I have never uttered. Ever. There are things I am good at organizing; like other people's events-which can be very helpful this season. But there are organizational tools that elude me, for example choreographing a Puppy and Kitty Xmas Carolling Concert- I don't know how those animals on the radio do it. Oh and Social planning. It's not my forte. Please let me explain. I am great in social situations, it's all the other stuff that goes with them that I stink at.
Firstly, I am not a good planner. Not to mean I can't make plans and keep them. It's just that I like to fly by the seat of my pants which means I leave a lot up to destiny. I make general plans with multiple options for amusement. Letting myself go with the flow- a BFF trick extraordinaire. It's a lot more fun that way. Unless of course you're married to the Commish, who must account for every minute he's on the clock, otherwise the boys upstairs will start giving him heat; and he's too old for that.
Secondly, I tend to double, triple and in rare cases even quintuple book myself. The enthusiasm of just being invited somewhere clouds my judgment, going against all scientific theories of time and space. Which I hope by this time in the year 2014 (baring the Rapture) we'll have solved. And I will be able to attend all events simultaneously on a fractured timeline.
Thirdly, distraction. I am easily distracted. Oh! A squirrel!
Fourthly, short term memory loss. Did someone say something about squirrels? If I don't write it down it's gone.
Fifthly, I forget every year this coming month goes by so fast and then the parties are over. It's a busy blur of festive cheer. Leaving us in the Daylight savings dark with nothing to celebrate until Valentine's day.
So, I hope this year to take advantage of some much needed celebrating. Despite all my social foibles. There something relieving about FB holiday invites going out early and the pre-event planning I've been involved in. So, this year I look forward to wrapping myself up in an ugly Sandy Clause sweater and enjoying all the miracles and merriment of the season. At least that's my plan;)
The Script: Are you satisfied with your long distance plan? Would you mind if I called during dinner? Is there a better time or number that I that I can reach you? I am not going to call, I am just asking. There are just a few things I would like to discuss with you for the next 2 hours but we're not going to sort anything out or save you any extra money. This will only be a short survey, and when you accept; my first question will be to ask you if you understand what a survey is. Would you mind being recorded so we can play this conversation at our national convention when we can all laugh at you. And joke about how irate you get talking to our customer retention manager; who 's actually just the guy in the next cubicle. Please listen to this slightly untuned white noise music station from the world's last dial radio. You're call matters. To you.
Uncle. I give up* Insert waving of white flag. Mr. Phoneman, you make me pay monthly for using my computer; which I also had to pay for. It's just bytes of life for Rod's sake. You throttle the amount of information I receive. If you think it's too much, you unplug my encyclopedia. You tell me I can't have all the channels that the really great shows are on. The specialty channels are where everything well, for lack of another word, special is, just share it, would ya'please? Are you always going to be the meanest and most expensive bill that lands on my step? The most controlling member of my private life? Would it kill you to give me a break? I mean how much more do you need?
Big Bad Businessman, would you mind if I stole your social identity? How would you like it if I were to come into your office and told you no more? Just straight up tell you that I wasn't going to tolerate this treatment anymore. What would you do then? I mean, it's hard to do anything about the fact that large corporations are a joke. The 23 top employees get paid like rockstars and then you screw the rest us. This is the reason we now have to live in a Twinkie free society. I'm excited for the day when my outrage will affect more than my status on FB. And as far as long distance is concerned, I know Hubby and I have the most cost effective package for talk & text with a premium price tag for the Ultra light-super-maxi-high speed internet. Obviously, we have to have the best, I mean what are we cavemen?
Dear Teenage Angst,
First and foremost I want you to know I love you. I may not always like you but I do love you. There are so many things I want you to know. Like once upon a time long, long ago, I was your age. Believe it or not, but I was. Things were different then. I made mix tapes and passed notes that would go on for days. I lived in a small town, where everyone knew my beeswax. We didn't have FB. I took keyboarding class on a typewriter for crying out loud. Things have chaged, and I know that, but the more things change the more they stay the same. There are always going to be people who are mean. There will always be people who are different.
Being in highschool stinks. All those hormones flying around. Teenagers unable to express themselves in a clear and direct manner. Which often means they will lash out and hurt each other because they don't know any other way. Somedays it will feel like you're doing everything wrong. But here's what you should remember. You're so lucky to be loved. Lucky to be alive and lucky to live here. Things may seem hard, and somedays they will be, but trust me when I tell you. The adult you want to become is inside of you. Waiting for their chance to grow up. This is not an order for you to stop being a kid. Heck, I am still a kid. This is the suggestion to step back, and really look at the world around you. The people you've got. The way you live your life. Are you the person you hope to be? The person you want the world to see? Perhaps instead of complaining about the things that are wrong with the world; you suggest ways to change it. Be the change you want to see in the world. Maybe you could spend some time helping others, like your mother, your father, your neighbour or dare I say it your little brother.
There is a whole wide world out there. And soon you will be sent out into it to fend for yourself. Trusted with the information you've gathered to make your own way. I know you can do it, people less brave than you have, and they seem, well, alright. Angst, we know that under all those wacky teenage emotions, the sweet child we all want to take care of is still there. But you make it tough for people to love you. And really, that's all we've ever wanted to do.
Yours Meliciously,
The Adults in your Life
P.S. I have a few tricks for dealing with tough people, when you finally admit you don't know everything.
After long consideration on whether or not I would blog today. I gave into my own sense of responsibility. So, it's short but not so sweet. The way that language evolves sick can mean different things. For example sick can be a good thing. As in: that tattoo is sick. But for today we will be using the word in the traditional sense. I am sick. I have spent the last day rolling around, wrapped in blankets. Sweating and shivering. Getting up only to go to the loo, for a plethora of reasons...I will leave to your imagination.
In recent history I have called into work sick, when I was actually hungover. I have ducked out of events early claiming illness. But the worst I have had is a bothersome nagging cough and cold drippy nose. Oh how things change. This is the first year I didn't get the flu shot. I thought with my track record of having been flu free for 7 years, I would be safe. Never thinking the reason for my health was the one thing I didn't do. If I were a bit stronger I would kick myself.
In The Devil Wears Prada, the extremely thin receptionist says: ' I am just one stomach flu away from being my ideal weight.'. I on the other hand would rather exercise and eat veggies- to achieve that goal. The flu fast is not my wheelhouse. Neither is fasting in general. The gurgle of emptiness paired with the shriek of burning acid. Of all things pain related I suffer most with stomach pain. I can muddle through a headache. The bruises I get constantly are tolerable. It's the sick and dizzies that I can't stand. So, if you can hear my Pepto fairy- bring me some relief. Please don't make me Gravol.
Growing thoughts in the garden of your mind. There's a feeling when an idea is just a tickle. Hiding untold secrets like pollen or maple keys. Ticking time lapse photography as the idea starts to germinate. Splitting open like the seeds of fortune. Sprouting stems and growing into the flowers of imagination. Before you know it, you're tending to row on row; heavy with the fruits of your labour.
Have you been thinking about something? Something important. Something that just won't uproot itself from your mind. Maybe you've lost something or you're formulating a complex theory about *insert science methodology here. Maybe it's a never ending to do list. If you're lucky it's a beautiful concept yet to be planted. But what if it's a weed? Strangling all your smaller thoughts and blocking out the sun? When you're working on a problem, it can be hard to hoe another row. But sometimes the only thing that ever really removes a stubborn stone is to stop thinking so much. Think about something else. That's the way brains work. Your mind is a delicately balanced eco-system. Sun, rain and love will help your thoughts to grow up strong and healthy.
I don't have a green thumb by any means, but I live for spring flowers and summer fruits. Every spring ideas burst forth in radiant colour. But beware. Winter is coming. Now is the time to plant your thought bulbs. Let them take root. Awaking as the winter earth thaws. Your idea will poke it's delicate green stem through the softening ground. Waiting patiently for that spring sunshine to warm the earth. For me spring is further away than I can stand. Perhaps I should invest in a greenhouse to cultivate my ideas all year round.
My face needs a break. This realization was quick and blemished. I've loved the same products for so long. But when BFF brought out her new cleanser, smelling of lemongrass and spring water; I was jealous. I have been using the same 12 step program for the last 5 years.
People have asked me how I manage to do all 12 steps everyday. The reply? Reverse packing it into the cabinet, so I have to move all 12 steps to get to step one. And I know that I have a very special case of OCD because if I have to touch it to move it, I will use it. It's there, paid for. It's got to be used up before I can buy something new. It's the rule in my house. It applies to everything, except for a few things.
There is something so predictable about my love for shoes. Something so Muriel's Wedding. I love My shoes. But there are shoes in every doorway. Hanging in mock organization. Hiding under the bed. In boxes stacked inside suitcases. The Comissioner hates it. *throat clear*game systems. To the uninformed observer it may seem like overkill but there are shoes for every occasion. I have costume boots and flimsy sandals. Green and brown and suede. Shoes for dancing. And peep toes fancies. How could I get rid of any of them:$ I might need them any day now.
Another jam packed buried treasure. My make up box. Every shade of the rainbow a piece from a different Mac collection. The shade variations and the exclusive colours tickling my fancy. Painting my face and changing my story. I am addicted to green mascara from the Amazon. And my sleepy time rose water nigh-night cream, a dreamy pre-bed ritual. Sephora calls to me like a siren in an otherwise ill fitting mall. Floating on a sea of serums and balms, gels and oils. Longing for the spice of life. Though my 12 steps remain the same.
With my tight fisted-ness and ability to deny myself the pleasure of shiny and new; I am boldy marching toward a new regime... Well, skincare regime. I am freaking psyched for the bright smelling clean feeling of brand spanking new! Having completed my 12 step program. One out, one in. So, without any of the potential hoarding episode my other collections are becoming, I will start anew. With that in mind this holiday season I will be giving bottles of wine wrapped in boots and makeup painted greeting cards. That doesn't sound sanitary...but it does sound Eco-nomical.
There is a group of people who shine. They've got that certain something. That intangible spark. The X Factor. The Voice. They are a gangplank walking, chicken skin giving group. Overflowing with that very special something that sets them apart from the herd. The unique flare; a thing that people want to look at, talk about, dream about, drool over, wonder at, remember and cry over. It's hard to describe what makes a person a superstar, but I am willing to bet, it has something to do with three easily identifiable markers. And the unlikely combination created within that Shinning star. Creating a chemical reaction worth watching.
Talent- These are the people you can't stop watching. The people who sing the doors off- Whitney, Celine. Or the way Ansel Adams can make you feel thirsty. In this group we have dancers, writers, actors. Daniel Day's dedication to lifestyle immersion. They are the fireworks. They burn so beautifully bright. Typically they burn hard and fast. Streaking across the sky. Just catching them in the corner of your eye is lucky.
Confidence- Maybe it's the Cee Lo Green variety. Perhaps it's the confidence that Christina has in those mini skirts. It's that strut the angels have when they're telling secrets. The way a lead singer makes eyes at the camera. It's the stance. The swagger. It's shivering and sparkling. All the Bam Bam, all deliciously wrapped with a tiny little bow.
Personality- It's the distinctive late night gap toothed laugh. Then it's about creating a catch phrase. It's Farah Fawcett's blonde fringe. Monroe and Chaplin with their distinctive walks. Andy Warhol painting an iconic eye. The breathy vulnerability heard from the blues. It's the devil in their eyes. Unexpected punchlines. The suspenders and heart shaped glasses. It's a big floppy straw hat and pink boots.
The things that make you go boom. As a performer I fall into 1.75 of these categories. My personality is a solid 8.5, my confidence hovers between 6-8 and my talent varies greatly from passing to fancy. It plays into my favour that I am tenacious with a side of lazy. The good news is I am starting to know where I am going as a clear destination. I won't stop, cuz I can't stop. I am figuring out what it takes to make myself someone that burns brightly. A show must go on type of girl. I am on the road to giving goose flesh. They say knowledge is power and I am learning quite a bit about this crazy place and this even crazier business. But I don't think I'll ever stop lookin' at the stars.
There is a special bond that grows between a man and his dog. Or in my case the Stinker and this Gal. It is not something that can be easily explained. It's a delicate balance of love and angst. A Bermuda triangle of troubled waters and deceptively calm skies. Watching her claim and reclaim her 'rightful' place at my side is a comedy of errors.
I have always had animals. I grew up with Ralph- a charming and distinguished old man conveniently trapped in the body of a lazy Basset hound. He was the howling defender of our house. The couch sleeping snore machine that interrupted movies. And in his old age he would toot with the effort of climbing the stairs. A tuneless trumpet played for my childish delight. We had Ralph for more than 10 years. He was part of our family- he picked favourites, but still he was a part of it. He was my Papa B's puppa roo.
Then along came Beba. Or Eta-be-ba-sane. Or the Big Lady. Or Beebs. Or any number of variations on Reba. An unimaginative breeder's reject. She is a ballerina trapped in a bohemouth's body. With the nerve to love everyone. Her chocolate brown eyes always goofily optimistic for just one more cookie. The prettiest tail wagging simpleton in all the land. She is a Basset of a different colour and perfect for our family. Her award winning smile sets her apart.
Having less space than my parents and knowing I could never fit a country Basset in a city unit, I chose a smaller hound pup. A reagle Beagle. The teeny diddy bean is the sweetest Tinker in the world. Songs have been sung of her beauty and grace. Her fans are scattered far and wide. Shy and quiet her big brown eyes blink at a stranger's approach. She's a stinker though. I am convinced she thinks I control the weather. Making it rain just to soak her tender toes. She has perfected the four foot stomp. A sure fire way of telling us she's hungry. And I could do without her stretching out in bed, pushing me into the upper quarter and defending it with her half moon claws. Plus the undercover over-heating. She's getting to be an old dog, but she's still pretty tricky.
Having a dog is a special responsibility. Even cat lovers know that. You must consider dogs. Their timelines, their behaviours, the seasons and their personality. Each dog I've loved was completely unique. All equally nuts, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Jilly Bean is the first dog that is my own. She's grown past the puppy faze. Through the grumpy teenage dog years and now she's beginning her mid-life crisis. The dog days may not be over but I will stay true to my furry best friend.
P.S. I know I'll get in trouble for not mentioning Bucy goose. The prettiest kitty with the cutest face. Her head is too small for her body, but she's got some spunk. She's a batter. Whipping Jilly into a frenzy then bopping her on the nose. She's a holy terror. But she's not a dog.
So, it was six weeks ago that I faced facts and stared the terrible truth dead in the eye. Not liking what I saw I decided that it was time for action. I am the captain of my own destiny and if I truly wanted to reach the end of this life long journey without reget, it was time I took the wheel. Since then I have up-ed my effort, my enthusiasm and my fiber. It was time for a change or 12, and I have been working my way through the ever lengthening list tortoise style. This is a race I want to win.
I have been visiting "gym mirror me" 3 or 4 times a week. She looks a lot more comfortable in her lulus, they don't bunch as much. Nothing less flattering than a yoga pant camel toe. Though, I don't believe I am ready quite yet for the apparently fashionable gym rat short shorts. A fad which is strange to me because who wants more of their skin touching the common elements? Interestingly, I have started to schedule my workouts. Finding time between the skimmed milk wonder twins who play their music too loud and never break a sweat and the grunting guy who reminds me of that viral video where that Russian strains so hard his insides fall out. Watching others in the gym setting I finally get why at home gyms are popular. It's amazing how much better it would be to have my own wall of frosted mirrors, wind machine, bow flex and a slightly dimmer, more flattering light.
My eating habits are back to mostly veggies with the occasional bacon slip. Eating clean foods like arugula, kale and whole grains. With a daily boost of fiber, just to add... interest. I think I finally get what those cryptic commercials mean by 'regular'. Salads and live sprouts are at the top of my list. Late night binges have almost disappeared. Though there are days when I still crave junk. It would be a lie to say that I never think about hot wings, Doritos and orange Crush. But I think that's the fear and self-defeat talking and they weren't invited to this party.
Even though I haven't lost weight I feel tighter. My big jeans are loose. My skinny jeans are still too skinny, but I don't look like Molly Muffin top anymore. Which is a good feeling. Now I am able to sport my whole wardrobe, not just my fat pants. The worry that after dinner and drinks I will swell and push the seams to extremes is gone. I feel more confident wearing flirty skirts and leggings. It's a good start. The worst*fingers crossed* is yet to come, when I hopefully*arms crossed too* I become too small for all my clothes and they hang off me like some bigger girl's hand-me-downs.
Anybody who says improving themselves was easy is only saying it to make you feel bad. Life is hard. Being good is hard. Living a good life well is harder. And being the best you and becoming a benefit to yourself is the hardest. Things are getting better and less hard. Firmer yes, but not harder. I am starting to see what a difference little changes can make, and I can't wait to see what some bigger changes will, well, change:). So, stay brave, be bold and sweat those pre-Xmas stresses out. And even though I thought I would have made more numeric progress, I feel better than I have in months. So, how could I complain about that? Wait, I'm sure I can find a way...
And now for the moment we've been waiting for: Week 6 measurements
Height still 5'8"
Weight 176.2 (+1.8)
Bust 40 (-/+)
Natural waist 32.5 (-.5")
Hips 43 (-1")
Arm flex r:13.25 (-.5") l:13.5 (-/+)
Arm rest r: 13.5 (-/+) l:13.5 (-/+)
Thigh standing r: 24.75 (+.25) l:24.5 (-.5)
For a total loss of 1.75 inches
P.S. BFF says it's not the weight that I should focus on it's the measurements. Which except the bust are heading in the right direction. Which is a good thing/ bad thing I think.
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