As October marched along, an invitation came in the mail to a Halloween costume party. Reading it, I sighed and put it down. What would I, an overweight, middle-aged, occasionally amusing woman choose for a costume?
If I chose a toga I could disguise my shape, or give myself some bushy eyebrows and pretend to be John Belushi from Animal House and just walk around chanting, “Toga! Toga! Toga!” Or maybe I could go as the Grim Reaper, because, hey, a long, flowing robe that hides all…
As I pondered these thoughts, my friend, Marah, called. “You need to bring Mimi back,” she said, excitement breaking through what is her usual level-headed tone. Read More →
The day I (accidentally) stole rocker Gene Simmons’ hair…
My birthday was last month. It’s one of those milestone birthdays that either you accept, or you don’t. I’ve been working to convince myself that I do and it really shouldn’t be that hard. After all, I’m only 24 in my head and that’s what really matters. Right?
So why, if I’m to be completely honest, is there a little quiver inside?
I haven’t always been so outwardly calm about birthdays that end either in zero or five, or, once in a while, those in between. I’m not sure why. But it’s true and on two separate occasions I’ve had the intention of giving myself a pick-me-up, a way of refreshing my overall look, of feeling, well, youthful. Except that it backfired. Badly. Both times.
One time–the worst of the two—I wound up looking like Gene Simmons (think KISS, 1980’s, heavy makeup). Not the tongue, mind you. The hair. Black. Curly. Shoulder length. And the somewhat puffy face from the horror and tears that resulted from a glance in the mirror.
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In life, small things matter.
All of us are weird. You. Me. The guy standing over there with long white hair and a beard blowing in the fall air with a desperate and confused look on his face. But sometimes, what seems weird becomes heartbreaking and then turns into an opportunity of a lifetime…you just don’t know it yet. Neither did I.
It was a chilly Friday night and I was in a hurry, first to make a quick run to a jewelry store, then to a friend’s for our weekly girls night. As I trotted up the hill and over the tracks, back toward my car, the man with the white hair turned. Suddenly, we made eye contact.
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Still hungry after a nice meal? You’re not alone, and chances are good this one thing is the cause.
I just ate one of the best meals in recent memory. Grilled steak with A1 to accompany it, garden-fresh zucchini sautéed in butter and garlic, and a cucumber salad made the way my Grandma Yunker taught me, in a bath of water, vinegar and sugar with a smidge of onion.
Even better was the fact that it was lovingly planned and cooked by my thoughtful husband, Mike, now that I am renewed in my weight-loss efforts. The veggies were also planted, cared for, talked to, and harvested by Mike as gardening is his summertime hobby.
It’s not as though I can’t cook. I can. Even though our kids were convinced for a few years that I was incapable of cooking breakfast. In my defense, Mike likes making breakfast and I like a bit of extra sleep since I’m far more of a night owl than he is.
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It’s no secret—I need to lose weight. I blame it on the carbs. The delectable, sweet ones and the savory, crunchy ones and the pasta…the list is long. To be fair, it probably also has something to do with forgetting what portion size really should be, with my lack of interest in exercise, and the fact that I am often found in the same place, sitting at my laptop, exercising my fingers.
It’s a struggle I’ve faced for a long time. When I was younger, I’d be told it was a lack of willpower. I came to hate that word, because it seemed I had none, unless it involved doing something fun. Then I had all the willpower and determination in the world, to see that it happened and I was a part of it.
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