SKINNY JEANS

We as women are all familiar with "fat days."

Times when our regular jeans are suddenly uncomfortably tight - the t-shirt is just a little bit more snug - even our toes need to be jammed into our shoes.

Especially as women with menstrual cycles, this becomes a disquieting and monthly occurrence for the majority of our lives.

Today I unexpectedly had a "skinny" day.

Now, my uterus left me about six years ago, so I can't blame it either way. 

I hadn't changed anything I ate or drank today.

I certainly haven't been losing weight, although my goal of being my college-weight has remained firmly attached to my bathroom cabinet for years... as well as the feeling of frustration and failure as I continue to lug around the extra 45 lbs. right around my middle.

But today as I got ready for church, I actually felt like my clothes were loose.

As I walked across the parking lot to enter our chapel, I felt light on my feet.

When I settled down in my regular pew, there wasn't the regular feeling of sheer extra mass oozing around me.

And as I put on my regular everyday go-feed-the-horses-and-prepare-to-be-covered-with-hay-hair-and-humidity jeans, they felt unrestricted and almost slack.

Okay, people, how can I put this into a bottle and market it?

LITTLE OLD LADY FROM PASADENA

It sounds awfully snobbish to casually mention the National Geographic as the only magazine I have around the house at the moment.

I love periodicals such as Family Circle, Good Housekeeping, Woman's Day.

However...

1) I am old/experienced enough to have WRITTEN most of the articles on cleaning techniques/family relationships/how to stay out of debt; and

2) all the cute fresh ideas they showcase for decorating/organizing require MONEY and a drive of 65 miles to a city large enough to have a IKEA, a real furniture store or fabric outside of what WalMart sells.

Of course I grab People, Star News and Cosmopolitan when I waiting at the dentists like everyone else - although once again there my age shows; I have absolutely no idea who half the young celebrities that are being gossiped about are.

The National Geographic keeps me tied to reality by its glorious photographs of gigantic wilderness, under-clothed and desperately hungry humans, and both the destruction of as well as the enlightened nurturing of fragile ecosystems and animals which I have never in my life heard of.

But I didn't begin this blog to be a free advertisement for the National Geographic.

I began this pulpit-pounding because MOST magazines (besides National Geographic) have ad after ad after ad depicting a lovely female face and emblazoned with New! Revitalizing! Nourishing! Restorative! Invigorating! to see their own patented -invented-discovered-in-the-Amazon-basin cream or injection or slimy gel to Reduce! Eliminate! Overcome! Conquer! any signs on aging which might show up on your face!

So for only $45 (a month for the rest of your mortal life), you too can eradicate any imprint which living a normal healthy life made have left on your complexion, such as laugh lines, crinkles around your eyes when you smile, age spots (which, as I have explained to my grandson, simply means that your freckles have become very friendly and joined forces) and/or (HEAVEN FORBID) LOOK YOUR ACTUAL BIOLOGICAL AGE.

Our American society seems obsessed with beauty as defined by youth, slenderness and facial symmetry, and allow the media to lead us in this fixation.

Now, I am one of the most crooked people in existence (wow, don't I sound like a gangster? Put a James Cagney accent right in there, and it's perfect). My right arm and right leg ares significantly longer than their partners on the left - my face was put on as random parts on the original Mr. Potato Head (which were the same plastic type pieces but to insert into an actual potato) - the only thing I can think of that isn't off is some manner is that my ears don't stick out (and heaven knows why, I kept my heavy hair behind my ears all my youth).

And I am perfectly happy with that. I am proud of the wrinkles around my eyes; maybe helped by the fact that I live in Arizona now and EVERYone has sun-squinty eyes after a few years here. I'd like to lose weight, I have an extra chin that I would be happy to lose, but I am okay with looking 54 years old.

Because I AM. I've EARNED these age symbols. I DON'T want them erased or blended or surgically removed.

And all these cosmetic creations, creams and concoctions irritate me much more than they should.

DON'T DENY YOUR AGE, American women!

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TAKE A DEEP BREATH

I need to admit several things tonight.

No. 1 - Talking for more than an hour on the phone with my sibling makes my face break out.

I will happily chat with my oldest daughter for days on end, and we never seem to run of things to talk/gossip/complain/praise.

And I don't seem to have any acne developments from this.

But about once a month, I call my brother, and normally leave a message on his answering machine, and he calls me back later when he can.

And we don't have a conversation - we have an exchange of obscure musical trivia facts.

I openly confess that I am incredibly jealous of my brother's brain. He has what is commonly referred to as a photographic memory, and besides the retention of an impossible amount of facts, is a talented and able musician.

Unfortunately, my brother's brain is almost missing a few things. Such as the regular give-and-talk of a tête-à-tête - letting the other person get a word in edgewise.

So somehow an hour on the phone becomes, literally, an hour with the phone stuck on my face as I resign myself to occasionally "uh hu,"s and "yeah, right"s, while I attempt to take care of the dogs, fill the horses' water, finish the dishes and eat my own dinner.

And then I notice that I am developing a sixteen-year-old-worthy zit on my left cheek.


No. 2 - I cannot walk and talk.

For years, I have excused my noticeable lack-of-grace with the glib idiom "I can't chew bubble gum and walk to the same time."

A common method of determining if you are running a good pace is to make certain you can talk while you are running.

I have never been able to do that. I have trouble talking while I am walking.

My lungs have extremely diminished capacity (I love 'diminished' - the word shrinks as you pronounce it) small due to a collapsed sternum , or what is called pectus excavatum - also referred to as a 'monkey chest' in children.

Regardless, I used to run four miles at a time… just really, really slowly.

Today, as I was huffing and puffing on a fairly short walk over to the mud football field to move the water hose for the 474th time this week (but boy, am I getting a impressive crop of mud), I finally accepted something.

I need to breath in with one step, breath out with the next. Without speaking. To just be able to walk and keep my breath.


No. 3 - I have been keeping up with daily exercise, smaller portions, healthier food for over two weeks… and I have GAINED four pounds.