the dream life

Blessings

Sometimes my clothes make me happy. Today is one of those times. I bought a dress in Louisville a couple of weeks ago and I wore it for the first time today. It’s soft and has these little velvet pockets and I’m really happy with it even thought the sales person who took my money said, “We almost sent these dresses back because they looked nothing like the photo…so I’m glad you like it.” Yeah, well, I do like it.

I also like the floor length 70’s number I bought for five bucks at the same store where the same clerk kept insisting that surely I was purchasing it to serve as my Halloween costume. No, I assured him, I was buying it because it was a sweet five dollar dress that I planned to wear in my normal non-Halloween life.

Speaking of Halloween, I still have glitter on my boots and that makes me happy, too.

This was my massage day. I seriously can’t think of any ill that a good massage can’t put right. Well, except vertigo maybe.

I did take Tracy to the doctor yesterday and found out that his severe vertigo isn’t caused by any other physical condition (good to know). He got some meds that seem to be doing the trick, thankfully. Can you imagine spinning for a week unable to tell up from down? The doc told him the condition would resolve itself in four to six weeks, or he could take a pill and get better faster. Mmmhmmm. We got that pill.

I may have mentioned before that I go through periods of my life thinking that I want to go to nursing school. What I’m specifically interested in is working for hospice, but I’ve always had this weird nagging thing about nursing even though my logical mind knows that I would mostly hate going through the things nurses have to endure and that I would philosophically disagree with much of what I’d be asked to do. Taking Tracy to the doctor’s office nipped my latest bout of nurse-thoughts. As soon as I walked in that place I was flooded with the understanding that nope, this is not for me.

Rainy day fabulous

I need these boots and this umbrella in adult sizes, please.

I'm not sure I knew it

At some point today I looked down at what I was wearing and reminded myself of Mrs. Roper.

Tonight, I asked Tracy what he thought of my outfit and he said that he liked it.
"You don't think it looks a little bit Roperish?" I asked.
"Well," he said. "Honey, you always have a little bit of a Mrs. Roper thing going on."

Kapow!

Today was my first "tights" day of the season. It was the thing I thought of when the radio came on this morning and I heard the temperature. Tights! I'm thrilled to be wearing tights today.
I've been dealing with some stress this week, and feeling a little off, but today I wore tights, and used the seat warmers in my car and Thursdays bring me a great gift--the gift of Kapow.
I was so honored to be invited to join this group of talented, generous writers. We meet briefly for lunch once a week and exchange work or sometimes do writing practice.

I love these women and their advice and their editing skills and their words.
I'm just grateful to know them.
Two important Kapowers are missing from these pictures, but I think you can see the positive energy that radiates around this group.

Going local

Recently I caught a glimpse of myself as I was leaving to work. My wrinkled brown pants looked like billowing boat sails (I don’t iron. I own an iron for sewing and to press Tracy’s shirts before weddings and funerals. Even then, I do a half-assed job), my shirt was untucked (I don’t tuck), there were water stains on my shoes, my hair was dirty and pulled back in a messy pony tail (not sexy messy, messy messy).
I was not a vision of loveliness.
It’s been bothering me for a while that in the onward march of daily goings on, I have allowed myself to get sort of blurry. This always happens to a certain degree when my weight goes above a particular number. It’s as if I think I can hide behind yards of nondescript fabric or as if the extra pounds somehow make me unworthy of adornment.
Lately, I’ve bought clothes that are acceptable to wear to work, clothes that are “eh,” and that’s fine. But it isn’t fun. And it isn’t really me. Lately, I’ve been looking in the mirror only to see a pale approximation of myself. Perhaps, I’ve been thinking, with the evolutions and changes and journey of life, my personal style changed but instead of going with it, I just dropped the old and switched into neutral.
Maybe this all sounds silly and shallow, but I decided to revamp myself and I decided not to wait until I lose x amount of pounds. I decided to look like me now. For the past couple of months, every time I’ve had the urge to numb out with a stroll through Target, I didn’t do it. I decided to take the money I would have spent in drips and drabs on things that didn’t thrill me, save it up, and go somewhere great.
Yesterday was my day. I went on a lunchtime shopping spree at Isle of You.


Lucy is my stylist now. She found things for me that I probably wouldn’t have tried on on my own, thinking I would look like a sausage, but because she thought I could do it, I tried them. And I didn’t look like a sausage. I looked like me.
I bought three outfits. Three complete outfits that make me feel great when I put them on. Not acceptable, or all right. Great.
Maybe spending money on clothing with the singular purpose of looking hot sounds a wee bit self-indulgent, but I don’t feel guilty about it. For me, shopping at Isle of You wasn’t just a fun, colorful, warm experience, it was shopping with Lori, someone I love and admire.
It was living an authentic life and putting my money where my mouth is.
I feel crushed by the development that is gobbling our farmland and our history. I feel heartsick that, as a city, we don’t utilize our beautiful quirky downtown as much as we could. Shopping locally means being part of a community and supporting the people who live here and I want to be a part of community. I want to like where I live and the way to do that is to go to the places I like.
I want to shop where there is heart and personality and uniqueness and when I shop I want the shop itself to be a place I want to be.
I want independent business owners to thrive here and they can’t if we don’t support them.
Over the past year Tracy and I have been conscious about where we buy our food (mostly the co-op) and Woody's (For the Love of Dogs) and where we eat when we eat out (mostly Alfalfa). Local food is just better - healthier and tastier, and I want to carry that attitude into the rest of my life, as well. As part of my revamp, I’m making it a goal to buy as much as possible from local businesses. It doesn't mean spending more money. It means rearranging the way I spend money.
I don’t bring home a large paycheck, and I’ve long shopped at discount places for the same reason everyone does - more bang for my buck. Perhaps shopping locally means slightly higher price tags, but the money saved by shopping at large chain discount stores is only saved in the short-run. Shopping locally feeds the local economy which, in turn, feeds me as a member of that economy. Plus, cheap doesn’t equal value. If I buy a pair of cheap shoes, I’m going to get a couple of seasons of uncomfortable wear out of them. If I buy a pair of shoes at John’s, I’m going to lay down a nice chunk of change, but I’m going to wear the shoes, in comfort, forever.
Plus, when we look at the price of an object, we must consider the price the earth is paying and the price our country is paying, and the world at large.
I didn’t feel the nag of guilt at Isle of You that I feel when I give my money to large corporations with shady business practices, and what I get in return when I keep my money where my heart is, is far greater in quality and energy. Besides, I got a top on sale yesterday that cost less than it would have anywhere. When you touch it, it feels like butter and it actually fits me.
You know I’m a woman who likes her Target pajamas and Old Navy flip-flops. Life is about balance, but for me, there’s a shift going on in my heart, a lining up of what I believe and what I practice.
And it’s really super exciting.

New to me sweater

A friend had some clothes that she didn't want anymore. She thought that maybe some of them would work on me, so this weekend she dropped off a couple of bags full of things for me to try.
There was a lot of stuff in there that I loved. (She has very fine taste in clothes) including this cute sweater that I wore to work today.

It was terribly fun to open up my door and find clothes on my porch, and I'm so pleased to have these additions to my wardrobe.
It made me think that I should plan an afternoon where all of the women I know would come together and bring the clothes and shoes and accessories that we don't want anymore and do a big trade. Everyone would go home with new clothes without spending any money.

New shoes come through

I’ve long held affection for clogs. It goes back to my childhood in the seventies when the high school and college women that I admired wore knee socks and navy blue clogs with tan soles, which I thought were the coolest shoes ever.
I’ve had numerous pairs of clogs in my life – some with open backs, some with closed backs, softer ones, harder ones. Clogs go with pants or skirts or jeans and they’re called clogs, which is a big plus for me. It’s a word that sounds good.
Several women that I work with wear Danskos and have talked about how comfortable they are.
I’ve been interested, but put off buying a pair because they cost roughly four times the shoes I normally buy. I decided, however, after reading extensively about these shoes, that they would probably last four times longer than their more affordable counterparts as well. With some birthday money, I ordered a pair.

These are absolutely, without a doubt, the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever had on my feet.
I love these shoes.
There's no "breaking in" period-they just come right out of the box comfortable.
If I ever go on a trip again where I'll be doing a lot of walking, I'm going to wear these shoes every day.
I just had to tell you.

Hello, McFly

For the past couple of days Tracy has been calling me "McFly" and I could not figure it out...until he took this picture of me today.

It's the vest.

A heart for pugs

Jett and Yogi, the person and pug behind the beloved Pugsnuggly have come up with this wonderful fundraiser. They're gemstone heart necklaces made of red jasper and hematite strung in three different lengths. The necklaces are being sold for $25 a piece with $15 of that donated to the pug rescue organization of your choice.
Isn't that just a lovely thing?
You can read all about it and order one here.

Clean sweep

A friend of mine recently shared a great clutter-clearing idea. She’s preparing for a move, and as she sorts her things into piles of what to keep and what to throw away, she also sorts piles of things to mail to her friends and family. It’s not that she’s trying to pass her unwanted stuff on to others but rather, many of the things she’s kept that no longer serve a purpose in her life, she can clearly see would bring joy to others. She’s not expecting her friends and family to hold on to these items forever, but she feels that they will find pleasure in opening the packages and discovering new-to-them stuff.
As I attempt to deal with my own overwhelming clutter, I find a lot of comfort in this idea. Coincidentally, another friend recently cleaning out her craft room, sent me her back issues of Cloth, Paper, Scissors magazine. It was a great gift for me - one that I will put to good use, and further inspiration for me to find treasures for other people amid my excess stuff.
I am a notorious keeper of things and a long-time griever for things lost but I can feel the physical ramification of so much stuff in my daily life. I can literally sense my clutter junking up my aura, weighing me down, contributing to my fatigue.
I believe that objects hold energy. They also act as triggers for memory – and while this can be good, it can often be stifling. Every now and then a clean sweep is in order and I am way overdue.
I’ve been talking and talking and talking about this, and taking baby steps toward making it happen, but I feel a true motivation now keep going, keep sorting, keep carrying the bags of trash to the curb. I began this past weekend to address the issue of my clothing surplus. I set out with the goal that I would assess each item of my clothing by asking it, “Are you fabulous? Are you comfortable? Do you make me feel good? Do you fit?”
My plan was to only keep that which was fabulous and wearable. It hasn’t quite worked out that way. Some things have stayed on the hanger that don’t fit me, but only because the possibility that they could fit me again still remains and it seemed horribly defeatist to get rid of all of my skinny clothes, as if I’ve just given up all hope.
I’m about 1/3 of the way through my assessment and I’ve already generated a large pile of clothes that are going to hit the road via eBay and Goodwill. My biggest achievement has been releasing the mini skirts and outrageously trendy stuff I bought from a catalog for teenagers when I was at my skinniest adult weight, about five years ago. I have come to terms with the fact that my mini skirt days are over. Even if I lose 30 pounds, I’m just not going to wear mini skirts again.
One of them was particularly hard to put in the goodbye box – I wore it out on one of the first real dates I had with Tracy. It was actually on that date that I realized we were “dating” and even though it was a tight fit then (at my adult skinniest), I’ve kept it for sentimentality’s sake. Okay…maybe I’m going to get that skirt out of the box, but everything else is staying in there and more is to come.
The goal is to have nothing in storage boxes. My clothes need to fit on the racks. After all, Tracy converted an entire room into a closet for me, and that should be enough, really.
When the clothing is sorted, I’ll move on to the harder stuff – the boxes and boxes of nic nacs and paper goods and photos and cassette tapes and candles and picture frames – and I won’t stop until everything that no longer needs to be in my life is gone. I encourage myself by remembering that getting rid old stuff makes room for new stuff, and I love new stuff.
Maybe you’ll receive a mysterious package from me in the near future. Please do not think I am sending you trash. I have asked the universe to lovingly guide me toward sending the right things to the right people. Perhaps just this very moment you are wishing for a thing and maybe, just maybe I have that thing and no longer need it. Won’t you be so pleased when it arrives on your doorstep?
It’ll be fun to see how this plays out...

Colors of my day

Morning

Afternoon

Evening

Sunday night report from weirdland

Yesterday was all about the tree.
I also snagged a mini-tree at the lot, thinking that it would look nice on the porch, but Tracy pointed out that it would be good to have that fresh tree aroma in the bedroom, so the little tree became a bedroom tree and I’m glad it did. I do so like seeing its little glowing self in there.

We had a party to attend last night, so I broke out the Santa sweater.

I decided I would offset it with too-tight black pants and platform boots, but it might not been such a great wardrobe choice since I noticed people staring at me in a weird way all night. They were mostly staring at my general pant area, which made me want to say, “Hey, I know they’re too tight, that’s the look I’m sporting this evening,” but instead, I just pretended like it wasn’t happening.
We ended up at Kroger late last night, where I admit to cruising both the ice cream and the candy aisle, but made no such purchase.
Today, I set up shop and finished the craft portion of my presents. I made Ava’s quilt and fairy shadow boxes for both of the girls.
My crafts never turn out as well as I hope. My imagination is bigger than my ability to execute, but making handmade stuff is important to me, so I just continue to do it and hope for moments of grace and little surprises.
I put up the white tree in the guest bedroom today, and got my cookie ideas all squared away.
Despite all of these good things, I was in a grumpy messed-up frustrated mood all day. My brother called and asked me to come over so that we could discuss a project he’s helping me with, an invitation I would normally jump at, but I opted to stay home and keep working on my quilts and fairy boxes. I had planned for months to go to Lessons and Carols with my mom tonight, but I bailed on that, too.
I feel vaguely guilty and weird about my choices but also tired and sorta sad and basically, a person who needed to wear pajamas all day long and mope around and sigh and slam things down real hard and work out some kinks in my soul. So that’s what I did.
Even though tomorrow is Monday, I’m hoping I will be far less Scroogey.

Impulse

Why do I do it? My quest for festive clothing resulted in this:

It's a Christmas sweater.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I only hope that when I put it on I look fun and funky instead of frumpy and well, frumpy. One never knows.
Well, actually, one suspects, but one hopes that one is wrong.

'Tis the season of parties

Yesterday was the holiday lunch at the Carnegie Center. I could only stay for the first half since I had to get back to work, and I felt a little bit like an eater-and-runner, but it was such a spot of joy in my day. The people were great and in good spirits and the food was outstanding. Pot lucks are really the perfect way to eat, in my opinion.
I have two more holiday luncheons to look forward to next week and a party on Saturday night. All this merriment is drawing attention to the fact that I really don't have any holiday wear. I used to have a Christmas sweater - and it wasn't tacky either, it was nice. I haven't seen it for years. It went to that myserious black hole where many of my clothes seemed to find themselves.
I've investigated Christmas sweaters this year, but often I find that while they look cute on the hanger, they don't do so well on me.
I try to dress things up with Santa Claus earrings, reindeer pins, that sort of thing.
But I'd like to have some rockin' festive clothes.

For those about to rock, I salute you

In anticipation of our high school reunion tonight, I asked Megan if she would send me a copy of my senior yearbook page. My yearbook was destroyed in a flood some years ago, so I hadn’t seen my page in a while.

I remembered, of course, the super cool leopard print jacket that my grandmother made for me, and my puffy hair, but there were some things on this page that took me completely by surprise.
I don’t know what the NEDT award is, for example. I had completely forgotten the art award. But the big shocker – French Club. French Club? I have no idea. I do not now nor did I ever know any French. I can only assume that French Club involved food.
I was between 110-112 pounds when these photos were taken. Those are numbers I can’t quite wrap my mind around and yet, what you see here is me trying to disguise my fatness by wearing an oversized shaker knit sweater. For reference, I think my thinnest adult weight ever was 120 pounds.
This is Tracy’s senior page.

He wasn’t much for the clubs and quotations but, as you can see, he was well-equipped with the necessities of life. I don’t think it would be an entirely bad idea for him to wear a Cheap Trick t-shirt to the reunion.
Ah, the reunion. It sounded like such a good idea four months ago. Now, it’s upon is. (My weight loss plans did not go well because they were carried out much like this: I must lose weight for the reunion, I’m so stressed out about being fat, what if I’m fat at the reunion? I hate being fat…I need to calm myself with some chocolate and ice cream…oh my god, I can’t believe I ate that, all is lost now, there’s no hope, I may as well eat this cake. As you know, I started the crazy fruit and vegetable diet a little over a week ago. I’ve lost six pounds. That’s just how it is – plus my brother pointed out that if I worry about everyone else at the reunion looking great and me looking bad and obsess about people thinking mean things about me, I’ll just be picking right up where high school left off, and that’s not healthy.)
Here’s a little taste of our high school days (sorry, Beth, here it comes again)

Get Your Own! | View Slideshow

and some late eighties fun.

Pet Shop Boys

Falco

Dirty Dancing