Holiday Fashion Faux Pas

faux pas n. pl.
A violation of accepted social norms, customs or etiquette, varying widely from culture to culture, usually used in social and diplomatic contexts; a blunder, especially a social blunder.  A fashion faux pas occurs when the error is directly related to a person's appearance or choice of clothing.

When I was flying to Vegas in December of 2010, I saved the copy of Sky Magazine from my flight.  Why?  Well, for one thing, I was enamored with the beautiful photos and illustrations of Great Escapes, hoping to some day -- SOME DAY -- be lucky enough to make it to even one of these yummy places.  But mostly because I could so relate to the hilarious quote by Clinton Kelly, the style editor of the magazine, from his article entitled "Party Poopers," specifically, his take on holiday sweaters and the heed to refrain from wearing "red and green" to holiday events. 

I couldn't help but notice, once again THIS year, the many holiday sweaters, vests, sweatshirts, and other obnoxious adornments that people -- women -- chose to wear in their feeble attempt to look festive.  This is one of those pressing times when one feels led to make a nationwide public service announcement to women who choose to drag these atrocities from their closets each year and dare wear them in public.  (Spare us all and clean/update your closets:  BURN THEM)

We've all seen them. 

Enough already!  ... she nauseously pleaded.

And so sharing Clinton Kelly's sentiments on holiday fashion faux pas, remembering how I giggled aloud when I first read this article on my flight, I decided to include excerpts from it in my blog.  Point well taken, CK.

Your Sweater Should Not Light Up
Any garment featuring appliqued snowmen, snowflakes, elves, reindeer, Christmas trees, candy canes, holly leaves or Santa faces must be destroyed immediately.  There's a law.  In fact, if you are in possession of a sweater or vest that plays "Jingle Bells" or illuminates in any way, you will be deported.  OK.  I'm kidding about the law, but seriously, people, this is not cute!

Red and Green?  No thank you.
When kids play elves in the school play, the teacher tells them to wear a red or green sweater.  Then she makes them little caps out of construction paper.  When you show up at a holiday party wearing a red or green sweater, you look like a 9-year-old with a glandular condition who lost his cap.

Let Every Heart Prepare Him Room

My Christmas prayer...

that every heart would indeed

find room for Him in their hearts.

Christmas Eve Candlelight Service...it's the nexus of my family's celebration of Christmas every year, a re-enactment of the Nativity story, narrated with scripture and punctuated with carols, instrumentals, and solos throughout, special lighting -- including a suspended beautiful Star of Bethlehem -- special effects, and a revolving stage in the round.

The part of Baby Jesus was played this year by a two-month old baby girl --
stunningly beautiful child, with dark hair and eyes (her father is from India), and she smiled and cooed at "Mary and Joseph" all throughout.  My oldest son played the part of one of the kings, proudly wearing his gold costume as he came to worship the Baby, bearing his gifts, and bowing in praise -- a gesture not of acting, but with utmost sincerity and flowing freely from the core of his heart and soul.  Each year, though I've heard (and watched) this story countless times, I am brought to tears by its beauty and simplicity.  It's as if I'm hearing the story for the first time. 

The service ends with the lighting of candles, each person passing his flame to the next, then with candles held high in the darkness of the room, we softly sing Silent Night, then extinguish our candles and leave the church quietly and reverently.

This IS Christmas.  This is the story.

God's GIFT TO THE WORLD.

May we all find room in our hearts for His Gift of Love to us.

COMFORT and JOY

I found myself in dire need of comfort yesterday afternoon.  It's Christmastime again, and I miss my mom.  A lot.  More than last year even.  The hole in my heart -- in my world -- is wrecking me.  It isn't working, trying to stay occupied, busy.  Nothing is enough distraction to make me stop thinking about her, about how much I miss her.  How I need her.

Finally, after spending the entire afteroon yesterday jumping from task to unfinished task, a desperate attempt to deny and suppress the gnawling ache of my emotions, I decided to eat Cheesy Bread from Little Caesar's. (What? I don't really even LIKE Cheesy Bread.) I ate a few sticks, then tore the cheese off the top of the rest of it, ate the cheese, and threw all the rest of it away, washing it down with a DIET A&W Rootbeer. Diet. Of course, diet.

I later ate jelly beans.  Old ones.  I don't much like jelly beans either.  And I ate a few Chipins -- chips made from popcorn.  Now those WERE satisfying. 

And then it dawned on me:  The only thing you have accomplished in eating this shit is making yourself sick, bloated, and miserable.  It was a very tiny -- TEENY TINY -- bandaid on the gaping wound of your bleeding heart.  It wasn't enough.  Nothing is.  There is no elixir for this kind of hurt.

So why did I eat that food?  I asked myself:  WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU EAT THIS SHIT? 

And then I found myself face to face with my dilemma:  I'm hurting. 

Stop running from it.  You can't run from it.  You can't cover it up.  You can't drink it away, or eat it away.  It is what it is.  Relentless.

I must come to terms with this emotion.

Comfort food is only gonna make matters worse.

There is no TRUE COMFORT in comfort food.  It's temporary 'JOY,' but it is not comforting.

A lesson I've had to learn over and over and over again.

"There's a compelling reason for the pint of premium ice cream in the freezer, the supply of candy bars in the office desk drawer, or the collection of cereal boxes in the pantry. These are all examples of comfort food, those concoctions which provide a sense of nostalgia or self-satisfaction for the consumer. Comfort food is not designed to be especially healthy or politically correct, but it supplies a welcomed respite from the stresses of the outside world."

Let the "mountain moving" begin!

"If you have faith as a mustard seed, you will slay to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move;
and nothing will be impossible for you."  Matthew 17:20


A dear, sweet friend sent me a prayer this morning via email.  Upon reading it, tears began rolling down my cheeks, and it left me speechless with joy, thanksgiving, renewed spirit, and a peace that replaced all doubt and fear with faith and trust in all that I'm capable of through my Heavenly Father.  Nothing could have meant more to me...what a beautiful prayer.

And so...I share it here, as it should be.  I will print it and take it with me backstage, and I will hold fast to its assurances.

                      Dear Heavenly Father,

My friend T is getting ready for a new adventure in her life -

and she is nervous and maybe scared. But Lord, you know the time and commitment she has devoted to this .

Lord, help her to feel comfort in knowing her body is YOUR temple!

Help her to put behind her any negative thoughts or words

and focus on you and giving you the glory.

You have made her a wonderful being in your likeness

and no one can take that away from her.

Help her to feel calm and remind her how blessed she truly is!!!

Keep her safe in her travels and bring her back to us, her friends!
In Jesus' name I pray,
Amen

--------------------------

"God gave you this glorious day.

Don't disappoint Him.

Use it for His glory."

- Marie T. Freeman

The Time Draws Near

I can't believe how time has passed so quickly, my having begun this prep mid August.  It's now only days away from my first competition. 

Reflecting on my progress, I truly have to marvel at the changes that have taken place:  Increased strength, definition, lean body mass, endurance.  I've dropped weight and clothes size.  I no longer have anything to wear to work!  One pair of pants that slightly fit!  I have recomped my body in ways I never thought possible in a seemingly very short period of time.

When I began, did I think I was up to this challenge?  Hopefully.  Was I confident that I could get my body as lean as I needed to in order to comfortably and confidently compete in my division?  No.  Hopeful, yes.  Certain?  No. 

It has been a fabulously rewarding journey, and I have no regrets.  As the days wind down to the finish line, I feel more tired, sluggish, very depleted, no longer able to complete my morning cardio runs; I have had to replace the runs with power walking.  I've had to will myself to DIG DEEP these last two days as I struggle to find the energy to complete my cardio and training.  The past couple of days I've felt somewhat dizzy and slightly -- "buzzed," if that makes sense.  I'm told it's because I'm depleted and dehydrated, and that it's a normal way to feel at this stage.  My training is nowhere near as intense as it has been, as training now takes back seat to cardio.  Posing is priority.  One can never get too much practice posing.

All plans have been made, nails and tanning appointments scheduled, jewelry and makeup selected and packed, my list of things to take with me being added to daily.   I've begun having food dreams.  Oh, mercy!  Is that freaky or what?  I dream of loaded gooey pizza; fresh, warm, homemade sourdough bread, smothered in garlic and cheese, dipped in olive oil and spices.  Mississippi Mud Cake.  Pita Chips.  Ergo wine.  These are the things I crave.  I fear I will go crazy when I finally get to eat normally that first meal following the competition.

I don't want to totally lose control.  I want to maintain focus to preserve the progress I've made.  Realizing that keeping my body fat at this percentage during off season is not practical, nor is it desireable, I still want to maintain my tighter, leaner body within a realistic degree.

Who would have ever thought that at 51 I would be competing in my first figure competition?  That I would ever be this lean, this strong, this fit -- in my fifties.  Where do I go from here?  What are my goals from this point forward?  How can I use this experience to help others achieve their own goals?

My thoughts collide with questions and ponderings. 

All I care about right now is walking out on that stage with unwavering confidence and pride, embracing my intentional alter ego as I showcase the passion that I have been living for the past few months.  I want to say to the world: 

I AM MY COMPETITION. 
I AM AN ATHLETE. 
I HAVE GIVEN 100% EFFORT TO THIS SPORT. 

And now it's

MY TIME TO SHINE.

The Bronzed Blogger

It's no secret that I love the sun (witness my blog profile photo).  The sun warms, brightens, lifts our spirits.  The most natural source for Vitamin D, it makes us happy when we're sad.  It makes us look healthier, younger and SKINNIER than we otherwise look without it.  Unfortunately, too much of it can be a bad thing.  It can cause premature aging, and worse, skin cancer.

About one week ago I had my FIRST EVER SPRAY TAN.  I'm a virgin spray tanner.  Yep. 

Oh.How.Daunting.  Stripping nude in front of another person (doesn't matter that she was female) and baring all, in every position imaginable (she instructed me how to stand, bend, move), I couldn't help but wonder: 

What is she thinking as she's doing this?  Should I just liken this to a gynecological visit?  It's her job.  It's what she does.  Okay.  I'll keep telling myself this, and maybe my reluctancy won't seem so obvious.

When it was over, I couldn't wait to see. Oh. YES. I should have had this done long ago. The healthy way to tan. Short-lived, but healthy. And even. And yummy and sexy.

I will be spray tanned before my competition, and I didn't want my first session to be in front of a perfect stranger, at an event when my nerves will already be on end.  This was practice.  Having just had my nails done (French), even THEY looked sexier with the tan!  And my teeth whiter.  It's just...well, it's all good.   Now I know why the celebrities have perrenial tans.  It's not cheap, but it's far more even, natural, sexier, and healthier for us than the alternatives.

And as for my training progress? Yes, the tan shows it off even more. Very cool.

I'm told my spray tan at the competition (already scheduled) will be even DARKER.  Okaaaaay.  The tanning sponsor there offers matching MAC stage makeup for my face.  I've already begun the search for darker, more dramatic shadows and liners to accent my suit -- which should be arriving any day.  Can't wait.  I guess I'd better practice with the stage makeup and false eyelashes BEFORE the day of the show. 

This pic was taken after my son's football game at St. Vincent (beautiful campus, by the way) one day after my first spray tan.  It was a very warm day, so no worries sporting my "uniform," -- a tank top and jeans.  It's my favorite go-to outfit.  I'd wear it to work if I could get by with it. 

My accessories?  I didn't really need any (even though I wore plain med-large hoops and my favorite Lucky bracelet with my watch). 

The BRONZE was all I needed.

The Simple Life

Having once lived briefly in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and witnessed the simple and beautiful livestyle of the Amish, I tend to stop and pause to admire photographs taken of Amish life, children, farmlands, etc.

This one was in Life Magazine's weekly email to me (I subscribe).  I fell in love with this photo.  (I've tried to insert the link to the photo, but it may not cooperate.)

What a GREAT Christmas card this would make! 

Simple pleasures indeed.  Life should always be this beautiful.  This simple.  This happy.

http://www.life.com/gallery/66201/image/85175654/the-amish-life

"We shall never know all the good that a simple smile can do."

--Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Better Than Sex Brownies

That is the official name of the recipe I'm in the process of making.  There is history behind this recipe.  Everyone on the planet should try these brownies.  At least once. 

This recipe, when taken to events, parties, outings, is always the FIRST to go, not even a crumb left in the bowl.  (I've even witnessed people trying to dig remains off the sides for that last fleeting bit of yum.)  It's one of the simplest recipes in the world, but yet it wows all who have the privilege of partaking in its sumptuous, scrumptous, seductive powers.

My husband is one of two videographers for the local high school football team.  He and another guy travel with the team and coaches every Friday night to capture play-by-play action for the team, a learning tool for all.  Every now and then I will prepare a plate of snacks for them and the coaching staff, and it's always gratifying to get feedback from their appreciation.  Knowing this was a  WINNER recipe, I sent a plate of these down to the field house one Friday evening a couple of years ago ... and the rest is history.  It is now renamed by that crew as "T's Brownies."  To this day, I can run into one of the coaches out in public, and they still ask with puppy-dog eyes ...."So when are you gonna bake us some of those fabulous brownies?"

I've been very busy this season preparing for a competition and trying to balance that around LIFE.  Not a lot of down time.  Who am I kidding?  None.

But I've taken the day off, and regardless of having a mile-long list of things to accomplish today on my day off (having just returned from a week-long educational seminar and playing catchup), I have decided it's way overdue...they're getting their brownies.  Tonight.  I'm feeling rather benevolent.  (It's the season.  It does this to me!)

And the recipe?  Oh.So.Simple.

BETTER THAN SEX BROWNIES

Duncan Hines Brownie Mix (prepared according to box)
2-3 large Hersheys Toffee Almond Symphony bars, broken into small chunks

Prepare the mix.  Spread one-half of it in the bottom of a 13x9 pan sprayed with Pam.  Cover the batter with the broken Symphony pieces.  Top with remaining batter.  Bake according to package directions, watching carefully not to overbake.

Let cool COMPLETELY before cutting.

Why Do We Cry?

Sometimes our emotions overcome us and we have no recourse but to release.

And we cry.

Because we must.

And because it washes the bad away...at least for a while.

An emotional purging, cleansing.

A time to cry.

Seth: Why do people cry?
Maggie: What do you mean?
Seth: I mean, what happens physically?
Maggie: Well... umm... tear ducts operate on a normal basis to lubricate and protect the eye and when you have an emotion they overact and create tears.
Seth: Why? Why do they overact?
Maggie: [pause] I don't know.
Seth: Maybe... maybe emotion becomes so intense your body just can't contain it. Your mind and your feelings become too powerful, and your body weeps.

~~ From CITY OF ANGELS

Hips Don't Lie

By way of an update on my training and prep progress, I'm thrilled to learn as of two days ago when my coach measured me, I have lost a total of FOUR INCHES off my hips since August 15th when she first measured me.

That's workin my program. 

Sweet, sweet rewards!

No wonder my pants don't fit anymore!

I can't begin to describe how motivating this prep has been for me...this is frikkin' working!  I've never been in better shape. 

More to share...when there's more time to share. 

For now, back at it.  The courtroom calls...



 .....P  U  S  H!!!



Do These Pants Make My Head Look Big?

My competition prep is paying off...I am seeing results on a daily basis, getting positive feedback on a daily basis, and I'm totally JACKED! 

Sometimes when I see my reflection in the mirror, I think:  REALLY?  It's SO motivating.  My hard work is so paying off.

I was at the mall yesterday shopping for a greeting card.  Having gone through my closet that morning to find something that fits -- like it's supposed to -- to wear to work (and not finding anything), I thought I'd try on a couple pairs of dress pants that caught my eye in a shop window.  Instinctively I reached for Size 4, knowing that all my 6's were too big now.  Then I thought, what the hell...try on a Size 2.  Try to get it over your thigh, T.  Everyone loves a challenge!

They fit!
The Size 2 pants FIT!!!

YES.

THEY.

DID.

Work it, T.

You have earned it.

Men [With] Hats

I must have some sort of hat fettish.  I've always loved hats, especially on men.  I see a hot man in a hat, my gaze is gonna linger a bit longer.  Wearing a hat is a strong fashion statement.  In my mind, I see it as a sign of confidence. 

While seated at a football game one chilly afternoon, I saw a 40's something guy making his way down the bleachers in worn jeans, a black T-shirt, a charcoal gray hoodie, and a white baseball cap.  I stared at him.  For an inordinately long time.  My eyes followed him all the way down the bleachers.  Sexy.  Dashing.  Masculine.  Casual confident fashion.  A great look.

Hats are sort of like icing on the cake for male fashion.  They're not always appropriate, but when the occasion allows, work it.  Strike a pose, guys.  You charm me!





Hugh Jackman

Jason Cameron


Kevin Costner (All ages ... hats work the look...)


   Matthew McConaughey (Yummy in a hat...and he KNOWS it!)

  Boris Kodjoe  (Mercy, what a smile!)



Robert Pattinson (no hat, but then why mess up that gorgeous hair?)
------ and CLEARLY the sexiest eyes I've seen
in a while!

Prepare, Train, Sacrifice

The will to win is important,

but the will to prepare

is vital.

-- Joe Paterno

Preparing meals, working out, practicing posing, adhering to my prep diet.  I sleep, eat and train.  Sleep, eat, and train.  It's a constant cycle of preparation.  It demands tons of mental and physical energy.  I know that.  I accept this challenge.  I am more than willing to prepare to whatever extent is necessary.

I have spent some time this afternoon at the gym, practicing posing, discussing presentation details, and finally, and most rewarding, training lats with my coach. 

Sponging up as much information and knowledge as I possibly can about every aspect of this upcoming competition is vital to me.  I want my form to be top notch on the lifts.  I want to exhaust the muscle, hitting it at every angle.  I want to leave the gym feeling spent and limp, yet mentally elevated, knowing that I've given 100% toward my training. 

The progress I'm making, the sacrifices I make daily, are completely gratifying.  Does it consume a lot of my time?  Hell yes.  Is it worth it?  Yes.  Do I regret any of this?  No.  Give me more.  I want more.  Work it, T.  Work it for all it's worth, and then work it more.  Train to make a difference. 

Mascots: George and Tom

My son plays noseguard for "The Presidents" at Washington & Jefferson Collge.  We attended his first home game last week, and just as we were getting seated in "our" usual section, we see the college's two new mascots walking toward us.  OMG.  I've never seen such huge, well-done mascots in my life.  There in full color and period costume were George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, making their way through the crowd, offering up the royalty wave to the cheering fans. 

And following closely behind?  Who else, but The Secret Servicemen, dressed in black suits, shades, and wired with radios, making their way surreptitiously through the crowd of onlookers and cheering fans. 

"GEORGE!  HEY, GEORGE! 
Over here!"  

I was delighted and mightily impressed with their costumes.  Too cute.

And I insisted on a picture.  It's the closest I'll ever get to a United States president.

Huzzah!

I love words.  Of course, I would; I'm a court reporter.  Words are all about what I do for a living.  Upon hearing a new word, I often will write it in my mind -- in steno, of course -- or on my lap, my fingers poised in steno position.  It's not something I think about doing, I just do it as a part of the whole processing of what I hear.  Court reporters are weird like that. 

So when I read this word today in my email inbox (I subscribe to Word-A-Day), I initially pronounced it incorrectly:  HUZ-uh.  That's not so attractive sounding. 

Curious, I read on.

huzza or huzzah

PRONUNCIATION: 

(huh-ZAH)

(Now that's more like it!  Yeah....Huzzah...cool word)

MEANING:



interjection: Used to express joy, applause, encouragement, etc.
noun: An instance of appreciation or applause.
verb tr., intr.: To cheer.

Yesterday was a huzzah day for me.  After working my ass off in the gym with my training, my cardio -- both indoors and out, total adherence to my prep diet, I have been watching the scale inching upward for the last several days.  (insert pissed off face)  No rookie at this whole fat loss/dieting/training thing, I knew to be patient, it was a meaningless number, and did NOT mean that I wasn't making progress.  Still, we women have this thing about that scale number.  It screws with our minds.  It taunts and teases and manipulates us into destructive behaviors.

No white flag having been waved, I met my coach at the gym yesterday for measurements.  She could tell I was pissed when I entered the locker room.  I cursed.  She had already heard this rant earlier in the week.  I even used the F word.  (Gasp!)  She smiled back at me calmly, as if to say 'now let's not get our panties in a wad, T,' then confidently replied, "Yes, well...let's see what we got here," and proceeded to take measurements. 

As of yesterday, I was only 1 pound lighter on the scale since the 15th of August, BUT!!!! upon measuring me -- two places on the arms, two places on the thighs, two places on the hips, two places on the abs, and top of bust/back area (bra fat area) -- I discovered that I lost inches in every single area --- EVERY SINGLE AREA. Yet the scale shows only one pound difference. I lost one inch off the top of each thigh alone, and in only that short amount of time.  

HUZZAH!!!

If I were to have let the scale discourage me as I watched it creep upward, I might have said F this, I'm gonna eat whatever the hell I want.  Enough of this crap!


I didn't.


And as an extra measure for my morale, I took the day off -- a much needed rest and recovery day -- and went shopping at the mall.  I bought two new pairs of jeans, one a Size 4, one a Size 6.  Fit like a glove.  LIKE A FRIKKIN GLOVE.  Yessssssssssss, World.  I AM making progress.

It ain't supposed to be easy.  And good things come to those who wait, work, perservere. 

My mission ain't over, but it sure feels GREAT to know I'm on the right track.  My prep journey continues, fortified with renewed energy, determination, and persistence.

To Wee, or Not to Wee -- THAT is the Question!

By the beginning of the fourth quarter of my son's football game last night, I found myself faced with a huge decision:  Do I try to keep from peeing my pants (I could not wait another 15 minutes+) or do I make the trek to those disgusting porta potties (there were only TWO) sitting just beyond the end zone in a very dimly lit area. 

Porta potties disgust me.  That is an understatement.  I have never understood how they pass the CDC's test for permissible use in public places.  I mean...really? 

Those poor people who work in the porta potty industry.  I can't imagine:  "What do you do for a living?"  I install and empty porta potty reservoirs.

My neighbor's son called her last week from Richmond to tell her that he had been at an event with his young daughter, and had made a visit to a porty potty.  While inside, he accidentally DROPPED HIS CELL PHONE in the abyss of poop and pee.  It was a brand new cell phone.  He panicked.  His dilemma:  Do I walk away and leave it, or do I take the plunge and try to retrieve it?  (I'm laughing my ass off as she is telling me this story.)  As it turns out, he wrapped his entire arm and hand in pretty much an entire roll of toilet paper, reached in, and fished that sucker outta there.  O>M>G>!

I'm not so sure -- no, correction -- I'm absolutely sure I would not have bothered.  Sometimes ya just gotta walk away.

In my case last night, it was either pee my pants or head to the germ pits and relieve myself.  (Note to self:  Start carrying a paper mask and hand sanitizer in my purse.)  I opened the door handle, entering apprehensively, and got to the business at hand as quickly as possible.  (WHY don't they have hand sanitizer dispensers mounted inside these monstrosities?) Thoroughly disgusted, yet relieved, I exited the porty potty.  I glanced about furtively, a sense of humiliation having taken over me for having to resort to this necessity. 

Sometimes we HAVE no choice.  When nature calls, there is no voice mail.  You either answer, or you suffer the consequences. 

Memoria De Facto

Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them.

  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As I was searching my office today -- my desk, files, boxes -- I came across several letters and cards I had received from friends, family, acquaintances.  Some were rather dated, at least by more than seven or eight years.  Some more recent.

As I opened the correspondence, my gaze fell upon the handwriting, hastening memories to me at the speed of light, instantly transported to my side by time and space and recall, placing the author in the forefront of my memory.  For that fleeting moment, while gazing at the handwriting, recalling the penned words, it felt as if I could hear their voice, touch them, hear them speak, or laugh, or cry.  I could feel their warm presence beside me.  I could see the life in their eyes through their penned words upon paper.  They were once more real to me.  Lasting.  Tangible.

I began to read with piqued interest, my heart warmed by this recall of memory.  Some of what I read made me laugh.  Some made my heart hurt.  Some even annoyed me.  Others sparked memories long forgotten.

Since my mother's passing over a year ago, I have come across letters, notes, cards that she had penned to me over the years.  Reading them now is far more meaningful than they could ever have been at the time they were first received.  I stop and stare at each word, each letter of the alphabet, and then read and re-read, again and again, until my heart is bursting, satiated by her loving words to me that I hold in my hand.

Far more meaningful than any email or digital correspondence, having a piece of paper that I can hold in my hand in a person's handwriting engulfs my heart and soul and shouts for attention.  Reverence.  Acknowledgement. 
It happened.  It's credible.  It's lasting.

SOMETIMES WE JUST NEED ASSURANCES.

It's why I so lovingly covet handwritten recipes that have been given to me over the years, some so stained from spills of ingredients that I can almost no longer read them.  Yet to reprint them or to retype them onto a nice, sterile recipe card would somehow seem blasphemous.  Countless scores of cards, letters, recipes, handwritten messages that collected over the years.  One might see them and label it "clutter."  But to me, they're precious memories, far too real and meaningful to ever part with for the sake of preserving order or prompting tidiness. 

Preserving these memories with care, simply to hold any one of them in my hand and witness the handwriting of its author, brings to life once more sweet, subtle gestures of the heart from one human being to another, adding the de facto seal on each coveted keepsake.  Tangible mementos of the heart to keep alive forever and always. 

"The Word that is heard perishes,

but the letter that is written remains." 

 - Proverbs

THE DAWN OF EUPHORIA

"I always loved running...it was something you could do by yourself,

and under your own power.

You could go in any direction,

fast or slow as you wanted,

fighting the wind if you felt like it,

seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs." 

  -Jesse Owens

Having had my cup of WAKE-UP java while reading a few emails, I mixed by BCAA's tonic, threw on my workout clothes, laced up my shoes, grabbed my MP3 player, and stepped outside to a surprisingly cool, crisp fall-like morning to begin my fasted cardio. 

Sweet.  Love this kind of weather.  It makes me wanna move.  Just move, move, move -- and never stop.  Makes me wanna shut out the rest of "life" and just have ME time.  Oh, yeah.  I work for a living.  Don't remind me...that hour will come soon enough.  Let me wallow willingly, wonderfully, without care in this first dose of ecstasy.

It's dark out.  Very dark.  I brace my foot against the brick of the gatepost and gently stretch, my heartbeat echoing, reverberating in the peaceful stillness, the only sound to usher me into MOVE mode. Switching on my Mp3, I quickly adjust the volume -- oops! surely everyone for miles could have heard THAT! -- and I began my five-minute warmup.  As my stopwatch hit 5:00, I began my run.  Now my footsteps are keeping rhythm with my heart, my breathing steadily rising, adding depth to my cadence.  Nice and easy, T.  Atta girl.  It feels good. 

Thirty-five mins later, having watched the sky slowly illuminate with the dawn, I slow it down to my five-minute cool down.  Oh, WHY must I stop?  WHY do I have to go to work?  Can't I just keep running on this glorious morning?

I finished my BCAA's and then began a slow hamstring stretch, then quad stretch...and slowly I reached toward the sky with my final stretch, and raising my eyes to heaven, I thanked God for a new day, for my health, and for the ushering of euphoria that I have experienced from my run on this lovely peaceful morning. 

Time to Shine

Each of us has a fire in our hearts
 for something.
It’s our goal in life to find it
and keep it lit.
- Mary Lou Retton

It's been a while since I've blogged, and it seems a lot has transpired since.  In the interim, I have taken on a new challenge:  I have decided to compete in my first figure competition.  Of the four divisions for females -- bikini, fitness, figure and bodybuilding -- I have chosen to compete in the Masters's 45 and Over Figure.  Wow.  Gulp.  This is SO DAUNTING.

I've always considered myself rather modest when it comes to doing the showboat thing.  It always makes me feel a little gushy when I receive a compliment, not really knowing quite what to say, how to handle the attention, the flattery.  I MUST overcome that tendency to shy away from the camera and develop the necessary confidence that it takes to show well, to present my best, to be my best.  It's damn hard work, but I'm up for it, and I've already begun putting in the time and sacrifice (thus my absence from my blog).

For once, I've got to get comfortable with and embrace COCKY.  Self-assuredness.  Self-confidence.  Poise.  Balance.  Beauty.  Symetry.  Charm.  It's gotta all come together somehow.  And I have ten weeks left to pull this off.

I'm thinking I should blog now and then about my progress, my energy, my diet, my questions, my concerns.  It will be rewarding to be able to look back upon my journaling of this experience.



One of the fun things I have to look forward to and to decide is choosing the right color for my suit, something that stands out, that complements my skin tone as well as my body's strong points.  This should be fun.  (But expensive!)

When I announced to my family that I had decided to compete, I wasn't sure how it would be received.  I knew that my middle son would support me, be happy for me, because he GETS IT, fitness.  And he was.  HE WAS THRILLED.  (Cool - I'm stoked!)  My oldest son?  Another story.  He said nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Not one word.  I mentioned how much it meant to me to compete, the icing on the cake of my passion for fitness, and even more rewarding and meaningful because of my age and the commitment it takes.  Nothing.  Not a word.  My youngest just nodded, slight grin, a bit of a skeptical look on his face, as if to say:  Really?  You really ARE?  Seriously?  Oh, okay.  Whatever.  My husband has been 100% supportive from day-one, word-one.  Bless him.  He has no idea how much that means to me.  NO IDEA.

I've decided not to tell my friends.  Yet.  I need to warm up to this whole thing.  I'm testing the waters.  I'm daydreaming a lot.  My mind dwells heavily on so many aspects of this whole challenge, and it's a lot to wrap my brain (and heart) around for now. 

I know that I must decide and win this in my mind first before I can go any further.   My body knows what to do.  That's the easy part.  I have to win in my mind.  I have to master my mind.  It's my biggest hurdle that looms. 

And I will.

It's ME VS. ME. 

I will draw energy from my passion and focus strongly on the power it yields.

This won't be easy.  I understand what is expected of me in the weeks ahead.  I know it will be grueling the last few weeks, and especially the days leading up to the competition.

Finding balance with life, and work and this newly found commitment will prove what I'm really made of.  Like a muscle, the requisite courage to achieve can only be strengthened with use.  I choose to face this challenge with courage and intensity and purpose.

Another Hot n Muggy Monday

Adrian:  Hey, can you tell me what's your name?
"My name is Roosevelt E. Roosevelt."
Roosevelt, what town are you stationed in?
"I'm stationed in Poontang."
Well, thank you, Roosevelt. What's the weather like out there?
"It's hot! Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking."
Well, tell me what it feels like.
"Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! It's so damn hot, I saw little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?"
What do you think it's going to be like tonight?  
"It's gonna be hot and wet! That's nice if you're with a lady, but ain't no good if you're in the jungle!"
Thank you, Roosevelt.

Too good!  Some of the best lines from this incredibly funny movie.  How I can relate!

Laughter...It's the best distraction when you find yourself in a really crappy mood, and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight.

It's the weather!  This heat and humidity!  This shit is getting old. 

Wait -- Where have I heard this before?  Wasn't it about six months ago everyone was bitchin' about the cold and crappy winter?

Is there a place on the planet that doesn't have these extremes?  I'm tired of being trapped inside 24/7.  The only tolerable time to be outside is at sunrise, and there's even a blanket of mugg at THAT hour, evidenced by the opaque condensation clinging to the windows.  But at least the sun hasn't made it to full blown scorch mode yet.  I suppose it would be a tad easier to tolerate if we were one of the lucky ones with a pool in our back yard.  But we're not. 

Our Weather Guy is predicting cooler temps this week.  But that's what he gushed about LAST week.  It didn't happen.  Not gonna hold my breath.

The thing about this muggy crap -- it plays such havoc on my mood.  Hey, I'm already pre-menopausal.  Add to that miserable muggy weather, and it's just not much fun being around me.  My poor family -- victims.  I just go into LEAVE-ME-ALONE mode.  I don't wanna cook.  Nothing tastes good anymore.  What do ya eat when the weather is like this?  I crave, but I don't know what I crave.  Don't wanna go anywhere.  Don't wanna talk to anyone.  Don't wanna do much of anything.  Just prefer to crawl into a dark, cool cave and hide there till fall. 

I find myself using mind games every day to distract me from this heat-induced misery, but I'm desperate for ideas.  And I'm frankly tired of pretending.  Tired of the mind games.  Tired of smiling when I don't really feel like it.  I'm just ... tired. 

Okay.  Shifting into coping mechanism mode here:  So I'll play one more mind game.  I'll pretend that what the Weather Guy said this morning IS reliable.  I'll look expectantly to Hump Day.  Ah, yes, how much nicer it will feel out by then.  I can taste it!  Sure.  Yep, I can tough it out today because that's only two more days of waiting for the breather.  And at that point we'll be through one-third of the hottest month of the year.  I can do this.  Yep.  What's a couple more days.  Mind games... 

C'mon, Weather Guy.  Don't let me down this time.

If It Ain't Broke...

 ... I guess it's okay to "fix it." 

I've never seen an uglier, more pitiful-looking cell phone in my life.  And I thought I had it bad.  My sons have smart phones and data plans, and I'm still wobbling along with my basic phone -- but at least my standard little phone has a qwerty keyboard!!!! Bonus!  Lucky me.

And then there's my friend Karen's phone...

Yes.  That's duct tape.


And this would be the end view of the phone.
Time for new duct tape...?

And this would be the back view.  (Note the sexy, sleak "lines" of this "slimline" baby!)

"But it still works!" she pleaded in defense. 

Needless to say, we laughed our asses off, those in attendance to witness such a spectacle.  We considered contacting the Smithsonian to see if they would be interested in a donation to their historical archives.  Of course, she would have never consented...

I left there feeling spoiled.  My poor, pitiful "dumb" phone was looking pretty smart afterall. 

There's "basic" and there's BASIC.  I guess everything is relative.