Weight Loss Challenge

Tomorrow I am going to bite the bullet and join a citywide weight loss challenge.

It is not going to be easy. Losing weight under even the best of circumstances never is. Put allergies to shellfish, ocean fish, oats, barley, legumes, cruciferous vegetables, apples, pears, bananas, grapes, strawberries, melons, and anything in the squash/gourd family and that makes it considerably harder.

In addition, I have to severely limit dairy due to sensitivities. I am not able to eat the "diet" dinners, shakes, bars, or other snacks without pretty unpleasant results. I have to also limit tomato, citrus, and peppers due to reflux.

Now, add in a daily dose of steroids. Oh, and the inability to exercise due to Myasthenia Gravis. Actually 5 of the 12 meds I take daily list weight gain as a side effect.

But, I don't want to be one of those bed bound people on TLC or Discovery Health, so I am going to have to find a way.

And I will.

50

Today is my 50th birthday. I can remember a time when 50 was ancient! Now, it is quite young!

I don't mind being 50. I am happier and more confident than I have been at any other time of my life. I would not be 20, 30, or even 40 again for any amount of money.

I had a lovely day. Birthdays remind me that I am blessed to have so many people who care about me.

And, for that, I am thankful.

The Panty Tree

Yesterday, the precious gentleman (who was my very first pastor as a child) went to Heaven to be with his God and his beloved wife Earline.

Brother Daniels was still preaching at tiny Yokena Presbyterian Church until two weeks ago. His sermons were just as relevant and current as those he preached when I was a small child.

The title of this post comes from an incident that happened at the preacher's house when I was about 5. There was a rope swing hanging from a low branch in this wonderful tree in his yard. It was one of those made from a board with a rope knotted through a hole drilled in the middle. I used to spend hours on that swing.

Well one day, I was turning around and around on that swing. I stopped, but when I went to get off the swing, I could not move. I had twisted and turned my "Her Majesty" ruffled panties around that rope until I was stuck tight. Miss Earline had to come out with scissors and cut me out of that swing. My fancy panties were ruined.

Brother Daniel's funeral will be Friday morning. It is now 45 years later, but I can rest assured that one of his children is going to mention the "panty story."

I guess some things are never meant to be lived down.

And sometimes, that is OK.

Donny

Yes. As in Osmond.

Donny was my first major crush as a young teen. I bought the Teen Beat magazines, the records, and the posters. That combo of olive skin, dark hair, and killer smile was the stuff of a thousand adolescent dreams. He was almost two years my senior which made him the "perfect" age.

As I got older, I outgrew the Osmond's music. But I never outgrew Donny. I followed the ups and downs of his career. I read about his family. I saw him in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."

Now he is on "Dancing With the Stars." Now an almost 52 year old father of 5 and grandfather of 2, the hair is a little thinner and middle a bit thicker. But I still think he is adorable.

And I am rooting for him.

Strange Dreams

Last night, I took my first dose of a cough syrup that my doc had prescribed so that I could hopefully stop coughing long enough to sleep.

That did not happen. It did calm this everlasting cough, but it made me wide awake. Thank goodness for Facebook at 2AM!

When I finally DID sleep, I had the strangest dream I have had in a very long time. For some reason, I was panicking about not calling my mama. I kept trying different phones and they were all broken. I was throwing the useless phones across the room. In my dream, my husband had to remind me that my mother is dead and has been for years.

Not sure what brought that dream on. Maybe it was a conversation I was having yesterday with a childhood friend whose mama was one of my mama's best friends. They were a colorful pair and are probably playing a never ending game of canasta up there in Heaven.

I still feel a bit bereft. On Christmas, Mama will have been gone 19 years.

But I still miss her. I guess I always will.

Baton Rouge

Tomorrow morning, my husband is leaving for Baton Rouge to work an outage at a nuclear plant located near there. He is looking forward to a change of scenery and a chance to make some good money towards his retirement.

He is set to be gone for about a month. He says that he may drive home on one of his days off. I just don't see the feasibility of driving 7 hours round trip to be home for less than a day. Of course, I am hoping to drive down there and stay with him a night or two and visit my cousins while he is at work.

I have never been home alone for more than 3 days or so without him. It is going to be a bit strange. Thankfully, although I will miss him, I am pretty self sufficient. I might even get the gumption to tackle some projects that I hesitate to start when he is home.

Of course, I can always paint! :)

Typhoid Karen?

For the past two weeks, I have had a garden variety cold. You know the kind where one starts off with a scratchy throat, then the sneezing starts and the last step is the cough that seems to last forever. No fever, headache, body aches, weakness, or anything else to suggest that it was anything more. I am quite reasonably certain that I do not have Swine flu! Last time I had flu of any kind, I was so weak I could barely make it from my bed to the bathroom.

I have taken all the normal precautions. I have stayed completely away from anyone considered high risk. The few times I have been out, I have clutched antibacterial wipes and kept people at arm's length.

I am one of those who opposes the use of antibiotics for things that they will not help, such as viral infections. Plus, they almost always mess with my myasthenia gravis, making me weaker than normal. So, I try to avoid them when I can.

But, symptoms are now pointing to the fact that this may have morphed into a chest infection of some sort, so tomorrow I am calling the doc.

Uncle!

Claiborne County

Today my husband and I went on a day trip to nearby Claiborne County. We both spent some of our growing up years down there, so it tends to be like going "home."

My husband and I are opposites. He is shy, where I am outgoing. He likes to watch the History Channel, while I can stay glued to "America's Got Talent" for hours. He likes to hike and camp. My idea of "roughing it" is a hotel without room service.

We do tend to have some difficulty coming up with things that we can do together. But today, we came up with a perfect activity. Bill took me on a tour of some of his favorite places in Claiborne County and I took pictures to serve as fodder for future watercolor projects. We took in everything from graveyards to the old Grand Gulf jailhouse. Bill knows so much of the area history in such detail that he makes a wonderful "tour guide."

We did pop into Jefferson County long enough to eat at the Old Country Store. Arthur Davis and his "so good it makes you want to slap your mama" fried chicken were featured in Alton Brown's "Feasting on Asphalt" series. The chicken was truly divine, as were the sweet potatoes and macaroni and cheese. Mr. Davis says that he cooks like he is cooking for himself. He just happens to share it with a few friends. I was mighty glad to be his friend today!

Lunch at the Old Country Store: $20.00 for two including tip.

Gas for the van: $35.00.

A great time with my husband of almost 26 years?

Priceless

Today's Sermon

This morning, our new pastor began his sermon with a story about a man named Jack. Jack is a youth minister in the Central Mississippi area.

Well, my ears immediately perked up. I happen to KNOW a Jack who is a youth minister in the Central Mississippi area. My pastor went on with the story about Jack and how Jack feared his father for the first part of his life. This fit in with what I know about Jack, but I still could not be totally certain that this Jack was the one I know.

The story went on that Jack's mother, during an after dinner walk, revealed to Jack that the man he so feared was his stepfather, not his biological father. More pieces fell into place, but I was still not sure.

Then the preacher mentioned the words helicopter, shot down, and Vietnam and I knew, without a doubt, that this was the Jack I know. The youngest brother of my best friend in life, Teresa. Tears streamed down my face as our preacher continued his sermon about God the Father's love for us.

Instead of becoming a bitter and angry man, Jack took the knowledge of the kind of man his real father was to become a faithful husband, father, youth minister, and teacher. He is a living example of God's healing power.

Amen.

First Sale

Today I sold my very first watercolor picture. Granted, the money did not go to me, but to the Senior Center to buy more supplies for their arts and crafts program. It was even purchased by someone who was not a friend or relative.

When I got to the show this morning, my painting was still there. Ten other paintings, mostly oils, had already sold. I was afraid that I would be one of the only ones bringing my painting home, unwanted.

About 30 minutes later, THREE people all decided they wanted my painting at once. Mabel, who was a judge in this city for many years, got to it first and snatched it up.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Sold!

No More Words

I have a friend who will sometimes say that she "does not want any more words thrown at her." I actually very seldom feel that way, but today was one of those days.

Because I am a counselor, many people assume that I have a totally unlimited capacity to listen for hours on end with no affect on my own mood and spirits. While I may have pretty large capacity for listening, my ability to bear the burdens of others does have some limits. I have to recharge MY batteries as well. The physical exhaustion that my medical conditions bring also seem to have an effect on my mental endurance as well.

Almost everyone has a friend or acquaintance who has so few people to share with that he or she wears out those who still come around. Everyone needs to feel "heard." I understand that. But I can't do all the "hearing!"

Another person lectured me for almost an hour on how things are DONE at a place where I have volunteered to do some art activities. These were things I needed to know, but hearing them ONCE was plenty! And she left me so discouraged that I am dreading next Tuesday. Fortunately, I only signed on for two sessions.

I can tell that I am going to have to set tighter boundaries in both these situations.

But, for tonight, no more words!

Good Day

Today was a lovely day. One of the first nice things that happened was a phone call from my 92 years young friend, Louise. I love talking to Louise. She always asks how I am doing and really wants to know the answer.

The second lovely thing was going "tax-free" lingerie shopping at our local outlet mall with DH's blessing. Nothing fancy, but I do love new nighties!

And last, but not least, lunch at one of my favorite eateries Cafe Anchuca with two of my favorite people from Montgomery, Alabama. They were in Vicksburg for the weekend bringing their son to his Americorps assignment. Above is the "Cafe Burger" featuring pimento cheese and bacon. Yummy!

I must admit, after a week of constant requests and demands, a day like today is a tonic.

And I don't even need gin with it.

Fragile

Whine alert. Ya might wanna skip it. :P

Today has been one of those "fragile" days. I have them every now and again. Weepy for no real reason. And I can't even blame it on menopause! That ship sailed 10 years ago.

I tried all the usual stuff. Counting my blessings. Getting out of the house. Peanut butter. Nothing has worked so far.

Compared to what many of my friends are going through now, my life is paradise. I am not kidding. MG, chronic pain, fatigue, and all, I still have it good. My head knows this.

But sometimes my heart is just sad.

Fenly

Every year, the Miss Mississippi pageant is held here in Vicksburg. Although in this day and age, pageants are getting somewhat archaic, this is still a huge moneymaker for my city. I was talking with a friend who has a daughter in the pageant and these days it is less about winning than it is about making contacts and gaining life experience. Her daughter has gotten modeling and commercial work since appearing in the pageant last year.

Tonight, as they announced the top 10, I was surprised when they called the name of a fellow church member. First time senior pageant entrants do not usually make that coveted top group. But 19 year old Fenly did just that. And she was terrific.

More than that, Fenly is a nice kid. She loves old movies and vintage clothing. She was an active member of the church youth group and is a mentor to a young girl. I was always impressed that when she had her pictures in the paper for being a homecoming maid, she was the only one who did not look as if she belonged on a street corner. Fenly is ladylike. That is a word used far too rarely these days.

This year top 10. Next year, Miss Mississippi!

Dixie

Five years ago, my young neighbor, Sam, came to our house bearing a small blonde bundle. It was her family's new dog, a Cocker Spaniel, named Dixie.

As evidenced by this photograph, Dixie soon learned to make herself at home. Sometimes she came over with Sam. Sometimes she just came to visit by herself. If the family could not find her, they knew to call our house.

Dixie loved to chase moles. We would see her out in our back yard with her nose underground and her nub tail sticking straight up in the air. She liked to be brushed, so my husband bought a doggie brush for her and would sit out on the front stoop and brush her until she shone.

Dixie was also unusually gentle for a Cocker. She would look at us as if she knew exactly what we were saying to her.

Unfortunately, this sweet pup also had autoimmune problems that had threatened her life more than once. She had beat the odds more than once. But, this time, the vet and the family were just unwilling to put her through any more. It was time to let her go.

Her family gently laid her in her bed and buried her in one of her favorite mole digging spots. If there is a doggie heaven for Dixie, it is sure to include moles.

Goodbye little Dixie. You were one of the best.

Framing

For the first time, I am having one of my watercolor paintings professionally framed. My husband took this snapshot of Bethel Presbyterian Church in Claiborne County, MS and wanted me to try to paint it. After a certain amount of weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, I finally finished it.

This little church, which has since been painted (that makes it less picturesque in my book) sits near the ruins of Windsor. The church was built in the mid 1840s. A tornado destroyed the steeple, which Yankee soldiers had used for target practice marching to the Battle of Port Gibson, in 1943.

By next week, one of my own paintings will be hanging in my house.

Cool.

Stuff

Just some random musings on happenings of the week...

My art teacher heard those most beautiful words today. "The lump is not malignant." I was with her when she heard and rejoiced with her.

My dad is doing remarkably well, despite tiring easily. Not everyone comes through this surgery so well and I am thankful.

My stepmom's son and daughter-in-law have moved back in across the street from us. I am somewhat selfishly thankful stepmom will have "responsible" blood kin here as she gets older. I would do anything in the world for her, but I am happy to know that there will be more than "me" on board should the need arise.

I really like my new pastor! I think that he is going to be that rare combination of "preacher" and "pastor." Given the choice, I would rather have a pastor, but I will happily take a good combo.

We finally got that long, soaking rain that we so desperately needed last night. The grass and flowers looked refreshed and relieved this morning.

I am still loving my painting. I can paint even when it is too hot to be out or I feel too bad to do much of anything else.

I have much to be thankful for.

And I am.

"Air"

Like many people, I am sure, I was shocked and saddened to hear of the murder of Steve "Air" McNair yesterday.

Steve had ties to my own city of Vicksburg. His wife, Mechelle hails from here and they got married right down the road at Bowmar Avenue Church. One of my former co-workers, Doug, who played ball at Alcorn State University with him, was in the wedding.

Being one of the closest fair size cities to Lorman, Vicksburg benefitted when fans, media, and professional scouts came to see "Air" in action. You knew when there was a home game by the lines of cars sporting Alcorn flags turning to go down highway 61 South.

When Steve went to the Super Bowl, Doug was sent tickets to the event. And despite all the hoopla, Steve took time to send Doug back to Vicksburg with signed memorabilia that was auctioned off to benefit our local United Way. I remember the excitement at the Mental Health when Doug was showing off these prizes.

I don't know any details. I am not sure I want to know the details. But I do want to pause a moment in appreciation of what this man did for my city, personally.

Thanks, Steve.

Finally!

Last night I finally had a complete night's sleep with my own BiPap!

This saga began about 3 months ago, if I recall correctly. I took my broken BiPap in to see if it could be fixed and got a loaner. The loaner was OK, but worked just differently enough that I had trouble getting used to it. My original stayed in the shop for almost 2 months.

The first time I took my original home, it would not blow anything but small puffs of air. I had returned the loaner when I picked this one up, so I was stuck sleeping sitting up on the couch until I could get it back to Jackson. Turns out, it was a software problem that was fixable in the local office.

Once again, I took it home only to find out that the cord to the humidifier was missing from the "new" bundle of cords that was sent back from the shop. I used it without the humidifier, at the cost of waking up with a sore throat in the mornings until I could drive the 50 miles to get another one.

When I got that cord, I thought I was home free until I hooked up the humidifier only to discover that the adaptor to the humidifier was not operational. Another night on the couch.

Fortunately, I was spared another trip to Jackson by my friend, Teresa, who was coming to Vicksburg and picked the cotton-pickin' thing up for me.

Next time, I am gonna "accidentally" drop the thing in the Mississippi River and demand a new one.

Batteries

If someone really wanted to cripple our society, all he or she would need to do is take away all of our batteries.

I think about the number of things in my home that require batteries, and it boggles my mind. Flashlights, remotes, phones, tools, MP3 players, clocks, smoke alarms, tape players, weather radio, cameras, scooter, and I am sure there are some I have not remembered.

This morning, when my husband went to crank the van, he discovered that the battery was dead. We could not go anywhere until a new battery had been purchased and installed.

Forget nuclear weapons and germ warfare. Just take out the battery factories. Simple.

And scary.

Sheesh.