When Did This World Go Mad?

Tonight, I’m a bit annoyed. I logged on to the internet earlier and a Yahoo news page came up. The title of the lead article was something like “Plus-size Model Speaks Out.” Apparently model, Crystal Renn, posed for a photo-shoot and when the picture came out they made her appear as though she were a size 2. She “spoke out,” it seems, because she’s very comfortable being a size 10 and was offended that they’d photo-shopped some weight off of her to make her look thinner.

Wait a minute! Let’s go back to the original title of the article; “PLUS-SIZE MODEL SPEAKS OUT.” Since when is a size 10 a plus size? I wear a plus size and while I personally wouldn’t be offended if someone wanted to take some weight off of me in a photo, I am offended for all the size 10 women in the world. I haven’t been a size 10 since I was oh, well, maybe 10 years old! I would love to be a size 10, or for that matter a 12; neither one do I consider to be a plus-size.

Other people must have been annoyed, also, because when I went back to watch the video again I couldn’t find it. It was gone. Hmmm…

But, there is one other thing that annoys me about this story. Here’s what bugs me. Why is a size 10 girl modeling for plus-sized clothes? Nothing against Chrystal Renn, she’s a beautiful girl, but seriously, why isn’t she modeling normal-sized clothes for the normal-sized women? When did this world go mad? It’s no wonder women have weight issues. If you are considered one of the “larger women” at a size 10 why bother trying?

Furthermore, why can’t real plus-sized women model plus-sized clothing? Would it be wrong to put someone who is a size 14, say, in a clothing catalog where the smallest size actually IS a 14? Is that too much to ask?

One last thing; while I generally don’t feel comfortable discussing my dress size with the general public, I really can’t stay silent one more minute. Yes, I would prefer to be smaller, yes, I know it’s healthier, yes, I continually try to lose weight; but the truth is that I am so much more than what I weigh. I refuse to let my weight define who I am as a person any longer. I hope you do, too.

O.K., I’m done ranting now. Thanks for listening. And if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, feel free to call. One thing about my shoulder is this, it’s soft.

Same Time, Next Year

I got back last night after a three day getaway at Dummy Lake just outside of Cumberland, WI. I’ve made this trek to Cumberland for 11 of the last 12 years. It all started when Ruth, who I worked with at the Elementary School many years ago, decided to host Chick Week. She invited, as she puts it, the women she liked to come to her cabin. Usually the second week of July is designated as Chick Week every year. We are encouraged to arrive and depart as our schedule will allow. Over the years we’ve added a few women and sadly, in 2000 we lost one to breast cancer. We range in age from the early 50’s to the late 70’s. Actually, we are a pretty unlikely group when you think about it.

We have different political views, different religious views, different lifestyles, and different body shapes. We do, however, have one thing in common. We all love to laugh. Oh, and eat – we LOVE to eat. (I guess that’s two things.)

The thing I like the most about these women, though, is that no one really cares if my clothes match, or if I have make-up on, or what I look like in a swimsuit. It is truly a stress-free time away.

We do all kinds of crazy things when we are together. Somehow we started the tradition of doing a craft every year. This is usually a source of great entertainment because, quite frankly, some of us are not all that crafty. I tend to fall into the “less crafty” group which probably has more to do with my perfectionist tendencies than my actual crafting abilities. This year we made scarves which were super easy, and fun. One of the girls (and I use the term “girls” VERY loosely) commented on my lack of whining which basically means that I’m better at making scarves than I am at say, making Christmas ornaments out of modeling clay. (Oh, that was a painful year.)

Of course, no girl’s getaway would be complete without a little shopping (though it isn’t our main source of entertainment.) Bargain Bills in Rice Lake is ALWAYS on the agenda. Bargain Bills is a store FILLED to the brim with stuff you don’t really need. It’s great. Some of it is dirt cheap and some not quite such a bargain. It’s not a store for the faint of heart because it goes on forever. Food, kitchen supplies, gift wrap, furniture, automotive supplies, gardening gear, home improvement items, toys, stationary, Christmas ornaments, craft supplies, yarn, and candles are just a few of the items you’ll find at Bargain Bills. Some aisles I’ve never dared to enter.

There is always some great competition around the card table in the evenings. I can honestly say it’s the only time of the year I enjoy a game of golf (the card game, not the chasing of little white balls.) Prizes are furnished by all of us and let’s just say that winning a prize isn’t always a real win.

Every year, I come home from the cabin refreshed and relaxed (though not necessarily rested.) And, we always part ways with the promise of “same time, next year.” I can’t wait!

When Did Singing the National Anthem become a Spectator Sport?

Yesterday our country celebrated Independence Day. My husband and I spent it going to a parade and later watching fireworks (with time out for a nap in between because, well . . . because I like naps.) We usually go to the parade in our little town of Cannon Falls, but this year we were invited to join some friends in Apple Valley. And, since there was a picnic involved also, not to mention some fun friends, we decided to branch out from our regular tradition.

The first thing that I noticed about the Apple Valley parade, that I’ve never seen done in Cannon Falls, is that they start by singing the national anthem, also known as The Star Spangled Banner. Other things were different also, of course. The Apple Valley parade has more marching bands whereas the Cannon Falls parade has more horses and tractors. But, it’s the national anthem that I want to focus on.

Here’s what I want to know? When did the singing of the national anthem become a spectator sport? Have you noticed that nobody really sings along anymore? Oh sure, they’ll stand up, a few will even put their hands over their hearts, but nobody sings. Are they afraid someone will make fun of them? Don’t they know the words? What is it?

I have a theory that it all started when the singers at ballgames started using their own little renditions that only another professional singers could follow. Those renditions, though usually beautiful, leave the average person wondering which note to hit next. But, maybe it’s more than that; I don’t know. I just think it needs to change.

This isn’t my first observation of this phenomenon. I first became aware of this issue while watching the Olympics last winter. Did you hear those Canadians? They sing their national anthem with wild abandon; kind of like their proud to be Canadians. Imagine.

Well, I say it’s time for those of us in the United States to sing our anthem with pride. Granted it’s not the easiest anthem in the world to sing, but it’s not the hardest either.

There is one place left where the national anthem is sung, on a weekly basis, by the entire group. That is at Rotary Club. My husband is a member and every now and again I am with him at a meeting. Generally, the singing of the national anthem at Rotary Club is followed by breakfast so it’s pretty much sung with a “hurry up, we have to finish this so we can eat” beat. They are usually “proudly hailing” while I’m still seeing the “dawn’s early light,” but hey, at least they are singing.

So, next time you’re at a ballgame, or a parade, or anywhere else the national anthem is being sung, do me a favor and join in. Let’s see if we can’t at least match the Canadian’s enthusiasm. We have our issues in America but one of them shouldn’t be that we don’t know how to sing our anthem. Warts and all, America is still a great place to call home.

Do You have a Happy File?

Tonight I’ve been cleaning off the bookshelves in my office. These poor bookshelves are quite the mess. When I sold Creative Memories they held scrapbooks, refill pages, decorative paper, photo tape, stickers and practically everything you’d need to create an album that would someday hold the memories of your life. Once I quit the selling process I condensed the items that were left and added a few books . . . and then some DVD’s . . . and some CD’s . . . and well really anything that I needed to stuff someplace seemed to end up on these shelves. So, in an effort to tidy up a bit, I thought I’d spend an hour or two rearranging. So far, this is where I’m at.

Basically, the mess that was on the shelves is now all over the office floor. Hmmm…..

Oh well, it’ll get done.

As often happens when I’m in the middle of a mess, I find something that belongs somewhere else and well, that leads me on a bit of a rabbit trail. It’s a fun trail until you realize that you have to eventually get back to the mess. Tonight’s trail led me to my “happy file.” Do you have a “happy file?”

What’s a happy file, you ask? (Please, pretend you’re asking for my benefit. I like to think that people are chatting with me when I write.) A “happy file” is a place you stick note cards, printed out emails, or a simple piece of paper with something on it that makes you feel . . . well . . . happy. Most of the notes in my happy file are filled with a kind word of encouragement from a friend or family member. A few are just something that made me laugh.

I’m not going to tell you about every note in my happy file but there are a couple I’d like to share. This first one made me laugh. It’s a little note the size of a gift tag. Actually, it is a gift tag that Scott found one year when I was wrapping Christmas gifts. He took some of my fancy-edged scissors and dressed the sides up a bit, taped on two pennies, and then wrote a note. From the looks of it, he was about 8 or 9. Here’s what it says:

Do not read until cristmas (he wasn’t our best speller)

Two pennies like these share the love of god

To Mom

From Scott

All I can say is thankfully his theology has matured! You can’t throw stuff like this away. Sometimes you just need a good laugh.

Obviously, that isn’t what sent me to my “happy file” tonight. That note has been there for years. Tonight though, I found amidst some old Bible Study lessons a note written to me from a friend. I think I was having a tough day and couldn’t come up with one thing I liked about myself. Do you ever have days like that? My friend refused to let me wallow in my own self-pity and said to me, “Well, I could come up with five of your good qualities right now,” and she did (actually she got all the way to seven.) This is how the note reads:

Nancy

Sweet

Kind

Hard-working

Wonderful

Strong

Fun

Woman of God

I’m not sharing this with you to brag about myself. What I realized as I read it is this is of course it feels good to know that someone thinks of me as having all those qualities. (That’s why it’s going in the “happy file” after all.) But in the end, there is only one thing on that list that really matters to me and it’s the three short words, “Woman of God.” That’s what I want people to remember about me . . . . that I served Jesus.

And actually, I’ll consider my time on this earth a success if, at the end of my days, someone can say, “I met a woman once who told me how much Jesus loves me. It changed my life.” That would go in my “heavenly happy file.”

Travel Entertainment

If you’ve read my blog for awhile you know that I do a fair amount of traveling. I don’t have Platinum Medallion, or even Gold Medallion, status with Delta but I do take a few trips every year. They are all an adventure; whether I’m on a mission trip to a far away land, or a quick trip to the West Coast to visit my family. And yes, I get to see some fascinating places and things. But sometimes the most entertaining part of the trip happens at the airport. Our last trip was to Portland, OR for our son’s wedding and that trip alone had enough for a short story.

It all started when I went through security. I have artificial knees so after I unpack my computer and one quart bag of liquids, take off my shoes and jacket, and stuff all of that into two or three of those special trays I get to sound the alarms. At this point, I pretty much tell the TSA agent that he’s blocking the path to the “holding area” for potential criminals. As always, I waited in the holding area for a “female assist” agent to show up. She proceeds to take me to the “pat-down” area where I am wanded with the special “we know you’ve got metal on you somewhere” wand and somewhat appropriately patted down. Typically the women who do the pat-down lightly brush over my arms, legs and torso, with particular emphasis on my knees. Not this time. This time I’m fairly certain that the TSA agent responsible for protecting the rest of the world from the likes of me was instead doing a body fat analysis. Clearly she had lost track of the real goal. Let me just say, she was serious about her pat down and didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor either. When I told her I was expecting a body fat analysis when she got done she didn’t even smile. I want to believe she didn’t hear me, but I can’t be sure.

After grabbing some water bottles and food for the flight, we headed for the gate. I’d say we arrived to the gate a good hour to hour and a quarter before the flight was scheduled to depart. Even at that point, there were already people lined up to get on the plane. Really people? Do you think they’ll leave without you? Well, they will if you are late getting on the plane, but it’s not like they were getting ready to load. I understand the need to get on early to grab a spot for your suitcase in the overhead, but still, lining up an HOUR in advance? And, the funny part is, I think some of the people were flying first class. They get to go on first anyway. But, it gets better. The gate agent came on the loud speaker to inform us that our plane would be delayed at least 30 minutes, yet no one moved out of that line. When the departure time was pushed back another 30 minutes they still remained. I think it was the third delay announcement that finally provoked them, not to move, oh no, but to sit down. IN LINE!

There was more that happened before we left Minneapolis, but I don’t want to run out of room to tell you what happened after the flight home. When we arrived in Minneapolis I made a quick stop at the restroom. Another woman entered at the same time I did as her husband waited outside the door. Apparently, they were on an outgoing flight and should have been with the people in that line by the gate. We were both in the midst of washing our hands when I hear (and John sees) her husband yelling into the restroom, “Hurry up, we’re going to miss our flight!” Now, it takes about 15 – 20 minutes to load passengers into an airplane and less than five to use the restroom and wash your hands. If they’d already started the loading process, perhaps she should have waited until she got on the plane. If not, there was plenty of time. She left the bathroom without even drying her hands. When I emerged from the restroom, John was still laughing.

But then, what I considered to be the best entertainment of all happened. There was a guy on our flight who had a cat inside a cat carrier on the plane with him. While totally legal I’m still not convinced that the people with cat allergies are happy. Anyway, as this man headed to the baggage claim area the cat was letting the entire crowd know that he’d had just about enough of his stupid carrier and meowed about every 15 seconds. That, in itself, wasn’t so entertaining but once a woman started meowing back it started to get humorous. It went something like this: CAT: “meow,” WOMAN: “meow,” CAT: “meow,” WOMAN: “meow,” and on and on until the cat and woman parted ways. It still cracks me up.

It’s too bad people can no longer just go to the airport and hang around. There really is some great entertainment to be had there. On the other hand, you can probably find a similar kind of entertainment anywhere you find a crowd because seriously, people are funny.

My Baby Boy Got Married!

On Saturday, June 12, my baby boy, and last unmarried son, Scott, said, "I do." How did this happen? Well, I know how it happened, of course; they met, they fell in love, they got engaged and bam, they're married. What I mean is, where did the time go? It seems like yesterday I was knee deep in diapers and baby food, then Legos and matchbox cars, and eventually soccer balls and school books. It all went so fast. I remember, in the midst of the growing up years, people would tell me how quickly it would go and I have to admit that there were days when that didn't seem so bad. Now I tell moms and dads of young children to soak it in and enjoy this season of their lives. I hope they listen better than I did.

I will have to say, I don't mind this current season of my life and the freedom that comes with it, but there are days when I'd give anything to have a wee one crawl up in my lap for a story or a snuggle. Of course those same wee ones might prefer a game of tag and well, let's just say, I'd lose at any game that involves running.

As the mother of three sons, I love having daughter-in-laws around. And, since we just added our last daughter-in-law this past weekend, I thought I'd share a few snapshots of the wedding. I only have a few to share because my mind was more on enjoying the wedding than taking pictures. That was someone else's job.

I had really intended to take only one picture during the ceremony, but these flower girls were so cute, I just couldn't resist.

One of my favorite things to watch at any wedding, and particularly at the weddings of my three sons, is the look on the groom's face when his bride is walking down the aisle. They just sparkle. This is the one shot I didn't want to miss. Scott, by the way, is the one on the right. The other guy is, of course, the pastor.

A beautiful toast from the best man, Mike Gesme. Scott and Mike have been friends for longer than they (or I) can remember. Hmmm. . . perhaps a smaller piece of cake would have "fit" better, but I think the intent was to have fun.Although they didn't have an official wedding dance, they did have a "first dance together." Ah . . .true love. Scott and Angelina heading off on their honeymoon to the Oregon Coast. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, Scott is our last child to get married. According to tradition, it is the role of the mother-of-the-groom to "shut-up and wear beige." I have failed miserably in that department. I don't look good in beige and well, shutting-up has never been my strong suit. It's probably best then, that I'm done with this "wedding season" of life. I think now I have free reign to say whatever I want. No?

The Food Journey

I could preface this blog post with a very long story about my declining health, but really, you don’t want to hear all that. Besides, it makes me sound old. I’ll skip to the part where I found out that I’m basically a medical mess and the “cure” is to significantly improve my diet. And by significantly, I mean MAKE HUGE CHANGES! I’ve never been a great eater. I hate vegetables in general, I don’t enjoy the whole cooking process; from meal planning to shopping to preparation; and all in all I would rather make a reservation for dinner than actual food.

But, my “new diet” is supposed to consist of organic food, grass fed meat products, perfectly proportioned meals (meaning I can’t skip vegetables) no products with high-fructose corn syrup, and I’m NEVER to eat a carbohydrate by itself; ALWAYS pair it with a protein. And if that wasn’t “fun” enough, I am also intolerant to dairy and soy, so no products containing either of those ingredients.

Let’s just say, there were quite a few tears the first week or two. I know it sounds stupid to cry over a change in diet but seriously, it’s quite overwhelming at first. The soy thing in and of itself, would have caused enough trauma, but add the “no dairy” and the whole organic fiasco, and what you end up with is an emotional mess. I pretty much felt like Minnie Driver in the movie Return to Me when she wails “Why does God hate me?”

Truthfully, I felt pretty stupid about all the crying until I called my sister-in-law who told me she sees people in the health food store crying all the time. (She has a son on a gluten-free diet.) When she encounters a woman in tears she knows right away they’ve just been diagnosed with a food intolerance and offers them a kind word of encouragement; which she also offered me. At least I’m not the only crying, nut-case in the world.

It’s been nearly two months since this lovely diagnosis and I have to say that I’m in a much better frame of mind these days. It helps, of course, that I do feel better since that is the ultimate goal. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

First off, when someone at the health food store tells you something tastes just like “chocolate ice cream” it’s code for “I haven’t had chocolate ice cream in so long I don’t have a clue what it tastes like.” I’m not saying that coconut milk, soy-free, dairy-free, chocolate yogurt isn’t good; I’m just saying it doesn’t taste like chocolate ice cream . . . at all.

I’ve also learned that going out to eat at a “mid-level” (think $$) restaurant severely limits your options – though it can be done. To their credit, Red Robin will print out a menu for people with dietary restrictions. If, however, you are allergic to dairy AND soy, your only real choice is a hamburger sans bun, and a salad with red-wine vinegar. Yum! Fast food is basically no longer an option at all BUT the high end restaurants use better ingredients and therefore provide at least one, and possibly two or three options for a delicious meal. John, of course, is thrilled knowing that the price of date night just went up.

And, while the nutrition doctor is a wealth of information, she also has taste buds that I believe are somewhat skewed. Cashew butter, contrary to her opinion, is not as addictive as crack cocaine. In fact, I wonder if she isn’t confusing said butter with crack. In addition to her taste buds problem, she doesn’t really understand the whole “goal” here. Her goal is to help me feel better and have more energy. I appreciate that, but let’s be real; if I’m going to give up chocolate chip cookies, pizza with cheese (you haven’t really “lived” until you’ve had cheese-free pizza), and ranch dressing, well, there just better be some weight loss involved; which I’m happy to say there has been.

When I reported said weight loss to my doctor she said, “Nancy, it’s not about losing weight.” Seriously, for a smart woman, she can be so stupid sometimes. If I have to eat organic, soy-free, dairy-free food, there had better be some weight loss involved or it could get ugly. She’s heard me whine, but to date, she still has no real concept of my whining capabilities.