Spanking Good, Spanx Bad...........

Spanking can be Good.

Spanx can be Bad.

Yea, so I'm still gaining weight. A month ago I wrote about how I had put on a few pounds in "136#-109#-150#-What?".

I really thought at that point I had plateaued when I blogged about my new weight odyssey back on May 30th.

I was wrong.

Flash forward 30-some-odd days and I sit before you at 165 big old pounds.

 

Yep...

So there seems to be no end in sight to this great expansion.

Chocolate Chip Frappe' @ 760 cal

 
Why?

I'm still drinking liquid crack from McDonalds's  

and CrackBucks.    

Iced Caramel Macchiato with Whole
Milk add Whip @ >500

Daily.

I bought spanx y'all.....  I don't like them.

This is how I felt...

It is time to take control... Check Thyroid. Cut down on the liquid crack....

136# - 109# - 150# - What?

My weight is what...?

I am 5'9.5" tall.  Yes, I always count that half inch - at least I will until the inevitable shrinking starts. Anywho, I am tall for a gal - so they say.

I am used to being around people who are shorter than I am - and when I run into a female who is taller, I feel inadequate as a man.  Yes, I know I am not a man - just say'n...

I have always been on the lighter side - since birth anyway. The "cute in a 'why-don't-you-put-some-weight-on-those-bones-kind' of way..." as the lyrics go in the group's "Black Tape for a Blue Girl's" version of the "Knock Three Times" song.  My weight just stayed on the low end for the most part until about 10 years ago (when I was about 36 years old or so).  At that time, I embarked on a yo-yo weight odyssey.  An odyssey influenced by my mood, life stability, stress levels, activity, and 'diet' (and by diet I mean how I eat, not an actual "D-I-E-T").

At this time 2 years ago I was around 136 pounds. At this time one year ago, I was headed for my low of 109 pounds. Now, if you know anything about height/weight ratios, you will know from what I write here - that I was WAY TOO SMALL for my height. By February of this year, I hit my ALL TIME HIGH of 150 pounds.  OK, again, if you factor in my height, that is not a 'huge' deal visually or health wise. However, as much as I suck at math, I think that is a 37% gain.  My current weight is higher than it was when I was 9 months pregnant, with my sweet sweet daughter, 25 years ago.  That is an eye-opening concept in my book.  Impressive really.... 

So, a busy life, anxiety, stress, and depression - partially brought on by drama and major life changing events -rendered me unable to eat.  A lot of folks eat eat eat when they are stressed.  I just simply - stop.  I can drop 30 pounds in under 2 weeks.  Is this healthy?  HELL NO...

Oh no, can I say "HELL" on television?

I have had a love hate relationship with food for years, as I had, for many years of my life, not cared for most food enough to do anything but eat as necessity, not for the joy of it.

As time has gone on, and I started taking 'happy pills', I managed to start eating.

This opened the flood gates. Eat, Eat, Eat...

My "I'm full" button is broken.  I am eating anything that can't outrun me.  This, in and of itself, would not be so bad except I have added drinking at least 1 McDonald's Chocolate Chip Frappe' a day, adding a whopping 700+ calories to my daily intake. Then consider the Starbucks' Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato with whole milk and whip at over 500 calories as a nearly daily treat......  Oh, and the fact I can eat 8 Reese Cups in one sitting....  

Oh yes, why am I gaining weight?  Duh..................................

I will eat until I stop. It will all even out.  

I think that is enough on this subject.  I have Mayfield's Snow Cream Frozen Dessert in the freezer and heavy whipping cream to pour over the top....

This is soooooo NOT a "How to be Fit" post...

Blech 

I am NOT weighing myself anylonger

What Does Catholic Mass Have to do With Fishing?

Nothing, but that is what I am writing about…

So I went to catholic Mass last year.  There was no lightening in the immediate area and I did NOT, I repeat did NOT burst into flames.

I grew up Baptist.  I converted to Catholicism several years ago. Not sure how many now.  I won’t go into the how or why of it.

The last 2 times I went to Mass were not in the states:

Dome of Koln

Once in 2002, at some point after my Daddy passed away.  It was conducted in what I call a "side chappel" in the Hohe Domkirche St. Peter and Maria (English: High Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Mary) in Koln Germany.  It is also known as Kolner Dom or the Cologne Cathedral.  Anyhow, I was amazed at how much I understood even though the whole thing was in the Latin and German languages.  That is a good day.  I needed that dayin order to help cope with the recent loss of my father. It is amazing how that whole trip helped.

I still miss him so much however.

 

Michelangelo’s Pietà

  The second time was in 2004 when my daughter and I traveled to Italy on "Roman Holiday".  We attended the Sunday Mass in Basilica Papale di San Pietro in Vaticano (Latin: Basilica Sancti Petri), officially known as Saint Peter's Basilica.  

All I can say is, while that mass was in Latin and Italian, it was the most moving Mass I have ever attended.  The chapel was packed.  We had to arrive a few hours early to make sure we could get in and be seated.  One day I will find the words to describe that experience.

 

Yes, except for the 2 above visits, I have not been to any other Masses since my Dad passed. I basically stopped when I lost him.  I went from going nearly every Sunday, even when traveling, to not attending. 

Period.

I made a last minute decision to attend Mass at a local catholic Church some months ago because I had been struggling with many things of late and I needed the continuity and tradition that the catholic Church Mass provides.  We will revisit the concept of "Continuity and Tradition" in a moment. I used to find that attending Mass would set and then re-set my emotional and mental clock for the week.  I decided I needed some group therapy with God.  I typically believe that you do not have to attend a church to commune with God, but I do feel that attending an organized event such as Mass helps keep my mind in the moment.

Enter "Continuity and Tradition"

I never liked anything but a good OLD fashion traditional Mass.  No new age, hippy, drum banging, guitar playing Masses for me.  I want some Latin in there (the more the better), choir when possible and the traditional words…

So, when I found a card in the pew outlining new words and songs integrated into the Mass, I was taken aback.  Confused.  Befuzzled.  It seems there is a new catholic Mass Missal as of November 26, 2011.  The explanation that I found when looking online?  Forty some-odd years ago, when the Latin Mass was translated into English, they apparently did a rush job and everyone knew it would be revised. 

Huh?  OK, news to me.

Apparently this new translation is closer to the Latin in both meaning and sentence structure.

They also say that Mass celebrates the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross and that is not everyday stuff.  It is a profound mystery that is beyond our comprehension and that mystery is deserving of a more significant language than what we use in our everyday lives.  A deeper meaning.

I am not going to go into all the details of the changes, but instead will give you the “Click Here” link to read the changes for yourself if you are so inclined.

OK, why am I whining?  I needed the continuity and tradition and knew I would find it in the Church. 

Instead? 

More change. 

Really? 

Seriously?

  

That will teach me to take a break from organized religion…

Lost and Found

I have an announcement to make!  I am back!!!

I LOST my "blogging-way".  

Fell off the "blog-wagon".

Have been a "blogger-slacker".

I FOUND myself again.  Not just my "blogging-self", but a large chunk of "myself" that I was separated from for awhile.  A long while.

Finally....

So I am back and blogging.  Ok, I am trying actually.  I went and read some of my "Cookie Cooks" food blogs recently - and was amazed.  Amazed by the writing itself?  Hardly....  I was amazed at how I did not recognize the writing as anything I had done.  It was like I was reading someone else's work all together.  I don't know.  All I can figure is I lost a portion of "me" back before I even started blogging - THEN fell off the wagon. 

That Cedar Chest

The dark yet comforting void that is a cedar chest...  Where objects go to be kept safe, secure and in the dark...

Several years ago my cousin and I had to move her mum into an assisted care facility. Her mother was not of sound mind and could not assist in any fashion when it came to sorting out her near 80 years' worth of possessions. We were on our own.  My cousin mentally and emotional locked up (as often happens to people when they simply cannot wrap their minds around the enormity of a task or event). So this packing up of her mother's life was left largely to me.

Now, mind you, "The Mother" did not have an actual cedar chest. But in a way, her apartment of roughly 26 years was one huge cedar chest. The Mother was old-school. If you pissed her off, you were "marked off her list". No more party invites for you! She was very crafty, artsy and an awesome cook/hostess. She turned simple lunches into a special event. She was much of my inspiration to travel, cook and entertain, yet I was not close to her. She seemed to drink a bit much and could get right cranky.  Over the years I started understanding why...

We went cabinet by cabinet and drawer by drawer. Pulling out, sorting, keeping or donating objects. Books, dishes, silver, china, jewelry, you name it...  There were oddities from assorted travels through the years. Books about various art, travel locations and historical events. Even clothing from back in the day! Mink and fox fur stoles!

At one point we reached the basement storage room. There is where it got interesting. No one had bothered to go through the stored items down there in years. Maybe not since they moved into the apartment after "The Father" passed when we were 7 years old.  What we found were photo albums from back pre-us-children era.

The photos showed "The Mother and Father" at the beach down in Alabama. They would spend a month or so in the summer at a beach house down there. I have no idea if they owned it at the time or simply rented it.  They would take kids from the family, as at the time they had none of their own, and introduce them to a different life. My family was by in large not well to do. So for kids to get to go on what amounted to a long vacation was a huge thing. I wish I had access to these photos to post here because they were so interesting as these were circumstances, situations and dress that I had never seen my adult elder cousins in. I remember Rena normally wearing dresses and skirts throughout my life and that was the same in the photos, but of course she was much younger and seemed so happy. "Doc", for the period of time I knew him, as he died when I was 7, was always in a bow-tie, dress slacks and an arrow collar shirt. In these photos he was lounging in chairs with a cigar, a low-ball glass and an undershirt.  Think 'wife beater' shirt. There were children playing in the sand in their cute little 'covers everything' swim suites.  The year had to be the 1950's.

We also found in one album a letter confirming a room reservation in an Atlanta hotel (I have long since forgotten the hotel name but seems it is still there near the stadium). Obviously there were no internet sites back then. And, apparently at this point the phone was still not the communication of choice in the south? The room confirmation was for a 2-twin-bed room costing something like $10 or so. They were going to watch baseball.

The twin bed deal was no shock. They slept in separate beds the whole time I knew them (5 out of the 7 first years of my life).

While we poured over the albums, it became clear why "The Mother" drank and would get cranky. By that time she had lived without the love of her life for maybe 27 years.  She missed him. She never got over losing him. She never dated. She did everything with her mother (until she passed) and her daughter.

We ended up stashing the mink and fox stoles we unearthed in my cousin's steamer trunk. The jewelry went into her jewelry box, furniture into her house in the basement and the silver (that came from OUR great grandparents) placed on cabinets.

Several months after The Mother passed, we were doing that age old ritual of getting ready to go out tramping as we called it. This actually means we were going to a nightclub to dance. We almost always had a new outfit each to wear.  Her mother used to help us get ready when we were younger. Critique our outfits, doll us up, take photos of us, keep us on task and on time. So, this night, as we ran around her house half (mostly) naked trying to get our outfits together, we pulled the furs out of the steamer trunk and we draped them around us and laughed hysterically.  We both thought how funny it would be when we were old and in a nursing home together. In our rooms would be these cedar chests and steamer trunks full of oddities from our parent's and grandparent's.  We would probably visit, and dawn, the stashes daily and race our wheelchairs down the institutional hallways - half naked (hopefully not mostly naked) wearing these furs, and costume jewelry.  All the while orderlies would probably chase after us.

Off We Go… The Maiden Voyage! (Or So I Had Hoped…)

Such foolish expectations... Just Say'n. And yes, it has been since August that I wrote. Finishing grad school and working full-time killed a semblance of a life.

So it is Friday!  The day I have decided the boat hits the road on a camping trip and maiden voyage! This week was an insane week! Jim worked on the motor that probably had not seen action in maybe 10 years. Luckily, it isn’t a use it or lose it item!  The boat rebuilding triad had worked on the boat at night, in the heat, and the humidity. Those couple of nights I sweated like I have never sweated before – in my daytime office-work clothing! It was hot and the humidity, I swear, was 4 million %.  I was tired.  I had wanted, dearly, to go pick the boat up Friday early, but Jim was still working on the motor AND I was still at work running around like mad. We had a special event that day which had been planned for long time and I could not leave as it ran longer than I had hoped.

My best person volunteered to go get the boat from Jim’s and that made things go a little faster.  Actually, it probably made them go a whole lot faster.

When I met up with my person, I noted we had A LOT of gear for two nights of camping, fishing and golf.  Wow, how had we managed to stuff all this gear in the vehicle on previous camping trips?  Ok, the golf clubs normally did not go and the fishing gear was not a normal addition, but still?  The boat and the vehicle were packed full!  What was the one thing I could not find that morning – when ready to go?  My life-vest.  Tired, now grumpy and bummed because I have a NICE vest somewhere…  No fear, WallHell will have them! Right?

We get on the road at maybe 5:30p with the plan to go to General Burnside Island in Kentucky. Some of the best fishing is on the Cumberland – so I hear… We get gas, a quick bite to eat on the road and drive, drive, drive.  We are not even out of Knoxville before my exhausted ass has a complete and utter internal (and sooner than later external) meltdown.  It is the after work Friday traffic and we are towing my little boat. Yea, this boat might as well be worth a million dollars because I have emotional stock in it. Weaving in and out of traffic we go.  All I can think is – I don’t weave in and out of traffic when towing (because as you have probably read in an earlier post, I have SO MUCH EXPERIENCE in towing)!  Why are you weaving in and out of traffic?  Why can’t we just stay in one lane? Why?  Why? Why? Whine…

‘Nough said on that part of the trip…

The plan now?  Stop at WallHell and pick up a cheap life vest on the way. Two WallHells later and nadda! Seriously? WallHell has everything…   But not a vest in even remotely my size. I made the command decision to give that up and decided to get one the next day.  Great plan!

We did not get to the campground until maybe 10:00p, got unloaded, got the tent up and I, by cracky, am in my “going to cook the baked beans with beef and onion mixture that has been the first meal of each camping trip if it kills someone” mode.  It must have been midnight or later before that was done and food was eaten.  Dishes?  Not happening tonight!

At somewhere between 1:00a or 2:00a I realize there are still kids playing and making noise and also a camper moving in next to us – noisily. I have never experienced such campground noise in Tennessee.  Is it a cultural thing in Kentucky? Kentuckians are not concerned with reasonable quiet hours? Say, oh, I don’t know, Midnight? It took awhile to get to sleep.

We get up in the late morning, drag around and eat leftovers after not getting a lot of sleep due to the seriously loud and rude late camping arrivals one space over. We managed to get up a little too late to hunt a life vest, try the boat in the water or go fishing before the heat strikes - so we decided to go play golf.

Uh, little background with me and golf – I have played very few rounds of golf:

One round at Dead Horse Lake in maybe 1997

Two rounds at Silver Lakes in Alabama around the same time

One round at Dead Horse in about 2002

One round at Millstone in Morristown

Now I have this set of golf clubs, new, fresh out of the box – for a lefty.  Note, I am now and have always been a right handed person.  But my thinking is – golf is a foreign activity no matter which team I bat for (insert obvious crude joke here) so why not go left-handed. When trying the clubs out, I tried a left and a right handed club.  With the left-handed I was consistently bad. Right-handed I was inconsistently worse!

Let me just say, 9 holes of golf in 90+ degree heat wore us out. I think par was 32 or so.  I shot 96.

We are done, it is maybe 3:00p and I STILL need a life-vest. We drove to 3 places and finally, after a marina made a couple of calls, we found ONE store open that had vests.  Who knew that boating places were either closed on Saturdays (in a heavy boating region) or closed early. So, while I am no fashionista, I am not overly excited by my “man-vest.”

We get back to the camp-site and hook up the boat trailer. Off we go to the park ramp.  All 40 football fields’ worth of ramp.

Flash-back in grand southern style to follow.