My New BFF

Yesterday, I was at Wells Fargo doin’ some bi-ness. 

A nice teller, about my age or so – you know, youngish – commented on my hair color being gorgeous – which I thought – holy schmoly – she must be reading my mind. 

Except that I’d just been standing there waiting my turn in line (a skill I’m trying to develop since we moved to The City) thinking… Man, this hair on my head is so ugly.  It has gotten out-of-control brassy.  I wonder what color I should change to?

 ‘Course, my new best friend ended all that nonsense with one comment.

And sparked a spirited dialogue with another youngish woman (who had gone completely gray – that gorgeous, sparkly silver we all want – you know – in another 30 years or so) and was telling me and my new best friend that her hairdresser had said her hair was starting to go darker again.  Which led Lady Silver Hair to conclude that it was her recently dearly departed husband who had given her gray hair in the first place.

Hnh.

In the next 2 or 3 minutes…the time it took for my new best friend to walk me to the safety deposit vault and sign me in (so I could put in the title to the F-250 – paid in full – Yeah, Baby!)…I found out that her husband had been let go from JC Penney last spring…after 34 years…exactly 4 months before he was eligible for full retirement. 

Like in Tom’s case…Penneys didn’t terminate him…they terminated his position. 

A couple of months later, her husband had a stroke…she said from the stress of the whole thing. 

Her story got me counting my blessings again…which I’ve been having a hard time doing lately.  

I’ve been struggling.  Re-thinking and re-planning.  Restructuring.  Back to our old budgeting days.  Watching some of our balances go the wrong way.  Trying to stay Christian while I put numbers to betrayal.  It’s a lot of work.

Staying in the truth about money and resources has not been pretty.  My mood swings back and forth between my Eeyore self and that first screaming woman who gets killed in every catastrophe movie you’ve ever seen.   

Anywho.

Now is a little like going back to the gym after slacking off for a few weeks.  Everything about this new budget creaks and hurts, but I know I can do it.  I just have to practice the old skills until I’m on my game again.  It starts with getting into the truth about what’s going out and what’s coming in.  I’ve done most of that crappy work…for now anyway.

But I digress…

The real lesson was…and I’m pretty sure this was one of those God’s lips to my ears deals – is that there are worse things than losing your job.  Losing your job and losing your husband is much, much worse. 

Well, unless you’re Lady Silver Hair.

All of which got me thinking…

Wonder if my new BFF can get me a job?

 

Twofers

Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to buy those 2 for $4 potato chips.  

I say this with some authority because I just had a couple of them kick my butt.  They tag-teamed me and knocked me flat to the mat.  Stomped me a couple of times for good measure.

Not my fault.   I was totally out-muscled.

Dang.

I’ve been such a happy little Weight Watcher for several months now.  Slow but sure.  Pokey poking my way down almost 20 pounds. 

I’ve even managed to keep losing in spite of  The Foot Surgery (and loooooong convalescence) AND The Lowden House Project (not to be confused with The Blair Witch Project)…the kind of challenges which generally set me up for an almost religious belief that I deserve all things high fat and high calorie in copious quantities.

Every so often, though, there’s this leetle neurotransmitter twitch that plays me a happy song…something about  tomorrow always being  better than today when it comes to healthy eating and exercise.   It actually sounds a little (a LOT) like a drug addict who says he wants to quit tomorrow. 

That “This is the LAST time I’ll do this” gymnastic hop over the truth.  As if overeating today will make me stronger  to not overeat tomorrow.  The mythology of that one last, perfect binge that will end all temptation. 

The Last Meal Syndrome. 

Have anything you want right now because tomorrow you’re going to wake up a completely different person and never, ever, ever do that again.

In my own defense, Mom (who is also doing WW) made me promise (against my will) to watch Biggest Loser.  Turns out, nothing makes me hungrier for a potato chip or two than watching a bunch of really fat people sweat gallons and show their off their gynormous bellybuttons and manboobs.

Sigh.

Ok.  But here’s what’s different this time.  I’m going to my WW meeting tonight.  Knowing that I’ve gained weight.  Hat in hand.  Admitting the Truth that I need help as much, if not more, than the first day I walked in.

Even though I’m not the Biggest Loser.  That today I might even be the Biggest Gainer.

Old Cherie wouldn’t do this, you understand.  Old Cherie would say…I screwed up TOO bad…it’s too much…I can’t handle it…and I’m not going back this week.  I just can’t face that scale.  Then I’d add another bad week to this bad week. Then another. And the next thing you know, I’d be OUTTY.

And then, next thing you know after that, it would be somewhere around March, 2010, and I’d have gained all my weight back and then some.

New Cherie says…Ok.  I suck at this.  Maybe I can do better.

New Cherie is going to hit the gym, go to my meeting and stay away from the potato chip aisle.

Take THAT you stinkin’ little Twofer…

 

Back At It

Back in Waukee for a few days.  Trying to get my lower back back.  Sleeping on a futon mattress atop an air mattress (in Lowden) could be worse.  But my lower back says it could also be much, much better.

Went to the Y yesterday.  Second time since surgery.  I’m much improved foot-wise.  The first time I went, I barely managed to walk half a mile at 2 mph – with much limping and grimacing and holding onto the side rails.   Very disturbing since I don’t EVER remember walking less than 3 miles per hour on the treadmill before that. 

 Not to mention how crazy UNCOOL it looks (and sounds) to snort and gasp while schlepping along slower than a snail’s pace at the Waukee Y for the Young and Buff.

 This time I managed to do 1.25 miles and actually KICKED…IT…UP  to 3.0 mph for 7 whole minutes…which seemed more like 7 whole hours.   

 Still limping.  Just limping faster.

 I also popped off 20 minutes on the elliptical. 

 Then I pumped some iron…yo. 

 Training for this year’s Turkey Trot.  

 Last year was that torn tendon.  This year I’ve got that new bone graft in my foot. 

 It’s always something between me and that free pumpkin pie.

 

Take It or Leave It

Just a second or two to write.

I’m winning the paperwork wars – or at least a major battle or two.  Set up the new filing system I should have done right after we bought the farm.   Huge deal for me and Tom and I’m proud of myself for finally facing the monster and sticking him in yellow and red accordion files (plus brown AND blue).

Just wanting to connect this morning.  To feel the love.  Nothing like sifting through a big pile of expired 2-for-1 dining out coupons to make you feel like a lonely loser.

Trying to pump myself up for the final move from Lowden next weekend…and fight the ultimate Declutter vs. Bring-It-to-Waukee battle of my life.  This is Tom’s junk I’m talking about, of course.  My junk is priceless.

His basement.

His garage.

The attic is mine.  Baby clothes and Hug-a-Bunch dolls in big plastic containers and dusty garbage bags.  The frame of an old couch that was there when we moved in.  Two cribs from back when Jenny and Lorie were babies. 

Now, Jenny and Lorie have their own babies.

I keep telling Tom that if we haven’t used it in a year and a half, then we don’t need it.  Of course, that’s not entirely true (when it comes to my stuff).  And I guess we do still want our table saw and Tom’s reloading bench and that enormous horizontal file cabinet (see paragraph #1).

I’m thinking this morning about how our lives are shaped as much by what we leave behind as what we bring along.

More and more I feel like I need to travel light.  I think it’s the key to enjoying being a middle-ager.  But the more I try to fling the extraneous, the more I butt up against the hard fact that…in order to do that…I have to be willing to change myself…to let go…not only of physical stuff, but my attitudes and ways of looking at things. 

Like my old problem solving strategies…the ones which aren’t working as well for my new life as a 50-something. 

 When I was younger, there was just so much more energy to throw at challenges.  Something wrong?  Work harder!  Work longer!

Now, there’s less drive, less energy, less in reserve.  So, now maybe it’s more about living simpler and working smarter.  More about being disciplined and consistent over time.  Less about furious bursts of energy in the moment. 

More doing your homework every day and less cramming for finals.

Which is a  lesson I started learning  when I became a mom and finally got it:  The key to progress is consistency.   Then, I got more practice when I went back to college in my 40’s.

Still learning it.   (Learning is a good thing.)

Stuff  (commitments, projects, crises) can slow us down to a turtle’s pace.   Just the mere lugging it around…emotional baggage, spiritual shortcomings AND material things…can eat up all our time…

Lots to do today and for a few days to come.

Don’t abandon me if I’m incommunicado for a bit, because I’m not abandoning you. 

 I just have all this crap to move and this old house to sell….

Love you guys.

 

Some Things I’ve Learned

A few of these are a repeat of a piece I wrote a little over a year ago.  Which I didn’t realize until about a minute ago.  But, HEY anything worth saying is worth saying 2 or 3 times.

 1)  Wanting and getting are WAY more fun than having (to take care of). 

 2)  Here’s a crazy thought:   Work on my life instead of everybody else’s. 

 3)  Pay attention, but don’t micro analyze.

 4)  I need to do what  I love sometimes…even if nobody else wants to do it with me or pays me one red cent. 

 5)  Music can change my mood…for good or bad…faster than almost anything.

 6)  I know how to be rich and poor.  Both are stressful.

 7)  Rich and poor are very subjective terms.

 8)  Sometimes girlfriends are helpful.  Sometimes not so much.

 9)  Helping others helps me more.

10)  Everything and everyone eventually break – when I accept that, I do better.

11)  God isn’t necessarily mad-sad-happy-glad just because I am. 

12)  Don’t force HAPPY all the time.  It’s distracting and I usually miss something important.

13)  Something good usually comes from depression…IF I let God sift out the crap.

14)  The fatter I am, the less social.

15)  The harder I am on myself, the harder I am on everybody else…especially Tom.

16)  Humility doesn’t come easy.

17)  Just ‘cause I don’t have all my oars in the water, don’t mean I ain’t in the boat. 

*****

A few days ago: 

We’re sitting on the couch watching TV. 

Cherie says:   ”This is not good.  I keep trying to use the remote control to make a phone call.”

Tom says:  “Yeah, I do that  too, but I only get the operator.”

 

Limpin’

Gorgeous morning.  Kitty and I are out on the front porch.  It’s sunny, so I’m struggling to see this stupid computer screen…though I’m determined to stay out here and ENJOY THE WEATHER.  I always forget how hard it is to get the sunshine  and electronics to work together.

Kitty’s is in her “pretty dress” harness tied to a 25’ tether, mackin’ on grass and unfortunate grasshoppers.  I’ll probably see all that again pretty soon in a gooey little pile on the carpet.

Got my boot off last Thursday.  There’s nothing graceful about that or me.  I herk around like a marionette with a bad hip.  Plus, my foot and ankle feel and look a lot worse now that I’m on it all the time (way puffy, way hurty), but maybe that’s just how it goes with these things.

 BUT…at least I’m back in my cute sandals.

Speaking of cute sandals…Kate and I went for sushi and a movie last night.  We saw Julie and Julia.  Girl bliss, if you like to cook…or watch other people cook. (We like both.)  Otherwise, maybe not so much.

Interesting especially from the fact that Julie’s claim to fame is that she was a loser blogger who decides to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year –  over 500 recipes in 365 days – and blog about it.  I could relate to a lot of it (esp about the loser blogger who never finishes anything)…until the happily ever after part…where her blog gets her a book and movie deal…and becomes a real writer…you know, after all that hardship with unsalted butter and deboned ducks.

I’m feeling more scattered than usual these days.  The house in Lowden is weighing pretty heavily, especially with the thought of winter coming and all that entails.  We need to get back over and finish what we started, or at least make some significant progress.  I’m wanting to just stab a For Sale sign in the yard, but having trouble getting Tom on board.  It’s a great house, she just needs her mommy and daddy to LET GO.

I re-upped with Flylady last night.

Dang.

I fired her a few months ago for being such an obnoxious bother…which I have done before at least the 3 or 4 times.  She can drive me BEYOND nuts…BUT when I get as overwhelmed with all the lists and loose threads of all the projects in all the places as I am now…which invariably lead me to morose procrastination…she can be a voice of hope - albeit a noisy, nagging one - with her reminders to  declutter and 15-minute-at-a-time stuff.  Plus…she’s a lot easier on you at the beginning so there’s some advantage to rejoining as a brand new Flybaby…lower expectations.

Ok.  Need to brush my teeth and head to the library to look for a book on how to sell your own house.

 

Poof! I’m outty…

Not much  time to write. 

Tom and I are heading out to do some work on the Lowden house.  I’m a little jazzed up about what we’ll find as far as water in the basement.  We’ve heard through the grapevine that everything’s flooded over that way.  

Hopefully, we’ll spend more time painting than mopping up, but you never know about that crap.

Anyhoo…I need to get  out of here…just wanted to let you know what- the-what-the-why I’m not around for a few days.

Peace out my bruthas and sistahs.

 

The Times They Are A-Changin’

I heard Suze Orman say that we’re all supposed to learn to live on half the money that we normally earn.  Her thinking is that if we do this now, we can protect ourselves in the event of catastrophes like losing our jobs or losing our retirement. 

I think Suze is onto something.  ‘Specially since Tom lost his job and it’s looking like…unless Jesus comes back or I surprise the crap out of everyone almost that much and get a real job…we’re going to spend 2010 living on about half the income we’ve been living on for the past few years.

Yesterday, I spent a couple of hours cruising the internet and reading the newspaper ads, looking for entry level jobs.  Most everybody wants their new, underpaid employee to have a butt load of experience.  Boy, this is bringing back memories…I remember why I always hated looking for work.  Sheesh.  No wonder I don’t have a job.

I’m also narrowing my own availability by trying to avoid any job that requires the wearing of blue or orange vests (or hairnets) and/or bartending.  As you probably can imagine, I’m not having much luck. 

My most favorite blogger (besides me), Magnolia, has passed on some good information on how to earn money on the internet.  The ideas seem pretty good, the ones that I understand.  I think it’s something about having websites and/or blogs in special niches that are venues for vendors to sell products.  The trick, I understand, is to find something you’re passionate about, become an expert, and then try to get a ton of good information that will help and inform people…and subliminally cause them to become addicted to your site AND any products that might be presented for their shopping pleasure.

Which is a giant step or two away from me just trying blog out a few hundred words every few days to amuse me and you.

One of my biggest obstacles is that I’m such a techno-tard that even reading about all this internet blab is like trying to teach myself a foreign language by reading a book about that foreign language in that foreign language. 

I usually think of myself as pretty smart…but I’m wondering if I’m smart enough to write AND use that writing to help people AND earn an income.  It’s being done…according to the Greek internet marketing book I’m reading.  BUT…if I’m personally going to do it, it’s pretty clear that I’m going to have to change the way I think about earning for writing and myself as a writer.

Change does not come easy to Cherie Baby.

Anyway, today I gave it a little more thought (while I was perusing my hospital bills) and decided…What the HEY?  People WAY dumber than I am started out not knowing anything about this crap and managed to figure it out.  I can figure this out.

So, that’s why I haven’t written for a couple of days.  I’ve been trying to think like a grownup…which is no small task, especially when it comes to thinking about myself as a business woman…not to mention all the raging neuroses and self esteem issues such subjects engender in me. 

Round Two of shakin’ it up…Livin’ on Half…in the second half.

 

In the Driver’s Seat

I drove around the St. Boniface Catholic Church parking lot a couple of days ago.  Very big day for me and Tom.  

Tom drove me over.  I hobbled around to the driver’s side of the car.  Pushed my seat back as far as possible so I could undo the 4 velcros on my Darth Vader boot and wrestled it off.  Wiggle-wedged my still swollen foot into an old comfy leather mule…checked my seat belt…adjusted the mirror…smiled at Tom and put my foot on the accelerator of our humble ’94 Geo Prism. 

Whooopeee!  Like being 15 again and getting my driving permit.

I practiced a little.  Accelerating and slowing.  Did a few doughnuts.  Reminded Tom that this parking lot is exactly 1/3 of a mile around it…I know that because I used to walk it for exercise.   He was more impressed that I was driving than the fact that I used to walk.

Both things impress the crap out of me. 

Mostly, I was checking out my tolerance for pain in a bootless foot.  There was just a twinge, but nothing that will keep me from DRIVING.

I can DRIVE now.  What a gift.

Not sure yet where I can go without my chaperone helping me here and there and carrying my purse…

I guess I could go to Super Walmart, but it would be park, take crutches to the motorized cart, figure out how to detach it from the wall, arrange my crutches across my lap and my purse between my feet…then roll around the store trying not to hit or be hit by anyone (especially in the produce department – that’s where all the psycho crazies hang out).  Find my little items.  Can’t carry a gallon of milk with crutches or buy anything frozen; it would be thawed by the time I got home.  Pretty tough to see into those open fridge and freezer cases anyway…you know, like the ones that hold the eggs.  Roll through the check out.  Pay my bill and then try to figure out how to get my stuff from the cart to the car without falling down on overbalanced crutches.  Seeing as how you have to leave the cart by the red pillars on the sidewalk.  They won’t let you motor through the parking lot on those things.  Maybe I should ask a fresh-faced stock boy to help me.

Just writing all this makes me tired.

Do we take a lot for granted?

I have a friend who has been diagnosed with ataxia.  Ataxia is a neurological issue that causes the loss of coordination.  My friend has lost some of her ability to walk and talk.  She hasn’t driven for awhile.  Her speech is slurred.  Even typing a few words requires a Herculean effort.  She writes me to thank me for expressing the frustration of having such obstacles to overcome just to do the simple things.  

She’s so young.  Just my age.  My heart goes out to her even more since my surgery. 

Don’t we take too much for granted?

*****

“To attain knowledge, add things every day. To attain wisdom, remove things every day.” — Lao Tzu

 

Kitty Bell

9 (+/- 2) years old…depending on who you ask in the family…spayed, declawed, Tortoise shell.

Alpha Female with Entitlement Issues.  Occasionally charming.  Loves smoked meat, boiled chicken and fat free cheese.  Disdains chasing mice as strictly for the lower classes.  Highly suspicious of any activity involving automobiles. 

Expresses the exact opposite of guilt at having free room and board and entertainment.  Not to mention free health care.

Like those days when I’m trying to get some writing done at the breakfast table by the bay window…instead of my usual spot on the loveseat where she has All Access All The Time to me and all my body parts as her sofa / bed / bathtub.  It annoys Kitty…dramatically so…to have human furniture out of reach…so she circles the table…power meowing…until I’m forced to yell and point at her (she hates that) and chuck wadded up Visa bills at her head. 

No Kitty here to point at today. 

We took her to the vet yesterday for a check up and rabies shot.  Dr. Vet told us that she has tachycardia.  Very fast heartbeat.  Over 200 beats per minute he guessed, with a slight murmur.  Cats are supposed to be between 60 – 100.  

Lots of things can cause it – lots of spendy tests to find out.   Could be thyroid or diabetes or worse.   So, she’s spending the day at the clinic again today, getting blood drawn. 

Just two nights ago, as we were falling asleep, Tom asked me if I thought we should have Kitty cloned.  I said, “Well, ok, but you should know that kitty clones don’t have souls.  She will definitely chew out our jugulars and stuff while we’re sleeping.  If you can live with that…and the price tag…I guess so.”

Now, he’s yelling from the office that he keeps hearing her meowing. 

Phantom Kitty cries. 

Freaking me out on so many levels.