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Random thoughts from a woman in love

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I am sitting with my dad in CVICU after his (thankfully successful) quadruple bypass. The curtain to his room is closed, and the sounds from outside his room float into his room, muffled by the curtain. It sounds like a symphony. Monotone, hushed voices from the room next door as a family receives bad news is mixed with laughter from the workstation as nurses banter back and forth; The movement of equipment and the chatter of nurses and patients down the hall are the bass line, tapping a slow beat. Lovely and so sad at the same time. Some patients, like my dad, will be going home; some will not. Their families sit with red, tearful eyes as they figure out how to say goodbye and worry over ‘final’ details. Some have never talked about death decisions and are at a loss as to what to do. As if not discussing death will prevent it’s arrival. *sigh* Denial is not a shield, it’s a ticking time bomb.

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Before you go out to enjoy this 3-day weekend, I bring you this PSA to remind you why we have a 3-day weekend.

The last Monday of May has been set aside by our government as a day to recognize/honor/remember the fallen men and women of our military who died to protect our basic freedoms and inalienable rights and to try to secure those same rights and freedoms for people in other countries.

Whether or not you “believe” in war, believe the reasons why we have gone to war in the past, or support current military efforts, each and every one of us who owes a debt of gratitude to these men and women and their families for stepping up and giving their lives for “us”. Take a minute, or 2 or 5, to reflect on that this weekend and remember these men and women and their families who have given so much.

I have many friends with children in the military – some are so very blessed to have their babies back home safely (finally) after anywhere from 2 to 8 tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, a few have had to bury their boys and receive that very special, heart-breaking folded flag –  Little comfort for losing a child, but these women stand strong and keep going in honor of their boys.

 
To all of them, I say THANK YOU. You will not be forgotten.

So – there I was, ready to go.  A mug of coffee in each hand, books tucked under my arm, shoes nowhere in site when my dog asked me, “Wanna race?”  I looked him up and down.  He wriggled his ears and grinned at me.  “I know I can beat you. Only,  it’s not fair of you to tell me to ‘wait’ at the top of the stairs.  You know I can’t resist the ‘wait’ command.  It’s so…hypnotizing.” he said.   I shrugged my shoulders.  “Okay.  I’ll be fair.  Ready…set…go!”

Off we ran with me in the lead as we exited the bedroom and turned left towards the stairs.  He was gaining on me as I reached the first step, but I knew how to slow him down:  I stopped mid-step.  He stopped.  He was confused. Were we or weren’t we going downstairs?  He turned back toward the bedroom thinking, “She must have forgotten something…again.  Her age is definitely showing.”  I hopped on down the stairs.  I heard his feet slide on the hardwood floor as he realized he’d been duped and turned on his heel.

He barked and raced down the stairs after me, gaining ground quickly.  With just 5 steps to go, he was at my side.  He body-checked me into the banister, and leaped past me for the win.  He skidded at the base of the stairs and slammed into the front door, but he didn’t care.  He had won!  Victory was finally his!

Meanwhile, back on the stairs, I couldn’t regain my balance after that vicious body-check.  I raised my arms out to my sides to help, fully forgetting that I had several books under my arm and two mugs of lukewarm coffee in my hands.  The books bounced unceremoniously down the stairs as coffee painted a lovely abstract image on my cream-colored walls.  I dropped the coffee mugs in a desperate attempt to stave the fall, but my bare feet suddenly slipped out from beneath me. I fell butt-first on the 4th step, bounced without a bit of grace down the remaining steps, and landed on the oak floor with a loud bang.

And that, dear reader, is how I managed to herniate my L3, L4, L5 and S1 discs last week.  Do you know any good taxidermists? One that works with the canine species?

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“Hi there, sexy!” You have no idea how often I hear that statement.  I hear that a lot.  I mean a lot-a lot.  Not just every once in a while. We’re talking DAILY here!

Ok – it’s me talking to myself in the bathroom mirror, but it’s true.  I hear it a lot. I say it a lot.  I believe I will make it come true some day if I say it often and loud enough and really, really, really believe (clap your hands here if you believe in fairies), I will be sexy. Poof!

Oh – look! It happened! Wow! Thanks for clapping your hands! That must have been the final missing ingredient in my quest for sexiness.

Dang – wait a minute.  This is what sexy looks like? Hmmmm… Same ol’ plus-size body, nice rack, and, oh no! My hair is still curly. Now THAT is a disappointment. I thought I’d get long, straight hair when the sexy fairy came to call. And – I am still fat. EXCUSE ME! I did NOT order this weight as part of my sexy package. *sigh* Never mind. I’ll take it as-is. With my luck, I’d return the package and have start all over again.

My journey to discovering that I AM a sexy, beautiful woman ended perfectly today. I spent 4 hours with an amazing photographer. She had me pose in classic pin-up girl poses, wearing adorable vintage-looking clothes.  And, GASP! For one set of photos, I posed in an emerald-green satin bra, matching thong and a vintage sheer peignoir. Yep – I posed in my undies and looked FABULOUS! I LOOKED HOT! Gorgeous, sexy and confident. I left Sophie’s studio with my head held just a little higher than I normally would, smiled and greeted the men I passed as I strutted the 5 blocks to my car (they all smiled back at me, by the way), and I haven’t stopped smiling since.

This journey took 40 years, and took me through some horribly low points.  There is nothing like having someone tell you, at the ripe old age of 13, that …”you aren’t the pretty one, you’re the smart one.  Boys probably won’t ask you to the prom, but you are so smart, you will be a successful business woman and will find a man to marry you. ” Just what every 13 year old needs and wants to hear. And, what was it that made me ugly?  I was a size 14 in a size 4 world.  She would also tell me, “You have such a pretty face. When are you going to fix the rest of you?” Thanks, Grandma.  Say “hey” to Beezlebub for me.

So – to all of you women out there who had a grandmother, mother or other “well-meaning” family member who told you “You have such a pretty face…”, agree that you do have a pretty face.  And then tell the world that you have a “rockin’ body” to go with it!  Enjoy your body as it is. If you aren’t happy with how healthy you are, than fix THAT – your health.  Love yourself, be happy, confident, sexy!  Above all else – Be Yourself!

Oh – by the way, Grandma, I DID go to prom with the first love of my life.

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I’ve always had this sneaking suspicion that blogging is a vain attempt at getting others to listen to you.  Since I don’t speak very loudly in the verbal world, here is my opportunity  to yell, scream, harangue, mutter, whatever I choose to do, and no one has to listen unless they want to do so.  Is that cool or what?

I’ve kept a written journal for 30 years – threw away most of them (stupid, stupid, stupid!). There were some really good story ideas in those journals – nuggets of prose that should be read by others.  And – some of the funniest stuff I’ve ever written. *sigh*

So – hello world! I hope that someone out there enjoys reading my blog once I get it going. I hope to make you laugh – that’s probably the most important gift one can give another person.  Laughter.  Try it some time. It burns more calories than crying does.