Pushing Fifty

Ghost Story ...

2011-10-28T18:51:00.011-04:00

When I was a little girl I use to listen to my father and his sisters as they'd sit around the kitchen table and tell "ghost" stories. While it frightened me out of my wits to eavesdrop on their conversations, I also found the subject very intriguing and couldn't pull myself away.

As an adult, I wasn't always quite sure what to make of such stories. I've always believed in the supernatural, that's for sure, but am to this day, unclear on exactly what the entities we refer to as "ghosts" really are.

Sometimes angels, perhaps? Sometimes demons? Sometimes a bit of both?

Any doubt I had that such things actually existed was totally erased about 20 years ago, soon after we moved into our first Victorian home. It was a beautiful, quaint old Queen Anne style house, built just before the 1900's. I fell in love with the old place and immediately began my quest to restore her to her original splendor. The more I worked on the house, the more delighted I was at all the little surprises I'd find hidden behind walls and under stairwells. To this day, I remember the smell of the old wood wafting up as I scraped away a hundred years worth of layers of paints.

Within a few days of moving into the place, I had a very lucid dream in which I got out of bed and walked into the dining room. There I saw a little blond haired girl in a white nightgown standing just inside the doorway. I asked her what she was doing there, but she didn't answer. I turned away from her and started toward the front door, perhaps to show her the way out.

She followed me.

As I began to pass the big double doors that led into the parlor, she began to plead, "Don't go in there! Don't go in the parlor! It's bad .... very bad!"she kept franticly repeating the phrase.

At that point, I was startled awake. I was relieved to find myself back in my bed. It took me a while to sort through the confusion, however, as I wasn't sure whether the experience had been a nightmare, or had really happened.

I didn't say anything about the dream to the rest of the family. We had three daughters living in the house at the time and I didn't want to frighten them. Needless to say, I didn't spend much time in the parlor though. The little girl's warning was never far from my mind.

In the years that followed, there was always something unusual going on in our house. I learned later that I wasn't the only one having strange dreams and sensing unseen company at times. I became accustomed to hearing footsteps upstairs, when I knew that no one in our family was up there. Once, I went to investigate the source of the noise and was clearly "passed" by someone, or something, at about the middle of the stairwell. A chill went right to my bones, literally leaving me breathless.

Probably worst of all, I would often have nightmares about chasing an evil presence through the house, commanding it to leave but it wouldn't go.

It's funny though, how a person can explain things away in order to make themselves feel more at ease. We went on living in, and loving the house.

One evening, I was home alone and was busy working in the kitchen. I was standing at the stove with my back to the utility room area ... a room that had been built where the old back porch use to be. The back entrance to the house was through the utility room. From the corner of my eye, I saw someone walk through the room. Thinking one of the girls had come home, I went to check on them.

No one was in the room, and the door to the back yard was securely locked.

Again, a bone-chilling coldness began to overtake me. I moved quickly out of the utility room and back to my spot at the stove.

As I stood there trying to shake the fear, I sensed the presence of what I could only describe as a "tall man" enter the room. I felt him walk right up behind me, and I braced myself for what might happen next.

I can't explain it ... I couldn't actually see him, but he was as real as any human being I've never met. I expected the cold again, but as he moved closer I felt a wonderful, warm, comforting embrace. A sense of peace flooded over me and I suddenly felt more safe than I'd ever felt in my life.

Never again was I fearful in the old house. To this day, I believe the "tall man" was an angel of protection ... and an answer to my prayers.

I told my husband about the tall man, and he shrugged it off, as he did most stories relating to possible supernatural activity.

In 1994, our son, Adam, was born. Because his father worked nights a lot, and we didn't really have a room in the house to use as a nursery, Adam shared my room for the first two years of his life.

Adam was a delightfully imaginative little boy! As soon as he could talk, he created an imaginary friend he referred to as "his boy". As imaginary friends tend to do, "his boy" went everywhere with Adam. We loved hearing Adam tell stories of the escapades he and his boy had together.

Once he outgrew his baby bed, we knew it was time that Adam had a room of his own. The only available space in the house was the old parlor. It was conveniently located one room away from the master bedroom, therefore a more viable option than putting him upstairs or at the other end of the house.

Not long after he began sleeping in his big-boy bed in the parlor, Adam woke me up one night wanting to know if he could sleep with me instead. He was obviously scared, so I helped him climb into our bed and snuggled up close to him.

I asked him if he'd had a bad dream and he said "no" He went on to explain that he'd been in his bed, trying to sleep but his boy ... and a little girl in a white nightgown ... had come into the room and started jumping on his pillow. He told them to stop and they refused. This upset Adam and he started to cry.

Then, he explained, "A big tall man came into the room and told them to leave him alone." They paid attention to the "big tall man" and stopped jumping. By then, Adam was done with it all and decided he'd sleep with me instead.

I shuddered to hear my toddler son describe both the little girl, and the "tall man" I already sensed to be sharing our abode. I'd not mentioned my own encounters with them to anyone else but my husband. Certainly I never would have said anything to my youngest child about such matters.

We stayed in the old house until Adam was five years old, then moved to another beautiful Victorian home in another city. In the meantime, I'd taught Adam that he had authority over any unusual beings he might encounter in our home. I told he that he was an "anointed warrior" and therefore had no need to be afraid. Nothing could touch, or hurt him.

Oddly enough, Adam's "boy" did not move to the next house with us and neither did the little girl in the white gown. I've sensed a protective spirit from time to time since then, but not necessarily one I would describe as the same "tall man" Maybe he stayed behind too, to watch over the residents who moved into the Queen Anne home when we left.

One of these days I intend to stop by there for a visit, just to ask if they've met any members of the trio. I'm just not totally convinced that I really want to know ...

This Changing Life of Mine ...

2011-07-25T09:46:00.012-04:00

It's been a while since I blogged. Why I decided to sit down and write this morning is a mystery yet to be solved. I suddenly felt the urge ... so here I am.

When I last wrote, I'd begun my journey into the world of theater and film. That has become my focus of recent months. I'm attending classes every week and combing through audition notices each day in search of opportunities. It's still more of an expensive hobby than a career, but I am having fun. God knows I needed some FUN in my life!

As far as my coaching practice goes, it's all but shut down for now. I've done some pro-bono sessions over the course of the last couple months, but I've not been actively pursuing clients. My plans for the business are to leave it on the back burner indefinitely.

In order to bring in a little money, I managed to land a part time job back in the medical field ... sort of. By "sort of" I mean I'll be running urine drug screens all day, a position that requires my ASCP certification and college degree, one day a week.

From what I can tell, it will be a very mundane job. The room I'll be working in literally looks like it was derived from an old closet and sits way back in the corner of a doctors office. No windows, no radio, nothing on the walls. I'll also be making less per hour than I was making at the lab in Ohio seven years ago, but granted, my duties will not be nearly as complicated (or important.)

Haha! I sound very excited about it, don't I? Well, I am excited about earning a little money to support my new "habit" I am not excited about the job itself, or the one hour drive to and from it.

You win some, you lose some. Oh well!

On to happier things.

I'm currently working on two feature films. One called "The Industry" and another called "When Love Was Simple" The movies, and the characters I play, couldn't be more opposite. I play a nice Christian housewife, perhaps slightly overly indulged mother in one ... and a mean spirited, trash talking, conniving business woman in the other. I am stretching myself artistically and that feels good.

Here are some pics from the set of "The Industry"

Hair ...

"Acting" like I'm eating breakfast. Fried eggs ... and quiche. I'm a natural, huh? lol

"Working" in my robe and pj's ... what's not to love about this "job?"

Just after we wrapped the last scene. I'd just hit my co-star, Ryan Felton, in the face with a pillow. Too bad the camera didn't catch it on impact.

I'd write more, but this post is already getting too long. There'll be more later. I'll try not to wait three months next time.

Until then ...

Becky J. Taylor

Forks in the Road

2011-04-07T09:15:00.007-04:00

"When you come to a fork in the road ... take it! "

So, that isn't exactly how the saying goes, but I've decided to make it my policy none-the-less. Yes, optimism has reared it's somewhat irritating head and I find myself looking on the bright side again for the first time in a while.

Something had to change, so I changed it!

My coaching practice has begun to feel like a noose around my neck. I love helping people help themselves, but too many of those same people don't consider paying for my services a priority. It's kind of hard to "repossess" several months worth of coaching sessions, not to mention it's frustrating as heck. For that reason, I've backed way off on marketing "Bold New Day" I'll still coach, but not so much that it ceases to be fun for me. If I can't reap monetary gain from my efforts, I'll at least try to keep it emotionally satisfying.

So, what's next?

I'm glad you asked.

I've decided to actively nourish my artistic side . I'm currently working on my third acting project of the year so I am staying sufficiently busy with my endeavor.

Oh, there is the pesky little matter of this costing me more money than I'm currently making which technically makes it more of a hobby than a career, but I could say the same for coaching ... and I've stuck with that little "hobby" for several years.

Yesterday, on my way to a networking event, I stopped by an acting school and signed up for some classes. I have some natural acting ability and God knows I love the stage! Since Atlanta is quickly becoming the "Hollywood of the East Coast," I might as well hop on the bandwagon and see where it takes me.

My classes start next Monday evening. First, I'll be figuring out "who" I am as a character , then learning to apply that knowledge toward finding auditions that suit me. Hopefully from there, I will start getting PAID acting jobs. Will I get rich from it? I don't know, but it's reasonable to believe that with just a few gigs I can be back in the financial black by the end of the year.

Look out world! I've been knocked down, I've regrouped, and now I'm back for more. Believe me when I say, "you ain't seen nothin' yet!"

"Actress" Becky J. Taylor

April 7, 2011

Oh, the RUSH!

2011-02-23T09:36:00.035-05:00

Mr. Taylor and "Mrs. Swanson" after the show

I took the stage as "Mrs. Swanson" in TY Martin's "The Color of My Skin" Sunday evening. It was a total blast and I got a lot of great compliments on my work, including some from a lady who does stage productions in South Ga. who sat next to my daughter in the audience. She couldn't believe it was my first time on a "big" stage. She told me afterwards that I was a natural and my timing was perfect (among other things but I'll stop here just so my head doesn't swell any further.)

What a rush!

I really needed it to go well. I've been way overdue for some FUN, and that was about as much fun as anyone could ask for.

Of course, it wasn't exactly perfect. One of my favorite scenes, and a lot of my lines from yet another, got cut because the show was running too long. Foregoing any measure of self-respect, I shamelessly begged and pouted to the director to not cut my part, but it was to no avail. I suppose that's how it goes with live productions.

I am definitely going to keep doing this! I've already accepted a role in a trade-show commercial and will be taping that next week. I'm also looking forward to working in the next TY Martin production, "Diva-rella" After that, who knows what might happen!

Here are some pictures to illustrate the experience from the audition to the "wrap"

Cast Photo Shoot

Networking Event

Headshot

(by Deborah Johnson Damron-Crossfire Photography)

Networking at Cafe 290

Stylist Sandy Hudson transforming me into Mrs. Swanson

Here come the fans!

My kids sent this picture to me to ease my nerves before the show.
It worked!

My family came in from TN, OH, and North GA just to support me. I love them!

Special thanks to TY Martin and the cast of "The Color of My Skin" for making this an unforgettable experience ... and to my family and friends for being there for me when I needed them most!

... to be continued (because I'm having way to much fun to stop now!)

God bless!
Becky Taylor

2-23-2011

Bold New Day! Personal Development Coaching for Women

Follow Your Passion! Pursue Your Purpose!

Become the Person You Know You Were Born to Be!

http://www.boldnewday.com

Irons in the Fire

2010-12-28T10:37:00.019-05:00

2010 is almost over (insert happy dance)

Yes, it's awful that I've felt this way about the last two years, but 2009 and 2010 proved themselves to be overall disappointments.

I'm putting my foot down! This trend must change in 2011. To ensure the upward shift, I've already begun laying the foundation.

So far,so good! 2011 is shaping up to be exciting (this time in a good way)

I started a new business a couple months ago which I am certain will really take off during the first quarter of 2011 . If it doesn't, it definitely won't be because I'm not putting forth the effort.

(Watch the video on this site for more information on the business, then let me know if you want to join me. http://www.teamfamonline.com Yes, I know ... shameless plug.)

My writing class is going very well! The instructor has given me raving reviews, and requested no edits at all on the assignments I've turned in thus far. I enrolled in the class not only to learn, but to get objective feedback on my work. I hoped it would boost my confidence as I write my book (the one I've not added a word to in months now.) Things are working out nicely. I'm beginning to feel once again that I can do this! I can publish a book that people will want to buy, and gain inspiration from.

Which brings me to the next iron in the fire.

A representative from "Lifetime" television called about a month ago and asked if I was interested in appearing on one of their morning shows. Umm .. YES!

Of course there's a catch. They would prefer I have my book finished and published before we take the process any farther. This is also a good thing. It provides me with yet another much needed "nudge" toward finishing the book ASAP!

The book, in addition to an appearance on "Lifetime" will undoubtedly give my coaching business a major boost, hopefully thrusting it all the way to fame. Then, I'll be able to help more women succeed than I ever imagined before.

Oh, and while flying by the seat of my pants (as I sometimes love to do)I've also managed to land a leading role in the upcoming stage production of TY Martin's "The Color of My Skin" It's a story about racism. My character is a rich racist white woman. My oldest daughter got a kick out of that. She said the role couldn't be farther from the person I really am. Well, that's not completely true. I'm definitely not racist ... but I'm certainly both rich and white (smile) All I have to do to fit my character otherwise is act racist. If I couldn't act, I wouldn't have gotten the part, right?

So, as the lights go down on the year 2010, I see more than a glimmer of hope for the New Year. This new sense of excitement is very much needed and welcomed!

It's a wrap, 2010! In the words of one of my childhood cartoon friends,Sylvester the cat, "Exit, stage left!"

Cue the orchestra! It's almost time for 2011 to appear, and baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet!

Becky J. Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com

Follow Your Passion! Pursue Your Purpose!

Become the Person You Know You Were Born to Be!

Coach Becky J. Taylor specializes in Personal Development Coaching for Women, based on Christian principles. She is available for personal coaching, group coaching, face to face or phone coaching sessions, speaking engagements, women’s events, and workshops. http://www.boldnewday.com

Nuttin' For Christmas

2010-12-03T17:21:00.006-05:00

In case you were planning to ask me what I want for Christmas, I'll save you the trouble and tell you now.

I don't want anything.

It started with my "non" birthday in August. I decided then to not expect anything from anyone for any special occasion ever again. I figure that way I won't be disappointed. My old heart can't take another let-down it right now.

And no, I'm not secretly hoping people shower will me with gifts anyway. There was a time when I would've liked that idea, but I've grown up a little since then. (About time, since I am fifty years old now!)

I'd much prefer my loved ones take any money they might have spent on me over the holidays and give to some deserving family, or charitable organization instead. Put a gift under the tree for a child in need, or food on the table for a single Mom who can't afford to treat her kids to a good Christmas feast.

Or if you must, give me gift cards ... and give them to me early so I can go out and buy gifts to donate to such causes myself.

Listen! I have a tendency to mean what I say ... and right now I am saying, DO NOT GET ME ANYTHING for Christmas!

Becky Taylor
12/3/2010

RIP Sweet Jordan

2010-11-15T13:58:00.029-05:00

“Ivanlee Cross the River Jordan” (Jordan)

Sept. 1, 1998 – Nov. 15, 2010

Jordan was born from champion lineage in Portland Oregon on Sept. 1, 1998. He passed away in the early morning hours of Monday, November 15, 2010 in his favorite sleeping spot on the floor of his human’s bedroom in North Georgia. At the time of his death he was being comforted by his special cat-friend, Twinkle and his human mommy, Becky Taylor.

Jordan was a very pretty boy, oh yes he was! His striking good looks and sweet personality made him the center of attention everywhere he went. Although Jordan knew he was handsome, he never let it go to his head. He remained an ever humble companion to his people throughout his years on earth.

Also, a very good boy indeed, Jordan aimed to please (almost all the time.) In the year 2000 he graduated at the top of his obedience training class. The teacher stated that, for his age, he was the most mature dog she’d ever seen.

Jordan’s hobbies included; eating, sleeping, waking his people at 3:00 a.m. simply to go outside and stare at the moon, lying on the front porch watching the snow fall, riding in cars, barking at nothing in particular, and napping in front of the fireplace. (Oh, and did I mention he loved to eat?)

He was an organizer at heart and always made sure the bathroom throw rugs were properly piled in individual heaps before he went to bed. Jordan liked things just “so-so” and took it upon himself to keep them just as he thought they should be.

Jordan had a very soft heart. He rarely ever chased cats, and even then, only chased those he didn’t personally know. He wouldn’t have hurt the proverbial flea.

Only once did he ever chew anything he wasn’t supposed to chew and never ever did he "go potty" inside the house, even up to his last day alive. (Well, maybe only a couple times)

Jordan did everything within his power to make his humans happy and proud.

He absolutely loathed lawn mowers and chased them every chance he was given. He took thunder and lightning as a personal challenge and tried to fend it off by repeatedly jumping at the sky, barking during storms. In true champion form, Jordan always emerged the winner,never giving up until the lawn mowers stopped and the storms moved on.

Jordan is survived by his three cat-siblings, Jasmine, Twinkle, and Skippyjon Jones. Jordan and Twinkle shared a very sweet, special bond.

He also leaves behind his human family, Walter and Becky Taylor, and "the boy" Adam David.

He was predeceased by his step-sister, Yeller Taylor, and dear friend (and partner in crime)Spidey-Marie Whitehead.

Jordan will be sadly missed by his humans but they find great comfort in knowing he is no longer in pain. He is undoubtedly having a wonderful time in doggy heaven, chasing bears and deer with Yeller and over turning trash cans with Spidey-Marie.

The family will have a private ceremony honoring the life of their beloved pet. No calling hours will be observed. Memorial contributions can be made to the "Send Jordan's mommy to a beach in Mexico" fund. :^)

Seriously now ...
Jordan,you quickly made a place for yourself in the heart of this "cat person" That place can never be filled by another. You were very much loved and will never be forgotten! I hope that in the end, you felt that love more than ever before. Sweet dreams pretty boy! May you enjoy eternal peace and happiness.

Becky Taylor
Nov. 15, 2010

They're Coming to Take Me Away

2010-10-31T22:42:00.001-04:00

Here's a Halloween video I made with "One True Media" composed of pictures of my silly family (and a few friends)

Enjoy!

Becky Taylor
October 31, 2010

Happy Halloween

2010-10-31T22:05:00.013-04:00

As usual, we didn't have very many goblins show up for trick or treat at our house. I suppose it's because our neighborhood is too small, and the houses too spread out compared to some of the others in the area. We only had about twenty kids total in two and a half hours time.

I loved trick or treating as a child. The little town I grew up in was always bustling that night. I remember kicking through the leaves as I made my way through every yard. Back then, people gave out really good stuff like home made popcorn balls, full sized candy bars, and candied apples!

That, along with everything has changed. Things just aren't as much fun as they use to be. But then, maybe that's just me.

Here's a few pictures of my favorite trick-or-treaters.

(Aren't they adorable?)

Esther and Philip

And let's not forget their Mommy

Mamaw's lil Pumpkin, Baby James

Grandson Jayden and Great-Nephew, Britton

Shaina, Kayla, Jayden and James

My nephew Chad and his wife, Carrie (aka Mr. and Mrs. Amos Yoder)

My Sweet little Warrior from Day's Gone By ... Adam (about 2003)

May good memories of Halloween 2010 haunt you for years to come!

Becky Taylor
October 31, 2010

Tribute to Juanita

2010-10-28T09:48:00.001-04:00

My mother passed away six years ago yesterday. Every year I try to do something special to mark the anniversary of her passing. This year I decided to edit the video slideshow we showed during her visitation and at the funeral. Here it is:

DogGone!

2010-10-25T13:09:00.011-04:00

My dog, Jordan, is twelve years old and definitely showing the signs of old age. (Aren't we all?) He's seems to be having a little more difficulty than usual these last couple weeks.

It probably has something to do with us having company, the full moon, and the cooler weather.

The poor old guy is deaf and has bad hips. His OCD tendencies are also getting worse with age. He's a sheltie and they're known for liking to have things just "so-so". They don't deal all that well with change.

So, as I was saying ... Jordan woke me up to go outside at 2:30 this morning. At least he's still waking me up to go out, and not doing his business in the house, right?

I let him out the front door, then walked to the kitchen to get him the treat he always expects when he comes back in. It took me about 30 seconds. When I got back to the front door, I couldn't see him in the yard anywhere.

Oh brother!

I walked out onto the sidewalk to see if he'd gone around the corner. He wasn't anywhere in sight.

Then it occurred to me that I was standing out there in my pajamas, alone at 2:30 in the morning under the light of the full moon, and no one in the house knew I was even awake, much less outside.

I suppose I watch too many crime and forensics shows because all sorts of things started running through my mind.

For starters, there are coyotes in the woods surrounding our cul-de-sac. I was concerned that one could grab my poor little dog (or even me) a bit too easily.

I also realized my husband was sound asleep and would not likely hear me scream.

The boy may, or may not hear me should I scream in the midst of a grizzly demise, but chances are he'd roll over and go back to sleep anyway.

So, there I was outside in my pj's looking for my dog (who couldn't hear me calling him) in the middle of the night under a full moon, the week of Halloween no less.

Did I mention I probably watch too many crime shows?

I decided to wake my husband so he could help me look for Jordan. At least then I'd have an eye witness should a coyote (or serial killer) attack. I was on my way back to the house when I spotted Jordan's tracks in the dew on the grass. They seemed to lead to the neighbors yard.

I followed them, and sure enough there came my dog walking up the neighbor's driveway in no particular hurry. My guess is he saw their porch light on (it usually isn't) and got confused about which house he was suppose to return to.

The neighbors live down the hill from us and it's quite a jaunt for an old dog with bad hips, so who knows the real reason he was down there. I'm just glad I found him before either of us were attacked and dismembered.

It was a bit scary but I'll still go in search of my dog in the middle of the night if the need arises. I'm just thinking I'll carry a weapon from now on.

Becky Taylor
10/25/2010

Imaginary Jobs - Imaginary Money - Imaginary Right to Child Support

2010-10-25T12:08:00.008-04:00

I filed an appeal to the decision the Child Support Enforcement Agency (CSEA) made concerning my employment status. It was rejected.

Their excuse: I didn't send it in on time.

Their suggestion: Hire an attorney and take it back to court.

Um, ok. Like it wouldn't take a couple years to work through the system, not to mention if I could afford an attorney, I wouldn't be filing for an increase in child support. Adam will be eighteen in about a year and a half, and then the child support ends anyway. I need it NOW.

Walt and I were watching a report about the economy on the news last night. They showed a room packed full of 40, 50 and 60 something year old people who have been looking for work for two years now. They have exhausted their unemployment benefits. Most of them had college degrees, many on a masters level yet there they are now,some of them teetering on the edge of homelessness.

Walt looked at me and said, "Oh, but just imagine how much they should be making with the degrees they all hold."

It was a joke, of course. If the nationwide mindset was like that of the CSEA and my ex husband, that whole room full of people would be expected to live off their imaginary incomes.

The CSEA is out of touch with reality in my opinion.

The ex? Not only is he out of touch with reality, after ten years, he's still proving to me why he's the "ex" to begin with!

I've been repenting daily for my attitude toward the system. I've been asking God to forgive me for the way I feel about the ex at the moment. It's not healthy for me.

So ... Bless 'em Lord! (And thank YOU for being my true Provider!)

Becky Taylor
10/25/2010

Willfully Underemployed

2010-10-13T21:59:00.020-04:00

Since June, I have been in the throes of a child support adjustment review. I originally asked for the review, since it's been what ... eight years since I've had an increase? For that matter, I've never requested any changes at all.

My bad!

Meanwhile,both mine and my husband's businesses have all but bottomed out along with about 20% of the rest of Georgia's residents. (The actual unemployment rate in Ga is around 12% which is among the highest in the nation, but that only includes those who are still drawing unemployment checks. Most of the unemployed have already exhausted their benefits.)

The original findings determined I was due more child support ... and a fair amount at that.

That didn't sit well with the ex, who filed a protest. His theory was that I didn't deserve an increase. He thought the amount of child support I receive should be based on what I am capable of making instead of what I am actually bringing in.

I've never heard of such a thing and was reasonably content the magistrate would find no reason to change the first ruling.

Wrong!

The Child Support Enforcement Agency determined that I am indeed "willfully underemployed" Translated, this means that since I have a college degree and theoretically could be working in a hospital lab, but am not, I somehow have only myself to blame for my recent financial woes.

I am absolutely blown away by this. It's downright ridiculous!

I tried to explain to them why I was unable to work in the lab for the last couple years, that being because my son has had special needs which required me to be available at a moments notice.

I told them how I'd started the coaching business in order to try to have a steady income and keep my schedule somewhat flexible at the same time.

I mentioned the fact that over the last ten months I've applied for many laboratory jobs and actually landed four interviews only to be rejected every time.

Yes, I have a college degree and laboratory experience. I am also fifty years old and haven't worked in a lab for over six years. Hospitals aren't exactly clamoring for bench techs like me. If they do happen to be hiring, they prefer someone a little "fresher" than a fifty year old grandma who hasn't peered through a microscope since Shep was a pup!

Shame on the Child Support Enforcement people! Double shame on my son's father! I've not caused one moments trouble with them, yet when I ask for something I rightfully deserve I am slapped in the face with a label such as "Willfully Underemployed?"

Until this happened I've often defended the CSEA. I always thought their bum rap came from lazy, good for nothing mothers whose only desire in life was to get "even" with their ex's and make them miserable ... then were disappointed when a "fair" ruling was made in favor of the fathers.

That mindset is definitely history. They are every bit as pious and uncaring as all the rumors would indicate.

"Willfully Underemployed" Yeah, sure ... me and about four hundred thousand other people in the state of Georgia!

Sleep well tonight, CSEA! (And may the bird of paradise fly up your nose!)

Bye-Bye Pearly Whites!

2010-09-14T13:58:00.017-04:00

For the last several years I've been trying to focus on what decent physical attributes I have left rather than pay too much attention to those that have gone away.

Frankly, I am running out of choices.

My body betrayed me this past year by packing on nearly 20 lbs in additional weight.

The wrinkles on my face and bags under my eyes which I'd managed to "hold at bay" (more or less) suddenly called for a back up of enemy forces and launched a full fledged attack. I'm so outnumbered, I've been forced to retreat.

I've also had to start wearing reading glasses all the time ... another slap to my already slipping self image.

I should also mention that every body part that could possibly hurt, has begun to do just that. My joints are playing tag, taking turns in deciding as which one is going to scream in pain next.

Well, at least I can still smile, right?

WRONG!

An innocent dental visit for a routine cleaning and exam has eliminated that now too. The dentist told me I have a moderate degree of periodontal disease. That means my teeth are likely to fall out (literally) sometime in the not too distant future unless we do something to stop it now. The bones that are meant to hold my teeth in place are deteriorating rapidly. We must intervene before it reaches the point of no-return.

It's a genetic thing. I take good care of my teeth. I brush and floss just like I'm suppose to. (Actually, I got "scolded" for "over-brushing". I guess there's a first for everything.)

Of all the things about myself I've become disgruntled with, I've continued to like my smile. I like laughing. I like making other people laugh. I appreciate when people compliment me on my nice white teeth. It makes me smile even more. The more I smile, the better I feel.

It was nice while it lasted!

Let it be recorded on this date, Sept. 14, 2010. One month and one day after my fiftieth birthday, I am officially falling apart.

We started phase one of my dental treatment yesterday. It consisted of numbing my gums until I couldn't feel anything from my eyeballs to my collar bone, then digging into the "gum pockets" around each of my teeth and scraping the roots with a sharp, pointy metal instrument.

Yes, it was every bit as much fun as it sounds like it would be.

Afterwards, I was given a prescription for an antibiotic mouth wash which I was informed will turn my teeth BROWN. All the hard work I've put into keeping my smile shining white has been for naught. I still got periodontal disease and I'm going to have brown teeth (at least for a while.)They will be cleaning and polishing my teeth next month, so I'm hoping that means my smile will not be permanently dis-colored.

Oh, and we're going to set up a "treatment plan" to further pursue the periodontal issue. Translated, I'm fairly certain this is going to end up costing me a fortune! For what they charged for the two previous procedures alone, I could've had a mini-face lift.

For what it will likely end up costing overall, I could probably get a tummy-tuck, liposuction, a face lift and a nice long tropical vacation complete with a bikini to show off my new body.

But no. Instead I get dental work that won't improve my appearance, but rather make it worse for a while.

I can't help but wonder if it wouldn't be better to go ahead and spend the money on all the other stuff ... the things I'd actually like to get done, and let nature take its course with my teeth. Afterwards, I could always get dentures, and I'd look good in the process.

It can't hurt to ask! I'm going to suggest we throw that option into my "treatment plan." I'll be sure and let you know how that works for me!

Becky Taylor
Sept. 14,2010

http://www.boldnewday.com

The Best Laid Plans of Mice ... and Fifty Year Old Women

2010-09-08T10:10:00.007-04:00

Summer of 2010 has come to an end.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry about that fact. I suppose someday in the (very distant) future, I may look back and laugh but at the moment I am leaning toward the latter choice. Summer 2010 was, for the most part, what my son would refer to as an "epic fail"

I had huge plans and high hopes for Summer 2010. Had I not been so excited about it, I would not have been so disappointed of course. The season was nothing ... nothing like I'd imagined or planned for it to be.

As the old saying goes, "The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry" The summer of 2010 was most definitely "awry!"

A few un-awry (is that even a word?) things did happen and are worthy of mention...

My sixth grandchild, James Daniel was born August 20th. That's a very good thing, right?

My son stayed out of trouble. Don't think for one minute that I didn't notice or appreciate that!

Hold on, I'm trying to think of a few more positive points.

I would say I "made it" to fifty, but that would only remind me of the epic failure the whole occasion proved to be. Ugh! I definitely hope to forget that one!

I suppose the best thing I can do is close the chapter that was the Summer of 2010 and move on to the next ... Fall. Fall will be much better than was summer. I'm pretty sure of that. This time I will not be disappointed.

Why?

Because this time I've made no plans at all!

Becky Taylor
9-8-2010
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.webs.com

There's A New Kid In Town

2010-08-22T09:53:00.009-04:00

Welcome to the world Baby James Daniel Jackson!

My newest grandson arrived Friday, August 20, 2010 at 3:11 p.m. He weighed in at a whopping 10 lbs. 10 oz!

Here are some pictures of the "little" guy:

I've been with my daughters when each of the other grandchildren were born, but I missed Baby James' birth. Common sense mandates that I wait and go to Ohio after Angel gets out of the hospital when I can truly be of assistance to her. I found myself regretting allowing "common sense" to rule though, when Angel developed complications and had to be given general anesthetic for a C-section.

I paced the driveway, phone in hand, waiting for updates from my niece who was there at the hospital in Ohio.

I shouted angrily when I heard how immature everyone was acting in the waiting room 500 miles away. (It happens every time)

I cried when I thought about how scared my daughter must have been when they told her they were going to need to put her under for the C-section.

Then I forgot about it all and smiled when the first photo of my new grandson finally arrived on my telephone screen.

He's perfect!

And I am in love ... again.

"Mamaw" Becky Taylor
August 22,2010

Isn't it Ironic?

2010-08-22T08:49:00.012-04:00

My 50th birthday has come and gone.

"50th birthday?"

Funny you should ask, because if it hadn't been my own birthday I probably wouldn't have noticed either. You'd think after all the blatant hinting I've done (ie: my "Pushing Fifty" blog that's been running for the last two years) someone might have planned something to acknowledge the milestone.

But no.

I'd already made the necessary adjustments, knowing there'd be no family trip to Mexico. I'd made peace with the unfortunate timing of our lack of finances. I knew that neither David Tutera or Wendy Williams would be coming to my rescue. I was, however, naive enough to think there'd still be some kind of fun surprise awaiting me on Friday, August 13th.

There was indeed one very big surprise, that being the fact there was NO birthday celebration planned at all, much less a "50th" birthday celebration.

My husband (bless his heart) decided at the last minute to invite another couple to go to dinner with us but they weren't available. Late Friday afternoon he informed me that his "plans" had fallen through. Our friends couldn't go out with us after all, so he wanted to know if I'd like him to call another couple and invite them to meet us somewhere for dinner instead.

I was so stunned, I wondered if he were tricking me somehow. I know him too well though. He's not that good at pulling off such stunts.

I'm not ashamed to admit I freaked out when the reality set in.

Not only was I not having a fabulous 50th birthday bash, we weren't doing anything at all. NOT A THING!

I told him to forget dinner altogether, I wasn't hungry. He didn't understand why we couldn't go out to eat anyway "just because no one was available" to go with us.

Either I am a very poor communicator or he is a very poor listener because I thought I'd made myself very clear. It's almost embarrassing to talk about the anticlimactic ending to the day I'd been raving about for months.

In fairness, all was not lost as far as the basic "birthday" goes. I got several great phone calls that day from my family and a couple friends. My facebook page was over-run with birthday wishes. Walt also bought me a new "Flip" camera which I'd asked for. He gave it to me a day ahead of time. Silly me! I thought he was giving it to me early so I'd have it to take pictures at my party. You know ... the party that never happened!

No big dinner with all our friends. None of those hideous black balloons or "over the hill" jokes. No funny cards jaunting me about my age, and there are definitely no pictures to record the non-event.

It was just another birthday...only with less pomp and circumstance than I've been treated with on my other birthdays.

In retrospect, my life has become quite ironic in that way. The winds of fate have shifted and suddenly nothing goes as I expect anymore.

Whatever. It is what it is. Life goes on. (Insert any other appropriate cliche' here)

Happy Belated 50th Birthday to me!

Hiatus

2010-08-02T14:43:00.007-04:00

There's very little in my life I have control over at the moment, so I've decided to exert my energy only on those things I do have some say in.

As of sometime during the middle of another sleepless night last night (largely due to the fact I couldn't control my dog's barking ... again) I made a decision to step down from everything for a while.

I sent a notice to my "free" coaching group advising them of my hiatus. For a yet to be determined period of time I am going to focus on getting myself to a better place emotionally, tending to my family, and possibly writing (but only if I really feel inspired to do so.)

I guess you might say I'm taking a "Mental Health break" from the "job". You know, those days you call in sick when you're not physically ill at all? Only in this case I am the boss so I don't have to feel guilty.

So, my first birthday gift to myself is time off. Although, I must say "time off" is a very relative term in this case. August will be a busy month, but mostly busy in a GOOD way.

My newest grandchild is set to arrive any day now. I've been needing to price some things and hold a yard sale so I can make money to publish my book. For that matter, I need to get my book finished so it can be published. I need to re-connect with my purpose, just as I coach my clients to do.

In a nutshell (what an appropriate phrase for my current state!) I need to do whatever it takes to carry some measure of sanity into my fifties.

That said, I am off to "find myself." Please leave the porch light on for me. I may be out pretty late.

Becky Taylor
August 2, 2010

Book It, Dan-O!

2010-08-01T13:06:00.008-04:00

I don't usually talk about the book I'm attempting to write here on this "fun" blog, however, the lines between "fun" and "serious" have been very blurred lately. Even my newly purchased reading glasses have failed to remedy the situation. Hopefully that is only temporary and things will clear up soon. (Everything in life is temporary, right?)

I started writing a book a few months back. From what I've heard, books take a while to write so a "few months" isn't really all that long. The problem is, I haven't written a single word in weeks. My inspiration disappeared somewhere in the haze of issues the summer of 2010 has presented.

The central theme of my life right now is I NEED TO GET AWAY!

Being as ADD as I am, I can't hold on to a thought much less string several thoughts together long enough to finish a book (shoot! Make that a chapter) when I'm constantly being interrupted by the barking dog, the ding-ing washing machine, and legal notices from an annoying ex who, for reasons I may never understand, took it upon himself to put the last nail in my Summer 2010 coffin.

I need to go somewhere quiet and inspirational. Somewhere I can go to bed when I want, sleep as long as I want, and write as long as the thoughts keep flowing. Someplace the phone doesn't ring and no teenagers need a ride to the mall immediately!

I also need to go someplace fun and exciting ... or at least where I have the "fun and exciting" option available to me. I need an ocean breeze and the sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline. I need to go horseback riding,zip-lining, and yachting ... and spend hours on end just staring at the ocean if that's what I want!I need someone to cook my meals and make my bed for me while I'm busy doing all of the above.

I also need these two scenarios NOT to take place at the same time.

Ideally, I would throw my things in a bag and leave TOMORROW, then spend the next couple weeks working on my book, the deadline being my fiftieth birthday (which is FRIDAY AUGUST 13th in case I've not mentioned it lately)

In a perfect world, I'd put the finishing touches on my masterpiece on Thursday, August 12th, then smile as I close the computer and sit back and celebrate by watching the sun go down over Banderas bay.

Ahh! Lovely thought, isn't it?

On Friday August 13th, I'd wake up with the sunrise (or by noon - whatever!) and flip the "I finished my book AND turned fifty" party switch! The festivities would begin ... and not stop until I say so (because it's MY PARTY!)

And when I do decide the party's over, I'll move on to the next phase of my life. The "latter" years, which I am determined to make better than the first fifty.

It's a pretty tall order. You don't have to tell me, I already know.

Given my current frame of mind, I might just DO IT! Book the darn retreat and get on the plane. Miss the pesky court date (without bothering to tell anyone ... so they'll show up anyway *snicker*) and go away for a while.

Don't worry, I'll come back with my newly finished book ready to go to the publisher and a whole new attitude and outlook on life.

And that's something we would all benefit from right now, isn't it?

Becky Taylor
August 1, 2010

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.webs.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Great! They've Killed the Elves too!

2010-07-30T17:33:00.014-04:00

This blog isn't turning out quite like I'd pictured. As a matter of fact, the end product doesn't resemble my vision in the least.

When I wrote the last post, I reported the recent burning of my very important bridge to my "happy place". I also mentioned that I was clinging to the slightest possibility of little elves sneaking in and reconstructing it for me as a birthday surprise.

Yesterday I discovered the elves had been assassinated as well! I found their pitiful little carcasses scattered all over the place ... innocent victims of a malicious ex (or more likely his current wife.) Ugh!

No, make that double Ugh!

When is this going to end?

Why does it suddenly seem that life is out to get me?

Honestly, I started this blog with every intention of having fun with it ... lots of fun! Never did I intend it to turn into a whiny melodrama!

I'm a nice person. I always try to do what is right. I firmly (or at least use to) believe that one reaps what one sows.

Sow sweetness, reap cotton candy!

Sow nastiness, reap raw sewage!

Obviously the lines have been criss-crossed somewhere along the way because this definitely isn't cotton candy I'm standing in up to my armpits right now.

In summery: The ex (and his wife) have decided to appeal the court's decision to increase child support for the boy. This, despite the fact I am sitting on thousands of dollars of unpaid medical bills which the ex (and his wife) have refused to help pay.

This, despite the fact my income has steadily declined to almost nothing over the last several years, thanks to the economy.

This, despite the fact I've not asked for, or received a single increase for eight years. Meanwhile, they tried to get it decreased three years ago.

This despite the fact the ex has had a steady, well paying job the whole time. (For whatever reason,the lousy economy chose to spare him any grief.)

Oh, also despite the fact he's not spent one red cent on our son above what the court has insisted he pay.

I could go on, but I'll just move right to the real clincher.

Ready?

The hearing is scheduled for AUGUST 12th in OHIO!

Yup!

By some twist of fate, my two year long dream of spending the week of my birthday with my husband, kids, and grand-kids on a beach in Mexico has gradually been reduced to "celebrating" by sitting in a stuffy office in Ohio across the table from the ex (and God help me, probably his wife) trying to prove I'm not hiding a ton of money some place just to spite them.

I know that's why they appealed the court's decision to increase my son's support by a whopping $175.00/mo plus make him pay half of the boy's medical bills because I talked to the CSEA case worker today and she told me so!

Trust me. If I had a ton of money, hidden or otherwise, I wouldn't think of bothering the ex for help of any kind (even though he owes it to our son)

If I had a ton of money (or even just a little to spare) I'd be on that beach in Mexico sipping on a cold, fruity drink right now, any thoughts of the ex (or his wife) the absolute farthest thing from my mind!

Here I am instead. No Mexico. No Beach. No Big 50th Birthday Bash. No Money.

Just lots of aggravation and questions I'd like to have answered.

On second thought, forget about at least one of those questions. I'm afraid to ask "What next?" at this point. Given my current run of bad luck, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like the answer.

Poor me ... even worse, poor little elves!

Becky Taylor
July 30, 2010

Somebody Burned My Bridge!

2010-07-27T10:22:00.033-04:00

I have a secret.

I've battled depression most of my life. When I say "battled" I mean I've fought tooth and nail on a daily basis to cling to a certain degree of joy.

Of course I've been more successful in some seasons than in others.

In the process of maintaining happiness, I've developed different coping skills. One of my favorites is something I refer to as "building bridges." Whenever I feel overwhelmed or know there's something unpleasant on the horizon, I mentally build a bridge which leads to the next foreseeable "positive" event. I focus on that instead of the sadness or fear that's currently threatening me and move toward it instead of wallowing in the present.

This approach is different than "denial" (although sometimes denial can be a wonderful thing)as I do address and deal with the negative situations in my life. I just focus ahead on better things to come and that helps me get through.

For the last couple years I've been gearing myself up for my fiftieth birthday. I started planning my big, no ... make that HUGE celebration, almost as soon as I realized there would be no stopping the big 5-0.

I'm just being honest. It isn't so much that I'm thrilled about being fifty and want the world to stop and acknowledge my big day by throwing me a party. It's more because I'm dreading joining the ranks of the women who've left their forties (and their "prime" according to popular belief) behind.

So in my attempt to cope, I decided to build one of my trusty bridges over my birthday. I figured a big party would do the trick. Something I could truly enjoy that would provide a distraction from the fact I'm turning fifty.

I suppose that rather than saying I've been "planning" my birthday party, I should say I started making my wishes known to those people who would be in charge of making the arrangements. Who, after all, wants to plan their own birthday celebration?

I've had a pretty good run, if I do say so myself. Looking forward to my birthday party ... what I thought would surely be the biggest celebration of my lifetime, has gotten me through for almost two years now. I've envisioned myself opening the Wendy Williams show in NYC, then jetting off to Puerto Vallarta to sit on the sand, basking in the sunshine over Banderas Bay for a week. After that, I'd fly home hopefully in time to welcome my sixth grandchild into the world.

Given the possibility that all goes well, before I know it we'll be well into September and my birthday will be long passed. I'll have nothing but beautiful memories of the exciting events of the summer of 2010.

Oh, and I'll be fifty years old.

I've got to say, this is one of the best "bridges" I've ever constructed!

So you might imagine my dismay now that I've come to realize someone has gone and burned my bridge!

What a dastardly deed!

With less than three weeks to go, it's too late to start re-building now. Part of me wants to believe there may still be the celebration I've been dreaming of. Elves perhaps, may step in and re-build my bridge while I'm sleeping.

In my world there's always room for miracles.

But realistically, I understand that's probably just not going to be the case. The bridge is gone, blasted away by lack of finances and other annoyances commonly associated with the real world.

What a downer! What lousy timing!

As always is the case, I will adjust and move on toward some glimmer of light in the distance. Worse things than turning fifty could happen to a girl. I could not be having another birthday at all.

Yes, it could be worse. I apologize for all the whining.

It's just that I worked so hard on this particular bridge. It hurts to see it lying in rubble.

Becky Taylor
July 27, 2010

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.webs.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Thirty One? Are You Kidding Me?

2010-07-19T11:39:00.014-04:00

According to some dim-witted report I heard on a news shows this morning, a woman is at her "most beautiful" at age thirty-one.

What the ....?

Is it just me, or is that not one of the craziest things you've ever heard?

Unless you happen to be a thirty-one year old woman, and even then you might find this report a bit disturbing ... depending on whether or not you're pleased with your appearance at this particular age. If you're not, well you might be thinking "Oh great! So this is as good as it gets! Pass the double chocolate chip ice cream please, I'm doomed!"

Then there are the rest of us who passed that so-called age of "perfection" without even realizing it.

I'm sorry, but I didn't need this kind of depressing information less than four weeks before my fiftieth birthday, (and nearly nineteen years after my thirty-first!)

What ever happened to "Fifty is the new thirty"? Even then, they were referring to a state of youth and not necessarily "beauty". (Didn't someone actually say that recently, or is that something I made up myself? We old, out of shape, way past our prime women tend to be delusional, after all.)

Seriously though. Where did the people who came up with that answer to the question, "At what age is a woman the most beautiful?" get their information, and why did it merit fifteen seconds of fame on the morning news?

For that matter, why did anyone feel the need to pin "most beautiful" to any particular age in the first place?

I protest and I believe all other non-thirty-one year old women should do the same. "Beauty" cannot be assigned an age at which it peaks. Shame on whomever it was who decided differently.

I'm fairly certain we haven't heard the last of this one, folks. Just wait until the "Dove Campaign for Real Beauty" people get their hands on this information! Surely they'll set some people straight on the matter.

In the mean time, here's to the truly beautiful people, no matter how old (or young) you may be.

Becky J. Taylor
July 19, 2010

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

A-Weigh We Go!

2010-07-16T15:35:00.008-04:00

I realize I am beginning to sound very "fifty-ish" in my recent blog posts. I can't help it! My concerns during recent months have been mostly about finances, sleepless nights and weight gain!

I'm happy to report some progress in regard to my weight! I found a website that has so un-complicated things, I can't believe how easily I've begun to lose weight. I started the diet (although I can't even honestly call it a diet)less than a week ago and my shorts are already beginning to feel loose.

The website is http://www.caloriecount.about.com

It's approach is exactly as the name implies. I joined for FREE, then set up my profile with information like how much weight I want to lose (20 lbs) and when I want it all to be gone.

Each day I keep a log of what I've had to eat and enter it onto the site. Voila'! It calculates how many calories, and other nutritional information my food intake contains. Also, based on my answers to some questions it prompted me to answer, it tells me how many calories I am taking in versus how many calories I am burning each day.

But wait! There's more!

There's also a place to log activities, not just exercise but every day household activities like putting away laundry and even bathing, and calculates how many calories I've burned.

After all this time I've been fretting over trying to drop a few pounds, attempting to exercise, cut back on sweets, etc. Who would've thought success could be so simple as watching my calories every day.

Did I mention I've not been hungry even once since I started? Well, I haven't! That's the beauty of it. Because I'm conscious of my calorie intake, I keep track of it all day long and pace myself accordingly. So far I am averaging less than 1400 calories a day. YAY!

Oh yeah! I'm pumped! I may be back in one of those cute little bathing suits by my birthday after all.

I guess I should also mention that the site did burst my bubble a little by telling me I couldn't possibly lose 20lbs by August 13th. It suggested that mid September might be a more realistic goal. Oh well. We'll see how that goes. Even if I've only lost 10 lbs by my birthday I'll be ecstatic.

So here I go! Success at last. I'm losing weight the old fashioned way and I like it!

Becky J. Taylor
July 16, 2010

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Where's David Tutera When You Need Him?

2010-07-11T14:16:00.010-04:00

Mr. Taylor seems to be having some difficulty coming up with a good plan for my birthday. Apparently he got the memo that this particular birthday is very important to me and has been scrambling accordingly.

I'm a little nervous.

A couple years ago, I told him exactly what I wanted to do to usher in the big 5-Oh! I wanted a beach in Mexico with my kids and grandkids for a week (or more if possible), highlighted with a major party to celebrate the impending BEST years of my life!

Well, life happens while you're making other plans, right?

Little did I know that my daughter, Angel would be in her last week or so of pregnancy when the date arrives. So much for having my kids and grandkids in Mexico with me at that time.

It also throws a wrench in my plans because I'm not all too sure I want to be out of the country when my sixth grandchild arrives. I've been by both my daughter's sides when they delivered the first five grand babies and well, I'm just not convinced they could do it without me.

Throw in the fact that our finances have drastically changed since I first voiced my preference for my 50th birthday party and honey, we have ourselves a situation.

I don't know what to do, but I do know I'm going to be terribly disappointed if Friday August 13th arrives and passes without something major being done to recognize the date.

I'm not usually a very selfish kind of person, but this is different. This calls for serious intervention from an expert.

Where's David Tutera when you need him?

David Tutera is a famous party-planner and has a hit t.v. show, "My Fair Wedding". Every week on t.v., I admire him as he appears to brides in distress and re-plans their weddings a mere three weeks from the big day. I love how he makes dreams come true for all those "Queen for a day" wannabees... like me, only I'm not getting married. I'm just turning 50!

If I could design the perfect birthday celebration (without regard to questionable finances and the potential arrival of a new grand-child)it would begin with me opening the Friday the 13th "Wendy Williams" show in NYC. Friday's episodes are taped on Thursday afternoon so I could easily open her show, then fly to Mexico in time for my actual birthday.

My not currently pregnant daughter, Emily and her family would fly with me and Mr. Taylor, both to the Wendy Williams taping and on to Mexico.

Once in Mexico, we'd check into an exclusive resort. I found a great one for about $600 USD/day. If memory serves me correctly, that price includes room/food/daily massages, etc. for at least eight people so that's only about $75 USD/day.

There, we would enjoy at least a week of endless sunshine, zip-lining, dinner at "Rhythms of the Night", horsback riding, food and whatever other festivities strike my fifty year old fancy.

Does that sound like a fantastic plan or what?

This all started yesterday when I caught myself feeling a little down about the possibility of not celebrating my 50th birthday in great style. I'd been trying to convince myself that party, or no party, it really didn't matter all that much to me.

It does matter! Such a celebration only comes around once in a lifetime. It needs to be perfect.

*sigh*

I wish David Tutera had a show called, "My Fabulous Big Five-Oh!" I'd be calling him to my rescue right now.

Oh David! HELP! I need help making my birthday party dreams come true!

Becky Taylor
July 11, 2010

http://www.boldnewday.com

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Tunic Tops and Tummy Troubles

2010-06-25T10:42:00.015-04:00

I had my yearly checkup at the GYN yesterday.

Yes ladies, I can sense your sympathies oozing through cyberspace!

The good news is, I came home with a clean bill of health (gynecologically speaking.)

The bad news is, the doctor informed me there is no "magic pill" available to reverse these mid-life weight gaining issues.

I told him I'd packed on about fifteen pounds since last summer and he nodded,then confirmed that fifteen pounds was about what would be expected. He said the average reported weight gain for my "age" is around one-two lbs per month!

And there's very little I can do about it.

Grrrr!

OK, so there is actually something I can do. I can eat less AND increase my exercise.

Excuse me? I don't eat much as it is. Typically, I lose weight in the summer because I often "forget" to eat and I am generally more active.

Yet, this summer has been the exception to the rule. I've done all the above, in addition to placing more emphasis on diet and I continue to gain.

I asked the doc if the "gaining one-two pounds a month" would go on for the rest of my life, and he assured me it should "plateau" at some point. So, depending on when/if it plateaus, I could weigh fifteen more pounds by next summer!

I just don't want to think about it. This was suppose to be my summer of liberation...the year I turn fifty, not the year I gain fifty!

Mother Nature is a cruel prankster for sure. Just about the time I was getting comfortable in my own skin and not worrying about my figure being less than super-model perfect, she throws me this curve ball. I am now filling out the aforementioned skin, stretching it to it's limits like never before.

Who knew midlife would be such a challenge?

Who ever suspected it would strike such a blow to my ego?

Certainly not this die-hard optimist!

I suppose I'll adjust ... eventually. I realize a little weight gain is nothing compared to the more serious issues I could be facing right now. I am healthy and for that I am very thankful!

My celebration of Summer 2010 shall continue despite the ever increasing size of my mid-section. Thank goodness empire waistlines and tunic tops are in this year! Happy 50th Birthday to me!

Becky Taylor
June 25, 2010
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

All The Wrinkled Ladies

2010-06-22T19:46:00.005-04:00

In keeping with the "theme" of recent posts, here's a video by Christian Comedian, Anita Renfro. "All the Wrinkled Ladies"

Enjoy!

Grandma Buys A Bathing Suit .. (The Sequel)

2010-06-21T10:27:00.007-04:00

After buying the new bathing suit with more "coverage" a few weeks ago and discovering I felt pretty much miserable (and old) in it, I bit the bullet and went bathing suit shopping again last Thursday.

I was feeling a bit brave when I dug out my old favorite two piece and tried it on last week. You know what? It really doesn't look that bad. I officially brought it out of retirement and started wearing it to the pool.

Feeling secure in my old two piece once again, I returned to the store on Friday and bought not one, but three new two piece suits. The first one, a bit more revealing than my old favorite, and the other two a lot more revealing than any I've worn in recent history.

Do I look like a nineteen year old in any of the suits? Of course not!

Do I really care? Nope!

I don't go to the pool to compete with anyone, neither am I trying to attract the attention of any members of the opposite sex. I don't crave positive re-enforcement or wolf whistles (except from my husband, of course) I just want to be comfortable and cool. It's that simple.

I feel good about my decision. Better yet, I feel downright liberated!

I will wear my new bathing suits with my head held high. Anyone who doesn't like it ... feel free to look the other way!

Becky J. Taylor
June 21, 2010

http://www.boldnewday.com

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

The Procrastinator

2010-06-16T09:18:00.011-04:00

I don't know why, but I've put off mailing in my papers requesting an increase in funds from the ex,to the

Child Support Enforcement Agency.

I filled them out almost a month ago, and noticed at that time the return envelope they provided seemed way to small for the stack of papers I'd been asked to complete and return. I also wanted to write a short note to the case worker explaining a couple items on the forms.

For those two very small reasons, I put the papers back on my "to do" list and didn't get them back out until this morning.

In my own self defense, I should add that the hearing concerning my case won't be held until June 28, which is also the date the papers are due in. I found that a little odd. It took the Child Support Enforcement Agency four weeks to get the papers to me after I first requested them. After that, they gave me (and the ex) six weeks to fill them out and send them back in.

Once they finish reviewing the information and determine if there will be a change in support, it will be another four weeks before the changes take effect.

I did the math .. By the time this is over, I will have waited fourteen weeks for the increase I requested (if they decide I qualify) yet from what I can tell, they will have spent about 20 minutes total plugging in my numbers vs. the ex's numbers to come up with a decision.

Whew!

No wonder I put it off. It probably took me almost that long just to cram all those papers into the envelope!

I'm trusting all my efforts will pay off and I'll be rewarded with some financial help from Adam's father. I have a stack of medical bills from the kid's hospitalization and numerous E.R. visits last year, none of which I've had any assistance with from the ex.

I can only hope ... and pray I manage to walk these papers out to the mailbox sometime within the next week!

Becky Taylor
6-16-2010
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Grandma Buys a Bathing Suit

2010-05-31T22:49:00.038-04:00

I've outgrown my old bathing suits.

Since we've lived near the lake I've acquired several. My most recent favorite has been a cute little two piece (no, I'm not talking "bikini") that shows not too much and not too little. I've worn it when Walt and I were out on the lake alone, or when we've been on vacation.

I have another suit I like a lot as well. It's also a two piece, but the bottom is made like a pair of shorts with a little skirt over it. It isn't made out of that awful stretchy material a lot of skirted bottoms have. It's more like the regular stuff you'd expect shorts to be made of.

The top covers all the way down to the waistband of the shorts, so this suit provides more coverage than the first one. I wore it when I was planning to be more active, like when the grand kids were with us, or I thought I might be riding on the tube behind the boat. It's the one I wore when we went white water rafting too, so obviously I've felt fairly secure in it.

The rest of my swimsuits are pretty much mix and match. I bought one that has the regular "granny" style skirt on it. I don't care much for that one and have used it mostly only as a spare.

I own another two piece suit but I've only worn the top with the bottoms of the second suit I mentioned. It wasn't ideal, but it worked.

I tried my favorite suit on late last summer and realized it wasn't fitting quite like it use to. I knew I'd picked up a few pounds, but didn't think it was enough to make a difference in the way my clothes looked on me.

I was wrong. The cute little two piece "vacation" suit went back in the drawer and I pulled out suit number two. It still fit (pretty much). Thank God!

Earlier this spring, I tried my second favorite suit on again and noticed the bottoms were difficult to zip. I managed to get into it, but I didn't feel nearly as comfortable as I'd felt in the past. That's when I had to admit I was going to have to buy a new suit.

I suppose all women come to a similar moment of realization somewhere around the age of fifty. Even when we can get into the same size clothing as before, it fits differently. Suddenly all our flesh (and flab) moves to a new location on our bodies and apparently there isn't a darn thing we can do about it!

Except buy a new bathing suit.

I looked at bathing suits online last night just to get a feel for what was out there. I searched for suits that would slim the areas that need slimming and enhance the areas I'd like to enhance. It turns out they do make those suits, but not in my price range!

I had to compromise.

I settled on one I found on a nationwide department store website and went in search of it at the local store this morning. It's very similar to my second favorite suit, except the bottoms have regular bathing suit pants under the skirt instead of shorts.

And it covers a lot more.

Oh, and it's made out of that horrible stretchy material I associate with the "granny" skirts. Grr!

The one I bought wasn't the only one I tried on while I was there. I tried to find one I thought I'd like better.

That didn't happen. I noticed that every one I tried on seemed to cover more and more of my body. I came to the very sad realization that unless things turn around for me real soon, I'll be looking for a suit fashioned after those worn by women in the 1800's. (Remember the ones with the sleeves and knee length bloomers?)

I settled on the suit I'd found online. Obviously I'm not exactly in love with it but it will have to do for now.

It's a very "safe" suit. I won't have to worry about playing with the grand kids, riding the tube behind the boat, or white water rafting in it.

For that matter I probably won't feel out of place if I need to wear it while grocery shopping or going to a doctor's appointment. I've seen plenty of women out in public wearing a lot less and thought nothing of it!

Well, maybe not fifty year old women, but you know what I mean.

I suppose you might say I am at an awkward stage of life. It's the stage between trying to camouflage the tricks Mother Nature is playing with my body, and that where I truly just don't care what other people think anymore.

In the meantime it's just what I said ... awkward. In some ways I don't want to move on to the "I truly don't care" stage, while in others I wish I'd just hurry up and stop giving a darn!

Not giving a darn would make it much easier for me when I show up at the neighborhood pool in my 1800'style suit complete with sleeves and bloomers!

Until I make the transition, here's a picture of me taken in my previously favorite swim suit. Walt and I were on vacation year before last. I was waving to him from the beach in Bucerias, Mexico.

Or so I thought.

How was I to know I was actually waving good-bye to the days when I could wear a suit like that and get by with it?

Bye-bye cute little two piece suit. I hate to see you go ...

June 1, 2010
Becky J. Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Stupid Questions and Fashion Statements

2010-05-27T22:43:00.023-04:00

The more I think about my experience at the spinal specialist yesterday, the more aspects of it I find perplexing.

At this particular moment, I am feeling perplexed about my experience with the x-ray department.

Apparently those lovely gowns doctors offices use to provide are no longer humiliating enough for their patients. The girl who took me to the exam room handed me a pair of paper shorts instead, and explained that I was suppose to remove my jeans and put them on in preparation for my x-rays.

I guess the "shorts" could be better described as "bloomers" as they were very baggy and elasticized around the waist and legs. They were a lovely shade of "medical blue", a color which clashed terribly with the blouse I was wearing. They were also very loose around my waist. In retrospect, I suppose that is further proof that they add ten pounds to every patient's reported weight to make up for the fudge factor they assume is involved. (Again ... my bad!)

After the girl left, I obediently removed my jeans, slipped into the ugly shorts/bloomers, and sat down on the exam table to wait. The sight of my pasty legs dangling from the edge of the table was a brutal reminder of my desperate need of some sunshine, and only added to my embarrassment concerning the whole situation.

Soon, a young man (of course they would have to send a young man) came to escort me to the x-ray department which naturally involved walking down a very long corridor, me praying I wouldn't bump into anyone I knew while holding tightly onto the waistband of the bloomers in hopes of preventing them from dropping to my ankles en-route.

Noticing my attachment to the shorts, the young man jokingly informed me I could take them home with me if I wanted. (Uh... like that was going to happen.)

Finally, we rounded the corner and entered the x-ray room where I was greeted by the sweet young female x-ray technician. At that point I'd been at the office for about thirty minutes and had met at least five employees, all of whom were probably younger than my oldest child.

The sweet x-ray technician smiled, said hello, and then asked me if there was any possibility I could be pregnant.

Could I be what?

I had to laugh.

I also had to wonder at what age they stop asking women that question. I mean, really!

I know there are women in this world who have children very late in life, but they usually go to extreme measures to become pregnant. In fact,I've never personally heard of any women my age who got pregnant the "old fashioned way"

Taking that into consideration, I have to believe if a late forties or early fifty-ish woman did walk into the x-ray department pregnant, she would probably be so proud of her pregnancy, she'd be sporting a maternity top with the words "Yes, I AM!" plastered all over it.

So, I guess next time I go for an x-ray I'll wear a shirt that a) co-ordinates nicely with "medical blue" and b) has the words NO! I AM NOT! printed on the front of it.

Perhaps the x-ray technician was simply giving me the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she hadn't looked at the age listed on my chart and thought, based on my appearance, there was a remote possibility I might be young enough to be with child.

Or maybe it was because of those incredibly sexy shorts I was wearing. For all I know, they might actually have been a very good "look" for me.(The young man who escorted me down the hall did seem to think I might want to take them home, remember?) Could it be they actually made me appear much younger, vibrant ... and fertile?

Nah, I guess not. I'll just have to add "stupid questions" and "embarrassing fashion statements" to the ever growing list of medical mysteries I'll never understand.

5/28/10
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Liar! Liar!

2010-05-26T20:34:00.018-04:00

... well, my pants are definitely not on fire!

When I went to the Emergency Room last week, they did not weigh me. Instead, they asked me how much I weighed.

And I told them the truth.

It happened again this morning. I was asked the same question at my follow up appointment with the spinal specialist.

Just like last week in the E.R., I did not lie.

I should also mention that when I got my drivers license renewed I reported my actual weight to them too.

(Do we not pay these people enough money to buy their own scales, or what?)

I realize I've done myself a great injustice here, especially having learned from my medical background that people almost always fudge the numbers on these sorts of things. I've not done any intensive research, but my guess would be that most report their weight to be at least ten pounds less than it really is.

Now,thanks to my "zero tolerance" honesty policy, the people at the hospital, the spinal specialist, and the license bureau all probably assume I weigh ten pounds more than I actually do.

What was I thinking?

As far as the Emergency Room is concerned, I was practically delirious with pain there so that's a fair explanation for spewing out an accurate number. On the other hand, I have absolutely no excuse for being so truthful with the license bureau and the doctor's office.

My regular doctor either makes more money, or is wiser than the others. He has a scale of his own so he doesn't rely on his patients to tell him how much they weigh. (He probably figured out that most people are liars long ago.)

It makes me feel slightly better to remember that the last time I weighed this much (as indicated by my regular doctor's scales)I was immediately told that I definitely didn't look "that heavy".

(I'm fairly certain the medical assistant who made that comment meant it as a compliment.)

A few moments later, I mentioned my weight to my doctor (since he didn't bring it up) and he assured me I was "fine".

Maybe that's why I felt so secure in reporting my real weight to all those other people.

I'm fine. My weight is fine. (Someone should write a book with that title!)

Obviously I was not totally traumatized by the experience. After all that, I still had a chili cheese dog for dinner this evening.

But one thing's for certain, no matter if I gain even more weight before I see the scale-free medical people again, I'm giving them the same number I gave them last time.

And if I manage to lose a few pounds, I am going to tell them I weigh ten less pounds than the actual number really is. I owe it to myself for being so honest with them all these years!

Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Flavor

2010-05-20T10:48:00.011-04:00

I was indulging in my daily "guilty pleasure" this morning, (which happens to be watching the Wendy Williams show). Tia and Tamara,the twins from the old sitcom "Sister Sister" were her guests.

During their interview, Wendy mentioned that Tia and Tamara are actually of mixed race, their mother being Bohemian. They said that's where they get their flavor.

I don't recall ever hearing the word "flavor" used in that sense, but I really do like the sound of it.

I also feel a bit slighted because I now realize I don't have "flavor". What a slap in the face that is to my already waning sense of self esteem.

I've always been pretty much a wall-flower. Sure, I clean up ok, but overall I'm just your average American female ... and now a middle-aged one at that!

My father's family came from Germany and my mother's family is from England (yawn). My maternal great-great grandmother was a Native American, but the two or three drops of Native American blood that possibly could have filtered down to me, isn't enough to give me any flavor.

I feel like plain vanilla ice cream on the Baskin-Robbins menu of life. Who in their right mind is going to give vanilla ice cream a second thought when there are options available such as mint chocolate chip, rocky road, and even cotton candy!

(Well, actually I usually order the plain vanilla but that just further proves my point.)

When God was passing out flavor, why didn't He give me some? Surely there's enough to go around.

There's nothing I can do about it now. For all I know, He might have offered me a dash of flavor before He sent me to earth, and I declined.

"No thanks, I'd rather just be boring."

He probably just caught me on an "off" day, or maybe I was distracted.

Whatever the case, I wish He'd ask me again because daggone it, now I wish I had some flavor!

Becky J. Taylor
May 20, 2010
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Time Out!

2010-05-18T10:00:00.011-04:00

I swear, I had every intention of blogging on May 13th, which was the beginning of the three month countdown to my fiftieth birthday.

But I got busy and forgot to do it. Maybe that had something to do with me getting older. Who knows? Or for that matter, who cares? The truth is, I'm finding myself blaming a lot more on my age these last few months.

I started "Pushing Fifty" (both the blog and the emotional ordeal) a couple years ago. In the beginning,the blog was intended to be an entirely light-hearted account of my journey to the big Five-Oh!

I'm not one of those women who has ever worried about getting older. "I am what I am" has always been my motto.

"Love me or leave me"

"Age is just a number."

All the usual cliches have applied.

That was then, this is now! The closer I get to August 13, 2010, the more impact the fact the "number" of my next "age" is going to be FIFTY, is having on me.

This use to be much easier to ignore. Call me the Queen of Denial. My body, mind, and spirit made a pact that as long as "we" agreed I was not going to let my birthday have any adverse affects on me, the date would only serve as an excuse to throw caution to the wind, run off to Mexico and have a huge, week long celebration! Friday, August Thirteenth, 2010 aka my fiftieth birthday would be a day worthy of great acknowledgment. No more, no less.

Then, my body decided to rebel. It started packing on pounds, entirely of it's own accord. No permission granted (no permission asked, for that matter)

My face suddenly started catching up on all the wrinkles it had refused to take on in the past. WHAM! One night the wrinkle fairy crept into my room and slapped me with the wrinkle stick ... twice, at least!

It has apparently become the goal of my physical self to LOOK fifty by the time my birthday rolls around.

Never in the history of ME have I ever looked my age!

I would have killed to look my age back when I was a teenager. I felt that way well into my twenties. I didn't like being mistaken for a youngster then.

By the time I hit my thirties and forties, I began to enjoy looking younger than my age. I accepted that it was a blessing, not a curse, to be mistaken for a younger woman than I truly was.

And now? Well now I am really missing that about me.

I look in the mirror, or at recent photographs of myself and wonder "Who is that older woman?"

I am calling a "time out" on this whole pushing fifty thing. I need a break, a chance to regroup and come up with a new strategy. Mexico, or some exotic getaway, is definitely still in the plan, but the rest of this stuff ... not so much!

I need to catch my breath! (and lose twenty pounds)

I need a face lift! (like ... yesterday!)

I need lots of other things, including some heavy meds and possibly a private investigator to search for loopholes in my birth certificate.

I don't want to be fifty, but even more than that I don't want to look or feel my age!

May 18, 2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Me, Myself, and Becky Taylor

2010-05-11T22:46:00.026-04:00

Today started out in a rather unusual way.

Admittedly, the way life's been behaving lately, it's gotten difficult to distinguish between usual and unusual.

But this morning was "unusual" in a happily amusing sort of way. I got a text from my daughter Angel in Ohio almost as soon as I woke up. She said my four year old grandson, Jayden had called to her from the living room, saying "Mamaw Becky" was on t.v. Angel checked the screen and saw there was a Sylvan Learning Center ad airing which featured a woman whose name was displayed in the lower corner of the screen.

The name was "Becky Taylor"

How odd! Jayden thought his Mamaw Becky was on t.v. and the woman he'd mistaken to be me just happened to have the same name.

Of course, Jayden is only four years old and can't read yet. That would seem to eliminate the possibility he'd simply recognized the lady's name.

I thought about it and recalled seeing the same ad several months ago. I wouldn't have remembered it except for the fact that I'd noticed Becky Taylor and I shared the same name.

End of story, right?

After giving it more thought, I considered the possibility that the other Becky Taylor and I might also share similar coloring, etc, therefore making it possible that Jayden had the two of us confused as one and the same.

The name thing? Well, that part was surely a very funny coincidence!

If you've followed me very long at all, you'll know I can't let these things rest that easily. I had to investigate.

A quick "google" search revealed a photo of the other Becky, lending evidence to my theory that our similar hair and skin color had confused my grandson.

My attempts to find the Sylvan commercial online were not quite as successful. That came as a real disappointment because I really needed to figure out if the name "Becky Taylor" had been spoken at any time during the ad.

My curiosity was beginning to get the best of me, so I did what came most naturally.

I looked up the other Becky Taylor on facebook (yes, I found her there) and sent her a message explaining the situation to her.

Becky Taylor seemed to get as much of a kick out of the story as I, and verified for me that her name is not mentioned verbally in the ad at all. The only reference to "Becky Taylor" is the one printed on the screen.

Now, let's take a "logical" look at the facts, shall we?

What are the chances of there being more than one Becky Taylor in the United States?

"Becky" is a very common name, and so is "Taylor" ... so do the math. There are hundreds, if not thousands of us. Nothing remarkable to report on that aspect of the story.

The likelihood of any two of those Becky Taylors bearing similar physical traits?

Well, America is the proverbial "melting pot" of the world, so again, nah! No big surprise there either.

The possibility of a four year old boy living in southern Ohio, seeing someone on a t.v. commercial and mistaking her for his "Mamaw Becky" who lives in Georgia?

Still no big shock factor there. (YAWN)

BUT, a four year old boy in southern Ohio spotting a woman on t.v. whom he believes to be his "Mamaw Becky" and it turns out the woman on t.v. and his Mamaw Becky actually share the same name?

That's a bit more difficult to explain away.

Becky Taylor (of Sylvan Learning Centers fame) thinks Jayden recognized the name, and in conjunction with the other similarities, came to the conclusion that he was seeing his "Mamaw Becky" on television.

My daughter was hesitant to accept that possibility, until I reminded her that Jayden had likely seen my name written on the Mothers Day card she'd recently mailed to me. After a short period of convincing argument on my end, Angel finally agreed (or at least decided to humor me) to consider that possibility.

Long story short ...

It is a small world after all.

Reality is truly stranger than fiction.

My four year old grandson is most likely a genius (just like my other four grandchildren happen to be)

...and I have a new friend. Her name is Becky Taylor, just like me!

5/11/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Woe is Me ... Slobberin' In My Mothers Day Tea ,,,

2010-05-08T09:18:00.012-04:00

My husband asked me yesterday what I would like for Mothers Day. I told him I only wanted my kids all together with me for the afternoon.

Then we laughed.

We laughed just like we laugh at some point around all the holidays when I say how much I'd like my kids (and grand kids, of course) together to celebrate with me.

We laugh at ourselves for thinking for one milli-second that it could actually ever happen.

It isn't like I have a dozen children. I only have three, two of which are grown with families of their own. One is still at home, and although I suppose he'll be here with me tomorrow in the technical sense of the word, his mind couldn't be farther from "Mothers Day".

He's fifteen, so I can't fault him all that much. He's thinking right now about computers, girls, and getting his license this summer. (In that order)

The boy did clean his room thoroughly yesterday. I could fantasize that he was doing that as a gift to me, but of course I know better. He wants to have a friend over this afternoon and was trying to increase the odds of me saying "yes".

I feel like some sort of oddity. I can't remember ever having all my kids together with me for Mothers Day, much less it being any kind of day to be celebrated.

My youngest daughter,Emily has spent Mothers Day weekend with me a few times. Those have been my favorites. A couple years back, we went to the Renaissance Fair together. That was a blast! The year after that she and her family spent the weekend with us and we had a "regular" Mothers Day weekend which included a picnic at the lake. It too, was loads of fun!

My second-born can't be here all the time but she has a way of making every day we are together "Mothers Day" for me. That definitely puts a permanent smile across my heart.

It isn't her fault she can't be here tomorrow. I totally understand.

I also have to take partial responsibility for making it difficult for my children to be together. I was the one who moved to Georgia, over five hundred miles away from "home". It isn't like they can "pop in" after church to take me to dinner.

No. It would take some effort. Far be it from me to expect that.

(Although I could mention that it never seemed to be any more likely to happen before I moved away)

As far as my own mother is concerned, I know I wasn't the "perfect" daughter when it came to Mothers Day either. I'm sure there's more I could have done to make her feel special that day in May. I was, however, at her house nearly every Sunday of my adult life before I moved.

I know I sound like I'm whining. I really don't mean to be. Part of my problem is that I am unusually bored with life in general right now. When I get bored I daydream about nonsensical stuff ... like taking off on a world cruise ... moving to a deserted island somewhere ... hitting the lottery (so I can afford the first two daydreams) ... or having all my kids together with me to celebrate Mothers Day.

I'll put my soapbox away now ... at least until August when my fiftieth birthday will be rolling around. For that, I've had a long-standing fantasy about all my children and their kids spending two weeks with me in Mexico, where I would watch my grand-children play on the beach, then spend the evening of my birthday ushering in the second century of my life in great style.

I've told them all in no uncertain terms what I've envisioned my big 5-0 birthday party to look like, Mexican beach and grand-babies included. Lets just say we know already that isn't going to be happening. I'm not being negative, but rather realistic, when I say that. It's a fact, there are extenuating circumstances in place that will definitely prevent it from coming to pass.

Oh well! Such is life. I will survive!

If you still have your Mother with you, it isn't too late to make her day tomorrow truly special. The greatest thing you can give her is not "presents" but your presence and your love. C'mon. It's ONE day out of the year. It isn't going to kill you! And, after she's gone, you won't kick yourself nearly as hard for never having taken the time and effort to appreciate her while she was alive.

Happy Mothers Day!

Now, I think I'm going to go rent myself some substitute grand children and head to the lake!

5/8/2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.beckyjtaylor.com
http://www.boldnewday.com

Mid-life Cry-sis

2010-04-27T13:25:00.011-04:00

I've been really, really, really good about watching what I've been eating for a week now. That might not seem like such a big deal to you, but to me is is huge! HUGE like the size of my midsection these days. They don't call it the "middle age spread" for nothing, folks!

As I was saying, I decided a couple weeks ago that I would start eating better and trying to lose weight as soon as we got back from the family reunion and our trip to Savannah. I even cut my Diet Pepsi down to almost nothing because I heard the aspartame was bad for me.

Sure enough, I lost two pounds almost immediately.

Unfortunately, they were the same two pounds I'd picked up during our four days away, so I doubt it was "real" weight to begin with. Most likely it was only water.

Since then, I've stayed steady at about fifteen pounds over what I would weigh in a more perfect world. Ten pounds over the weight I'd almost kill for right now.

Meanwhile, I am hungry for the food I use to be able to eat without worrying about increasing my girth. I've never had horrible eating habits and I've never had to worry much about my weight.

Call me naive but I somehow thought the mid-life rules would not apply to me. I've always believed I'd welcome these years with outstretched arms. It's suppose to be liberating, right?

Excuse me while I double over in laughter at my own innocence.

It turns out that mid-life is a cruel prankster.

Too bad for me, I hate pranks ... and I'm hating mid-life so far.

Not only do I hate the extra weight that has firmly attached itself to my belly, I also hate the wrinkles on my face and neck. I hate the flab that waves in the breezes from the underside of my upper arms. I hate the sleepless nights.

I hate looking my age for the first time in my life!

If this is what being fifty is all about, I've changed my mind! I demand a re-count, or better yet a do-over! Back me up about three years and leave me there, happy and oblivious at 47. Is that too much to ask? It isn't like I am demanding to be twenty one all over again, I just want to be like I use to be a few short years ago.

So, stop the ride, I want to get off.

I don't want to be FIFTY!

I don't want to be old, tired, fat, moody and sweaty. Those things are just soooo NOT me. Give me my life back please.

Oh ... and you might want to give it back NOW, so nobody gets hurt!

Becky J. Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
Personal Development Coaching for Women

http://www.beckyjtaylor.com

Our Next Business Venture (A NEW Haunting in Savannah!)

2010-04-21T13:34:00.006-04:00

While enjoying a short vacation in Savannah over the weekend, our daughter in law, Ryan and I had a stroke of genius regarding a possible new business we could not only start, but actually enjoy doing together.

It started with a walking "ghost tour" we (Walt, Ryan and Wesley and I) took together. I asked our tour guide how many evenings a week he works and he answered "three". Then he volunteered that during those three nights a week, he makes enough to pay his mortgage!

He also works as a Jr. High History teacher during the day. I wondered, but of course didn't ask, if maybe he makes almost as much with job as a tour guide as he does as a teacher.

That tidbit of information was enough to get the wheels a'turnin'.

Walt is a natural born story teller, and having been on several tours of Savannah (ghost and otherwise) in the past we decided he would make a great tour guide. Given the various renditions of the stories we've heard over the years, we came to the conclusion that a lot of the stuff is made improvised. Mr. Taylor would be great at that!

Meanwhile, Ryan and I would disguise ourselves as specters by wearing floaty white dresses and hanging out around one of the many town squares at night. We figure we could enlist people to take Walt's undoubtedly unique walking tour at ten or fifteen bucks a piece. That, with additional tips added would surely bring in enough money for us to buy an old "fixer upper" which we could restore and use as a house museum to bring even more additional funds.

Of course, with all these plans we will need other family members to participate so we are inviting them all to join us there. Grand-kids, Esther, Philip, Shaina, Kayla and Jayden would be great at portraying any of the number of "mischievous" child specters reported to be roaming Savannah's historic hotels. For a few months, the new grand-child due to arrive in August could also participate as the baby claimed to be sought after by his mother, "Alice" ... an 1800's servant who was hanged in the square shortly after giving birth. Her ghost is reported to have been seen walking around town searching for the little guy for the last 200 years. We figured my daughter, Angel could also don a white floaty gown and carry the baby around at night telling everyone she is the famous "Alice" and she's finally found him!

With all of us involved, the possibilities would be endless!

At the very least, I believe this idea merits further investigation, oh say .. at least a weekend a month spent in Savannah for the next year, to scope out the town and collect more information. (All tax deductible business trips, of course.)

Yes, I do believe we're on to something here! We are going to be RICH! Filthy RICH, I tell you!

Stay tuned for future updates! ;^)

Oh Boy!

2010-04-14T09:27:00.007-04:00

My twenty-two week pregnant daughter, Angel had an ultrasound yesterday. Everything looked great! The baby weighs a little over a pound and was moving so much that the technician had trouble getting some of the measurements.

She did manage to some very important information though...

It's a BOY!

Grand-baby number six, he will even the score so to speak. As of mid to late August, we will have three grand-daughters and three grand-sons.

As was the case with my own pregnancies,seeing the photo's taken of the ultrasound make this grand-child seem more "real" to me. I think this is especially so because I've not seen Angel since Christmas. She was pregnant then, but hadn't told us.

That, combined with everything else that's been going on, has caused me not to think as often about this one.

My apologies to the little guy. He is every bit as precious and as much loved as the first five grand-children. A bit more of a surprise, maybe ... but a pleasant surprise none-the-less.

Suddenly, I am tempted to go to the OshKosh outlet and buy cute little bibbed overalls and tiny sneakers. After hearing of each of the other grand-children's impending arrivals, I ran straight out and bought a baby gift, so I am a few months behind. No problem! It won't take me long to catch up.

This baby doesn't have a name yet. Angel has waited until after her babies were born to name any of them. I'm calling him "Judah" which means "praise" for now. Who knows? Maybe it will stick.

A lot of uncertainty surrounds my new grandson. I'm concerned for him in many ways. I suppose that is the case, to some extent, with all new babies. I'm convinced the more complicated the circumstances surrounding a birth, the more unique and special the child will be.

This baby is special indeed.

So, welcome to our family baby Judah. As unsettled as your world may seem, one thing will never change...Mamaw loves you very much!

Headaches are of the Devil!

2010-04-09T11:53:00.008-04:00

It's a beautiful morning in North Georgia; the kind of day that makes a girl want to get outside and kick up her heels in celebration of the sunshine! SPRING has sprung in our neck of the woods for sure!

Too bad I have a horrible allergy headache that's making me want to go back to bed and pull the covers over my head.

I'm no expert on these things, but I'm pretty sure headaches are of the Devil himself. How else would something that is otherwise non-life threatening cause so much pain and inconvenience? Besides the conflicting desire to get outside and enjoy the nice weather, I also have a ton of work to get done inside. There are phone calls to be returned, paperwork to finish, two articles and a book that need to be written ... and of course I can't forget "Mount Laundry" which I have to conquer before the weekend is through. Nothing on my list can be done in a satisfactory manner as long as my head is pounding away.

Oh, and I can't forget the matter of my foggy brain and puffy, itching, watering eyes. I look like I took the business end of someones fist in my face. Even if I was able to get out of the house, I'd want to wear a veil.

All is not lost! I've managed to get the least taxing of my duties taken care of this morning ... two phone calls and some housework.

I know, I know, I'm not impressed either. I just thought it was worth a shot ...

It's only noon. I've got the whole weekend ahead of me. Good drugs and nice nap may work wonders.

Headaches are of the Devil, but my nice soft bed is absolutely heavenly at times like this. The way I see it (through the aforementioned itchy, watery eyes) I don't have a choice but to get some rest and try again later. Take that, Devil! Good wins over evil every time!

April 9, 2010
Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

My First Age Spot

2010-03-25T12:09:00.010-04:00

The darkened, slightly rough patch of skin cropped up on my right wrist a few months ago. At first glance, I figured it was a previously unnoticed scrape that was in the beginning stages of healing. On further inspection I noticed it was not that at all.

It's apparently an age spot. My first one!

How appropriate that it would arrive a few months before my fiftieth birthday. I am actually a bit ahead of the game in hitting my middle-age milestones as I don't think I'm really quite old enough to develop age spots yet.

Not that anyone would notice. The spot isn't quite as big as a pencil eraser, yet now that I've seen it, it draws my attention like a magnet every time my right arm moves anywhere within my line of vision.

It really isn't that bad. What concerns me is the question, "If I get an age spot at forty nine and a half years of age, what's next?"

I really wish that, in addition to the baby book my mother kept for me, she would have kept a book tracking her own milestones. A diary would have been nice, at the least, especially since my mother also had a teenager (me!) when she was going on fifty.

"Journal Entry, Sept. 3, 1976. Becky Jean started tenth grade today, and I got my first age spot."

How handy that would be! I could read ahead and know what to expect in the months to come.

It's too late for that now and I never would have dreamed I would desire such a resource anyway. As a teenager, I had no intention of ever getting old much less developing wrinkles and age spots!

Maybe this is the way it's suppose to be. Perhaps if I'd known about the age spot ahead of time, I would have stressed over it and expedited the arrival of the already impending "worry lines" on my forehead.

Time goes by, and if we are fortunate enough to survive the process, little inconveniences like age spots and wrinkles are inevitable. They aren't exactly sexy but I feel I've earned every one of them and I will consider them medals of honor to be worn proudly.

As I like to say, "It is what it is!" ... and this thing on my wrist definitely is my first doggone age spot!

March 25, 2010
Becky Taylor
Personal Development Coach for Women
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

I Haven't Slept In Thirty-Two Years

2010-03-23T12:57:00.010-04:00

March 23, 2010

I’ve been feeling exhausted for a while now and I think I understand why. Given the fact I gave birth to my oldest daughter when I was seventeen years old and have been raising kids ever since, perhaps I shouldn’t be so taken by surprise.

My firstborn will turn thirty-two years old next month, and I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept all night uninterrupted since I brought her home from the hospital.

Call me weird, but I actually like to sleep. Hence, I take issue with being plum tuckered out most of the time. One of the top items on my bucket list is to at some point of my life be able to go to sleep when I want and not wake up until I’m good and ready! As an almost fifty year old grandmother of five (soon to be six), is that really too much to ask?

Of course, it’s mostly my own fault. I likely sabotaged my aspiration of ever sleeping again by having my third child at the age of thirty-four. Not just any child mind you but I brought “the boy”, aka Adam David, into the world. By the time he was born, his next youngest sibling (who incidentally never closed her eyes from birth to about three years of age) was thirteen years old.

What in the world was I thinking? I was within a few years of being able to sleep at night for the first time since I was seventeen, and then I decided another baby would be a grand idea! By that time I felt like my life was fairly settled. I had a good job and was actually old enough (in retrospect, borderline too old) to have a child. Never the less, I believed it would be fun to experience raising a child as a mature adult, as opposed to having my other two babies when I was barely more than a baby myself.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

Adam never slept. I remember carrying my wide eyed bundle of joy into the pediatrician’s office when he was about six months old and pleading for help. Adam was a breast fed baby who at that age insisted on nursing about every forty- five minutes all night long. I’d also gone back to work by then, and had to get up at 4:30 a.m. in order to be at my job by 6:30. The doctor listened sympathetically, and reassured me that the sleepless stage would pass.

When I refused to leave his office until he gave me a more encouraging, realistic answer, he finally suggested I slip the boy a little Benadryl just before bedtime for a few nights in a row in order to get him into the” habit” of sleeping.

With a new found sense of hope, I drove right to the store and picked up a bottle of what I believed would be the answer to my prayers.

It did help … a little, but my dream of being able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time was still not to be realized.

As far as I can tell, Adam still never sleeps (at least not at night) “The boy” is actually now a delightful fifteen year old young man (mind you, I’m probably using “delightful” to describe him, out of sleep deprivation- induced delirium.) He is a night owl, preferring to stay up most of the night and sleep during the daylight hours instead. Of course, this causes a certain problem where little things like, oh say SCHOOL is concerned.

And Benadryl no longer works.

I’d take the Benadryl myself if I weren’t hesitant to fall into a sound sleep for fear Adam would take advantage of my unconscious state and do something I’d regret. As it is, he keeps me on my toes when I am awake. I shudder to imagine what might happen if he thought I might actually sleep through one of his random impulsive acts of mischief.

Should I abandon all hope? Perhaps I would make it easier for myself if I just gave up the nonsensical notion of ever sleeping well in this lifetime.

Maybe.

At this stage of the game, I can only pray that when I get to Heaven, Saint Peter greets me with a pillow and a blanket and directs me straight to a big comfortable bed in a quiet corner, with instructions to simply sleep for a few thousand years. I believe that would be an apt reward for my years spent forfeiting sleep for the sake of raising my children (especially the boy) here on earth.

Becky Taylor

Bold New Day! Personal Development Coaching for Women

http://www.boldnewday.com

Suddenly EVERYONE is a Life Coach!

2010-03-19T10:49:00.010-04:00

Maybe it's because I am an actual hardworking Certified Life Coach that I notice, but it seems to me everyone and his/her brother is calling their self a "Life Coach" these days. The moniker is smeared on posters, books, and in the credits that roll after t.v. talk shows.

It's tagged onto people's lists of titles like it's an after thought.

It makes me crazy!

I saw an ad for a new t.v. show featuring a "Life Coach" the other day. I couldn't tell for sure, but it appeared to be announcing some new sitcom. At best, it looked like the whole theme of the show is to poke fun at coaching. The ad showed a woman who apparently does nothing but smile, repeat cliche's and tell people what she thinks they should do ... all very sweetly, of course.

I'm sure it will make every person on the planet want to run right out and hire a bubble headed coach who's so totally detached from reality they think everything can be fixed with a pat answer and a motherly word of advice.

So your husband just left you for a younger woman? "Oh honey! Don't worry! There's plenty of fish in the sea. Here's a cookie and a glass of milk. That should make everything better! Now get out there and have a nice day!."

Next client!

Even worse, I noticed one popular t.v. personality, known best for their arrogant attitude and barking orders (and insults) at the people they work with has added "Life Coach" to their public resume!

What bothers me is that people are having a difficult enough time figuring out what a Life Coach is, without the"help" of all this mis-leading information.

It's giving real Life Coaches a bad name!

The truth is, just about anyone can call their self a Life Coach and get by with it but a real Life Coach isn't going to spit meaningless cliche's at you or tell you everything is going to be o.k. when they know darn well it isn't. They won't scream at you or scold you for any reason. They won't put you or your situation in a box with a million others. They'll be interested in helping you find a way to make your life what you want it to be.

"Life" is about growing personally. It's about discovering who you truly are and what you were put on this earth to do. Life is to be lived, not just tolerated, sugar coated, or ignored.

If you want to be screamed at, lied to, mis-informed or told what I think you should do ... Don't hire me as your coach, you'll be sorely disappointed!

Am I an optimistic person who will try to help you find the silver lining around your cloud?

Certainly!

But I also know that behind some clouds is a thunderstorm and all the happy thoughts in the world will not keep you from getting soaked! Sometimes the best you can hope for is to get through a situation intact. Sure, there's likely a lesson to be learned in every process, but it's not always a pleasant experience. I'll help you learn coping mechanisms, but I won't say things to make you feel guilty for being human and having a bad day once in a while.

I'd like to think any Life Coach worth their pay would do the same for their clients.

Life Coaching is a serious business. I really wish people would stop throwing the term around like it doesn't take any talent, skills or training to become a "Life Coach".

There! I said it! I feel better now and I shall put my soapbox away for the day.

Thank you for listening. My name is Becky Taylor and I am a Life Coach!

March 19, 2010
Bold New Day! Personal Development Coaching for Women
http://www.boldnewday.com

Sauerkraut,Sausage and Dumplings! Oh My!

2010-03-11T13:00:00.027-05:00

Sauerkraut, with sausage and dumplings was a staple at every evening meal at our house while I was growing up. Not just any sauerkraut, but kraut made according to my Dad's family recipe brought over from Germany in the 1800's.

My sister and I have often joked that in order to survive in our family, the babies had to be born with lead stomachs. We had to watch Dad pretty closely whenever we brought home a new arrival, because the first chance he got, he would slip them a taste of "kraut juice".

I kid you not! We'd turn around and he'd have a teaspoon up to their mouths and they'd be smacking their lips in delight! We could only assume our children liked the taste because we'd both eaten plenty of kraut throughout our pregnancies.

Of the seven grandchildren in the family, there's only one I know of who doesn't love sauerkraut, and that's my youngest son. What can I say? I suppose sooner or later a finicky one would have to come along.

I never understood why most of my friends turned their noses up at sauerkraut until I figured out that not everyone was privileged to have the same kind we had. Our kraut was totally different than the store bought stuff. Ours started out as cabbage in our own garden. When the time (which was determined by the phase of the moon) came, we'd pick the huge heads of cabbage and gather the kraut cutter, mason jars, canning salt and the garden hose together on the back porch.

Dad would methodically slide each head of cabbage back and forth over the blades of the kraut cutter, producing mounds of shavings, which my sister, mother and I would scoop up and put into mason jars one after another.

Picture an 10' x 20' concrete porch covered with mason jars full of shredded cabbage! We had to have enough kraut to get us through the whole year, and for our family, that was a LOT!

After the cabbage was in the jars, we'd put a handful of canning salt on top. Then came the garden hose, (which was my favorite part of the process). The jars would be topped off with water right out of the hose, and lids would be applied loosely. Dad explained that if the lids were tightened right away, the jars would explode from the gases that developed as the cabbage turned to kraut.

We'd carry the finished jars into the basement where they'd sit for several weeks (also determined by the phase of the moon) Only then could we tighten the lids.

Once the allotted time had passed, the kraut would be declared "ready"by the kraut-master himself, and the feasting would begin!

I remember so well, Dad leaning over the stove with smoked sausage sizzling in an iron skillet and sauerkraut simmering in a separate pan. After frying, he would mix the sausage into the kraut.

Next came dumplings, made simply from eggs and flour. He'd form a stiff mixture from the two ingredients and pinch off pieces the size of a quarter, dropping them one by one into the bubbling pot of kraut and sausage.

After the dumplings were added, he'd take the skillet with the meat drippings still in it and add flour to make "gravy". The gravy was apparently a very important step, as Dad explained to me more than once, that in order to be done correctly, it had to be poured over the top and allowed to seep slowly down through the rest of the mixture.

Ahhh! The aroma flooded the house and made our mouths water! There's nothing much better than a meal of sauerkraut, sausage and dumplings with a side of mashed potatoes (also home grown and made) and a tall glass of sweet tea!

When I visited my family in Ohio over New Years, I managed to swipe a couple quart jars of kraut from my sister. Today, I finally decided to prepare the dish I grew up on. This is a real treat! Since neither my husband or son care for sauerkraut sausage and dumplings, I get the whole pan to myself!

I'm not sure I did everything exactly right. I couldn't resist the urge to stir the gravy into the rest of the mix before it had time to "seep" in ... and my dumplings came out a bit more spongy than I would have liked. Over all, I think I did ok though. I know Dad would be proud to know I at least made the effort.

Tonight, I will feast on the wondrous delight as I reminisce the days of making kraut on the back porch with my parents and sister on those hot summer evenings forty years ago.

Oooooo! It's going to be wunderbar!

Becky Taylor
Bold New Day! LLC
http://www.boldnewday.com

I Love My Son

2010-02-26T07:35:00.013-05:00

I love my son.

I love my son.

Really. I do love my son.

Some days, it's the sole reason I let him live.

Adam David, or "the boy" as we fondly refer to him, was born fifteen and half years ago. He was very much wanted and a welcomed ray of sunshine during what was then a rather dark time of my life.

My! How things change!

Don't get me wrong. As I clearly stated, I love my son tremendously. It's just that he seems to like nothing more than to find my last nerve and jump on it. If it's not one thing, it's another. Every day's a new day and another "adventure".

Maybe I'm just not as "adventurous" as I use to be. Maybe I'm just getting weary in my old age and not as tolerant as I once was.

Or maybe I'm right when I say the boy goes out of his way to try to push me over the edge.

Adam has a new girlfriend. That right there is enough cause for alarm, in my opinion. I've never met the girl, but he says she's really nice. She use to go to his school. She's blond ... and oh! Her name is "Becky". (That's somehow meant to make me feel better)

She's also older than him and has a car.

(Breathe Mama! Breathe!)

Last night the boy announced his weekend plans to me. Yes, I said he "announced" (not "asked") He said Becky would be driving him home from school today, where they would hang out and watch a movie together. Then, tomorrow they were planning to go to a concert in a town a good thirty miles from here, after which he would spend the night with his friend, Zach. (Not the "Zach" who lives near us, this is another "Zach" whom I've never actually met.)

Uh-huh.

I ran to the mirror to see if someone had scrawled "STUPID" across my forehead without my knowledge, because clearly my son was under the impression I'd approve of his weekend plans without an inkling of apprehension.

"ButMom, youdontunderstand, thismeansalottome. Justtrustme. PLEASE?!"

I trust Adam (sort of) ... at least as much as a mother could trust a fifteen and a half year old boy who is now "dating" a girl I've never met who happens to drive. I do, however, have some problem trusting this older girl I've never met, who will "date" a fifteen and a half year old boy. I also have trouble trusting these friends I've never met who live in this far away town.

I can't help but think that sweet smelling bundle of joy that was handed to me on July 17,1994 should have come with a warning label.

I tossed and turned last night, in anticipation of the argument that would surely ensue this morning when I reminded the boy that, while I would allow his new girlfriend to come to the house and watch a movie with him after school, I would not allow him to carry out any of his other plans this weekend.

No concert. No staying all night at the home of a friend I've never met.

But my worries were all in vain. As soon as Adam came bounding down the stairs this morning he announced that he'd made new plans. Plans he was sure I'd like better.

Becky is still picking him up after school today. They are still going to stop and rent a movie.

And then, they are going to her house to watch it.

But it's ok! Her parents (whom I've also never met) are going to be home.

"C'monMom,Justtrustme, Pleeeeeease?!"

It was back to the mirror again for me. Sure enough, my forehead remains clean and free of any labels that would indicate a lack of motherly wisdom.

To Adam's dismay we are back to the original plans. This girl I've never met, named Becky, will bring Adam home from school and they will watch a movie here within the confines of our own four walls ... quite possibly with me sitting between them on the sofa.

It's the least I can do.

Because I love my son.

Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Weighting Around ..

2010-02-25T17:20:00.008-05:00

I've never had a real weight problem. Through no fault of my own, I inherited my Dad's metabolism which, for the first 40 some years of my life, made it relatively easy to stay thin.

What a cruel trick of Mother Nature to suddenly turn the tables on me (no pun intended)! Dad is ninety years old and still eats anything he wants, most of which is covered in enough sugar to throw a normal person into an instant diabetic crisis. Never-the-less, he's still rail thin and no doubt always will be.

I remember when I use to be rail thin. Throughout my childhood, teen years and twenties I couldn't gain weight if I tried (and I actually did try) Then, when I was in my thirties I gained up to what would have been considered a more "healthy" weight. During my early forties I reached the middle to upper limits of what the medical charts called normal for a woman my age and height.

With the exception of a brief period of time during my Mother's illness when I gained up to my heaviest ever weight, the scales have been generally kind to me. Even then I found it nothing to be alarmed about! I simply cut back on the sugar in my diet and dropped the extra pounds in no time at all.

Now that I am pushing fifty (and within about four pounds of my previously recorded heaviest non-pregnant weight ever ... eeeeek!) I'm finding that nothing ... nothing I try results in the loss of any of these extra pounds.

To the contrary! It almost seems that the more I try to lose it, the more I gain!

What the heck is up with that?

I've never been more health conscious in my life. I've never put more effort into watching what I eat, taking supplements, and exercising.

Not only does it look like I won't be reaching my goal of being in the best shape ever by the time I hit fifty ... the opposite appears to be a real threat. Instead of buying a new bikini to wear to the beach on my birthday, I'll be shopping for a MuMu.

(I really wish I was kidding about that!)

I just don't know if it's worth it anymore. Seriously! If I'm going to gain weight regardless of what I do, why not enjoy it? Why not indulge myself in all those desserts I normally say "no, thanks!" to?

The way I see it, if saying "No" has only been a catalyst to gaining, then maybe ... just maybe saying "YES!" will cause me to LOSE weight.

OK, so maybe it's a bit of a stretch to find the logic in that manner of thinking but at this point I'm ready to test my theory.

What's the worst that can happen ... I'll gain weight? Oh! Wait! I'm already doing that!

I'm going to stop restricting myself and start enjoying food again. If by some odd twist of events, my theory is correct I will actually lose weight by eating more. If the theory proves to be wrong, that's fine too. Either way I intend to celebrate my findings with a nice big piece of hot fudge cake.

Becky J.Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Random Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon

2010-02-20T15:37:00.004-05:00

It's nearly 4:00 on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. This is the kind of day that puts a kick in a person's step. After a long, atypical stretch of ugly gray days, it's so nice to see the clouds part and the sun come shining through.

From what I understand, we need to enjoy it while it lasts because after tomorrow the rain is moving back in.

Walt has been busy getting ready to go to Ghana, West Africa. He leaves tomorrow. Even in the midst of all his excitement about the trip, he decided to take a couple hours off and head out on the Harley for a quick ride through the mountains.

I stayed home because a) I'm tired, and b) Adam is expecting a visitor of the female persuasion and well, that pretty much explains that doesn't it?

I suppose I could write about more interesting things at this point (and that was my original intention when I first sat down at the computer) but I am suddenly feeling drowsy and not really enthused about anything in particular. (So much for the sunny day putting a kick in my step)

There is much on my mind, so many things I've been intending to write about but it looks like they will have to wait til yet another day ... or week as the case may be.

A quick summary of potential topics include (but are not limited to)

the unexpected announcement that our sixth grandchild is due to arrive in August (Happy 50th birthday to meeeee!)
the weekend I spent with my daughter Emily, and how a huge snowstorm almost destroyed our somewhat "devious" plans (we are not the type to let a little bit of ice get in the way of a good time!)
Valentines Day 2010, or rather how it almost didn't happen (that might be more of a book than a blog entry)
"Grandmas Gone Wild" *snicker*

That's about it. I'll write more later, maybe after a nap ... or maybe not. We'll see.

Until later ...

Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Unwell

2010-02-10T22:30:00.023-05:00

I got one of "those" calls from the school today. Adam was once again in the nurses office feeling sick. It was his first day back this week, as he's been down with whatever upper respiratory crud it is that's been making it's rounds lately. I took him to Urgent Care Monday evening, where the doctor took one look in his throat and proclaimed "If his throat were a building, I'd have to condemn it."

(Gotta love medical humor.)

After swabbing his throat and nasal passages for samples which came back negative for both flu and strep, we were handed a prescription for a "Z-Pack" and told to come back if he wasn't better within a couple days.

Which he was, of course. That's why he went to school today.

Well, for half a day anyway.

I picked him up around eleven o'clock this morning and drove him straight to the walk in clinic. This time he was complaining of his knees buckling when he tried to walk, and his mouth drawing to one side.

Scary stuff!

His knees have buckled on a few occasions, but we've thought it was probably because he wasn't getting enough exercise. His mouth drawing involuntarily to one side was pretty alarming, and something I couldn't think of a single "easy" explanation for. So today I decided enough was enough and prepared myself to sit at the clinic for a while.

The clinic doctor took one look at him and announced that he needed to be sent straight to the emergency room. They said they'd call and tell them he was on his way.

At the hospital, the doctor quickly diagnosed him as having a bad reaction to one of the medications he takes regularly for OCD issues. They gave him a shot of something, which magically alleviated his symptoms ... told me to speak to his regular doctor about bringing him down off that particular medicine gradually, monitored him carefully for about an hour ... and sent us home.

Perhaps that doesn't sound like much of an ordeal to the casual bystander, but frankly I am exhausted of all this stuff! I stop short of saying it was the proverbial "straw that broke the camel's back" but it was at least "one more thing" I really didn't need to have to deal with right now.

The thoughts that crossed my mind as I sat there looking at my handsome, lanky, fifteen year old son perched on the exam table, included (but were not limited to)

a) Why God, have You not healed this child of these afflictions?

b) How in Heaven's name am I going to pay for yet another hospital bill?

c) Who is going to pick him up from school when this sort of thing happens once I go back to work outside the house? (which I am about to have to do)

and d) Oh how I wish my mother were still alive!

... nobody else could possibly care about all I am going through with Adam like she would have. The whole time I sat there at the hospital, it felt very much like "me and the boy" against the world, just like it's been for most of his life.

Once Adam was discharged, we were escorted to the financial consultation offices where an elderly man explained that our insurance deductible was $150.00 and of course was expected to be paid in full before we left.

After which I immediately explained back that I had no money to pay today. Actually, that's the biggest reason I didn't go straight to E.R. to begin with. The co-pay for Urgent Care is $20.00, vs. the $150.00 for E.R. BIG difference, so I really hoped Urgent Care could help him instead.

With a sympathetic smile, the elderly gentleman suggested that I pay "half" the deductible today and the rest next week.

I smiled back and explained, "No", I couldn't.

"We take credit cards", he told me.

"I don't have a credit card", I replied.

Then, I added that I'd try to pay the $150.00 within the month.

The sweet old man nodded and said, "That's ok, you can go now"

What else was he going to do, hold Adam for ransom until I was able to cough up the co-pay?

So we left, the boy and I, and headed home. It was nearly 4:00 p.m. and neither of us had eaten. I splurged and stopped at McDonalds to grab a bite. I tried not to think of the 10 bucks I'd "squandered" on fast food. God forbid I spend a dime when we had leftovers in the fridge at home.

Once home, I got on the internet and applied for a few more jobs. I need to come up with some way to finish paying off Adam's existing hospital bills plus this new one ... and I need to do it quickly. I have one offer waiting in the wings but I'm not fond of the location. It's too far from home, and requires working weekends. I'll take it if I have to, but I'd rather not.

I'm really kicking myself for leaving the conventional workplace altogether, right now. Maybe I should have kept that door open just in case I needed it again. Like today, for instance.

Although it may sound like I'm complaining, I'm really not. As I said before I am tired. OK, I'm also rather disappointed to be facing this new set of challenges that lie ahead. I was so very much hoping the year 2010 would be brighter than it's predecessor. So far, that doesn't appear to be the case.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick. I have no clue how much it would cost to fix that ailment.

Sigh

Here's "Unwell" by Matchbox 20

(and the lyrics, in case you want to sing along) :)

All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I'm feeling like I'm headed for a
Breakdown
I don't know why
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know, right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they've all been talking 'bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I've lost my mind
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they'll come to get me
Yeah, they're taking me away
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired
I know, right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I'm just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be

Becky J. Taylor
Feb. 10, 2010

Out On A Limb

2010-02-08T09:52:00.012-05:00

The idea of turning fifty has actually grown on me (or so I thought).

Over the last several months, I've been making serious attempts to better myself physically, working at a fevered pace on my business to ensure my financial success, and planning what will surely come to be remembered as the best "Big 5-OH!" party event in all history.

All the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things that have happened over the last year or so have only fueled my bull-dog determination to make my latter days better than my former. Not only have I gone out on the proverbial limb concerning my future, I've decided to swing from it holding on only by my pinky fingers.

OK, so in retrospect maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Considering my age, perhaps I should conserve some energy. As it turns out, "pushing fifty" is requiring more strength than I first expected.

"Fifty" in fact, seems to have plans of it's own and from what I can tell so far, I do not approve!

On this crisp February Monday morning I find myself having to re-think it all, re-strategize and prioritize. I'm scratching my plans and starting all over again.

Rolling with yet another punch from this experience called life.

And asking myself if a middle aged woman really ought to be rolling like that. Seriously! I could break a hip!

I am tired to the bone, that I can't deny. I feel totally overwhelmed right now and really at a loss as far as knowing what to do about it.

Is this what turning fifty is actually all about? I remember my mother and her friends complaining about hot flashes and mood swings. I only wish those were the worst of my concerns.

Enough already! I am strong! I am invincible! Just as "forty-nine" has failed in it's many attempts to take me down, "fifty" be forewarned! Do not start with me, you will not win! If this limb I am clinging to snaps and I fall, I swear I will pick it up and use it to beat the hound out of you!

Uh-huh, that's right. Don't you forget it!

Becky J. Taylor
Feb. 8, 2010
http://www.boldnewday.com

HeavyWeight

2010-01-13T11:24:00.005-05:00

So far my quest to be in my best shape ever by my 50th birthday leaves something to be desired. Not only have I not been to the gym since before Christmas, I've also managed to gain a few more pounds from enjoying too much holiday fun and fellowship.

I'm blaming it on the hormones. You, know ... those mid-life hormones everyone makes such a fuss about? I use to think they didn't really exist. How bad could it be, really? Well, now I know! The arrival of the holidays combined with a drastically intensified craving for sweets made this a particularly dangerous season for me. For a solid month, I gobbled down candy and cookies like there was no tomorrow, promising myself that each indulgence would be my last.

Famous last words, huh?

Once the New Year began I resumed some control. I cut out all candy and cookies (but not sugar altogether) As a result, I've lost two of the four pounds I picked up during all the festivities. That leaves me with the original ten pounds I put on over the summer, plus another four or five I'd like to get rid of while I'm at it.

The process has been delayed a little thanks to unforeseen circumstances. One of our friends passed away on January 2, then we had company here from Africa to attend the funeral. After that, Walt and I both got sick with some kind of virus. Obviously not the kind of virus that causes any weight loss, but the kind that makes a person want to lay around and eat comfort food.

Ugh!

It's time to get crackin' again! I am going to go back to the gym today (really, I am!) I don't feel like doing a bunch of jumping around, so Zumba class is out, but I will at least get on the treadmill for thirty minutes and see if I can't jump start my metabolism. After that, I'll resume my "at home" workout with crunches and all that other fun stuff that makes me want to scream.

I had another interesting routine doctor's visit last week as well. We went through the same old song and dance about my low iron levels so I'm back on iron supplements again. After the visit, I came home and researched the causes of low iron (for the four hundredth time in my life) and discovered it's common for people with hypothyroidism to have low ferritin levels, which lead to anemia.

Why didn't my doctor know that?

I was also intrigued by some information I found concerning low body temperature. (Remember, I was complaining before about always being cold?) There's something called "Wilson's Temperature Syndrome" which is oddly enough associated with hypothyroidism. Although the Synthroid I've been taking seems to fix the low thyroid problem, I learned it can actually cause misleading blood test results. I ordered some supplements from a holistic health website. It's my hope that they will work at least a minor miracle and I'll feel better overall.

Oh! And drop some more weight, of course.

Seven months from today, I will turn 50. Wow! What a sobering thought. I've only got seven months left in which to complete my transformation. That means this Grandma needs to get off the couch and start moving again!

Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

January 13, 2010

Call Me Frigid!

2010-01-09T10:29:00.017-05:00

Our area is experiencing a record breaking cold spell. This morning we actually have a wind chill advisory in effect, something I've not heard mentioned since I moved to Georgia nearly six years ago. Not only that, but we had measurable snowfall night before last, most of which is actually still on the ground.

The roads are an icey mess! I heard of at least one 27 car pile up near the airport. The news is filled with video footage of cars sliding into each other, or into ditches and embankments. Needless to say, towing companies have been working non-stop for about 48 hours now.

In people's homes, pipes are bursting everywhere! Plumbers in the area cannot keep up with the demand for their services.

Being from Ohio, I am all too familiar with snow and below freezing temperatures. What I am not accustomed to is being able to stay inside while it's happening. For the first time in my adult life, I don't have a job that requires me to leave the house during nasty weather. Even in Ohio when the authorities declared a level 3 or 4 "snow emergency" (which means a person could literally be arrested for being out on the highway) I had the dubious privilege of working in the medical field, which meant I had to go to work, no matter what!

Call me a Diva if you will. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm a total sissy when it comes to winter weather. I don't like being cold and will do whatever possible to avoid it. Cold seems to go right through me. Throw a steady wind in there, and I swear I'll have a tantrum! Once I've gotten a chill, it takes me forever to warm back up again.

So, get me to a warmer climate, and get me there NOW! Give me palm trees and a sandy beach. I want to bask in the blazing sunshine while the sounds of the ocean waves lull me to sleep.

I don't care if I never see snow or feel cold again!

Since I do not foresee any tropical climates in my near future, today I will thank God for the blessing of being able to sit at home in my robe and pajamas, a blanket tucked around me, cup of hot coffee in hand, and a fire burning in the fireplace.

Despite my self admitted "Diva" status, I truly do understand how fortunate I am ...maybe not quite as fortunate as those other Divas who are out there lying on the beach somewhere ... but I know I am very fortunate and do not take that for granted.

For the sake of those less fortunate, I pray a quick end to this awful freezing weather, and in the meantime a shelter with blankets, hot food and drink, and a fire of their own to keep them warm.

God bless!

Becky J. Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Jan. 9, 2010

Bad Stuff Happens!

2010-01-04T13:27:00.008-05:00

I'm not ashamed to admit that my New Years celebration this past weekend had more to do with being happy to see 2009 go away than it had to do with seeing 2010 come in! Some may say this is a pessimistic approach, but I disagree. My mindset doesn't indicate that I've spent un-necessary time looking back at the many disasters the former year brought, it only shows that I knew all along it would have to end at some point ... and I was looking forward to that certain end!

I don't care how positive a person is, one thing is for sure. Bad things do happen! For our family, 2009 was filled with particularly bad experiences. Let's face it, sometimes the most positive thing that can be said about certain incidents is that they're over, and we survived the excruciating process!

Which we all did. Yes, 2009 changed us all in one way or another. We will probably all feel the impact it left on us for as long as we are on this earth. But I do believe we are stronger for the experience. We are wiser. We are probably a bit more humble and aware of our own humanity. These things have a way of showing us that we are not invincible, as we once might have thought.

2009 has caused me to re-evaluate just about every aspect of my life. It caused me to re-prioritize. I now have a clearer understanding of what I can, and cannot control.

And I understand that most things fall into the "can't control" category.

But that's ok. There's a certain freedom to be found in not trying to control what happens around us.

Overall, I feel good about the way I handled all the bad stuff that happened in 2009. Did I do everything perfectly? Were my responses all positive in nature? No! But underneath all the feelings of pain and heartache, anger and confusion, in the very core of my being, I still believed there would be brighter days ahead.

So, welcome 2010 and the possibilities you bring! I know the year can't be all sunshine and roses, but given all the bad stuff that came along in 2009, odds are it will be better!

Becky J. Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com

Hips Don't Lie!

2009-12-01T09:11:00.018-05:00

In my quest to be in fantastic physical condition by the time I turn fifty, I am experimenting with various forms of exercise. Fortunately, our new gym membership includes many options, one of which is Zumba dancing.

Having promised myself I'd try almost anything once (at least in regard to physical fitness) I attended my first Zumba dance class this evening.

Well!

I'm not sure why I get myself into such things. I can't dance and never could, even before I experienced nerve damage in my left leg which left me with a slight foot drop on that side.

And we won't even talk about my nearly inflexible lower back.

(Did I mention that being able to move one's hips and legs are vital to the art of dancing Zumba style?)

Yet, somehow I thought I just might turn out to be quite marvelous at it, so I went.

Thank God, no one in the class seemed to be taking themselves all that seriously. Frankly, I probably got as much good from the class aerobically speaking, from laughing at the middle aged woman in the mirror who kept stumbling over her own feet and seemed unable to swivel her hips in the least, as I got from the movements themselves.

(That middle aged woman was me, of course)

Everyone else laughed a lot too, and I promised myself they were laughing at their own reflections in the mirror and not mine.

That would have left my feelings hurting a lot worse than my lower back and hips were at the end of the class.

Overall, I don't think I did too badly. Since there's very little likelihood I'll ever be invited to appear on "Dancing With the Stars", I figure the act of moving in general was more important than trying to get the moves exactly right.

And, I kept right up with the others during the warming up and cooling down exercises. Surely I get points for that!

The instructor said I did a terrific job. I'm almost certain she never says that to any of the other first time Zumba dancing grandmas. Neither was her evaluation likely swayed whatsoever by fact that she was so high on cold medication, she forgot a few of the moves herself.

Whether I ever become accomplished at Zumba dancing or not remains to be determined. As the song says, "hips don't lie" and mine were screaming "we're way too old to move this way" by the time I left the gym.

Even still, I came out feeling rejuvenated and fairly proud of myself for at least trying. So yeah, I'll be going back later this week for another attempt.

What are the possibilities? I guess I could break a hip while trying to pivot on one leg ... or I could end up being an awesome Zumba dancer just like the ladies in the attached video.

Either way, it would make a great story to tell the grandchildren.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2PN_xCstcQ

(Video is from similar a Zumba class in Hickory NC. We danced to the same song last night ... only maybe not quite as effectively. lol)

Becky J. Taylor
Dec. 1, 2009
http://www.boldnewday.com

The Big 5-Oh No!!!

2009-11-19T09:28:00.011-05:00

A couple months back I decided I want to be in the best physical condition of my life by the time I turn fifty. The big event will arrive a little less than nine months from now, so I've got to get to work.

Never mind that I also vowed to be in the best physical condition of my life by the time I was thirty, then forty. That doesn't matter anymore. This time I mean it!

With that goal in mind, Walt signed our whole family up for a gym membership this week. We went together for the first time yesterday evening. It took me about two minutes to realize this is going to be harder than I'd previously imagined.

To begin with, someone failed to tell me I needed to make an appointment with the trainer before my first visit, so she could help me come up with a routine and show me how to use the equipment. While Walt jumped right into his exercises, I ended up browsing around inspecting the various torture devices, and feeling rather overwhelmed.

Finally, I climbed onto one of the elliptical machines and chose the "fat burner" mode, entered all my vital information, and set the timer for ten minutes.

Now, I know I'm not a supermodel. Nor do I aspire to enter any body building contests in the near (or distant) future, but I don't think I'm in particularly terrible shape for a woman my age either. For that reason, I was shocked at how quickly I felt done with the workout. After only a few steps on the machine, my heart rate began to rise dramatically.

That was a little scary. I'll admit I was concerned about the possibility of passing out and embarrassing myself in front of the much younger, healthier people who seemed to be treading along effortlessly all around me, more so than I was worried about the possible implications of my speeding pulse.

To make matters worse, my fifteen year old son who was on the treadmill next to me kept reading the information from my machine's digital display out loud for everyone to hear.

"MOM! You're not doing it fast enough! It keeps pausing! You've got to keep walking!"

I didn't want to tell him I was intentionally allowing the thing to pause every few seconds in an effort to save my life.

I glanced at the timer and was happy to see it at four minutes, forty seconds. Whew! I was over half way finished.

My happy little bubble busted almost instantly when I noticed the timer was going up, not down. I didn't have four minutes left ... four minutes was how long I'd been on the stupid thing!

Determined to stay the course yet not be carried out of the gym on a stretcher, I kept plodding along until I reached the ten minute mark.

All's well that ends well, I suppose. I did survive, after all.

After re-evaluating the situation I'm asking myself if it's really necessary that I be in the best physical condition of my life by age fifty? Maybe not. At least for now, I'm going to re-write my script to read I want to be able to last ten minutes on the elliptical machine without giving myself a heart attack.

From here on, I'll take it one step at a time. I may not reach "perfection" over the course of the next nine months, but I will celebrate my fiftieth birthday knowing I did the best I could.

I'm also promising myself that, if by my fifty-first birthday, my hard work has not rewarded me with a firm, healthy body, I'm treating myself to some liposuction!

Becky Taylor
http://www.boldnewday.com
11/19/09

Un-Bearded Lady

2009-11-03T15:57:00.023-05:00

Since I had thirty minutes to spare between my late lunch with Mr. Taylor and time to pick the boy up from school today, I decided to treat myself to an eyebrow waxing.

My eyebrows aren't exactly wild or anything. Quite to the contrary, I rarely have to do anything to them at all. Once in a while I'll notice a stray hair or two and go have them tended to. "Once in a while" meaning about three times a year .. maybe.

The last couple times I've gone to the salon, I've allowed the technician to wax my upper lip too, mainly because they always seem disappointed if I tell them "no" when they ask.

So as I lowered myself onto the table today I decided to be generous. I told the young woman with the wax to do my eyebrows and upper lip. She smiled and nodded, then proceeded to begin the process of torturing me to just short of the point of tears.

Rip ... Rip... RIP.... She methodically applied the boiling hot wax, then the cloth and yanked it away, surely pulling each tiny hair out by the roots as she worked.

Just when I thought she was finished, she pointed to my chin, indicating I needed some work there as well.

I protested briefly but before the words, "No, I don't ... think ..." could escape my lips, she was already slapping on the wax. As God is my witness, she smeared the thick bubbly concoction all the way under my chin and down part of my neck.

Do you have any idea how tender the area between the chin and the neck is? I didn't ...until today.

R-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-P!!!

OUCH!

The technician giggled as she continued to the other side of the table and slapped the sticky lava like substance on the side of my face. Yes ... my FACE!

RIIIIIIIIIP!

As much as I would have liked, I couldn't stop her then. God forbid I leave there hairy on one side and not the other.

And thus she proceeded until she was content that my face and neck were as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom. Feeling that any protest would have been in vain, I allowed her to go on. She was, after all, the one with the hot wax at her disposal.

Then, to my horror, I realized she was aiming next for my forehead!

Now, I suppose it's possible that I had a few microscopic hairs on my chin, but on the sides of my face and my forehead? I think not!

"No, thank you!" I said, and sat upright so she would no longer have the postural advantage over me.

The terror in my eyes must have been convincing, because she willingly put down her weapons and allow me to leave the table.

Looking in the mirror she so graciously handed me, I noticed looked like I'd fallen face first into a fire ant colony at dinner time. "Just a little red ..." She assured me with a deceptively sweet smile.

"Just a little red?" Surely if I'd really had facial hair everywhere there were now bright red splotches, someone would have mentioned it to me. Or, should I feel embarrassed to realize I've been walking around all this time unknowingly looking like a circus freak?

I don't want to know. I'll chalk the experience up to lessons learned and move on. In this case, ignorance could very well be a beautiful thing.

Becky Taylor
11-3-09

Intervention

2009-10-23T11:10:00.013-04:00

My oldest daughter has informed me that she is planning to get the family together for an "Intervention" on my behalf.

Apparently my frequent presence online is causing her some concern. She seems to be tired of hearing "news" from me through what she considers the indirect channel of my facebook friends. The latest example being the case of my prodigal cat, Skippyjon. Last week, when he went missing I headed straight to my computer and shared my heartache with my 700+ closest friends. I was immediately comforted by the show of support they offered.

Likewise, when the rascal returned three days later, I couldn't wait to share the happy news. To my delight, my online friends joined me in a celebratory "cyber-party". It was great!

I love the internet. I love the way it makes it easy to stay in touch with people I'd otherwise only have contact with on an infrequent basis (if at all). I love how it helps me keep up with the daily goings-on of the people I see regularly. I also love the way it has made me many new friends who never would have crossed my path without the benefit of my computer screen.

These things are important to me. I need my cyber-connections!

The internet, in general has made the world we live in a very small place. In an age when life is so busy and time goes by at warp speed, it's refreshing to be able to reconnect with all my friends and family with a few simple clicks of the mouse.

Who can complain about such luxury?

I could go on (and I will). The internet has enriched my life in many ways. I found my sweet Shetland Sheepdog while surfing the web one morning at 3:00 a.m. I've met many new friends, renewed several old friendships ... and was even introduced to my husband via the magic of the internet world.

Say what you will, the internet has been very good to me.

So give it up? I don't think so!

I'll admit to a certain level of "dependence" on my access to the internet. I do spend much of my free time staring at the computer screen in attempt to quench my insatiable thirst for more information than any human could possibly really need. It could be a lot worse! I'm certainly not hurting anyone with my "addiction"

Go ahead! Bring on your "Intervention" if you must! I warn you, your efforts will be to no avail.

I can quit anytime I want ... but right now I am obliviously happy with the internet monkey firmly attached to my back.

The Eye Of The Beholder

2009-10-10T16:06:00.015-04:00

Among my most prized earthly possessions is an antique "Hoosier" cabinet that once belonged to my grandmother. I spent hours playing with it when I was a child, so much that Grandma decided I should have it for my own when I grew up.

When the cabinet came into my home about 15 years ago, I immediately found a spot for it in the breakfast nook. Perfect! I marveled at old cabinet and gently placed my own hands over the areas where my grandmother's hands had worn away the paint over many years of pie-making on it's surface.

For a few minutes, I was a five year old girl again, tirelessly spinning the handle that use to sift the flour for Grandma's delicious baked goods. The original yellow stoneware bowl, now cracked with age, had my name scrawled across the bottom with a marker. B-e-c-k-y. I thought about the day my grandmother had written it there to insure the cabinet would land in the proper hands after she was gone.

Needless to say, that old cabinet is worth a million dollars to me. I truly don't know that I could part with it for all the money in the world! It's sentimental value is much higher than any monetary gain it might bring. I love that old cabinet! Just looking at it makes me feel warm and safe, much like I use to feel in my grandmother's arms.

Today the cabinet sits in the breakfast nook of our new home. Instead of housing baking supplies, it has become bit of a "catch all" for our family's odds and ends that have no where else to go. Art supplies for my own grandkids, a few books, table cloths, and our camera to name a few. Though it's function has changed, it remains a vital member of our family.

My six year old grand-daughter, Esther was here for a few days this past week. She pulled the box of art supplies out of the cabinet, then stepped back and looked at it for a brief moment.

"Mamaw", she stated "You really should buy a new cabinet. This one's old and it doesn't look too good."

What? How could that child possibly say such a horrible thing about my grandmother's cabinet?

Ahh, but it is true. Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.

Esther didn't know my grand-mother (or even my mother for that matter). When she looks at the cabinet, she sees an old piece of furniture, it's surface dulled by time and paint worn through around the handles. There's no way she can understand that to me, those worn places symbolize the spots where my grandmothers petite, flour covered hands once touched. It is there, I find indescribable beauty in the old Hoosier cabinet.

In fact, our home is filled with beautiful things, but that cabinet is probably the only piece of furniture I would actually risk my life to save if ever there were a flood or fire.

I started to explain the importance of the cabinet to Esther, but decided on a brief summary instead. I told her I loved the cabinet because it was my grandma's and I use to play with it when I was her age. She seemed to be content with my story and went on her way with her art supplies.

I hope that in the future, Esther will remember the cabinet as fondly as I do now. Nothing would make me happier than to think it might sit in her own home as a most treasured possession someday. Just imagining her trying to explain it's value to her grandchildren (my great grandchildren) makes my heart smile.

"My grandma use to keep my art supplies in that cabinet when I was a little girl" She will tell them. And then she will run her fingers across the marks around the handles where the paint is worn thin ... and she will smile and add, "I wouldn't take a million dollars for this old thing"

Get Real!

2009-09-09T10:39:00.020-04:00

I enjoy reality t.v. as much as anyone, but come on! I can't believe the things they will base a television show on these days. It seems to me the '09 season has stooped to a new low.

Surely the "peeping tom" has become extinct, since at any given time of the day, all one has to do in order to satisfy their voyeuristic cravings is turn on the television and start flipping channels. Soon enough, you are bound to stumble upon a show about something that, not too many years ago would have been considered mundane details of another family's life.

Haven't thrown anything in your house away for 15 years and, are therefore unable to invite company over because you can't find the sofa? (Yet for some reason you're willing to have a camera crew come in and video the mess so it can be broadcast to the world?)

Perfect! Let's make a t.v. show about it!

By any chance, do you give birth to your babies in litters? I'm sure everyone in America would love to watch you change diapers assembly line style for the next two years. (It definitely tops my list of things I want to see!)

Looking for a wife (or husband) and want some panel of strangers to narrow down your choices to a dozen or so, so you can date them all, then decide which one to humiliate nationwide each week, until you figure out which girl/guy is "the one"?

Oh brother!

Or I know ... dress your six year old daughter up like a hooker and parade her around in hopes of winning prizes that don't even add up to the cost of the dress she's wearing to the pageant!

That's a real winner right there.

Here's one ladies! Get all the housewives in your neighborhood together and video yourselves having coffee, gossiping or taking the kids to school ... throw in some "cat-fights" for good measure! That idea also seems to be selling big these days.

The list goes on and on and on, to the point of ridiculous.

Addictions?

Fetishes?

Unusual diseases?

I saw an advertisement the other day about a show that will air this fall titled, "Your Kid Swallowed WHAT?"

What in the world possessed someone to spend money on a series about kids who have been taken to the Emergency Room because they swallowed a matchbox car, or some equally indigestible object!

I will admit, I've fallen prey once or twice to a couple of the very shows I've critically mentioned above. Some of them do have a way of sucking a person right in, in a manner that can only be compared to the sick state of astonishment one might derive from witnessing a bad auto accident.

Maybe I should volunteer for a new reality show about people who sit around and actually watch the silly stuff they put on t.v. these days.

Shoot! Come to think of it, with a little creative editing, my own family might qualify for our own reality show! Over the last year, we've certainly done our part toward proving that truth indeed is, "stranger than fiction".

I just don't know that it could be considered interesting or relative to anyone outside our little family circle.

I suppose that is where I'm missing the point. For all I know, I might be allowing logic and reasoning to stand between us and infamy!

No thank you.

Our home life will likely never merit a spot in the limelight, but it's a pretty cool life none-the-less. We are normal people and we like it that way. Let everyone else air their dirty laundry on t.v. in return for a few dollars in the bank. We'll just sit back and watch, and thank God that no one is making a video of us while we're doing it!

Becky Taylor
09/09/09

Victoriana Makes Me Happy

2009-09-03T15:44:00.026-04:00

A lot has happened during the many moons that have passed since I last blogged. The biggest event would be that I turned forty nine years old, which means I am now officially on the downhill side of pushing fifty. Does it also imply that I am gaining momentum and therefore the year will go by faster? I've heard that's how it works .. the older you get the faster time goes by. I can only pray that isn't the case.

But enough of that. I wanted to write about something different today, simply because I cannot recall ever bringing up the subject of how much I like Victorian things.

It's true! "Victoriana" makes me happy.

(I apologize if by chance I have already told you about the aforementioned subject! Blame it on my age. You know how prone to forgetting (or repeating) things, us old people can be.)

Anyway, I use to love to decorate and was constantly moving things around my home. I would be lounging around on the sofa doing nothing in particular when an object across the room would catch my attention, and suddenly I'd realize it belonged somewhere else. Knowing from previous experience that I'd be unable to find peace until it was in it's proper place, I would get up and move it to another location.

Oddly enough, I've been less likely to succumb to such behavior since I moved to Georgia and stopped living in Victorian houses. I have to wonder if the fact I use to be surrounded by Victorian things made some kind of difference.

When I left Ohio, I also left most of my old stuff behind. To try and turn the first house I lived in, here in Georgia, into anything remotely Victorian would have undoubtedly been futile anyway. That, added to the fact that I was beginning a new era of my life made it easy enough for me to walk away and not look back.

Until the last couple weeks, when suddenly I've become unhappy with the appearance of our entry hall and main living room. Something just isn't right about those areas and I've once again felt that familiar urge to fix the problem.

Unlike the first house I lived in here, our new home has more of a Victorian lean to it. The dining room has always been Victorian. (I like the dining room, it makes me happy) The entry hall and main living room, however appear more rustic and masculine. Those rooms are decorated primarily in an African theme, with all our African masks, photographs and statues. It's nice enough but still ...

The other day I was browsing through a candle shop, when lo and behold, I found a beautiful Victorian oil warmer on sale. It didn't matter that in reality it's more of a Christmas item. I knew in an instant I had to have it! I carried it carefully to the checkout counter and had the sales lady ring it up for me.

After arriving home with it I realized ... as much as I loved the oil warmer, I couldn't figure out where it should "live" in my house. Unable to bear the thought of stashing it away somewhere, I parked it on the sofa table in the main living room and waited for it to tell me where it wanted to sit.

And yesterday, it finally spoke up! As of today the new Victorian/Christmas oil warmer is perched on the table just inside the front door. I pulled a candelabra out of the dining room and placed it to one side of the oil warmer, beneath the somewhat Victorian looking mirror that's been hanging there all along. Backing off and assessing my new table arrangement, I thought it still seemed to be lacking something, but what?

Color! It needed more color! It needed some RED!

Quickly, I went to the china cabinet drawer and pulled out a red table cloth to place under the candelabra and oil warmer, bunching it up around the objects to make it look more plush and well .. Victorian.

I've since added a decorative box I've always been fond of, to the mix but I'm not sure it's going to stay there permanently. It is more primitive than Victorian and I'm not sure the items can live harmoniously together. Time will tell. Sooner or later one of them will call out to me, begging me to rearrange them once more.

But for now, it shall remain. I like it. I smile when I look at it.

"Victoriana" makes me happy!

I Miss My Little Boy

2009-07-18T20:30:00.013-04:00

My "baby" Adam turned fifteen years old yesterday. It's so hard to believe he's in his mid-teens already. This birthday was one of only a couple we've spent apart. He's visiting his Dad in Ohio for a couple weeks, so there was no real celebration here at home for him. Just a simple phone call to tell him Happy Birthday!

I miss him.

Not because he happens to be more than five-hundred miles away, but because over the last six months or so, he's become a person I barely recognize.

I want the "old" Adam back.

I don't have a problem with my baby growing up. It would be unhealthy for both of us if I expected to keep him a little boy forever.

What I'm having a problem with is his behavior. His poor choices. His sudden desire to go against everything we've tried to teach him over the last fifteen years. This time last year he declared to us he wanted to be a minister. Now, he's acting as anything but!

Adam has AD/HD and OCD. I know that plays a role in his behavior, but it doesn't give him an excuse to act the way he's been acting.

This is hard. I just want my son back. The one I had before everything started falling apart. The sweet Adam. The one who was so tender hearted and compassionate. The boy who treasured his relationship with God and family above all else.

I know this will pass. In the meantime, I pray God will protect him and bring him back safely. I dedicated Adam to the Lord immediately upon learning I was pregnant. I did it again, formally, at the church when he was a few weeks old. It wasn't something I took lightly.

For that reason, I have to trust that he is God's child, and God will take care of him accordingly.

And because I too, am God's child, I'm trusting that He will take care of me as well.

He will bring me through this ordeal. I will be o.k.

But tonight, I sure do miss my "little boy".

Superman!

2009-07-08T15:10:00.011-04:00

At 90 years old, he stands 5'8" tall and weighs in at a whopping 130 lbs. Granted, at first glance, he doesn't exactly look like Superman, but rest assured, once you get to know a little more about him, you'll have to agree ... my Dad could very well be the real deal!

One story my father use to tell was of the time he had German measles as a young child. The old timers kept children who were stricken with the measles in a dark room, believing that exposure to the light would cause them to go blind. It so happened, while Dad was sick, the family's cow got out of the pasture and Grandma had to go catch it. As she walked out the door, she told her ailing son, "Willy! Don't you leave this house while I'm gone! If you do, you will die!"

Her warning only sparked my Dad's curiosity. Waiting until she was safely out of sight, he went outside anyway, just so he could find out whether or not she was telling him the truth.

Suffice to say, he didn't die from his walk outside. It's also safe to say Grandma never learned of his "experiment" or she would most likely have whipped him within an inch of death, therefore making his death a real possibility.

Even at that tender young age, my father was definitely one of a kind!

At sixteen, Dad lost his sight. I have to wonder if his blindness had anything to do with him going outside while suffering with German measles as a youngster ... whatever the cause, his vision was so bad he could only tell the difference between light and dark.

It didn't seem to slow him down much. After several months of living in darkness, he went to a church service during which he was miraculously healed while simply sitting in the pew.

Three years later during WWII, Dad joined the Army. My grandfather told him he'd never pass the physical because of his prior blindness. To Grandpa's surprise, Dad aced the physical with 20/20 vision. To this day he wears glasses only to read.

I suppose anyone who lives 90 years has probably had one or two close calls with death, but Dad seems to have had more than one human being's share.

And yet he keeps on going.

The "real" Superman may have been able to out run a locomotive, but my Dad was once hit by a locomotive ... and walked away relatively unharmed. That was many years before I was born. He was a young man, probably in his late twenties. I don't suppose he felt he had time for such a pesky thing as succumbing to death by freight train.

When I was in third grade, my father was driving his red VW beetle on his way to visit his sister when he was run off the road by an oncoming vehicle. His car rolled several times, ejecting him from inside. He landed unconscious, many feet away on the embankment. He woke up moments later and decided he needed to go check on his car. Attempting to stand, he discovered it was impossible, and fell back to the ground.

His pelvis was broken. The doctors said he might not walk again without the aid of a walker. Dad was in his early 50's at the time. He was determined not to let the Dr's tell him what he would or would not be able to do.

Six months later, Dad tossed the walker to the curb and hasn't used one again since!

Most of the men in Dad's family died of heart problems in their seventies. So, when Dad was 73 and I received a call telling me he'd had a heart attack and may or may not still be alive, I accepted that my worst fears had come to pass. Strangely enough, I arrived at the hospital to find my father sitting up in his bed in the emergency room joking with the medical staff. He served his time in ICU and was discharged a week later.

(He still insists he never had a heart attack at all!)

But wait, there's more ...

In his early-eighties, Dad was hit by a car while riding his bicycle around town. A witness to the accident said Dad was thrown fifteen feet into the air before landing on the pavement. Again, I rushed to the hospital to find him, although looking a little worse for the wear, sitting up in his bed, his hair (what was left of it) tousled and the side of his face badly bruised. The x-rays showed no serious injuries and he was discharged the next day.

He still enjoys riding his bicycle around town and does it quite often when the weather is nice.

Dad's 90th birthday is coming up on July 10th. Our family has been planning a big party to celebrate.

Last Thursday, however, it seemed we might not be having the party after all. Dad was attempting to walk down the basement stairs to check on one of his beloved cats, and fell. He sustained two broken ribs, a punctured lung which collapsed, and a bad cut on his hand. Somehow he managed to get back upstairs, where my niece later found him lying unconscious in the kitchen floor.

The doctor was concerned about the collapsed lung, but didn't want to insert a chest tube to re-inflate it, for fear it might be more than Dad's body could handle. They decided to wait until the next day and see if it improved on it's own.

During the night, his blood pressure dropped dangerously low. (It was 50/20!)He was losing blood from what they thought was a ruptured spleen. If that were the case, he would require surgery to remove it.

Things looked grim. We were informed the likelihood of him making it through an operation was very low.

Once again, I braced myself for the worst and packed a suitcase for an impromptu trip to Ohio. How sad. We'd planned a big celebration of his 90th birthday. It looked as if we'd be holding a funeral instead.

Two hours into my trip, I received a call. I hesitated to answer. I wasn't sure what news might be waiting on the other end.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised. The news was that Dad was doing much better. His blood pressure was up! He was awake and alert. He did not have a ruptured spleen ... and his lung was successfully re-inflating on it's own. It was too soon to say he was "out of the woods" but he was rapidly headed in the right direction. The improvement continued as the days went by.

Dad was released from the hospital this evening. Not to a nursing home or rehabilitation facility, but home! The doctor's say he needs to use a walker, since he's fallen a few times recently. I can't imagine my Dad complying with that suggestion, but we'll see!

Best of all, we'll be celebrating his 90th birthday with him this weekend as scheduled! According to my father, we can expect to keep having birthday parties for him for years to come.

He insists he's going to live to be 100.

If he were like most people, the possibility of that would be unlikely ... but obviously my Dad is not like "most" people.

I knew it when I was a little girl, and I am even more convinced today ... my Dad is Superman!

Lazy, Hazy, CRAZY Days ... Summer '09

2009-06-27T11:39:00.018-04:00

Perhaps it's because I was born in August and therefore a "summer baby", that I love this season so much. Growing up in Ohio, I learned to savor the long hot summer days , knowing even longer cold winter months would follow all to quickly on my favorite season's heels.

As a child, I felt sorry for kids who had winter birthdays. What fun could that have been? The possibility of celebrating my birthday at (gasp!) school was unthinkable. The chance of being cooped up inside the house, or having my celebration postponed due to waist deep snow and impassable roads, unfathomable!

No! I very much enjoyed the fact that my birthday always landed in the midst of summer break. Better still, our family often traveled over my birthday, so I frequently enjoyed celebrating the day in style, somewhere far away from home ... usually in the mountains, because by August, my parents would always be ready to retreat from the southern Ohio heat and humidity.

After 48 summers, heat and humidity still doesn't bother me a lot. I still very much prefer it to winter's frigid bite, and seek out the sun whenever possible. It's during the bleak winter months that I especially long for a climate where beaches abound and the temperatures never drop below 70 degrees!

I love summer. I miss it when it isn't here.

This summer has been different, and not in a very good way. It's almost July and not only have we not taken a real vacation in nearly a year, (that's a record!) but we've only been on the lake twice this season. To make matters worse, the schools here in the southern states resume the first week of August, which means that in a little over a month any possibility of taking a vacation will be at the mercy of the school system.

Unless something changes quickly, the summer of '09 will go down in my personal history book as more crazy than lazy or hazy.

I don't like that idea at all. I must do something to change it before it's too late!

As my father always said, "Where there's a will, there's a way."

I ... must ... find ... summer, while there is still time.

Later today, as soon as Mr. Taylor gets home from his Harley ride through the North Georgia Mountains, we will sit down and devise a plan with which we will escape for a few days. I hear Hawaii is nice, and neither of us have ever been there.

Not only is Hawaii nice, but it's also far, far away. Far, far away sounds very appealing to me right now.

Summer '09 will not be a lost cause.

Ready or not, here I come! If summer cannot come to me, I will go to it!

Gremlin Years

2009-06-08T11:18:00.011-04:00

My husband and I are not materialistic people. We are fortunate enough to have nice things and very much appreciate that fact, but as I said, we are anything but materialistic!

Nothing's ever really been handed to me in life, I've worked hard for all my nice stuff. Of course, that makes me appreciate it all the more. There was a time when I didn't have so many cool things and I've definitely not forgotten. Some people might even try to say those were the "good old days" or claim that things were so much simpler back then.

I beg to differ.

While I am not materialistic in nature, I do not believe my life would be better or simpler if I still drove a car that I could never be sure was going to get me (along with one toddler and one infant daughter) from point A to point B! Likewise, although I did appreciate and actually liked "government cheese", I am quite thankful I am no longer reliant on that sort of things to feed my family.

So, call them the good old days if you like, I will argue that these days are "gooder"

I wasn't much more than a baby myself when I had my first two children, beautiful daughters who rode around with me in an ugly old red AMC Gremlin that sometimes ran and sometimes didn't. I remember driving home through the back roads of southern Ohio late one night when I hit a bump and my headlights went out. It was also common for the radio to turn itself off and on, dependent on whatever terrain I happened to be traveling.

Yeah ... good times! Yikes!

Given the fact that cell phones had not yet been invented, "scary times" might be a better way to describe them.

At any rate, I thank God the "Gremlin years" are over and we've moved on to bigger, better things.

Could I "survive" if I had to go back to driving a junker? (In reality, "surviving" while attempting to maneuver a junker through Atlanta traffic would actually be unlikely ... but you know what I mean) Aside from that, the answer is "Of course I could!" I am a strong woman! My worth is not determined by the car I drive, or how much I pay for my mac n' cheese!

My husband and I proved this point last weekend when we took two of our grand kids out on the lake for the day. Our boat is very, very old. We bought it used three summers ago just because we wanted something ... anything with an operating motor that would get us onto the water! The real catch was, we were determined to purchase it with what cash we had on hand. Hence, the very old, very unattractive boat that despite it's appearance has served us well.

Well, last weekend we docked our old boat for the day in a cove that was full of very NICE boats. I'm talking about boats that would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. A couple of them were likely worth well over a million bucks. Never the less, we pulled our little boat right in between them all and unloaded our gear.

I'm pretty sure we had every bit as much fun that day as the people in the big fancy boats. I will admit that sitting on the beach looking at the contrast between our boat and those that surrounded it did make me feel just the slightest bit like I did back in the Gremlin years ...even though I've moved on to the stage of my life where I am riding in an ugly old boat, not because I have to but because that's what I choose.

It's the choice that makes the difference!

I'm glad the Gremlin years have passed, but all the same, I cannot say I regret living them for a season. They served their purpose and I learned a lot for having endured.

My son, who was born several years post-Gremlin, has never ridden in a junker car. He's always been taxied around in style and doesn't have a clue about how his sisters were transported when they were younger. He'll turn fifteen next summer and I've already started looking around at cars for him. I hope to find something safe ... but possibly a bit humbling for him to drive. I figure we all need a few Gremlin years in order to appreciate the nicer things in life when they finally appear.

A few years down the road when he is a successful business man driving a fancy little sports car, he'll thank me for first allowing him a taste of the Gremlin experience!

What Should Have Been ...

2009-06-04T12:18:00.010-04:00

Today is a difficult day. It should have been baby Luke's birthday. Instead of celebrating his birth, we are mourning our loss. He arrived too soon and was taken away only two weeks later.

The very unique circumstances surrounding Luke from his conception to the day he went away, made him all the more special to everyone who was fortunate enough to get to know and love him.

It almost seems like a bad dream ... a cruel joke. We were all blindsided by Luke's premature birth and death. Even when he arrived so incredibly small, he was very spirited and obviously a fighter. We never entertained the possibility that he would not survive. We refused to believe he would suffer any long term effects from his prematurity. He was a miracle. God had a wonderful plan and purpose for his life. We were prepared to sit back and watch that miracle unfold.

We did not get our miracle. We got a heartache, and an empty place deep within our souls that will never be filled.

Until a few months ago, we all expected that today would be Luke's birthday, but God knew differently all along. I suppose I could make myself crazy wondering ... asking "why"? and still never know the answer.

I ventured out this morning, driving in the rain and thinking about how both my daughters were born on rainy days. Luke should have been born this rainy day. Instead of making a simple trip to the grocery, I should have been making a trip to the gift shop to buy flowers and balloons and big "It's A BOY!" buttons for Luke's mommy and daddy to wear.

The run for groceries was otherwise uneventful, at least until time to check out and the cashier asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to the the Children's Hospital Fund. Without looking up, I said "No".

But then it occurred to me ...

"Yes ... yes, I would" I told the cashier. "Now that I think about it, I would."

He smiled and handed me a brightly colored air-balloon shaped piece of cardboard.

"We'll put these on display in the window." he informed me as he pointed at a blank spot near the bottom, "Sign it right there."

I took the pen from his hand and wrote LUKE! in big block letters, then drew a heart after his name.

Not exactly the kind of balloon I'd planned on buying for baby Luke today. I feel like he deserves so much more.

Hopefully the dollar I spent on that little piece of cardboard will go toward helping someone else's "Luke" story have a happier ending. That would be a good "should have been" birthday present, I think.

Unfortunately, it is little consolation for those of us who instead of celebrating, are mourning today and thinking about what should have been, but never really was to be.

Bye-Bye Belly Dancing! Forget Forensics!

2009-05-18T10:22:00.008-04:00

I've decided not to pursue my degree in forensics after all. That dream has gone the way of belly dancing lessons and a few other aspirations I've laid to rest in recent years.

So what if I'll never be a belly dancing forensic scientist / grandmother of five? Everyone will just have to deal with that fact and move on. I ask myself, "Does the world really need one of those anyway?"

My honest answer is, "I seriously doubt it!"

So, what does the world need?

Well, most people need money, myself included. I've been on a mission to find ways to earn more money for a little over a year now. Basically, all I've accomplished so far is adding money to other people's pockets while emptying my own.

Something's got to change!

And I'm convinced that it is changing. I just need it to happen a little more quickly than I am experiencing at the moment.

I have three goals in mind. 1)Succeed in fulfilling my purpose in life, 2) Help others do the same, and 3)Make some money while I'm doing it.

Sounds simple enough.

I've made a decision. I'm going to go open my "inbox" and clear out a bunch of stuff today ... get off some mailing lists and cancel some subscriptions. It's gotten so junked up in there, I'm pretty sure I am getting duplicate mail from all the pop up boxes I've filled out, not realizing I've already received the vital information they're dangling in front of my face. Information I supposedly could never succeed without, yet it's only resulted in me running in circles and accomplishing pretty much nothing!

It's time to regain focus.

Oh, I do hesitate to say good bye to some of those old dreams. Part of me still thinks there is a belly dancer lurking beneath this quickly expanding waistline of mine. Another part believes the brilliant mad scientist I've longed to unleash truly lives in the dark recesses of my brain.

But most of me knows I need to buckle down and just bring in some cold hard cash with the knowledge and abilities I already possess.

Bye-bye bellydancing! Forget forensics!

It's time to get back to reality.

Mental Pause

2009-05-08T11:06:00.016-04:00

My wonderful husband, Walter and I were having dinner a couple weeks ago when our conversation turned to the subject of sleep. I mentioned how relieved I was that I'd been sleeping like a baby since we'd returned from Savannah several days before. This was a much welcomed development, since I hadn't slept through the night for a number of months preceding.

After listening to me for a few seconds, Walt shrugged his shoulders and said quite innocently, "You must be going through menopause."

What?

The atmosphere suddenly became a little less than romantic.

I couldn't help but wonder where in the world Walt had been for the last few months.

In the time that has passed since shortly after last Thanksgiving I have:

1.Been forbidden to have any part in the lives of three of my precious grandchildren.
2.Watched my youngest daughter nearly die of pregnancy related complications.
3.Suffered through my fourteen year old son's emotional breakdown (to the point I had to remove him from school and put him in therapy)
4.Experienced an 80% loss in our electrical contracting business (and subsequent income).
5.Sat by the same daughter's bedside as the surgeon forcefully removed her pre-mature baby at 24 weeks 4 days gestation (that's a 5 month pregnancy if you do the math). Knowing it was the only possible chance for saving both of their lives was little consolation.
6.Helplessly stood by as the pre-mature baby died two weeks thereafter.
7.Grieved accordingly.

Need I go on?

Because those are just some of the reasons my brain had been too full to sleep!

Suffice to say I was a bit taken back by my husband's rather pat answer to the issue.

If I'd truly been "hormonal" I would have sprang across the table and strangled him on the spot. Don't tell ME about hormonal!

Within a New York minute of Walt's comment (and without the aid of strangulation) I believe I'd effectively set him straight on the matter. Never-the-less, the question remains ...why do men always seem to think that every negative emotional reaction we women experience is somehow related to our hormones?

Any one of the aforementioned situations would have merited a few sleepless nights, with or without hormonal interference. And yet Walt saw none of those things as significant in their own right?

Noooooooo .... the source of my insomniatic state had to be narrowed down to that one thing, and that one thing alone.

Hormones.

It's an age old question and I have no reason to believe that I will be the one to come up with an answer.

Maybe he was right. Maybe what I was experiencing was not a "natural" reaction to the truckload of unusually stressful situations that hit me without warning. If only I'd realized that possibility! Had it not been for my hormonal state of being, I probably would have been able to skip obliviously and happily through the entire ordeal!

Perhaps there is no such thing as "stress" aside from hormonal influence after all! Wow! What a revelation!

Of course, it would have to be a MAN who would come up with such a simple answer. We women are way too hormonal to ever think of such a thing.

Ladies, I think you will agree ... sometimes we just have to wonder what men are thinking and why they happen to be thinking it! My best guess is that their minds are over-saturated with testosterone thus rendering them incapable of grasping a true-er and more complex explanation.

I've come to this conclusion. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Just blame it on the hormones!

A Man and His Garage

2009-04-20T19:28:00.014-04:00

I believe I speak for both of us when I say my husband, Walt and I love our home. It's everything we could ask for, really. We love pretty much everything about it, including the neighbors who live in the houses nearby.

We do have a difference of opinion about one thing. You see, my husband seems particularly fond of "his" garage, even to the point of leaving the garage doors up most of the time during daylight hours if he can get by with it. Because of the approach to the house (one of the few things I would change about the house if I could) that means that people who drive up see right into the garage first thing.

I, on the other hand have a "thing" about first impressions and the first thing people see about my home is no exception. Walt likes to laugh at me because I insist that the garage doors be closed, and all our visitors be brought into the house through the front door. He thinks it would make more sense to walk them through the garage and into the house via the door that enters the hallway between the kitchen and the utility room.

Frankly, I don't see his point! The walk around the front of the house, past the flower beds and fountain is so much more pleasing to the eye! Not to mention the appearance of the entry hall vs. the boring wooden steps and kitchen trash can which welcomes visitors from the garage area.

Our garage is nice, as far as garages go. I'd even say it's the nicest garage I've ever owned, but a garage is not part of the living area of a home ... any home. It's a place to park the cars (or in our case, a car, a motorcycle and a truck.) Period! Our (or perhaps it would be better said Walt's) garage is different. The man actually has framed Harley Davidson photos hung on the walls!

Yeah.

I once went so far, as to insinuate that I had partial ownership in the garage by buying a sign to hang on the side where I park my car. I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics for my husband when he read the words written on my purchase ...

"Queen Parking Only ... you're not worthy!"

I thought it was pretty funny, but Walt came this close to losing consciousness when he learned I was serious about hanging it.

Needless to say, I won that battle and still snicker at my sign every time I pull my car into it's spot just below the metallic blue sign with it's blazing white letters. Most of my female friends also see the humor in it and laugh accordingly.

The men, well. They seem to sympathize with Walter. What else would you expect?

I suppose many men have a thing for their garages. It's probably deeply rooted in their DNA somewhere. It would be an act of futility to attempt to understand, much less fix it. For that reason, I've chosen to compromise on the matter. Walt can have the whole garage as his own, with the exception of spot supporting my "Queen Parking Only" sign.

Fair is fair, after all.

Unless of course, he decides to bring one of his Harley Davidson photos into my foyer.

Different is a very GOOD thing!

2009-04-16T22:15:00.024-04:00

I may (or may not) have mentioned some time back that my fourteen year old son, Adam has been diagnosed with ADHD. It astounds me that even though he's grown up in a generation where it seems that everyone else's kid was being handed medication for hyperactivity by the time they were in second grade, my son sailed right on through, his "issue" un-noticed until his freshman year of high school.

After a couple months of absolute nightmares with different counselors, doctors, psychiatrists and the insurance company, I do believe we are finally well on the way to finding out exactly what it's going to take to help Adam deal with the matter.

While Adam has always been a bit different in comparison to other kids his age (probably due to the fact that all the others were already medicated) , I never considered him to be hyperactive. Oh sure, he's had his share of sugar rushes and sudden bursts of energy at some rather inconvenient times, but ADHD? No, I've not thought so.

What I have thought is that my son is a lot like his Grandpa (my father). A "character" of sorts, but also very sweet and sentimental. Not crazy about being in crowded places or "staying put" for long periods of time. Love's animals, tender hearted and protective of his family.

Beautifully unique.

Adam's behavior is absolutely normal in the sense that I am so familiar with it, I've only contributed his differences to the fact that he has a lot in common with my Dad. (I consider that to be a very good thing!)

Well, today my five year old grand-daughter, Esther was diagnosed with ADHD too.

Like Adam, Esther is also a character ... a wonderful one at that. She's beautiful, smart, talented, bossy, and maybe just the slightest bit on the impulsive side. Esther does seem to get frustrated easily and that has concerned me at times. She has a twin brother who loves to learn and can entertain himself for hours with books and other things that require concentration. Esther doesn't seem to care all that much for reading and writing. I've wondered if her frustrations might be due to the comparisons that are sometimes made between her and her twin.

Other than that, Esther's lack of interest in learning is no big deal, at least not in my opinion. She's only five, so there's plenty of time for that in the years to come. Right?

Esther just always has something more fun to do, that's all. She'd much rather chase the cat or construct elaborate tents in the family room, take the remote control apart and examine it or sort through my jewelry box when I'm not looking.

I like that about Esther!

My daughter told me today that the doctor said he could tell Esther had ADHD just by observing her in the examination room for a few minutes. I asked Emily what Esther had been doing to make him say that. Her reply was "Oh, she was lying on her back kicking her feet up in the air, then she turned over on her stomach and hung her head over the edge while banging on the side of the exam table with her hands, then sat up and swung her legs back and forth for a while ..."

What? You mean that isn't normal?

Honestly, I thought that all five year old kids acted that way. Esther is obedient and polite (most of the time). She's also lot of fun. As a matter of fact, I adore her spit-fire attitude. It's a rather endearing trait. Esther will go far in life. I've known that since the day I first laid eyes on her!

I would much rather call my son and grand-daughter gifted, rather than hand them a "label" such as ADHD. However, I'm not at all opposed to giving them medications to help them focus. That's actually a relief, since I've seen my son struggle so much in school all the while knowing (and being told by his teachers) that he is brilliant! For that reason, I am glad Esther's ADHD was discovered so early on. Perhaps she won't have to struggle so much and feel frustrated.

My hope is that the medications will help Adam and Esther focus, without changing who they are. They are both such incredibly interesting people! It would be a shame to lose that.

ADHD, or whatever the medical professionals decide to call it, I love my son and grand-daughter ... rambunctious spirits and all! I don't see any abnormalities when I look at them (or listen to them talk only slightly under the speed of light) I see traces of my father in them, and my father is a wonderful man! Wonderful, and "different"

And that is a very GOOD thing!

Lab Rat at Heart

2009-04-09T11:23:00.007-04:00

I've been thinking of returning to the laboratory environment to work. The lab was my first love, and it's been calling my name again in recent weeks. This morning I decided to send away for information on degrees in the field of forensics. I am hoping to find a university that will accept the credits from my current degree in science. If so, it shouldn't take long at all to earn my BS in criminology.

With a little luck, I'll be able to complete a great deal of it online.

"Luck" however, doesn't seem to be much on my side lately, so it could be interesting!

I don't plan to give up my Life Coaching career, rather I hope I can work in forensics as a day job and do my coaching practice as more of a ministry.

I've often caught myself wondering why, despite the fact I have a science degree and all my experience in the medical field, I've not felt any urgency to put my knowledge and education in those areas to use for all these years. All the while, my fascination with the darker side of science has been eating away at me and I can't help but wonder, "Did I somehow miss my true calling in life?"

I suppose we will find out soon enough! It could be that I'll hear back from the schools I sent to for information and decide I'm really not interested after all. Then, I'll go back to getting my "morbidity fix" by watching Forensic Files and reading creepy crime stories whenever I can get my hands on one.

At the very least, it would make for an interesting story. Perhaps it might provide research for a children's book titled .. "Grandma Goes to College". It could be filled with photos of a middle aged woman seated in a classroom filled with late teens and twenty-somethings ... all young enough to be my own children.

Hmm ... no. I'll stick to the online schooling idea, thank you! My self esteem has been beaten down enough as it is.

I'll be taking the process one step at a time. If I find an online school that suits me, I'll then need to pursue financial aid of some kind ... and so on and so forth. Hopefully I would be able to pay off my student loans sometime before I retire.

So much for this analytical mind to ponder, so few years in which to follow through!

That's Not Funny!

2009-03-26T12:00:00.005-04:00

It's been a while since I've blogged. Wow! Time goes by quickly, doesn't it?

I've had a good reason. I like to keep this particular blog light hearted and humorous. It doesn't seem there's been a lot to laugh about lately. I was waiting until this season passed to write again, but at this point I have no idea when that's going to happen.

So I just thought I'd stop by and say "hello" and let everyone know I didn't drop off the planet (although there have been times over the last few weeks when I would have enjoyed that.)

I pray everyone is well and prosperous!

I'll be back when I start having funny thoughts again. :0)

Peace!

In The Dark

2009-03-06T23:05:00.017-05:00

Help!

Mr. Taylor is out of town and I don't know how to operate the majority of our house lights.

You think I'm kidding? Well, I'm not.

Such occurrences are common in the Taylor household. My wonderful husband, having a tangent for all things electrical, likes to periodically re-program the automated lighting system in our home.

Apparently he grew bored with the way things were working sometime between the last time he went out of town without me, and yesterday when he left again.

I discovered that fact in the early evening when I realized it was growing dark outside and neither the lights in the keeping room or living room had turned themselves on yet.

For a good ten minutes I plundered around in the twilight looking for the magic box that dictates such matters. The last time I was in this position, both sets could be controlled by a gadget that sits on our bedside stand. Obviously that has changed and no one bothered to send me a memo.

I finally met with success when I recalled seeing a new magic box sitting on the end table in the keeping room. Feeling my way back through the house, I located it and repeatedly pressed buttons until Voila'!

There was light!

After that, all was well in my little corner of the world until 11:00 p.m. which happens to be the designated hour for "lights out". At that time I was sitting on the bed watching videos on my laptop computer when I heard the tell-tale click that accompanies the night-time darkness through out the house.

Except for the glow of my computer screen, I found myself once again sitting unwittingly alone in the dark.

Thank goodness the magic box that sits beside our bed still works for our master bedroom lights! Otherwise I would have been forced to go right to sleep.

Which probably would have been a good idea given the fact that at promptly 6:30 a.m. 365 days a year, our room lights up as bright as the noon day sun! There are no pesky, noise making alarm clocks for us! Instead it's wakey wakey, rise and shine via a bright light in my face ... whether I need it or not.

While, in time I usually manage to figure out how to work the rest of the lighting mechanisms, I've never mastered the "alarm lights" that faithfully announce the break of dawn. Because I was clueless as to how to turn the darn thing off, I use to unplug the clock before I went to bed if I didn't otherwise have to wake up at the 6:30 the next morning.

Eventually I succumbed to the powers that be and learned to deal with it.

Oddly enough I am not technically challenged. I do have a degree in science. Back in the days of working in the hospital lab, my job required a decent knowledge of instrumentation. I could dis-assemble a number of extravagantly expensive pieces of medical equipment, put them back together and calibrate them without blinking an eye.

And yet I am challenged by a matter so simple as turning my own house lights off and on.

I have to wonder if keeping me in the dark is my husband's way of making himself feel needed. With that in mind, I suppose it really is a small price to pay.

My Nervous Breakdown

2009-02-27T11:41:00.016-05:00

Do you remember back in the old days when people sometimes experienced things they referred to as "nervous breakdowns"?

It's been a while since I've heard anyone use that term but I've been thinking about it lately and wondering if nervous breakdowns still exist. If so, what exactly do they consist of?

You see, I am fairly certain that I am due a nervous breakdown of my own, I just don't know how to go about pulling one off.

First of all, I need to know what symptoms I should exhibit. Do I unexpectedly collapse, sobbing in a heap on the floor? Do I shake uncontrollably? Do I scream and pull a knife on anyone who comes close to me?

Start talking back to the voices in my head, maybe?

If at all possible, I would prefer not to have to make a "scene" in the process of having my personal nervous breakdown. I prefer to maintain some level of dignity. I wonder if I couldn't simply make a list of the symptoms I feel like displaying and give them to the doctor. Surely he'd take my word for it and treat me accordingly!

Will my nervous breakdown necessarily involve the use of a straight jacket? If so, I don't think I'd like that very much. I hate to have my hands restrained. As my father always said, I can't talk without using my hands, so that wouldn't work at all.

How about drugs? I'm pretty sure that people who have nervous breakdowns get good drugs. That would be nice. "Take a trip and never leave the farm", so to speak. What kind of drugs do people who have nervous breakdowns get?

Will they lock me away in a rubber room somewhere? Take my shoelaces away and feed me only soft foods like green jello and oatmeal?

I don't eat green jello but do indulge in a good bowl of oatmeal now and then. So, other than the green jello part, the rubber room might be enjoyable, especially if I get good drugs to go along with it. A certain amount of solitude mixed with sweet oatmeal and some pretty hallucinations might be fun.

How long does a nervous breakdown take? I don't have a lot of time to spare and I'm not sure when I could work one into my schedule. It would definitely work out better for me if I could have my nervous breakdown over a long weekend.

I have so many questions and so few real answers.

I remember one of my college professors saying that nervous breakdowns aren't real because technically, nerves can't "break down". I'm not so sure about that. My nerves definitely feel as if they are about to crack lately. Just because we can't see them doesn't mean it's not happening!

So don't tell me I can't have a nervous breakdown! Doggone it, I've EARNED one! I swear I will wear "google" out until I find the answers I need.

And then, I will have the perfect breakdown! Just you wait and see!

Heck! If you come visit me at the funny farm I may even knit you a nice pot holder or make a pretty finger painting for you.

Stay tuned!

Just Becky

2009-02-09T10:32:00.028-05:00

Bill, Juanita, Becky Jean, and Connie Jo Sheets. circa 1971

My name is Becky.

Not Rebecca or even Becka.

Just Becky.

To make matters worse, my maiden last name was no more exciting my given first name, so I went through my entire school career bearing a very mundane, boring identity. It didn't help that absolutely every class I ever sat in contained at least one other "Becky" (although to them it was almost always a "nickname") Because of that, I inevitably ended up being referred to as "Becky #2"

Talk about adding insult to injury!

As fate would have it, I married a man with what turns out to be one of the ten most common surnames in America. That came as a surprise to me, because I didn't know many "Taylors" in southern Ohio where I grew up. To the contrary, here in Georgia, I've noticed that there seems to be more "Taylors" than there are "people"!

So, that's my name. Becky Taylor (yawn). There isn't much chance you'll ever see that one up on the silver screen!

Neither does it carry much of an initial impact in the business world. "Becky Taylor" doesn't exactly scream, "powerful", "strong","bold", or "successful". I've attempted to remedy that fact by adding my middle initial to the mix, however, "Becky J. Taylor" sounds only slightly more grown up and serious.

The truth is my name is very "girl next door". A status that, over time, tends to become diluted to "What ever happened to whats-her-face?"

At best, when my name is spoken it's likely to be followed with the question, "Which Becky?"

I'm not sure what my parents were thinking when they named me, except there's no possible way they looked at their little bundle of joy and saw anything past an eight or nine year old girl with pigtails and freckles. They certainly had no foresight concerning the adult their newborn daughter might someday grown up to be.

So, they chose a name accordingly.

Just Becky.

How precious! (Grrrr!)

Sometimes I think it would be a good idea if parents waited until their children are old enough to have a say in the matter and let them choose their own names.

If that were the case, I wonder what I would have picked. Of course that would be dependent largely upon the age at which I was able to choose. I shiver a little to imagine what I might have ended up with had I been handed a baby name book and told to name myself in, oh say, third grade. Yikes! You'd likely be addressing me with something very tomboyish, like "Jamie".

Now that I think about it, "Jamie" is very much like "Becky" just not as "girly".

In Junior High School, I undoubtedly would have chosen something adventurous, probably from the Native American culture. I thought American Indian names were very cool and spent a lot of time daydreaming about being a Native American Princess.

I can imagine hearing my mother's voice calling now. "Come on in to dinner, Tenskwatawah!"

Hmm, "Tenskwatawah Taylor"?

It never would have worked out.

At an adult, I've most often thought "Sophia" might be a nice name to have. It's definitely not a common moniker. I can only think of one or two people I've ever met in real life named "Sophia". If only my parents had thought to give that name to me! I definitely never would have been referred to as "Sophia #2".

Neither can I imagine hearing anyone use the words, "Just" and "Sophia" together as a phrase.

The name "Sophia" has a way of drawing attention. Unlike "Becky", it requires a second glance.
It's surely no accident that the name "Sophia" and the word "sophisticated" have so much in common. For the life of me, I cannot picture "Sophia" doing anything as mundane as washing dishes or changing the kitty litter.

No, people like "Sophia" hire people named "Becky" to do that sort of thing for them.

It's no wonder I never became famous!

Oh, I'm only joking.

In reality, being "Just Becky" hasn't been all that bad. I dare say it actually has it perks and challenges.

My first name, when combined with my middle (yet equally non-dramatic) name can have a rather melodic sound if pronounced correctly. For instance, when one throws a heavy southern accent, such as my grandmother had, into the equation.

Grandma lovingly called me "Beckajean", allowing the syllables to roll very slowly and deliberately off her tongue. Sweet and thick like molasses, it came out ... "Beck-AHhh-jean"

That was actually kind of nice.

My Dad, cousins, and Aunts back home still call me "Becky Jean" only their pronunciation has a short clippy northern "bite" to it. That too, has a comforting feel, because it reminds me of "home". To the people who know me best and love me most "Becky Jean" is "who" I am.

None of them ever has to ask "Which Becky Jean?"

I suppose a name, like anything else, is what you make it. For instance, having a name like "Becky" allows an element of surprise. People hear my name and expect the "girl next door". What they don't realize is that "Sophia" lurks just beneath the surface. Unlike "Becky", "Sophia" is a force to be reckoned with!

Just ask my husband and he'll confirm that fact (or he will if he knows what's good for him!)

Being "Becky", I've had the fortune of never having anyone mis-pronounce my name when they speak to me. Neither have I ever, before meeting someone face to face, been mistakenly thought to be a male because of having a name that was unusual or non gender specific.

Now that I live in the south, I am often referred to as "Miss Becky" by the youngsters. Surprisingly enough, I must admit that I find "Miss Becky" to have a certain charm. "Miss Becky" is certainly a respected grown up here in the Georgia.

Those are all good things about being "Just Becky".

So, I'll resist any mid-life urges to run out and assign another name to myself. I was born "Becky" and "Becky" I shall remain.

"Becky".

The girl next door.

Approachable.

Sensible.

Down to earth.

Thoughtful and kind.

All American girl.

There's certainly nothing wrong with any of those traits!

Maybe Mom and Dad knew what they were doing when they decide to call me that after all. I only hope, when my time ends on earth, it will be said of me that I did the name justice and made my parents proud.

Go ahead, just call me "Becky". I like the sound of that!

Good Medicine!

2009-02-06T09:37:00.029-05:00

My two youngest offspring ... they make me laugh!

I've been needing a break lately, so much so that I have contemplated running away for a day or two. The problem with that, however, would be the cost involved. It's one of those so called "catch 22'" dilemmas. A large part of my reason for needing a break is the financial stress we've been experiencing over the last several months, and of course it's a bit difficult to run away (at least with any degree of comfort) without the finances to support it

Suffice to say, I'm "stuck" where I am for now.

Last night as I lay in my bed fighting the nagging thoughts of discouragement that raced through my head and kept me tossing and turning, I decided I really had no choice but to come up with a feasible alternative remedy for my current state of disgruntlement.

Yes, it was most definitely time for "Plan B"!

"Think on those things which are GOOD ..." I reminded myself in a conscious attempt to re-direct my thoughts back to a more pleasant frame of mind. One by one, I methodically sorted through my data base of happy memories, eventually constructing a conglomeration of only the best on which to concentrate.

Before long, a sweet flood of wonderful thoughts began rushing through what had only moments before been the parched and thirsty riverbed of my spirit. Like a grainy old 8mm film, the scenes were displayed one after another before my minds eye.

There were the hot summer evenings spent picnicking a the lake when I was a little girl, followed by memories of my children when they were small, lot's of thoughts involving my crazy friends ... and on to those of my silly little grandchildren who've most recently given me reason to smile.

And smile, I did, as I lay there in the dark recalling nearly forty-eight years worth of unforgettable events which have left permanent impressions on my heart. Oh to capture those things and keep them alive forever! It would be the perfect cure for what ails me now.

In the process, it occurred to me that my very best memories share one common factor. I realized what exactly, has been the missing piece of my life's puzzle in recent weeks.

Laughter!

I love to laugh. It's a gift I inherited from my father's side of the family. I dare say, they made it an art form. I've never met anyone who could laugh quite like Dad and his four sisters. A healthy dose of humor could be found in just about any situation (or no situation at all) if they were involved. Once they got together at our family functions, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before uncontrollable laughter would break out and take us all hostage.

It was a literally breath taking and wonderful experience.

Man! What I wouldn't give for some of that now!

It isn't that I've not laughed lately. Seldom does a day go by that I don't find something worthy of a chuckle or two. Just yesterday I got tickled at my son when the doctor asked him what kind of green vegetables he liked and he responded, "Green Skittles".

But that's not the kind of laugh I need! I need a big ol' belly laugh! One that makes me snort and double over, holding my sides while tears roll from my eyes.

I need to laugh like we all laughed forty years ago when my aunt Leora ran to rescue her grand daughter who'd fallen on the patio, only to slip in the same puddle of water she'd fallen prey to and topple right on top of her.

I need to cackle and cry like my daughter Emily and I did when my then five year old son, Adam David, after discovering the significance of his name, subsequently choreographed his own personal "underwear dance" and proudly performed it for us, stripped down to his little white briefs while singing, "I'm dancin' in my underwear! I'm dancin' in my underwear!"

(If you don't "get it", read the story of King David in the Bible)

The performance got such rave reviews that he continued encore appearances for anyone who visited our house over the next couple of years, each time evoking the same wonderful response from his audience ... he never stopped until the tears of laughter flowed! (My aunts would definitely be proud!)

I could even go for a good dose of the painful hilarity that erupted when my friend Debby and I were goofing off at her house two years back, and I stumbled backward and landed flat in her living room floor. It turned out that laughter wasn't the only thing that broke out that evening, as I almost immediately realized I'd also fractured my arm in the process!

I'll never forget sitting there in the floor cradling my incredibly painful forearm against my chest, never-the-less laughing so hard I could barely enunciate the words, "I think I'm gonna need some ice!"

And yet, the memory of the experience is indescribably funny even today. (ok, so maybe you really had to be there to fully appreciate the humor surrounding the situation.)

It's true. Laughter is "good medicine". Just thinking about laughing is a refreshing thing! I proved that to myself once again last night.

Wouldn't it be great if we could all laugh today? (uhh.. while the situation I described above was extremely funny at the time, I would not recommend that you break any appendages in your attempt to accomplish this task)

My personal assignment for this weekend is to have a good belly laugh. What an amazing way to forget about my current predicament and retreat for a while!

Best of all, (barring the unfortunate occurrence of fractured limbs) it won't cost a dime!

Sick Day

2009-01-30T19:12:00.014-05:00

I took a "sick day" today, although I'm not sure it qualifies as a "sick day" when I didn't have anything on the schedule anyway... at least not until this evening.

That sounds even more pathetic now that I think about it, given the fact that it is Friday.

I use to look forward to Friday evenings. That was the night my friends and I would all go out to dinner together after work, and then hit our local (brace yourself now) "Wal-Mart". (Did you really think I might say local "bar"??)

During the last few years Friday's haven't been quite as exciting as they were even less than a decade ago. Now days Friday evenings normally consist of driving the boy to the movies and dropping him off, then either waiting on him by hanging out at the outlet mall for two hours (which ultimately ends up costing me more money than I have to spend) or driving back home and twiddling my thumbs for an hour and a half before turning around and going back to retrieve my son.

Yes, it's true. My fourteen year old offspring has a more exciting life than I. That's just wrong!

For once, Adam didn't have plans for his Friday evening this week and I did! Our church is holding it's annual "girls night out" tonight ... pizza, popcorn and chick flicks at the church. I was really looking forward to it. Just me and 300 of my closest girl-friends hanging out for a few hours. What fun! No men, no kids, no curfew! (Well, technically the evening is scheduled to end at 10:00 p.m. but I could stop somewhere else on my way home if I wanted to!)

When I woke up with a severe headache this morning, it never occurred to me that I would actually be missing my "girls night out" because of it. Silly me! I believed I could sleep it off and go about my merry way. With a little luck, the extra couple hours of rest would enable me to actually stay awake until the movie ended.

By around 4:00 this afternoon I was beginning to accept the sad reality. Tonight was going to be like most other Friday nights, minus the trip to the theater to drop my son off.

No, even worse. It was going to be a regular Friday evening, minus the trip to the theater PLUS a horrible, sickening headache!

And so I accepted my fate, called the girl who was planning to ride with me to the event and canceled, then snuggled down under my blanket on the family room sofa. I figure by now, the girls down at the church have polished off the pizza and are lining up for popcorn and a soft drink, giggling as they find seats in the auditorium and wait for the movie to start rolling.

I, on the other hand, am sitting here with the t.v. blaring and the boy fussing away because we have no white bread in the house and he is starving! Mr. Taylor changed into his pajamas and retreated to the media room nearly an hour ago. Our three cats and one dog have all nestled in nearby enjoying the heat of the fireplace.

What has my life come to? A trip to "Wal-Mart" is sounding pretty exciting to me right now.

Or at least it would be if I felt halfway like getting dressed and driving all the way there ... which of course I don't, since that is the reason I am home tonight in the first place!

I do hope my 300 closest friends are having fun.

I'm also hoping they're missing me half as much as I'm missing all of them right now. I know, I know ... fat chance that that's really happening, but it's Friday night after all. I figure I at least deserve to dream a little!

Amazing Grace and Haters

2009-01-20T12:00:00.029-05:00

This post will be a bit of a personal rant, so I apologize in advance.

That said, I shall now continue!

Our family attends what we consider to be the most wonderful church on earth (that's how it should be, right?) We are part of a large congregation thus earning a spot in the "mega church" category (if you must categorize) Never the less, it doesn't "feel" like a mega church. People there, as a whole, are friendly and easy to get to know. I like to refer to it as a "big church with a store front atmosphere."

Oddly enough, I don't care much for crowds and avoid them in most situations. By the grace of God, we normally sit up front which makes it possible for me to remain fairly oblivious to the activity of the masses behind me.

On occasion though, we are bumped to seats further back in the crowd. The last three times this has happened have proven to be disturbing and eye opening experiences.

Let me back up a little. Before each service I actually pray about our seats before we enter the sanctuary. I believe that even something as trivial as where we sit is important. Nothing happens by coincidence! In the past I have met some wonderful people who have become close friends simply because we ended up sitting next to each other during church. Those sorts of "God-incidences" are wonderful!

Now, back to the disturbing, eye opening stuff!

A couple months ago on a Sunday morning, my family was seated in a different area, still close to the front but to the right of where we normally sit. I smiled and nodded as I lowered myself into the seat beside a middle aged lady and two other females who appeared to be her daughter and grand-daughter. All three of them, including the grand-daughter who looked to be about eight years old, returned my smile with icy stares.

"O.K.! This should be interesting." I thought and reminded myself that nothing happens by accident.

We had a few minutes before service started, so I introduced myself to the middle aged lady. She obliged my offer of a handshake with all the enthusiasm of a stone statue.

I felt like I was sitting by three big blocks of ice!

My intuition often picks up on the emotions of others. I think that's part of the reason I don't like to be in crowds. I feel bombarded and overwhelmed by it sometimes. That morning was definitely no exception.

Sometimes people come to church with a lot on their minds. Maybe they've just lost a loved one, or have gotten bad news about their health. They may be carrying a burden that seems too heavy to bear, and that causes them to appear withdrawn or cold toward others. People who are in those kinds of situations rarely realize they are giving that impression and will usually respond favorably when approached in a friendly manner.

The longer I sat by that woman, the clearer it got that she was not one of them. She (and the other two) obviously had some kind of "hate" issue going on and that issue was potentially affecting everyone around her.

I ended up praying for them, especially the grand-daughter throughout the remainder of the service.

Two weeks later, we ended up sitting behind the same trio. Again, they were all cold and hateful acting. A lady I know was seated to the left of the ice people. As the service ended, I tapped my acquaintance on the shoulder and asked her to retrieve something from under the seat for me. She happily leaned over to get it but as she did so, "ice lady's" daughter interjected and barked at me for asking.

I was shocked. I'll admit I almost "lost my religion" at that moment. I'd done nothing to evoke such a response from the woman. I wasn't even talking to her! I decided instead, to take the "high road" and ignored her comment. Meanwhile, the lady I knew (who happened to look as shocked as I felt) handed me the article I'd asked for along with an apologetic smile.

Now, fast forward to last night's service. It was one of our "renewal" services celebrating the approaching end of our annual fast. We had "special" seating, which ironically meant we had to sit further back in the auditorium than usual. Go figure!

The crowd was bustling around, as is usual for a week night service. People tend to come in later because most work during the day and have to rush to get there.

Walt and I stood in the aisle by our assigned seats and visited with several of our friends while we waited for service to start. Two women I've never met before sat down in the seats beside ours.

The five minute countdown appeared on the screen, indicating it was time for everyone to settle in. As the lights lowered and the praise band struck up their first chords, a young lady I recognized appeared at the end of our row with her four year old daughter perched on her hip. She scanned the row searching for two empty seats and decided to settle for a single seat instead, since that was all that was available. Her little girl would have to sit on her lap.

Like I said, I recognized the young woman, but I don't really know her. I've watched her since she started coming to the church and have to say I admire her dedication. She is faithful and enthusiastic, and never misses a service. I've noticed that she shows up on Wednesday nights in a uniform, obviously having rushed straight to service from work. This has been going on for nearly five years now. Even though we've never really even talked, she has been a blessing to me.

The empty seat she'd spotted was directly on the other side of the two women seated by me. As she entered our row and attempted to pass the women, they made no attempt to move out of the way for her. This meant she was stopped between me and the seat in front of me ... and quite literally standing on the toes of my left foot!

"I am so sorry!" She apologized, then leaned over and asked the woman next to me if she could please let her through to the one available seat.

I was totally shocked when I heard the woman respond to her with a harsh scolding! She said, "Well that's why you're supposed to get here ON TIME, honey!"

And she refused to budge, forcing the girl to crawl across both her and her companion in order to be seated.

At that point I wanted to apply the "five fold ministry" to the stubborn woman's face (if you know what I mean) ! I don't know if that woman was a visitor or a regular and I guess it doesn't really matter. My question was, how could she treat one of God's children like that and still call herself a Christian?

Visitor or church member, she had no regard whatsoever for whatever circumstances precluded the young woman's late arrival. She was instead, only concerned about the horrid inconvenience the girl had caused her by asking politely to be let past.

On one hand, I feel a bit guilty for allowing myself to be ruffled by such incidents, but on the other I believe there is such a thing as "righteous indignation". Didn't Jesus Himself say, "Suffer the little children and forbid them not to come unto me .." when his "followers" tried to snub the little ones? Didn't he become angry when unacceptable things were happening in the temple?

I know our Heavenly Father loves us all, "haters" included, but I'm also pretty certain He does not approve of the haters actions ... especially when the haters are supposedly Christians and should be representing HIM to the rest of the world.

If we can't be nice to each other while we're sitting in the church, how are we going to behave ourselves while we're out in the community?

Ah! But back to the whole "All things happen for a reason" theory. I understand there must be some purpose for even these experiences, and I've learned that it's likely I'll continue to be exposed to similar things until I figure out just what He wants me to do about it.

So far so good ... so help me Lord! I've come to understand that I shouldn't follow my first impulse which is to smack the hater or give them a piece of my mind. To be honest I am praying now against any possibility of becoming a "hater" of the "haters" myself. That would be just plain wrong.

No, love must ... and WILL prevail! As one of my former pastor use to say, "Hurt people" hurt people." So maybe the haters I've come in contact with recently have been hurt at some point and need a good old fashioned healing.

Or a good old fashioned "come to Jesus" talk!

Either way, I am praying God reveals the answer to me soon, so I can act accordingly and pass this test ... and get back to the "happy" Christians who sit in our usual section of the sanctuary.

Casual Friday

2009-01-16T11:00:00.006-05:00

I woke up this morning with a skull crushing headache. The feeling might be compared to that of a freight train sitting on top of my head with it's whistle stuck at full blast. It hurts!

I had every intention of going back to bed after the boy left for school, but of course I rarely follow through with that sort of plan. Instead, I ended up taking some extra strength pain reliever and attempting to go about my business.

I did allow myself to forego any attempt to get out of my pajamas and into real clothes. Neither did I bother with any application of makeup or fixing of my hair. My business is run from the comfort of my home and since I am not seeing any face to face clients today, I figured "Why not?"

Around ten o'clock I started to feel a bit guilty about still being in my pjs and looking like a rumpled mess. Sure, I'd managed to get a few things accomplished despite my state of dis-array, but thoughts of unexpected visitors ringing my doorbell began to haunt me. Maybe my decision not to get dressed for the day wasn't such a good one after all.

Then I had a "second thought" about the matter!

By golly, it's FRIDAY! Is it not still a common practice of many businesses to observe "Casual Friday" where the employees are encouraged to show up at the office "dressed down" a bit?

So, it stands to reason that since my usual work day attire (if I don't have any face to face meetings) is jeans and a sweater, then my "Casual Friday" attire would be a step down from that.

And a step down from jeans and sweaters would naturally be ......

PAJAMAS and house slippers!

What a liberating moment that was for me!

I am proud to announce the premier of "Casual Fridays" here at the "offices" of "Bold New Day, LLC"/ "World Ventures"/ "Rovia Travel" / "Taylor Electric Service". In an attempt to boost the morale of our office CEO / Life Coach / Secretary / Housekeeper (all of which would be ME) The practice of changing out of one's pj's, applying makeup, brushing hair or any other similar task, on Fridays will be purely optional and done so only at MY discretion!

(Just be sure and call ahead if you're planning on stopping by, OK?)

Things That Go BOOM In The Night!

2009-01-07T18:33:00.003-05:00

There has to be a logical explanation. I'm sure of it.

A few weeks ago in the middle of our Friday night slumber, my husband woke me up and asked if I would go upstairs and have Adam turn his music down. I roused myself from a deep sleep and slid off the side of the bed into my slippers. Sure enough, there was a distinct "boom bah boom bah boom boom" in full surround sound rocking our entire house. The effect was much like that of sitting beside a car with it's stereo on full blast at a stop light.

And yes, the origin of the "boom bah boom bah boom boom" was the upper story of our house, where the boy's bedroom is located.

Teenagers!

"Why is he even up at this hour, much less listening to music that loudly?" I grumbled as I pulled myself up the stairs.

About half way up, I realized the sound was actually coming from the media room.

"Adam!" I barked (have I mentioned that I'm not really at my "best" when my sleep is interrupted?) "Why are you watching a movie at this hour? Turn it down! You're waking up the neighborhood, for pete's sake!"

Grrr!

Adam's bedroom door sprang open and he appeared, looking a little disheveled and very perplexed.

"I didn't turn it on Mom, it woke me up too." he explained.

That was weird. I couldn't help but notice a discomforting eerie glow spilling into the hallway from the media room. With a measure of caution, I approached the DVD player (which is actually operated by remote from the upstairs office) and investigated, then pressed the "off" button. The noise stopped and the eerie glow disappeared.

I assured my son that it was just a fluke and went back downstairs where my husband, snuggled down deep inside the warmth of his blankets, had already fallen back to sleep.

"Walt! Walt!" I shook him until he popped his head from under the covers and opened his eyes.

"The DVD player just turned itself on." I explained. "It woke Adam up too, he hadn't even been in there!"

"Oh." my groggy spouse responded, "That's strange" ... and went right back to sleep.

I shrugged it off and crawled back into bed myself.

A few days passed and I hadn't thought any more of the incident.

Then it happened again. We came home from a holiday party and sure enough, there was a movie showing in full surround sound in our media room. The only problem was, no one was home when the show started.

This time, Mr. Taylor went upstairs and looked into it. Just as I'd done before, all he could think of to remedy the problem was simply to turn the DVD player off.

Once more, time passed and the self-starting movie situation became a distant memory for the three of us.

Until last night. Third verse, same as the first ... and second. It was the middle of the night again and everyone was sound asleep. I was awakened by two of our cats fighting in our bedroom. I got up and shooed Skippyjon, the younger cat, toward the vicinity of the foyer. He normally sleeps with Adam, but on occasion will manage to be outside his room when the door closes for the night. Skippyjon’s attempts to get into our bed instead always invites a brutal attack from the older Siamese.

Once a safe distance from the older, hissing, snarling cat, I scooped Skippyjon into my arms and began my trek to Adam's bedroom.

I paused at the foot of the stairs. There was that noise again. My first thought was that Adam was still awake at 2:45 a.m. on a school night and he was in big trouble. When I got to his door, Skippyjon in tow, however, I saw that his bedroom was dark. The boy was snoozing away.

Sighing, I dropped Skippyjon inside the bedroom door and closed it before he could run back out, then went to the DVD player and hit the "off" button.

By then, the whole ordeal was starting to get a little old! I went back to bed and woke Walt up, explaining that we really did need to figure out why the DVD player has suddenly acquired a mind of it's own and put this nonsense to an end. He assured me he would look into it.

Thank goodness.

This morning Walt left for work and I (because I wasn't able to get back to sleep easily last night) slept in. Once up for the day, I went through my usual morning routine, then sat down to work at the computer.

Within a few minutes, the whole house began dancing to the now all too familiar sound of "boom bah boom bah boom boom". Obviously, that DVD player is not planning to go down without a fight!

I've been tolerating the noise for a while now. For some reason I feel no sense of urgency in climbing up those stairs and turning it off this time. Maybe I'll just wait and see how long it lasts. Could be the dastardly DVD player is plotting against me, trying to see how many times I'll actually come up there and hit the "off" button before I finally rip the evil device out of the wall altogether. I can almost hear it mocking me now. Perhaps it plans to make me it's human slave.

Nah. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for the DVD player taking on a life of it’s own. I’m also fairly certain that it isn’t actually plotting my demise. It is, after all, only a shiny box with a bunch of wires stuffed inside. Surely it poses no threat to a human being such as myself.

Never the less, in case you’re “listening” my little electronic friend. You’d better watch out! The next thing that goes "boom" in the night around here just could be your shiny metal case hitting the floor. Don’t mess with me, you will NOT win!

Why Do They Call It A Fast (When It Goes So SLOW?)

2009-01-05T18:49:00.020-05:00

Our church family is currently finishing up day two of our annual twenty-one day fast. Several of us have opted to begin by doing a three day "water only" fast, then switch to the "Daniel" fast which allows fruits and vegetables, and a few other basic "real" food items.

My husband is going to go even longer than the three days on water only. Personally, I'm drinking water every day until sundown, then eating some of the actual "Daniel" fast foods in order to take my medications. Otherwise, the meds would upset my stomach terribly and trust me, we don't want that to happen.

This fasting stuff is an interesting experience. I'd like to say I'm so "super-spiritual" that I find it enjoyable, but I'd be lying. Although I didn't read anything in the "fasting guidelines" specifically addressing the subject of telling lies while fasting, I'm pretty sure it would have adverse effects on the desired outcome.

So, can you handle the truth? I'll tell you the stinkin' truth! I dread this thing every year. It's the only time I actually contemplate the possibility of finding a different church to attend, at least for a few weeks during the month of January!

Gasp! Of course I don't mean that.

I believe with all my heart that God Himself, has placed me in my particular church family. That is where I'm suppose to be and I wouldn't change it for the world. After all, I want nothing more than to be in the center of HIS will for my life. If my Pastor calls a fast every January, then that's what I know I should be doing.

But, do I have to LIKE it? I hope not, because if that's the case, I am in some deep trouble!

Fasting can be compared to labor and delivery. I've had three babies in my lifetime, and can honestly say I always enjoyed being pregnant. Even more so, I excitedly looked forward to finally holding each of my precious newborn babies in my arms!

The labor and delivery part though? I can't say I looked forward to THAT aspect of the whole "having a baby" process in the least. Even though all my labors and deliveries were relatively easy (for lack of a better word), there was nothing enjoyable about it! Not once during any of my pregnancies did I ever say, "Oh! I just can't wait to spend hours in writhing pain! Bring it on!"

I did, however, happily anticipate bringing my babies into this world and have been known to comment, "I wish I would hurry up and go into labor!"

Did I just contradict myself?

No!

I knew that labor and delivery were very necessary in order to get my babies here. That was my reward for enduring the pain.

Talk about the "end justifying the means"!

The same goes for fasting. Every year I dread it.

And every year I also know it's something I MUST do, because at the end of the fast there is always a great reward. Just like giving birth, there's something about what happens as a result of fasting that makes it seem "not so bad" after all. It makes me say that I would definitely do it all over again.

(Just not immediately, of course!)

That's what I focus on while I busy chewing on raw broccoli and washing it down with water when I'd much rather be gulping down a pizza with a side of Diet Pepsi! Eventually, the painful part WILL end!

Right now, with two fasting days behind me and nineteen left to go, that "end" seems like a million miles away.

I can do this! With God's help, I know I can.

But boy! Will I ever be happy when it's all over and done, and I can go back to eating "real" food for the other forty-nine weeks of the 2009!

Becky Taylor 1/5/09