Bye-Bye Pearly Whites!

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

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

Isn't it Ironic?

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!

Book It, Dan-O!

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

Tunic Tops and Tummy Troubles

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

Out On A Limb

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

The Big 5-Oh No!!!

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

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

Feed Me!!

This time last week we were boarding a ship for a weekend cruise where for three days, we were surrounded by food. Even before our ship pulled away from the port, a veritable 24/7 feeding frenzy ensued which lasted until we walked off on Monday morning.

My problem with that? I wasn't hungry.

I tried to eat. I felt compelled to join the masses at the buffet every morning and afternoon. There, I would pile food on my plate like it was going out of style, only to sit down and decide I didn't want it after all.

Each evening we would dress up and make our way to the dining room where we were able to order any delicacy our hearts desired, even if it wasn't on the menu! The food was delicious, but try again as I may, I just didn't want it. About three bites into each dish, my appetite would abandon me, leaving me sitting there feeling badly about wasting all that glorious food.

It was weird.

You wanna know what's more weird than that?

Now that I am home and my choices are much more limited, I suddenly find myself starving. Seriously! If I'd felt like this last week, someone would have had to wheel me off the ship in a cargo box. There wouldn't have been any food left in a three mile radius after I got finished with it.

Yes, even this morning, I would KILL for a big buffet to plunder through.

I'm not normally a big eater. My philosophy has always been "Eat to live", not "Live to eat!" Food typically holds a rather low spot on my list of priorities. It isn't unusual for me to get so involved with whatever I am doing, that I forget to eat.

Yes. I said I "forget" to eat.

So why this sudden change? I haven't the foggiest clue. Hopefully it will pass as quickly as it hit and I'll be back to my normal un-hungry self soon.

For now, I'll just go fix myself a bowl of left over chili and bide my time as I wait.

Pushing Fifty

Pushing Fifty

My birthday is coming up. It's six days away, to be exact, and I will be turning forty-eight.

Forty-eight is not a big deal. Whatever forty-eight is supposed to feel like, I don't think I feel it. I certainly don't consider myself "middle aged". (The mere act of typing those words just made me shudder.)

No, I am definitely not "old".

At least I didn't think so until I talked to my daughter on the phone last night. Angel was commenting on a picture of me that which was taken on formal night of our cruise last week. I'm quite sure she meant her statement as a compliment, but perhaps she could have chosen her words a little better.

She said, "Mom! You look gorgeous in that picture of you in the black party dress. I told Johnny that you sure don't look like a woman who's pushing FIFTY!"

I gulped and immediately informed her that "I AM NOT PUSHING FIFTY!"

That, of course, brought laughter from the other end of the phone line. (OK, so if I'm indeed "pushing fifty", whatever happened to respecting one's elders???)

That's when the conversation (and my ego) took a distinct downward turn.

Angel went on to explain that my being forty-eight somehow officially allows me to wear the banner of "pushing fifty".

Like it's some kind of honor or something.

I'll have none of that nonsense!

I'm sorry. I'm not quite ready to hang that noose around my neck just yet. I refuse to entertain any thought of "pushing fifty" until at least two years from this date, August 7, 2010! Six days before my fiftieth birthday. In the meantime I will remain as I am ... young, strong, and (almost) invincible.

I am WOMAN! Hear me roar! (Or in this case, hear me complain about my daughter thinking of me as "pushing fifty")

So today, it's back to looking forward to my birthday which is a mere six days away.

I will be forty-eight. Don't you forget it!