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
Showing posts with label pushing fifty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pushing fifty. Show all posts
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Friday, July 30, 2010
Great! They've Killed the Elves too!
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
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
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Somebody Burned My Bridge!
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
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
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Where's David Tutera When You Need Him?
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
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
Friday, June 25, 2010
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
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
Monday, May 31, 2010
Grandma Buys a Bathing Suit
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
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
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Flavor
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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
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Me, Myself, and Becky Taylor
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
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
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Sauerkraut,Sausage and Dumplings! Oh My!
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
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
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Weighting Around ..
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
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
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
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
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
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Victoriana Makes Me Happy
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!
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