Saturday, August 27, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
The Train Station...(aka The Bridal Diaries)..my new bff and Tinkerbell's plea.
I wish I was an otter. Preferably the North American fresh water otter. Not the South American otter that swims in the murky brown rivers of the Amazon...too many big snakes and crocodiles lurking in, around or on the water for me to be able to enjoy myself. It's very important that I be able to frolic carelessly while in the water.
That's why I'm not real keen on being a sea otter either, although furry, fluffy and just dog-gone adorable. The thought of being fatally thrashed around like a rag doll by Jaws or Shamoo unexpectedly while I'm floating on my back, smashing a clam (using my paws and a rock), is just not appealing to me. I must be able to frolic and play with my fellow otters in clear, fresh water with little (unsuspecting) chance of becoming someone else's meal.
Otters are the star characters (emphasis on characters) in nature's own permormance of "Cirque du Soleil." They're the limber dancers, acrobats and silly clowns of the forest who make their lives fun and fancy-free effortlessly. No complicated social structure with ottters; they live peacefully in families and easily co-exist with others in their community because that's their nature. Simply put, otters are the bringers and sustainers of the all night animal party.
They are the ones who truly live their motto..."No worries." And they can do that because they have no cares of the world or burdens to weigh them down. I really wish I was an otter.
You see, as I sit here writing, nursing a probable stress fracture to my right shin (no joke), I'm also pondering my future with my new bff, fibromyalgia. Think of having the flu minus the coughing and sneezing, but keeping the body aches and fatigue. That's fibromyalgia.
But just like the ads on "As Seen on TV", there's more. There's the fatigue and the mental fog and lack of concentration. And of course, the nagging aching muscle pain all over. And now at night I have a restless leg kind of thing going on where I have to hang my right leg over the edge of the bed and swing it back and forth like a pendulum. Then I can't fall asleep and when I do, I toss and turn over all night long like a chicken on a rotisserie stick. Poor Cliffy g (aka the man)...sleeping with me is like sleeping on a trampoline.
There is this component to fibromyalgia that shows a possible relationship between this condition and depression. It's like a chicken vs. egg thing. Does having fibromyalgia make you depressed or does depression lower the threshold of pain, causing more sensitivity to pain? So now I'm struggling with both pain and some pretty bad blues...good times.
I really noticed that something was wrong with my body when I started the personal training. I'm not blaming the rigorous sessions for causing my pain, I'm just saying that I think they exacerbated it. Figures, I was finally moving in the right direction with my plan to better myself this year, and whammo.
I think the last (and probably final now) workout with Zack did me in. I wrote about it in my July post and now when I think about how incredibly grueling (more so than before) it was for me, I now know why. After I came home that night, I didn't feel right. Then I developed a low grade fever and intense muscle/body aches. The next day I was totally wiped out. I haven't been back to the gym since.
It's sad because it's been over a month since my workout with Zack and he hasn't even called to see if I'm alive. I guess I was just another overweight middle-aged woman to him. I really thought we had something special (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I will get to see him again though, when I give him my doctor's excuse (ending my training contract) and to gaze into those intense blue eyes one last time for a while.
You know, I feel like I was a contestant on "Wipe Out" where I was doing so well until BAM I got nailed by a rotating punching bag and fell into that yucky muddy water only after slamming into every obstacle on the way down. Then I hear the announcer say "aw, that's a shame...she was doing so well, but folks, she is out of the game."
There, I've told you all now and I don't have to pretend like everything is honky-dory. I told you because 'it is what it is', and it's part of my story now and will ride heavily on my back thru this journey called life.
Remember in the story of "Peter Pan" where Tinkerbell almost died because people didn't believe in her anymore? Well, in a strange kind of way, that's how I feel right now. I feel lost and discouraged and definitely out of pixie dust.
I'm not angry with God, strangely enough; I just don't understand what He's doing with me. I'm not throwing in the towel either; I just need a little pep talk, that's all.
I'm the worst person at asking for help, trust me, I am. I'm good at clapping for others, but not for "Team Mary Pat." Could you "clap" for me? Maybe even talk to the big guy upstairs for me? I could really use some rallying from the troops out there. I just need to be reminded that I am not alone and that I have the love and support of others who will raise their pom poms for me.
We all have had our own set backs now and then, right? Well, I want to hear from you about what gives you strength, courage and hope to keep on keeping on. If I don't hear from anyone, I'll just keep singing that ol' Negro Spiritual..."Nobody knows the trouble I've seen...nobody knows, but...Jee...zus."
One request though. Please do not try to "minister" to me with christian cliches like "...and we know that all things work together, etc" unless you've clung to that verse and came out a better person on the other end because of it. I want to hear how God brought you through your own pain and I need you to be honest.
OK then. Time to decide...shall I continue with the dismally gloomy "Team Eeyore" or slip into the fresh, clear water and carefree world of "Team Otter"?
I know what my heart 'otterly' wants.
That's why I'm not real keen on being a sea otter either, although furry, fluffy and just dog-gone adorable. The thought of being fatally thrashed around like a rag doll by Jaws or Shamoo unexpectedly while I'm floating on my back, smashing a clam (using my paws and a rock), is just not appealing to me. I must be able to frolic and play with my fellow otters in clear, fresh water with little (unsuspecting) chance of becoming someone else's meal.
Otters are the star characters (emphasis on characters) in nature's own permormance of "Cirque du Soleil." They're the limber dancers, acrobats and silly clowns of the forest who make their lives fun and fancy-free effortlessly. No complicated social structure with ottters; they live peacefully in families and easily co-exist with others in their community because that's their nature. Simply put, otters are the bringers and sustainers of the all night animal party.
They are the ones who truly live their motto..."No worries." And they can do that because they have no cares of the world or burdens to weigh them down. I really wish I was an otter.
You see, as I sit here writing, nursing a probable stress fracture to my right shin (no joke), I'm also pondering my future with my new bff, fibromyalgia. Think of having the flu minus the coughing and sneezing, but keeping the body aches and fatigue. That's fibromyalgia.
But just like the ads on "As Seen on TV", there's more. There's the fatigue and the mental fog and lack of concentration. And of course, the nagging aching muscle pain all over. And now at night I have a restless leg kind of thing going on where I have to hang my right leg over the edge of the bed and swing it back and forth like a pendulum. Then I can't fall asleep and when I do, I toss and turn over all night long like a chicken on a rotisserie stick. Poor Cliffy g (aka the man)...sleeping with me is like sleeping on a trampoline.
There is this component to fibromyalgia that shows a possible relationship between this condition and depression. It's like a chicken vs. egg thing. Does having fibromyalgia make you depressed or does depression lower the threshold of pain, causing more sensitivity to pain? So now I'm struggling with both pain and some pretty bad blues...good times.
I really noticed that something was wrong with my body when I started the personal training. I'm not blaming the rigorous sessions for causing my pain, I'm just saying that I think they exacerbated it. Figures, I was finally moving in the right direction with my plan to better myself this year, and whammo.
I think the last (and probably final now) workout with Zack did me in. I wrote about it in my July post and now when I think about how incredibly grueling (more so than before) it was for me, I now know why. After I came home that night, I didn't feel right. Then I developed a low grade fever and intense muscle/body aches. The next day I was totally wiped out. I haven't been back to the gym since.
It's sad because it's been over a month since my workout with Zack and he hasn't even called to see if I'm alive. I guess I was just another overweight middle-aged woman to him. I really thought we had something special (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I will get to see him again though, when I give him my doctor's excuse (ending my training contract) and to gaze into those intense blue eyes one last time for a while.
You know, I feel like I was a contestant on "Wipe Out" where I was doing so well until BAM I got nailed by a rotating punching bag and fell into that yucky muddy water only after slamming into every obstacle on the way down. Then I hear the announcer say "aw, that's a shame...she was doing so well, but folks, she is out of the game."
There, I've told you all now and I don't have to pretend like everything is honky-dory. I told you because 'it is what it is', and it's part of my story now and will ride heavily on my back thru this journey called life.
Remember in the story of "Peter Pan" where Tinkerbell almost died because people didn't believe in her anymore? Well, in a strange kind of way, that's how I feel right now. I feel lost and discouraged and definitely out of pixie dust.
I'm not angry with God, strangely enough; I just don't understand what He's doing with me. I'm not throwing in the towel either; I just need a little pep talk, that's all.
I'm the worst person at asking for help, trust me, I am. I'm good at clapping for others, but not for "Team Mary Pat." Could you "clap" for me? Maybe even talk to the big guy upstairs for me? I could really use some rallying from the troops out there. I just need to be reminded that I am not alone and that I have the love and support of others who will raise their pom poms for me.
We all have had our own set backs now and then, right? Well, I want to hear from you about what gives you strength, courage and hope to keep on keeping on. If I don't hear from anyone, I'll just keep singing that ol' Negro Spiritual..."Nobody knows the trouble I've seen...nobody knows, but...Jee...zus."
One request though. Please do not try to "minister" to me with christian cliches like "...and we know that all things work together, etc" unless you've clung to that verse and came out a better person on the other end because of it. I want to hear how God brought you through your own pain and I need you to be honest.
OK then. Time to decide...shall I continue with the dismally gloomy "Team Eeyore" or slip into the fresh, clear water and carefree world of "Team Otter"?
I know what my heart 'otterly' wants.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
The Train Station...(aka The Bridal Diaries)...Mirror, mirror on the wall...who the most indecisive of them all?
Forgive me audience, for I have sinned...it's been over a month since my last blog. I'd like to blame it on a much needed vacation to Bermuda or the Mediterranean but it actually wasn't anything to do with what I was seeing, but rather the problem with seeing.
Since about March I've been having trouble with my "near" vision. My eyes got all blurry when I tried to focus on tasks like reading and writing. Then my "distant" vision wouldn't clear right away (like it used to) and things that were once clear far away stayed fuzzy.
Since about the eighth grade I've had to wear glasses only for reading. I actually had to have bifocals. Now remember, this is back in 1983 or so, so picture BIG round dorky frames with very noticeable lines in the frame to denote that they were not only super uncool but also bifocals. I had to stop wearing them because my eyes could never adjust to the bifocal thing and I kept getting headaches. Plus I looked positively absolutely goofy...like poor Jan Brady.
When I was in college, I had a really cool preppy pair. But after my first pregnancy my vision corrected itself and for the past 19 years I've had perfect vision. Until now. So, now I have officially joined the ranks of eccentric cat ladies and librarians alike who wear bedazzled colorful spectacles that rest on the end of their noses and who peer up to look at you as if you are annoying them.
I really need to take that extra step and get a beaded cord so that I can walk around with my specs hanging from it like real respectable professionals do (ha...re'spec'table, that's funny.)
Any way, I couldn't really do any writing because my concentration was off because my focus was off.
Since my blogging was temporary on hold, I will attempt to catch you all up on what I have been up to this summer. Life at the bridal shop on Saturdays continued to be busy even though the bridal business (as a whole) is notoriously slow for June, July and August.
Precious Gloria and Michael graced us with their prescence one last time before tying the knot in July. And guess what? We're facebook friends now. You should see how the two lovebirds talk to each other online...all gooey and sweet, just like the man (aka cliffy g, aka my hubby) and me. No, not at all. When Gloria and Michael speak to each other the angels in heaven sing. When me and the man converse, crickets chirp.
I've learned more about how much I hate to be patient this summer. I worked with this one bride who came in to the shop to try on veils. She came in by herself (bad idea) so I had to be more involved in the selection process. Remember, my concentration and focus are off. Not to mention that I really didn't know much about veils except that they go on your head.
Although she was very plain to look at (as in mennonite-kind of plain), she came out of the dressing room in her gown and va-va-va-voom! Here this wall flower of a girl was transformed into a flowery, ruffley and sparkling little sex kitten. Ok, maybe not "sex" kitten, but she sure was not pious-looking either. She definitely chose a dress where form beat out function. And it was in bright, pure snow white...of course.
We started out fine, with her liking the first veil very much. And, since you can't just settle on the very first veil you try (silly), you have to keep trying on veils. One after the other. And then re-try some on again. And again. Before I knew it, I had about 15 different veils of all designs and lengths spread out all over the shoe table.
You have to understand something. I wasn't just working with a bride; I was literally becoming nauseated with the indesiveness of this pretty young thing who spoke with the tone and inflection of Snow White; the original 1930's Walt Disney version. I kid you not. I half expected to see birds and small wildlife gather around her as she started singing "Someday My Prince Will Come."
Her voice I could handle because it wasn't her fault that she sounded like a cartoon character. It was the repetitious "Gee, I don't know" that was workin' on my nerves. And she would do the Bashful dwarf motions as she said that line, blushing and stroking the veil like it was her own hair. Where's a poisoned apple when you need one?
You have to understand something else; I am not dainty...there isn't a soft dainty thing about me. I'm what you call "rough around the edges." Veils are dainty and require delicate handling. And, since I was neither, I knew this task was going to be fun, but not in the good sense of fun. Add the fact that I didn't really know what I was doing, and I was the fore-runner for the consultant with the most miserable appointment for the day.
It is well known that working with someone who is indecisive takes patience, with which I seem to struggle here. It's really ironic because as an RN (at my real job), I work with dementia patients and do fine. But when you are trying to help a customer who just can't seem to make a decision because 'gee, she doesn't know,' you start to get a little frustrated. Add to the mix the taking of pictures with the different veils on (using her camera phone with my poor vision) and you're well on your way to a migraine.
You see, there are a lot of decisions to be made in selecting a veil. There's the placement of the veil; more in front, in the middle, way at the back or down below on top of a bun. Then you also have to decide if you want a blusher or not. A blusher is the piece of material that goes over a bride's face and is lifted by the father who then kisses the bride and then flips the blusher over the back of the bride's head and hands the bride over to the groom.
Then you have to decide on the length; shoulder, elbow, cathedral. Do you want a finished hem? Do you want embroidered or scalloped edges? Do you want the name of your groom tattooed on the back of it? I can't really help you unless you put your big girl panties on and make some hard decisions.
About an hour and a half into this appointment with no ending in sight, I happened to catch Alyssa, one of the co-owners of the shop, out of the corner of my bloodshot right eye. I sent her morse code for S.O.S in the form of "Hey Alyssa, could you come here for a moment please?"
I didn't care that it was the middle of the summer; to me it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. As soon as Alyssa stepped in, I stepped out singing (in my mind of course) "Free at last, free at last...thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!" Then I went and peed. Then I hid in the back until the store closed. No, just until I ate my lunch and gained my sanity back.
The bride left without making a decision, but did come back later that week with two friends who helped her decide on a veil. She picked a short, modest one trimmed in plain white thread. The trim had seperated from the veil netting in three different places (it was a floor model and got man-handled a lot), as one of her friends had pointed out to me. She then asked if the bride could buy it for 50% off the cost.
First of all, this is a bridal shop and not Saturday's market where you can name your own price. But in this case, the owner was happy to sell it but at a 35% discount. Satisfied with the deal, the bride left with the one veil that she did not try on during our venture into Sherwood's forest the Saturday before. At least I can't remember if she tried it on...my brain was fried and my eye sight not so good. However, it was the perfect veil since it was understated and didn't take away from her beautiful flowey gown. She was going to be a lovely bride for her prince.
So, if I were to gaze into my magic mirror right now to spy on my little Snow White, I bet I would see that she and her Prince Charming are living happily ever after (minus the dwarfs)...in the wonderful land of matrimony.
Me, well I'm just happy that I can SEE anything, thanks to my Prince Charming, the optometrist...he's 'spec'tacular.
The end.
Since about March I've been having trouble with my "near" vision. My eyes got all blurry when I tried to focus on tasks like reading and writing. Then my "distant" vision wouldn't clear right away (like it used to) and things that were once clear far away stayed fuzzy.
Since about the eighth grade I've had to wear glasses only for reading. I actually had to have bifocals. Now remember, this is back in 1983 or so, so picture BIG round dorky frames with very noticeable lines in the frame to denote that they were not only super uncool but also bifocals. I had to stop wearing them because my eyes could never adjust to the bifocal thing and I kept getting headaches. Plus I looked positively absolutely goofy...like poor Jan Brady.
When I was in college, I had a really cool preppy pair. But after my first pregnancy my vision corrected itself and for the past 19 years I've had perfect vision. Until now. So, now I have officially joined the ranks of eccentric cat ladies and librarians alike who wear bedazzled colorful spectacles that rest on the end of their noses and who peer up to look at you as if you are annoying them.
I really need to take that extra step and get a beaded cord so that I can walk around with my specs hanging from it like real respectable professionals do (ha...re'spec'table, that's funny.)
Any way, I couldn't really do any writing because my concentration was off because my focus was off.
Since my blogging was temporary on hold, I will attempt to catch you all up on what I have been up to this summer. Life at the bridal shop on Saturdays continued to be busy even though the bridal business (as a whole) is notoriously slow for June, July and August.
Precious Gloria and Michael graced us with their prescence one last time before tying the knot in July. And guess what? We're facebook friends now. You should see how the two lovebirds talk to each other online...all gooey and sweet, just like the man (aka cliffy g, aka my hubby) and me. No, not at all. When Gloria and Michael speak to each other the angels in heaven sing. When me and the man converse, crickets chirp.
I've learned more about how much I hate to be patient this summer. I worked with this one bride who came in to the shop to try on veils. She came in by herself (bad idea) so I had to be more involved in the selection process. Remember, my concentration and focus are off. Not to mention that I really didn't know much about veils except that they go on your head.
Although she was very plain to look at (as in mennonite-kind of plain), she came out of the dressing room in her gown and va-va-va-voom! Here this wall flower of a girl was transformed into a flowery, ruffley and sparkling little sex kitten. Ok, maybe not "sex" kitten, but she sure was not pious-looking either. She definitely chose a dress where form beat out function. And it was in bright, pure snow white...of course.
We started out fine, with her liking the first veil very much. And, since you can't just settle on the very first veil you try (silly), you have to keep trying on veils. One after the other. And then re-try some on again. And again. Before I knew it, I had about 15 different veils of all designs and lengths spread out all over the shoe table.
You have to understand something. I wasn't just working with a bride; I was literally becoming nauseated with the indesiveness of this pretty young thing who spoke with the tone and inflection of Snow White; the original 1930's Walt Disney version. I kid you not. I half expected to see birds and small wildlife gather around her as she started singing "Someday My Prince Will Come."
Her voice I could handle because it wasn't her fault that she sounded like a cartoon character. It was the repetitious "Gee, I don't know" that was workin' on my nerves. And she would do the Bashful dwarf motions as she said that line, blushing and stroking the veil like it was her own hair. Where's a poisoned apple when you need one?
You have to understand something else; I am not dainty...there isn't a soft dainty thing about me. I'm what you call "rough around the edges." Veils are dainty and require delicate handling. And, since I was neither, I knew this task was going to be fun, but not in the good sense of fun. Add the fact that I didn't really know what I was doing, and I was the fore-runner for the consultant with the most miserable appointment for the day.
It is well known that working with someone who is indecisive takes patience, with which I seem to struggle here. It's really ironic because as an RN (at my real job), I work with dementia patients and do fine. But when you are trying to help a customer who just can't seem to make a decision because 'gee, she doesn't know,' you start to get a little frustrated. Add to the mix the taking of pictures with the different veils on (using her camera phone with my poor vision) and you're well on your way to a migraine.
You see, there are a lot of decisions to be made in selecting a veil. There's the placement of the veil; more in front, in the middle, way at the back or down below on top of a bun. Then you also have to decide if you want a blusher or not. A blusher is the piece of material that goes over a bride's face and is lifted by the father who then kisses the bride and then flips the blusher over the back of the bride's head and hands the bride over to the groom.
Then you have to decide on the length; shoulder, elbow, cathedral. Do you want a finished hem? Do you want embroidered or scalloped edges? Do you want the name of your groom tattooed on the back of it? I can't really help you unless you put your big girl panties on and make some hard decisions.
About an hour and a half into this appointment with no ending in sight, I happened to catch Alyssa, one of the co-owners of the shop, out of the corner of my bloodshot right eye. I sent her morse code for S.O.S in the form of "Hey Alyssa, could you come here for a moment please?"
I didn't care that it was the middle of the summer; to me it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. As soon as Alyssa stepped in, I stepped out singing (in my mind of course) "Free at last, free at last...thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!" Then I went and peed. Then I hid in the back until the store closed. No, just until I ate my lunch and gained my sanity back.
The bride left without making a decision, but did come back later that week with two friends who helped her decide on a veil. She picked a short, modest one trimmed in plain white thread. The trim had seperated from the veil netting in three different places (it was a floor model and got man-handled a lot), as one of her friends had pointed out to me. She then asked if the bride could buy it for 50% off the cost.
First of all, this is a bridal shop and not Saturday's market where you can name your own price. But in this case, the owner was happy to sell it but at a 35% discount. Satisfied with the deal, the bride left with the one veil that she did not try on during our venture into Sherwood's forest the Saturday before. At least I can't remember if she tried it on...my brain was fried and my eye sight not so good. However, it was the perfect veil since it was understated and didn't take away from her beautiful flowey gown. She was going to be a lovely bride for her prince.
So, if I were to gaze into my magic mirror right now to spy on my little Snow White, I bet I would see that she and her Prince Charming are living happily ever after (minus the dwarfs)...in the wonderful land of matrimony.
Me, well I'm just happy that I can SEE anything, thanks to my Prince Charming, the optometrist...he's 'spec'tacular.
The end.
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