Pieces of Me - Part One

Here's a few facts about me.

I'm an only child or the oldest of 3 depending on which parent we're referring to.

I'm white, painfully so sometimes - I could really use some sunshine if you know what I mean.

I've been afraid of obesity for my whole life.

I'm considered obese, but not morbidly.

My mother's mother didn't like fat people. She would make snarky, disdainful comments about a person's weight. She liked them if they were thin. She did not if they were fat.  I've always wondered what made her that way.

My cousins used to call me 'Watermelon Belly.'

I did church service for 18 months when I was 21 years old, which is a whole other story, and I gained a lot of weight. The people there said that was a good thing.

I learned being fat or thin doesn't change who you are on the inside unless you let it.

I came home and lost it all and then some.

I was thin when I got married. That was 60 pounds ago.

That sounds pretty depressing, but I have to face my reality.

Start Somewhere - Keep Moving

That's probably one of the most significant phrases I've heard lately and it's kinda become my mantra this year.

Fair warning: I'm going to start dishing a little.

I know I have a list of weaknesses a mile and a half long.  And a list of excuses that long and double but it has to stop.

I have to change.

I want to change.

I'm going to change.

I could write a book about all the reasons why I'm fat.  I come from fat people.  (I really do.  It's sad.)

But this is my life and my story and I'm going to change the ending.

I Want To Live

No one says it quite like Marjorie Pay Hinckley:

“I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails. I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp. I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children. I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden. I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder. I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived.”

I want to live.

Depression

I'm just letting the frustration flow....

Here it is.  What 'it' is, I'm not quite sure.  I just know I'm frustrated.

I deal with depression.

And I hate it.

I have guilt, anger, and pain over it.

My mother (and probably my Grandmother) has dealt with it for, like, ever.  Crap, does that mean I have to too?!

As much as I love my mom, truly I do, there is this HUGE part of my that desperately does NOT want to be like her. Like really, really.  There.  Said it out loud.

Thus the guilt.

I am a LOT like her though and that makes me angry.  Prideful and very, very angry because I don't want to be controlled by something, and I don't want to see my life go by while I set, being depressed, and do NOTHING.  I want better for myself.

It really doesn't have anything to do with anyone else, and yet it does. I want better for me, because at my best I can do my best for others.  For the ones I love the most. But mostly because I don't want my life to count for nothing and I want to actually enjoy life, because so far, it's been pretty great.

I feel like I'm coming out of a fog. Christmas really kicked my trash this year. I'm not even sure why, but it was BAD. Deep, dark, empty. Am I bi-polar? Am I manic? Am I lazy?

Now I have all of this gumption that I don't know what to do with. I don't have time to do everything I want to do. Clean house, organize it, decorate it, paint, make pillows and blankets, take photos, save for a camera, learn how to make open face typography fonts, lose weight.

Good grief, I'm a whiner.

FRUSTRATED.

2014 Goals

I know it's the end of January but this has been a draft for long enough.

Maybe if I write down a few things I'd like to work on this year it will help me be a little more accountable. I've tried the 'hold-on-tight-for-dear-life-and-enjoy-the-ride' for too many years now.

Spur of the moment isn't all it's cracked up to be.

1 - lose weight.  For heavens sakes, it's TIME. Stop procrastinating and do something about it.  Start something, keep moving.

2 - be nicer to, well, everyone.  My kids think I'm angry all the time. They really do. (Insert knife, and twist.) What's that all about? 

3 - get over feeling guilty for taking a little time for myself. Take the right kind of time and make good use of it.

I can do this, right?

Let it be known that I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas.

I had this huge blathering post all about how I hate Christmas, when what I really hate is feeling unorganized and inadequate.  Christmas, for the reason, is quite an awesome time of year.  I just always seem to sink into the pit of despair, cough-cough.

Instead of leaving the blathering-poor-me-pit-of-despair post there, I think I'll make a list of what I wish I would have done instead.  A note to my future self. Then when the next one comes around I can see some good ideas of what to do.

Christmas was magical for me as a kid.  It really was and I'm so grateful for my family who helped it be that way.  I'm glad I missed the stress they must have felt.  I realize there are some things I just skip now because I'm an adult and, well, shame on me.  I can do better.

1 - Go see a nativity.  Seriously.  There's one at the temple.  It's close.  And how can you go to the temple grounds and not feel the spirit?  GO.  Put it on the schedule and just get there.

2 - Help the kids get gifts for each other.  And get one for Hub.  Something small, something special.  They are NOT going to learn to give if they never see you do it.  One thing from Santa is great.  The rest need to come from me and Hub.

3 - Lighten up.  Puh-leeze.  Lighten up and just enjoy yourself.  Ya, I know this one will be the hardest of all.

4 - Serve.  Find ways to serve each other and someone else who needs it.  Someone will be there and we all need to do it.

Good Solid C

My high school art teacher was awesome.

He looked like Santa Claus.

He was older then, and I'm not sure he's still living. He had a quick smile and a bit of a belly.  He had twinkly eyes.  He also smoked a pipe in his office with the back door open.

He taught me to see in fragments and to see as a whole while focusing on a small detail.  Most things we put a label on are a combination of shapes.  Master the shapes and then put them together.  That way, saying 'I can't draw noses' sounds a little weak.  Draw what you see.  See shapes.

I was such a teen age girl.  My world was consumed with my hair, make up and if the boy I liked noticed I was alive. One day, when I was upset about something trivial, he handed me a stick of gum and said,

'I betcha the sun comes up tomorrow morning.'

It was the wake-up call I needed.

He also called me 'Stiff' because I wore a back brace for a while.  My mother found zero humor in this nick-name and was quite offended, but I thought it was hilarious.  It gave me a way to laugh at myself when what I really wanted to do was tunnel under a rock and light the brace on fire.  That's a whole other story.

We had weekly notebook assignments that were designed to support basic drawing skills.  Keep the fundamentals strong, and you keep a good foundation sort of thing.  The assignments ranged from: hands, eyes, noses, bottles, your reflection in the back of a spoon, shoes, ribbon, crumpled paper, eggs and more.

They were due at the end of class every Wednesday no matter what.

Every Wednesday at the beginning of class we'd all be furiously working on our assignments.  I'd go to him for help and he say, 'Darken the darks and lighten the lights.'  I go back to my desk and work some more.

At some point I'd go and turn my assignment in.

I'd watch him find my name and tick over to the week's box where he would pencil in a grade.

'Good solid C', he'd say.

I'd yank the notebook back and return to my desk to keep working.

I can't say how many times this happened in my four years of high school, but it happened plenty.  When I'd had enough, done enough, or was out of time, I'd go back and push it across the desk to him one last time.

'Done?' he'd say.

'Done.' I'd say.

Then he would find that box again and write down a grade.  It was usually an A, maybe a B.  I had good art skills.  I loved it.  It was my thing.  And I wasn't about to let him put a C in his grade book.

A few times I thought he was joking and I thought I'd call his bluff.  That didn't work for sure.  Something about seeing a C in that little box made me crazy.  I'd snatch that notebook back and keep working.

When I was a senior, I asked him why he always did that to me.  He really didn't do it to anyone else.

He smiled.

He asked me if I liked getting C's and I readily admitted that I hated it.  He then explained that if he would have written down B's or even A's, I never would have pushed myself to be better.  He explained that I was already as good or better than most of the other students but that shouldn't be an excuse for me not to try harder.  It wasn't about them, it was about me.  I had the skills and ability to be better than I was but I needed to learn to push myself and never be satisfied with a 'Good Solid C'.

I've thought about and applied that concept so many times since then.

Sometimes good enough isn't good enough when you're capable of more.

When I design, I take additional steps at the beginning to hopefully avoid mistakes later.  I do this with the understanding that as the job moves through engineering and into production, because it's been done right the first time around, there shouldn't be problems or needless double checking.  I could design faster if I didn't worry about some of those details but it's worth it to me and everyone else to do it right.

I've also found that on the flip side, sometimes good enough is just that...good enough. It doesn't make sense to give up something better for something good.  T was assigned the pre-game treat last week for football.  I've seen some moms do these amazing cookies that are little edible works of art complete with a cute slogan that's stamped and embossed and looks magazine cover worthy.  They must take hours to do.  I neither had the time or desire to do it, even though I could have.  I bought a bag of candy, printed some words and had my boy separate, stuff and staple those zip lock baggies together.  I was done with my part in about 5 minutes.  T was invested in doing something nice for his team.  It wasn't about my art skills.  It was about the boys.  They loved the sugar and didn't care about the fluff. Works for me.

It's different for each of us where we draw that line.

I haven't been a serious fine artist for years but the bug is still in me.  Now I use a computer for design.  I still love pencils and a good quality paper that feels right on my finger tips.  I have a camera that I really need to learn how to use better.

Whatever it is that I do, whatever task or challenge I face, I've resolved to never be satisfied with a good solid C.

Sunset

A few nights ago it was that moment in the evening where the light rays are their longest just before the sun dips below the horizon.  From where I was walking I had this amazing view of the open sky sunset.

The stadium lights were just warming up and not on full power yet.

The air was clear and still, and for whatever reason everything sounded more...just more.

Clouds were soft and filter-y, covering the whole sky in flat patches.

As the long rays of the sun turned the clouds from golden to a deep shade of red I thought of my high school art teacher.

He taught me so many things.

This post is about one of the greatest things he taught me.

He loved to paint landscapes and sunsets.  When he was in his groove he could start out painting with his right hand and cross the brush over to his left as he painted across the canvas.  I always thought that was sooo cool.

His favorite color was Alizarin Crimson.  He said it was in every good sunset and there was no other color like it.

That night the sky filled with Alizarin Crimson as those long light rays kissed the clouds.

I walked in silence and reflected on my life since art class.  I wondered if he would be proud of the work I have done, of the person I've become and then almost instantly I knew that judgement was not his to make.

I am proud of me, my many faults included.  I've owned my life.  I haven't been perfect, but I've worked and toiled and diligently tried to make my life good.

And it is.

Long after the sun had set, J came down to the bleachers after his practice.  I thought I would pass him by and let him have his moment without his mother hovering over him.  I just kept walking.

'Hi Mamma!' I heard him say.

It warmed my heart.  As I rounded the track and listened to the scrub-scrub noise of my shoes I realized I'm in a good place.  That awkward girl in art class has gotten many of the things she wished so much for when she was young and lost.

Alizarin Crimson is still a beautiful color.

Score one for the Momma

I am not a shopper, but I could be if the stars aligned.

Those stars would be the 'I'm the right size', 'I have the money', and 'I have the time' stars.

Let's be honest, it's not likely in my future.

Every once in a while though, I find something that jumps right into my arms and pleads with me to take it home.

I have some really nice things, but I usually don't limit myself to any one shopping venue.  I hit the thrift stores now and then and keep my eyes open.  That's what happened this morning.

Hub would say I have plenty of purses, but I ask you humbly, how does 1 woman with a five year old girl like Lu EVER have enough purses?!

I was walking through a Thrift Store looking for something specific, which they didn't have, so I took a detour through the purse section and there it was.  It's in really good shape.  It felt sturdy.  It felt like real leather.  It felt, I don't know, a bit expensive.  Plus I liked it.  I'd never heard of the name before, "Lancel", but never the less, I bought the bag for $2.

Seriously, $2.

Then I googled the name and found out that it's French and was probably around $150 new.

That's right.  Score one for the Momma.  :)