I went to the gym to do my weekly step class, and a woman, who is there occasionally, comes up to me, friendly enough, and says “Hi! I always see you in this class. It’s great!” and she gives me a “thumbs up” type of gesture after which she retreats to her spot. I thought it was nice. At first. But then I realized. She was talking to me as if I was a large person doing my little-blue-engine best to exercise despite my heft. She was exceedingly thin and there was a funny tone in her voice – patronizing but not insulting on purpose. She might as well of said, “Good for you, squishy, flabby person for trying to move with all that inertia!” I stared back at her – trying to convey my irritation and that I didn’t deserve her “encouragement.” I wasn’t that overweight, maybe 15 pounds, and this only happened after I turned 50 after which my metabolism up and walked out on me like a 60-year-old man leaving his wife of 35 years for some sweet young thing. I think I could probably survive eating nothing and simply taking all nourishment from molecules in the air. I wanted to tell her I did 11 hours of cardio a week and 2 hours of weights and I could probably kick her skinny little ass across this very floor! I think people would think I was crazy, unfairly. Yeah, and I’d be the bad guy.
I became a dog owner at 26 years old and have always had dogs. And I was a big dog person. 100 pounds, 70 pounds and the “smallest” was 50 pounds. I didn’t care for little dogs – no interest in them. They were yappy and meant for ladies who wore heels to go shopping. Not for me. When my daughter wanted a little bischon-shih tzu puppy I was opposed. I never wanted a little dog. I was a big dog person. But she was struggling with high school pressures and I finally gave in. We got our little dog.
I looked down on this little white puff ball. I noticed his wee little black nose, his black eyes set against the white curly fur, his mouth curve like a sting ray’s smile. I saw his tiny little feet and heard the tapping of his toe nails across the tile floor. His floppy ears flung up and down when he tore across the back yard chasing a frisbee. He stared into my eyes when I carried him up the stairs for bedtime.
Children’s emotions fill them up – toe to finger to top of the head. ” Happy or sad, it is all encompassing. “I love him,” I said as everything under my skin became packed with child-joy. I loved all my dogs, but this was different. Within 10 months we had another little dog – a shih tzu-poodle we named Bea. They love me, and tolerate my affection when it is excessive. I don’t think they realize how excessive it is compared to others – I honestly don’t know how they react. In the meantime, they ignorantly indulge my playtimes. At least they’ll never see me grocery shopping in high heels.
When I enter an elevator I know where I am, where my car is with respect to my current location, where major roads are, the locations of offices along the hall, but, after the ride and the elevator doors open, it’s as if I am transported to a new dimension, floating in an ambiguous cartesian coordinate system where I know virtually nothing about my position in the universe. Where is the front of the building? No idea. Where is my car? On Mars as far as I can tell. Whether there is one wall of elevators or two facing elevators doesn’t matter. Which way to the doctor’s office? I couldn’t tell you. Ever.
What happens when you see a TV series on the Untold History of the United States by John Oliver? What happens when you start the series only to realize it actually said Oliver Stone? Interesting material, but the humor was just lacking. Try again Oliver Stone.
I fell over today when I threw my head to and fro in a giant arc, bellowing that my dog, Tchai, betrayed me by not coming up to the bedroom to keep me and Bea, my other dog, company while I dressed for the day.
The ridiculous part is how much time I spent picking these out. Each ruler has its own special purpose in my lie. And how excited was I when they arrived in the mail? WHO DOESN’T LOVE HAVING THE RIGHT TOOL FOR THE RIGHT JOB?!! CAN I GET A …. never mind.
I’m laid up after ankle surgery and an upside are all the things you never noticed before
1. Something is on the lower corner of the hallway into the kitchen – it’s not mud, it’s black and resistant to cleaning. What is it? How long has it been there? Have people come into my home, noticed it and wondered how I could allow something like that to persist so long with out fixing it? I cleaned it off now, but is it too late? Am I forever judged? What else don’t I notice?!
2. There is water damage on the mudroom ceiling – it is ribbly and flabby.
3. Despite my previous stand, I can sit for hours watching TV for days on end.
4. Even dogs can get too much lovin’.
5. Unwashed toes poking out from the cast acquire an odd texture after 3 weeks. The skin doesn’t get softer, it gets crunchy and flakey.
I’ve uploaded some essays. I don’t know what I am doing actually, but that’s normal for me. I’d like to post a blog about an essay or such and then have them all available. This first real post is about a horrible experience I had with my grammatically proper husband and how he rained on my parade without the slightest bit of regret. It’s Off Pudding to Say the Least