In earrings….

For some women that “finishing” touch that makes them feel complete when they’re ready to face the World-is their trademark shade of lipstick.  For others it’s a scarf, a ring or maybe a necklace.; but for me… it’s earrings.

They complete me.

Without my earrings, because of my short hair, challenged looks and mannish hands (thanks to what I refer to as a double dip of male hormones from my fathers DNA contribution) -I resemble Bill Murray way more than I care to admit. For me, I need that dash of flair to offset my comedic doppleganger. So I put a lot of attention towards my ears.

When it comest to earrings, or “Ear-rangs” as we say in Kentucky, I usually make my own. Found objects from closeouts at the craft store, homemade beads, charms or doodads fashioned onto hooks that will never be found in an aisle at Wal-Mart or even behind the fanciest glass cases in the most expensive jewelry stores. While none of them are expensive or costly, to me, they are priceless and I remember when and how I felt when I made each pair or placed them on the hooks they now hang from.

So, for me, when I recently got sick and took my earrings off for a week or so…I was definitely not feeling like myself.

It seems almost pitiful that I am so simple that a missing pair of seahorses or antique keys dangling from my ears could alert the world to my mood or my state of mind. But it’s true.

It’s true and I didn’t even recognize it myself until today.

These past few weeks, I have had such a hard time finding myself at peace.

Just finishing a week of the flu, then having a close family member hospitalized was difficult. I felt as if I had hit the ground running after a really difficult illness and then moving  down to the basement guestroom temporarily for a houseguest brought  up emotions I thought I had rid myself of years ago when I spent two weeks in quarantine there after radiation treatments kept me isolated from my family.

I had some serious self inventory to do.

After getting dressed today, I found myself looking for my earrings. I couldn’t even remember when the last time I had worn any and even which ones they were. Sometimes I tuck pairs of seahorses or silver hoops in the corners of the junk drawer or my side table drawer, where I will pick them up the next day. But I couldn’t remember where I had put my last pair, which made me realize the extended time line of my lack of  auditory fashion.

Today I made breakfast for the first time in a long time. I had my two iron skillets out, one with sausage and one with eggs I was ready to whisk into a scramble. It felt good to be back in my apron and in front of the stove. Life seems at times as if it exists in the kitchen more than anywhere in the house.

My husband walked in rubbing his eyes and checking out what was cooking and with a flip of my spatula I smiled at him and said, “I’m Baaackk” …. He knew exactly what I meant. He knew I had been struggling some and he smiled back at me and gave me a sweet pat on the back as he passed to get a coffee mug.

It felt good to realize that I knew myself so well that I knew when I had returned, when I had worked through whatever I needed to, just to arrive back at simply me.

Whatever it is that makes us retreat to our dark corners for a bit; Whatever it is that God places on us to work out and figure out, I’m thankful for it.

If for no other reason than because this sidestep into the shadows passes. It comes in and it shakes us up for a moment and just when we think we may break, we find out we bend and in no time… we’re in our earrings again.

 

 

“I eat. Therefore, I am…..Fat”

“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow ye diet.”  ~Lewis C. Henry

 I despise diet commercials. Those darn Potato Chip Prohibitionists make me feel so guilty. But these little buggers are a necessary evil as they remind me that I am behind on my “Eighteenth Annual Diet Declaration and New Jean Size Quest”.

Every year like clock work I draw a line in the sand and dare myself to cross over. This imaginary line is a starting point towards a goal of nothing other than losing weight and trying to regain my health. I start every year around this time full of enthusiasm and then waver and wane around the end of October just as the Halloween candy wiggles its way into the house.

Then a fight ensues to keep the Sugar Monkey off my back until Thanksgiving when I finally and traditionally succumb to the richness of homemade potatoes, stuffing and pumpkin pies.

By Christmas all hope is lost, I am dipping my homemade bourbon balls in rich chocolate and stocking my cupboard with homemade confections. Searching cookbooks and recipe files for what turns out to be the heartiest soups, casseroles and dishes this side of the Yukon. You would think the way I am cooking I am preparing foods for our hard Winter against the elements, putting on an extra layer of blubber to guard us against the chilling winds of the Arctic, while in reality we live in a very insulated, warm home suited for all climate changes in the heart of Kentucky.

When I complain of my weight and Sta-puff Marshmallow man figure, my husband says he loves me- like I am. I know he is telling the truth. He never has made me feel otherwise. But there is something inside me that would love to experience the touch of his hand across my belly and not feel the need to suck it in and roll slightly so that it moves to the thinner part of my waist…it is a distraction…at times.

The mirror tells no lies. Anyone that has had a baby, times three, has to feel a bit embarrassed fully naked with the lights on or at least this Mom o’ three does. All the mystery regarding my acreage is lost in the light of day. I think mostly I am trying to hide it from myself. Taking in all I am, sometimes is overwhelming at the very least; when inside I feel like a cougar and outside I see myself with the sex appeal of the Queen Mother.

So once again, I am extending the hand of friendship to myself. Once again I will enter February with a commitment to move more, eat less, blah, blah, blah. I have to believe I can do it again and most likely I will. Just about every year I shed thirty pounds by July, but it finds me again by Christmas.

Still, I keep the faith. Keep the faith that this year, this one year I will succeed. I will adopt a new body and keep it for life. Treat it better than the one I had prior and miraculously shave off the years of butter, gravy and fried chicken from my waistline. Maybe even find that underneath it all, I’ve been a svelt goddess all along, just hiding inside the “fat suit” that I have been parading around in off and on for the past 20 years.

I know to the world, I look like just an overweight housewife. Someone that must be lazy or depressed or both…but I am neither. Inside I feel as vibrant and alive as always, as young as I always have, I’m just covered up with layers of cheesy casseroles.

I may have high hopes, I may even fail, but at least I’ll try. Who knows, this could be my year. If not, there’s always giblet gravy to cry into in November and another fresh start waiting around the corner.