The Race

October 28, 2017

In July I was running a 10K. Hold up. This isn't a Nance/fitness moment. The point is, I made it through the 5K and seriously reevaluated my choice to 10K-it. At one point I thought, hey, I could run straight to my car and go home and no one would ever know.

But I would know.

I've thought about that gut-check moment a lot lately. Do you keep running or do you sneak off to the car? The question of toughness has arisen in the wake of my sweet aunt's recent stroke. This lady is the classiest of classy and the toughest of tough. She is the rock of our family. Seeing her vulnerable and weakened and suffering has shaken us all.

It has shaken her. And that's a first.

Among other maladies, the stroke made her cry involuntarily. In my 43 years, I'd seen her cry maybe five times. Those first days in the hospital she couldn't stop for a bit. She was as disarmed as we were. I slugged off to teach after I first saw her and, in the midst of all this, burst into tears in front of an unsuspecting composition class that was subsequently silent and seemingly terrified. In all those years of teaching public school, I'd not cried like this in front of a class. This, however, was more than I could apparently contain. I gathered my wits, though. I thought of what healthy Aunt Di would do, and I taught. Without tears.

Aunt Di would never sneak off to the car. As I've watched her work to rehabilitate and stay positive and retrain herself to do things that were once easy, I've watched her keep running. I know she will keep on. That's who she is. 

I struggle with the struggles of my family as age and bodies betray us all. It's hard. I'm not ready for the finish line for any of these folks. But their strength as they race on gives me strength. 

This, I know.

Weighing In

October 22, 2017

My Nanny, my mother's mother and my favorite person on planet earth until she left us now 22 years ago, told me my mama was teased and bullied for being heavy. Kids in Fort Scott threw rocks at her, she told me. Mom and I never had a chance to talk about that, but I know she struggled with her weight. I know--by virtue of a friend of hers--that when she died, she had a too-small pattern for a pantsuit laid out. She was a gifted seamstress. But she couldn't fit into the size she wanted. 

I have struggled all my life with my stupid weight. As a child, I ate everything I could get my hands on, anytime I could get my hands (or mouth) on it. I loved food. I lived to eat. Eating was comfort and I needed me some comfort. 

So I was a bigger girl with a bad haircut. People who knew me then might object, but I know what I know and how I felt in my big ol' corduroy walking shorts and brass barrette. I was tall enough I could kind of pull it off, but I wasn't the dainty blondes that surrounded me at my somewhat uppity elementary, junior, and high schools. For some reason, though, it didn't bother me much. Everything tasted too damned good.

But I went to college and suddenly I got the bug to be thin. For a long while I ate one meal a day. The pounds just dripped off. For the first time in my life I wasn't a big girl. I was hooked.

It's been 25 years since I caught the skinny bug. My weight has fluctuated a bit since then, but it nevertheless governs much of my life. I'm not as skinny as I want to be, but middle age also has its challenges. I don't eat like a normal person. I exercise habitually. Sometimes maniacally. Guilt over what I eat is a nasty weapon against which I have little ammo.

Why am I writing this? Eh, I don't know. Maybe I'm hungry. Maybe I recognize how ridiculous and trite are these concerns in the face of real trauma, heartache, poverty, disease, struggle.

Maybe I'm tired of fighting it. Maybe I'm angry Mama died feeling fat. Maybe I wish I had my dad's epic metabolism and I could eat and be teeny. (That would be amazing!)

I have two kiddos with completely different body types. Probably to a fault, I won't say a word about their weight. I desperately want them to be happy with what they see in the mirror. And healthy. That I want more than anything. 

But I know this: if I make it to heaven (and my fingers are crossed), it will be all you can eat. 24/7.

Praise the Lord.

Truth and Fiction

October 7, 2017

I am obsessed of late with a show on Amazon Prime called "One Mississippi." It is the creation of comedian Tig Notaro, who might be one of the smartest, funniest people on the planet. The show is a snapshot of her life after a double mastectomy, C-Diff, and the loss of her mother. Sounds like a riot, huh?

The thing is, it is.

What gets me even more than the dry wit that is characteristic of Tig is the deliberateness of her persona. The show is a blend of truth and fiction. But her persona is truth. Her life is unrushed. She speaks thoughtfully at every turn.

My point is this: I don't always speak deliberately. I don't always speak thoughtfully. My life is often rushed. Necessity at times breeds rushed, thoughtless dialogue. But it's my choice to make that my default setting. I think it's time for a reset.

Today I had a delightful lunch with my one of my college roommates. As we talked, I was struck by how thoughtful she was then and how so she has remained. She is deliberate and so kind. It was a gift to live with her for a couple years. Today's reunion was a gift as well. 

I always love it when my Amazon Prime life and real life come together ;). I'm deeply grateful for truth and fiction.

The Bliss

October 6, 2017

My bedroom hosts three windows that I keep open almost year round. See, I know money doesn't grow on trees and utilities cost money and I'm not raking in the dough, but fresh air is my jam. Even with the air conditioning or the heat on. And since I'm a single gal without a dictator/supervisor to govern her atmosphere/thermostat, I do as I wish. It's wonderful.

It's so wonderful.

My home is surrounded by tall, beautiful trees. Tonight, there is a wind that swells and retreats. I love hearing it come and go. Almost as much as I love hearing little Oscar sigh and moan in his charming doggie way at my feet. 

Domestic bliss comes in many forms. Tonight, it's a beautiful wind. And canines crowding me out of bed. And my babies in the next rooms. And tomorrow is Saturday. That helps, too :).