I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Friday morning. I was supposed to go to a Junior League Legislative Breakfast this morning - an opportunity to meet state and local legislators and begin the work that I'll be doing for at least the next year as a member of the political action wing of our chapter. I took the morning off, told everyone I'd be in by noon, and then toodled off. And then...then I came home, had a good old wallow in my desperation about my father and my life and every other important thing I could think of, and topped it all off with a steak and mashed potatoes dinner accompanied by a glass of a very fine 1992 Paso Robles Zinfandel.
I think I was hoping that the hearty food would somehow make it better, that I'd find that familiar, happy numbness, and surely the wine on top of it would just increase the chances of disappearing from this world - temporarily - that I don't seem to want to deal with of a sudden. Funny thing about hope is that hope is nothing without drive, without ambition. Hope on its own is just sad and pathetic. Which, incidentally, is how I felt after I'd finished dinner, watched my Netflix movie of the evening - Raising Helen, and headed down to bed. I think I'd gotten about two steps down the staircase when the tears came. Not graceful, quiet sobs, but great, heaving ones. I sobbed as I walked into my room, as I did my evening ablutions in the bathroom, and then, suddenly, as I was saying over and over again, "please no...please no", I had a sudden realization.
What I realized was that this is in God's hands, not mine, and that my seeming unwillingness to deal with reality was firmly rooted in a juvenile need to control everything which, of course, is simply impossible. I frequently believe that I am in control but that's just an illusion. The truth is that I can do anything with God's help but without Him - when I decide that, if only I try hard enough and worry enough and push enough, I can make things happen the way that I want them to - I simply can't attain my full potential. Many of you reading this may disagree with me, but this is my belief and it's built on 37 years of life, love, disappointment, and achievement, and I know it to be true for me.
So, where does that leave me? Well, I decided to skip the JL breakfast this morning and spend some quality time with me, which is just what I did. I got up early, I cleaned up the kitchen, I put together a breakfast from Starbucks (lowfat apricot-blueberry muffin plus nonfat decaf no-foam sugar free hazelnut latte) accompanied by some string cheese, and then I hit the treadmill. It was on the treadmill that I had my epiphany: It's time to finish this thing out. I've been diddling around with this fitness thing for months now - for whatever reason - and it's time to choose what I want, and what I want is a healthy life at a healthy weight, so it's time to get deadly serious and focus. When I decide there's something that I want and I get my priorities set up properly, nothing and no one can stop me. I cannot affect the outcome of my dad's surgery (next Tuesday morning at 7:30am Pacific time), but I can do what I need to do to take care of myself so that I don't end up the same way in a few years. I can set a good example for my dad of eating right and making movement part of my daily life. I can do this - I'm strong enough, I'm smart enough, and I know what I need to do.
So, as I said out loud while I was on my treadmill (to no one in particular): Bring it...I'm ready!
Thursday morning. We will find out when my dad's surgery will happen today and I'm sure that knowing the actual day and time will rachet up the stress I'm already feeling. I'm trying really hard to stay positive and focus on what it will take after the surgery for my dad to make a full recovery, but the cold finger of fear still touches my heart from time to time. I'll keep posting here as I find out more because I can't freak out in my "real" life, so this place is going to be critical for my continuing mental health.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I had a little slip up in my health and fitness project last night. I don't think it's a precursor to a complete breakdown, but you can never tell. I'm going to try to be especially vigilant in the next few weeks as we go through my dad's surgery and initial recovery because I can't help him if I'm not taking care of myself. Besides, I'm still planning to attend my conference for work next month in Atlanta and I don't want to be any heavier for that than I was in March for New Orleans. (I know, how vain can I be that I'm worrying about that while my dad is fighting for his life. I am really ashamed of feeling this way, but I'm pretty sure he'd understand.)
On to a totally different topic. If you're someone that loves unique cookbooks and would like to be part of helping the Junior League of San Diego's efforts to support education throughout our San Diego community, please click here and check out our lovely California Sol Food cookbook. The book features not only wonderful recipes but also anecdotes about San Diego life and many pictures from around the area taken by the membership. If you would like to order a cookbook, either let me know and I'll get you information on how to order, or you can go here and order one directly from the Junior League website. The cost is $32.27 without shipping or $38.27 to include shipping costs and all proceeds after costs will be used in support of our programs in the community. It's a really nice cookbook for a very good cause.
Monday night. So I'm staying on track with my eating and activity, which is great, and now I've developed a lovely case of plantar fasciitis, which is not so great. When I woke up this morning, I basically hobbled to the bathroom and that continued for hours after I started moving around. I've had this problem before - when I was in the midst of losing 110 pounds, as a matter of fact - and it can be really wicked and tenacious. The treatment is rest, ice, and lots of stretching, so that's going to be so much fun for me. Seems as though I'm going to have to delve into the flexibility thing now, whether or not I want to.
Once upon a time there lived a beautiful English woman, living in the United States with her five year old daughter, who kicked her drug abusing husband out of their house, pulled up her boots, and set out to make a life for herself and her daughter. She was very sad and felt very alone.
One day, while working as head nurse in a small, community-based hospital, the English woman met a very nice man who was also recently separated from his family. This man had a heart of gold and treated the woman like a queen, and, less than a year later, they were married.
The newly married couple was very happy, although many people warned the kindly man about the willful and headstrong nature of his new step-daughter. She was very attached to her father (who had not had any contact with her in months) and resented the idea that someone else was coming into her life where her father belonged. She had a terrible temper and frequently acted out, and even her own beloved grandmother warned this man about dealing with his new step-daughter. The man listened quietly and thoughtfully to each of these well meaning people, then continued to be the best man that he could, supporting his wife and her daughter in every way possible. Sadly, his own son was prevented from seeing him, for the most part, because his ex-wife did not follow the court orders for visitations. Meanwhile, the little girl cried herself to sleep each night wondering where her daddy was and why he didn't come to see her. Certainly the irony of this man longing for contact with his own son while living with a little girl whose father couldn't be bothered to visit her must have struck him strongly.
Several years passed. Every year at Valentine's Day, the man would order two flower arrangements - one for his lovely wife and one for the little girl. Contact with his son was very limited and always strained, which saddened this kind, gentle man terribly, but he poured his heart and his soul into his wife and her daughter, and made sure that they had the best life he could provide for them. Although she still missed her father terribly, the little girl began to realize that he was never coming back and that this man who was living in her house was a good man who would take care of her and love her, if only she would open her heart and let him in. It wasn't something that happened overnight, but it did happen and, one random day while they were driving home from the store, she called him "Daddy" for the first time, and the man found a daughter while the girl found a father.
My step-father was the one that got up in the middle of the night when I was sick and cried out for my Daddy. My step-father was the one that has never missed a single public performance I've been in. (Never. Not one.) My step-father was the man that I took to "Date with Dad" night in high school. My step-father was the one that snapped 500 pictures at my high school graduation. He was the one that walked me down the aisle at my wedding once he'd kissed my cheek and pulled down my veil. When I was sick as a dog in my freshman year of college, this man drove to the hospital at 3:30am to pick up the drugs that I needed and then drove two hours to my school to bring them to me, take me to the hospital, and get groceries for me before driving home and going to work in the afternoon. This man is one of the primary reasons that I have such a tough time finding "the man of my dreams" because he brought me up to expect that some man would be very lucky to have me, and that's how he felt, too.
My daddy went in for an angiogram today and they found that he has 90% blockage in his beautiful, wonderful heart, and my aunt tells me that he's going to have to have open heart bypass surgery very quickly. This man is such a blessing to everyone that knows him and even some that never actually meet him, through his work as a hospital pharmacist. He has never met someone that he didn't help in some way and he's never going to be a rich man because he gives away money as though he were Bill Gates. He and my mom have gone through their ups and downs, as any couple married for over 25 years will, but they're still together and love each other very much.
At the risk of sounding very immature and very selfish, I still need my daddy and I can't imagine my life without him in it. Please, if you believe in any deity or higher power or whatever, please pray for my daddy. I know where he will go when his work here on Earth is done, but I'm just not ready for that and neither is he. Please don't take him from me, God. Please let all of us live happily ever after.
Sunday night. Today was a very good day. Actually, the entire weekend was really good. From the training yesterday to my time as a volunteer this afternoon at the Council on Foundations for Voices, it's all just been wonderful and life affirming. This was just what I needed to recharge my batteries.
Oh, and then there was the lightning bolt realization, as I was driving up the hill in Esme the Escape, that I've found "it" again - that illusive "it" that makes taking the weight off and making good eating and activity choices nearly effortless. Life is good and it just keeps getting better.
