She brought me about 10 pairs – they were hanging everywhere. I couldn’t see the wall. Or even the mirror, which at the time was a blessing. The time spent in the small, cramped room was agonizing. I was trying on jeans.
I had decided to bite the bullet and get a really good (read expensive) pair of jeans that fit well. (Or so the ads say). I was hoping it would make me feel better about the upcoming holiday grazing season. Truth be known, I wanted it all: to be able to eat all my favorite things and still be able to wear something besides sweat pants. So, I found myself in an extremely upscale clothing store with a very perky sales clerk who obviously bought her tiny-sized jeans in the children’s department.
“Now remember”, she said to me as she squeezed her petite frame inside the four-walled torture chamber. “Even though they all might be the same size, every make is different. Even if it is the same brand. So I brought you a few sizes and styles.” This variety included, but was not limited to: stretch jeans, jeans that hold your stomach in, jeans that have a no-gap waist band, jeans for curvier bodies, jeans with a certain tint to them, jeans that are made for moms and not their teenage daughters, boot cut jeans, straight leg jeans and the infamous “though I have worked my butt off at the gym for months they won’t even fit my big toe” jeans.
So I started going through all the jeans, mentally purging them. I didn’t look at the sizes, since realistically it should not matter….but that didn’t last long. If I can wear a brand that is a size smaller, you know that’s the one I’m going for. Once I separated the “maybes” from the “no way will those fit” I started the agonizing procedure of trying them all on.
Miss perky pants kept peeking her head in, wanting me to model them for her. I gracefully told her “over my dead body” would she be allowed to see me squeezing my body in blue sausage casings. She did remind me that since jeans now have spandex, that the tightness will go away and they will fit normal after awhile.
“Define awhile” I squeaked as I lay down on the floor, tugging the jeans up my body. “Do they also come with oxygen masks since I can’t breathe until they loosen up?” I swear I heard her say something about me loosening up as she grabbed the quick growing “no” pile I pressed out the door. “Do you have this problem when you wear children’s jeans” I asked her as I came out into the brightly lit hallway to stare into the three-way fun house mirror. “They are 5 inches too long.”
“Well, we don’t really have the perfect ‘models’ body now, do we?” Just as I thought of some incredibly clever comeback I turned and tripped on the dragging 5 inch hem, huffing into the cinnamon scented plush carpet. She mentioned something about her seamstress being available next week for hemming, and that the jeans fit great except for the length. ”They were meant for much taller women, but of course we can make exceptions to the rule and tailor them to fit.
Not sure if you have read any reports about a very tall and thin sales clerk that reported someone threatened to stuff a pair of jeans down her throat. I am sure such a story could not be true. I myself am happy with the 4 pair of sweatpants I bought…and vow to not return to that store for quite awhile…especially for the torturous swimsuit season.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Autumn Delights
It’s my favorite time of the year - and the shortest one too. One blink of an eye (or one good wind) and it’s gone. Autumn. It’s so distinctive. During autumn, my senses are happily overwhelmed. As I am writing this, I am looking out my window during a raging thunderstorm at my neighbor’s maple tree. Through the rain, the leaves look like they are on fire. The rain creates a mist that looks like smoke, and the leaves are so bright red and orange they rival the color of afternoon sun. The birds are hiding in the branches, seeking shelter from the huge drops. They bounce back and forth, branch to branch, in a feathered game of tag. I see squirrels scrambling up and down the big tree trunks – chattering at the birds. No doubt they are arguing about double-booking their time share on the old oak. Have you noticed the over abundance of squirrels this year? It’s like a squirrel convention in my neighborhood. I see cars playing stop and go, while the squirrels run to the other side of the street, laughing at their recent brush with death. In the backyard, the dogs feel it is their duty to rid their territory of the furry tailed creatures. I watch out the window with laughter as they “tree” yet another quarry, barking out their delight in a job well done. The squirrel of course is long gone, having scored a perfect “10” on the gymnastics chart - vaulting from tree to phone wire to bird feeder to fence to safe territory.
A drive out in the country brought so many delights to my senses: a combine mowing down a once green and yellow cornfield – the stalks now dry and brown (and looking quite nice on my front porch, thank you!); a herd of cattle, lying in the field (yes, all of them lying down – I heard it meant rain is coming…hmmmm); a pile of burning leaves, smelling so crisp and acrid; a field of crows, scrounging up the last of the soybean crop; piles and piles of bright orange pumpkins, shining in the afternoon sun; the whinny of a horse, echoing across the valley; the sound of a distant train, it’s horn sounding haunting and lonely.
It’s a tantalizing delight, autumn. It’s a short but comforting time of year.
It’s a drive down the block, looking at all the fall decorations. It’s sipping hot apple cider as you carve pumpkins and bake the seeds. It’s meatloaf and chicken and dumplings and pot roast. It’s homemade soup and cornbread and cuddling up with a blanket and a great book while you wait for the chili to simmer on the stove. It’s snuggling by the fireplace while looking through the cookbook for new stuffing recipes and actually starting a Christmas card list, vowing to be early for once.
Autumn is a time to reflect. A time to realize that Thanksgiving is just around the corner, giving us thought on the blessings we have in our lives. It’s the time of year that slows down – right before it speeds up.
I plan on enjoying this slow pace for just awhile longer - before I think about getting those Christmas lights untangled. After all, the “Squirrel Olympics” only last for awhile longer.
A drive out in the country brought so many delights to my senses: a combine mowing down a once green and yellow cornfield – the stalks now dry and brown (and looking quite nice on my front porch, thank you!); a herd of cattle, lying in the field (yes, all of them lying down – I heard it meant rain is coming…hmmmm); a pile of burning leaves, smelling so crisp and acrid; a field of crows, scrounging up the last of the soybean crop; piles and piles of bright orange pumpkins, shining in the afternoon sun; the whinny of a horse, echoing across the valley; the sound of a distant train, it’s horn sounding haunting and lonely.
It’s a tantalizing delight, autumn. It’s a short but comforting time of year.
It’s a drive down the block, looking at all the fall decorations. It’s sipping hot apple cider as you carve pumpkins and bake the seeds. It’s meatloaf and chicken and dumplings and pot roast. It’s homemade soup and cornbread and cuddling up with a blanket and a great book while you wait for the chili to simmer on the stove. It’s snuggling by the fireplace while looking through the cookbook for new stuffing recipes and actually starting a Christmas card list, vowing to be early for once.
Autumn is a time to reflect. A time to realize that Thanksgiving is just around the corner, giving us thought on the blessings we have in our lives. It’s the time of year that slows down – right before it speeds up.
I plan on enjoying this slow pace for just awhile longer - before I think about getting those Christmas lights untangled. After all, the “Squirrel Olympics” only last for awhile longer.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Grandbaby, Sweet Grandbaby
She was anxious. The baby had to be taken by emergency c-section, so she hadn’t held her yet.
“I’m her mom…I want to hold my baby!”
“Be patient”, said her daddy – my husband. “Your will have that girl for another 18 years.”
“Only 18?” I asked. “Seriously?” They all laughed, because right now one of our 24 year old boomerang children is living with us. Being a parent is a lifetime commitment…one we all gladly take on. And now as grandparents, we had another precious life to treasure.
This latest granddaughter was born premature. Her sweet, little body was hooked up to oxygen. But she was perfect. She was beautiful. And I knew in my heart she would be just fine.
Amidst all the hectic energy in the hospital, I was able to find some alone time with this beautiful bundle of magical innocence. I put my finger down next to her hand and she grabbed it tightly in her tiny fist. I breathed a prayer, and silently watched her as I sent peaceful and loving thoughts and energy her way. Her laborious breathing competed with the beeping of the monitors. I only had a few minutes with her, so then and there I vowed to always watch out for her.
Her mommy was strong. She would not physically need my help raising her daughter. No, what I was offering was a gift of pure and honest (yet selfish) love. The love only that of a grandparent can offer. In my short and silent offering, I promised her cookies before dinner, piggy back rides, staying up late with me to watch princess movies, shopping for clothes that weren’t logical (bought purely for their cuteness factor), roller coaster rides, tea parties, pink painted toenails and long talks whenever they were wanted, wished for or required. I vowed to be her silent guardian – one of the many that will love her with all their might.
I am not trying to compete. I am not trying to be the favorite. This little agreement is just between the two of us…nobody else has to know. The important thing is that I know – and someday so will she. It is quite simple really: it is the undying and indescribable love that comes from a grandparent. A person never really knows this feeling until that magical moment arrives. And it doesn’t matter how many grandchildren one has…they all will take your breath away and leave you feeling like you really did accomplish something wonderful during your time on this earth.
She’s only been on this earth a few short hours. I was only able to see her for a few short moments. But the short time was precious and it gave me a glimpse of the future moments and what a treasure they will be. Each and every moment with her will be a gift I look forward to.
Even though they are only “ours” for a short while, our own kids are leaving us with legacies that last a lifetime: the gift of their own children. And when we look in our grandchildren’s eyes and see our own babies, and the unconditional love that we had for them when they were born, it makes the circle of life even sweeter. And that certainly makes the 18 (or 24) years they were with us totally worthwhile.
“I’m her mom…I want to hold my baby!”
“Be patient”, said her daddy – my husband. “Your will have that girl for another 18 years.”
“Only 18?” I asked. “Seriously?” They all laughed, because right now one of our 24 year old boomerang children is living with us. Being a parent is a lifetime commitment…one we all gladly take on. And now as grandparents, we had another precious life to treasure.
This latest granddaughter was born premature. Her sweet, little body was hooked up to oxygen. But she was perfect. She was beautiful. And I knew in my heart she would be just fine.
Amidst all the hectic energy in the hospital, I was able to find some alone time with this beautiful bundle of magical innocence. I put my finger down next to her hand and she grabbed it tightly in her tiny fist. I breathed a prayer, and silently watched her as I sent peaceful and loving thoughts and energy her way. Her laborious breathing competed with the beeping of the monitors. I only had a few minutes with her, so then and there I vowed to always watch out for her.
Her mommy was strong. She would not physically need my help raising her daughter. No, what I was offering was a gift of pure and honest (yet selfish) love. The love only that of a grandparent can offer. In my short and silent offering, I promised her cookies before dinner, piggy back rides, staying up late with me to watch princess movies, shopping for clothes that weren’t logical (bought purely for their cuteness factor), roller coaster rides, tea parties, pink painted toenails and long talks whenever they were wanted, wished for or required. I vowed to be her silent guardian – one of the many that will love her with all their might.
I am not trying to compete. I am not trying to be the favorite. This little agreement is just between the two of us…nobody else has to know. The important thing is that I know – and someday so will she. It is quite simple really: it is the undying and indescribable love that comes from a grandparent. A person never really knows this feeling until that magical moment arrives. And it doesn’t matter how many grandchildren one has…they all will take your breath away and leave you feeling like you really did accomplish something wonderful during your time on this earth.
She’s only been on this earth a few short hours. I was only able to see her for a few short moments. But the short time was precious and it gave me a glimpse of the future moments and what a treasure they will be. Each and every moment with her will be a gift I look forward to.
Even though they are only “ours” for a short while, our own kids are leaving us with legacies that last a lifetime: the gift of their own children. And when we look in our grandchildren’s eyes and see our own babies, and the unconditional love that we had for them when they were born, it makes the circle of life even sweeter. And that certainly makes the 18 (or 24) years they were with us totally worthwhile.
The Brown Crock Pot
I am losing my mind – I am totally losing my mind.
Yesterday I spent 10 minutes looking for my brown crock pot. Finally, I asked my husband.
“Where is the brown crock pot?”
“The what?”
“The brown crock pot – you know, the thingy I cook chili in….”
“Ah, I am pretty sure we don’t own a brown crock pot.”
“Sure we do – I made pot roast in it last winter. You didn’t give it away to the Goodwill with all the other stuff did you? You know I use it all the time. I swear I love that thing – if you gave…..”
“I did not give it away. We don’t own a brown crock pot.”
“Then what did I make the pot roast in, hot shot? Hmmmm?”
“Come with me.”
He took me into the laundry room where we store our unused and at times unwanted appliances. (That is where you will find my bread maker, pasta maker, large Cuisinart, and rice steamer. It’s like the ‘Island of Misfit Toys’ from the cartoon Rudolf, only the misfits here are all appliances.)
Anyway, he showed me the shelves. No brown crock pot.
“What did you do with it then?” I accused.
“Nothing – we don’t OWN a brown crock pot.”
“Oh please...now are you going to tell me I’m losing my mind?”
“Here, is this what you are looking for?” He had rooted around past the vegetable steamer and salad spinner, and found it. A blue crock pot.
“Ah…” For once in my life I was speechless.
I realized, amongst my tirade, that we didn’t own a brown crock pot. That crock pot was a wedding gift from my previous marriage, and I haven’t owned since, well, my previous marriage. My husband has mentioned that I look for things like a teenage boy, and grudgingly, I guess sometimes I do. But only sometimes. Now excuse me while I search for the chicken I bought to put in the brown, er, blue crock put. I swear I put it in the freezer just last week. It has to be in there…hidden right behind my mind that I really do think I am losing.
Yesterday I spent 10 minutes looking for my brown crock pot. Finally, I asked my husband.
“Where is the brown crock pot?”
“The what?”
“The brown crock pot – you know, the thingy I cook chili in….”
“Ah, I am pretty sure we don’t own a brown crock pot.”
“Sure we do – I made pot roast in it last winter. You didn’t give it away to the Goodwill with all the other stuff did you? You know I use it all the time. I swear I love that thing – if you gave…..”
“I did not give it away. We don’t own a brown crock pot.”
“Then what did I make the pot roast in, hot shot? Hmmmm?”
“Come with me.”
He took me into the laundry room where we store our unused and at times unwanted appliances. (That is where you will find my bread maker, pasta maker, large Cuisinart, and rice steamer. It’s like the ‘Island of Misfit Toys’ from the cartoon Rudolf, only the misfits here are all appliances.)
Anyway, he showed me the shelves. No brown crock pot.
“What did you do with it then?” I accused.
“Nothing – we don’t OWN a brown crock pot.”
“Oh please...now are you going to tell me I’m losing my mind?”
“Here, is this what you are looking for?” He had rooted around past the vegetable steamer and salad spinner, and found it. A blue crock pot.
“Ah…” For once in my life I was speechless.
I realized, amongst my tirade, that we didn’t own a brown crock pot. That crock pot was a wedding gift from my previous marriage, and I haven’t owned since, well, my previous marriage. My husband has mentioned that I look for things like a teenage boy, and grudgingly, I guess sometimes I do. But only sometimes. Now excuse me while I search for the chicken I bought to put in the brown, er, blue crock put. I swear I put it in the freezer just last week. It has to be in there…hidden right behind my mind that I really do think I am losing.
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