So, Do You Come Here Often?

*Fair warning to any male readers. This is not your usual love story.

I walked in to the dimly lit and crowded room. I could hear the white noise buzz mingled in with the sounds of soft jazz playing overhead.

I noticed my heart begin to pick its pace up a bit.

"Calm down" I told myself.

"I'm not scared" I replied.

Slightly apprehensive, maybe that would be a better way to describe it. I mean, this is my first time and all and I have heard the sordid tales about this very moment in other women's lives and I must admit, it was all just a bit intimidating. Sordid tales of torture that would chill you to your bones.

Then she walked in.

And she smiled at me.

I gulped. For lo, soon she would have me in her firm cold grip and at her mercy and there I was half naked and no where to run.

For any woman, the word mammogram strikes a chord of trepidation deep within the heart. Ahem, the, er breast if you will, and please, pardon the pun. Because with that word comes all the unknown possibles that tag along on its coattails like some stranger's snot-nosed whiny kid throwing a tantrum in the grocery store. Not yours, not cute and definitely something you'd like to just walk away from with your fingers in yours ears saying "la, la, la, la" at the top of your lungs.

Being an intelligent, well-informed, 42 year old woman who is concerned about her physical well-being, this should have been my third or fourth walk down mammogram lane. Should have been. IF I happened to actually be an intelligent, well-informed woman who might be concerned about my well-being. Or perhaps it would be better said if I weren't such a big stinking scaredy-cat.

I am woman, hear me whimper.

And whimper I did indeed. Not only did I whimper, I whined and pouted like a three year old faced with a bowl of cold spinach. But, stamp my feet and pout as I may, along I went - albeit kicking and screaming (all inwardly of course!) all the way to the Dr. to have my first ever mammogram this week.

And you know what? It wasn't that danged bad. In fact, it was rather painless, quick and simple. And I'll be darned if I didn't come away with the cutest little flower and rhinestone bandaids!

Ehem.

Any who, that said, as a woman I feel it is my duty to put an end to the horrendous lies that have been needlessly perpetuated on down through the ages.

And since I've discovered over and over that my imagination is a far scarier place than anything I've yet faced in my life, I wanted to put the truth out there for all to see. Uh, so to speak.

Now, before you go thinking I'm some sort of masochistic sicko, I feel I have to qualify my earlier 'not that danged bad' statement with I wouldn't put it up there with going to the spa.

Except maybe for the cute little bandaids.

Ehem.

Yes, well, where was I?

There was the usual small talk. Light hearted chit-chat and banter to make you feel a little more comfortable. Although I'm not sure just how comfortable one can get with a total stranger handling such an intimate area while casually flopping you to and fro like you were that night's pizza dough. You know, lightly floured, kneaded and hand-tossed. Bring on the rolling pin.

Once the technician gets all familiar with your....self, decorates her for her close up and gets her situated on the metal serving dish, the acrobatics begin. Hold this arm here, that arm there, hug this, turn your head so, lean to the side and hold.

The tech walks away and says this will just be a second. Pushes a button, a low hum comes from the machine and your eyes follow as the little plastic plate over your...self...lowers, and lowers, and lowers. Hold. Okay, breathe. You are free.

Wait. That's it? That was all? I mean, what happened to running my girls through the old-fashioned clothes ringer and slamming them between two blocks of ice?

NOT that I want THAT to happen. But THAT is exactly what I've heard a mammogram is like. And let me tell you, what a relief to find out that it is not. All that whimpering and whining was for naught.

So my lovely ladies. I beseech you, do not be afraid. Love yourself enough to go forth and mammogram.

Afterward I removed my adornments and threw them in the trash with all the other discarded decorations left from so many others who've passed through her life. As I dressed I wondered to myself if she would call. Would I ever see her again? We had such a brief few moments together, would I miss her? I can still hear our song.

I wasn't expecting to hear from her so soon, but she called me back the very next morning. What did this mean for us? I fretted as I waited on hold to speak to her. Her voice was unemotional, even after all we shared. But she did say she wants to see me again. Well, at least part of me.

More pictures? Different angles? Sure. When? Soon? Okay. See you then. Bye.

Sigh. I feel so easy.

Houston Thanks YOU

Question: How do you feed a half a million people?

Answer: One meal at a time of course.

And that is exactly what the Red Cross, The Disaster Relief Team of SBC and Americorps have been doing for the past 4 weeks.

Our church, my work, has literally housed 150 volunteers and the parking lot has been a staging center for these teams as they work together around the clock to prepare roughly 30,000 meals a day for the City of Houston and surrounding areas.

Sadly, they are leaving us this week and I wanted to give a big Thank You to each of them. They have not personally fed, clothed or sheltered my family. But they have, so willingly, done this and so much more for many others.

Without question, Ike has left an indelible mark on Houston. Some of its effects are clearly visible. Just take a look around and see the buildings, trees, curbs and rooftops bearing the wounds and scars all over town. Some of the effects are not as easy to see, but no less profound.

Like these volunteers. They have left their very own indelible mark on my heart. They have come from all over our nation to provide a ministry to our city and this speaks to me of the love we can have for one another, regardless of anything we choose to lay claim to and define ourselves with.

I notice them each and every day in their meetings, in the comings and goings of their daily routine and they almost always have a smile, a readiness to talk and a kind and kindred spirit. This in spite of the fact that they don't get much rest and when they do sleep it's on a cot or an air mattress in our GYM. This in spite of the fact that they've worked 4 weeks straight under less than pleasant conditions. This in spite of the fact that all they have done since their arrival is give completely of themselves.

Here I am thanking them, and rightly so...yet, there is a poster just outside our Fellowship Center thanking us! Go figure...it is the most amazing thing to read, check it out:

Not sure you could read that. Here is a closer shot.

And more kind words.

And even more.

This poster truly touched my heart and every time I pass it I stop to read it again. It made me so thankful for what we as a city have seen rise up out of the loss and destruction. Love.

But you know what? I think of all the words written on this poster, these below in blue mean the most to me.

Comes in 666 Flavors I Might Add

So today in Sunday class we walk over to the snacky-snack section where we have a veritable smorgasborg of breakfast selections. There's the standard bacon or sausage and egg tacos, fresh cut seasonal fruit, orange juice and of course yogurt.

Me, I have my sustenance already in hand. That's right children, a grande bold brew from Starbuck's.

Also known as The Cathedral of St. Arbuck's. And since it is Sunday and I do love my coffee...it does seem apropos.

My husband goes for the yogurt.

I eye the brand and give my two cents about the nutritional value of that particular brand. (cause I's the expert now. um. not.)

He looks at it and says "Naw, it's okay. It's Damnation yogurt..."

"Hon, I believe that says Danimals."

I'm pretty sure you can find the Damnation-Free Yogurt (with live and active script-cul-tures) on aisle 3, right between the Testamints & Veggie Tales.

The Sound of Music

As I was leaving work yesterday a harmless little song popped in to my head. And stayed there. For hours...and hours.

So, you say? Happens all the time, you say. Yes. Yes, I know. But this particular ditty (no longer considered harmless after thirty minutes of repetition) is one I've not heard (at least that I know of) in over 30 years. Although 30 years ago I am most certain I heard it hundreds and hundreds of times. But isn't really a song. At least not one that would make the Billboard charts...

Take a listen....



Apparently the fragrance is not the only thing that is here to stay...can you say Earworm children? I knew you could.

So tell me, what is the worst ear worm (definition #2) you've ever had?

On Being 12

A size 12! Thank you very much.

Well, I promised a weight-loss update so, true to my word, here you go my adoring fans. I must insert the usual "be forewarned" disclaimer that I've merely got a camera phone and my photographer is usually my daughter who forgets to tell me "when". So, with that said, some of the pictures are less than good. Dude, what can I say? I'm no Stan Kwan.

Just to refresh your memory let's begin with where else? Uh, the beginning, duh.

A 315 lb me Nov. 2007

That bears repeating, 315 lbs!

Then...

1 month after surgery.

Then....
3 months after surgery.

And now for the latest photos...

Me...almost 7 months post-surgery. 133 lbs lighter and a size 12.

Shut up! A size 12...Can I just tell you I giggled when I tried these pants on?
I just did.

Me. Again....oh yeah, it is my update.
What's with the funky face?
(That would be the NO warning I referred to earlier.)

Alas me lovies, that's all the blurry, poorly lit, horribly posed, same old kitchen for a background photos I have. For now.

Where from here? Not sure. If the weight loss gods* have forsaken me and left me for greener pastures, then I am just hunky-dory with that. I consider this weight loss surgery journey a success so far.

Considering that I've gone from 2 diabetes injections, 2 to 4 blood sugar finger tests, 2 blood pressure meds, a handful of pain meds A DAY to none of the above a day. I've gone from a size 26/28 to a size 12. From 315 lbs. to 182 lbs. From 165 pounds to goal, to 33 pounds to goal. I've gone from not being able to sit in a chair comfortably (without my hips hanging out the sides and over the edge) to...well...it's still not comfortable but it's now because I have very little cushion between my tail-bone and the chair...I've gone from wanting to sleep all the time to, oh wait, ha, that's still true. From not being active with my family to being active....Any way, you get the picture. If not, scroll up and start over.

So, that's it for now. I will update again at 9 months. The same amount of time of a full term pregnancy. Except by then it will be as if I've given birth to a full grown man.

*(please do not take offense. I am a Jesus loving, scripture believing, Holy Spirit filled girl...I would never be so silly as to truly think that the weight loss gods have forsaken me...so there.)

A Tale of Two Cities

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. . . .

The lines have been drawn and the city has been divided. There are those with and those without. No matter where you are or what you are doing the mutual concern sounds and common question rings in everyone's conversation, "Do you have power?" The ones who have seem almost apologetic to answer yes to those who have not. Those who are without are merely seeking a fellow sufferer to commiserate with.

And it has been suffering. True, we still have a home. True, we can now go to the store without a two hour wait in line. And true, we can run to the nearest fast food place for a quick bite to eat and a breath of fresh air conditioning. But then we must return to our muggy, dark and eerily quiet homes to rummage in the blackness for our belongings and lay in our bed praying for the slightest breeze.

Time has been divided as well. There is Before the Storm and After the Storm. Or perhaps you go by Before Ike and After Ike. The novelty of it all (if there ever was any) has certainly lost its shine. The first week After the Storm was filled with busyness and gratefulness and sheer determination to be strong in the face of whatever may come. The second week has been filled with deep sighs at yet another day of hurricane hair, showering by flashlight and eating cheap fast food. Also the petty envy and the childish whining that fills my heart while longingly looking out my window at the porch lights of my neighbor across the street. Wah.

One thread runs common through all of us, whether in a season of light or a season of darkness, we are all very tired. I've decided we are all suffering from P.I.T. Post Ike Trauma or P.I.S.T. Post Ike Severe (or Stress &) Trauma. Symptoms include: Crying/laughing or cussing at the sight of a porch light (not yours), a bag of ice, a gas can, a grill or the sound of a generator. Exhaustion. The appearance of having chicken pox (from the hawk-sized mosquitoes biting you while you sit outside at night trying to catch a cool breeze while staring plotting ways to run electricity from your neighbors house to yours). Scratches, bruises, blisters, sunburn, heatstroke and callouses from hauling the forest from your backyard to your curb. Exhaustion. Forgetfulness. Repeating the following Do you have power yet? Is that the microwave? Is that a power line truck? Who has ice? Do you have power yet? and exhaustion.

I hope this doesn't come across as whiny and negative. As I said before there are pockets of joy we've been able to delve our little hands in to and grab hold of some semblance of peace. We have learned much about ourselves and one another. Found reserves of strength deep within that would not have been discovered if not for the current situation.

For instance I have learned that it is possible to cook pasta, make coffee and even bake a pie on a grill as well as a variety of dishes only thought possible with the modern miracles known as KitchenAid, Cuisinart and General Electric.

I've found it is possible to live without tv, radio, internet and sometimes air conditioning, but NOT Starbucks. You can have serious, even life threatening withdrawals from Starbucks. And I don't even drink the fancy stuff. Just straight coffee ma'am, thank you very much. You would have thought they were giving away the store the day I found they were open again. I squealed with the delight of a preteen viewing the Jonas Brothers when I saw the Open sign finally return to my crack dealer Java Love Distributor. Sigh.

I now know I am still able to do my own pedicure. (dangit) I have become quite the spoiled little brat regarding my feet and was at the point where I refused to even think about touching them myself. I must say, they aren't as pretty nor is it as relaxing as having My Le, sorry Tammy give me a pedicure, but nonetheless still possible. At least I can reach them now...(small weight loss surgery update: I've lost 133 pounds and have 32 to go. I have gone from a size 26/28 to a 12/14. I am at almost 7 months post surgery and will post pictures soon barring another hurricane of course.)

I have discovered it is possible to be in the close proximity of two teenagers and one husband for 24 hours a day and 14 days straight without committing murder. Although I must say I've not been happier in the past two weeks than the day the kids went back to school and I was able to spend 8 child-free hours - even if it was at work.

Tomorrow marks 14 days without for our family. Oh but weep not for me for there is hope...yesterday as we entered our neighborhood the sight of huge orange and white trucks filled my heart with joy and my eyes with tears. When we got home there were 4 large, smelly, filthy and sweaty men in my backyard fixing the the power lines and I've never wanted to hug a stranger more. While we are still without and others around us may have light, we have each other, we have the love of fa...oh who am I kidding? I WANT MY LIGHTS ON NOW!!!!

I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long long to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out.

Ikelings

Well, Ike is gone. We are safe. The world around me looks like one big lawn cleaning party. Piles and piles of limbs and cut down trees line the streets and neighborhoods.

Everywhere we go the strain of the past few days is etched deeply on the faces of the people we talk to. No lights. No water. No phones. No place you can go without waiting for hours and hours in lines of people or cars for, what would be in a normal world, everyday conveniences acquired hastily and without pause. Gas, bread, water and ice seem such precious commodities now.

We have survived. No damage to our home. No damage to our bodies. And, as the past few days have proved, no damage to our spirits. If anything, this storm has fortified our will to carry on and make do with what we have.

You've seen it on the news, neighbors helping neighbors. People reaching out to one another extending support and exhibiting selflessness. It's the same story in our area. No one will go without necessities if we can help it.

We came up to the church to check on things. My husband has come here to work for the past few days. Repairing things around the building. Cutting down fallen trees. Hauling off trash. I took a moment to check emails and post this little note.

It feels kind of strange to see pictures on websites of all that has been going on since I have been long without communication to the outside world. As my neighbor said, you can only watch the news after hurricane if it doesn't strike you. I am sure the devastation is far reaching and incredibly depressing to watch. At least it has been whenever I've seen the aftermath on the news.

But this post is to let you know, that the news is not all bad. There are pockets of joy. There are areas of blessing.

If you are here in Houston, then this post is to let you know I am fervently praying you are okay. Hoping all is well and asking you to let me know if you need anything.

If you are not in Houston, then this post is to let you know what is happening here in my stretch of land. Asking you to pray fervently for those of us who have lost so much that we would hold dear to what we have left. Each other.

I will check back soon I hope.