599,999,999 Other Souls

I received a text the other day; after I had left warm ham and cheese biscuits in her workspace, calling me thoughtful. I didn't think too much of it, kinda pshawed it. And then I realized I liked that accusation.

Next day, I texted everyone I worked with appreciation for an unsung job well done. And that same woman texted me back with "See? Just like I said yesterday."

I am an advocate of manners. I expect the children I come in contact with everyday to have basic manners. The old cliche: "please and thank you go a long way" ring so true.  Basic civility, acknowledgement, maybe even some kindness.  I think nothing of nicely stating "You're welcome" after I have not received a "thank you." Its not sarcasm (but I am rather proficient at that!) its a genuine statement or affirmation of what should have transpired.

Fun. has a song out with the line "I still don't know what I stand for." I think I'm getting closer to my answer. I stand for thoughtful. It seems to encompass all the good things: manners, gratitude, appreciation and kindness. It is part of my mitochondrial DNA, Mother always wanted more kindness in the world.  I think toughtfulness starts with me. By being accused of thoughtfulness, I recognize I am not the center of the universe. That there are 599,999,999 other people that could use my good wishes, my prayers, or my smile. And lots of creatures too.

God has blessed me with so much. From a roof over my head to my health to basic joy: shouldn't I share what I can? I'm not eloquent or rich or worldly but I can express my gratitude by sharing a little, having simple, good manners, and being thoughtful. I like that: thoughtful.

Neither a Martyr or Diva be...

Its not a crossroads. Its not just a few small decisions. It is not a question of wifeship or motherhood. It is an elementary quandry of womanhood. How much do I give?

How much do I give?

And why do I always feel like the hounds are shredding me apart, so no one gets a wholehearted share, but rather a ripped tidbit that surely is not my very best?

If I start my day out as the best whatever my career, surely I lack in the attention and love my children bid from me. Or commit myself to a great marriage and all the work it entails? Then does my career suffer?

I want to go back to school. I am 45 years old and not using my "God given talents"; as my husband puts it. The only way to not return to a lower tax bracket is to get an education. That would mean nights away from my children. One of my children is having a very hard time in school and deserves my full attention, academically. The other is a highly sensitive dynamic preteen. How much do I give to them? And how much do I give to me?

I have serious issues with selfishness/selflessness. Neither martyr nor diva. As an intelligent woman, I deserve happiness. I'll shout that from the mountaintop. I know it to be true.

But how do I do it?  How much do I give?

My Redneck:

14 years have passed by: always in flux, everchanging. So cliched: we've had our ups and downs.

I just see and feel us getting better and better. You are an amazing man of integrity and I admire that most about you. You've joined me on my quest for Honest Love. We call it Brass Tacks. Its so important. I'm glad that we are showing the girls how to have a fair, just,and loving relationship.
Affectionate and supportive, really could I ask for more?

You've taught me to laugh, to add humor to most situations. You've put so many things in perspective for me. All the sickly trees pale to the beauty of the forest. Thank you for the laughter, for taking it all in stride and for holding my hand through it all.

I miss you when you are away and don't appreciate the time we have together. Life is always so full, too full to enjoy the little moments. Come Monday, when you climb in that truck, I always think "Wow! I miss him already." How does that happen?

There are people who don't understand or even approve ( as if!) of our marriage. Too different. She's not good enough for him; he's not good enough for her... We are more independent and trusting than other couples, but so far, I think thats our success. We have Honest Love. Thank you for that gift of learning and living what that's all about.

I love you so much, Redneck. From the pizza with feta cheese and artichoke hearts to keeping me a "bobby" I know we'll just create more and more memories and explore Honest Love into old age.

Always, Daniele

Jackass

I know two jackasses. Now I know the world has many many more, but I want to draw and quarter two.

Ricky was an amazing jackass. I call him jackass lovingly because he didn't take anything or anyone too seriously. He was self centered and smart.  Mikey was in his circle of just a few that he truly cared about. Their friendship was almost clandestine. Secret. On a level just plain old friends never really get to. They were brothers.
Ricky would answer my husband's 2am phone call and listen to him drivel on, drunk. And Mikey would answer Ricky's 2am phone call.  Ricky and Mikey would stay on the porch, bragging and chortling until all hours of the night. Mikey would listen and Ricky would listen; they'd advise each other, console one another, and forge their own brotherhood. I am proud of the men they were growing into: generous, loving, and genuine. It was an intimate friendship, theirs.
Ricky was no saint. He was a Redneck Angel though. (Kinda reminds me of those Dale Earnhardt decals, where the halo is tipped ever so slightly) When my mother passed away, Mikey asked Ricky to be there for me because he couldn't. There were three people, besides family, at my mother's funeral. Ricky was one of them. There were 200 hundred people at his funeral. I cherish the memory of that  moment, Ricky and I.
And now, he is a Redneck Angel. It seems so surreal that Ricky is gone. The world has lost a true Jackass. Goofy, loving, strong. I watched his father at the funeral. I don't know if Ricky could've ever been Richard. Ricky didn't care anything about asserting his power, about demanding respect. Either you did or you didn't. He was true to himself and to the ones he loved. And after years of struggle, Ricky was finally getting comfortable in his own skin. My husband and his family were in that circle that Ricky had his arms around. Wow. We were so privileged to be loved by Ricky.
Ricky was a testament to integrity. Love genuinely. What you see is what you get. Don't demand respect, earn it.
If I loved that Jackass this much, I can only imagine the emptiness my husband feels. I hope Mikey parlays Ricky's death into a purpose. Purposefully loving those that love him. Protecting and enjoying parenting. Earning respect by generosity.

When we refer to the other jackass I know, we often sneer when we say it. He is a jackass of the lowest kind. Condescending and mean, a sniveling of a man.

Nah, I 'd rather spend the energy on Ricky.

Ricky I know you're with Jesus. He prepares the way for all us sinners to live in the Kingdom of Glory. Ricky's there. Jumping off the top of a houseboat and being a jackass. And God is smiling, shaking His head.

Puddle Drowning

So 85 days later and no change. I'm not lazy. I just don't love myself enough. Pure and simple. EVERYTHING comes first.

Children
Husband
Work
PTA
housekeeping
money
friendships
extended family: I am a horrible granddaughter, niece, sister. (Why do I carry that guilt? Communication works both ways. I don't get it. Do my grandparents, aunt, or siblings carry the same guilt?)

I am obese. I have actually joined the group of overweight women who own a basic stretch bottom wardrobe, topped with large tops that "camouflage". Ugh. This self-loathing is horrific.

My recurring prayer is that He make my heart generous. I hope that asking that of Him, from this all else flows. Tithing, friendship, community generosity, good parenting... from a kind, open heart all blessings should flow. And I am blessed. Blessed beyond my dreams.

So why can't I love myself?

I don't remember my motivation, in the years past, for losing weight. In 1996, at age 30, I was heavy. At about 175, I worked three jobs, ate vegetarian, and my circle only included Mother and I.  I smoked, but didn't take any anti-depressants. I was new to Georgia weather and after five months I was thin again.

I do remember, however, HOW GREAT I FELT. I was adorable. I glowed with self-confidence. I remember what it felt like to wear fun clothes. Clothes were just the accessory to my great body. I could wear anything: guinea tees and jeans. And I kicked ass. I remember how great that felt.

In the movie, "Sex and the City", Kim Catrall's character, Samantha breaks up with Smith. "I love you. There's just someone I've been in love with longer: Me." AAgh! Can you even imagine saying that? Feeling that? ACTING on that? Nowhere in my fiber of being can I say that... 

I have beautiful, smart, strong children. My marriage is good. I have a job I like-ish. There's a roof over my head. WHY CAN I NOT LOVE ME?

Michael says he's tired of hearing me complain. So do I start to exercise so he doesn't have to hear it? Do I start moving so my girls don't have "one of those Moms"? Somewhere in my brain, I cannot find the justification to take the time for me.  I'm mortified that I am winded walking a flight of stairs. Or when I do yoga, I look like a fat caterpillar and get stuck in poses? So why should I start? I am ashamed. I used to "workout" in college dance class and dance for hours. I didn't mind sweating. Now I sweat driving a school bus in Georgia and its just plain miserable.

I want to create a five year plan.  At age fifty, I want to host a birthday party, a la strip tease. Maybe al a Moulin Rouge. Maybe like Gypsy Rose Lee. Or with a Sixties vibe, Playboy Bunny style. I wouldn't even mind a modern Shoe Show. The laundry list of self-improvements would all be achieved and I would reveal myself to the world. It would be all about my transformation. Me. Gorgeous Me.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. Step one is cool. Step two and three is embarrassing. And step five, just plain humiliating. So by step six, I should just stop because this is ridiculous. And I look ridiculous. And really? Is this ever gonna help?

I understand the dynamic of instant gratification. I know the value of hard work. I can do anything. Learn a new skill, got it. Face the challenge of raising great kids? No problem. Money, marriage: bring it on. I appreciate working for something. I am known as a hard worker. I just can't apply it to me. Resurrecting my self-image seems so vain, so shallow, so unimportant.

I have two acquaintances I think of when I think of weight management. One is an athlete. She is tall and beautiful. She runs every morning, has a sun weathered complexion, and quietly goes through her day. The other woman is currently losing weight. Everyone knows it: she posts about Zumba classes, she brags about a three pound loss. She is more similar to my build. I admire both for their commitment to their well-being. But their motivation for exercising has got to be different. Me? I think I fall between both of these extremes.

The saddest of all? I know better. My mother was a wealth of knowledge regarding healthy food. I grew up sans TV, sans soda and white bread. I knew juice had too much sugar growing up 40 years ago. Mom was Whole Foods before it was. We exercised: on purpose and through everyday living. So why is it OK to be 80 pounds overweight now?

"So why don't you just do something about it, Daniele?"  I can come up with a thousand reasons, a thousand excuses of why I am so unimportant. I am one in six billion people. Really? My struggle isn't even a blip on God's screen. God's lot for me is hardly caring for my self-image. He has more spiritual matters in mind. I'm healthy: its not like I have any risk. My cholesterol and screenings have always been clean and normal.  So I can't get into a size 16; I'm sure they come in an XXL.

I knew a mother of a three year-old that drown in a puddle because his shoe was stuck and he couldn't break free. I feel like that little boy. I cannot get out of these four inches of muck and mire. I am stuck. My obesity has become stifling.

Phineas and Ferb Lied!

We have 62 ish days off. It is summer break. I will change.
I just read that my BMI is 34.7. Obese. Across the board the ugliest word ever attributed to me.
Obese.