Bedroom Banshee

It was the middle of the night.  A storm was raging outside.  The lightening was flashing on the curtains, thunder was rattling the windows and the wind howled eerily.  Everyone had long since retired for the night when my youngest son padded into the room in his yellow blanket footed sleeper, carrying his doll and sucking on his pacifier.  He reached his little chubby hand up over the side of the bed and patted my husband on his cheek. 

"Daddy!"  he said in an alarmed voice.  "I'm scared."

Imagining it was a ploy to avoid sleeping in his own bed, my husband told him there was nothing to be afraid of, picked him up and explained that storms were just a part of nature.  He held him a few moments to comfort him and then sent him back to bed.

"He could get in bed with us." I said sleepily.

"No, I don't want to start that again." He said, as we respectively recalled the last time he  had slept with us.  He spun around all night like a compass in the Bermuda Triangle.  And then there was all the kicking, scratching, and thrashing about as we both struggled just to stay on the bed.

We were just getting back to sleep when I heard, smack, smack, smack. SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

"Daddy!" the lightning flashed and I could see his big eyes widen in fright as he spoke around the pacifier in garbled words, "Daddy, I'm really scared," he mouthed around his pacifier.

My husband groaned.  "I'll get him," I said.

"No!" he said a little too firm.  "Sam, Son, what is it you're afraid of?"

"I hear noises." 

My husband sat up and explained about thunder and lightening, ionization, electricity, the necessity of rain, the protection of God and anything else he could think of that would appease a frightened little boy during a thunder storm.  "Now Sam," he said, "you go on back to bed.  There is nothing to be afraid of.  I'm right next door.  Nothing can get to your room without coming past mine."

Sam wiggled out of his daddy's arms, holding his doll, sucking rather noisily on his pacifier and padded bravely off back to bed… with the renewed confidence of his Father's assurance of protection and vigilant attendance to the least offense.

Five minutes later Sam came running into the bedroom, this time the pacifier was yanked out of his mouth with a loud pop and the doll had been dropped to the floor along the way and left to its fate.  "DAD!!!  MY BED IS SCARING ME.l"

My husband's patience was nearly at an end.  "Sam!  There is NOTHING to be afraid of.  He stood up, yanked Sammy up impatiently and they headed off down the hall.  About 15 seconds later, as curiosity got the better of me, I got up in time to see both of them backing back away from the bedroom into the hall.  My husband, a little disconcerted, looked over his shoulder and said quietly to me, "come here"

He, Sam and I crept back down the hall. By now the twins had gotten up to see what the commotion was.  

As I reached the room, Sam, feeling far braver with his whole family behind him, led the way saying, "See, see." Sure enough, the bed was literally floating around the room and dreadful howls were emanating from it.  It was like something from the Amityville Horror movie.  We all huddled together in the doorway,  staring at the aberration while I fought the urge to imagine Sam's head twisting around 360° and heaving projectile vomit.

Sammy, pointed at the bed with his chubby little finger and said wetly from the sides of his reinstated Binky,

"See." Steve picked him up to keep him back from the floating bed.

My elder son, pushed past us unnoticed, intrigued by the anomaly.  He knelt down, peering under the bed, hoping to catch a glance at the howling banshee levitating the bed.

"Dad, LOOK"

My husband realizing Danny was in the room quickly handed off Sam to me and bolted in the room to yank him up and out but as he knelt down, he began to laugh.

Our old border collie had become frightened by the storm and had wedged himself under Sam's bed but when he discovered he was unable to get back out again, he began to howl.  Unable to crawl out from under the bed, he kept trying to stand up.

Sensing the hope of immediate rescue, his moaning stopped and the bed settled back down.  My husband lifted the bed, the dog waddled out, glaring at the incompetent oafs that were supposed to take care of him as we leaned on each other laughing until we were too weak to stand any longer and finally retreated to our respective beds. 

Round Three with HCG

Okay, here I am again, starting up my third round of drops.  Actually, I've already done a week of drops and have lost about 13 lbs but if you subtract where I was BEFORE I went on vacation, then I suppose I've lost about 6... not including the weight I gained at the Feast of Tabernacles and the load days... 

My friend Kay told me that it gets easier and I was pretty skeptical but she's right.  It does get easier.  I guess the first time, your whole life is centered around meals and especially if you love to cook and to taste your wares, like me, then its such a culture shock to suddenly be reduced to two tiny meals with no snacks.  How can you survive that?  I think it wasn't just a matter of being hungry as it was a matter of adjusting to the changes.  

Speaking of which, the trees are really changing and the colors are so vivid this year.  I love fall but hate what comes after it.  I'm not fond of winter or tromping through snow or navigating my car over icy roads or shivering or dressing in layers.  Big Mama sure don't need to pile on layer upon layer to further accentuate an already portly frame.  Three layers and a coat and I can't even fasten the seat belt.  Then I get to work and spend the whole day deleting and re-adding the layers as they seem unable to find a happy medium to the thermostat.  The leaves are so pretty but they do always carry and air of foreboding and the threat of all things dreary.  

And that reminds me, I still have my frozen strawberries with Vanilla Cream Stevia to eat.  Yea!  

Taco Bell Music

A friends son, Courtney, was riding with us one evening from a basketball practice when the radio began playing a symphonic piece familiar to anyone with so much as a passing interest in the classical genre.  My eldest son, Danny, began humming along and waving his arms as a guest conductor of the obscure orchestra with the timing and precision of one well rehearsed beckoning the entrance of each violin, each stroke of the keys, each reverberation of the harpsichord.  Courtney watched with amazement as Danny gestured with the crescendos and decrescendos exhibiting all the grace of a belted in and overcrowded mad conductor, batting his fellow passengers about their collective heads in perfect time while Sammy bounced from one lap to the next dodging the wave of his brothers wildly swinging arms.

Finally Courtney couldn't take it any longer.  "Do you know this song?"

The twins exchanged a perplexed glance of contemplation, as Courtney was a couple of years their elder and they were uncertain of the purpose of the question but  finally Danny says, "Yeah, it..  It's Pachelbel."

"Taco Bell?"

The twins had a good laugh as did Steve and I and Steve explained it was Canon in D by Johann Pachebel.  So for the remaining time in our car, every piece was met by a flurry of queries as to whether the twins knew the composer or title or anything about it and the twins complied by giving mostly accurate answers to Courtney's further amazement but to what would surely be much to Mr. Pachelbel's consternation, from that day forward, we always refer to Canon in D as Taco Bell Music.

Its such a lovely haunting piece that seems so melancholy and sad to me.. like the music you would hear play while doing the most natural ordinary things in the midst of all that you love dearly, precious tasks that would be done for the last time for the rest of your life or at least for the foreseeable future.  I heard that music playing in my head as I watched Jenny, during her last few days gather up all the children's items and box them up to take back home and wondered why anyone would choose Canon in D for their wedding as it always sounds to me like a heart swelling up to the point of breaking but proceeding as life requires one must do.

I much prefer Beethoven.  Sometimes his piece was harsh or sad or melancholy or emotional or beautiful or exciting, perhaps even oppressive-- but his music was always presented as what it was meant to be, not pretending to be what it was not, like gnawing devastation hiding behind the facade of a resplendent triumphant aria.  It is beautiful but heart rending...

I know life can be like that...  but somehow, in my music, I need it to be more frank, more precise and reliable.  

It's a beautiful piece.  But second string in the background plays off so sad.  I can imagine it being played as they marched off Mary Queen of Scots off to her beheading... noble, regal and doomed. It's like Un bel di vedremo from Madame Butterfly, without the words. Sounds so triumphant but the underlying melody is the welling up of anguish beyond expression.

Give me straightforward shoot from the hip Beethoven every time.

DON'T PANIC

 

I was supposed to be cleaning house on Sunday.  It is my only day off and the only day I really have to get very much done and I vacillate between regretting spending it having fun and regretting spending it on mundane tasks that absolutely must be accomplished. For several weeks, the mundane had been pushed aside until there was no pushing it further—we were running out of underwear and it was becoming difficult to find a bare spot on the table in which to set one more thing out of place. 

The table was strewn with unopened mail, contents of my husband's briefcase, books he had been studying and books my mother had given me as she was streamlining her overabundance of impulse purchases.  I had completely forgotten they were there and flipped through them with interest.  The last book I came to had the words, "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters, on the front cover. 

I had no time to peruse the book that morning, but later on that evening, I retrieved the book from the shelf and began to read.  Poor Mr. Dent, it begins, was spending most of his morning lying in the mud in front of a huge yellow bulldozer to prevent the scheduled demolition of his house when his friend Ford Prefect suddenly showed up with the undisclosed intention of saving his life, for unknown to the rest of the world, the Earth, also, had also been scheduled for demolition in twelve minutes. 

Later, in the spaceship on which they had hitched a ride, Ford Prefect shows Mr. Dent a book, sort of an IPod, called, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.  Ford, an alien, had been stuck on the Earth for fifteen years because he took an assignment to include some of the lesser known planets into the footnotes of the book, and found himself unable to catch a ride back until the fleet of destroyer spaceships showed up to dematerialize the Earth.. And as a very troubled Mr. Dent examined the book, he noticed on the front cover of the book, written in big friendly letters, were the words, "DON'T PANIC." 

It was those very words that had caught my attention in the first place because given the present state of the world, the present state of my life, the realization that time is moving faster and faster and less and less is being accomplished, I find I am continually fighting down waves of panic, myself so I was quite interested in the contents of a book sporting an annotation larger than the book's title, warning it's readers to remain unruffled. 

The words, "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters, were to remind the carrier of the book, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, that since the book provided qualified advice to successfully navigate through every conceivable situation, they need only consult the book for guidance that would see them through any and all perils which would, therefore, free them from further dread and trepidation. 

I thought about those words on the way to work as I passed a truck driver pulled over by a highway patrolman who was meticulously scrutinizing the driver's paperwork while three other patrol cars waited behind them, should any  of his affairs be discovered out of order.  I thought about it as I drove slightly faster than I thought prudent because I was afraid I would be late to work and again as I looked across the road and passed a well dressed man,  briefcase in tow,  hitchhiking beside his brand new expensive but apparently inoperative car, looking as though he needed a copy of Prefect's book. I considered that most everyone needed a copy of a guide book with the words, "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters to guide them through the oft occurring misadventures of life. 

When it just came to me…I already have the book and it cautions you over and over "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters. 

Let not your heart be troubled; neither let it be afraid, not of the terror by night or the arrows that fly by the day, not of evil tidings or sudden fear or desolation or of war or of any man that can kill the body, or of their faces, or prison or words or scorpions or briers or thorns or death or whatever life throws at you because you have got the book and the book, if you read it, if you apply what it says, if you just "DON'T PANIC," then you'll come out on the other side safely.  

And just like Ford Prefect, it will be our job to add to the book, the bits and pieces we have learned along the way and to lay down a reliable, tried and true,  gateway to the unknown so that when they see the words, "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters, they will have something to guide them on in their travels through the Universe. 

Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the LORD: look unto the rock whence ye are hewn, and to the hole of the pit whence ye are digged. …  I have put my words in thy mouth, and I have covered thee in the shadow of mine hand, that I may plant the heavens, and lay the foundations of the earth, and say unto Zion, Thou art my people. (Isaiah 51:1,16) 

Just like Ford Prefect, we are hitchhikers through the Galaxy, making the way easier for those that come along behind us,  proving the Book is not only invaluable in making our way through the universe, but proving it works as perfectly as it says it does... so long as we follow the instructions and heed the warning, "DON'T PANIC," written in big friendly letters.

Starting HCG again...

Yeah it's me.  I started my diet again.  You can probably tell by my picture that if I lost a little more weight, it wouldn't hurt anything.  I made myself some chicken soup with chicken broth, cabbage, sliced raw celery and some asparagus.  I'm not supposed to mix my veggies but that's my big confession.  I gave up the bread sticks for a little bit of celery in my soup.

I was most impressed.  My daughter and her four darling babies, came for a visit.  Her husband let her stay for about 5 weeks this time.  The time flew by.  We ate pizza and went for ice cream and we made chili and desserts.  I never gained back any of the weight I lost.  So here we go again.  I'm less than a week into it and I've lost 10 lbs already.

I made 2 dressings today.  I'm going to post the recipe here for future reference as I really like it and want to remember how to make it.

Tomato Vinaigrette

1 Can Diced Tomatoes, drained
1/4 C Lemon Juice
1/4 /C Vinegar
1 1/2 Teaspoons Salt
1/2 Teaspoon Pepper
1 Teaspoon Fresh Garlic
2 Tablespoons Chopped Onion
1 Tablespoon Mustard
1/2 Teaspoon Seasoned Salt
Fresh Basil (can sub dried basil)
Parsley

Blend in Blender until liquefied.  Makes about 16 fl oz.

1

An outing with mom…

My mom is an extraordinary person.  She is 85 years old and very much an Auntie Mame.  In all areas, she’s bigger than life and more energy than anyone can take for extended periods of time.  She’s extravagant, big-hearted, volatile, commanding, unpredictable, colorful, and makes Don Quixote look like a pragmatist.  But she is my mom and I can’t help but love her to pieces. 

Recently she had surgery and was sent to a nursing home temporarily for recovery and rehab.  While there she developed a bad infection and sudden fever and pneumonia and allegedly had a seizure somewhere, the hospital says it was at the Nursing Home and the Nursing Home says it was at the hospital.  No one seems to have actually witnessed it but despite that, they managed to put her on an anti-seizure drug, with side affects that are a bit alarming. 

Having spoken with the Nursing Home, trying to get her off of them, they referred me to the Neurologist and assured me that the elderly are never removed from it once it has been issued.  I encouraged them to make an appointment at their earliest convenience. 

So mom was released from the Nursing Home this past weekend and her appointment was on the Monday afterward.  I had to request off work to take her.  Our company has an unusual method for taking off.  Sick days must be prescheduled and they must be within the guidelines of conforming to observe the various blocked days we cannot take off.  Taking my mother to the Neurologist was not an acceptable excuse to override the blocked off first Monday of the new quarter for California and so I had to seek special permission.  I was told, finally, I could take off if I had to but it would count against me as an unauthorized absence occurrence.  My young supervisor smiled so sweetly at me as she warned me, I was inclined to thank her for her thoughtfulness.  “Nevertheless,” I said, “I still feel this is important enough to risk it.”

So Monday comes and I’m off at 11:30.  The appointment isn’t until 2:00 and I told mom 12:00 because so often I get a last minute call as I’m clocking off and it can be as long as another half-an-hour.  So bases covered, I’m ready on time and I make a quick stop by the house to drop off my stuff and get the special paper bags my mom wants put on her seat.  Faith, my granddaughter is at the easel perfecting a piece of art she has created and I hear a combination of a movie for the rest of the grandkids and heavy breathing from a workout tape my daughter and my son’s wife are doing from a DVD.  I kiss the top of Faith’s head and take off for my mom’s house.  Mom wants to go to the toy store to buy the kids some presents when we’re done at the doctor’s office.  So it will be a long day.

I get to my mom’s house, pull in her drive way and she comes to the door and instructs me to back in.  So I get back into my car, and turn it around, praying I won’t take out part of her garage as I’m not exactly skillful with the whole process of reverse.  I manage to get the car in but I’m so close to the door, I have to literally squeeze myself out of the car.  I come around to help her get out of her electric chair into the front seat of the car.  She narrows her eyes.  “Did you get the paper bags?”

“All taken care of, Mom.” 

“Can you put my purse in the back seat?”

“Sure” I put her purse into the seat behind her and I help her get her seat belt back on, squeeze back through the door, get my seatbelt on and start the car. 

“Oh, I need that notebook in the back seat.”

“No problem, Mom.”  I shut off the car and open the door and compress my shape through the pinched opening, go around and get the notebook and hand it to her.  Is this what you need?”

“Oh yes, Thank you.”

“Okay, then we’re off.”  I come around the car, force my girth back through the narrow opening, put my seatbelt on and…

“Oh Judy, I need the garage door opener.  Oh you’re going to have to get out of the car again.”

Trying my best not to sound irritated, “No problem, Mom,” I said, perhaps with a little too much of a cheery Disney lilt. I once again pour through the narrow strait and reach into the backseat to retrieve her purse and hand it up to her.

“Oh Judi, you can put this in the back again.”

“That’s okay, Mom.  I think we’ll just leave it up here for now.”

So off we go.  I reach for my directions out of my purse but I can’t find them at all and realize that I had left them at home.  No matter.  I have them pretty clear in my head.  It is a simple trip just down the road from where she lives. 

“Do you know where we are going?” she asks in her most inquisitional motherly tone.

“Yes, I looked it up last night”  I say with the utmost confidence.

But I can’t find I find the exact building near the hospital and finally drive to a building to the left of the hospital and once in front, I call the Drs. Office.  “I think that maybe this is it but I’ll just check with them first.”

“Thank you for calling Dr. Kader’s office.”

“Hi.  My Name is Judy Fuller and my mom has an appointment there in about an hour.  I am at the Hospital.  Can you tell me where you are located?”

“456 N New Ballas Rd Suite 299”

“Isn’t that in Creve Coeur?  I understood you are in Lake St. Louis.”

“Where are you?”

“Well, as I said, I am at the hospital, in Lake St. Louis.  I’m at a private medical office to the left of the hospital but I can’t locate your building. ”

Murmurs, “Which one of these is our address?”  says to me, “Yes, so many people have trouble finding us.”

“Uhhh… okay, right, so where are you?”

“You’re so close.”

“Are you at this building?”

“Hmmm.” He murmurs, “Are we at this building?” He says to me, “A little further down.”

“Are you in the hospital?”

“A little further down.  You’re very close. Okay?”

“Uhh… Okay, um…”  I hear the phone click.

I drive down the road a bit and turn into every place I find that resembles an office building for about a half an hour.  But I’m unable to locate Medical Plaza Dr.  So I pull into a driveway for storage units.  I don’t tell mom but my notoriety for not charging my phone is housed in infamy.  I pull it out, turn it on and see I’m down to about 3 bars.  “I’ll just look up the address here online, and locate the address, #200 Medical Plaza Suites.  “Mom, isn’t it great to have this kind of technology on a phone?”

She rolls her eyes.  “I think you needed to go a little further down.”

“Mom, I saw the map.  It’s not this far down.  I’ve gone too far already.”

“There’s something just over that hill.”

“Yes, Mom, I know there is, but not the Drs. Office...”

I drive back toward the hospital and finally locate this tiny little sign that whispers “Medical Plaza Dr.”  I turn down the road and there is a sign that tells me where everything is.  “Perfect,” I think.  Medical building #1, go left, Medical building #2 go straight, but nothing actually says, #200 Medical Plaza Suites.  So I decide to call again.

“Thank you for calling Dr. Kader’s office.”

“Hi, this is Judy, I called before.  I have been driving around here for a half an hour and I can’t locate your building.”

“Yes, so many people have trouble finding us.”

“Well, I’m going to miss our appointment.  Can you direct me to your building?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m right at the entrance to Medical Plaza Dr.”

“Where is that?”

“At the hospital.”

“The hospital is a very large place.”

“Yes, aren’t you located on that street?” 

“I don’t know.  I don’t know how to tell you how to get here.”

“Are you at the Drs. Office?” 

“Yes.”

“Oh c’mon.  Are you telling me you don’t know how you got there today?”  (“Mom,” I whisper, “I think I’m talking to one of the patients”). 

Heavy sigh.  “Just turn on Medical Plaza Dr.” 

“Okay.”  (Mom says, “What, I didn’t hear you.”)

“Go to the sign.”

“I’m there.”  (“Mom, I think I’m talking to one of the patients”). 

“Go to the medical building.”

“1 or 2?”

“Just follow the road.” 

“Medical building 1 or 2? The road splits”  (mom says, “What did you say?”)

“I don’t know, just follow the road” 

“There is a lot of construction here.”

“You weren’t supposed to go that way.” 

“Okay.”  (I reply, “Mom, I think I’m talking to one of the patients”). “Hello, hello?  I think he hung up.”

“I can’t hear what you’re saying, Judi.”

Upon finally arriving we get the wheel chair out, I go park the car and we go in.  I fill out all the appropriate forms but get several disapproving glances as I have to ask when Mom’s birthday is and when Dad’s birthday is.  After an eternity in the waiting room, the Doctor, calls us in. 

“Vell, Missus Hudson, Vhy did choo come to see me?”

“I don’t know.  It’s YOUR appointment.”

I say, “Dr. Kader, I made the appointment.  I’m a little concerned about the”

Her hand comes up.  “I am not askink choo.”

“Do choo know cher name?”

“YES!”

“Do choo know the date?  Zee name of zee president?  Did choo see any news today?  Vat vas it about?  Vat is similar between a wall and a door?  A house and a cave?  A cat and a dog?  A horse and a flower?”

A HORSE AND A FLOWER?

“Jes, a horse and a flower?”

“Well I can’t think of anything alike in a horse and a flower.”  Mom looks at me for help.  The hand flys up again.   “I am not askink choo.  Zhere are similarities.”

“Well, I’d like to know what they are!”

“Choo vill haf to figure zat out for churself.  Zhere are similarities.”

Eventually the mental exercises cease and the good Doctor tells us she’s going to take mom off the anti-seizure drug.

“Wonderful,” Mom says.  “Lets go to the toy store and if I still feel like it, I want the kids to meet us for dinner.”

I go get the car and we head off to Toys R Us.

“Do you know where you’re going this time?”

“Yes, Mom.  I’ve been THERE before.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t take as long to get there as it did to the Drs. Office.  You said you knew how to get there too. 

“Well, I did, but they sort of hid the building from us.”

“I wish I knew the similarities between a horse and a flower.”

“They are both organic, both living?  God made both of them?”

“No, that's not it.  Oh, I know, they both are found in a field.  I’m going to write her and tell her that.”

We pull up at the toy store and I put mom in the wheel chair, roll her in and go and park the car.  When I get inside, she wants a cart.  “How are we going to do that, Mom?”

“Judi, I’ll push the cart, you push me.”

So we look at everything.  Eventually one cart isn’t enough… and I get a second one to pull behind me.  After crawling on the floor to get the one in the back, straining on my toes to get the one on top, picking up, putting back, losing the list once and having to retrace my steps to find it, and pulling around 2 cartloads of toys for over 2 and a half hours, we finally make it up to the register.  There must have been $500 in toys in the 2 carts.

“On the Legos, how do you do the buy one get one half price?”

“These Legos are not half price.”

“What do you mean, they are not half price?  You have signs everywhere saying they are half price.”

“Well, it’s only certain Legos.  These you have do not qualify.” 

“I bet I’ve got over $500 in toys here.”

She shrugs and begins ringing up the items. 

“Well I’m of a mind to just let them all put that away and walk out of here.  What do you think, Judi.”

I look at the two carts full of toys, and contemplate the hours spent digging out just the perfect one for each one of the 6 great-grandchildren and try not to sigh.  “You know, It’s just up to you mom.”

“Well then, let’s just go.”

“Excuse me Ma’am.  Umm, my mom has decided she doesn’t want any of this.  Thank you.”

On the way home, we stop at a fast food place and pick up some dinner and mom fills up my gas tank before I take her home.

“You know, mom, I was just thinking, that maybe since Jenny has so much she has to get into that van of hers already, maybe it would be better to just buy her a gift certificate at Toys R Us and let her just buy the toys when she gets them home.”

“What do you mean?” she says with narrowed eyes.

“Well, I was just thinking that maybe it would be a little easier that way.”

“You mean just give her the money and let HER go shopping?” she says incredulously.

“Well yeah,  I  mean, she knows what they’ll want and all.”

“Well, that’s no fun for me, is it?”

“Uh, no… no I guess not.”

“If she doesn’t have room in the van, then I’ll just have it mailed to her.”

“Sure, that’s a great ideal.”

“So we’ll just plan another trip another day.”

“I can’t wait.”

Maintaining the fat...

Okay, this is me now.  I'm officially off the diet... I've skated through the maintenance.  I mean, after living on 2 really tiny meals a day, of a very limited selection of foods, the maintenance felt like cheating.  I lost somewhere in the realm of 35 lbs.  Not bad.

Really, it hasn't been too bad.  I mean, I don't know if Steve would agree.  He told me I needed to collar that dog a few times... and let me tell you, I was ready to unleash it upon hearing that.  But since I've been OFF the diet and ON the maintenance, he keeps "encouraging me" to get some exercise.  I  mean, I just lost 35 lbs!

I did win the biggest loser contest.  I can't really say it's anything I'm particularly proud of, however, I did get a day off pass out of it... or at least I'm supposed to.  Oddly enough, they haven't given  me that yet.  I lost 11% of my body weight.  My boss lost over 9%.  When a person beats out their boss in a contest, do they ever really win?

Okay so I'm still a little chubby.
 I know what you were thinking ...

The hard part now is trying to figure out what I can eat without gaining it all back before the next session.  I weight myself every day.  Stare at the scale in hopes of good news.  So far, I've only had one setback which I took care of in one day but now I'm sort of afraid to eat.  Today I get on the scale and I've lost 7 pounds since Thursday.

???

I know in the world of "and the bad news is?" that's hardly anything to cry about but I'm supposed to be adhering to a portly state of stability for a few weeks.  And so I keep thinking, "I know I've done it tonight."  I'm going to get on that scale in the morning and it's going to scream at me, "Get off me, you ponderous porcine putz."  And it's going to really hurt my feelings.  But instead, I've lost weight.

Now gaining weight isn't exactly hard for me, however, I'm still not inclined to go pig out at White Castle just yet.  I know I'll figure it out.  I just never quite envisioned weight LOSS as being the bigger problem in my maintenance phase.

Well, next week the out of town grand kids are coming into town.  Maybe I'll just hold off and see what happens to me then.

The Tinkerbell Effect

Her voice was so low that at first he could not make out what she said. Then he made it out. She was saying that she thought she could get well again if children believed in fairies.

Peter flung out his arms. There were no children there, and it was night time; but he addressed all who might be dreaming of the Neverland, and who were therefore nearer to him than you think: boys and girls in their nighties, and naked papooses in their baskets hung from trees.

"Do you believe?" he cried.

Tink sat up in bed almost briskly to listen to her fate.

She fancied she heard answers in the affirmative, and then again she wasn't sure.

"What do you think?" she asked Peter.

"If you believe," he shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."

Many clapped.

Some didn't.

A few beasts hissed.

The clapping stopped suddenly; as if countless mothers had rushed to their nurseries to see what on earth was happening; but already Tink was saved. First her voice grew strong, then she popped out of bed, then she was flashing through the room more merry and impudent than ever. She never thought of thanking those who believed, but she would have like to get at the ones who had hissed.

The word, "believe," conjures a similar scenario of thought in a fairly large part of the human race, such as the one above; penned by Mr. Barrie over a hundred years ago... if only you'd just "believe" as though believing made it so.  As though believing were merely a matter of engaging the power of positive thinking... the idea that by wishing hard enough, one can change a hope into truth.  It infers that if you can just abrogate all doubt, subdue faithless foreboding, then your good feelings can bring about almost anything... perhaps even force the hand of God to do your bidding.

But that isn't how God portrays faith.  Faith comes by hearing and hearing comes by the word of God.  We hear God's word; we listen to it; we drink it in.  And we hear and we apply that word to our lives and by the application of that word to our lives, living that way of life as we are instructed to live, to hear by obedience to that word, we gain a different vantage point to see our lives in the context of eternity, where God lives, instead of from the finite framework of our human sense.  We begin to contemplate everything in the realm of godly vision that stretches beyond the boundaries of time and space and it gives us courage and hope and stamina to pursue whatever path is set before us, knowing that no matter what we see, that God holds reality in the palm of his hand.

Then from that point, we seek out to align ourselves with the will of God, that reaches beyond the realms and boundaries of carnality and we are delivered from that bondage that confined us through the natural fear of death that weighs us down for all our life.

It's only in a child's fairy story, where one might imagine he could conjure up the good will and pleasant thoughts to overcome deadly obstacles.  In real life, belief entails the understanding exhibited by Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego when they were brought before King Nebuchadnezzar when they faced being thrown into a fiery furnace for their conviction of belief.  And they stated to the King at the probable cost of their lives, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If your intent is that we be cast immediately into the midst of a burning fiery furnace, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us from your hand, O king. But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods, nor will we worship the gold image which you have set up."  It was not the wish of a child in the hope of happy thoughts that saved these men from certain death... they believed and saw beyond this life, to a country whose builder and maker is God.