A Weighty Issue

I have been gaining and losing the same 20 pounds for years now. Every time I shed the excess weight, I vow to never let those hated pounds adhere to my body again. But of course, about two years later, they are back in all their hefty glory. The persistence of that obstinate weight to cling to my 5'4" frame like a magnet has made me reconsider this weighty conundrum.

I readily admit that I am part of the problem, maybe even the majority of the problem. I love to cook and eat, and I am what one might even consider an emotional eater. Celebrations require celebratory meals, and I have never encountered a problem that could not be made better, at least temporarily, by a Hershey Bar. So I take responsibility for my indiscretions. However, (and I know I sound like a whiner here) genetics does play a part in people's body sizes. If that is not true, tell me why almost every woman I know looks like her mother. Show me a fat woman, and you can almost always guarantee a fat daughter is lurking in her future. Don't get me wrong. I am not saying blame our mothers. Heaven knows they probably inherited the queen-sized handicap themselves.

Family traits aside, experts and weight-loss gurus always have a new solution to the body-mass issue. Body fat is big business, no pun intended. Many, many doctors, dietitians, ans self-proclaimed diet experts are literally living off the fat of the land. Did you ever stop to think that if all of us fat-afflicted people were to be cured of the obesity bug, those diet peddlers would be out of business? The truth is that most of those pills, potions, and commercial diets do work, temporarily. But none of them can guarantee permanent solutions, and they are expensive. A couple of years ago, I tried Weight Watchers. The weight did melt away, but one day it dawned on me that I could starve for free. So I quit the club and lost the weight on my own.

Another thing that bothers me is society's obsession with weight. Certain companies and individuals are absolutely predatory in their "mission" to help the obese. A prime example of this fat baiting for profit is the TV show The Biggest Loser. Now I know the show is wildly popular, and I have many friends who love it. But I cannot bear to watch it. Dressing obese people up in skimpy gym clothes and having them bear their souls on national TV seems sadistic to me. I know people say they watch the show for inspiration, but when I see a skinny little diet coach yell at some unfortunate fatty stumbling along on a treadmill, I am embarrassed and appalled! Nevertheless, long lines of fat people wait for hours to audition for the show. Go figure.

I am currently at the top of my twenty-pound problem. I am down to to a handful of outfits that I can comfortably wear, and I am even beginning to have fat dreams. So it is time to pull out the diet plans again. Should I count carbs, calories, or fat grams? Maybe I will give Weight Watchers another try. One thing is for sure: if I don't do something, you may soon see me sporting spandex on Tuesday nights on NBC.

Mid-Summer Musings

The Oven Bird


by Robert Frost



There is a singer everyone has heard,

Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,

Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.

He says that leaves are old and that for flowers

Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.

He says the early petal-fall is past

When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers

On sunny days a moment overcast;

And comes that other fall we name the fall.

He says the highway dust is over all.

The bird would cease and be as other birds

But that he knows in singing not to sing.

The question that he frames in all but words

Is what to make of a diminished thing.



At this time of year, embroiled in the unrelenting and hopeless heat of mid-summer, I always think of Frost's poem. Indeed the flowers have grown old but still bravely put up a faded front on leggy stems while dust from the July drought tarnishes the earth. What do we "make of a diminished thing" when the promise of spring has passed? Those optimists among us will look upon this time of persecuting heat as a step toward the mellowness of autumn when colors are burnished and the sunlight is soft. Literalists will probably take this pre-fall season to clean out those diminished things and sell them in a garage sale; after all, one person's diminished thing is another person's bargain, so to speak.

I, on the other hand, see Frost's poem as a question about life. What do you do when you have more years behind you than ahead of you? What can you make of the mid-summer of life? My solution to these dilemmas is grandchildren. I had this epiphany recently while watching my little grandson play in the water sprinkler in the midst of an oppressive heat wave. To him I am not diminished at all; I am just Granny, someone who loves him unconditionally and who will patiently watch him cavort through this early spring of his life. He is not even in bloom yet; in fact, he is still a bud, full of hope and promise. As I watched him dance in the shimmering spray, I glimpsed the man he will become, a tall, handsome fellow waiting in the autumn of my life.


A good poem will do that for you--give you new ways of looking at the world!

Another Glorious Wedding

Gentle summer breezes, a lush garden, and a touch of nostalgia combined on a glorious summer evening to create the magical setting of my son and daughter-in-law's wedding. The beautiful bride, elegant in ivory lace, and the handsome groom, clad in a dark tuxedo, exchanged vows just as the sun was setting, juxtaposing the ending of an early June day with the beginning of their new life together. Childhood sweethearts, they had been inseparable throughout high school and college. Now they were ready to take on the adult world hand-in-hand, promising to love, cherish, and support each other through all of life's joys and sorrows. Hundreds of friends and family came to bear witness to the event; after all, everyone felt a vested interest in these two young people, having watched them grow up and mature into capable adults.

Attended by several of their best friends as bridesmaids and groomsmen, the couple pledged their love in the beautiful garden in front of a backdrop draped in lavender. Following a traditional yet very personal ceremony, came a celebration under the stars including music, dancing, hors d'oeuvres, and toasts to the bride and groom. Tables were laden with fresh flowers in antique vases and adorned with antique collectibles such as vintage jewelry and dishes. Each lady received a vintage handkerchief to wipe away tears of joy. The music included an eclectic mix from classics to modern pop. Guests visited and danced the night away until shortly before midnight when the bride tossed her bouquet and the couple departed for their honeymoon in a car festooned with streamers and messages of good will.

This beautiful wedding, filled with items from the past and hopes for the future, was perfect for a modern couple grounded in tradition. They will forge a life together anchored by family and by faith in good times to come.

Cruising the Canyon

A few years ago, my daughter gave me a book called 1,000 Places to See Before You Die. Being an avid traveler, I decided that visiting those destinations was a worthy if impossible goal. So far, I have visited only 30 of the 1,000 places; however, I have discovered a few places in my travels that really should be included on anyone's bucket list even though they are not included in the book. One such place is Chaco Canyon. Recently my husband, our son, and I journeyed to Northwestern New Mexico to view the ancient ruins at Chaco Canyon. We were awestruck!
The ruins are part of ancient Puebloan culture and are located on the Navajo Reservation near Farmington, New Mexico. The site is maintained by the National Park Service, and according to the web site, the roads to the National Historical Park are just barely passable. In fact the web site warns visitors not to rely on GPS devices. After traversing miles and miles of unpaved, bone-rattling roads, we decided that the National Park Service's description of the route was vastly understated. After creeping over washboard quality trails at a maximum of 20 mph, we began to have doubts about our quest to see the ruins. But I am so glad we persevered.
The ruins comprise several Great Houses, which are multi-story stone buildings consisting of hundreds of rooms. The Great Houses date back 1,000 years, and judging from the different styles of masonry in each building, they were constructed over hundreds of years. Even more amazing were the huge circular kivas. They look like modern-day stadiums. No one is exactly sure what took place in the kivas, but experts believe they were possibly used for religious ceremonies.
Walking where those ancient people lived, worked, and celebrated was an experience unequaled in my lifetime. I can't help but speculate on the lives that took place there and admire a culture so advanced that they could build such imposing structures without the aid of modern machinery. If the author of 1,000 Places to See Before You Die ever visits Chaco Canyon, I think she will surely have to revise her book.

Me and My Piano

I am pursuing a life-long dream. No, I am not taking a round-the-world cruise or running the Boston Marathon. I am learning to play the piano. I know that when many people read this, the old adage about old dogs and new tricks will come to mind. In fact, my piano teacher told me before I embarked on this adventure that adults with no prior music training find learning to play the piano very difficult. Well, I never thought it would be easy, but I figured it was now or never. While my youth has faded, I still have a semi-functioning brain, and it could use the exercise.

Speaking of age, the majority of piano players learned during childhood. They can hardly remember a time when they did not know how to play. I was not so fortunate. As a child, I remember longing to take piano lessons, but I was never allowed to do so. The reasons were never very clear to me. Maybe it was religious reasons, maybe it was money, or maybe it was the fact that I am the youngest of eight children, and my parents were reluctant to do for me what they did not do for my older siblings. Probably one reason was that my mother did not drive and had no way to get me to lessons. I would have gladly ridden my bike. Whatever the reason, I grew up feeling like I had missed out on something very basic. So when I had my own children, I made sure that they took piano lessons. Two of my children looked upon the lessons as the gift that I intended it to be, but my other child had a somewhat lower opinion of the whole thing. I still contend that sometime in the future years he will thank me.

When the children grew up and moved away, the piano sat forlornly in my living room collecting dust and knicknacks. Then one day I heard a colleague who is my age talking about taking piano lessons, and I thought, "Why not me?" So I dusted off the piano and called the teacher. This was right before Christmas, and I thought, "Next year, maybe I will be able to play Christmas songs." The following January I started my piano-playing odyssey. And it has been quite a journey.

First, I had to learn to read music, which consists of notes and symbols. Then what was in my brain had to be transferred to my hands. This is where it became tricky. I have two hands, but apparently my left hand had been added to my body only for symmetry because it was totally useless. Nevertheless, my left hand had to be called into action and made to perform independently from my right hand. I needed either to have two brains or to be able to split the one I have. To add to the confusion are all the little symbols that I have to remember. For instance, there are rests. A rest says stop playing for a number of beats. The rests look like panama hats and ink splotches. The length of the rest depends on the size of the splotch or whether the hat is upside down or right side up, which is a lot to translate in the middle of a song.

Interpreting the written music aside, probably the most perplexing thing about playing the piano is the rhythms. I have always been clumsy and nonathletic,so I appear to have no rhythm. However, I have discovered that I do have rhythm living deep inside me. It just takes a monumental effort to get it out. For instance, a couple of weeks ago, I was learning a new song called "Just Struttin' Along." It has a tricky, bluesy kind of rhythm, and as I played the song, I could feel the rhythm inside me, and sometimes during the course of the song, it almost surfaced. Both hands began to fall into the swing of things, at least enough to give me hope.

As for playing Christmas songs--I have played beautiful holiday music the last two Christmases. I may not have always played the music correctly, but my joy and sense of accomplishment were right on key.

Wind Woes

The wind blew here in Western Oklahoma last week. Actually that is an understatement; it was an all-out atmospheric assault. The wind screeched around corners, rattled doors and windows, uprooted trees, and yanked shingles from roofs. Children and small animals were in serious danger of being swept away. The opening scenes in The Wizard of Oz appeared like gentle breezes in comparison to the pounding gusts we endured.

One would think that such a day would necessitate a cessation of activity since semi-trucks were being toppled like Tonka toys. Incredibly we hardy Western Oklahomans just soldiered on. Of course we exclaimed and complained over the wind, but staying home and calling off scheduled events never occurred to us. This is the Great Plains, after all. We just drove down the highways with a death grip on the steering wheel and lowerd our heads and leaned into the wind. A little piece of nasty weather is just the price we pay for wide-open spaces and sparkling-clean air. We will take those blustery days over claustophobia-inducing mountains or lung-polluting smog any day.

Prairie Spring

Landscapes scarred by

Predatory flames,

Tender plants

Withered on windy plains,

Dust and desolation.

Hopes rise on cloud banks.

For liquid life

we offer thanks.

Rain.