Really Reflecting

While doing battle with my laptop just to get online, I started thinking about some of my other battles.  The first one that came to mind was my personal Battle Of  The Bulge in the days before I lost weight the hard way.

4 Generations

That was me several years ago.  But ya know something?  I sure would like to have some of that fluff back (my friends and I call that the “fluffy” look).  Trying to find clothes that fit now (size 3 or 4, rather that +) is next to impossible in this town.  Unless of course, you are a teenager and look okay in the leggings, the jeggings, and the cropped, skinny jeans that are just not made for old lady bods.  Especially the ones that can’t seem to work off that baby fat that clings almost 50 years after my last baby was a valid excuse for it.  Even worse is the noticeable lack of a caboose.  If you ever see me in the boys department of a clothing store, that is the reason I’ll be there.  It’s just plumb embarrassing, and it seems to be slightly genetic.  I inherited this from my mom and grandmother.  Doesn’t sound like a problem?   Try being stuck in a power chair with no standing options away from home!  Talk about a pain in the butt!


Which brings up the age old question of sizing.  Clothing sizes, that is.  This is a photo of me wearing my wedding dress — size 12.   That dress today would be closer to size 6.  And that was my size (12, not 6) from my baby days until I had my first baby!  After that day I managed to gain some baby fat on a regular basis, like every time I shoved a cookie in my mouth.  Mmm, yeah, A cookie.   More like a dozen cookies per sitting.  I baked dozens of cookies when my kids were in school.  Still do, for that matter, but it was safer back then when I could send packages of cookies to each of the kids teachers.  Edd and friends took care of the rest back then.  Now?  I palm off as many as possible to the staff and friends in the building, but everyone I know lately is trying to lose weight.  Or they are diabetic.  I happen to be diabetic also, but now have more trouble keeping my blood sugar up than trying to get it down.  Oh, well, that’s a whole ‘nother story.


So, this is me in 1995, newly divorced and lookin’ my best.  Or maybe still going thru the divorce — it’s hard to remember now.  The only part worth remembering is that it was a good thing, at least for us.  He found the love of his life and I found that I’m much better going it alone.  I was also at my thinnest in years and years and (my kids were all married and gone from the nest, so no baby fat at the time) couldn’t figure out how to cook for  one person, cooking for a crowd meant I would have to eat the same thing for about six months, so just snacked on stuff for a few months while learning to live in town, so different from my country roots.  I’m still trying to figure that one out, though.  And, oh golly gee, I’ve run out of potato chips!  Which means I have to go forage in the pantry, closets, and any other place a stray chip could be hiding.  Have a good day!