Cellulite…a love story

I love sharing stories about my life and growth.  In this particular instance, it’s about waist (not waste…as no leftovers were harmed).  I can discuss the long, cold Canadian winters which leads me to over-carbohydrate myself with ravenous amounts of bread:  sliced bread, pita bread, bagels (bread really), English muffins (still bread) and then there are the dunking-into-stew breads like baguettes or French stick or really anything that sops up that lovely stewed liquid.  So, today my topic is about curdled-cottage-cheese thighs, my “over” tummy and how I cope with the gym fever of the world.

I joined a gym once.  It was a long time ago…ahem…super long time ago.  I think there was a T-Rex with a pencil ready to sign me up.  The machines were enormous. There were mirrors everywhere. There was a machine which had me pushing my legs out and focusing my eyes on my hoo-haw.  Why was this good?   After a few months (and a call to the Mafia) I managed to cancel my membership.

Yoga is a two-digit word.  Yes, it is supposed to be about clearing your mind and learning to breathe.  Yoga doesn’t work for me.  I learned to breathe…that is true, but other than that, all it did was lead me to rehearsing (in my head) my grocery list of items that needed to be done.  Yoga was not for me.

Racquetball.  I love playing racquetball!  It’s my favourite sport!  I started playing in University with a friend (for an hour) and have never…ever…played again.  True!  (Note: This is an ongoing joke with me and Wiseguy.)

Cycling!  Yes, I recall my bro and I going for long bike rides around our neighbourhood and beyond.  We were explorers!  We would leave after dinner and wouldn’t be back for at least two hours.  I do recall two bad cycling incidents.  Once was a mosquito in my eye.  Yes, it flew in and I smushed it and I couldn’t see well.  The other was where I was turning around a curve and there were crushed stones.  I wiped out and my elbows and knees were bleeding.  Luckily I was able to walk home and keep up my sniffles in order to be pampered at the finish line.  Milk it baby…milk it.

I belonged to a dance group that met once a week.  We had numerous performances and I was in almost all of the dances.  Yes…I was svelte.  Also I was young.  I could jump and spin and twirl and sing.  I could do almost anything.  (Yes, it rhymes…read it again.)

So, here I am…almost 50 (yes…I’m surviving) and my body has decided that there are renovations needed.  No, I did not get the memo.  No notice.  No meeting.  NOTHING!  My gutsy-trusty body decided to go ahead and pillage me without any notice.  How rude!

Every morning, before I get out of bed, I have learned that I should stretch.  I have been doing this since my early thirties.  Well, lately my stretches sound more like maracas!  One comedienne said it best, “I’m an exotic dancer for the blind.”  I stretch and all of my joints take turns cracking like a bowl of rice cereal.

I have maps of some sort of my legs. There are blue lines which I can only assume are rivers.  Not sure where these rivers are but one day I’ll find them.

Finally there are the bubbles.  Yes, I always find silver linings in everything in life.  My wonderful legs that carry my body everywhere have these pretty little dimples.  Yes…they are everywhere.  These dimples are fantastic FAT deposits.  They are the storage units of my winter solstice and my packing on weight to keep warm in winter.  Yes, I love lying to myself.  I just love food and using hibernation always sounds like a good excuse.  Anyway, I jiggle.  My stomach, by butt, I even have jiggle arms.  Here is my crazy thought.  Follow me on this.  Once I get diagnosed with an incredibly bad illness I will have my 20 lbs of extra fat (like camels not needing water) to help me through any horrible surgery and recovery.  Skinny people have nothing to fall back on.  My excess will assist me in survival and then I will once again be slim and healthy after my horrible crisis. Crazy?  Nah!  I just think ahead.

I am “cuddly”.  My granddaughter came up and poked me in my belly. Oh yes! Wait for it… “Big belly”, she said.   Yup, that is what this almost 6-year old said.  Was she right?  Oh yes…absolutely.  Was I offended?  In my younger days I would have been, but I have accepted my body.  I would like to be thinner, but I am also happy with myself and my life.  I don’t want to diet.  I don’t want to give up foods I love.  I consider myself a chef of sorts.  I have the greatest kitchen in the world and I LOVE TO COOK!  My other favourite motto is “never trust a skinny chef”.

Flashback to my “big belly”.  I looked at Kennie and asked, “Baba has big belly which means I am soft and cuddly and I can give you amazing hugs so big bellies are good right?”  She thought for a bit.  Really, really thought about it and then looked at me, nodded and said, “Yup, it’s good.” Then she moved in for the soft, cuddly, Baba hug.

Cellulite and cuddles…a love story.






Most valuable gifts…

I believe I have mentioned in the past that I am a keeper of memories (aka:  a hoarder).  I do like to purge every once in a while and it’s usually clothing that goes out the door.  However, there are some things that I just can’t part with.  Year after year I look at items that I should just dispose of, but I can’t seem to do it.  Oh, it’s not the dollar value of these items, as they are not monetarily worthy to anyone else.  These items are my personal, valuable treasures.

While dusting today (sometimes the dust bunnies are almost lift size and just need to vacate the premises) I was cleaning off a picture frame that The Princess gave us.  It’s a lovely picture… in her eyes.  Imagine our surprise when Wiseguy and I opened this valuable gift.  There, in the hand painted picture frame, was a picture of the two of us in a dip, after completing one of our typical polkas in the kitchen.  I have no makeup on and my hair is in big, huge curlers.  Light blue ones to be specific.  Wiseguy has on an old t-shirt with holes in it.  Why was this her favourite picture of us?  We were dancing and smiling and happy.  Isn’t that what the definition of  “the best” picture is?  We know she put a lot of thought into it because she also glued on little round plastic circles to the frame, that were light blue, “to match your hair curlers,” she had said with a huge grin.  Valuable gift?  Absolutely nothing like it!

Wiseguy and I got together when The Princess was only 7, so I have a very large collection of items she drew or made, as well as items that she and I made together.  I don’t know if I could ever part with these items.

Even The Debater…his birthday and christmas cards had drawings with lots of colours and so many different items pictured in them.  He used a different colour for different sentences.  Even later, when he started using a computer, the cards were fantastic works of art.  Wiseguy wanted to throw out our card collection box.   Luckily I was home and scooped them out of his hand.  Nope.  Can’t part with these!  “Look at the one he drew of you in the tractor-trailer and him sitting beside you in the cab.”  Yeah, you can remember the trip, but that picture, drawn with so much love and feeling..well, I think a scrapbook shall have to be made for these works of art.

The Wiz (although a teenager already when I became part of the family) had completed his own objet d’art.  He had wordworking talents.  Good thing too because he was a fidget.  (Actually, he still IS a fidget.)  Fingers always had to be doing something.  He was usually taking something apart to “see how it worked”.  We have this one reindeer that was constructed out of wood and painted with little googly eyes glued to its face. I love it.  I love it so much that I actually stopped packing it away after Christmas.  I like looking at it everyday.  It makes me smile.

I have a collection of fake flowers.  I have cut and paste pictures.  I have Mother’s Day cards that rhyme and some that don’t.  I have some with glitter glued to them (now covered in plastic wrap so I am not sparkly after looking at it).  As the kids got older the gifts got fancier, but one thing remained the same, they really know our personalities and what things we like.  They always get us gifts we love.

Wiseguy and I are now at that phase where we keep telling them, “save your money because we don’t need anything.”  Hmmm, that phrase annoys me when my mother says it, so I try not to say it.  I know all their gifts are given from the heart and the joy of watching the recipient’s reaction is heartwarming.

Maybe one day I will have the courage and strength to actually chuck all my homemade gifts.  I am sure that day of reckoning will come.

But for now, I will continue to smile whenever I dust off my most valuable gifts.

P.S.  I have one gift that I love to give everyone.  This quote says it all:

  A hug is the perfect gift.  One size fits all