Vacation Check In

I'm on vacation along the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Amazingly enough, I found a library where I can use the net to let everyone know that I am having a really good time. I went fishing this morning and caught a flounder(too small to keep) that bit my fingers as I was trying to take it off the hook. Luckily, a nice lady saw my difficulty and was happy to take it off the hook for me. (I was a little embarrassed) I also caught a sting ray or skate as they call it...Luckily, there was a nice man who took it off the hook for me. I have already mentioned that I don't like to touch the worms...I also don't like to take things off the hook; what's a middle-aged fat woman to do? P.S. For those of you who have yet to make it to the Outer Banks, it's a very nice place to visit, not very touristy. I still haven't made it to the beach yet in my brand new swim suit....I don't want to scare the fish.

Fishing With My Niece

My niece is visiting for a few weeks this summer and is staying with her Grandma(My Mom) who lives over in the next town. She called me up and asked when I was gonna take her fishing. I said I wasn't do anything tomorrow so I would be there to pick her up bright and early. Silence from my niece. How early she wanted to know? You know Aunt middle-aged fat woman (that's what she calls me) I don't usually get up before noon.(Harump) I said I was gonna get there about 8 AM, any later than that (as my Dad used to say) is classified as noon and you're gonna be burning daylight. I guess I got there about 9 AM and to make a long story short we were on our way. After numerous stops to get gas,($54.00) breakfast,($9.24) worms(EEWWW) and drinks we headed off to one section of the local lake. We got there and men were working on the bathroom and it was a really long walk down to the shore. We decided to go somewhere else. We got to another section of the lake and a ranger wanted to know if we were with a special group. I said no we're trying to go fishing. He said sorry, but they just closed the beach for the day.(Great) So, off we head to the last part of the lake where the dam is located. Its open and has 2 port-a-pots. I told my niece you better go now if you need to before they get to hot. We gathered all of our gear and headed down to the shoreline. Water was being released through one of the locks on the dam so we were getting hit with the spray which was kind of refreshing. The sun was shining brightly with only a few sparse clouds. I was looking for just the right spot when my niece turns to me and says, "You know I don't touch the worms, right?" Silence from me. What could I say? I was thirteen once and now I'm the middle-aged fat woman and I still don't touch the worms...thank goodness I remembered the artificial bait.

Summertime...Not Yet

It's only a few days before summer officially starts and something amazing has happened. I live in the south where normally this time of year temperatures are pushing 95 degrees with 80% humidity.(Talk about a steam bath) It's early afternoon and I'm outside sitting on my porch. There's a slight breeze blowing, cars whizzing up and down the road, birds chirping and taunting the cat who is just as surprised as I am that we are outside at this time of day. I just checked the thermometer and it's only 78 degrees. Are you kidding me? This feels more like a late March or early October day, not mid June. How beautiful the sky looks! I'm thankful Mother Nature has given us the opportunity to enjoy these last few day of spring before the summer sizzle sets in. Have you been outside yet? Take my advice...find a porch and go sit on it. I think I'll go make myself a lemonade!!

Watching My Neighbor Mow

Its a beautiful sunny afternoon and I am trying to get some chores done, but I keep getting distracted. I keep hearing a noise and finally go to investigate. It's the man who mows the grass next door and he's got a brand new, sparkling red riding lawn mower. He spies me watching him and throws me a wave or something like that. It's all I can do to restrain myself from running outside and try to hijack that thing ride out from under him. I'm usually not the violent kind, but the middle-aged fat woman can only take so much. I stand there pondering my options, do I give a wave, throw a finger up or just walk away. He's kind of crotchety anyway, but I decide to throw him a wave. Well, the next thing you know, over he comes and offers to let me have a go. I'm kind of reluctant, but I remember the green monster in the basement, so I hop right on. Wouldn't you know it, I'm hooked. I finished mowing his yard and mowed my again. As I drove up to him, he took his hat off and scratched his head. "I'll be back in two weeks," he said. "Will you be around?" (I'll be right be here, why don't you just leave the mower with me?)

New Bathing Suit

Beachgoers beware!! The middle-aged fat woman is coming soon to a beach near you with a brand new bathing suit. Cover your children's eyes. What was that flash of white?(my pearly white skin) I don't care what anyone says, this year I'm going to the beach for a whole week and I am going to enjoy every minute of it. So I bought myself a new swimsuit. I didn't try it on 'cause I know what size I am. Plus, I don't like to use dressing rooms.(I always think someone is watching through those mirrors) And if you're at one of those big stores where the dressing room is out in the middle with no ceiling, they can look right down and check out your stuff.(Makes me shiver and cringe) I hate to admit it but I spent over $18.00 on my new swimsuit. Seems like an awful lot of money for a little piece of string. I picked out a nice brown jungle pattern that matched the splotchiness in my complexion and was the color of my new sandals. Once I got home I thought I would try it on and see how it looks. I began to remove all of the tags including the price tag,(paid too much) the security tag,(it only cost 18 bucks) the designer label,(yeah, right) and lastly, that other thing called a panty shield. (Gross) Ok, I'm ready to take that first step. One leg goes in, then the other. I begin to pull the one-piece upwards toward my hips and am met with a slight resistance.(Not a problem, happens all the time) I tug harder and up it snaps(OW). I insert each arm into the proper slot and begin to pull, stretch, twist and contort myself into my new suit. I begin to adjust everything and put it where it normally sags, but darn it, if the shoulder straps don't keep slipping off my shoulders.(I hate that) My chest is heaving, sweat is dripping off my brow, I think I might have pulled a muscle in my back trying to get the stupid thing on. Now, comes the moment of truth. I turn around and look in the full-length mirror to check myself out. My head turns to the left, then the right, I turn around and look at the back....I shake my head and say to myself, "Aren't you glad you bought the matching coverup?"

Somewhere Dad is Laughing...Lawnmower Blues...Part III

When spring approached this year, I decided that I was going to get the riding mower fixed. My brother had mentioned that he would put a new drive belt on it to see if that would make it work. After spending an entire afternoon working on the mower he was able to get it to run(with one condition.) No sharp turns while operating on an incline.(HHHHMMMMMM) It seems that something is bent somewhere and if you make a sharp turn on an incline the belt will slip off, thus locking down the wheels once again. (Oh boy!) Have I mentioned that I live at the bottom of a hill with pine trees and gopher holes everywhere? It is nearly impossible to avoid going uphill and not making any sudden turns. I usually mow every other Monday and have had only one episode with the mower this year. Since it was Father's Day, I thought it would be a nice tribute to Dad to mow the lawn on his special day. I was able to get it to back out of the building without too much effort.(Slight incline) The weather was beautiful, the sun was shining, a slight breeze was blowing the grass trimmings away from me, and I was chugging right along. I was mowing in the side yard which I havn't mentioned before because it requires only 3 or 4 passes with the mower. I turned around and all of a sudden it stops. I hadn't broken any of the rules. It wasn't on an incline and it wasn't a sharp turn. I had dropped it down into 2nd gear on the turn because it was a tight area to manuever in, wrong thing to do. The dang thing won't run in anything less than 3rd gear or higher(which can be alittle scary)sometimes. There I sat. The middle-aged fat woman proceeded to throw and pitch the biggest fit that I could possibly muster. Sailors were blushing! Toddlers were staring in awe that someone could behave worse than them. My cat slunk back into the house...and my Dad is laughing. I slammed that mower into 6th gear,(nothing) put it into reverse,(nothing) rocked it back and forth,(nothing) then it began to smoke. Good, I thought, blow it up. Then I'll go get a new mower. I began to calm down and realize that it wasn't going to work. I went over and sat on the porch wishing that Dad were here to give me a hand. I suppose about half an hour went by and I thought I would try one more time to get it to run. It cranked on the first try, I slipped it into 3rd gear, popped a wheelie and off I went, laughing and crying at the same time. I think it was Dad's way of letting me know that he will always be there, watching the wheels go by.

Somewhere Dad is Laughing...Lawnmower Blues...Part II

As the owner of the cheapest push mower available, I dread the day when I have to mow the grass. It usually takes at least 5 pulls on the cord before the engine will putter, stutter, strain, go BANG and then go POW. (This tends to make my nervous tic, tic twice as fast.) My arm is about to fall off, and I have rope burns on my arm from where the cord wouldn't pull out fully and has caused me to fall on the ground. (I think I remember this from my childhood.) As I allow myself the opportunity to cool both my temper and my body, my eyes slide over to the sparkling, gleaming riding mower with the numbly things still on the tires and my temper flares again. (Big piece of junk)(Why does everything have to be so hard?) I pull the cord once more and surprisingly the engine sputters to life. If I'm careful with the push mower I am able to mow in 10 minute increments before something causes it to cut off. Thus goes year 3 in the life cycle of my beautiful relatively new riding mower. It sits in the basement, wheels locked into place looking totally innocent while screaming "Sucker" to anyone who walks by. (Dad is saying somewhere, "That's my girl!")...to be cont'd

Somewhere Dad is Laughing...Lawnmower Blues

I mentioned in an earlier post about my father's fondness for lawn mower wheels. Today, I sure could have used his help, because I must confess, I have the worst riding lawn mower ever made. It made it through only one season before it needed a new battery. One of the headlights quit working somewhere through season two. The first time I mowed in season three a belt broke and it wouldn't move. The wheels locked down and it wouldn't go in neutral. You had to basically slide it to get it to move.(Very frustrating!!) I don't have a big yard. It slopes downward from the road to the house. It has three big pine trees, one very large holly tree, about 14 stumps, 3 gopher holes, one satellite dish(not working), one water meter and 2 ant hills. My riding mower was so new when it broke down it still had the numbly things on the tires. Of course, it was out of warranty, so I made a few calls to see if anyone would come and try to fix it. It was going to cost hundreds' of dollars one guy said. Another guy said take it to so-and-so and they'll fix it. (Right, the wheels are locked down, the dang thing ain't moving.) So, what did I do? I bought the cheapest push mower I could. Somewhere, Dad is laughing...to be continued.

Father's Day...Watching the Wheels Go By

One thing that I enjoy doing now that I totally despised as a child was yardwork. I lived on a small farm with a big garden and an even bigger yard. Once the three of us got big enough(my brother, sister and me) it fell upon us to keep the yard mowed. I think we might have had a riding mower a few years, but it always seemed to be in disrepair or I wasn't allowed to use it. (Dad always rode it) I always had to use the push mower.(Yuck!) I think the hardest part of working the push mower was getting it to start. I only seemed to be able to pull the cord maybe halfway out and other times it wouldn't pull out but somehow lock itself down and you would fall on the ground completely annoyed at what just happened.(I'm sure that happened to many of you.) After several attempts of trying to start the mower to no avail, it's time to call in the big dogs: Dad. Well, you know Dad never had any problems cranking that mower. One pull and that motor would just roar to life and be ready to go. And off he'd go. Dad would make a couple of passes with the mower and hand it off to me. Problem solved and off he'd go, back to whatever he had been doing. But, here's the thing. He didn't leave. He would stay and watch me mow the grass. I'd look up and he'd be watching the wheels on the lawn mower turn. I would make the turn and head back the other way and I'd sneak a glimpse and he would be watching me. I'd make the turn again to come back and he'd be watching the wheels. (I didn't think wheels could be so exciting.) I used to tease him about watching the wheels and usually ended with a harump for my efforts. As this Father's Day approaches, I think there was more to it than just watching the wheels go by. I would like to think he was watching me and saying, "that's my girl, and I am proud of her. She is going to grow up and do marvelous things." Or maybe something similar to that. If he were here now, that might be something for me to ask, or maybe not. The simplest thing would be for me to say is, "keep watching the wheels Dad, keep watching the wheels."

The Real D Day

As I was driving around town last week doing errands I noticed that we had a new doughnut shop so I thought I would stop in and check it out. When I pulled in to the parking lot there were banners and signs, streamers and colorful balloons everywhere, all saying the same thing: "Welcome, it's National D Day." I had written checks out earlier in the day so I knew that the date was June 6. As a former student who loved to study American History, I knew the significance of that date. That's the day when the greatest generation of all time took to the beaches and began the gradual taking back of land that was being unlawfully occupied. As I walked into the shop the owner came rushing up to me very excited, all nervous, clasping and wringing his hands, chest heaving and looking at me says,"Welcome, this is my first D Day, and you're my first customer, I'm so excited." I tried to calm him down as best as I could, (He didn't seem to be a foreignor, so I couldn't figure out why this was his first D Day.) As the middle-aged fat woman I had to thoroughly examine all of the doughnuts before I made my selection.(Chocolate frosted!) As the proprietor rang up my sale, he took 50% off the price in honor of National D Day. He thanked me profusely and went to wait on the next customer who was as taken aback as I had been when being greeted so enthusiastically. I went to get back in my car and noticed a wadded up flyer on the ground. I picked it up and was mildly surprised to learn that June 6 was also Natonal Doughnut Day.

Miracle in the Checkout Lane

I'm sure everyone has experienced at one time or another the situation I am about to mention: Long checkout lines. It doesn't matter what time of day or even what day of the week it is; everyone in the store wants to check out at the same time and only a handful of lanes are open,(Maybe I'll check out at the jewelry counter you think to yourself?) You look down in your cart and realize that you have purchased your monthly supplies...no way would they have enough bags at the the jewelry counter to hold your merchandise. As you look down the checkout lanes trying to guess which will be the quickest, you come to the self checkout lane. Now, the middle-aged fat woman is as modern as the next person(I try all sorts of self help stuff); but, there's a limit on the amount of items that can be successfully placed on the belt, scanned and placed in the bag without causing WW III. (Do you have your discount card?(No!) Do you have any coupons?(NO!!) Please place the item in the bag?(SHUTUP!!) Aisle 8 seems to be moving the fastest. There is a gentleman that has left his very full cart near there as he did the walk trying to see which lanes were moving the fastest. He comes back to his cart and motions for me to go ahead of him. I'm not in a hurry, so I motion for him to get back in line. (He had a rug protruding out of his cart. His cart wasn't in line, but his rug was.) He says thanks and gets back in line. As we begin to wait, I get a text message from mom,(She loves to text)wondering where I am. In the checkout line, I texted back. (Poor thing, she says) We continue exchanging messages and then I notice behind me 4 men with 1 one item wanting to check out; so, I let them go ahead of me as well. I looked up and noticed a lady walking toward the next register. She was wearing an employee uniform that matched the other cashiers,(*Perk) Could this really be happening? Is she coming back from lunch? A break? I didn't care as long as she flipped on that sign that screamed Aisle 9 is open. You guessed it!! The middle-aged fat woman slid right on over to #9 and checked out before the others that she had let go ahead of her....Small miracles can happen anywhere...even in the checkout lane.

Mushy Bananas

I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who has a problem with mushy bananas. When I go to the grocery store to shop, bananas are usually on my list. I never seem to get the right amount. One week I might pick out a bunch with only 3 or 4 in it and the next week I might pick a bunch that contains 8-10. It never really seems to matter how many I choose at the store, I always end up with at least 2 and sometimes 3 soft, mushy, brown things beginning to attract gnats sitting on the corner of my kitchen table. What do you do with mushy bananas? Mom says make fruit salad,(Great! then they turn brown even quicker.) How about making homemade ice cream or banana shakes? I really don't like cold bananas. I could throw 'em outside to the chickens,(I don't have any chickens.) What's a middle-aged fat woman to do? I'm open to suggestions.

Hillary Takes a Bow

As I watched Hillary Clinton give her concession speech today, I was struck by the magnitude of what she has accomplished. Tears welled in my eyes as she took a stroll down memory lane mentioning that her mother had always told her she could be anything she wanted to be. She almost was...I can't remember if I have ever heard Clinton speak of her childhood and what she wanted to be when she grew up. Senator Clinton has twenty years on the middle-aged fat woman, and I can honestly say I never wanted to be president. Why? I never thought of it as a possibility. Why would you want to set yourself up for failure at such an early age? I always wanted to be a teacher, maybe a veterinarian and once I even wanted to be a brain surgeon (my high school teacher laughed at that one.) President?....Not a chance. No matter your political affiliation, whether you are male or female you should be proud of America. She has done a good thing...Hillary, this might not have been your year, but millions of mothers across this nation can honestly tell their daughters that wanting to be president isn't such a bad thing after all. Anything is possible.......Almost!!

Grocery Store Blues and Blahs

At some point in time you're gonna have to go to the grocery store. And once you get inside those doors, (let me tell you) you are going to be experiencing sensations that you've never felt before. What sensations am I speaking of? How about frustration. As you begin your walk down the vegetable aisle your glance takes you to the lettuce section,(a salad for supper would be nice you think to yourself.) $3.99 for romaine hearts....nope. Moving on you spy a salad mixture that contains different kinds of lettuce, carrots and radishes for $3.79....your lips purse and you raise your left eyebrow. Next, you come to a head of lettuce...it's $1.89. Okay, you might be able to work with this. Now you need to get some tomatoes($2.49), carrots($1.99), mushrooms($4.29), and lastly cucumbers($1.99). Doing a quick mathematical computation in your head you realize that you have over $12.00 worth of produce in your basket for one salad...no way. As you reverse your steps and place everything back in its proper location your mood suddenly improves....Wait a middle, you're the middle-aged fat woman, you don't like salad anyway.

Sex and the City....What's the fuss about?

Growing up on a farm in southern Ohio I never knew what the big deal was about Fashion Week or designer labels or fancy shoes. For as many years as I can remember all I ever wanted for Christmas was a pair of coveralls to wear to look just like my Dad. The jeans that I wore either came from JC Penny or the John Deere place(I'm not kidding). Shoot, I was happy when I got one of those gold metal stretchy disco belts in the eight grade(Way to go Mom). So, with all of the buzz surrounding the Sex and the City movie I thought I would go check it out. I had probably seen the show only about 3 or 4 times since it was on HBO(to cheap to buy it, cable is expensive enough). I went in with a completely open mind. What could I possibly have in common with 4 younger extremely thin women who live in New York City(New York City)[I love that commercial] and wear desinger clothes and six-inch stilettos? Alot, in fact. As the movie progressed, I found myself strangely drawn to the fabrics, the colors, the absurdly decorated hats. Everything was so over the top. Maybe I could wear a designer label and pull it off? I wondered if they would have my size? Heeelllllloooo, I don't think so. Well, maybe they would have my size in a pair of those snappy-looking heels that brought Bigg and Carrie together at the end? Wait, it could happen. Nothing is impossible. The Sex and the City look might not be a match for the middle-aged fat woman, and I am okay with that. Besides, I wore heels once(thats another story) and they kill my feet; but I encourage you to go see it for yourself and discover what the fuss is about. Someone out there might find that a snazzy pair of Manolos is just what they need.

The Beginning

May 19, 2008 was the day that I achieved something that I hoped would never apply to me. Something that in my more athletic youth that I would have harumped and guffawed at that was totally impossible. Are you kidding me? I can imagine myself once again as a freshman in college with the world at my feet(At that I could actually see my feet with my own eyes without having to use a full-length mirror). Everything was shiny, happy people was R.E.M would say. I was full of it. Full of promise. Full of potential. Full of everything. What did I achieve? As you can tell from the name of my blog, certain issues have crept into my life that I am having difficulty in accepting. I won't go into anymore details at this time but I hope over the course of this adventure that I can inspire you, make you laugh, and even shed a tear or two as I begin to accept my life as a middle-aged fat woman.