People that seem so glorious are all show; underneath they are like everyone else.
Humility is the foundation of all the other virtues hence, in the soul in which this virtue does not exist there cannot be any other virtue except in mere appearance.
***ok so yesterday’s pilgrimage did not go so well– perhaps it was more like a disaster. You, we, I don’t want to talk about that today— let’s swing toward something a bit more, uplifting, shall we. . .we’ll talk about the disastrous pilgrimage later, once we recoup and attempt to regroup. On to better things, or maybe, in this case, not exactly better. . .*****
Do you suppose the other chickens get a bit jealous of those chickens in the coop with the prettier feathers, the fancier combs, the fluffier feet or the more garish head feathers? Do the more showy chickens somehow perceive that they are prettier than their coop mates? Do the other chickens who are not as festive, not a pretty, gravitate to the more fancy chickens, wanting to rub wings as it were, with these more glamorous birds?
I think we can be safe in assuming that a chicken is a chicken is a chicken—regardless of the extra fluff and puff. They all scratch, cluck, eat, poop, sleep, and the layers lay and the others, well, they wait to star in Sunday’s Supper.
With all of this chicken business racing through my mind, I am attempting to take stock of what I see staring back at me in the mirror.
Hummmm. . .
Maybe the chickens are looking a little more puffy and preened than what it is that I’m seeing in this mirror.
Geesss. . .
I don’t think February is a good time of year to study one’s physique in a large mirror– this while a pasty white overtly dry body stares back.
So there is this wedding thingie I’ve been alluding to, on and off for a while now. As in I’m the mother of the groom. . . in just a mere 4 months.
My husband walks into the bathroom while I’m precariously perched on the side of the tub turned around backwards with a mirror in one hand while trying to see over my shoulder as to what in the heck is the view from behind, as in my behind.
“What in the world are you doing?? Have you lost your mind? You’re going to break your neck!”
“Look at that” I exclaim!
“Look at what?” mr. gallant asks.
“Look at that, something’s wrong, it’s, it’s not symmetrical”
“What do you mean it’s not symmetrical?
This as he heads to the closest to gather whatever it is he came to gather when he walked in on my moment of taking stock.
“My, uh my, uh,uh, my butt, look at the right side, it’s like part of it has lost it’s “umph” and gave way”
“Maybe I need to go to see a doctor. . . maybe it’s some sort of mass or lump blocking the view of my butt”
“Are you crazy” mr. gallant smirks from the closet, eventually coming out to where I remain perched on the side of the tub, mirror in hand, head cocked around almost backwards, like an owl, peering over the shoulder.
“You don’t need to see a doctor, you’re perfectly fine. You’ve just gotten older and things just— fall.”
“Did you just say I’m old and that my butt fell?!
“Yes, you just said that I’m old and that my butt fell because I’m old”
“No, that is not what I said” as I note the slight curl upwards around the corners of his mouth.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you just called me old and fat”
“I did not call you old and I never said fat”
“Look, all I’m saying is that age has a way of shifting things around”
This as mr. gallant makes a very poor attempt at logic.
A woman standing on the side of bathtub, taking stock of a pasty white dry aging body, is in no mood for logic!
“You may speak for yourself, thank you very much” I smugly retort.
This as I’m debating whether to say something about a delicate subject. . .about seeing more head than hair. . .when suddenly mr. gallant spouts out his now marvelous thought of a solution.
“I’ve got just what you need—
“We’ll just tape things back into place. . . you’ll be good as new!”
May I just say that he is very very lucky that he is still walking around with all appendages in tact.
Duct tape. . .I mean really.
Hear my cries. . .is my time on that blasted elliptical all in vain?!
“Where are the results?” I seem to constantly scream as I step from the scales.
Maybe it’s the elliptical’s fault my butt fell off in the first place. And anyway, who’s bum looks as if its fallen off in the first place?
How do I tell the doctor I think something is wrong with my behind? How do I tell her it looks like part of it just gave way, sort of like some sort of mini avalanche. . .hummm. . . .
30 minutes every morning on the elliptical.
Level 15, one of the more difficult levels.
up, down, up down . . .all to a very swift pace.
This while my “workout music” echoes throughout the basement.
Next, it’s time for the protein smoothie– every morning.
Who says spinach and ground flax seed doesn’t mix with cranberries, strawberries, frozen cherries and peaches?
Add a scoop of protein powder, a little coconut milk, voila.
When did I start drinking coconut milk?!
Just like a milkshake. . . a brown throw-up looking milkshake. . .mmmmm. . . good, I think.
No bread, no sweets, no butter. . .
This is all Julia’s fault!
And no, not me Julia, Julia Child, Julia!!
Julia and that blasted affinity of butter and cream of hers!!!
Julia could carry a love of fat on that 6 foot frame of hers and get away with it—- at 5’3″ (it was 5’4.5″ but then the osteoporosis kicked in. . .let’s not talk about that) I sadly cannot!
UGH. . .
We took our son and his fiancé out to dinner the other evening.
“So”, Abby begins, “Did you find the workout song you were wanting?”
“Oh yes! I first start out with a little U2, switching then to Bruno Mars. . .”
“MOTHER, you listen to Bruno Mars!?
I suddenly feel the eyes rolling.
“Yes Brenton.” I continue. ..
“Perfect music, with a great beat, for working out.”
“Oh, and I also like that Macklemore group, that’s great music with a beat to huff and puff to.”
“WHAT! Mother when did you start listening to Macklemore?”
I feel the eyes rolling again.
“When I started working out” I triumphantly reply over my shoulder to the back seat that holds my incredulous son whose eyes are now popping out of his head.
And so it goes.
No support from the males in my house.
One wants to duct tape me and the other one wants to sensor me.
My aunt is always exclaiming “it’s hell getting old”
So yes, whereas it may be hell getting older, all I know it that I’m going to give it hell right back! Plus demand the return of my, uh, derrière!!
I may be pasty white, a little out of shape and no longer symmetrical, but come June, I will be a lean mean fighting machine marching down an aisle!!
Julie, the anniversary picture that you included the other day does not show you as someone in the throes of aging! I had such a good laugh at the suggestion of duct tape. I’m sure your husband enjoyed that comment but I must say he is a very brave gentleman or he is very certain of your even disposition. Yes, I have lost two inches in height and no weight at all so things have dropped a bit here as well. Life is full of curves (no pun intended) but we are alive! Enjoy your weekend. Blessings and prayers.
I figured after yesterday, I needed to write about something that would make me laugh, as well as for anyone else who may wander upon this post of mine in need of a chuckle. A bum thyroid really makes losing weight very difficult–
I received your kind words last night regarding the trip to dad’s but felt too dejected and tired to respond. He really yelled, cursed and screamed just like a little kid— with my stepmother even having to tell him to stop acting like a child. We’d gotten the bills straightened out and he had all this tax mess everywhere. He did not want me wading through it—but I saw two payment vouchers to pay quarterly taxes each with a hefty penalty for being so overdue. He went berserk as I merely suggested we simply sit down for him to write out the checks. He yelled at me to get out and go home. Gloria with tears, me fighting the tears–she told me he gets like this every time she tries to push him to take care of his business—he won’t do it himself, he refuses help,—I just don’t’ know. I told him the IRS was going to come if he didn’t get this mess straightened out and he told me he’d just go to jail. Great, an 86 year old man in jail because he can’t or won’t get his act together enough just to pay a voucher and take the remaining mess to his accountant.
Well, that’s more than you wanted to read…I appreciate Lynda your kind words and support from afar—a frustrating mess to be sure. . .
I know I shouldn’t be laughing, but I am. You have such a way with words. From the picture I saw in the recent blog, you certainly don’t look like you are getting old.
And the Mr. was a cad for implying such. Besides after your chicken saga, you weren’t thinking rationally, and I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think. All will be well missy, including the chickens, and you will look terrific in your mother-of-the-bride dress. Hugs and love, Natalie 🙂
Here I sit pitting on a little post for tomorrow when I see you out and about in blogdom. The day’s prior post on the whole pilgrimage thing, with me going to dad’s was my attempt of some bravado, shoring me up for the week’s trek to see dad. It was all a bit disastrous and I was most dejected last night once I got home—-so I needed to write something that would make me, as well as anyone else happening upon my little post, laugh—cause I was sick of the crying 🙂
This too shall pass and hopefully I can get a handle of him and all his messes as of late…
Laugh all you want, it really was a hoot. 🙂
Good evening Julie, I read your post earlier today but didn’t have time to leave a comment so I am back once again! I laughed at your post, my wife did about the same thing months before my daughter Jennifer and then again when my son Michael was to be married. I assure you have nothing to worry about, from the looks of your recent picture you are very beautiful and you will be more beautiful on that special day in your lovely dress! 🙂
Beautiful chicken too, never seen one with those colors!
Oh Michael, so sweet.
I’m working like a dog with little to show for it and I can’t find “that” dress—I’ve ordered 8 all have gone back with 2 hanging on as maybes…..I suppose my saving grace is that the wedding will be at 11 AM at the Forsyth Park there in Savannah. And even if there wasn’t a wedding, I’d be working on this health and body of mine because it is time I take it a bit more seriously—It’s just good to have a goal when starting out 🙂
Again, thank you for your kind words—
Here’s to a delightful weekend.=