Oh gosh... where to begin? I have started a new weight training program and having to do all the stats kinda puts me in a blue funk. I thought the tapes were bad, but then I saw the calipers. I thought the calipers were bad, and then I saw the pictures.
I look too much like my mother. She died 9 years ago from complications of diabetes. I am seeing her body on me. What to do, what to do... Yes, I am starting to panic. I have so little time left on earth and am unsure if I can do what I have to do.
Oh dear, oh dear... It's such a huge task. I actually started last week, just to sort of warm up. I did well for a first week. My weight went down 4 pounds and my measurements went down quite a bit too. And it was hard. Oh dear, was it hard! When I did the lower body workout, I could barely crawl back in the house, and then I was sore for two days. This week I have to start ramping it up. The workouts will be tougher, and I have to count calories. Oh dear. When was the last time I counted calories? Forever ago.
I guess we start at the beginning because there really is no way to start anywhere else. I started with coffee. Maybe not the best way to start, but I will get a protein shake when I'm done with my morning workout. Count those dang calories! (That's just to remind myself.) Make tuna salad! Another reminder. I bought lots of tuna on sale this week. Plan dinner. My third reminder. I am attempting to cut out all man-made starches. One treat per day, unless I can do without. I'm going to try to do without.
I'm not going to post my "Before" pictures here. Not until I have some progress. Really, I'm embarrassed. I know I've had some bad health problems in the past, but that's no excuse. The truth is, that I stopped caring. It seemed that no matter how much I cared, no one else did. Now I am ready to care again. So I have to do it whether or not anyone else cares.
So I took my measurements this morning. I took my blood pressure. I took the pictures (technically, Steve took them). Now I have to make good on my promise to myself. Don't give up, girl! Yes, you have a long way to go, but remember what Hadrian said about building Rome... "Brick by brick, my good citizens... brick by brick."
I'm going to go lay my first brick now. Wish me luck.
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
Monday, August 20, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Back to the Beginning
After wallowing in a blue funk for a couple of days (read that
WEEKS), I am now back and ready to get back in the swing of things.
That's such a cliche'... in the swing of things. But I guess until
August 27, when my brain begins new stimulation, I will resort to
cliche's when original thoughts don't come. August 27 is when I begin a
new chapter in my life: Nursing School.
Nursing School. The words terrify me. I've heard stories about women (probably much younger than me) who get overwhelmed and burned out the first semester. I've heard about the enormous amounts of studying I will have to do and the life I won't have because of it. I have made all the preparations I can think of and now the only task that remains is to organize my study space so it won't be cluttered.
Good luck with that. My study space is so cramped that I can barely turn around in it. It's not really serving me the way I will need it to, so I guess a little reorganizing is in order. I'll work on that today. My one really big pet peeve is disorganization. I really hate it when I can't find something. I have to be able to put my hands on something the moment I think of it (mostly because I'll forget what I was thinking later... ha ha). I did a little reorganizing a couple of weeks ago, but I still have a little more to do.
My idea of a workspace is one that flows. When I was a secretary (about a hundred years ago), I always made sure my workspace flowed. If I was on a computer (or God forbid, a typewriter), I had to be able to move objects to my left. Being ambidextrous, it's important for me to be able to use my left hand. The present arrangement will not allow that. So I guess that since this is not the optimal setting for me, I have to figure out yet another arrangement.
The one thing that I have already had an "AHA" moment about is the window behind me. The drapes absolutely have to be closed for me to be able to study. I guess blocking out the world helps. Another thing that will help is keeping the door to the study closed. We have recently put in a cat door, so the cats can come and go. I don't mind that. Unnecessary, irritating noises have to be dealt with immediately, such as the tinkling of the water flowing into the aquarium from the filter. The additional quilts and afghans being "stored" in this room have to find another home. They are stacked on top of one of the dog crates, and I can't stand looking at the clutter. My desk has already been cleaned out, but the table behind me has to be emptied as well. Therein lies the problem.
The table has served as an overflow place for everything in this house. I hate that. This is my one little corner of the universe and I want it how I want it, so it will serve me well. With bookshelves that are already overflowing, I'm not sure I know how to find space for everything that's on the table. It will be great workspace once it's emptied. It's just a 6 foot long folding table, and I have it covered with an old piece of grey velvet fabric that was once used to show paintings (when I sold paintings). Of course, one of our cats has decided to puke on it, so that will be washed today, and everything in my work area will be sanitized.
Sounds like I have a tough job ahead of me today. Some of the tougher things have already been dealt with, such as fitting in workout time. I made an executive decision to NOT get a priority parking tag so I can park in the best spaces on campus. That means I will have to walk about a half hour every day to get to class, and a half hour back to my car. That's a perfect piece of time to count as cardio if I push the walk as fast as I can go. I won't have as much to carry as most nursing students (eight books for one class... give me a break!) because I will be getting an iPad and buy electronic versions of the textbooks. I checked with the school, and only one textbook is required in hard copy, so the rest will be on my trusty iPad. So my load won't be as heavy as it could be, and with weather turning cooler (I hope!), walking will be easier for me than in this heat. And yes, I will walk in the rain. I am getting a big umbrella that will help keep the water off me and my bag during those monsoons that inevitably come through Memphis. Winter I can deal with. I have a long coat, hat, scarf and gloves. I wish I had boots, but they would be hard to walk in for a half hour at a time. I'll have to deal with my cross trainers.
The other parts of my workout, strength training and flexibility, have not been scheduled yet. I am usually my best the first thing in the morning, so I am thinking that it might be best to get up early and not give myself the excuse that I'm too tired. Or too something. My back is usually the tightest in the morning, so a little foam rolling, yoga and strength training might be just the thing.
Then there are the menus and shopping lists... oh dear. My family has been very good about helping me to make up menus, and we have kept menus from over a year ago, so it is relatively easy to change them up without having to think about it too much. But the shopping sales at Kroger change every week, and that will be the challenge. We are on an extremely tight budget with three of us in college at the same time. I refuse to put us on a ramen diet though, and will do the best I can to make sure we have fresh fruits and vegetables in the house, along with quality protein and whole grains.
What have I left out? Housework. Ugh. I can tell you right here and now that it won't get done unless someone else wants to step up and do it. Housework has never been high on my list, due to having a mother that would wake me up on a Saturday morning yelling about how it's time to get up and work. How pleasant that was. NOT! It set the stage for me never wanting to clean house. I do it only when it's absolutely necessary. Even then, I get the guys to help because I figure I'm not the only one making the messes, so everyone has to help clean them up. We are not hoarders by any means, but still it IS nice when the floors get mopped and the furniture dusted.
So what am I waiting for? I'm stalling, I know. Gym first. Once I get in the gym, I know I have an hour or hour and a half of torture to look forward to. At least it's time spent that doesn't include the dogs or anything in the house. Okay, okay. I'm going. But maybe just one more cup of coffee...
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
Nursing School. The words terrify me. I've heard stories about women (probably much younger than me) who get overwhelmed and burned out the first semester. I've heard about the enormous amounts of studying I will have to do and the life I won't have because of it. I have made all the preparations I can think of and now the only task that remains is to organize my study space so it won't be cluttered.
Good luck with that. My study space is so cramped that I can barely turn around in it. It's not really serving me the way I will need it to, so I guess a little reorganizing is in order. I'll work on that today. My one really big pet peeve is disorganization. I really hate it when I can't find something. I have to be able to put my hands on something the moment I think of it (mostly because I'll forget what I was thinking later... ha ha). I did a little reorganizing a couple of weeks ago, but I still have a little more to do.
My idea of a workspace is one that flows. When I was a secretary (about a hundred years ago), I always made sure my workspace flowed. If I was on a computer (or God forbid, a typewriter), I had to be able to move objects to my left. Being ambidextrous, it's important for me to be able to use my left hand. The present arrangement will not allow that. So I guess that since this is not the optimal setting for me, I have to figure out yet another arrangement.
The one thing that I have already had an "AHA" moment about is the window behind me. The drapes absolutely have to be closed for me to be able to study. I guess blocking out the world helps. Another thing that will help is keeping the door to the study closed. We have recently put in a cat door, so the cats can come and go. I don't mind that. Unnecessary, irritating noises have to be dealt with immediately, such as the tinkling of the water flowing into the aquarium from the filter. The additional quilts and afghans being "stored" in this room have to find another home. They are stacked on top of one of the dog crates, and I can't stand looking at the clutter. My desk has already been cleaned out, but the table behind me has to be emptied as well. Therein lies the problem.
The table has served as an overflow place for everything in this house. I hate that. This is my one little corner of the universe and I want it how I want it, so it will serve me well. With bookshelves that are already overflowing, I'm not sure I know how to find space for everything that's on the table. It will be great workspace once it's emptied. It's just a 6 foot long folding table, and I have it covered with an old piece of grey velvet fabric that was once used to show paintings (when I sold paintings). Of course, one of our cats has decided to puke on it, so that will be washed today, and everything in my work area will be sanitized.
Sounds like I have a tough job ahead of me today. Some of the tougher things have already been dealt with, such as fitting in workout time. I made an executive decision to NOT get a priority parking tag so I can park in the best spaces on campus. That means I will have to walk about a half hour every day to get to class, and a half hour back to my car. That's a perfect piece of time to count as cardio if I push the walk as fast as I can go. I won't have as much to carry as most nursing students (eight books for one class... give me a break!) because I will be getting an iPad and buy electronic versions of the textbooks. I checked with the school, and only one textbook is required in hard copy, so the rest will be on my trusty iPad. So my load won't be as heavy as it could be, and with weather turning cooler (I hope!), walking will be easier for me than in this heat. And yes, I will walk in the rain. I am getting a big umbrella that will help keep the water off me and my bag during those monsoons that inevitably come through Memphis. Winter I can deal with. I have a long coat, hat, scarf and gloves. I wish I had boots, but they would be hard to walk in for a half hour at a time. I'll have to deal with my cross trainers.
The other parts of my workout, strength training and flexibility, have not been scheduled yet. I am usually my best the first thing in the morning, so I am thinking that it might be best to get up early and not give myself the excuse that I'm too tired. Or too something. My back is usually the tightest in the morning, so a little foam rolling, yoga and strength training might be just the thing.
Then there are the menus and shopping lists... oh dear. My family has been very good about helping me to make up menus, and we have kept menus from over a year ago, so it is relatively easy to change them up without having to think about it too much. But the shopping sales at Kroger change every week, and that will be the challenge. We are on an extremely tight budget with three of us in college at the same time. I refuse to put us on a ramen diet though, and will do the best I can to make sure we have fresh fruits and vegetables in the house, along with quality protein and whole grains.
What have I left out? Housework. Ugh. I can tell you right here and now that it won't get done unless someone else wants to step up and do it. Housework has never been high on my list, due to having a mother that would wake me up on a Saturday morning yelling about how it's time to get up and work. How pleasant that was. NOT! It set the stage for me never wanting to clean house. I do it only when it's absolutely necessary. Even then, I get the guys to help because I figure I'm not the only one making the messes, so everyone has to help clean them up. We are not hoarders by any means, but still it IS nice when the floors get mopped and the furniture dusted.
So what am I waiting for? I'm stalling, I know. Gym first. Once I get in the gym, I know I have an hour or hour and a half of torture to look forward to. At least it's time spent that doesn't include the dogs or anything in the house. Okay, okay. I'm going. But maybe just one more cup of coffee...
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Happily Never After
As a rule, I try not to write when I'm depressed. Today is an exception because I just can't seem to shake it, and writing is my way to get rid of it. Usually when I write about what is bothering me, it lends perspective and I can let it go. I hope that is the case this time.
I am tired of. Don't ask what. EVERYTHING! I'm tired of being bored. I'm tired of the only entertainment I have is this damn computer. I'm tired of not being able to go outdoors because it's too damned hot and humid to do anything fun. I'm tired of not being able to breathe in this crap.
I'm tired of waking up in the same damned house for the past 24 years. We were supposed to be out of this house 21 years ago. I'm tired of waking up in Memphis. I'm tired of trying to sleep and then even having to wake up in the morning. I'm just tired of.
I'm tired of having so many animals in the house. I love them all, and wouldn't give one up, but I am tired of all the attention they want all the time. I give what I can, but then I'm tired of it. They don't understand, and I can't expect them to.
I'm tired of trying to drag my butt out in the gym (a scant 10 steps away), only to never see anything change. It's futile. In days past, when I got in the gym, I saw results. I don't see them anymore and I'm tired of trying.
I'm tired of this house that I hate falling apart. I'm tired of nothing ever being done about it unless I start an argument. I'm tired of living in this same place, on this same damned corner, in this city that I hate.
I'm tired of my husband going to a job he hates. I'm tired of my sons being such downers that they ruin my usually good mood every day.
I'm tired of trying to make ends meet when there is no visible way to make it happen. I'm tired of the same old crappy food, my clothes that are in shreds and never having any peace.
I'm tired of people telling me what great people my sister and her husband are, when I know the truth. What you see is the face they want you to see, people! They're not showing you who they really are, because most likely, you don't have anything they want to steal! If you want to spend time with them, make sure you check to see if you still have your wallet.
I'm tired of brown grass. I've tried to do something about it, but it's futile. We have brown grass every stinking summer in this city that I hate. I hate that I don't open the curtains anymore because I don't want to see what's out there.
I'm tired of never having any options. I'm tired of having to go to school for something that I don't even think I'll be good at, simply because I don't have any choice. I'm tired of never being able to get away from this crap.
I'm tired of waiting for life to get better. I don't do "tomorrow" well. Today is all we have and I don't like what I see.
So what's the answer? I'm tired of being awake and I'm going back to bed.
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
I am tired of. Don't ask what. EVERYTHING! I'm tired of being bored. I'm tired of the only entertainment I have is this damn computer. I'm tired of not being able to go outdoors because it's too damned hot and humid to do anything fun. I'm tired of not being able to breathe in this crap.
I'm tired of waking up in the same damned house for the past 24 years. We were supposed to be out of this house 21 years ago. I'm tired of waking up in Memphis. I'm tired of trying to sleep and then even having to wake up in the morning. I'm just tired of.
I'm tired of having so many animals in the house. I love them all, and wouldn't give one up, but I am tired of all the attention they want all the time. I give what I can, but then I'm tired of it. They don't understand, and I can't expect them to.
I'm tired of trying to drag my butt out in the gym (a scant 10 steps away), only to never see anything change. It's futile. In days past, when I got in the gym, I saw results. I don't see them anymore and I'm tired of trying.
I'm tired of this house that I hate falling apart. I'm tired of nothing ever being done about it unless I start an argument. I'm tired of living in this same place, on this same damned corner, in this city that I hate.
I'm tired of my husband going to a job he hates. I'm tired of my sons being such downers that they ruin my usually good mood every day.
I'm tired of trying to make ends meet when there is no visible way to make it happen. I'm tired of the same old crappy food, my clothes that are in shreds and never having any peace.
I'm tired of people telling me what great people my sister and her husband are, when I know the truth. What you see is the face they want you to see, people! They're not showing you who they really are, because most likely, you don't have anything they want to steal! If you want to spend time with them, make sure you check to see if you still have your wallet.
I'm tired of brown grass. I've tried to do something about it, but it's futile. We have brown grass every stinking summer in this city that I hate. I hate that I don't open the curtains anymore because I don't want to see what's out there.
I'm tired of never having any options. I'm tired of having to go to school for something that I don't even think I'll be good at, simply because I don't have any choice. I'm tired of never being able to get away from this crap.
I'm tired of waiting for life to get better. I don't do "tomorrow" well. Today is all we have and I don't like what I see.
So what's the answer? I'm tired of being awake and I'm going back to bed.
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
Monday, August 6, 2012
Sharing Me In The Face
Most people who follow my blog know that I write to get the poison out. Please keep that in mind when reading this selection.
A typical Friday schedule for me includes making up a grocery list from the items on sale, conjuring a menu for the week, paying the bills and doing the grocery shopping. It was unexpected then, when the story of my past came up and slapped me in the face in the form of the cashier at Kroger. Poor girl. She is 18 years old. I don't know how we got on the subject, but she shared with me how when she turned 18, her parents told her to get out of their house. She had no where to go, no money and no job. That's when it came flooding back to me.
The date was November 1, 1973, one month to the day after .my grandfather died.
I had been abused by my family all my life. At 18, I had a job, a few articles of clothing, a stereo and an old beater car that my parents had "given" me. I had a boyfriend, who turned out to be my first husband. He didn't have a car, so most of our "dates" were at his parents' house, with them in attendance. We worked at the same place, so it wasn't a big deal to me where we spent time together. It was a nice innocent relationship until I came home from his house one night to my mother being in one of her common snits. Those of you who knew my mother know that she was prone to flying off the handle and the handle was usually directed at my head. So it was, that night, as she started in on me about how I wasn't going to be going over there anymore, but he was going to have to come over to "our" house. Our house. I almost choke on the words. It was never my house until it came time to clean it. My word back to my mother was simply "okay" and I started up the stairs to my bedroom.
By the time I had put my purse down and taken my coat off, she was screaming at me wasn't I going to go pick up my brother from work. With my back to her, all I said was "yeah, I guess I am." The tirade that followed was not to be believed. Let the screaming commence. All I wanted was a little sleep, and all I ever got was abused. She screamed at me for everything since the day I was born to that day. She told me that if I didn't like it, I could pack my clothes and leave. I had heard that same phrase from the time I was a young child, and when I was young, I made myself a promise that the first time I heard that phrase after I reached an age where they couldn't bring me back, I would go. So up the stairs I went, to get my coat and purse. While I was mechanically going through the motions of putting on my coat, I heard her scream "get her keys." I walked down the stairs, turned left, waved, said "bye" and left, never to return. I got in my car and drove over to my boyfriend's house. I didn't know where else to go. I really had no where. I had nothing but the clothes on my back, and I knew I was going to have to go back at some point and pick up my clothes. But I would never spend another night under my parents' roof.
The next day, after my mother left for work, I went to pick up my clothes. She had written me a note and left it on the table. I don't remember much of what she had written except that the gist of it was to have me come home and we'd "talk" about what happened. I had already heard all the "talking" I ever wanted to hear from them. "Talking" in their house = manipulation. I knew I wasn't wanted there. It was all a smokescreen. I turned the piece of paper over, and wrote that I wasn't coming back and that it was time for me to leave. I know I wrote more than that, but I don't remember what else I wrote. I know that I was paying board, taking care of everything in the house and working full time, all the while being abused by my father. I'd had enough. I'd sleep under a bridge if I had to, but I would never spend another night in their house. I gathered up my clothes and my stereo, put them in "my" car and went back to work.
I stayed at my boyfriend's parents' house for the next week, with their permission. They were away in Wisconsin at the time, but I wanted to be sure I had their permission before staying there. They were so good to me. They were very giving and understood that I had no place to go. I left my clothes in the car because I was determined to not take too much advantage of their hospitality, and find an apartment as soon as possible.
Apparently, it wasn't soon enough. A few days later, I got a call at work from my father, telling me that they had taken my car while I was at work, "because we pay the insurance." What utter bullshit. They wanted to make me suffer. Now I had no clothes, no way to go anywhere, and no place to stay. I asked my boyfriend (now fiance') to get his brother's truck and take me to get my clothes (again). He did, and when I arrived at my parents' house, my former family piled out onto the lawn and came at me. While my fiance' was taking my clothes, I turned to my family and said "If the car means so much to you, KEEP IT!" I threw the keys at them. We left, but that wasn't the end of it.
The place that I worked (Bee Chemical) was an account that my father serviced for NCR. He would find any excuse to come there and make trouble for me. It became apparent that I was going to have to leave Bee if I wanted any peace. But I was also going to have to do something significant to make my family leave me alone. So I married my fiance' on a Friday night in December, with only his parents and two witnesses in attendance. I wore a green and white plaid dress, and had no flowers, no bridesmaids and no reception. The Wahls (my in-laws) were wonderful to me. They took us out to dinner after the chapel wedding and treated me like a daughter from Day One. Betty, my mother-in-law, said I could call her MOM, which could mean My Other Mother, and call Bud DAD for Drunk And Disorderly. I loved them both so very much for taking me in and loving me so unconditionally, especially when my own parents were so abusive. I had never known people like the Wahls before, and not many since. I miss them.
So when this poor cashier told me of her plight, it was all I could do NOT to wrap my arms around her and tell her it would be all right. After all, she didn't know me, and did I really know it would be all right? The truth was, I didn't. Life is a series of traumatic events. It's been said that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. At this rate, I ought to be able to benchpress a Buick.
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
A typical Friday schedule for me includes making up a grocery list from the items on sale, conjuring a menu for the week, paying the bills and doing the grocery shopping. It was unexpected then, when the story of my past came up and slapped me in the face in the form of the cashier at Kroger. Poor girl. She is 18 years old. I don't know how we got on the subject, but she shared with me how when she turned 18, her parents told her to get out of their house. She had no where to go, no money and no job. That's when it came flooding back to me.
The date was November 1, 1973, one month to the day after .my grandfather died.
I had been abused by my family all my life. At 18, I had a job, a few articles of clothing, a stereo and an old beater car that my parents had "given" me. I had a boyfriend, who turned out to be my first husband. He didn't have a car, so most of our "dates" were at his parents' house, with them in attendance. We worked at the same place, so it wasn't a big deal to me where we spent time together. It was a nice innocent relationship until I came home from his house one night to my mother being in one of her common snits. Those of you who knew my mother know that she was prone to flying off the handle and the handle was usually directed at my head. So it was, that night, as she started in on me about how I wasn't going to be going over there anymore, but he was going to have to come over to "our" house. Our house. I almost choke on the words. It was never my house until it came time to clean it. My word back to my mother was simply "okay" and I started up the stairs to my bedroom.
By the time I had put my purse down and taken my coat off, she was screaming at me wasn't I going to go pick up my brother from work. With my back to her, all I said was "yeah, I guess I am." The tirade that followed was not to be believed. Let the screaming commence. All I wanted was a little sleep, and all I ever got was abused. She screamed at me for everything since the day I was born to that day. She told me that if I didn't like it, I could pack my clothes and leave. I had heard that same phrase from the time I was a young child, and when I was young, I made myself a promise that the first time I heard that phrase after I reached an age where they couldn't bring me back, I would go. So up the stairs I went, to get my coat and purse. While I was mechanically going through the motions of putting on my coat, I heard her scream "get her keys." I walked down the stairs, turned left, waved, said "bye" and left, never to return. I got in my car and drove over to my boyfriend's house. I didn't know where else to go. I really had no where. I had nothing but the clothes on my back, and I knew I was going to have to go back at some point and pick up my clothes. But I would never spend another night under my parents' roof.
The next day, after my mother left for work, I went to pick up my clothes. She had written me a note and left it on the table. I don't remember much of what she had written except that the gist of it was to have me come home and we'd "talk" about what happened. I had already heard all the "talking" I ever wanted to hear from them. "Talking" in their house = manipulation. I knew I wasn't wanted there. It was all a smokescreen. I turned the piece of paper over, and wrote that I wasn't coming back and that it was time for me to leave. I know I wrote more than that, but I don't remember what else I wrote. I know that I was paying board, taking care of everything in the house and working full time, all the while being abused by my father. I'd had enough. I'd sleep under a bridge if I had to, but I would never spend another night in their house. I gathered up my clothes and my stereo, put them in "my" car and went back to work.
I stayed at my boyfriend's parents' house for the next week, with their permission. They were away in Wisconsin at the time, but I wanted to be sure I had their permission before staying there. They were so good to me. They were very giving and understood that I had no place to go. I left my clothes in the car because I was determined to not take too much advantage of their hospitality, and find an apartment as soon as possible.
Apparently, it wasn't soon enough. A few days later, I got a call at work from my father, telling me that they had taken my car while I was at work, "because we pay the insurance." What utter bullshit. They wanted to make me suffer. Now I had no clothes, no way to go anywhere, and no place to stay. I asked my boyfriend (now fiance') to get his brother's truck and take me to get my clothes (again). He did, and when I arrived at my parents' house, my former family piled out onto the lawn and came at me. While my fiance' was taking my clothes, I turned to my family and said "If the car means so much to you, KEEP IT!" I threw the keys at them. We left, but that wasn't the end of it.
The place that I worked (Bee Chemical) was an account that my father serviced for NCR. He would find any excuse to come there and make trouble for me. It became apparent that I was going to have to leave Bee if I wanted any peace. But I was also going to have to do something significant to make my family leave me alone. So I married my fiance' on a Friday night in December, with only his parents and two witnesses in attendance. I wore a green and white plaid dress, and had no flowers, no bridesmaids and no reception. The Wahls (my in-laws) were wonderful to me. They took us out to dinner after the chapel wedding and treated me like a daughter from Day One. Betty, my mother-in-law, said I could call her MOM, which could mean My Other Mother, and call Bud DAD for Drunk And Disorderly. I loved them both so very much for taking me in and loving me so unconditionally, especially when my own parents were so abusive. I had never known people like the Wahls before, and not many since. I miss them.
So when this poor cashier told me of her plight, it was all I could do NOT to wrap my arms around her and tell her it would be all right. After all, she didn't know me, and did I really know it would be all right? The truth was, I didn't. Life is a series of traumatic events. It's been said that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. At this rate, I ought to be able to benchpress a Buick.
Nazdrowie'
Paczki Puta
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