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So, it's January twenty something or other in the year 2012.

I'm still waiting for my inspiration.

I am completely sick of the sight of Jennifer Hudson singing that she is me!

The thing that kills me is people are buying into the hype. The hype that you could be just like she is. Except I'm not a twenty-something, Oscar-winning, unlimited-resources type of gal. Who is?

I had hoped that, by this time, I'd be ready to start...something. Weight-loss program. Bills up to date. Learn how to manage my time. De-clutter my apartment.

As I sit here writing this blog, nothing like that has occurred.

I am two weeks or more behind on my bills. I have yet to even consider joining or starting a weight loss program. I added something to my schedule when I had no time already. And my Christmas tree is still standing in my living room, fully decorated.

I have been fantasizing again about a mild bout of appendicitis or food poisoning that puts me in the hospital  and causes rapid weight loss but doesn't threaten my life. I could use the rest and someone else taking care of me for a change. And I could use a head start on my diet. But that would totally not help my situation at all because I have no health insurance and would end up way worse off than I am right now by adding a huge hospital bill to the mix. Plus, I'd gain the all the weight back in a week anyway.

So what else? I could say no to the people demanding my time. Nah. That's not an option. They need me! (You may not be reading it that way but I wrote it with a very sarcastic tone.)

I could start with small steps. Cutting down on eating crap and maybe taking a walk once in awhile. Saying no every couple of months. Yeah. I don't see that happening any time soon, either. Too much like work.

Another fantasy I have is going somewhere not too vacationy and staying at a nice hotel. I could pretend I'm there on business. Or something. I sleep very well at hotels. I could do room service breakfast. Take a walk to whatever downtown area I am staying in and sit on a bench and read. Grab a light lunch in a decent eatery. Go back to my room and order a chick flick and maybe go to the spa for massage or an overpriced manicure.

Here's where the sound of the needle scraping across a record comes in to break me out of my dreamworld! I don't have the money to even stay at a crappy motel let alone spa services and room service! And what would I tell my husband. "Sorry dear, but, I need some me time because I am sick of the sight of you holding down the couch and scratching your butt and making your manly noises!"

I could go full throttle and have my lotto fantasy but I like to keep my feet on the ground and try not get all lottery-eyed during my fantasies. It just makes coming back to reality that much harder!

I guess I'll just go to bed and try to get some sleep. Tomorrow I will work a full day and come home and dust my Christmas tree and most likely have something I shouldn't for dinner like a pizza.

Then I'll go buy a lottery ticket.

And Now, I Digress...

So, after spending nearly twelve hours in a hospital emergency room with my sister yesterday, I am counting my blessings.

She was having chest pains which only turned out to be pneumonia and when the doctor (with some crazy-ass eyebrows!) finally came to tell us the diagnosis, I realized how jaded we have become about medical conditions.

I remember, many years ago, my mother was in the hospital and a family in the next curtain was sobbing and wailing after finding out their father was in congestive heart failure. Diuretics and bed rest and he'd, most likely be good as new. It's not like he had a stroke or end stage cancer. I couldn't understand what they were so worked up about. I mean, what's a little heart failure in the grand scheme of things, right?

There have been so many terrible illnesses and diagnoses in my life and in my family that I have turned cynical and over-informed. Most people, upon hearing that their sister has pneumonia, would not express relief as one of their reactions! Would they?

What about the poor dude next to us yesterday? This guy's situation was absolutely pathetic. I felt so bad for him. I wanted to hug the guy and I couldn't even see him behind the curtain that divided us. His wife came home drunk at 4 in the morning and started pounding on him. Then she proceeded to bite his ear off. The cops were already on their way and they arrived just as he was trying to retrieve said ear "piece" from his hopefully, soon-to-be ex-wife's mouth and they thought he was assaulting her! The only family member he could get in touch with was his sister who has stage four cancer! And this poor schmuck, when the nurses asked if he would press charges, said he didn't want his kids to see their mother get arrested!

I mean, COME ON!  

There's a story that goes around the Internet and the gist of it is: if God came to you and said you could trade in all your troubles for someone else's and you picked the person you thought had the most charmed life, you'd discover some deep dark thing about them and you'd want your own life back. Or something like that.

I think that, in my forties, I have been more pragmatic in my philosophies on the ways of fate. God or life or the powers that be have handed me this life and, like it or not, I'm stuck with it. There's no point in wishing I had someone else's life because, well, I don't!

OK, sometimes, I admit, I wouldn't mind being Oprah or Barbara Walters, or British royalty. (Living British royalty!)

I have the kind of life where pneumonia is a silver lining of sorts. And I don't think that's such a bad thing.

Now, being jaded does not mean that I don't freak out when I get a raspy, nearly inaudible call from my sister at six in the morning croaking the words "chest pains" into the phone. And it also doesn't mean that I don't over think what the problem could be. It also doesn't mean that I am not worried sick even though the hospital sent her home with a bunch of meds and instructions to call her doctor on Monday.

Medical emergencies always tend to leave me on the edge of my seat and not in a good way.

They also make me re-assess how I take care of myself. Today, at church, part of the reading was the old "your body is a temple" passage. After yesterday, I realized that, if it's true, I'm in big trouble.

Watching my sister struggle to breathe and seeing her on that gurney all day made me think that I am not taking care of myself the way I should. The weight is one thing. But my stress level and not exercising and not going to the doctor for check ups is not helping my health or the length of my life one, tiny bit!

There was also a part of the service that was about listening to God. I pray regularly. I'm not an overly religious person, but I have always been on a journey to find my faith. Lately, I have had some success in that department. I still have my issues and am conflicted at some of the teachings but, as a whole, I am a Catholic Christian. So, the story about Samuel hearing God calling his name, spoke to me. He didn't recognize that it was God. He needed Eli to tell him that he had to listen...to tell God he is listening.

So I pray. I pray for the good health of my loved ones even though they are already not in good health. I pray for guidance. I pray that I will be open to hear what God has in store for me. I pray that there's no one parked in the spot in front of my apartment.

I will pray for my sister and that poor man who lost part of his ear. I will pray for my client's daughter who just had a miscarriage. I will pray for all the people this past week who had tragedy touch their lives. And I will pray that my sister will be breathing easier tomorrow.

And I will pray for the ability to listen. I will try to listen so I can hear what God wants from me. And I will try to hear and act on what God says. And I will listen so I can have empathy for the human condition and I will listen to my body telling me it's time.

"I Wanna Go Back..."

OK. So I started this whole thing, this blogging, as a journey to find my inspiration for returning to the world of weight loss. So far, I have barely skimmed that surface!

My, bad.

I am not one for resolutions or goals. Setting things in stone is never a good idea because I have been there and you only set yourself up for failure.

I had a boss that trained me in my profession (hairdressing, if you didn't know) and she always said if I got lost in the middle of the haircut all I had to do was "go back to when it was going right".

Such a simple solution to so many things.

So when I am contemplating getting back into the world of weight loss, I always try to go back to the beginning of the several times I have lost 50+ pounds.

Where did my inspiration come from? Where did I get my motivation? Where did they both go?

Each time I have fallen off the food truck, it's usually because there is something huge going on in my life. Sometimes, it's a bunch of tiny things building up into something huge.

I think, many times, the motivation and inspiration also come from events in my life. When things are going well on all fronts or if major events are approaching, I seem to have more control. Well, in the past, that has been the case. Weddings, reunions, etc. are excellent motivations to get you on the weight loss wagon. And other times, I am just sick of feeling.....well.....obese.

So today, I am going to try to go back to the beginning. Just like Inigo Montoya did in Princess Bride.

I cannot turn back time, but I can look back and learn from the past mistakes instead of repeating them.

I can't help but hearing my cynical inner voice saying "Well, DUH!"

I am making a, dare I use the word, a commitment to examining my previous attempts at weight loss. The loss part was usually much easier than the keeping it off part. Maybe, if I see it in writing, it will click and suddenly make sense.

But I don't want this just to be about "dieting", so, from time to time, I promise you, I will digress and talk about my life or my family or some other boring non-inspirational subject.

I hope this post is the beginning of something instead of just a bunch of words on a screen.

In the words of the late, great John Belushi in Animal House, "Let's do iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!"

"If It's Not One Thing It's Your Mother..."

So, January 11. Not one of my favorite days of the year. It's a day that I'd love to just stay home and pull the covers over my head and let it pass right by. Kind of like how hotels skip the 13th floor.

Fifteen years ago...can it be fifteen?...Yep...literally just did the math...fifteen years ago, January 11, 1997, my mother died.

In an ironic twist of fate, I will be going to a wake for the mother of two old friends and beloved clients on my mother's anniversary. So much for crawling under the covers!

Most people will say things like "She's always with you." Or "She's at peace, now." Then there's my all time favorite, "She looks so beauty-ful." (Always the elderly relatives.) All I think is, "She looks deceased."All I will say to this woman's family will be "I know." Because I do.

These are nice sentiments but they don't make the survivors feel any better as time passes. No words can make the loss of a loved one, especially a parent, any easier.

My husband always says that it doesn't really get better, that feeling of loss, but it does get easier. Sometimes it's easier and sometimes not.

There are days and times and situations where she doesn't even enter my mind. But I'll smell someone cooking or hear an old song or take out one of her bowls and it all comes flooding back. Or as in the case of the aforementioned, we talk about the care giving. All the smells and sights of that part can hit you like a minivan falling from the sky.

It was a long time before I started seeing her and dreaming about her as she was before she got really sick. Then one night I had a dream and we were in the kitchen in the old house and I could smell her and feel her warmth and we were dancing to one of our many songs, "Old Cape Cod" only we were singing the words the way I heard them as a child, "Old King Kong," and she was smiling and it was wonderful!

It's hard to get past those awful memories of how it all ended. It's hard to see our loved ones as whole, well human beings once we've watched them wasting before our eyes. It's amazing to me how these big, strong personalities can be reduced to something so small and frail and helpless.

I had some tough times with my mother and our relationship was not always perfect. But my memories are. I have memories that are filled with tastes and scents and sounds and light and laughter and love.

I remember, as a small child, when I would have trouble sleeping, I would sneak out into the living room to watch old movies. She'd send me back to bed and sit by me and rub my back and tell me to think of the happiest times and places I could remember and go there. She always tried to make me go to a flower-filled meadow but I always wanted to go to the beach or have a tea party.

There are times when I am walking to my apartment during dinner time and I just know someone is frying meatballs or chicken cutlets and I know she's near me. In the winter, I buy Cream of Wheat and make it the way she used to and I am transported to the kitchen of our apartment at 5 Friendly Ct. I have so many great memories of that kitchen! And one that involves a not-quite-dead mouse.

I remember the huge parties with tons of food and tons of people and everyone laughing. She made even the most mundane leftovers into a fancy presentation.

And there was always music playing. The soundtrack of my childhood is mottled with show tunes, Enrico Caruso, Jim Neighbors (did you know Gomer Pyle sang opera?), Jerry Vale, Perry Como, Dolly Parton, The Platters, Tammy Wynette, Barbara Streisand, The King Family and Guy Lombardo and Lawrence Welk. On Sundays she would blast Italian music while she was cleaning the house.

I have many memories of being terrified of my mother and wondering when we...OK when I was going to screw up and inspire her wrath.

But I prefer to look back on the good times. The times when she made New Year's Eve special by making little hot dogs and letting us drink egg nog and go outside at midnight to bang pots and pans and scream "Happy New Year" at the tops of our lungs. Or the time when we all rented bikes in Atlantic City and took a ride on the boardwalk and Steff and I had a head on collision and my mother didn't know how to stop the bike so she rode right past us! Or the times she got down on the floor with us and played with our games and barbies. As we grew up there were endless card games at the dining table. And always laughter.

She ruled with an iron hand but she had the soul of a child and a heart of gold.

I like to think that the sheer "motherliness" of her rubbed off on me a little bit. That's why I was always type-cast in the school plays. It makes for the bones of a good caregiver.

She was always a "second" or "other" mother to friends and family. Always willing to take someone in for a year or a week or a month. One bathroom and three bedrooms and there was always room.

The house always seemed bigger when she was in it. The world always seemed bigger too. I miss that bigness. I miss her big, broad smile and her more than ample embraces and her deep, throaty laugh and that low, booming voice.


I miss her scrawly, chicken scratch handwriting and the smell of her perfume and the sound of her voice.

I do think of her and miss her every day. Just not every minute of every day. Sometimes I feel her with me and sometimes I wonder where the hell she is.

So tonight, I pray that I will see her in my dreams and we will be dancing and singing and laughing. Heaven.

"They Say It's Your Birthday..."

Today is a landmark day. Today my sister turns fifty.

Sounds like such a nice even number. Harmless.

But I think it's a number that has us both a little freaked. She turns fifty, then my brother turns fifty then a two year lull and it's my turn. How can that be? We're still children. OK, we still act like children. What's the difference? 

I still remember our mother's fiftieth birthday. It's like it was yesterday. We had a cake that had fifty candles on it and the whole house was filled with smoke!  We made her martinis. We had no idea how to make martinis but we tried. The pitcher was in the fridge the next morning and my brother came into the kitchen and took a gigantic swig thinking it was water. We all laughed so hard we couldn't breathe! Except my brother, of course. He stormed out.

My grandmother was still alive and she threw her a party at my Aunt Isabelle's house. I remember her calling my uncle and asking him to come for the celebration. He didn't. He told my grandmother what he wanted to give her. She had a frame and there were fifty one dollar coins made into a fifty in a frame.

Big deal! Fifty dollars in coins for such a significant landmark? I wasn't big fan of that uncle anyway. Nothing I can think of seems like enough to give my sister! I guess my uncle and I think a lot differently about the importance of our siblings.

I thought of sending her flowers. It's a nice gesture but they don't last. Or one of those fruit arrangements. That would be nice. Something to snack on for a week.
I thought of taking her on vacation but neither of us can afford a vacation right now. A puppy? Cool but not really practical. She can't have pets where she lives, anyway. I feel like the shepherd at the birth of Christ.

I have nothing to give her that could possibly match how grateful I am to have her as my sister. No subscription or trinket or jewel could possibly equal her worth.

I could get clever and give her fifty somethings-fifty free haircuts, fifty cups of coffee from Dunkin, fifty chocolate bars spelling out her name. Fifty gnomes on her front lawn. (Damn! Why didn't I think of that sooner?) 

What can I give her that would show how much she means to me? I could give her the world and that still wouldn't be enough.

If I had won lotto this week, I'd have first booked a trip to someplace warm with a beach. It's always been her dream to wake up on her birthday and go to a warm, sunny beach. Then I'd get her that Vespa she's always wanted. The green one. Then I'd buy a big house and we could all live together but not too together. Then, after the vacation, we'd pay off all our bills and I'd buy her a car. And a big fluffy dog. Then we'd take everyone to Disney and all wear matching shirts celebrating Steffi and her fifty years on earth. (Though technically it's fifty one, right?)

But, alas, I did not manifest my lotto destiny. So we will just have to celebrate in a much more economical way. Dinner out with some friends and family seems like the way to go.

I have tons of memories of my sister as I grew up. I was always worrying about her because she had asthma attacks and I would wake my mother in the middle of the night to tell her Steff needed her inhaler. One of my strongest of these early memories is the night after she had an attack. My mother often found me asleep in Steff's bed because we had our beds pushed together for the longest time. Until Frankie, our brother started hiding under them and waiting for me to gravitate toward the middle then pull them apart. I was a little nothing at the time and that was long way down! Anyway, I was asleep at the foot of her bed with my giant and most favorite Teddy bear, Fluffy. I woke up to my mother getting us both in the bathtub. I was still wearing my jammies. Apparently Steff woke up and got sick all over me and Fluffy! She tried to salvage him, but, sadly, he was never the same! But Steffi was just fine. Good times.

So, today, I will dedicate this blog to my sister, Steffi. She is the smartest, funniest, greatest, beautifulest sister anyone could have. I know it's not much of a gift but at least, now, the world knows how amazing and wonderful she is!

OK, I'm flattering myself. Maybe not the world. Maybe only she and I know. But that's enough. I love you, Steffi! Happy Fifty Years on The big Round Ball!