Just A Single Moment

Forever My Friend, Forever Friends

Forever My Friend, Forever


I am thinking of my best friends from High School today, having just spent a few days with one as she journeyed up to my part of town for business. It was good to see her again, it had been two years since we were last together, but it was if time had stood still.

Easy friendships are hard to come by and I count my blessings that I have been so blessed to have two friends so long. We met back when I was a mere twelve years old and through the years our friendship was sealed.

The dictionary online defined friendship as: a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard. The Synonyms for friend are chum, comrade, crony and confidant.



I can honestly say I have affection for my friends and they are my comrades in life along with being someone I can share and confide in. We have weathered many storms in each of our lives and been “life savers” for one another, each with our own unique flavor.



This past week, as Jackie and I got together for the first time in ages, we tried to fit in everything we could think of as far as talking. Our throats dry from the constant yapping, the late nights fill ins and the laughter caused us to almost lose our voices. We tried to take turns, but often one of us was yakking so much, trying to share the bits and pieces of our lives that the other needed only to listen. I stayed quiet much of the time, trying to soak it all in. I memorized the way she talked, laughed and looked for I know only too well that life is short, life is busy and often we may go months without a word from each other.



I felt so sad when she left and collapsed on my sofa enveloped in a depression. It is like this each time we get together. I told her I so longed for us to live closer than the 5 ½ hours journey, but God has not seen fit for this to happen.



I am a writer, who longs to write long letters, send emails, and post Face book photos, while Jackie and Sue are less into that. I need that connection that only technology or the lonely pen can try and substitute for plain old togetherness. Life is just too busy. Strange when you consider all the technology we have at hand, but having it also makes our lives much too busy.



I do know, without any doubts, we are lifelong friends; we have each other’s backs and that no matter the miles, the length of not communicating, that we each have the deepest love and respect for each other.



I tried to express this to my thirteen year old granddaughter the other day, explaining that good friends take time; they have to settle, grown up, age together, shift into a friendship that time cannot destroy. I also note that our friendship is a rare find and one I treasure. True friends care only for the best in each other, cheer each other on, comfort, confide, laugh, cry and hold each other close in hearts. We three friends, Jackie, Sue and I have found this great treasure of just enjoying each other’s company.



After my recent diagnosis of a blood clot, I know in an instant, all that can be lost. Not the friendship, for that will go on forever and ever. However, at a moment’s notice one of us could disappear. Have I told them enough how much I respect them each, how much I miss them and love them? Have I voiced the fact that no matter what, I am there with them in my heart? Do they know that nothing can destroy this deep friendship? If I haven’t, it is high time I do this.



This night, I shall write one of my long love letters for each of them. Tonight, I will sit and think of all the wonderful ladies who have walked into my life, God sent and cherish them. God has blessed me, not with just my two best friends, but with many, many others who have danced this dance of life with me. Tonight, I tell you each, I love you.



Teresa Gale

Single Moments:Joy

Single Moments

this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

Borrowed by http://www.soulemama.com/

Opening Up

“Every wall is a door.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson



I feel a little sad this week. I failed. I failed to complete one of the most challenging and fun writing event in my life. NaNo was on and I had the best of intentions to complete my writing this year of 50K words in 30 days as I have in years past. However, something was amiss. I didn’t feel the words this year.

The week before NaNo was to begin; I developed some pain in my left leg. I have always had the worst legs, legs that bulge with varicose veins and unsightly spider veins that have me under cover most of the year. I have also had some pain in my legs due to the condition. This pain was a new pain, one that would not go away and caused my leg to swell. Then an ugly red swelling appeared and I felt panic rise in me.

After a few sleepless nights and an ache so bad that merely pulling on clothing made me wince, I called the doctor. Two doctors, two ultra sounds, three days of prodding, poking and scaring me, I was diagnosed with Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). I was whirling in a world the unknown, gripped with fear at the memory of my step father having a blood clot in his leg and a year later died from an embolism in his heart.

The whole three day experience is mind throbbing. Although the medical staff I came into contact with was very comforting and kind, I was suddenly thrust into the sea of unknown without a life raft. Words meant nothing to me, came out garbled, hearing loss as medical people told me what to expect and what was planned.

When you are in a state of fear and shock, you hear little. Your mind is so busy racing ahead of the things you have heard, read, experienced first-hand and you feel you are in a surreal environment.

My mind was blocked of words, of writing words as the fear and worry enveloped me. Creativity flew right out the window and as hard as I tried to focus on writing, I could not feel the words. To a writer, or want to be writer such as myself, that is a horrible loss.

Every November, I look forward to National Writing Month; it forces me to do something I never make time for, writing. I tell my family to not expect me home as I pound the computer keys, scratch words on envelopes, fill notebooks and write in frenzy. I love the feeling of this deadline and the comfort of knowing all around the world millions like me who love to write are spending sleepless nights spinning yarns of stories.

I was stuck; the words caught in my heart and refused to dislodge themselves. I wrote about my fear, my blood clot who I am truly thinking of naming, and my long dead mother who I suddenly wished were here. I imagined a scene between her and me as we buried the hatchet of long ago and talked. I didn’t get far, I couldn’t get far. She died long ago and to imagine her back in my life forced me to think of death.

I reached 25,000 words and stopped. I felt like I was standing alone in a desert, facing the wind as it blew sand in my eyes blinding me. I turned to the right, and then to the left, but could see no distinct path, had no idea which way to go. So, I stood still. I took a deep breath, relaxed my over tense shoulders and began to do what I should have done before. I prayed. I poured my heart out to my Lord and Father and prayed. I let it go.

Letting go is never easy for me, I am like a dog chewing a bone and will endless battle for the last bit of it. I hate quitting; I am not good at failure. I have failed. I felt a loss, as deep as the calendar pages flipped by, drawing closer to the end of November and I still had not written past 25K. When the 30th came, I felt the sting of tears fall with the loss of not completing my adventure.

Yet through it all, I felt the comfort from God that it was okay, that I was okay and that letting go was needed. It is alright to not always move ahead to places in our life that just don’t fit in the now. I knew that my story was not right, that the words felt stuck and lacked the passion of years past, so I waved the white flag and just let go. As the tug of war between self and writing ended, I felt at peace. I was still sad on the 30th of November, I still cried and grieved the loss, felt a twinge of defeat, but was okay, I am okay.

God taught me a lesson, and like the lump of clay I am, I let him work in me. For the first time in two weeks I am writing this, I am pouring my heart out on a blog and allowing the process to begin. I am healing both in my leg and in my heart. I am learning, bit by tiny bit to let go of what is not needed in this moment.

I had hit a wall. I looked at it in just that way at first; I had hit a wall and could not move forward. Then God took my hand and lead me down the wall and to the door. All I had to do was walk through it.

I am not sure what all He has planned for me, not sure where my writing will begin or end. I am not even sure what my health will look like in a year. I do know that I am okay. I do know all I need is right here in front of me and God walks beside me.

So slowly I grab the handle of the door and ready myself to walk through.



Teresa Gale

December 2, 2010

Catching Up

It has been awhile since I last wrote. I kept thinking about writing, afterall, much has been happening in my life. Yet it was all hard to put into words.

I will try..soon..to update.

I am in the midst of the worst writing session ever for NaNo. I just feel no creative juices, no story in me. I am frustrated with this. However, recent health issues have me slightly off balance.So I try, I write, but I have no real passion for what I am writing at the moment. I think today, I will try some poetry to see if that jump-starts me.

My goal would be to finish this mess of a story or story of sorts and get to my 50K. I want to just allow myself to do some "Wild Mind" writing like Natalie Goldberg suggest in her book. Boy, hope I got her name right.

Canada this summer was fantastic. I so wish I were there on the Trent right now sitting in the front room with my computer writing as I watch the Loon plucking fish from the rolling river. I can almost see the color in the trees thanks to new friend Linda who posted some. I can dream along the Trent, let the hectic part of life pass me by and just be.

That is what I need, a room in which to write. Not my cluttered sitting area, or my office that needs cleaned. I need clean and open space to write in.

Now this post seems more like a journal writing, and maybe it is. Sometimes I think we just need to speak from the deep places we are in.

Taking a deep breath and going to go to that secret place and relax.

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

I am standing in front of my bathroom mirror viewing my reflection, something I have done millions of times throughout my life. The difference is, I wonder if I am truly seeing myself as I am or as I want to be.

I have become so used to looking at myself, or so I thought, that I really am unsure if this is what other people see. Does that make sense? What I mean to say is, when we see something or read something over and over again, we become disillusioned so to speak.

It’s like reading a scripture that you have read over and over or heard, you skip parts of it and your mind fills in the blank. I think we ad-lib for lack of a better word. We make up things that sometimes are false.

Along this journey to getting un-fat, I am finding many things about myself I never thought of before. I am on this self discovery and parts of it I like while other parts are just plain ugly.

Today for me was one of those “ugly” events. I am down several pounds and I am also down a size or two. My clothes are fitting looser and getting baggy. I feel pretty good. This is where I should stop. I should measure my success in how I feel and not so much as the scales or mirror. However, it isn’t happening that way.

People are starting to notice I am losing weight and that is saying a lot, since I am fat. (See, I am still using that word so it will continue to sink in). Yesterday was a good “thin” day for the most part, but it was also a long holiday weekend filled with good company, family and yes, food. Although I have not denied myself food, good food and not so good food, I did over-indulge this weekend.

But back to yesterday; my husband told me the pants I could not wait to fit in, the ones hidden away in my “thin” closet and rediscovered, looked baggy. This both thrilled me and upset me, do you get me? Number one, I was thrilled over two things, one that my husband noticed (my husband doesn’t seem to notice things like this) and that they “thinner” pants were actually too baggy. It upset me because now I was stuck in that place that can be so frustrating, “the in-between” phase.

I turned this way and that way looking at myself in the mirror and trying to find something in my closet that “fit”. The reflection in the mirror showed a “thinner” me, but it wasn’t the “right” thin. You know the one I am talking about, the one splashed across every magazine stand in every store and on every TV screen in the world. The swimsuit thin, tight thighs, firm tummy, unlined face with beautiful teeth and hair bodied woman that has us comparing ourselves daily. That’s the one I am talking about and that’s the one I will not see again in my lifetime, at least on me.

I tried on several pairs of pants that a few weeks ago I had to lie horizontal and suck in my flab to even begin to zip up. Now they are comfy, baggy and unflattering pants. It is a good and bad feeling. I am in the in-betweens.

So, today when I went shopping for food, I stopped in this cute shop I found a few weeks ago with my daughter. I went through every rack in the shop, (on the fat girl’s side) and loaded my arms with two sizes, my current and the next size down. I was just sure that the pants size down from my current baggy pants style I had on would fit.

Well dears, let me tell you. I stepped into the fitting room; you know the one, with the unflattering lights and mirrors that slap you in the face of your true reality. I stood stock still and viewed myself and went into shock. It took me a moment or two to tear my eyes off of the unpleasant sight before me. I am going to be 53 ladies and gents and I am overweight. Even though I have spent the last two months slimming down, I am still a fat girl wanting to meet the inner thinner me. So what I saw in front of me surprised and depressed me.

I should know better than to do the following:

• Wear shorts outside of my house in full daylight.
• Go too long before coloring my hair.
• Never, ever think I can leave the house without a stitch of make-up on.

The first thing I noticed, that screamed at me was how gray my hair looked in this lighting. It’s not even a pretty gray, it is dull and lifeless. Then I saw my face, the one I decided to forego make up to give my face a break and wondered if I had lost my flipping mind. My eyes traveled down to my dimpled thighs and varicose veined stricken legs and I wanted to immediately lock myself in the booth until it either turned pitch black dark outside or the world came to an end. Neither was going to happen.

I sucked it up. I viewed the two really cute pairs of Capri pants I brought into the stall and the three tops all a size down from what I was wearing and one pair the current size. I stripped down to bra and panties and tried to avert my eyes anywhere but the sight before me. Impossible! The tiny stall had mirrors capturing every side of me and I had the most unpleasant thought of hidden cameras and being captured on video. I am sure you have all had that thought once or twice haven’t you?

The next size down was mission impossible. I got them over my jelly roll thighs but my hips protested. If anyone had me on hidden camera, I am imagined they had a chuckle or two at my disillusioned self. I pulled them off, feeling full of shame for thinking I was silly enough to think I had lost enough to squeeze into them in the first place. Then I tossed the current sized jeans on and found them too baggy in all the wrong places. Next I tried to stuff my oversized chest in a size smaller top and almost cried when the top got stuck half way over my head and shoulders. I feared ripping the garment into two and stuffing it in the jeans to hide it, but managed to squirm out of it with only minor sweating.

I ended up buying one top, yes a size smaller and shoes. I left feeling not so good about myself and less than thrilled to be walking around the grocery store after viewing myself in the mirrors that screamed I was not only still fat, but also looking like an old hag.

While I was shopping and trying to dodge anyone I vaguely knew, I thought about mirrors, clothing sizes and the inventor of both. I tried to console myself with the fact that today’s clothing designers were truly sadist in disguise. They must thrill themselves with the thoughts of us disillusioned “fat” women trying to shimmy into their clothing. I truly think today’s size 12, 14, 16 and 18 are really not the true sizes they were a few years ago.

However, no amount of false thinking was going to get me out of the vision of myself in that mirror that played over and over in my mind like some sort of tape that was stuck on rewind. Truth of the matter is ladies and gents; I still have some work today.

I will continue on in my efforts to shed these stubborn pounds and I will also try to see myself for whom I truly am. I am not so young any more, that is a fact I cannot change. I am not super model thin and most likely will never be. That is another fact I cannot really change. However, it’s the person inside of me that matters, not the mirror, not the size clothing I am wearing and certainly not my dull, gray hair shade.

Ever since my adventure into the dressing room, I have been stuck, almost as if I had waved the white flag and surrendered to my fat. We had more celebrations and I ate more than I should have, I stalled my exercise and more or less let myself get swallowed up in self pity. Today though, as I glanced sideways in the mirror at 3 A.M this morning, I wasn’t shocked at what I saw.

I know that somewhere inside of me is the young girl I used to be. This younger girl inside, has decided to make good friends of the mature lady I have become. I believe together, we can make positive changes in our selves. I have learned some things since that experience in front of the mirror. One thing I learned, besides the fact I should never leave the house without make-up, but that how I feel is more important than the image I may or may not project. If I am not happy with who I am, nothing else really matters.

So, I begin a new journey, down a slightly veered off path. It’s interesting what I find on my journey and my eyes are wide open along with my heart to embrace what lies ahead.

Teresa Gale

One Step Further

Ever since I can remember, I have loved to take walks. There is something about being outside surrounded by all of God’s creations that makes me feel at peace. When I was a young girl and living at home where much turmoil brewed, I would often find serenity in strolling through the neighborhood. Walking clears my mind, causing me to pause in the madness of the world and get closer to God and myself.

As a young girl, I would often wait until things at home were settled and just take off walking. Back in those days, I had no special shoes and I had beautiful strong legs unmarred by ugly veins that would later cause me much pain. Those times in my youth saved me many a time from the discontent that was in my life. On one such walk at the tender age of sixteen, I met my first husband.

Often throughout my life, I have used walking again and again for stress relief, sanity moments and exercise. However, the last few years I have been very sedentary. With the added weight I found taking steps painful. To make matters worse, my desk job where I spent 8-9 hours sitting turned my vein stricken legs into flabby mush. Taking steps made me shaky and often I would wake in the middle of the night hurting with all sorts of leg aches.

So, a few weeks ago when I started my healthy turn around, I decided the best way to get some exercise was to start walking. I had too many pounds on me to be joining some sort of class where jumping up and down would be too embarrassing and then the thought of going to a gym; well it just wasn’t going to happen.

So a couple of days after I changed my eating habits, I went for my first walk. I had read a walking plan where beginners start easily with a ten minute walk. I figured I could do that, it sounded simple and easy. Those first few steps out in the parking lot at work were a killer. It took me ten minutes to walk around the one time and I was short of breath. My legs felt like rubber and I could feel my thighs rubbing together. It was horrible.

I felt so shaky when I returned to my desk and depressed. I am in my early fifties, overweight and now I can’t even walk for ten minutes. When one grows older and our once energetic body turns to blubber, it is humbling, and depressing. That first day out walking in the cool air opened my eyes to how out of shape I had become and I knew I had to keep moving to keep alive.

The next day I went out again and the day after that, I stretched my walk into another 15 minute break. Twice a day almost every day for the last several weeks had helped me in so many ways. I enjoy pushing away from my desk and getting outside for those few moments.

Every day I move a little more. The weight is coming off and my legs are feeling stronger. I have pushed myself a little further each time out. If I can’t make it outside due to weather, I walk around the shop, up stairs and in the basement. I find I am becoming more creative with my steps. I now park further when I shop, go up and down my steps at home more frequently and am starting to want to walk more and more.

Last night after an early dinner I decided to take a walk. I didn’t want to sit in front of the TV and fall asleep, so I got moving. Grabbing my IPod I headed out the door and down the street. I started slowly and took my time looking at everything around me. My IPod started off with praise music I had down loaded and it was really appropriate as I enjoyed all of the beauty surrounding me. Each step I took I found my spirits lifting making me enjoy the evening.

I saw neighbors out in yards, viewed other people’s flowers (mine were destroyed by an over-zealous husband, a story for another blog entry) and marveled at the beautiful sky God painted for me. I wish I were a good enough writer or perhaps a painter so that I could show you exactly all I saw on my 45 minute walk. It was just the most wonderful walk I had experienced in a long time.

I took in every sight, every scent and every sound and just breathed it into my very being. I am in awe of God’s handiwork and last night I viewed a most breath taking skyline. I watched cotton candy clouds form into Hercules, an ocean and what seemed to be the Pillsbury cartoon fella with a big fat belly. The pale blue sky sparkled against the soft white clouds and it was just a sight to see. Even above my music, I could hear the birdsong serenade me as I picked up my pace and I imagined the birds cheering me on.

Forty-five minutes later, a little sweaty, very thirsty, I finished off my walk and sat down on the deck out back and enjoyed the last of the skyline before me. I felt good, I felt better than good, I felt great. My body is starting to obey me and firm up a little. The blood flow to my legs has improved and it has been a couple of weeks since I woke up with achy legs. My stress level is reduced and some energy is returning. I know I still have a way to go, but last night I went for a 45 minute walk! To me that is more than progress, it’s a miracle from where I was a few weeks before.

Sitting on my deck, watching the golden globe of the sun set against that beautiful sky God painted for me last night, I gave thanks.

Teresa Gale

PIG OUT DAY

If you have ever had a “Pig Out Day”, you will “get” my story today. If you however are one of those naturally thin people who have never had a weight problem, you just might not get my addiction to the call of food. However, both will find something to identify with in the following “Pig Out Tale.”

Ever have a day where your good healthy eating goes right out the window and you just plain “pig out?” Even the best laid plans can go away when faced with delicious foods staring in your face and tenderly calling your name.

I had just such a day. I had done so well all week, as a matter of fact, for several weeks. The weight is slowly coming off and I am feeling good. I am doing the Weight Watchers Plan where you are allotted a certain amount of points and given an extra 35a week, plus as a bonus, when you exercise you also gain extra spending points to use.

I rarely use any of the extra points, once in awhile I may dip into the 35 extra using maybe 5 or so. Most weeks they are left untouched, like a security blanket just in case I need them. I love walking and adding extra points each week, but never touch them.

Yesterday however almost did me in. I went to my grandson Logan’s fifth birthday party. I even prepared by bringing my own wheat bun and rice cake chips, grapes and water. I enjoyed the family gathered around and loved watching Logan’s face light up with the friends and family to celebrate his day. It was a beautiful day, hot but breezy and of course I loved it all.

The scent of hamburgers and hot dogs grilled by my son in law Aaron drifting to my very hungry nose. I even waited while everyone else got the first burgers off the grill before I made my own. I nibbled on rice cakes and watermelon while waiting for round two of burgers to come off the grill. The taste was well worth waiting for and I ate the burger heartedly. However, I found myself still hungry and grabbed another. I knew it was okay, I had a budget of points left plus 46 extra stored away.
Then the cake was cut.

Chocolate cake I must add. Chocolate started whispering in my ear, taunting me, teasing me, lying to me that “it would be okay, eat me, eat me, you know you want to eat me.” So I accepted a small piece and okay, give me the ice cream too. Butter cream icing slid between my lips and teased my tongue, chocolate crumbs slid down my sugar deprived throat and the ice cream topped it off by cooling my mouth. Sugar!

I had not had real live sugar like this in over six weeks. I savored each bite and should have stopped. I really was over sugared about half way through the cake, but I kept going. I ate the whole thing and all the ice cream. My lips and tongue were colored blue by the frosting as I licked the residue off.I was drunk by the sugar and my head started feeling light headed and I became slightly dizzy by the affects.

I waddled slowly to the trash can and threw the plate away, as I did, I could feel the fullness explode inside me and bloat my stomach. It was not a pretty feeling, as a matter of fact, it was quite ugly. I was not only too full, I was past full, to the point of exploding. My head felt dizzy, my stomach unsure of what to do with all this food I poured down me and nausea overwhelmed me.

Suddenly in the memory banks of my mind, I recalled how weeks before I would feel like this on a daily basis. I am sure if you have ever pigged out, you know the feeling. It is uncomfortable.

To make matters worse, it set me on a binge. After all, I had already treaded on very treacherous grounds and why not finish the day off with more of the same. I ignored the nausea, ignored the “fat feeling” the bloated stomach, the warning signals that were like flashing lights all around me and I kept eating once home. I filled up on dinner, my plate over full. Then Mark went to bed and I sat alone downloading pictures from the day.

I have lost a total of 23 pounds in six weeks and shed several inches, my clothes are fitting so much better and I am fitting into items in my closet that have not been worn in over a year. Yet looking at pictures of myself taken at the party, I still saw an overweight and aging self. All the hard work I had done in the last few weeks felt like nothing as I viewed a still fat face, thighs, hips and upper body. The shirt I was happy I could wear to the picnic suddenly showed me just how much more weight I had to lose.

I was humbled. Humbled by the fact I felt like a failure. Humbled by the idea I thought I was thin. It all crashed in on me as I stared at the very unflattering, thank you husband, photo of myself and I did what I had always done in the past. I pigged out more! Why not? I stuffed down this disappointment with comfort food telling myself I still had extra points to spare, use them and use them all! And I almost did.

If you have been where I am, you can relate. You know the feelings of defeat, you know the call of food and the whisper in your head teasing you, taunting you, telling you to go, go, go to the cabinet and get the food you know you want. The voices like the high school bully, like that person in your life that is toxic and telling you all the bad things about yourself and starts the choir going and you wave the thin flag and surrender. You drown yourself in foods you have been limiting and get drunk on the taste. That’s what happened to me yesterday. It is pure seduction.

Okay, confession is over. I did it and I am not hiding it. Here I am blogging about a most embarrassing instance in my life. I have put it out there just as I put the self description of my “fat” out there. I confess. I confess I am not perfect, nor am I thin. I make mistakes, I gave in and I am not perfect. I didn’t just test the waters, but dived in over my head and drowned in food.

Now what? You may be thinking; if anyone is even reading me, what will she do now? I sound pathetic, I know. Well, I am back on the healthy trail. I stuck it out today until I was really hungry for food. I didn’t put anything in my mouth until I got a signal from my body, something I would never have done in the past. I am learning, I am growing in understanding and I am shrinking in size. Even though that photo told me I still had a long way to go, I know the way.

I am back on track. In fact I just had a lovely breakfast on the deck and treated myself to something different than my normal yogurt and apple. I ate a beautiful meal and did so on my deck. The birds sang to me, the sun kissed me and the trees nodded their leafy heads in approval. I learned that all that eating doesn’t make me feel good at all. Stuffing my face and stomach overly on sugary treats and too much good food made me feel sluggish and fat.

Eating what I need and when I need it is what I want for myself now. Although the new picture of me showed I still had a long way to go, it also showed me how far I have come in the last several weeks. I no longer have The Three Little Pigs chinny chin chins, but I am starting to see a slimmer face that is a resemblance of the other me I have hidden away under pounds and pounds. I am out of hiding and warning everyone I will not go down without a fight.

I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. I am who I am and walking a new journey in my life. I can’t wait to see how it all turns out.

Teresa Gale

Watch for next installment: One Step Further

Strawberry Fields

Strawberry Fields

A couple of weeks ago, my two youngest daughters invited me along with my Grandson Logan to pick strawberries. I reluctantly accepted. Reluctant only due to the fact my almost 53 year old out of shape body with bad knees and the burden of extra weight made me unsure I could manage the workout. I am so elated I decided to tag along.

I met my girls and grandson at the Strawberry field on a steamy hot Saturday that threatened rain. I was delighted and a bit full of nostalgia when I realized these was the very same fields my dear sweet Grandma Goldie and I picked our last strawberries together almost 25 years or more ago.

Boxes in hand, hat sheltering my head I knelt on the straw that lie in the middle of the aisle. It took me a moment or two to descend slowly to the ground and peek under the lush bushes to find succulent red strawberries. Looking up at my two girls already busy picking and my blonde headed grandson having a blast running between the bushes to help made the day all the more special.

We busily picked the strawberries filling out baskets with the juicy red beauties. Sweat began to pour over us and I scooted the best my poor old legs would allow. I alternated between kneeling, bending, sitting flat on my big old butt until I soon had a full basket. My hands stained red with the sweet juice of the berries and legs cramped from my crawling around, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction that I had done the hard work. I had a little help from Logan who thought it was fun to throw them at me to catch.

I have such sweet memories now and told him he was the very first grandchild to ever pick berries with this grandma. It brought to mind my own sweet grandmother and the day we sweated out in the very same field when she came up to visit. We had a wonderful time together and we took our precious berries home where she then set out teaching me to make her jam.

I snapped a few photos of the moment to capture the day with my daughters and I thought of how life had come full circle from one grandmother to another. I was much younger when grandma and I picked berries those many years ago, with only four little girls. I have since added to our family with two sons and several grandchildren.

I will forever treasure this time together, the memories they made, while an old tradition carried on to another generation. Later as I stood in my kitchen taking the stems off the berries I could almost hear my grandmother instruct me on the method and how to carefully pull the stems to savor the juice. I think she must have been telling me much more. Somewhere inside my heart I could hear her telling me to take my time and to treasure the juiciest parts of life, and to savor the sweetness.

Teresa Gale

Hunger Pangs

Hunger Pangs

I am hungry. I am hungry a lot lately. It seems as soon as I admitted it in public that I am fat, the hunger began.

As a matter of fact, as soon as I admitted my new healthy plan for eating, my journey into starvation began. Prior to my confession into blog world, I found I was doing really well, better than well. I was learning to control my snacking, I had left over points every day and the weight was falling off. However, now, I am hungry.
Diets can do that to people. We focus on food constantly, thinking, planning, counting and preparing. Our every thought seems to be on food, the very thing we are trying not to think about because that is how we got fat.

So the battle has begun. As hard as I try not to be hungry, not to think of food, it seems I am way too obsessed. Don’t get me wrong, I am still losing, anywhere from a pound to two pounds a week and the fat clothes that were bursting at the seams have begun to loosen and feel good to wear.

Now I need to figure out how to become un-obsessed with food. After all, we need food to survive, but why do I think I need to have more than I need? Why does anyone feel they need an excess to survive.

I can link my problem back to the childhood thing. Not only did I think I was fat back then and went on a starvation diet where I survived on a few meager bites each day, but there was a time in my childhood, we just didn’t have food. I felt I had to “store up food” when we had it to survive. Then there is the comfort food theory, we eat when we feel bad, we hunger for something and fill ourselves up with food. Everyone has a reason they are over-weight and it isn’t because we desire to be that way, most of the time it depresses us to no end.

Now, I have to focus on other things besides food in order to succeed. How does one do this when I need to also pay attention to what goes into my mouth? How do you calculate calories, points, good healthy food instead of bad food and not become obsessed?

I often wonder about naturally thin people who don’t seem to have this same obsession I do. How do you all stay so thin? Are you ever ravenously hungry and out of control?

Control is the key to success. I need to find the control to let the hunger pass, the focus to adjust to other things and move towards being healthy. Part of the problem with food is the mindless eating we do at our desks or on the run. We act upon what we think is hungry when what really is happening is we are not paying attention to our bodies. Like the smoker who lights up during a certain time or certain event it becomes a habit, but not a good one. I know because I was that smoker.

Getting healthy is work, hard work. I must trade my bad habits for good habits. Food is needed to survive, but too much of anything is bad for you. So I continue I ignore the hunger more often that I did a few months ago, I have started walking more, moving more and the weight loss is my reward.

As I continue down my “hunger for good health” road, I will need to pay attention to the world around me and realize God is providing for me. I don’t need more, I need only “just enough.” God provided for the Israelites in the desert the manna to sustain them and instructed them to take only what they needed for the day and no more. Exodus 16:4-5. God tested his people and he tests me. I want to pass the test with flying colors and readjust my stinking thinking about food. I am turning my hunger for food into a hunger for life. God is walking beside me and I am starting to feel good.

Teresa Gale

Reflections

Stumbling into the bathroom early one morning I was caught quite by surprise. Leaning against the sink and staring into the mirror I viewed a shocking reflection. Turning my head one way and then back, I felt my stomach lurch. It couldn’t be me reflected in the mirror; this had to be a dream, a nightmare even. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stare back into the vision before me and then quickly retreat.

It amazes me still to this day the horror of what I saw. I chose to do the most natural thing in the world for me; ignore it. Ha! Ignoring the problem is not the answer, but I tried to. I pushed it out of my head, thinking much like Scarlett, “Tomorrow is another day.”

As much as I would like to say this was easy, it wasn’t. It would be the start of why I am writing today on an issue that has been in my life since I was ten years old. What I saw in the mirror and what would follow in the days, weeks and months ahead would be instrumental in turning my focus on my health.

Reflections are a hard thing to ignore, especially for a woman. We stare at our reflections every single day as we put on make-up, brush our hair and teeth. We become so use to what we see; it can be easy to not really pay attention. This particular morning was the beginning of my reality, of my waking up.

Startled by my view of myself in the mirror was soon followed up with the realization that my face and neck were changing, that my “fat clothes” had shrunk and that my neck now had given birth to three chins. Not a very pretty thought or picture. Several photos taken in March and April soon had me shocked into action.

I was appalled by a photo taken of me on Easter. I knew I had gained weight ever since I went off a medication for migraines, but I took no action. I just kept thinking I had a handle on it. Those were my thoughts until my husband took a photo of the kids at Easter playing a musical game and of me reclining on the sofa watching them. My very first thought when I saw the photo of me with enough chins to make the Three Little Piggy’s green with envy, was to delete it and delete it quickly. My hand hovered over the delete button on the camera, finger shaking and tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I hesitated and then decided to leave the photo on my computer.

How did I get here? When did I gain this much weight? I mean, really, do I really eat that much? Questions many dieters for life ask themselves. We have all sorts of tricks up our sleeves to camouflage our abundant bellies and thighs, but the face; oh the face is so hard to hide. I had nowhere to run, no one to blame and no way I would be able to put a bag over my head for the rest of my life.

There was no denying the photo, for not just one was taken but several, all giving the same likeness. I decided to do something else that would throw me into shock, denial and finally fear I stepped on the bathroom scale. You know the one, the menacing metal thing we use as decorations in most homes by throwing towels, magazines or shoes upon. I cleared it off, tentatively stepped on the stark white monster and then just as quickly stepped off. No way! Back on I stepped again, same number stared back at me. Shocked, I felt tears well up again and I quickly stepped off the scale and flew out of the bathroom. Not before making sure that digital nightmare number had eased itself before anyone else knew my secret.

Being fat is one of the worst kept secrets, except for those of us in denial and I am the queen of denial. To make matters worse, my clothes had begun clinging to me in very unflattering ways. My “fat clothes” were tight. I felt totally disappointed in myself and I allowed myself to wallow in the self pity. The number I saw screaming at me was a number higher than I had ever reached before and it truly made me cry.

I reached out to two friends at my church and they shared their own stories. We decided to get together and try a diet we had read about. The support was great, the diet which wasn’t necessarily a diet but an awareness of fullness worked for about three weeks and then commitments and holidays kept us from getting together. The little bit I lost quickly came back. I began to feel hatred and anger at myself.

I had managed in the past many things; I was not a weak willed woman. Yet here I was with a face that was swallowed up in fat and a body that was betraying the truly thin person I was inside. It’s amazing what that reflection one early morning threw me into, not all at once but slowly. I began turning over in my mind what I wanted to do and how I wanted to look for the rest of my life and fat was not in!

My oldest daughter recently embarked on a weight loss journey and looks fantastic. I decided to not look upon my journey as a diet, although in many ways it is, but a new health plan for me. On April 25th I signed up online with Weight Watchers and have been combining both this plan and the other plan. I have turned my journey over to God and stopped fighting myself.

I am on a new path, reflecting on many things in my life, not just food, fat and the view in the mirror, but on my inner being. It’s slow, it is sometimes hard, but oh the revelations have been quite surprising.

I am not sure who is reading me here or if anyone is, I am also unsure of how many will understand or get where I am coming from. I am not sure why I decided to blog about my struggles and soon some successes, but I am in hopes I will find out soon.

In the end, I was and am unhappy with hiding away, hiding behind layers of fat and being uncomfortable in my own skin. Change is never easy, it is hard work. At my age I need to be healthy, I need to feel good about who I am. I am learning to like myself a little more each day, and it is not all about being thin. I will never be the model that stares out from the magazine stands, I will never be as thin as I would like. I am after all a woman in her fifties. I am starting to like the new reflection I see in the mirror, a little older, a little wiser and a little thinner. I do know one thing…I am ready to begin to live.

Teresa Gale

Weighty Issues

Weighty Issues

I am fat. There…I said it. Finally the secret I have long held inside is out. Whew!

It isn’t as if I didn’t say it out loud and in a public forum that it would make it real, I mean, anyone who looked at me twice, would be able to see I am fat. However, saying it out loud makes it “out there” now.

I can remember the very first time someone called me fat. I was all of about ten years old and the hurtful words were meant to wound me. It was my brother who had been upset over something I cannot remember. I can still feel the way I cringed over the word, a word spoken to hurt and hurt it did. I crept up the stairs to my mother’s room and stood in front of the full length mirror turning this way and that trying to see what fat looked like.

In the reflection was a girl who had a small rounded belly, long bird legs along with a flat chest and in that moment, the belly grew larger in my eyes. I was now fat, it had been confirmed and the struggles began. Forever after that moment I would wrestle not only with the word, but with my weight. I had been labeled and I felt as if my very fatness was growing by the moment.

From that moment on, my life revolved around my weight. As I look back at pictures of myself at that age, I am amazed at the pencil thin girl with long brown hair and cat-like eyes. My face was thin, legs long and slender and my belly, well, it is almost non-existent. My issue with my weight may have begun at age ten, but it wasn’t until much later that the actual real live, honest to God fat developed.

My teen years were fraught with trying to fit in and living a life at home that was anything but normal. An alcoholic mother who often was so insecure she would lash out at me to get me to cry, crying to her meant love. If I would cry she must have felt I loved her. Her sickness, my co-dependency was all instrumental in my weight issues. I wanted to fit in, fit in at home, at school and with all the pretty girls I came in contact with during those years. I wanted my mom to love me and the girls at school to accept me.

I learned early to carry myself tall and straight, sucking in my abdomen to make me appear thinner than I would ever feel. The looks I got as I walked down the hallway made me more self conscious. I felt that the eyes must be examining my fat. I felt so insecure I would hide myself within. I was considered stuck up by school mates, stiff and unapproachable. Little would the kids I went to school with know the home life I led and the reasons behind my shy, quiet nature nor little did I know that the boys liked what they saw and made the girls jealous.

So my journey began. I developed a chest that was quite large. I was a late bloomer in that department, or so I thought, but in fact developed womanly curves far beyond my age. The fact I was curvy and taller than most of the girls in my class, only made me stand out more.

Throughout the years, my weight has gone up and down, up and down, and not unlike a roller coaster and often making me so frustrated. When I read back at old journals or New Year’s resolutions, my weight issue has always been at the top of my entries.

So here I go again, only this time I am in my fifties and the metabolism is almost non-existent. For the next several months, I shall blog about this “Fat Girl” inside or outside of me. As I begin yet again another weight loss journey, I pray I can whittle away the “Fat Girl” and find inside the real me. Thin or fat, there is a self discovery in process. Anyone who has ever had a weight issue may well recognize themselves in my story.

Teresa Gale

Stuff

I have a lot of…stuff. My kids, my husband, my family and a few friends all make jokes about all my…stuff. I view my treasures very differently than they do, however, I am beginning to feel claustrophobic.

As I sit here in my downstairs family room situated in what I always have felt a quite cozy home, I survey the room. What happened? How did I get to this place?

A stack of “want to read” books surround me. I love books, I love the feel of pages, the scent of paper and the words filling the pages with stories that will take me to far off places. I adore books that touch the heartstrings, books that make me laugh, make me cry and leave me in suspense as I turn the pages. As a matter of fact, I will admit…I am a book addict. I cannot pass a book store without picking one up and adding it to my “want to read” stack.

However, my books are taking over. I have them stacked beside me, behind me, in a basket at my feet and on a small ledge by the window. I have bibles that I took to Israel three times, a bible I truly treasure filled with notes on thoughts and feelings. I have another bible that belonged to the kid’s great grandmother and one of the first few I read as a young Christian. I have journals and journals telling my story on shelves in my room. I have baby books revealing the start of little lives stored away for keeps.

I find it interesting the stuff we keep, the stuff we collect throughout the years. In my family room, on almost every table or stand, I could pick up something that “means” something special to me. There are several items the kids made me, bought me or gave to me. Some of the items the grandchildren gave to me that I treasure. When I look at the stuff, I can’t bear the thought of pitching it. My children, most of them are now grown, have no idea that some of these seemingly insignificant gifts mean something to me.

The family room has that “lived in look”. In other less kind words, it’s a mess. As I look straight ahead of me, my coffee table is loaded with stuff, my fireplace houses photo albums waiting to be transformed into scrapbooks and the television holds photos, candles and a clock. It’s a mess filled with my stuff. On the mantle over the fireplace I have a brick from the brick yard my Papaw Bill worked at and a rock from my dear Aunt Pauline’s yard. These small things tie me to my family. Strange, huh? I mean, they are only things right?

I have mementos from travels, distant places around the world. There are two pillows from Panama on a trip my brother, God bless his heart, took me on. I have rocks from the three trips to Israel he and I traveled to, a photo book from New York City where I traveled with my four girls one weekend, I have items from Belgium, Paris and many other travels surrounding my home. They all bring back a flood of memories when I see them.

Upstairs in my dining room, I have my Great-Grandmother Pitts dishes, antiques for sure. I love those dishes stored in a hutch the girls Great-Grandfather on their father’s side built with his own hands. The dishes were once promised to me by my dear Grandmother Goldie and before she passed, I carefully packed them up and took them home. I cried as I dropped two plates while I was washing them to put them away. They tie me to a past, a place where families had sit down dinners together, where loving hands made the meals and decorated their meager living spaces. I was a little girl when my grandmother served me a meal of fried chicken and mashed potatoes made with real butter on these very plates. I remember her loving look as she patted me on the head and told me the pretty plates, mix matched for sure, would one day be mine. After her death I brought them home and on our first Thanksgiving in our new home, I served my girls a big meal on them.

These very dishes served a family of five over 75 years before. Although they are not a whole set anymore, one plate I managed to glue back together, they belonged to my past, they link me to two very special ladies in my life and have now served five generations. I can almost picture my petite Great-grandmother setting the plate to her giant sized husband and three little girls. The dishes hold history for me, family and friends breaking bread and sharing lives over a meal.

How could I part with these treasures? Would they ever begin to mean the same things to my children, or my children’s children? The answer is probably not. I know one day I will pass away and the kids will do just as they have joked for years; they will take my stuff out to the backyard and while remembering me I hope fondly, have a huge bonfire. One person’s treasures will become another person’s stuff.

However, I hope, as they are cleaning out my stuff, as they dismantle my life they will pause and remember me. I pray as they hold an item in their hands, most likely shaking their heads, they will see that the tiny picture painted for me years ago by tiny hands was treasured. I keep these things as a silly gesture of those I love. I cannot take these things with me, nor will I need them where I am going. But while I am here, I will look at them fondly, I will remember those I treasured in my life gifting these silly items to me and how much I adored them.

Yes, I have a lot of stuff. I am beginning to part with a few items here and there, things that are not tied to precious memoires. I am downsizing just a little, but not as much as my family would like. I like to think by giving up my stuff now I would be stealing that pleasure of a bonfire filled with memories I smile at the thought of them all gathered together throwing away my stuff and laughing. I can see them now, hugging, maybe crying a bit and laughing together as a family. The bonfire will be bringing them all together thinking of me and the past. The joke is on them.

Teresa Gale

Rescued

Words seldom come to me lately.

Exhaustion has taken over,

Worry creases my brow.

God lights the way, yet

I have been so blind in my darkness.

I am so hurried in my life,

Filling every crack and crevice

That I seldom pause, seldom stop,

Hardly stand still long enough to see.

The fog lifts long enough to see the

Light peek through – yet I struggle

in the mugginess of the haze.

I resign myself.

Stand still, listening in the distance

for Him.

I yearn for rest and love.

My heart tugs – leaping forward in joy!

He reaches beyond the haze and envelopes

me in sunshine.

I bask in His light, in His love.

Dancing with joy I feel lighter.

I am rescued!

Teresa Gale

Sunbeams

Awake to the early dawn hours,
as the sun slips out from under
the blankets of a star filled night.

Rising, the sun chases away,
the ivory moon to bid goodnight.
Yawning, the moon waves
a sleepy farewell.

The golden orange glow,
bathes me in sunbeams,
that warms my soul when
it calls to wake to the
beautiful anchor of light.

A light breeze plays a
soft melody with the
rustling of leaves on trees.
Swish, swish, swish.
The morning's tone is set.

I view the horizon,
Joy jumps in my heart,
As the sun whisks me to
The here and now.

Teresa Gale

Brand New Year

It’s a brand New Year, full of all sorts of wonder and possibilities. I always look forward to a new year and start planning goals right away. For me, a New Year is like a slate wiped clean and ready for new beginnings, new plans and all sorts of fun. I make a list of things I want to see accomplished and then reflect on a plan to go about doing each one. More often than not, I do not finish all my goals. I would guess it is because of the fact my list is so long.

This year is no different. I made my list, organized it into sections of things I wanted to see happen in our home, personal goals and even spiritual goals. I reviewed it again yesterday as we are now mid-way through the month of January. Except for my daily bible reading, a ritual I began years ago, I found I hadn’t given too much thought into some of my goals yet.

I could blame it on my busy life, but if truth be known, I had just been too lazy and not committed enough to do anything about them. Ouch! Truth hurts, especially coming from within my own self. However, if I am to be honest, if I am to succeed, the finger of blame should be pointed right back at me. I have no one else to blame, trust me, I have tried.

You may be asking yourself as you read this post; “Why bother?”
I have asked myself that very question and for a few years I didn’t make any goal setting or resolutions as some may call them. I gave up, waved the white flag of surrender and then sat and waited for life to happen to me. What I found was if I didn’t take control, if I didn’t set goals, then my life seemed stale. I can’t stand stale; I can’t stand just sitting around waiting.

The first half of my life I had been guilty of allowing too many to dictate my life and I was not a happy person. Then for a few years, I tried doing it on my own, that didn’t work either. What I have found is truthfully, I am not in complete control of my own life, only God can be in control. I wrestle with this quite a bit, let me tell you. It is not because I do not have faith in God, it is because I don’t think I should bother Him with little ole me. After all, isn’t He busy with World Peace and bigger issues in the world?

Then as I grew a little older, a little wiser (I am still growing mind you) I realized something. God is my Father, my parent and doesn’t He want the same good things in my life that I want for my children? Wouldn’t I move heaven and earth to help my children with a problem? The answer is a resounding YES!

So this year, as I contemplate my goals, as a matter of fact today even, I will ask God’s will in what I want and then stop wrestling and allow Him to take the reins in my life. I know this is not an instant thing, for I am not an easy child, but it is a start. So today I will begin with prayers over my list, I will cross off the things that don’t really matter and concentrate on the ones that do. Today I will begin anew, refreshed, relaxed and knowing I am in good hands.

Okay God, I am ready, what do you have in mind for me today? Take my hand and led me, I am all yours.

Teresa Gale