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