Being a 'Curvy' Girl in a not so Skinny World

In recent history, women have been slender, even boney as that look became the image of health. Eating disorders developed so that women could look like the advertisements and match up to the sex appeal that women in photos, magazines, billboards, TV and in the movies had. These were the women getting loads of attention and if you didn't match up (at least in one's mind) you would never achieve a mate.

Then, everything became about convenience. The faster you could get it the better. Food, clothes, toys, etc., you name it. It comes as no surprise that this kind of lifestyle has lead to 60+% of American's being listed as overweight or obese in 2011. (Article). I'm certainly not the first to explore this phenomenon and I won't be the last I'm sure. All this information merely serves as an appetizer to my actual point which is, I'm overweight but I am considered "curvy" by quite a lot of people I know. While I appreciate what they are trying to say, let's get down to the honesty factor here. I'm overweight.

Before about 9-10 years ago, I was very lean, but I was considered anorexic by anyone who didn't know me at all, and there were snide things said about me regularly by other females. I never cared, except when people assumed I had an eating disorder because I was thin. I was actually quite muscular and I was pretty athletic too. I roller skated weekly, when I got too old for that I went dancing several times a week. We're talking club dancing, but the kind where I would walk away from the dance floor sweaty because I had just basically done a cardio work out with more flair to awesome music in a place where I could drink too. I rode my bicycle a lot (less so as I got older, but still maintained the desire to ride). Still do for that matter. There was also cross country skiing, down hill skiing, various sports, outdoors stuff and everything else I was in to. I was even in multiple dance classes (real true dance) and gymnastics when I was very young. This meant I was always lean, and always hungry.

What I didn't realize is that I too adore convenience. I didn't think about food much more than 10 to 20 minutes before a meal. When I was a kid it was because I didn't have to. As I started to get older, it's because I was poor and ate whatever I could from my pantry and now, I just hate cooking so it's all about what I can make quickly. This doesn't mean that the reason I'm overweight is food. Not directly anyway. I actually love vegetables, fruits and I rarely eat the junk foods anymore except once a day or so.

I have Celiacs Disease. This means that I basically can't have foods with wheat, barely, rye and some oats and their by-products. You might be asking yourself "then what can you eat"? The answer is, not a whole hell of a lot in the modern convenience world.

As a child, I disliked a lot of foods. With the exception of Grilled Cheese sandwiches, I hated bread and I would always remove it from my sandwiches. It drove my parents crazy. I didn't like pasta, for the most part with the exception of cheese ravioli. I rarely ate or wanted to eat things that had gluten in them. I had zero idea what this implied. Back then, no one did really. It was pointing to the fact my body was already telling me what I should and shouldn't eat. Unless you have some unusual eating issue like Pica that makes you want to eat things you shouldn't you should listen when your body says 'don't eat that'.

9.5 years ago, I was in a relationship with someone who was selfish, judgmental and made me feel like crap about myself. It's my fault I stayed with this person and it's my fault I let their ridiculous comments affect me and how I saw myself. This person told me I was eating all the wrong foods and I was going to get fat, etc. I was often berated for my choices of snacks (corn tortilla chips and salsa - which is way better than the foods I ended up eating as far as calories and health go...),and chided for other foods I deemed yummy and edible. In the end, I broke and in my vulnerability I followed this person's advice. Worst advice ever.

What this person, nor I knew about me is that I had Celiacs and that I had been subconsciously listening to my body when it said don't eat these foods; as I mentioned above. Instead I ignored my body, and my better instincts and listened because I wanted to be accepted by this person. Frankly, even though it's ultimately my fault for not being strong enough to say 'go screw yourself', I blame this selfish jerk for making me feel like I needed to change to suit him. For the record, we ended up breaking up because I was tired of being chastised for my food choices and the end happened over a block of cheese. Crazy right? No. Smartest thing I ever did.

A lot of the issues started right away. Some took more time. The sleep issues started. I was waking up tired all the time, I was having issues concentrating and I was sick non-stop. Actually I had been sick often for a long time, but it got much worse after the food changes. After the sleep issues came the super weight gain. It didn't help that I was no longer working out as much because I was so exhausted all the time, or that I ended up getting a job where I sat on my rear all the time. Last but not least in the major changes category came the intense pain in my back.

At my worst weight I was nearly 220 pounds. It felt like people were judging me all of the time and I was so self conscious that I would effectively apologize for the fact I was overweight. Walking into walls has always been an issue but now I had even less judgment on how far I needed to be in order to avoid the walls so I bounced off them, painfully, all the time. My walk was weird because I was still walking like a slim girl and yet I would trip myself because I wasn't slender anymore. I hated the clothes I had to wear and became almost introverted because I had come to hate myself. I didn't want to feel like one of the people skinny folks made fun of. I didn't feel I deserved it because it wasn't something I had done out of laziness or pure convenience. My thought processes on this have changed a lot but that is how I felt at the time.

I have an hourglass figure and I have never shown my weight like other body types do. I have always looked smaller than my actual weight which is one reason people used to think I had an eating disorder. When I would tell people how much I weighed at the time, they always looked surprised. Honest to goodness surprise. I went on like this for a few years, topping out at nearly 220 as previously mentioned. Then came the migraine from hell, the migraine that went on for 50+ days before a doctor finally managed to figure out the trigger. Then this same doctor discovered I had Fibromyalgia. So began the medication trials. It is because of this 7 month ordeal, I will always refuse medication unless it's imperative I take it. I will never put my brain or my body through that again. These medications made me dumb. I forgot my name on one of them. Most just made me dull minded and I forgot the English language, something I had always been very well versed in. One medication made me gain more weight until I made the doctor change the dosage.

At the end of the 7 months, I was able to go back to work. I was doped up on so many medications, it was ridiculous. I struggled to maintain a semblance of my former intelligence. A year later when I had more illnesses related to the stomach and intestines they discovered I had Celiacs. The withdrawal from gluten was excruciating. The worst headache I had had since the insane migraine hit and lasted for more than a week. It was only when I started to eat the right foods and came off the withdrawal, that I started to notice an immediate change. I started dropping weight like it was clothing. I lost 35 pounds in a few months. Then I discovered Dr. Pepper again and my weight plateaued. I vowed to lose more weight but I was still tired and I couldn't shake the exhaustion. There were times when I would fall asleep at my desk. I say times... really I meant daily occurrences.

Another year and they discovered I had Sleep Apnea. All of these issues have actually been tied together as doctors/scientists have discovered. It's a "circle of issues" one has when one has Fibro. Most are genetic and while a person may not exhibit Fibro until a traumatic experience happens, it's still there waiting for it's chance in the world.

After discovering I had the Sleep Apnea issue and I started treatment, suddenly I had far more energy. My brain was feeling better but I didn't seem to be sloughing off the weight. What the hell was going on? Surely, seriously, I couldn't have another health issue. That would be overkill right?

Unbeknownst to me, I was suffering from a medication induced depression. Ah the true root of my dislike for medications surfaces! Yes, you caught me. My husband and I had planned to have a child and so I came off my birth control (as one does) to allow for getting pregnant. Within a week I was feeling wonderful! The most like my 20 year old self I have ever felt. I was super energized, I wanted to go out and do things all the time again. I felt social, creative, good, all the things I used to feel. And yet I was still overweight. But I didn't care anymore. No, that's not true. I cared, but it wasn't my main focus in life anymore. What an amazing feeling. I started dropping weight like no one's business again. I was truly becoming more like the "curvy" girl some people saw me as and less of the fat hog I had felt like for a long time. I suspect that had I not become pregnant, I would have continued to lose the weight but as it is, I am pregnant now. Ironically I lost 15 more pounds by week 15 of the pregnancy of which I am in week 16. I suspect that after the baby is born I will have the ability to lose even more weight, hopefully down to my target size of 135 where I was at 27. Healthy, but not anorexic looking.

The amazing part of it all is that I learned it's not always laziness that causes the overweight situation. Regardless of how much of it is health related however, there is always that little bit that you have control over and if you can get the stars to align as I did, losing the weight, getting to the point where you can work out again and moving on with your life can happen. You have to want it bad enough and understand you are just one person. Sometimes you need help. And while you may feel massive and self conscious all the time, love yourself. I have friends with the most amazing self confidence levels who are not skinny little things. Just don't fake it. People see through that.

Being a curvy girl in a not so skinny world is not a bad thing necessarily. As long as you are eating healthy and exercising, then love yourself for who you are and not for the person the media thinks you should be. Screw them, after all what do they know about being real?

The Struggle of Love vs Hate

Preface: I have always wanted to write about growing up with a super independent mother and an old fashioned, deeply troubled, chauvinistic father. A friend of mine wrote an essay talking about how she came into the world and how she ultimately grew from her experiences. It spurred me on to write about what I went through as a child and a young teen and ultimately through my fathers death.

Childhood
I was always a tomboy, at least as far back as I can recall. My father called me his little monkey. I climbed trees with the best of them and I ate bananas like they were candy. I also ate candy like it was candy, but who's counting? I spent my days chasing down boys at school and wrestling them to the ground so that my friends could kiss them. When I was challenged about my strength or the fact I would rather play with cars than dolls, or even that I was in gymnastics and ballet... I beat them up.  One such instance of this is Forest. He was my guy buddy at school when I was in elementary school. We palled around when I wasn't hanging with the other girls, typically on the playground. I remember we had just finished re-enacting "Annie" in the fort and Forest came over to challenge me. He said "Girls aren't strong!" in response to something I had said. I replied telling him we were, and pointed out that I was in gymnastics and ballet. He said that didn't matter, we still weren't strong. Little boy speak or repeating after his male figure of choice? Anyway, I very pointedly stated girls are strong and jumped off my perch, running after him. He took off like a rocket. I caught up to him, tripped him, shoved him against the fence and pinned him there. I said what about now? He refused to admit I was strong so I leaned all my weight into him and hit him on the shoulder. Now? Yeah ok, now he would admit we were strong. Needless to say this had caught the attention of the teachers but they didn't really seem mad, they seemed to think it was funny. I have no idea why that is. There was little I would put up with when it came to being myself and others perceptions of me when I was little, especially boys.

To my mother, I was the little girl she tried to put in dresses and pink. I wasn't having that, even as young as six I fought against it. She managed to keep me in pink for a few more years, but I refused to wear dresses except on special occasions. Guilt is a very strong force in my mother, it was hard to fight it. Besides, you can't truly climb trees in a dress after all. Her independence was rubbing off on me. I was also her singing buddy. We would drive around, to anywhere really, and just sing. It was usually Anne Murray and this is where I learned to love the craft. I was told I was singing at 2 and I learned harmony at 4. I totally have my mother to thank for that. I still sing everywhere, but especially in the car on the way to somewhere.

I certainly didn't understand all the nuances or the underlying personalities at work in my family at the time. My father was a very sociable kind of person. Sometimes we would sit for an hour or more waiting for him while he had a conversation, sometimes in a car. This was acceptable to me because it had always been. It was very unacceptable to my mother. In addition to always expecting us to be waiting while he did his thing, he wanted a cooked meal when he got home and to sit in "his chair" and watch the news. I don't remember much about my mother catering to his needs, probably because that's just not who she is or was. I do remember that she would generally cook dinner however and it was always super tasty. We were expected to wash up for dinner and eat at the table for so many years. My father would demand I eat all my vegetables and drink my milk and I would have to stay at the dinner table until it was finished. After all there were starving people out there and if I didn't eat all my food, I was causing them harm and letting them down in someway. I hated milk, I refused to drink it because it made me ill. But that didn't matter to my father, what he said went and that was that. Often, I would prolong the drinking of it until he got tired of waiting and would go do his own thing. When he would finally leave, I would hide the milk or sneak to the bathroom or kitchen to pour it out. If my dad had ever caught me, I would have been spanked with a belt. As far as my memory serves, he never did catch me... for that.

There was an instance where the three of us went to a local boot store. The kind which are super common, or were at the time, in Texas and which sell many accessories fit for the modern day cowboy. In those days we wore our names on our t-shirts in large type, bold lettering. It was prime for kidnapping really. 'Hello stranger with candy who knows my name. I guess you really aren't a stranger huh? Sure I'll come with you to your creepy van with no windows.' I was sitting there while one of my parents, I think it was my mother, tried on some boots. I was playing with something on the floor, my brown hair back in a bright hair clip on one side. This drunk and very Southern cowboy sauntered up in his best drunk walk and then leaned down over me and said "You're a pretty little girl. How would you like to come home and cook and clean house for me?" I looked up at him very defiant and replied "My mother is not raising me to cook and clean house." I then went right back to my playing. He sauntered off with a very surprised look on his face. My father was mortified and angry. My mother laughed. I think the reason they weren't gunning for the cowboy is because in 1981, child predators weren't yet as common a thing as they are now and it likely didn't occur to anyone this invite may have been bordering on a psychosis or sociopathic tendency.

To say that I was daddy's little girl would be to say that the sky is blue. He had wanted another little boy, I believe, and the fact that I was so tomboyish was a decent compromise. I took after him in many ways. He was a super technician as far as I was (and am) concerned. There wasn't anything he couldn't fix. He would take me to work, let me 'help him' at his tech bench at home and show me how to do things. I'm not saying I'm a super technician, but I am good with mechanical and technical stuff. I don't have the degree he had however.

Aside from a distinct personality influence, I didn't really have a lot in common with my mother. I liked high places and often tried (sometimes succeeding) to get myself stuck. The huge tree that was in our yard was one such place. That took a huge ladder and some ingenuity on my father's part to get me down. I would sit on the roof, having climbed the 100 ft radio tower sitting a foot or so from the side of our house. This would drive my mom insane. She had nothing to complain about though, I was her independent little girl whether she liked it or not. She was also a caretaker, a trait that I didn't pick up as much as my sister did. When it comes to animals, I'm all about the care taking. People, I'm not as good with. She did teach me a lot about dealing with people different than I. Throughout my whole life, until she retired, she worked for MHMR or Mental Health Mental Retardation services in the various places we lived. She was great at her job and she would generally take me to work after picking me up from school. I learned how to interact with the, then known as 'client', folks who lived in the institution. Their titles have changed over the years but basically it would be the folks who were mentally disabled; most often because of a birth defect. I ended up having a really good friend there in her facility named Jimmy. He was a sweet 16 year old boy with the mind of an 8 year old. He protected me from the other clients and I grew to respect him and others like him. He is someone I will never forget.

I never did know how my father felt about those institutionalized people. I suspect it's because they had nothing to do with him and he tended to be selfish. He was fiercely loyal to people however. At least, from what I knew of him. His friends were his friends and that was how it was. If you crossed his bad side however, beware! He was so passive aggressive I'm not really sure how he managed.

When I was 6, one of my brothers was killed in a car accident. This was my father's son and my father was completely demolished by the loss. I remember waking up to the sound of the phone ringing in the middle of the night and then hysterics. I got out of bed to see what was going on. It was December 21st and my brother had just been killed. I was very close to him and while I didn't exactly understand everything, I felt his loss. It wasn't until a year later that I cried about it all. At the funeral, I was made to stay outside during the viewing of the body. I think that decision by my parents had a profound effect on me because to this day I cannot view a dead body when it's someone I know and loved. I just can't.

My brother from my mothers side lived with us for a while and at one point there was a horrifying altercation between my father and brother in the middle of the night and I was once again woken up. I will never forget what I saw and I lost a little respect for my father that night. I think he resented my brother for still being alive when his son wasn't.

At 8 years old, we moved to Colorado, much to my shy distress. Turns out, that the first year was one of the most unpleasant I can recall, but there was a silver lining. My parents got divorced shortly after ending up in Montrose. I was nine then and I was thoroughly devastated. We had moved and left my school mid-year where I was studying at fifth grade level instead of third grade. I went from an awesome private school to a horrific, biased public school. They refused to let me continue studying at fifth grade level because I was too young and they thought I wouldn't adapt. How wrong they were. That school broke me. It broke me in such a way that I learned how to be "diplomatic" (sort of) and how to deal with hatred and bigotry. Awesome for someone at 8 years old. I came out of my shell there. I was made fun of for being a Texan and saying silly things like "I'm fix'n to" go somewhere or do something as the case may be. Even the teacher treated me like pond scum. I was way ahead of the rest of the class and it felt like she resented me for it. Eventually she came around and awarded me for "Student of the Month" at the end of the year and basically accepted I wasn't trash. But losing my father and mother as one parental unit was so thoroughly heart breaking I had a hard time coping. I managed though and I credit that whole experience as one that built up my strength of character and ability to bounce back. It also got me to a point in life where I stopped caring what others thought of me.

My dad moved to a different city and things continued on, except now it was at two different residences. My mother got custody of me which broke my father's heart. He bought a trailer house out on an acre of land in the country and my mom and I ended up moving to Grand Junction, among the multiple other places we would live. Grand Junction was much more accepting of me, but by then I had lost most of my Texas-isms and my accent. Hate is a cruel but sometimes effective mistress.

As I got older, my father's control and hold on me got tighter. Where my mother afforded me many liberties based on trust, my father apparently didn't believe in this farce and tried to keep me his little tomboy forever. My bed times were ridiculous for a girl my age and boys should never be mentioned!

My father married again, and this time he found the perfect little wife. They actually sprung this marriage on me when I got to my father's house. Oh and I was made a witness as well. I remember calling my mother and crying about it over the phone. This was not a surprise I wanted. The new wife was happy to stay home and cook and clean house for him. Heaven forbid I be visiting and sitting in his chair watching TV when he came home. I was shooed out of the way like a bug and he was treated like a king in his castle. This started engendering a huge dislike in me for my father. Considering he was no longer close with his other daughters, it seems really irrational of him to have treated me this way. I felt like he was holding a grudge against me.

It only got worse. While my mother and I were doing pretty well for two completely different personalities living together, my father and I who had more in common were growing further apart. When I was 12, I was offered the chance to choose whom I lived with. Keeping in mind I was 12 and all I really thought about was school, friends, and fun, my last thought would have been to move again and lose my friends and change schools again, etc. My father, instead of being understanding and supportive was mean about my decision to stay with my mother. Someone forgot to tell him children need stability in their lives. He began being verbally abusive, saying things like I was only living with my mother because she had money. Insinuating that I had no moral standards and I was greedy and selfish. Heaven forbid I wanted to avoid being dirt poor. I chose to be "ok" instead. My mother was not rich, nor did she run off spending loads of money at that time. For him to say something so uncaring, selfish and greedy to his own daughter seemed beyond belief to me. He went on to say many other things to me over the years and with each foul treatment or comment, I started detesting him more.

Teen Drama
At some point we moved to Idaho, my mother and I. Things were much easier for me then overall because I was seeing my father less often since I would have to fly to see him. His plane was broken down so I had to fly commercial and it was expensive back then. My mother was a rock for me and she held me up when I was down, she let me ramble as I was wont to do at times and she sometimes did things for me which make me wonder now if she was trying to make up for my father's horrible behavior.

A few years later, we moved back to Texas and once again I went through the stress of changing schools and friends mid-way through the year. By this time I was a pro at making new friends and no where near as shy as I had been. I was a "skater chick" and I had asymmetrical hair and I wore ridiculously baggy clothing. Let's call this my controlled rebel phase shall we? The super small town we moved to was a host of modern cowboys and farmers and southern small town girls. It was culture shock for me because I had become a city girl. We were also living with my eldest sister (my mother's daughter) and thus, sharing her family's space. It was hard. Once again, I was treated very unkindly by a lot of people. The school housed Junior High and High School. I think that graduating class had about 10 - 15 people in it total and the whole school was host to fewer students than I graduated with at the high school I ended up at. There was one teacher that was awesome and made me feel very welcome and several students there with whom I'm still friends. My mom and I lived in that tiny town for about 8 months before ending up in Austin.

Meanwhile, my father was still in Colorado. With the cow. I saw him a couple of times after moving to Austin. I was a teenager at this point, a sophomore in High School. I went the summer I was 15 to see my father in Colorado. Things were weird and he seemed different. He had suffered a stroke a couple years earlier and he seemed smaller and less himself. I don't think his size had actually changed, he was just... diminished somehow. The stroke had affected his left side and he still wasn't able to smile properly but he seemed to have the rest of his functionality back and he was seemingly just fine. While I was there he suffered from massive headaches, migraines. He tried to pretend nothing was wrong, even while allowing the cow to fawn all over him. I asked him to go to the doctor but he refused to go while I was there. It was during this trip I became most worried about him because he was unable to fix something as simple as my bicycle. This was the man who could fix everything.

One day he wanted me to take a walk with him. He knew that I had been upset with him for a long time and suddenly he wanted me to tell him about it. He said I should tell him anything I wanted. I was confused but I told him to a degree that I was angry with him because he had been so mean. I didn't go into great detail but he apologized and told me that he was sorry for ever hurting me. I found this to be a very unusual transaction. My father rarely thought of others and never acknowledged he was wrong about anything. I went home feeling odd. That was the last time I would ever see him.

It was a little bit after I had returned home to Austin that we got a call from my father. He had been to the doctor and they had found a handful of tumors wrapped around the stem of his brain. They gave him 6 months to live but they were going to do surgery. The surgery seemed successful and the tumors were determined to be "benign". I was struggling to deal with this illness from over a thousand miles away. My father went 8 months before the tumors returned. This time I was called  several days after my father had gone into the hospital thanks to the cow. She was so amazingly selfish she didn't let anyone know. And certainly not in time to allow anyone to come visit. We didn't know it was so incredibly serious that time. She didn't tell us. So I stayed where I was, dealing with the knowledge that my dad was in the hospital and his cancer was back again. She called Wednesday. On Monday I was sitting talking with a friend about my dad's situation. I actually said "I wish he would just die so he won't have to suffer any more." Two hours later I was called out of class. My father had passed away around the time I was saying that statement to my friend. The weight of that has never left me. I felt guilty and horrible and unloving for years because of that. I was angry at the cow because I had asked to speak to my dad the last time I had called and she wouldn't let me speak with him. I had to tell him I loved him through her. I will never forgive her for that. She married someone else 6 months later. I won't forgive her for that either.

During his funeral, I was unable to view the body. I couldn't even get half way across the room. I took one look at him from my vantage point and he didn't look my father. He looked fake and like a weird rubbery doll. I immediately turned on my heels and left the room. I didn't return. My step cow was wearing a yellow dress! It was so disrespectful and horrifying to me. I asked her why and she said she was celebrating him. More like she was celebrating the stuff he left to her and that she could now whore herself to someone else for a comfortable living. If you detect a note of detest here; you wouldn't be wrong. After his funeral, I was sitting to dinner with my mom in a nearby restaurant. I turned to her and said "I wonder what my dad is doing right now". I realized what I was saying and lost it. My mom, as usual was there for me. I'm pretty sure it was "Oh honey" that she said before enveloping me in a hug. A hug I desperately needed.

He died a little under a month before my 16th birthday. I went into a downward spiral after that. I was a complete bitch to everyone I knew. My boyfriend at the time ended up cheating on me. His support was positively amazing. Read that with dripping sarcasm will you. I asked my mother to put me into therapy, I knew I was not myself. Before his death I was a bubbly, non-stop talkative teen girl who hung with the artistic crowd but still got along with all types of people. After his death, I was fairly quiet for a long time, and calculating and just mean. Eventually I came out of it, but I never returned to my former bubbly self. Don't get me wrong, I can still talk the hind leg off a goat, but I'm not like I was at 16.

He is missed. I still detest a lot of the things he did and said but it doesn't mean I stopped loving him or wishing he was still around. If it hadn't been for my mother and her strength throughout my life, I'm quite sure I would have folded. I credit her for being the strong person I have, in turn, become. I credit my father for some of my talents and the fact that these talents have provided a steady income for a long time. To some degree, I can thank my father for my strong will, because if he hadn't pushed me as he did sometimes, I might not have learned to bounce back and deal with the unexpected or unpleasant so well.

Life's Little Lessons (Courtesy of Friends and Family)

From Monday, August 16, 2010

"We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
The past could be undone
But we carry on our backs the burden
Time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
That I've held so dear.

I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so..." - 'Fallen' by Sarah McLachlan

Over the years I have, of course learned a great many things as one might expect (and hope) out of any one person. I can attribute a lot of these things to my family and friends naturally since they are such a large part of my life. Some of them are the most important bits and pieces that have truly stuck with me over time, memories maybe I will always have. Not all are pretty little things, but they are worth remembering because they made the next life changing subtlety or, slap in the face altering moment worthwhile.

As a child I had a friend named Jennifer G. Kind of funny since we shared the same first name and the same last initial. We were practically inseparable. Despite practically living at her house on occasion I still never called her mother, Mom, because I just didn't do that. It just never occurred to me when I was little. But she was a second mom to me and Jennifer was like a sister. We moved away when I was 8, nearly 9. I went back at the age of 11 to visit; meanwhile I had been writing to Jennifer and keeping in contact. She was a "prep"or a "bow-head" if you will and I was merging into "new-age" and wearing a lot of black and other dark colors at the time. She virtually shunned me as politely as she could. Her mother still treated me the same because she was still the same lovely woman she had always been. Jennifer started me on my hatred of not only the prep and bow-head crowds back then, but of blonds. She was only one of about 6-8 blond best female friends I had who did something nasty to betray my trust or friendship and so I developed a huge distrust and a very unhealthy dislike for the fair haired population as a whole because of these 9 or so women. No worries, it wasn't to last forever.

There was my mother who taught me the love of music. We used to drive along in the car on long road trips for instance and we would sing along with Anne Murray or any of the other various artists she loved and I grew up loving. At the age of 6 she taught me harmony (I apparently started singing at 2, probably not well, but there you have it) which lead to even more love and more avenues for us to practice and explore. This blossomed into so much more later when I joined choir in elementary school and the school musical in 5th grade with a lead part, such that they were. I loved them and that's what mattered.

It's pretty safe to say I'm an independent person. That could be putting it mildly, maybe. This is another attribute my mother gave me. I can remember so many conversations with her where I would tell her something and she would just laugh, and looking back now, it was my independence rearing its head pretty hardcore, at four, five, and six and so forth. My father was not amused. Seriously, he was really not amused. He wanted a wife to cook and clean house for him, he didn't get his wish. On top of that his daughter was definitely NOT learning these traits. Oops. One of the funniest stories to illustrate this was when I was around five or six and we were in a boot store, shopping for, what else but cowboy boots. This was back in the day when kids wore their names on their shirts. 'Hi! Wanna kidnap me? Well here's my name. Excellent!' Anyway, a drunk tipsy cowboy was rambling by and paused, tilted his head, looked at my shirt and then me. "Jennifer? That's a pretty name for a pretty little girl. How would you like to come home and cook and clean house for me?" I looked up at him with a blink of my "pretty little lashes" and said "My mommy isn't raising me just to cook and clean house for a man." He looked startled, shrugged and lumbered off. My mom started laughing. My father turned more red than usual and looked thoroughly embarrassed. Yes folks, it started early.

As mentioned above, my mother taught me to love music when I was little. Loving music is beautiful and brings something into our lives that can do so much for so many of us. But, a love for music allows for only so much. My grandfather, Pepaw as we called him, taught me the Joy, and the passion of music. I couldn't help but be swept up in that magical world surrounding him. I remember that for the longest time as I was growing up there was always music on visits. Organs, which I loved to pretend to play, banjos, guitars, singing, etc. And when I got old enough to make my own music, even though it wasn't his style, he still listened and told me how wonderful I was and it was. He has passed now but his memory lives on in me, and the rest of his grandchildren who sing, play or write music.

My sister Vicki has always been the caretaker. She was like a secondary mother to me for a very long time, at least until she had her own kiddos. I always looked up to her. Endlessly she tries to help people. And, while it may end in disappointment I have never seen it stop her. It was she who taught me that trying to save someone was a worthwhile feat. I have tried this with people and I have found (as many have) that unless someone wants to help themselves you can't help them. As this is so, I tend to focus my efforts on animals. Generally, this is much to the chagrin of whomever it is that lives with me, that would make my husband the lucky one now!

It seems most people are of the general thought that young people don't remember things or don't grasp things very well. I think this is quite untrue. When I was six, my brother Scottie was a big influence on me. I can hazily remember sitting on his shoulders and having to duck as we went in through doorways because otherwise I'd smack right into them, face first. He was tall. More than that, he was kind. Even someone as young as I was noticed this. It is a personality trait that draws people in and it worked on me. I haven't always managed to master this skill but I assure you, it is something I have and I have even managed to use it over time here and there, more than folks might know.

Ah, my dear, brother Bryan whose cynicism and sarcasm has certainly had a huge impact on me throughout the years. His intelligence, analytical skills and ability to assess a situation, even though not always accurately, have always made me think twice about things... once I got past my know-it-all stage. So, two years ago, more or less. Just kidding, sometime during my teen years he ripped into me about being a huge know-it-all and made me feel like an idiot. He was younger then too and a little less diplomatic with his baby sister than with everyone else. He has never been the protective brother, willing to beat up guys who messed with me, no I took care of that. He took situations in which I was upset and helped me figure out a different side, a better answer, or perhaps just calmed me down. I have always been a little over the top with my anger and naturally, he knew it. He would gladly laugh at me which would anger me more but now I look back on it, I'm sure it was meant to show me I was over reacting. My whole family is sarcastic but I'm quite sure Bryan and I take the cake on this, at least on my mother's side. I'm very sure my heightened level of sarcasm was learned from my brother and I appreciate every bit of that sarcasm, analyzing, self assessing, the little bit of diplomacy he taught me (the rest came from Apple), and lack of know-it-all-ness I have now thanks to him.

Leann, another of my sisters, really taught me a love of cats. For, if not for her, Frodo would never have come to Bryan as a gift. And I would not have become super attached to Frodo. Instantly at the age of four I was enamored and it was over for Bryan. When he eventually moved out, he didn't take Frodo with him. I know this was mainly because of me. Frodo had become just as attached to me and slept with me nightly, hugging me. Leann also brought her other cats for us to babysit whom I remember were stolen from our house but I will never forget that she introduced me to cats and that because of her I adore them so.

The youngest of my three sisters next to me, Sherri, was my tomboy idol when I was really young. I thought it was so cool that she played sports and did the same things that the boys did. I did these things as well but because she did them, I knew I could too. I often got in fights with little boys because they would tell me I should be playing with dolls instead of cars, or that I couldn't do certain other things because I was a girl. They soon found out how wrong they were. I was empowered by my older sister but she never knew. Of course I had no idea what empowered meant at the time or that I was, but who cares, I was beating up little boys and playing with cars.

This brings me to my niece Mandy. She was the one who started healing my dislike for the fair haired folks. It's very hard to dislike someone you love so much just because of their hair color. It was an irrational dislike of a populace for their hair color in the first place but people are not always rational are they? Unfortunately, I'm pretty positive my dislike had a negative effect on her which I am sorry for; but I am forever glad she grew up and decided it didn't matter what I thought and grew out her beautiful blond hair. It just so happens she is very intelligent, creative and she doesn't play to the stupid stereotype for which I am also happy. I love her spirit and her giving nature and she is so much like her mom, Vicki. Mandy gave me back some of my belief in people.

Jeni, a very good friend of mine has also restored my faith in the fairer haired folk. She started off with light hair and though it has darkened to a very light brown, I count her as one of the intelligent "blonds" since I knew her when she was blond. Ha! She has been a true friend and she has been there for me in a very rough time. She has understood my issues (of which there have been a lot in a little time) and she has been patient. And even when I didn't always have the time to stop and be the best of friends, she was still there. This has restored the rest of my faith in people, the faith that I had lost anyway.

My nephew Matthew has given me a lot to think about. Sometimes you have to forgive and forget. He was my little sweet Matthew as he grew up. He always ran to give me hugs and I can't tell you the kind of joy this gave me. Even as a teenager he still gave me hugs, when you know, it wasn't "cool". Things happened; he fell into some bad stuff as some of us do growing up and even then, even when things were at their worst for him, he pulled himself up, with the help of family, and got himself through it. It wasn't easy, it wasn't quick and I was upset deep down for a while. But I found that as hard as it is, it's sometimes easier to forgive someone of their dumb mistakes than it is to hold on to the upset over it. Not to mention having my own dumb mistakes naturally. I have had plenty. I can't say that about everything, but I can say that about a lot of things now. He has shown me people can be very strong. I think I knew it, but seeing it is often stronger than knowing sometimes.

Polly and Steve, two people who helped me learn to live life in a very small town. They helped me adapt, as well as I possibly could to Krum. I was a skater chick with uneven hair in a town with 2000 people and a school with 50 people in the High School section. It was massive culture shock. I had moved half way through the year from a school with 3000 + people and within a few minutes of arriving it felt like most of the people in my grade knew who I was. It was awful. On top of that they were holding auditions for the school play which I would have adored trying out for but I held back because I was new to the school; and honestly, I had come from places where the new girl didn't get parts. I found out later in drama class if I had auditioned I would likely have made it. Back to Steve and Polly... because of them, I tried new things, things I wouldn't have normally tried previous to moving to Krum. They are two of the best friends I have ever had.

Chris, my husband has taught me a lot. I think the biggest and truest thing he has shown me is real love. We know our limits, we know we mesh, we know that we work well together. At least I know these things to be true. I can't speak for someone else really. Trusting another human with my feelings has been difficult because of the road I have traveled. I have met some very unkind people along the way. Unfortunately Chris has had to deal with some of the walls that went up because of that. I think I can say that most of those walls have come down because of him. I am learning to trust completely, despite personal insecurities and let me tell you people, that is hard! He gets frustrated with me and I can always tell, but because I am me, I make him talk to me and work it out. I never let things just drop because it's not worth holding it in. I know when to pick my battles (mostly) and I feel we have a healthy way of handling things. He's so very clever and funny. Get him and my brother in a room and it's over for my ribs. They will be hurting forever. Well at least for that night, maybe the next day.

The rest of my family through recent re-connections has taught me to open my eyes and see anew. Things change as I well know from my jobs and life in general, mostly from my jobs though. People can grow, and become something different and though you may hold certain expectations you should really look past those because they are often wrong. At least in my case they are. I find that first impressions are not usually correct and it's best to wait 'til second or even third meetings before casting "judgment". Don't get me wrong, I'll still make comments and make fun if I wish of whomever I like, but that doesn't mean I won't feel bad later or change my mind about people I meet. I'm still me after all and I'm nothing if not cynical, nothing if not honest about how I feel about things and nothing if not able to realize I can be wrong. Best of all, I am adaptable.  :*)