Run?

I completely forgot what I was planning on writing about in my last entry about follow through (aside from my haircut)!  You see, last month when I was in Indiana, I was hopeful.  I was motivated.  I even downloaded an app on my phone.

I was going to run.

It seemed so possible back then.

Of course, optimism seems to rise when the temperature is a high of 85 degrees with a lovely breeze.

Then I came back to Southwest Florida and the humidity hit me, a hot, balmy, reality check.  I don't even want to walk in this weather.  I feel like my whole body slows down.  Mowing last week literally almost did me in.  And I don't mean 'literally' in the overused for exaggeration purposes.  I mean 'literally' in the "I had to stop multiple times from dizziness, couldn't drink enough water, blacked out in the shower afterwards" sense.

So, running was out.  At least until January.  So I thought, "I'll buy a bike!"  So I found myself a simple used bike with every intention of starting a new routine.  Insomnia woke me up early so I decided I would go for a ride.  I glanced at the weather - 78 degrees!  Wonderful!  Oh wait, what is that?  Feels like?  It was "feels like" 92 degrees!  At 7:30 in the morning!  Sigh.  I'm probably still going to do it, but uuugghh.  

No girl should ever have to choose between being overweight and heatstroke!

follow through

As I've gotten older, I've noticed that I talk out my ideas.  When I say, "I think I will audition for a play" or "I think I'm going to make a skirt out of a men's dress shirt" or "I think I'll cut off all of my hair," what I mean is that I've thought of an idea and I'm throwing it out there so I can process.

I'm afraid people may think I'm a bit of a flake when I don't end up doing even half of the things I say I will .  I love a good idea.  And I get interested in far more things than I could ever hope to accomplish.

But every once in a while I actually do one of the things I say I will.

Before:

And After!:

Now the question remains - will I make that skirt or audition for that play or recover my dining room chairs or mow the lawn or put in plants in the front yard or use mason jars for everything or make every recipe I see or start a bakery or become a public speaker or ....  

Fern and Leon

You know a story is going to be sweet when the main characters are named Fern and Leon.

And this is the real kind, not made up.  Although I may someday write a children's book with main characters by those names.  Because I'm smitten.

On Saturday I was struggling with our little lawn mower to try to mow a few weeks' worth of grass and weeds.  I'm not exactly known for my physical prowess, so I was struggling a bit.  Every few minutes I had to stop and dump grass clippings.  

Then slowly a white car pulled alongside my yard and stopped.  The window came down and a white haired man hollered at me, "You look like you have your work cut out for you!" 

I wasn't really in the mood for commentary, but I looked up and put on my brave face and told him I was doing the best I could.  He and his wife told me that they lived two doors down and began to make small talk with me about being from the midwest and whether I was of British descent.  They told me their names, Leon and Fern, and I told them mine.  

Then very conclusively Leon told me that he had a great riding mower and that they were going to the store but afterwards ("If it's not raining," said Fern) I'll come here and mow your yard for you.  I tried in vain to talk him out of it, but it was settled.  He told me that I would still have to do trim, but that he would be back. ("And if it rains, he'll come tomorrow," said Fern).  

He was.  A white haired angel on a riding mower.  I had mowed for an hour and half already.  I think it easily would have taken me another 5-6 hours to finish.  What a blessing he was.  

As Fern put it, "We're neighbors now, we might as well get to know each other."  I'm just excited that I have neighbors like Leon and Fern.  

pithy little complaints

I made beignets Monday night.  Pillowy, doughnutty, wonderfulnesses.  Yes, I am aware that every word in my last sentence is made up.

 These aren't mine.  I forgot to take a picture of mine.  These are Paula Deen's.  But they don't have butter in them.  Go figure.  So - one of these days I'll remember that I have a fancy phone now with a camera and I will take pictures of such things.  Someday.

The oil popped when I was making them, however, and my face and hand are now graced with some tiny burns.

And honestly?  I'm just a little put out that my two little face burns look like zits and my hand burn looks like a big ole wart!  It is really nothing to complain about, but as a card-carrying girl, I just don't like it.

Oh my prec!

Preciousness.  I wish I had my camera with me all the time when I was up north.  I met 5 brand new babies and several of my friends' older kids for the first time.  Silly me to not get any of them on camera!  Some of them did, so I'm hoping that slowly but surely I'll get some pictures.

I did, however, get pictures of my nieces and nephews.

surprised by lilies

gathering for Grandma's table

learning from Uncle Craig

getting the hang of it

sweet sassy molassy

bubblegum, bubblegum, in a dish

sweet cousins, matching bangs

intent on his next move

blessed to be family

Fine Lines and Acne

There is something I've noticed in the mirror lately.

Little tiny lines around my eyes.  No, not the ones when you smile - the ones that stay after you smile.  Also, huge honking zits, that keep showing up in the oddest places.  Teenage zits are respectable, they come in normal places, like your forehead and nose.  Late 20's zits? Totally unpredictable.  Farthest corner of my jaw?  Check.  Near my ear?  Check.  Inside my nose?  Really?  And yes, Check.

I've decided that if there is ever a book to be written about this stage of my life it has to be called "Fine Lines and Acne - Negotiating Your Late 20's/Early 30's."  Did anyone ever warn me about this?  I clearly wasn't listening.

There are many quirky things about this era.  I always thought that erm...shape shifting...would occur after I had babies.  I am now convinced that this happens regardless of babies.   Gray hair, curves, and fine lines all seem to be taking their rightful place on me.  I "can't eat what I used to."  Of course, I still do - but I am sure that somewhere 16 year old Abby is in shock at the hips on 28 year old Abigail.

Yet, I have a face that still fools people into believing I am in high school.  Ticket takers are rarely close enough to see these little lines creeping in on my face and those few stray gray hairs.  And today, when trying to wrangle my pre-haircut hair into something manageable, I came up with braids.  Two of them.  Surely there is a hairstyle out there that would make me look older than 14?  But do I want it?

You see I can't decide if I want to look older or younger.  I'm not wishing my youth away.  I still hope to be a blushing bride someday.  But I have no desire to be a teenager again.  Those days are gone.  (I wish the acne was too!)   My body clearly can't decide either.  Hence the fine lines.  And the acne.