It's funny how life has a way of educating you, even when you're not aware.
A few years ago, as a Visiting Teacher, my partner and I were assigned a fast friend. We learned a lot about her aging parents in those visits. Every month there would be more pieces of her desire to be a good daughter against the hardship of caring for their more frequent needs. My partner had also watched with care as her mother battled with cancer that eventually took her life away. Between the two of them, I would sit quietly and listen to their concerns and stories; sometimes smiling and other times shaking my head in awe. I watched their patience, concern, and love for their parents with gratitude. It was a privilege to be in the same room with them. I have thought a lot about those visits and have come to realize that I was there for a reason.
My parents, at the time seemed so much younger and able. I didn't ever put myself in their shoes because I wasn't there yet. But I was aware of every gesture of compassion, or else I wouldn't even remember. It's like I was filling my back pack with the understanding that I might need to pull out for myself someday. Those were sweet days and I value what they taught me, even though I was unaware. As life moves along, those influences of instruction mean more to me every day. I feel I am a better person because I witnessed their examples of courage and faith, that I now know are stored in my back pack of knowledge.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Last Laff
Through the years, our bathroom scale has not been my friend.
If I had a favorite, however, it would be the digital one we had in the 80's. No matter what the weight, if you tipped back on your heals just enough, you could make the little window read a whole pound less. Somehow by playing with the numbers that way, it felt like I was in charge, and not my calorie intake.
About a year ago, we had a big dial one. It was like we were at the state fair at the "strong man" game. We would stand on the platform, which made the dial twirl past numbers we longed for until we could almost hear, "Ding Ding Ding! You win the panda bear!" That scale met its waterloo after one too many suitcases placed on it, in hopes of weighing less than 50 pounds, couldn't take another trip. . . or was it the grandchildren pile up when the glass broke into tiny dangerous pieces?
For my birthday, I acquired yet another scale (I know, insert laughter here!). Definitely not my friend. A digital specimen that would blink through lower numbers, then race to higher ones, and back down again, until it landed on "the weight" it wanted to display. I knew it had a mind of its own and I could almost hear it laugh as I waited for it to decide on a number. I played its game for about a month, getting on it every morning, with my fingers crossed, hoping for a lower number than yesterday. But then, it turned on me. The numbers would fly by, and before landing on a finale, across its little screen would read "laff" That was the straw that broke the camels back. I would still get on, but not because I thought it was helping me, it was because I couldn't believe it was laughing at me. Who has a laughing bathroom scale???
If you think about it long enough, however, the ""laff" was a weakling cry for "battery". The letters were just fading away and all it could produce at the end of its juice, was "laff"; not even a number. But in a crazy way, it did seem to lighten the load of my diet life, by making the journey seem less serious.
Last night we were at the hardware store and there, in front of us were the exact batteries our suffering scale needed. By this time I knew that even though an upgrade would give us a more accurate number, we could better afford a battery for now. So we made the purchase and brought it home to load inside the sorry scale. The last words I heard my husband say, before we drifted off to sleep were, "Did you get on the scale?" I replied, "No. I'm afraid."
This morning I was off to a yearly physical, early. I did my morning walk and proceeded to get ready. The scale taunted me. "Hey, I'm a new scale! Aren't you going to get on? Just try me!" I honestly had not been on since it turned on me months ago. I convinced myself I could feel the difference in my clothes. I didn't need numbers. I walked around it a few times before I caved. To my great surprise, the numbers were a big 10 pounds less than I was before! It was fun to read, but I still didn't trust it. You know how it is when you've been jilted. But I got on again. Wow!
I walked into the doctors office holding my breath. I would be prepared for the worst. I stepped up onto the heavy, iron scale, with the weights that balance, exactly on the ounce of your number. I was excited to get a real reading. . . The nurse read my weight as I shook my head in disbelief. Instead of losing 10 pounds, I had only lost 2! When she ask me to sit down and hold my finger out for a pulse, I'm sure she thought I was mentally retarded. I didn't react to her direction for what seemed like minutes. I was in a fog. I had been betrayed, again by that creepy little scale.
No. Bathroom scales are not my friend. But with this one, I have developed a love-hate relationship. It seems to take the pressure off of weight loss by laughing, and it has a warped personality that makes me smile as I squint my eyes at it with distrust. You just need to add 8 pounds!
If I had a favorite, however, it would be the digital one we had in the 80's. No matter what the weight, if you tipped back on your heals just enough, you could make the little window read a whole pound less. Somehow by playing with the numbers that way, it felt like I was in charge, and not my calorie intake.
About a year ago, we had a big dial one. It was like we were at the state fair at the "strong man" game. We would stand on the platform, which made the dial twirl past numbers we longed for until we could almost hear, "Ding Ding Ding! You win the panda bear!" That scale met its waterloo after one too many suitcases placed on it, in hopes of weighing less than 50 pounds, couldn't take another trip. . . or was it the grandchildren pile up when the glass broke into tiny dangerous pieces?
For my birthday, I acquired yet another scale (I know, insert laughter here!). Definitely not my friend. A digital specimen that would blink through lower numbers, then race to higher ones, and back down again, until it landed on "the weight" it wanted to display. I knew it had a mind of its own and I could almost hear it laugh as I waited for it to decide on a number. I played its game for about a month, getting on it every morning, with my fingers crossed, hoping for a lower number than yesterday. But then, it turned on me. The numbers would fly by, and before landing on a finale, across its little screen would read "laff" That was the straw that broke the camels back. I would still get on, but not because I thought it was helping me, it was because I couldn't believe it was laughing at me. Who has a laughing bathroom scale???
If you think about it long enough, however, the ""laff" was a weakling cry for "battery". The letters were just fading away and all it could produce at the end of its juice, was "laff"; not even a number. But in a crazy way, it did seem to lighten the load of my diet life, by making the journey seem less serious.
Last night we were at the hardware store and there, in front of us were the exact batteries our suffering scale needed. By this time I knew that even though an upgrade would give us a more accurate number, we could better afford a battery for now. So we made the purchase and brought it home to load inside the sorry scale. The last words I heard my husband say, before we drifted off to sleep were, "Did you get on the scale?" I replied, "No. I'm afraid."
This morning I was off to a yearly physical, early. I did my morning walk and proceeded to get ready. The scale taunted me. "Hey, I'm a new scale! Aren't you going to get on? Just try me!" I honestly had not been on since it turned on me months ago. I convinced myself I could feel the difference in my clothes. I didn't need numbers. I walked around it a few times before I caved. To my great surprise, the numbers were a big 10 pounds less than I was before! It was fun to read, but I still didn't trust it. You know how it is when you've been jilted. But I got on again. Wow!
I walked into the doctors office holding my breath. I would be prepared for the worst. I stepped up onto the heavy, iron scale, with the weights that balance, exactly on the ounce of your number. I was excited to get a real reading. . . The nurse read my weight as I shook my head in disbelief. Instead of losing 10 pounds, I had only lost 2! When she ask me to sit down and hold my finger out for a pulse, I'm sure she thought I was mentally retarded. I didn't react to her direction for what seemed like minutes. I was in a fog. I had been betrayed, again by that creepy little scale.
No. Bathroom scales are not my friend. But with this one, I have developed a love-hate relationship. It seems to take the pressure off of weight loss by laughing, and it has a warped personality that makes me smile as I squint my eyes at it with distrust. You just need to add 8 pounds!
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