Feeling big and bold but not beautiful

Monday morning—Gah!

What to do first?

Wash clothes?

Watch out for the black hairy dime-sized spider Will said he saw scampering around the machine.

Sweep floors?

The crumbs accumulate with astonishing alacrity, along with tiny toys, paper scraps, unmatched socks and Barbie clothes that seldom cover the dolls’ unrealistic body parts but often end up in the laundry, adding to the already overwhelming piles (with spiders lurking around in them, apparently).

File paperwork?

What a relentless, onerous task—even though I’ve signed up for every paperless statement imaginable, my mailbox still fills with the compressed pulp of tree carcasses demanding an answer, or a check, or a decision to recycle the envelope for the umpteenth time.

Sort my wardrobe?

That swarming smattering mass of textiles ranging from size 12 to 22, with maternity clothes mixed in—about half of them well-intentioned offerings of formerly pregnant friends whose bodies at 9 months with child were still slimmer than mine at 15 weeks along.

Last week I read a blog entry by a friend of a friend of a friend who wrote that she felt most beautiful at 8 months pregnant. She testified that she had received more compliments in recent weeks—for her “belly bump” and her “glow”—than ever before in her life.

And I thought: Ha! Pregnancy, while miraculous and wonderful in many ways, wears well on women who start out thin and then gain their perfect 25-35-pound weight allotment primarily around the middle, from whence their adorable “baby bump” will diminish to pancake flatness within weeks following the delivery of their child.

On women like me—born big and seemingly destined to remain so—the baby bump only presses out the flab at first and pregnancy proceeds to pack on double the recommended poundage, not only on my abdomen, but also on my bottom, hips, thighs, ankles, arms, wrists, neck and earlobes. I’m not bitter—it’s just...

Monday morning—Gah!

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Another Sabbath Slumber: Super Bowl Sunday Edition

Dear Sunny Sunday,
You are cold but beautiful
and deliciously sluggish.
I am cheered by your brilliance,
calmed by your slowness,
satisfied by your fullness—
not hurried and harangued,
nor stressed, pressed, and “duressed”
from so many sides—
but freed to breathe…and sigh…and wait,
for nothing in particular.
(What “Super Bowl”?)

Sabbath Slumber

Sleep seems somehow thicker

On a Sunday afternoon

When the world awaits,

Upon my waking,

Not with work,

But with more blessed rest.

Flattery and non-flattering clothes

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” right? Well, I was flat-out flattered when my fellow blogger Barb (also an A-Town native) copied my “Preferences” post at The Jester’s Needle last week. So this week, I’m gonna copy her copying idea by mimicking this list from Parton Ponderings, a blog by another A-Town original, Rachel. (By the by, relating to my “Small Town Stuff” post, Rachel is a first cousin of my college roommate Beth. Also, my “Will” was Rachel and Doug’s wedding photographer.) Here’s the list:

Recently, I’m…

Reading: Not much of anything besides my morning Scriptures (I would surely go mad without the Book of Psalms). Some baby name books. A feeble attempt at my book group’s most recent selection. Coming up: The Help, by Kathryn Stockett.

Listening: Brenda Tremblay on WXXI FM 91.5, plus this hilarious and delightful compilation of songs from my youth, played in bluegrass style: “Pickin’ and Singin’: The Biggest Hits of the 1980s, Vol. 1.”

Watching: Little House on the Prairie, Seasons 6 & 7 (borrowed from our local library).

Cooking: Mexican concoctions—making them up as I go.

Wearing: Clothes in the nebulous No Man’s Land between my regular size and the sizeable maternity wardrobe I have recently acquired from generous friends. Basically, nothing fits correctly these days. (I know, I know: Get used to it.)

Wishing: I could afford to go to London.

Thinking: I am very, very fortunate to have easy access to clean drinking water (and many more amenities).

Craving: Grapefruit. I’ve been purchasing, peeling and partaking of a grapefruit or 2 almost every day since Christmas.

Digging: Pearl’s new outfits from Grandma B. The flare leg pants are groovy.

Excited about: Going to see my friend Jess and her hubby Elton.

Laughing at: The sight of Pearl playing Wii Boxing.

Hoping: Everything will turn out all right for the non-profit agency where I work. (Times are tight—very, very tight.)

Annoyed with: The middle-of-the-night potty trips my body demands, only to leave me wide awake for hours to come.

Feeling bad: About the über-unorganized state of our household paperwork.

Working: A day at a time, a week at a time—all the while exceedingly grateful for the extraordinary graciousness of my colleagues.

Loving: God, family, friends, and A-Town (of course).

"Small Town" by Philip Booth

From Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac this morning. (Thanks to my friend Leena for alerting me.)

Small Town
by Philip Booth

You know.
The light on upstairs
before four every morning. The man
asleep every night before eight.
What programs they watch. Who
traded cars, what keeps the town
moving.
The town knows. You
know. You've known for years over
drugstore coffee. Who hurts, who
loves.
Why, today, in the house
two down from the church, people
you know cannot stop weeping.

Annie and friends and the stuff of small towns

Twenty-one years ago, I played the part of Pepper (sounds like “picked a peck of pickled Peppers”) in the A-Town H.S. production of the musical Annie. Twenty years ago, I played third horn in the All-County Band. Two decades later (and 2 nights ago), I took Vi and friend to see Annie at my alma mater Roberts Wesleyan (where playing horn in the Wind Ensemble was among the highlights of my college experience). The orphans hard-knocked our socks off and Daddy Warbucks was portrayed splendidly by Jeff Wilson, my All-County and Roberts Wesleyan horn section mate. What a delightful performance! I do love live theater (of the family-friendly variety). And I cherish connections—delicious, deep-rooted connections to this area and its people.

That was kind of complicated and convoluted, wasn’t it? But that’s the way these associations tend to work. “I knew So-and-so from 4^th grade and ended up being suitemates with her cousin in college, and then So-and-so’s brother ended up marrying my next-door neighbor.” That was a bad example. I should have used a real one. Here’s an actual for-instance that came up just the other day: The stepfather of my best friend from 6^th grade through college passed away last week. I went to calling hours Thursday evening but then decided to refrain from attending the funeral on Friday because I had Pearl with me and didn’t trust her to stay sufficiently silent during a solemn service. Late Friday afternoon, Vi and I went for haircuts at our favorite salon down the street. During the course of our usual salon chair chit-chat, I came to understand that my friend’s stepfather had been the uncle of my hairdresser’s husband. See? The real ones are even more convoluted than the made-up ones. “Truth is stranger than fiction,” said Twain.

Here’s to A-Town! Here’s to Karin! Here’s to Life!

Karin would not have let this happen! I allowed the first anniversary of Life in A-Town (January 15^th) flit by with no notice whatever. My cousin, in whose memory and honor I began this blog, was a record keeper and datebook historian of the highest order. She remembered significant occasions of so many kinds…and of varying significance: birthdays and wedding anniversaries (of course), but also engagement days and pet acquisitions, friendship firsts and children’s milestones. Almost every day was a day to celebrate something. I knew this about her even though I didn’t know her very well. And when she passed away so swiftly in December 2008 (December 15^th, to name the date), I learned how much “the moments”—the big and small stuff of life—meant to her. Her friends and family reflected at length, with admiration, appreciation, and good-humored affection, her habit of marking the days.

And why not? Life is full of gifts and graces worth noticing. It’s one of many poignant lessons I brought back from North Carolina where we said goodbye to Karin…until we meet again.

So, by the by, today marks 12 weeks of gestation for our newest family member. Only 28 more weeks (give or take a few days) until we welcome him or her to this wonderful world.

By the by, part 2: My sister and brother-in-law had Life in A-Town published as a Christmas present for me! It’s a yearbook like none other, Life in A-Town 2009, and I cherish it. In case anyone else is interested in obtaining a copy, contact me or my sister via email or Facebook, and you can buy an A-Town yearbook of your very own. (This is, of course—you know me—a not-for-profit “advertisement.”)