ALL the pants!

The weight loss journey is full of ups and downs (so to speak). A couple of years ago, I was going horseback riding in Glacier National Park, and one of the facts I had to enter on my reservation form was my weight. These things seem unrelated, but unfortunately, when I originally signed up for the trip, rather than my ACTUAL weight, I entered my goal weight. Seemed like terrific incentive at the time. Less so, after I later had to admit … “Uhhhh … I’m gonna need a bigger horse.”


Now, I’m getting ready to go on my extreme adventure, and I’m at it again. I’ve been on Weight Watchers for several months, and while there continues to be, quite literally, many ups and downs, the trend is downward. For the last couple of years, I have made extensive use of leggings, stretchy skorts, and comfy maxi skirts. Deep in my closet, structured pants collected dust.

Last night, I decided to give it a go.

Reluctantly, I tried on the first pair of dusty pants, and they FIT! Eyes round, my mouth in a surprised “o”, I tried the second. They fit, too! And a third. I whispered, “all the pants”. This continued for the fourth, fifth, sixth pair of pants. By living alone, I am free to fully express myself in the privacy of my own home. In this case, I likely saved someone a call to the psychiatric ward, as I danced in my closet, wildly giggling and shouting, “ALL THE PANTS!” over and over.

All this time, I didn’t know. I didn’t need stretchy fabric. I didn’t need to go shopping. I just needed to eat lettuce!

Little Blue Pills

August 18, 2016: United States Postal Service PSA: do not, under any circumstances, open mail or packages that are left in your mailbox, without thoroughly examining the recipient name.

To save money, I get my prescriptions by mail order. I received one yesterday, which was a little puzzling, since they typically let you know they’re coming, and I hadn’t received a notification. Hmm. Must have gone to my SPAM folder. Multi-tasking, while on the phone with my mom, I opened my mail. Oh. The. Horrors. The prescription was delivered to the wrong address. And I can’t unsee what was in that benign-looking white envelope. Viagra. My elderly, white-haired, sometimes terse, always tidy neighbor with the much younger German girlfriend has been getting BUSY.

Had this happened with any other piece of mail or package, I would have immediately hand-delivered it with a profuse apology for mistakenly opening the package. Instead, in the darkness of night, I left it on the doorstep. I’ll never look at him quite the same way again. But hey … you GO, neighbor.

Little stinker

July 23, 2016: My niece and I are off hiking this weekend. I thought it would be a great opportunity to teach her about important things you should carry on such endeavors. I got my pack ready. Later, I lifted it, and it was significantly heavier than the last time I picked it up. Checked it out, and it had been loaded with rocks. So while I was working on teaching Izzy about the ten essentials, she was working on teaching me about “super cool stuff you collect”. And sneak in to your Aunt’s pack. Little stinker. I adore her.

Joe’s Bar and Grill people

April 26, 2016: I have very, very vivid dreams. It’s like going to the movies every night, where you don’t know the plot before going in. Last night, I got a full upper-body tattoo with sayings like “My people are Joe’s Bar and Grill people” and other graffiti-like markings. Some even glowed in the dark! I got annoyed with my dad for climbing Mt. Rainier by himself, and I kissed a handsome, inappropriately young man. What a night!

Brown sugar

June 26, 2015: I love my ‘hood. Where else can you call your neighbor to borrow a cup of brown sugar … at 10:30 at night … to have her say, “yes, I have some, but you’ll need to come get it. I’m in my underwear.” So I go over. In my pajamas. Our other neighbors drive up. They’ve been at the hospital, in the early stages of labor. So there we stand … one in pajamas, one in a trench coat, one in labor, and the fourth, just shaking his head.



November 22, 2014: Hung around weed all morning, getting buzzed. In the 70s, this would have meant something totally different. Today, it meant getting my garden winter-ready while ducking dive-bombing, territorial hummingbirds.