Is This You? Time to Wait on Weight

Yes, there are those among us that never seem to worry about what size to pick up when shopping for new jeans. They usually just pick a pair of size 10 or my stars a size 0. While I in my life I grab at least a 12 and work up from there. We shall not even talk about tops, aarrgghh. However, I have recently seen this posted here and there from my silly friends on Facebook, “I don’t want to brag. But I can still fit into the earrings I wore in high school.” Or gloves, or socks. But not jeans and tops. 

Now though it is turning a bit nippy. So out they come, the flannel shirts.

Of course, again I have heard that most people look good in their stylish flannel shirts. They are all so soft and comfy. That warmth you feel when you pull one out of the dryer. Is that not the best? Well, when I grab my well-worn covers of plaid cotton warmth to cover and keep me toasty? I look more like a “fell tree” rather than Woodsy the Woodsy-woman on the cover of the Christmas L.L. Bean catalog. 

But! Yes a flannel covered “but.” I happily can say I can still fit into the flannel shirts hanging in my closet, that have kept me warm for more years than I have been writing “Is This You?” And I am coming up on eleven years of these stories! My favorite really isn’t in any shape to be seen by anyone but me. Now, come on we all have “that one” shirt we just cannot part with.

The days are cooling off here. The longer and cooler nights are sometimes making us consider actually putting a blanket on the bed, other things are starting to be commonplace too. Soup, scarves, polishing and waxing up the snow shovel—and snow boards and skis. That roast way in the back of the freezer is looking like it might make a good dinner, then stew, then sandwiches. 

One thing most of us consider is our health. Some to the nth degree and some, me included, think of health in passing. Somewhere towards the center of the universe we all meet up when it comes to health. We all get scared when the Big C is discussed. We giggle when someone tells a story of an ER visit that turns out to be something quite embarrassing. We all have either told or heard those stories. 

Note to self: Holidays are coming up, time to bring up those stories.

Now though, now that we are beginning the slide to the end of the year it’s the weight topic that flits in our minds. How can I not eat every morsel of goodness Aunt Sadie brings. Or glug up an extra Tom & Jerry. Oh, and the tail-gate parties that even happen in living rooms around the football season gatherings.

I like to think I am very aware of each cookie or salami and cheese piled cracker that ends up in my pie hole. I like to think I am. But all cards on the table. (Oh, playing cards with popcorn with extra butter is the best.) Cards on the table here, I have a tendency to wait on worrying about the weight of the season. 

I am pretty sure I am not alone in this. Oh yes, there will always be that danged little guy in my brain, banging his hammer on my pituitary gland (PG.) You know that gob of gland in our head that influences body weight through normal hormonal releases. I rather think that my brain knows what I need—uh want. It does seem, however, that the relation between body weight and the PG’s co-activities with other brain regions remains unclear. Oh, that’s the story of my life. My left brain never knows what my right brain is thinking. Until it’s too late. In other words, “The cookie is happily already in the building.”

I commend anyone who has struggled, is struggling with, or sees a loved one tipping the scale too far to the right. I am your people. I, over the years though, have often waited from the end of October to after the first of the year to discuss or worry about weight. My medical provider just shook her head. I felt the butterfly wings of her tiny self.

The younger you are the more your life may revolve around this subject. The older I get the more my life seems to revolve around waiting on weight and spending more time razzing my friends and squishing into a pair of jeans too small. But, buying a pair just a titch bigger. 

Trina lives in Diamond Valley, just North of Eureka, Nevada. Her funny books are available on her website, www.theeurekacountystar.com or email her at [email protected]

Really!