read write run

It really has been a couple of weeks, hasn’t it? Just shows how time can get away from you when you really, truly decide to procrastinate.

I’ve been dressing up my model again and  there she is, yet again, dressed in black. It’s a funny thing, how used you get, to always wearing black. To always thinking it’s going to help, because, yeah, I look like a size 10 when I wear black. Right? I guess if I can find a deep enough shadow then no one will notice me.

Here’s the truth: I’m waiting for the weight to come back. I mean, it’s always come back before. Last time, it was Weight Watchers. I did it at home and followed their plans to the T. Cooked all the recipes and lost weight. Magically lost weight. Got down to about 94 kgs and didn’t I think I was it and a bit! I was never going to get back into triple figures again. No way. Not me. You just watch. Yeah. Stuck on near enough to 20 kilos after that little effort.

But this time it won’t come back. This time it goes away and stays away.

Forever.

So I need to dress in pretty stuff.

This is what I put on my model today:

Isn’t that so much nicer! Okay, it’s still a fantasy because she’s wearing light colours and I go from 0 to filthy in 0.3 seconds, but it’s a nice fantasy. So I’m aiming for cool and pretty clothes this spring and summer, and I know it’s coming true. I know it as a fact, even if emotionally it hasn’t worked its way through all my layers yet.

This is the story of pants:

I hate my work uniform. Honestly, it sucks. It was made by fairies, for fairies. And by fairies, I mean people who think they’re having an off day when their size 8 is a little loose. The sizes are tiny and the fit is tight. TIGHT. Even the little slender people at work complain that they have to wear 2 sizes larger than normal. They are also a bloody horrible fit. They’re those awful kind of pants that show off your whole arse when you bend over. Or, in my case, show off all your underwear, because I do NOT go to work commando-style. But that’s not the worst thing about my uniform. Worse was that at some stage I managed to split the seam in the pants so that there is a gaping hole right in the middle of the backside. Oh, such a great look that I’m sure I must have done when I foolishly bent over at some stage.

Now, being the lazy, yet optimistic person that I am, I have never repaired that split. Partly because I suck at sewing, partly because I was worried that the bloody thing would just split again, only worse, and partly because I didn’t want to waste the time when I had every intention of getting smaller and not needing those pants any more. Instead, I wore black undies and no one ever noticed. Or if they did, they were too polite to mention it.

Those pants had been feeling a trifle baggy over the past few shifts, so when I came home from work last week, I decided to try something. I left those pants done up and I pulled. They came down. Down over my sticky-out arse and down over my fat thighs. Down to the floor and out. Yeah. I was doing the no-pants dance. Proof positive that the scales aren’t lying. That something is happening. That real changes are here to stay.

Isn’t this gerbera lovely? CrimeWeaver had a book launch last week. She edited and contributed to a cookbook that also included stories about how the recipes had been found, created, shared in families, or sometimes just growed. It was a lovely day, and many of the ladies who’d contributed to the book got up and read their stories. I even rated a mention in CW’s story because she is a vegetarian and loves to make fritattas from the eggs provided by my chooks.

It’s got quite funny around the garden lately. Every time Beloved goes out there, Boris, our Isa Brown hen, has to come and help. She’s figured out that when he’s there with a spade, he’s likely to uncover some goodies for her. I do love having a chookie helper in the garden. Our tomatoes are doing well and it looks to me as if Illya Kuryakin, my Black Russian tomato will be the first to fruit. Go Illya

The best news is that the taddies have hatched. I went to look, staring down into the somewhat murky water and wondering where the frogspawn had gone. Then I saw them, hanging like commas in sunlit patches of the pond’s sides. The frog must be so happy.

The worst news is that our mango tree has died. In just a couple of days it’s gone from looking like a nice little tree to looking like a battered stick. Something clearly did away with it. Now, I know it wasn’t either of those troublemakers, Betty and Stella,

because they are forbidden access to that garden. I suspect it was some kind of six or eight legged pest. Now the question – do I replace it? Must find out the culprit before I really can. But I do love mangoes and having a tree was part of my dream of abundance. The one that’s just died was one of last year’s Christmas trees (I decided it was a “greener” idea to have a tree that wasn’t just live, but live and productive.)

Heh heh, yeah, m3at49, I’ve shaved my head before. It mainly started because I had the world’s most awful haircut and couldn’t afford to do anything about it. We had a set of clippers here that Beloved used for his beard and I knew that nothing I did could be worse than what I already had. At least my hair would be short enough to wear a hat if I had to. But it looked good, and because my hair is so thick, it was nice to pat, too. I have a nice, round head. Very Charlie Brown.

I’ve got a sort of “progress” page on the blog. Mostly it’s got a photo of me designed for scaring small children. guess I should do some measurements and put them there along with the ticker (do love those tickers). I spend a lot of my time hiding from the camera. Will have to get used to sometimes letting Beloved take my photo so that I can put it here to share with you all.

It’s Radio Boy’s 22nd birthday next Saturday and he’s here for the whole week. It’s so nice to have him home. I must tell him that, instead of yelling at him and nagging. I am so lucky to live here, to have my family. On Saturday RB’s school friends were having a reunion. I was standing on our verandah, enjoying the balmy spring evening, listening to parties all across the valley and thinking how lucky I am and what a wonderful place to live.