It's Fall Festival Time!!

In Evansville, the first full week of October means one thing to the majority of the populace:  the Fall Festival.  Now, I've heard it said, and will pass it along here even though I don't know if it's true, that Evansville's Fall Festival is the 2^nd largest street fair/festival thingee after Mardi Gras.

 

I do not generally go to the Fall Festival and I have friends who are just shocked everytime they invite me and I tell them no thanks.  Post-op, now they assume it's because I can't eat what all they serve down there.  But no, I'm sure I could eat a lot of the food there.  I just do not like 1) large crowds; second, eating standing up; and C) paying highway robbery prices for bizarre food. 

 

The first time I went was as a child… probably 8 yrs old.  I know Holly and Haley were there so it was before they graduated high school.  There was food, there were rides, and 3 billion people!  I don't recall, but I assume I had a good time but I never really had a desire to go again.  Been there, done that, you know. 

 

Now, post-high school, my friend Karen insisted it was the most fabulous event on earth.  She would save an entire week of her vacation time from work to take the first week of October.  She would be down there every day.  Against my better judgment, she convinced me to go with her one afternoon – meaning it probably wasn't even all that crowded.  The Fall Festival that year was where I won the monkey in the picture with Dad that was a part of my October 5^th Blog entry.  The monkey is the one on the left. 

 

Then about seven years later, another friend, regular Rambling's reader Rebecca (Becky), convinced me to go with her one evening luring me in with talk of the world's best chicken and dumplings.  Wrong!  My mother's chicken and dumplings are the world's best.  Sigh..

 

And there have been a few (VERY few) times that I've been suckered into going with the gang for lunch over the years.  One time that stands out in my memory, Jennifer found a $20 bill on the ground as we walked from the car to the madness.  I was jealous, but she bought us each something with it, so I got over it.

 

Last year, mom and I had to go down there to the bank to meet about our mortgage application during Fall Festival week.  Afterwards, we purchased and split a celebratory cupcake from the booth directly outside the bank.

 

For the past several years… I think this year is #3, or maybe #4.. hmm… yeah, it's #4, or #5....  Anyway, I've "volunteered" to go to the Life Choice Center two blocks from Franklin Street and the madness, to help de-bone chicken for dumplings (again, not as good as my mothers, but the people who make them seem to think that the person making them was given the recipe by God Himself) and make piggy toes (cocktail wienies, wrapped in bacon, covered in brown sugar, and baked until they are caramelized and wha-ha-ha they are good).  I could eat my weight in piggy toes.  I mean, they're meat and sugar.  What's not to love!?  I guess I can't eat my weight in them this year.  Too bad.

 

Life Choice is a home for unwed mothers in our church's former church building.  Mom and I will be there at 8 am on Saturday.  We'll get a primo parking spot which, a few short hours later, people would be willing to PAY for, and we'll go wrap those wienies!  At noon, we'll reward the person who just happens to be weaving down 12^th Avenue at that moment with the parking spot and we'll go home.

 

Meanwhile, where is Ashley with the deep-fried Thin Mints she was going to get me!?

Status Update

I know that the blog-fans... Ramblers?... hmm... I'll have to come up with a name for you.  Anyway, I know that those of you who are NOT on Facebook.  Ok, probably just Becky.  Asks for photographic updates on my progress periodically because they (Becky) do not get to see the pics on FB. 

 

So the above picture was taken this morning.  Yesterday was Week 23 (1 week away from 6 months! - assuming my math is correct...)  And I'm at 98 pounds.  Frankly, I've been there for a couple of weeks, but it's ok.  I'm feeling great.  Still doing my walk/jogging despite it being DARK in the mornings when I get ready to set out. 

 

I actually purchased (because yes, they fit... VERY tightly, but they fit) size 14/16 pants a couple of weeks ago.  I ought to try them on again to see how they fit now. 

 

I have no warm sweaters and I get cold easily since I've lost a lot of insulation.  So I'm either going to have to go shopping for sweaters or raid Mom's closet, or both!

 

I've been letting my hair grow out, because I want to see what I'll look like skinny and with long blond hair.  (Remember, I grew up in the 70's, so Farrah Fawcett is there in the back of my mind and I want to look like her!)  But with the hair loss (and I confirmed this with my doctor) and the protein loss over the whole Scotland/appendix event, my hair is of a straw-like texture, so I had mom chop off a couple of inches of crappy scarecrow hair and now it's looking pretty good.  I have bangs that, when they hang straight, go to my lips!  Maybe by the end of the year they'll be even with the rest of it!

 

Ok, so that's my update at the moment.  I've settled nicely into my routine, getting all of my protein, calcium and vitamins in.  I struggle daily with getting enough liquids in, but that'll probably be the usual from now on.

 

Almost six months in, I'm very happy with my progress and have NO regrets from my surgery.  I appreicate everyone's prayers for me, interest in my progress, and compliments.  I'm pretty sure I will NEVER get tired of hearing how good I'm looking. 

They Say It's Your Birthday!

Today is my father's birthday.  He would be 71 years old.   (Is that right?... 2011-1940.. yeah, that's right.)  The picture above is one of my favorites.  Dad is the one on the right.

 

I've been thinking of him a lot in the past few months.  I think it all started when Mom made the comment that Dad would think her using some of their retirement money on my surgery would be well worth it.  That, of course, made me cry. 

 

Then whenever I was feeling blue, post-op, she'd tell me that she was proud of me, and I'd cry.  She'd tell me that Dad was proud of me, and I'd smile through the tears.  She'd tell me that Sophie and Gizmo were proud of me, and I'd have to laugh at that!

 

There was a gentleman at our church, Lloyd.  He knew and respected Dad.  Lloyd would frequently tell me how much he was praying for my success at the weight loss and that he knew Dad was up in heaven happy for me.  Lloyd passed away last week.   He was like 93 years old, I think, and he'd been going downhill for the past several weeks and his children had to sit by and watch it happen.  I'm grateful that if Dad had to go, he went like he did.  I didn't get a chance to visit Lloyd in the hospital before he died.  I know it's silly, but I wanted to go and visit him and ask him to say "Hi" to Dad for me.

 

Then yesterday evening, I'm sitting at home, logged onto Facebook, killing zombies and I get a notice that one of my friends (not someone I actually know, obviously) posted early birthday wishes to Dad on his Facebook page.  I'm sure I've mentioned that we keep Dad's Facebook page so we (Holly, Haley and I) can log on and have him send us necessary farm or zombie killing supplies.  But this person obviously doesn't know that Dad is no longer physically with us.  I'm looking forward to logging on tonight and finding out how many of his Farm/Zombie "friends" have sent him birthday wishes. 

 

My friend Shawna is like 14 months pregnant and her actual due date is 10/16.  I keep telling her that October 5^th would be a lovely day to have her child, especially since she isn't going to name him Wade, after my father, for me.  (They're going to name it after her husband's grandfather, or something… that's just selfish!)  And then we made lunch plans for tomorrow, so I truly feel that she'll have the baby today (and spoil our lunch plans).  She comes into the office today and tells me that October 5^th is the day of the year with the most babies born on it.  I find that interesting.  I would have thought July 22^nd would've been more popular.

 

Anyway, thanks for listening to me ramble about my Dad. 

Identity Crisis

All of my life, I've been called by many different names.  My mommy called me "Pumpkin" when I was a wee little girl.  My college roommate called me "Bunz"… after I told her once that I had the "Barger butt" … she ran with it and I became "Bunz!"  Frankly, I'm surprised that I was listed as Rosemary "Bunz" Barger in her wedding handout thingee. 

 

My mother, grandmother, aunts and uncles have all called me "Christine" at one time or many others.  The reason behind this being that I have an Aunt Christine who is "blond"… or at least started out blond like me.,, and I suppose, well.. I just don't know the reasoning beyond that.

 

It's not just a me/Christine thing either.  My sisters inherited this weirdness.  They frequently call me by their daughter's names and vice versa.  I've been called Natalie and Hollian… I don't recall if I've been called Brynn, but odds are that I have.  I'd have to ask her if she's been called Rose or Rosemary, but I know the other two have, because I've overheard it.

 

It doesn't bother me - it's one of those things that you put up with.  The only name I've been called that really has ever bothered me is "Rosie" and I'm sure that stems from the whole "ring-around-the-rosie" crap to which I was subjected in elementary school.  And of course the famous Rosies out there (Barr, O'Donnell) don't make me want to embrace the name either.

 

I, however, have never really had a problem with names.  Well, there was that one time that I was overly stressed at work and I couldn't remember Melba's name despite the fact that we'd worked together for, then, at least 7 years and she was standing there talking to me and all I could think of was that I had no clue what her name was.  And of course when I turned 40 and my mental light bulb started flickering, but with that everyone's name has an equal opportunity to be forgotten… and plus it's a memory thing, not an interchanging thing.

 

Now, however, I've realized that I have in fact inherited the sickness.  "But Rosemary, you say (because you know that I won't respond to "Rosie"), you don't have any daughters whose names you can switch!"  And you would be right.  I do have a "son," so to speak.  His name is Gizmo and he's a very handsome blue-grey 6 year old cat.   So that's one half.  The other half is my nephew Duncan who is currently living at the 'do with me and Mom.

 

Yup, you guessed it.  On more than one occasion I have called Duncan by the name "Gizmo."  He doesn't seem to mind.  But like me, I'm sure he'll put up with it and feel morally superior until one day he calls his daughter Rosemary or Natalie or Bunz!

New Acquisition

My new pedometer just arrived.  So now I'll be able to keep track of how far I walk/jog each day.  I know that you are on the edge of your seat in re: the same, so I'll be sure to keep you informed!

Incredible Shrinking Woman!

I think the water temperature is too hot in the condo because I'm shrinking!  My size 22 white capri pants that I found in the back/bottom of my closet that day that Mom and I gathered seven trash bags full of clothes I could no longer wear to take to Goodwill are now too big.  (Did you follow that?  My ability to string along a bizarre sentence has not shrunk.  In fact, if you're able to follow the rest of this blog, give yourself a hand!)

 

And the pants that my friend Royale gave me from her fat closet before her surgery two years ago which fit snuggly the first time I tried them on are loose too.

 

It's a good thing that back in May, when I was preparing to return to work after the GB surgery, and I had no clothes that fit so I had to go shopping, I bought a couple pairs of capri's (since I knew it would be a long hot summer) in size 18/20 in the hopes that I'd be able to fit in them before it got cool enough that I couldn't wear them.  Why?  Because, baby, Rose is wearing those puppies today!!  And they fit, they aren't snug or nuthin'!  And I'm thinking I'd look pretty good wearing them and my XL Muppets/Abbey Road t-shirt.  Too bad the t-shirt wouldn't comply with the dress code at work.  Sigh.. 

 

Tomorrow is week 18.  On Monday, I weighed and I'm at T-minus 88 pounds!  I got home last night and Mom said I looked really skinny.  Several other people made similar comments during the day, so... tee hee!!  And she took a picture.  Yeah, I know, it'll hit Facebook before I get it posted here, but maybe by the end of the week.

The Dog Days are Over

Ok, I've been thoroughly chastised for my delinquincy in blogging. In fact, I believe the comment was that she was tired of my trip to London already!

So on this beautiful Sunday afternoon, I am sitting here on the balcony, with mom's laptop, in my new size XL (note the lack of a number in front of that X!) Muppets/Abbey Road t-shirt surrounded by sleeping cats, bringing you up to date on Rose. I can only imagine how boring it's been without your semi-irregular dose of Me!

First, the status of my diet/exercise. I was also admonished for not posting pics on here for the benefit of the non-Facebookers of my fans. If my hair looked better, I'd have Mom take a pic of me in my size XL t-shirt for me to post, but you'll have to make do with this one - me in some of my new clothes that I bought with my birthday money, at 14 weeks and 80 pounds lost. I'll pause now so you have time to bask in my wonderousness.

I can't say exactly what week I'm on now... 17 or 18, I think. And from my birthday until about a week ago, I was stuck on a plateau. Feeling sorry for myself because I was stuck at 80 pounds... for a MONTH! Of course I told myself that my body had to catch up with all the weight loss, and I know that muscle weighs more than fat, and I'd resumed my walking during that month. Still, I'd got to the point where I stopped weighing because I didn't want to be disappointed. But last weekend, before I chugged my protein shake and took my walk, I weighed and I'd lost 4 pounds!! So my plateau was over and I was a happy camper!

Speaking of my walking, I've been doing pretty good, walking at least 5 days a week. I drove my route with my car, including circling the church four times... pretty sure whoever was in the church was wondering what I was up to, and it is right over 1 mile. But at one point, after I'd been walking four loops around the church each morning, I figured I either needed to up the quantity or the quality of my laps. Since I get really bored after the third lap and can barely force myself to do number four, I opted for the quality. All of which means that I've started jogging. At first, I was proud of myself for jogging enough parts of a lap to equal one side of the church. Then after a couple of days, I did one whole side of the church at a jog with no walking in between. Then a jog/walk/jog walk... totalling 4 sides... then 6 sides... then yesterday, the jogger in me said "Go for it!" and yesterday and this morning, I jogged around the church, all four sides, no walking... pretty exciting. Next: the Boston Marathon!

Did I mention that there are no numbers before the X on the size of my XL t-shirt?

What else? Well, my nephew Duncan has moved in with me and Mom at the condo. Since neither of us has any experience at either being or being around teenage boys, it's going to be an experience for all three of us. And neither of us feels like we know him very well, so we're enjoying the opportunity. Mom's happy to have someone to cook for who eats more, but not much more, than I do. He started his classes at USI this past Monday. The cats are enjoying his being here, especially Winifred, who loves him. It's hard to tell if she loves him more or his red beanbag chair! Gizmo, used to being the only "man" of the house, took a while, but he's come around too. We had to assure him (Gizmo) that Duncan was not planning on staging a coup and removing Gizmo from his throne as man of the house, first, but that seemed to work. We really enjoyed having Duncan with us yesterday when we went to Sams to get kitty litter. Mom can't lift the 42 (no kidding) pound bags, and I can, but it's a struggle. He lifted both of them at once!

Finally, it's taken a while, but I'm slowly getting back in the groove of working for a living. I'd probably be pushing it to have another conveniently timed surgery in order to get off for a few more weeks. I feel guilty every time I tell Steve I have a doctor's appointment! But having been off for the better part of three months, it took a while before I really felt like I was back in the swing of things. Of course getting up early in the morning is still a struggle, but that may be because of having to get up and walk/jog while it's barely daylight outside. But then I remember that I get to wear my size 18 shorts and it's easier to get out of bed!