BREAKING NEWS: Methodist Confesses Dirty Dancing in Baptist Gym

             When a Heat Advisory is issued and exercise is a must, I’m lucky to gain access to a large, multipurpose center in this tiny town.  Inside I tune up my IPod, loaded with selections for easing the pain of walking in humongous circles, going nowhere, for a full 30 minutes.

             Today was different, however.  For whatever reason, a burst of energy invaded my body, and when the “music for walking” playlist began to stream through the earpieces, my step pepped.  It’s really difficult to walk at a slow pace while listening to big band sounds of “Take the A Train.”  I found myself conducting the orchestra.
                    Glancing to the ceiling, I saw no cameras.  In the parking lot were no cars except for mine.  No one was scurrying about in the kitchen, not even a mouse.  So, when Elvis began to thrill my soul with “American Trilogy,” I envisioned a hunk of burning love filling out a white, dazzling jumpsuit!
                By the time Gladys Knight & The Pips belted out “Midnight Train to Georgia,” I was a back-up singer, complete with swaying moves to match the lyrics.

               The warm-up was complete. Marc Anthony and orchestra cranked it up with “I Need to Know.”Our Ballroom Dance teacher Miss Connie would have been proud. That was the year when all our mamas signed us up for the Cotillion of Camden, Arkansas (which did not exist, save for their imaginations). Eat your hearts out George and Martha Ellen, our featured dancers.  My dance moves would put even “Dancing With the Stars” out of business.
                

So-called friends tell me I am NOT like Jennifer Grey. Hmmmph.  I have much more rhythm and far more moves than the Hula Sister! Fantasy casts me directly opposite a virile and incredibly sexy Patrick Swayze.  We’ll skip the lift for today.
             This 30 minute walk became a terrific workout, with only myself issuing the scoring numbers.  Cha-cha, Rumba, Salsa, and some Dirty Dancing moves catapulted this exercise event to the Winner's Circle: a great deal more exciting than Cardiac Rehab or a treadmill stroll to nowhere.

 The thrill was heightened with the realization that a Methodist was Dirty Dancing in a Baptist gym.

Organization and other Illnesses

             A clean desk.  An organized file system.  Ordered spices.  No clutter.  Golly-gee, how I admire these pinnacles of success in homemaking.  Pinterest displays pictures of how wonderful our lives can be, if only we’d “organize.”
               Think:  my friend and colleague, Brenda Pilant.  She should have her own Pinterest Board.  Alphabetizing canned goods is the habit that first drew me to her side, hoping some degree of order would seep into my being, as if by osmosis.  Brenda’s notebooks and file system for work produce envy.  “Color-code” is her middle name.
             Brenda should meet Cheryl Pardue of Arlington.  Cheryl’s father-in-law designed and built closet organizers for her and pantry systems for her kitchen.  Her closet includes a cedar bin for out of season sweaters.  Cheryl lives in the same cove with Renee’ and family. Cheryl has a Pinterest Board called “Neat Thinking” that you can browse to become inspired.
             A friend here in Rector is turning a spare bedroom into her closet, complete with built-ins and a jewelry counter.  Such inspiration is mind-boggling.

                Here’s the deal.  I can find everything I need, if no one touches stuff but me!  I remember where I put those shorts that I intend to wear again today.  My cuticle oil, lotion, writing implements, Aleve, and Password Notebook each has a spot on my side table.  All that’s required of me is to reach out and touch; there it is:  pen, pencil or seam ripper, whatever.

              Now, it is a thrill to see my spices all in one cabinet, organized by category, and stacked on lazy-susans and tiered racks.  Pensky’s glass jars are quite helpful in the quest for organization.  A pull-out drawer for pots and pans along with a shallow drawer for lids is a bonus! My pantry is a dream with gobs of storage, so that canned goods, dry goods, and other staples can be organized by category.
                 So, why do I have to force myself to file paperwork? I vow to throw away paper of all kinds, especially catalogs and newspapers.  Marvin is as much of a pack-rat as I am, so the moment I de-clutter his “basket,” he will ask, “Hey, where’s that receipt for….?” Bins of receipts, papers, and junk greet me at the back door.  The counter-top has one end devoted to “stuff to take downstairs,” and “stuff not to touch because I might need it someday.”
                 As I share my goals for today, I’m working up will-power to venture into the “office” to file paperwork. Perhaps I’ll take an oatmeal cookie (heart healthy, of course) to nibble as I make progress. The afternoon project is putting some style and color order to our bedroom closet….that is, after my nap!

The “E” Word: Exercise...YIKES!!!

...Rather like Maynard G Krebs and “Work!”
               Cardiac Rehab is turning the screws: walk 30 minutes a day; not hills and vales, and not in sweltering heat, but if not outside, then at the church gym.  I have a care-taker who has my recovery as his mission.  His long strides I cannot keep up with, even without having undergone heart surgery, but we can both walk 30 minutes a day. That’s our goal.  The real test is 2 flights of stairs.  Ya’ll can figure that one out.
                 Mental health – I just don’t know.  This week will be a test.  Tonight I am returning to the Arts Council meeting.  Thursday, I’m motoring to Jonesboro for a bit of shopping and Writers Ink meeting at ASU.  My usual desire to keep the roads hot has vanished; this past week I’ve read 2 Sandra Brown mysteries and used my Kindle Fire to test-drive Facebook, all from the comfort of my mama-bear chair, safely tucked away at home. Friday, we're going to Memphis for the weekend to stay with Renee' and family for Aubrey's 2nd birthday.  Of course, Marvin has projects lined up.
             Taste has changed and without the world screeching to a halt, I confess that I don’t want a Diet Coke.  Allow me to introduce Sprite Zero.  It’s my new drink of choice. This “Eureka!” soda contains bubbles and fizz, but Zero Calories and Zero Caffeine. Caffeine, you ask? My usual coffee in the AM and an occasional Lipton Green Tea with Mixed Berry.  I hardly know myself.
             My Fitness Pal  is coming in handy. I record everything (without cheating) and it can track my exercise and American Heart Association meal planning.  And, I added MapMyWalk App to my phone. I’ll be obnoxious before too much longer (if not already).

              Here’s a tidbit wrapped in love for everyone:  Never discount heredity where your health is concerned.  Though the myxoma was not hereditary nor did it result from any cause, the susceptibility to heart problems is rampant in my immediate family. Please, stay in tune with your body and don’t discount anything. Younger friends have been into fitness for their lifetime, but as my college friend Linda confessed,
"fixing our hair and perfecting our
makeup was our passion- not 5K and not crunches." Marlo Thomas and Sandra Dee were just too cute to sweat.

Toe in the Water

"Welcome to the 21st Century!"
That's what David posted when I caved in to peer pressure.
It took a long and boring day of doing little of nothing, and a nudge from my BFF to send me over the edge.
Encouraged by countless friends and family to "get on Facebook" I did just that, even if all I plan to do is look at the pictures.
The first gaffe was with dear friend Anita whom I "de-friended" because I forgot her maiden name and thought I had friended the "wrong Anita."
So, I'm giving it all a spin and will enjoy hearing from friends and family from the ages.

The Quest for a Sunnier Disposition

                    Some things are just The Pits. Take open heart surgery, for instance.  Praise God that there are surgeons with that talent and skill! “ Praises be!” that a major anomaly can be removed so it doesn’t kill you on the spot. All that – Amen, indeed.  But, if you have a delicate nature and a substantial fear and loathing for pain, the recovery process is The Pits.
                      All the rib bones connected to the breast bone, connected to the spine, connected to the hip bone, connected to the thigh bone – all them bones, them bones have to reposition themselves into their normal configuration.  They move and click and shift. I feel it and hear it.
                     Muscles I did not know I had and tissue that connects all “them bones, them bones” must heal, also. And that’s painful, when you move around very much. So, add in some street drugs worth about $20 a pop, and you’ve got a zombie trying to act normal.
                               Doing more than 1 thing at a time can be a stretch – such as walking and breathing.  I guess that’s the scariest thing – the breathing part.  The heart is in control of all that oxygen stuff and how it pumps through the body and coordinates with the lungs. It is a little ole fist-sized muscle in charge of the world. If it gets stressed out, I know it.  Understanding that makes you happy to buy a dust pan with a tall handle so you don’t  bend over and become subject to gravity pulling on heart, lungs, chest. Whoda-thunk-it.
                         Walking across our back yard and the neighbor’s back yard to visit with them prior to their vacation was a “goal.” I made it over, and I also made it back home. You have to think about that.  I made it out, but can I make it back? The distance is about 1 block.
                              I’ve lost weight, primarily fluid, but nothing really tastes that great, not even a Diet Coke, which I have not had since surgery. And all that fluid that drained from my body has left me in need of extra bones in my arms. Now, that is the Pits.

                    Speaking of Pits, the cherries are in!  Marvin and I harvested cherries on two afternoons.  They were perfectly ripe and the birds had not gotten to them, as they did last year.  I bought a cherry pitter but you still have to touch each one, so I just pit them by hand.  I’ve made 1 cherry pie and will probably make another, then freeze the rest of the cooked down cherries for later.

                          Keeping my perspective, I must recall the philosophy found in Mary Engelbreit’s whimsical drawings: Life is just a “chair of bowlies.”  She has another saying, also repeated by Cher to Nicholas Cage in “Moonstruck,” – “Snap out of it!”
                                   I’m gradually getting my “better attitude” in gear, switching from whiney pants to “big girl panties.”  I’m taking double my “chill-pill” on the recommendation of my doctor and my husband! There is nothing more aggravating, though, than being placated when you feel like shit.

                                 With tasks for the day to include laundry, pitting cherries, and enjoying a gorgeous day sitting on the deck and taking a stroll down the way, I’ll move forward in quest of a sunnier disposition.