Barbie Perkins-Cooper, Author

Tag: baby steps

  • No More Christmas Cookies for This Chick At Christmas Time…No…no…NO!!!


    Dearest Readers:

    Yesterday was my D-day. D=DREADED! Yesterday, after missing three weeks from my Weight Watchers meeting, I dressed and told myself it was time to face the music. No, I wasn’t singing. The music I had to face was the dreaded, almost morbid type of organ sound…Dum…Dum…Dum Dum. You can probably imagine the tune. Definitely not a happy one.

    “Just how many times have you eaten those stupid Christmas cookies, Barbie?” I asked myself. And — “Why didn’t you just say NO!” Duh. I had no idea. Yes, I kept hearing, “But it’s Christmas. You really should try these cookies. It’s the holidays!”

    And so, I suppose you KNOW what I did. I confess. I ate the cookies. “Only one,” I said. Laugh. LAUGH. L A U G H! I kept going back. I simply could not say no, nor could I stop. The cookies were so beautiful. They tasted so moist and delicious. I remembered the years I baked cookies for Christmas and I was proud that I did not bake them this year, nor did I do my infamous chocolate pretzels. Why? Simple. I knew I did not have the willpower to ‘just say No!’

    Arriving at Weight Watchers, I stripped my shoes off. I considered removing a Christmas vest, but kept it on. It was time. Time. TIME to FACE the music, the dreaded and sad organ type that shouts, DUM. DUM. DUM. DUM. Hopping on the scales I confessed, I knew I had gained weight. I was bad. A totally bad girl. I didn’t say no. I simply kept eating those beautiful, addictive Christmas cookies.

    “How much?” I asked the leader. She wouldn’t say. Somehow I knew it was bad. According to my scales last week, I had gained seven pounds. This week, I had dropped about three, or so I thought.

    The leader handed my weight card back to me. I glanced at it. “Four pounds. It’s just four pounds. I thought it was more.”

    Furious with myself, I strolled back to my seat and shared the news. “Four pounds. I am so mad at myself.”

    “It’s ok. It’s the holidays.”

    I sat down, gulping down a large sip of coffee. “Thank God I am back,” I said, to myself. “If I quit, I know what will happen to me. One week it will be four pounds. The next week, three pounds, and on and on until I cannot fit into my clothes. Thank God I gave those old clothes to Goodwill, and thank God I found the courage to come back to Weight Watchers. I will never procrastinate about my meetings again and when I feel the urge to eat a cookie, I will recognize that there are times I am addicted to food too. I must also recognize that when people encourage to ‘eat just a bite…it won’t hurt you…’ they are pushing foods and TEMPTATIONS to me.

    I must be strong. I must have the courage to say NO!

    I will not have another Weight Watchers meeting until January 2, 2014. Keep reading, my readers, friends, family and fans. I will be happy to report a weight loss on that date. You just wait!

    Meanwhile, to all of you, I wish you a Merry Christmas. I am sad to report my husband lost an uncle a few days ago, so added to our busy schedule is to attend his funeral and to visit with his family. The holidays are such a sad time when a death occurs, but one thing this teaches all of us is that life is precious, and just because the holidays are upon us, it doesn’t mean that there will not be death, sadness, divorce, pain, illness and so many disappointments as we live life. This reality teaches me how precious life is. Yesterday was my dad’s birthday. If he was still with us, he would be 99-years-old. I lost my dad on July 6, 1999. Words cannot express how much I miss him. However, I feel his presence inside of me every day and I can still hear his precious, encouraging words he shared with me as he battled esophageal cancer. He would walk me to the door of his room at the nursing home, when he could. He planted a kiss on my cheek and said, “Make it a good day. Live for the moment, and move forward with life, don’t look back!”

    My dad was a wise man who looked for the good in life. When life gave him difficulties, he still smiled and strived to find the good in life, not the bad. Merry Christmas to everyone.

    If you read my blog regularly, stay tuned for a report on January 2, 2014. I keep telling myself, “I can do this…!” There will be a weight loss! You just stay tuned. I will not reach for another Christmas cookie. I will run from the Cookie Monster!

  • Gobble…Gobble…Gobble…Happy Thanksgiving!


    Thursday, November 28, 2013

    Dearest Readers:

    On this date, November 28, 2013, we celebrate Thanksgiving. As we grow, there are many traditions made, and some traditions are broken. Growing up in the State of Georgia, my family taught me many traditions during the holidays, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. The holidays were for family. I recall celebrating Thanksgiving with my maternal grandparents. Although when I was little, I often was curious why my maternal grandparents and paternal grandparents did not come together for the holidays. Later, I discovered how strange our families were and I did my best to welcome all of my relatives.

    I remember my maternal grandmother always prepping, baking and cooking for the holidays. Our table was filled with most of the foods we celebrate and gobble down a bit too quickly. We always had a country ham, turkey, homemade biscuits that felt and tasted like a cloud and I recall eating too many of them. OK…so homemade biscuits are my weakness, and that is why I do not make them! Additional foods included cornbread dressing, green bean casserole, Southern potato salad, mashed potatoes, candied yams, and of course, we had a variety of desserts. My grandmother was a great Southern cook, so you can just imagine all of the food we ate. Another tradition we shared was always saying the blessing at the dinner table. Joining hands, we would ask my dad or grandfather to lead us into prayer.

    Some traditions must be preserved, and that is why when Phil and I eat at the dining room table, or at the breakfast table, I always remind him we must ‘say grace.’ Phil did not grow up with that family tradition, and the more I discover about his family, the more I recognize that his family was more estranged than mine could ever be. His mother did not cook a Thanksgiving turkey or dinner. His mother said she hated turkey because it was dry. She changed her mind when tasting mine! After moving to Charleston, I went to the trouble of inviting Phil’s family for Thanksgiving Dinner; however, after the way his mother behaved, I was a bit annoyed with her. Just picture it. As the cook for the Thanksgiving Dinner you are tired. For many days you have prepped the foods, thawed the turkey and prepared it. Baked. Cooked. Cleaned the dishes. Dressed the dining room table with your finest linens, china, candles and all the fun things I enjoy doing for the holidays, only to be told — perhaps in a dictatorial tone — that you are hungry and want to eat…NOW!

    I asked Phil if I could speak to him privately, letting him know I was furious that his mother was so demanding. He shook his head, refusing to speak with his mother. I returned to the kitchen, letting his mother know I had some peanut butter and bread and if she wanted to EAT NOW…she could fix a peanut butter sandwich. She growled at me… “Just give me a paper plate and I’ll dig in…”

    “You’ll do no such a thing. Dinner isn’t ready!”

    That was the last Thanksgiving I shared with Phil’s mother. New traditions were made, in hopes we as a family could teach our child that holidays were family days and were not to be dictatorial.

    Now, our son is married, building new traditions with his wife and child. As for us, I still prepare a Thanksgiving meal, and I dress the dining room table with china, a lace tablecloth, and candles and we take the time to enjoy our meal. Occasionally, I invite our friends over but as life has a way, most people have plans for the holidays.

    A new tradition we started two years ago is to decorate our Christmas tree on the weekend of Thanksgiving. Last year, I was so sick with acute bronchitis I did not feel like cooking Thanksgiving, although I did. Weak and exhausted by dinner time, I did something I rarely do.  I asked Phil to help with the clean up. That weekend he put the tree up. When I asked him to help with the decorating he grumbled, so like his mother —
    “I HATE decorating the tree…”

    I gathered the decorations and with tears in my eyes, I decorated the tree. Exhausted, I went to bed, furious with Phil and his hatred for the holidays.

    This year, I’ve let him know how his cold, and demeaning words hurt me last year. There I was as sick and as weak I could be, and all he cared about was watching his stupid football games! How dare him! Never did he consider how sick I was and how hard I worked to keep the traditions going.

    Traditions are important to me, and they should be for everyone, especially at the holidays. Much to my surprise, Phil has mentioned twice that we are decorating the Christmas tree this weekend. Sometimes I cannot help wondering just who is this strange man I married. His moods change quicker than the winds!

    Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We are sharing it with friends, and on Friday, I am cooking a Thanksgiving meal at home. After all, some traditions need to continue. Since early marriage I have cooked the Thanksgiving meal. That tradition must continue. Additional traditions will continue, and a few will change. We have a family of four-legged children to celebrate the holidays with. This year, all of them — Shasta Daisy Shampagne, our 12-year-old, frail Maltese will probably share her last Thanksgiving with us. She has seizures now. Until last evening, the last was three weeks ago. Our pet sitter describes her as a frail, little old lady most comfortable in her rocking chair. Only for Shasta, she is most comfortable curled on a pillow with her blanket at my desk. Last night’s seizure scared us and I prayed, “Please God, let her live just one more Thanksgiving!” She made it through the night, and she is curled at my feet now.  Thank you, God!

    Our other children are Shakespeare Hemingway, a salt and pepper mini-schnauzer, Sandy Bear Sebastian, a blonde mini-schnauzer,  Sir Hankster the Prankster, a smaller mini-schnauzer who grumbles and grumbles and grumbles… Our youngest is our biggest, a giant wiry schnauzer named Prince Midnight Shadow. We adopted him from a shelter last year after my precious Prince Marmaduke Shamus crossed Rainbow Bridge. All of these precious children will enjoy a taste of Thanksgiving this Friday with us. Yesterday, the rescue I volunteer for requested for us to consider fostering a pup from a kill shelter. Schnauzer Rescue of the Carolinas needs fosters willing to help these little guys adjust to a life away from kill shelters and crates. At first, I thought “No, I cannot do this again.” If you recall, my last foster was Sweet Little Cleet…Cleet…the Pup Who Ran Away, But Came Back! I confess, I fell in love with Sweet Cletus and hated to let him go when he was adopted. I am happy to report he is progressing ever so slowly with his new parents. It has been a long process for him to forget the abuse he tolerated as a puppy mill stud, but now, he has a caring family who do everything they can to give him a life filled with love and tender care. Together, Cletus, now named “Little Buddy” and his family are taking baby steps. Baby steps leads to independence and trust, and I look forward to the day when I hear that Little Buddy is now a changed guy!

    I am happy to announce, Phil has agreed to take in another foster – a Maltese. So now, this Thanksgiving, even though we do not have the newest foster in our household, we have much to be thankful for on Thanksgiving 2013. This year I have good health again! We are still together in this marriage. We have love and peace in our world at home. We are thankful for our soldiers who are away this year, and we are hopeful they return home safely, soon. We are thankful for our grandchild, William; and we are thankful and so appreciative of our good friends. May we all have a toast for Thanksgiving, and may we all give thanks to God for another Thanksgiving.

    Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy your special day!

     

  • Doctor’s Scales vs. Weight Watchers Scales — WHICH One Is Correct???


    Dearest Readers:

    I hope you are doing well, enjoying the weekend. My plans for this morning were to go outside early and walk my silly children. Unfortunately, it is an overcasting morning with rain in the forecast, so the plans changed. I will play with my children, and hop on the treadmill instead. If I walk in the rain, I run a gigantic chance of getting ill, and for those of you who know, I was dreadfully ill from late October 2012 until January 19, 2013. I do not wish to repeat that illness. Isn’t it a bit funny how I remember the day I awoke feeling better, feeling that finally the acute bronchitis that strove to attack my body indefinitely, succumbed to my determination to get well. Crossing my fingers here for a moment, in hopes I do not get ill this year.

    Yesterday, I went to my doctor for my six month check. As you know, I have Type 2 Diabetes. My last blood work was great, with an A1C level of 5.4. I am hopeful my levels this time are still as good, and they certainly should be. It would be great IF my doctor phoned, telling me I no longer needed the oral drugs I must take for Diabetes. Next week, I look forward to the phone call, revealing those reports. Until then, I continue my daily habits. Perhaps “Daily Habits” is the subject matter for this blog today.

    Those of you who are regular readers of my blog know that I attend weekly Weight Watchers meetings, and lately, I feel as if I am on a roller coaster ride, or a yo-yo. Allow me to explain. For about seven months I have bounced, back and forth, with weight loss. One week, I drop a pound. The next week, I gain two pounds. Next week, drop .02, and on…and on… At the meetings, I’ve learned this is an expected process; however, after this week, I maintained – the same weight as last week. At my doctor’s office, according to his scale, I weighed exactly five pounds more than I did — the day before — at Weight Watchers??? How can that be? When I visit my doctor, I must fast for the blood work, so it could not be something I ate. I addressed this discovery to my doctor. His reply — “I’d go with the Weight Watchers scale.” Another discovery at my doctor’s office was — his scale is located within the traffic area of his office. To the right of the scale, a nice looking older guy sat. No doubt he was probably reading the scale, so when I jumped off, I moved the weights! Of course, this doctor’s scale is one of those antiquated ones that I have never trusted – the type where the weights must balance, and because of the size of it, there isn’t any privacy. I made a suggestion to my doctor for him to please have the scale located elsewhere – for privacy purposes. “Women prefer privacy,” I said. I don’t know if that will encourage them to move the scales to a different location, but it would make women feel better. What do you think, readers? Have you noticed at doctor’s offices, there is NO PRIVACY for scales??? Aren’t doctors supposed to have Privacy Laws? Isn’t what we weigh — PRIVATE?

    My doctor and I discussed many issues this time, including why I was having such difficulty losing weight now. I understand as we age, our metabolism slows down; however, I am an active woman. I work out five to seven days weekly. I eat healthy and track my foods via the Weight Watchers e-tools site. Years prior to Weight Watchers, I tried my best to work out on the treadmill. My goal was ten minutes. At first, I could not move for five minutes on the treadmill without huffing and puffing. I blamed it on asthma. Determined, I started moving on the treadmill more, working up to ten minutes…then 20…30, and now — I am proud to say, I can move on that treadmill for 50.30 minutes. I count it down with the timer on my phone. Never do I get winded now. I am so proud of that accomplishment, and the inches are coming off, but the weight — I do believe the brakes to my weight loss are locked in place.

    My doctor suggested going to Metabolic Weight Loss Medical Centers. http://www.goingmetabolic.com/faq.php I did a bit of research, reading their frequently asked questions site, and I have decided to remain with Weight Watchers. Years ago, I was successful with a weight loss program of drugs, shots and special meals, but this time I am determined to do this on my own — with the beauty, encouragement and lifestyle change of Weight Watchers. I have known people who have lost weight in this style and plan, but I am not motivated to go there. I want to accomplish my weight loss on my own — with Weight Watchers! Yes, it has been an incredibly slow process for me, but I have to remind myself that IF I stop and go to some other ‘weight loss’ plan, I will be hurting myself. I walked into Weight Watchers, mortified…ashamed…shaking like a leaf…afraid that someone would recognize me… When the leader saw that ‘familiar look’ on my face, she reached out to me, encouraging me. “We were all in those shoes before,” she said with a beautiful smile. Kathy, my leader, has become a friend. She is there to encourage me when I squeal with a weight loss, and she is still encouraging me when I frown. I do not consider that I am a ‘Loser’ — that is someone who gives up, and I am a ‘winner’ even when the scales say otherwise. Yes, it is taking such a long time, but I am truly liking the person I see, reflecting me, at the full-length mirror.

    I joined Weight Watchers because I wanted to accomplish my weight loss on my own. I wanted to be one of the women who says, “This I do for me,” and I wanted to feel the achievement of my own weight loss, regardless of the cost. I still believe I will break this bouncing rubber ball plateau, and I will accomplish my goals. After all, this I do for me. Now — if only I could persuade my doctor’s office to move their scales to a more private area. Wouldn’t that be an accomplishment!

  • Communicating With My Precious Animals


    My silly pups. Prince Midnight Shadow, my cold black giant schnauzer rushes inside to brush against the leashes, hanging near my office. He is telling me he is ready to walk today. “Mommy,” he says, staring into my eyes. “It’s nice outside today. The heat will not burn my paws. Can we go for a walk later?” I smile. Nod at him. Now, he is resting by the leashes. And to think, I’ve actually been told that only a ‘crazy person would believe that dogs communicate and understand what we are saying to them.’ I smile, snickering to those people saying, “Maybe you are the crazy one…I communicate with my animals. They understand what I say, and they love me for communicating and understanding their needs.’ Like earlier this morning, when Hankster the Prankster, my smallest mini-schnauzer, raised up by my legs, wanting me to pick him up. He doesn’t like to be picked up. He’s always afraid that he might get hurt. It is so obvious that he was mistreated by someone. It doesn’t matter who mistreated him. All that matters now is he is not closed inside a crate where he was barking…barking…barking…at the top of his little lungs when I agreed to foster him. It doesn’t matter that someone raised their arms to him, ready to attack him. It doesn’t matter that he was dropped off at a kill shelter, to end his life. What does matter is this little guy has found a home that loves him, regardless of his demeanor, temperament, and personality. He is finally getting more comfortable with us, and he hasn’t snapped at my husband’s hands in a few days. That is an accomplishment for him. Although he is small, he is powerful and quick with his mouth. He defends me from everyone!

    Hank is unafraid and will protect his mommy, at all cost. He doesn’t care that something or someone could harm him. He cares about me and his home. That is, now that he has a home that accepts him and is teaching him he doesn’t need to snap at others. All he needs to do is trust. Today, when he raised up on my legs, he scratched his little paw on my leg, as if to say, ‘pick me up, Mommy.’

    “What’s the matter, little buddy,” I asked him? “Do you want Mommy to pick you up?” He growled. When he growls it is usually a warning to back off, but I carefully scoop him up in my arms. He grunts, placing his little salt and pepper fur next to me, then he cuddles next to my neck. This is something he has never done before. He rears back, to look into my eyes. “What’s the matter, Hankster? Are you finally saying how much you love me and this home?”

    He grunts again. I place him down. Moments later, he returns. He wants me to pick him up again, and so, I do. We talk for a bit without saying words. Our eyes stare into one another. He moans, moves his head close to my chest. He is telling me how much he loves me. My eyes fill with tears.

    Today is Wednesday, a day of remembrance for me. On Wednesday, May 2, 2012, I lost my precious Prince Marmaduke Shamus, also known as “Shamey-Pooh.” Wednesdays are still a sad day for me. Words cannot express how deeply my heart ached after losing Shamey-Pooh. A tsunami of grief appeared to wash over me, like a gigantic, rushing, angry tide and for weeks I wasn’t certain if I would survive. I did survive. The sun still rose in the morning, and set at night. Bills still needed to be paid, and Father Time continued to tick, tick, tick the minutes of life by. Still, my heart ache for the loss of Shamus continued, and that is when I decided to foster Hank, until Schnauzer Rescue of the Carolinas could find a suitable home. Hankster and I bonded, even after he left our home for an adoptive home. I dreamed about him on several occasions, dreaming he wanted to come back to us. That dream came true, like many of my dreams.

    Last October, Hankster returned. When I suggested allowing us to pick him up from his adoptive parents, some people were afraid he would not remember us. At first, he seemed aggressive, only to relax inside the car when he heard me singing. Silly dog. I think he remembered that I liked to sing. Arriving home, he rushed inside, to the water bowl, the toy box, and to greet our children. Hankster announced, “Hey guys, I’m back!”

    Today, Hankster communicated to me — as if to say — thank you! Snuggling next to me for a few minutes, he grunted, and then he brushed my face with a soft kiss, something he never does! Now, he is resting next to me, along with Shasta, and Sandy Bear. Hankster is home! It is such a beautiful, cooler day outside so I’ve decided a brisk walk with my babies will be more healing to me than a treadmill!

  • Losing Weight — the Weight Watchers Way!


    Dearest Readers:

    If you are a regular follower of my blog, you are familiar with the saga I write and share about losing weight. I confess, I’ve had difficulty with weight gains, weight losses, all of my life. Now that I am an active and regular member of Weight Watchers, I truly believe I have finally found the key, motivation and determination to achieve my weight goal. No, I haven’t established a goal — yet, but as the pounds (and lots of inches) are finally decreasing now, I have a possible goal in mind. Someday in the near future, I will meet with my leader, to confirm that goal.

    Today is Monday. My regular weigh in day is Thursday. Last Thursday I was a bit too tired to go to the meeting. This week, I will face the music, regardless how tired I am. Last night was another night of no sleep; however, it wasn’t due to my ‘circular thinking,’ but a lack of comfort in my home. When we went to bed last night, I checked the thermostat, discovering it was a bit hot in our home — 75 degrees. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, I rose from the bed, strolled around the house a bit, noticing the thermostat read 77 degrees. We have our thermostat set at 71, so I was a bit suspicious. Rushing with thoughts of my household budget, I prayed that if something was wrong with our air conditioner, I had to be prepared to ‘juggle the budget’ once again. My husband is on furlough now on certain days of the week, cutting into our income. Thanks so much, Congress! No, I don’t blame Congress completely for my having to juggle a budget, but at least I am confident that I can make a decision. Congress — well, we all know they are members of the “Good Ole Boys” club and cannot have the courage to make a decision. As for the women in Congress, they are a bit outnumbered, so I’m certain their voices are not heard by those imbecile Good Ole Boys!

    But, the discussion about Congress is for another time! Last night was a total lack of sleep, so at 3:45am I phoned our heating and air company. The temp in the house was steadily climbing — now 78 degrees. My chest was wheezing, my skin damp to the touch, and the fan in the room was a bit dusty, needing a good cleaning. Asthmatics have a dreadful time cleaning fans. The service technician arrived early this morning, just a few minutes before 9am. I was prepared to have an additional expense, so I sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee while Phil worked with the tech. We were lucky this time. The $84.00 service charge to come out to check our unit would be covered under the extended warranty since our unit is only eight years old. The capacitor was bad, so the tech replaced it, had us sign an invoice and presented us with a $0.00 fee! Thank you, God. Still, it is hot in the house – last check, the thermostat read 76 degrees. At least the air is circulating now and I can breathe better, along with my precious pups.

    Mondays are usually my scheduled day to do extensive household cleaning, the usual weekly vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing floors, bathrooms, etc. Today, I have managed to talk myself out of this work, and I’ve talked myself out of jumping on the treadmill. I am simply too exhausted to “Move” today. This got me thinking — how do we cope when life gives us lemons, makes us depressed, and manages to convince us that ‘today will be a slow day?’

    Last week, I exercised every day. Weeks, or perhaps months ago, when I started using the treadmill and other exercise equipment I have at home, my goal was to do fifty side bends, fifty ab crunches, and ten minutes on the treadmill. Energized, I increased all and can now do the treadmill at a faster rate for thirty, sometimes forty minutes. Today, there is no way, but I will find my motivation again. I am getting so many compliments now and that is truly my motivation. I have a goal to reach, and with the will of myself and the strength I get from God, I will achieve this goal.

    Today, I’ve decided I must take baby steps again. Even though it has been a stressful day, I am sticking to the plan, just not the moving aspect of it. Oh well. Better days are ahead!

    Today, it is my turn to share with all of you this simple statement — when you are exhausted, stressed, discouraged, or just not motivated, it is ok to take a day off. Tomorrow when the sun shines, you can strive to take baby steps for your success. My Weight Watchers journey has been a two-year struggle. I have had days and weeks when I cannot get motivated. I’ve missed meetings. I’ve eaten things I should not eat, but what I have discovered on this exciting adventure is even when I go off the wagon,’ I pick myself up, have a sincere discussion with myself, and I restart and re-energize.

    Today is one of those days. I’ve never been one to eat at midnight, or to grab snacks. I do not have any junk food or snacks in my pantry or hidden in my home. I have fresh fruit ready always. Today, I am so tired that food or snacks does not interest me. I’ve told my husband that I am much too tired to cook dinner tonight in an uncomfortable house, so we will go out for dinner. No doubt, I will stick to my Weight Watchers program, in hopes tonight I will be able to sleep.

    Today, I have decided I must:
    *Drink plenty of water. I usually start every morning with a cold glass of water with lemon, just before I have coffee. Today, I did not do that. I suppose I was just a bit too worried about the household budget. Lessons learned – don’t worry, be happy. Life will get me by, along with the prayers and my belief in God.
    *Track my foods online and on my Iphone. I’ve been a bit negligent about that lately. Lessons learned!
    *Exercise – I strive for thirty minutes daily. On days like today, I have been one lazy, exhausted woman…and that truly is not my style. Lessons Learned!!!

    *When God gives lemons, make lemonade. Don’t focus on the negative aspects of life, and we all have them…silly moments where we dare to eat something we shouldn’t — or we binge…Focus on the positive…the encouraging compliments of others. Don’t dwell on today was a bad day. As my father shared with me throughout my life, focus on the positive, not the negative. Lessons Learned!to
    *Encourage yourself while knowing that gaining weight is a process where we put weight on over a period of time. Losing weight is the same process…it simply appears to take longer than we expected. Take weight loss one day at a time. Lessons Learned!

    Today started as a bad day for me. Hot. Uncomfortable. Difficulty breathing. Now, I am focusing on the reality that even though the morning started in a bad way, the sun is shining. My home is getting more comfortable and although I am taking the day off and doing nothing but reading, tomorrow I will jump back on the band wagon while knowing that today did not shatter me to the point that I’ve eaten everything I should not eat. Eating takes exercise, and I’m too tired to eat today!

    As for tomorrow, I will accomplish my goals. How about you? I’d love to hear your comments!

  • Antique Shopping — Melissa’s First Shoes


    Last week while running errands, my husband wanted to know if I had additional errands in mind. Occasionally I enjoy walking through antique shops. A few years ago, one of my favorite shops was Hungry Neck Antique Mall, but it closed and now is Trader Joe’s. Driving along Coleman Blvd. in Mt. Pleasant, I’ve noticed a sign for Six Mile Antique Shop. I dropped by once, noticing many, and I do mean many, venues of antiques, trinkets and interesting items. Since I have a birthday this summer, I suggested dropping by Six Mile Antiques, just to see what they had. I’m interested in an antique mantel clock, one that chimes.

    Years ago, I considered shopping in an antique mall a form of shopping for junk. Not anymore. Walking along the booths, my mind grew curious. To many people, antiques are simply junk that no one wanted anymore; however, to someone who appreciates treasures from years past, ‘junk’ and antiques are a silent story form that writers cherish. I glanced at tiny trinkets, glassware, silver, plates, cups, pictures and art. One person’s junk is another person’s treasure. How I wish I had the room, or the financial freedom to purchase so many of these treasures.

    Shopping at an antique mall takes me back to the history of my grandparents, maternal and paternal. My mother’s parents I knew well, since I lived with them as a teenager. Grandma had many trinkets I loved, especially her ‘what not’ shelves, placed gently in the corner by the front door. Every Saturday, I polished it, removing the ceramic ladies, dressed in antebellum Southern attire, shining them with a toothbrush to keep them clean. Then, I polished the wood, hoping that someday I would have the what not shelves in my home — in memory of Grandma. Never did I get them, after her death.

    My paternal grandmother had many antiques. Tiffany lamps, statues, porcelain vases, china, depression glass and silver. I did not have the pleasure to get to know my Dad’s mother well, since our family situation was dreadful. After her death, I managed to smuggle three pieces of depression glass, and a few pieces of silverware, dating back to the 1800’s. My mother busied herself with placing these inherited items into boxes, in route to the pawn and antique shops. When she turned to answer the phone, I found several items and rushed to my bedroom with them. Today, I still have those items. After my dad died, I kept his secretary desk that has been in his family since the early 1900’s and a beautiful wooden library table. These cherishable pieces have taught me to appreciate antiques.

    Leaving my IPhone in the car, I walked along more booths, following the entrances to additional interesting areas. Glancing at china, cherishable depression glass, which I collect, dolls, jewelry, trinkets, or ‘what nots’ — stopping to look at an interesting pair of baby shoes.

    Remembering when my son was little, there was a scuffed, well used white pair of baby shoes. The price was $18.00. I still had my son’s first baby shoes, somewhere, boxed up for preservation. I picked up the scuffed shoes. The leather was soft from little baby steps moving, bumping, falling, stumbling, and finally, walking, taking that first little baby step to independence. I turned the shoes over. Written in blue ink were the words, “Melissa’s First Shoes.”

    The wheels of my curiosity began to race. Who is Melissa? Is she someone local? And why did someone give the shoes away? Why didn’t Melissa keep the shoes? Her first shoes. Melissa. Just who is Melissa?

    My husband’s voice broke my trance. “I found a clock.”

    “I’ll be there in a moment,” I said. “Look at these shoes.”

    “Baby shoes. Who cares!”

    “They’re Melissa’s baby shoes.”

    “Whatever. Are you interested in seeing the clock?”

    Hastily, I followed my husband. The clock is a steeple clock that chimes at the hour. It is beautiful. We tested it to make certain it worked and after a few minutes of bartering, we purchased the clock, for my birthday.

    While boxing the clock, I went back to look at Melissa’s Baby Shoes once more. I showed them to the clerk. “Do you know anything about these shoes?” I asked.

    “No…but look how scuffed they are.”

    “Yes. Melissa obviously took her first steps to independence in these precious shoes. Someone actually took the time to write on the back of them, ‘Melissa’s Baby Shoes.’ Her first shoes. Why would someone give them away?”

    The attractive, mature woman glanced at the back of the shoes, smiled and nodded.

    “Poor Melissa.”

    Thinking about those shoes and the name, Melissa, this week my curiosity continues. Someone actually cared enough to scribble, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” in blue ink on the bottom of the shoes. Now, those historical shoes rest on a shelf, in an antique shop. Where is Melissa? What happened to her, and why didn’t she, or a family member, keep those shoes, in her memory? Why would someone take the time to scribble her name on the bottom of her shoes — in memory of ‘Melissa’s first steps,’ only to have the shoes end up on a shelf, in an antique store?

    Perhaps the title, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” is a metaphor for me, teaching me that to many shoppers, items in an antique shop are junk; but for me, these items are historical trinkets, taken from the life and memory of someone. Perhaps a clock, such as the steeple clock now sitting on my mantel, was a clock that a family had in their home for many years. Now, it will reside in my home, chiming on the hour, and I will cherish this clock for the rest of my life.

    Still, the inscription, “Melissa’s Baby Shoes,” plays in my mind. Perhaps today Melissa is grown, with a family of her own. The shoes did not have a date, so my imagination can create a story about Melissa. Maybe she’s a dancer. Maybe she is someone, like me, who had precious items from her childhood tossed away, because no one cared. But for Melissa, I believe that someone did care enough to write “Melissa’s Baby Shoes” on the bottom, perhaps to remember Melissa and her first baby steps. Her first, unstable, but steady steps into the future. Maybe today, someone suffers from Alzheimer’s, forgetting the significance of Melissa’s first steps. I’d like to believe that Melissa was cherished enough to have the significant first steps of her childhood recorded in history, for others to know. Those tiny white shoes, with all the scuff marks and indentations of a child’s first steps will remain for someone to treasure. Melissa’s Baby Steps. So precious. So significant. Baby steps, leading to independence and freedom. Someone loved Melissa enough to preserve these moments. I hope Melissa’s Baby Shoes find a proper home. Melissa, if you are looking for your first shoes, contact me and I will be happy to share, “Melissa’s First Baby Shoes.”

  • The Journey of Cleet…Cleet Continues…


    Good morning, World. It is a beautiful, sunshiny day in Charleston, SC — a beautiful day where I can see clearly now! What a relief! Thank you, God. To all who have asked, my foster child, Sweet Little Cleet…Cleet… is doing well with his new family. The moment I met them, I knew they were indeed the perfect family for him. His new name is Buddy and every day he takes a ‘baby step’ to his happiness. Truly, he was the hardest foster for me to let go of…but I learned something significant with him…I learned how to communicate with an animal. Occasionally, I will hear his bark and he and I will chat a bit.

    Yesterday, he told me he was getting better…The confusion of my giving him to another family is easing, and he recognizes that he was loved by me, but he had to find a true, forever home. My mission was to teach him that humans are trustworthy, and many are loving, wanting only the best for him, a well deserving, gentle but fearful foster child. He said he was sad for a few days, and he watched the actions of his adoptive family, seeing many of the behaviors he saw in our home…the gentleness, kindness, the sweet, soft stroking of his skin…the soft whispers…no shouts…the encouragement. He said he still missed me, but he understands that he needed to go to another home where he could continue his journey to love and trust ‘humans.’ I am so happy for him. Tears drip down my face when I remember how dreadfully sad and terrified he was of me and my husband…at first…and that is probably why he chose to run away. When he saw the posters with his picture on the poles, signs and every location we could post, he recognized that someone actually cared enough to find him…to search and show that he was worthy of love. And when he returned, three weeks later, that is why he was different to us. No longer did he pull his face away, and he learned to look into my eyes! From a dog’s perspective, looking into a human’s eyes is a significant sign of trust! To quote the adoptive mommy, “Baby Steps!”

    Today is a beautiful day for us, and for sweet little Buddy. Continue your journey while knowing that you are loved by many…and you are indeed worthy of L-O-V-E!