The totally shame-free, actual-life, real-time blog where I tell all, show all--without nagging or whining (all right--maybe a little whining...)--in my attempt to stop being a fat middle-aged woman who avoids mirrors and clothing stores and start being a woman at home in her body...brought to you by a real woman, the Independent Weltha Herself. I won't give any advice, and I'm not asking for any--just companionship on my journey.

Every day...a new post. Every other real weight. Every pictures.

For every woman who has ever tried to just lose the extra weight and feel good...overall and about herself...and who lived to tell the story.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Day the 166th

At this point, I am not blogging on the weekend. Can you all stand it? Of course you can.

Still, it remains "All Weltha, All the Time." Oh - my friends Rack and Eric took pix of me at church yesterday and when I receive them, will post. New pix! Woo and hoo....

Let us recap: when last we wended our way together through Weltha Blog World, I was heading for lunch with my dear friend LeAnna, hoping to buy fruit for breakfast, anticipating dinner on Saturday with Travis and Matthew, and then looking forward to All Things Church on Sunday.

Lunch with LeAnna on Friday was great! First, we caught up on her little boys and her extended family, and then on what I like to call anWeltha World of Fun and Frolic at the Shiloh Restaurant which features Good Home Cookin' and Plenty of It. Reader, I ate 3 rolls.

Not my little 'pocketbook' rolls but these Big Mambas that deserve the term 'cat's head.' In fact, one of the rolls was bigger than Mr. Boy's head, and that's saying something. And then, I had a half a BBQ sandwich and some macaroni and cheese. Brought the rest of the sammie back here only to forget and leave it in the refrigerator. It is, of course, gone. That's fine with me. It was good, but...

The very idea of weighing myself - and this Wednesday, 11/23/11 is a Weigh-In Wednesday - is rather sick-making, and I'm not likin' the whole idea. Nonetheless...

No, I did not get out the rebounder but I vacuumed. Somehow, this counts. I'm not sure as what, but it counts...

Travis and Matthew came to dinner Saturday night, and we had an Oh-So-Splendid time - until about 11:15 pm. WAY too much fun. We had White Bean Chili With Chicken, Green Salad (with loads of yummy vegetables), The Rolls [this time, cooked to perfection thanks to a handy timer. Who knew?], and 5-Chocolate Brownies. The extra rolls and brownies went home with them. Thank you for that, guys. Loads of great talk. Piles of laughter. Oh, we had hummus, cut vegetables, and Red Drink. I'm working on Red Drink to make it better, but it's a fun drink I adapted for those of us who want something interesting but reasonably healthy. Reasonably.

Yes, I ate a brownie or two. Yes, I ate rolls. Yes, I put sour cream and Jack cheese in my chili. They were wonderful.

And there is lentil-onion-beet salad in my lunch today and there is also green salad. AND...I bought black grapes this weekend and yes, they are in my lunch.

Tonight, I'm buying more garbanzos because by golly I am going to PERFECT that hummus or at least give it my best shot. Complete with veggies...and I may have to make more White Bean Chili With Chicken.

And I think some Coleslaw is in the offing....

Now, my Work Salad Bar has reopened and it's spectular. I think I will continue to bring my lunch BUT on occasion (and today may be an occasion...) buy some...wait for it, wait for it...EDAMAME and QUINOA on the salad bar.

Have you EVER heard the like? This salad bar is extraordinary! I adore both. I'm going to pretend my readers have heard of neither:

EDAMAME - steamed green soy beans and a lovely delicious treat. Good for you. Good for me! And good for my Work Salad Bar - very, very good!

QUINOA - pronounced 'keen-wah', this is an incredible grain that is very high protein and can be used in place of rice. I love it!

Last night, hung with Poodle - for oh-so-many-reasons - and took some brownies that I had made (these are the Best Ones So Far), complete with...yes, praline topping. I want to marry that topping.

We each ate one, and they are at work with me today complete with an email to my friends here at work to come get one - or two...or whatever. I want to take home an EMPTY PAN. Sorry, however, to say, that I drowned my sorrows in several of the brownies...ah well...

And now...the Topic of the Day.


As a very young girl, I bought into the Cult of Heroism and the Received Version of Various Heroic Moments. I mean, I bought into it with a vengeance, with extreme prejudice. [I mean this in the "Apocalypse Now" "terminate him with extreme prejudice" sense...] I bought in, as Mama used to say, 'whole hog.' Of course, that's how I live my life. There is one speed: full throttle. Then there is 'off.'

Over the years, I have imagined myself in Several Boy Roles (usually in a starring role...): in one, I'm a commander at Trafalgar on the British side (of course...), receiving Nelson's penultimate signal (meant to tease the fleet but branded into the heroic imagination: England Expects Every Man Will Do His Duty), sailing my ship of the line into battle, emerging victorious (and unscathed. This last is Very Important To Weltha. I cannot emphasize this enough...)

In another Boy Role, I am charging up Cemetary Ridge as part of Pickett's Charge, and again, ol' Southern Girl (remember, those of you who might be history-challenged - Pickett's Charge up Cemetary Ridge at Gettysburg was doomed, doomed, doomed...) survives.

Yet another Heroic Vision locates me as one of the first wave of American GI Joes landing on Omaha Beach, June 6, 1944, D-Day, part of Eisenhower's Great Crusade to liberate Europe and establish a Second Front. And again, I manage to survive. Unscathed. Of course I do.

But the one that speaks to me most is the Received Version of the Battle of Britain. (because she's a Big Anglophile, that's why...)

You know, beleagered Britain, holding out Alone, after France has fallen. There is a wonderful poster of a cartoon Churchill, shaking his fist at the Luftwaffe and the legend reads, "Very well, then. Alone." I'm all over that. All. Over. It.

Outnumbered Britain with its little RAF, its few fighter planes, its lack of experience, holding out against the Might Of The Luftwaffe, a desperate group of young, inexperienced flyers going up against the battle-hardened huns (sorry, those of you of German descent...)

The truth is a bit more nuanced than that. Nonetheless, it is true that a small group of fighter pilots, bolstered by bombers and the Royal Navy ('The Senior Service') turned the tide in the sense of holding off and finally bringing invasion from Germany to a halt.

What appeals to me most is the vision of being heroic when it counts. Anyone can be heroic, anyone can pledge themselves to do-or-die when there is no threat, no temptation. But in the heat of battle, when the worst happens, when the very worst could happen...that's when what we do matters.

I have faced some temptations recently to despair and worse. And the example of RAF Fighter Command during the Second World War is of immeasurable help.

SPOILER ALERT: If the idea of me talking about God my heavenly Parent and Jesus my Sovereign King gives you the queasies, stop reading. I'm not pulling bait-and-switch, but doggone it, it is my blog and I'll write what I want.

I'm like anyone else - I need inspiration. I need an example set before me. I need to know that there are people who, in the time of crisis, did not bend or give in. It makes my tiny little difficulties seem much more surmountable.

The story of the Few always means something to me. I'm proud of them. I'm British myself, with an English great-grandfather who left Manchester in 1829 and came to these shores, and is buried in our family plot up in The Home State. Winston Himself is my hero. I want to be Winston. I want to stand when - in the words of a film I once saw - standing for something counts and is the most important thing. I want to be found Brave, True, Courageous when the wolf is at the door and the enemy at the gates.

That's really what I want. Heroism inspires me. I want to be a hero. I want to do what's right in the critical hour. I want to be found faithful. I want to rise to the occasion. I want to find the hour to which God has matched me, in the words of Rupert Brooke.

Weight loss, buying cool things for my wonderful apartment...those things and frustrations fade as I think about The Few, The Finest Hour, and how I face my own hours.

I am not ashamed of being a romantic, an idealist, a hero-admirer, and generally a little Boy Scout who dreams of being St. George slaying the dragon. I'm not Walter Mitty. I think I'm Winston as a child, knowing some day, my hour will come.

I want to be found faithful in God's hour for me. And here is to the Few - the 3000 members of Fighter Command during the Battle of Britain, and here is my salute to all those who survived, and to the 544 who died.



No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for havin' your say! You're an INDEPENDENT WOMAN (or an INDEPENDENT MAN!), too! Just remember, this is an ADVICE-FREE please send the advice back to its room, and PLEASE comment about what you've done or just join in the ray-rah!