Category Archives: Days in My Life

I don’t just sit around and watch TV.

Clothes Shopping in my Own Closet

Posted on by
11

Building a new wardrobe from an old one.

I returned to Wickenburg on Saturday and after a few minor difficulties getting into the house — a long story to be covered in the future sometime — settled down and began cleaning up the detritus of a 29-year relationship with a man who has become a stranger to me. Fortunately, he has at least one other place to live and, indeed, has already moved out. So Penny and I pretty much have the house to ourselves.

Folks who follow my blog know that I’ve been dieting all summer. I’m still losing weight — mostly because stress has taken away my appetite and keeps me on edge. The total weight loss so far is 38 pounds. That’s about 19% of my starting body weight. So I guess you can say I’m 81% of the woman I was in May.

I bought some new clothes in Washington and donated my “fat clothes” to Goodwill. But I didn’t bring all my clothes back to Wickenburg. The reason: I had a bunch of old clothes stored away in my closet — clothes from when I was thin.

Pants Outfit
This dressy pants outfit fits better than ever before.

Over the past three days, I’ve been trying on old clothes and shifting them from the back of the closet to the front. Yesterday morning, I tackled the jeans and slacks. I’d pull a pair of pants out of the closet, check the size, and then try them on. Then I’d walk into the bathroom where there’s a big mirror, and I’d check out the fit. And every single time, I’d say to myself, “I can’t fucking believe it.”

You see, with the exception of one skirt and a few pairs of jeans, I was able to get my body into every single item I tried on.

Including a denim skirt I’d made from an embroidered pair of jeans when I was in eighth grade.

In many cases, the clothes I tried on were too big. They went into the Goodwill pile. The clothes that fit got rehung on hangars at the front of the closet. Those few items that were too small — well, I’ll hold onto them just in case I keep shrinking.

Cocktail Dress
I don’t think I ever actually wore this dress. I think it was too small from the day I bought it.

Yesterday afternoon, I started on the dress clothes. I took the size 14/16 Lane Bryant dress — you ladies know what I’m talking about — off the hangar and bundled it up for my mom. Didn’t even bother trying it on — I know I’d be swimming in it. (It’s going to be very long on my mother.) I found a slacks outfit with a cute little short jacket and put the jacket on — 10 years of age fell off me. It looked sharp! And that little cocktail dress I wanted to get into? No problemo! Can’t wait to start wearing it on dates.

I continued going through clothes this morning and will likely continue tomorrow. It’s not just the closet — which I’m almost finished with — but it’s the dresser drawers and the storage bins under the bed. There’s just so much of it.

Short Black Skirt
A wardrobe essential: a short black skirt. I have four of them.

What I’m really glad about, however, is that I didn’t do this last year. I almost did several times, but the task was too daunting. If I’d done it, however, I would have thrown away the skinny clothes and then I’d have nothing that fit me now!

At this point, my car trunk and front passenger seat are completely filled with bags and laundry baskets full of clothes and old purses for the local thrift shop. I’ll drop them off on my way out of town this afternoon. (I’m heading down to the mall to get a makeup consultation and then have dinner with a singles meetup group.)

The best thing about this shopping spree? It didn’t cost me a thing.

Burning the Bridge Back to Fat-Town

Posted on by
Comment

Why keep oversized clothes I never want to get back into again?

I did laundry today for the first time in two weeks. I’d just about run out of clothes. Clothes that fit me, that is.

I’m down 37 pounds from where I was about three months ago. Back then, my jeans were uncomfortably tight and I preferred loose-fitting “chef pants” and cargo shorts. As the weight fell off, my clothes started fitting better. And then they started getting loose. It all came to a head about two weeks ago when I realized that I didn’t have any nice jeans that fit. As discussed in the postscript to this post from August 29, I went shopping and discovered that I wasn’t one size smaller — I was two sizes smaller.

I’m actually now wearing the same size Levi’s I wore when I was in high school.

Too Big NowSo today, after doing laundry and having my entire Mobile Mansion wardrobe clean and folded, I decided to start weeding out the clothes that were simply too big to look right on me. Actually, I started weeding in the laundromat, pulling all the XL sized tank tops and gym shorts. Tonight I tried on every pair of pants and shorts. And what I discovered is that every pair of pants and shorts I left Arizona with in May are now too big.

As I gained weight throughout my 40s, I packed away the jeans that became too tight to wear. I had a crazy idea that someday I’d lose weight and be able to wear them again. I can picture them now, in bags on the floor of my closet at home. In October, when I get home, I’ll tear those bags open and go through them. I bet I’ll find plenty in there to fit.

But what of the pants that are now too big? Do I save them, too? Just in case I get fat again?

I don’t think so. I think I’d rather burn the bridge back to Fat-Town. I’ll drop them all off at Goodwill tomorrow.

Pity for the Foolish

Posted on by
Comment

Even grown men can make dumb decisions.

This morning, as the sun rose and broke through the scattered clouds leftover from last night’s storms, I watched in awe as the golden light played on the orchard-studded hills across the canyon from where I’m living. The scene was so beautiful it almost brought me to tears.

Sunrise

But, at the same time, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of pity for my soon-to-be ex-husband.

Yes, I might be living in an RV parked on a remote hillside right now, but he’s living in a city subdivision, in a dark house surrounded by walls with a puny backyard barely big enough for our dog. And while I’m listening to my neighbor’s rooster crowing, he’s listening to the sounds of cars and the occasional siren and his neighbors slamming doors or shouting. I’ll be going out shortly on a walk to pick fresh blueberries for my mid-morning snack while my little dog Penny runs free in the orchard; he’ll be driving around in city traffic or maybe taking our poor dog for a walk along the curb in the subdivision on a leash. I’ll fly this afternoon and make some money. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll take the boat out on the Columbia River or take a hike along a creek or drive up to Chelan for some wine tasting.

Nature is right outside my door and I’m in it every day, enjoying every bit of it, working when there’s work to do, playing when there isn’t. I live well within my means so I don’t have to be a slave to someone else. But he’s caught up in the rat race, abandoning the financial security of our life together — or even his own life alone — to take on the responsibilities of a virtual stranger.

The saddest part of it all is that his current job gives him the ability to live anywhere.

He could have been here with me. I asked him to come. But someone else caught his eye and he forgot all about his 29-year investment in our relationship.

I think he would have really liked here. But it’s too late. He’s stepped into a trap and it’s sprung closed.

How can I help but pity him?

Gold Digger

Posted on by
Comment

A definition that I find extremely fitting for a certain person.

As I learn more and more about what’s been going on in Arizona since I left in May, a term came up that I find extremely fitting for one of the parties involved. From the New Oxford American Dictionary:

gold digger
noun informal
a person who dates others purely to extract money from them, in particular a woman who strives to marry a wealthy man.

What amazes me is how easily a weak man can be led around by his penis.

The Pain of Betrayal

Posted on by
2

The reality is much worse than I imagined.

Back when I was writing fiction, one of my plots involved two characters who developed a deep romantic relationship.

be•tray | biˈtrā |
verb [ with obj. ]
1 expose (one’s country, a group, or a person) to danger by treacherously giving information to an enemy: a double agent who betrayed some 400 British and French agents to the Germans.

  • treacherously reveal (secrets or information): many of those employed by diplomats betrayed secrets and sold classified documents.

  • be disloyal to: his friends were shocked when he betrayed them.

2 unintentionally reveal; be evidence of: she drew a deep breath that betrayed her indignation.
DERIVATIVES
be•tray•al | -əl | noun,
be•tray•er noun
ORIGIN Middle English: from be-‘thoroughly’ + obsolete tray ‘betray,’ from Old French trait, based on Latin tradere ‘hand over.’ Compare with traitor.

Jack, the woman in the story, was damaged goods — she’d lost her husband, who she loved dearly, when he killed a man in a jealous rage and was locked up in a foreign prison. For years, she tried bribing guards to get him out — stealing to get the money she needed — only to learn that he’d been dead almost as long as he’d been gone. She’d become an outlaw, basically destroying her own life, to get back a man who would never return. Along the way, she lost their child to a family member who threatened to expose her if she tried to find them. With everything she loved taken away from her, she took refuge alone in an outpost city, a borderline alcoholic watched over by a very close friend named Alex. That’s her backstory.

The man, Ray, entered at the beginning of the story as another outlaw who had chosen to take refuge in the same outpost city. He quickly became friends with Alex, and through him, with Jack. They had many similarities in their knowledge and skills and it was natural that they should hook up. They worked together as a team. His companionship and their lovemaking helped her forget the tragedy of her past. She fell in love with him and it seemed pretty clear that he felt the same way about her.

The only problem is that Ray wasn’t what he seemed. In reality, he’d come to take Alex out of the city. He was using his friendship with Jack and Alex as a means to achieve his real goal. As the plot unfolded, he stood by while one of his men gunned Jack down. Jack survived it, but was left with the pain of the feeling of betrayal.

As a writer, I had to instill my character with that emotion. It had to come through her in the way she spoke, looked, and acted. It wasn’t enough to say she felt betrayed; I had to get inside her head and make her feel betrayed. And then communicate that to readers.

That’s fiction. Whether I pulled it off will never really be known; the work is at a standstill and will never be published or shared.

But one thing is for certain: the feeling of betrayal is far worse than I ever could have imagined.

I’m going through it now. After 29 years of a life with a man I loved, a man who claimed he loved me and acted as if he did — right up to the moment I last saw him! — I’m discovering a huge web of lies and actions behind my back. As I learn more and more about his betrayal of my trust, everything that comes before our last communication is in question — including his true motivations for marrying me in the first place. As I realize that I can’t believe a single thing he told me, the pain grows and grows.

What makes it even worse in this situation is his complete failure to explain his actions. It’s as if he just doesn’t care — something I’m finding so hard to believe and accept after a 29-year relationship. But it confirms my worst suspicions about his actions and motivations.

A complete and utter betrayal of my trust, possibly going back for years and years.

The pain of betrayal is the worst pain possible. It’s a pain without end, rooted in once fond memories now analyzed and questioned. It’s pain made worse by realizing that someone you thought really cared about you apparently doesn’t care at all. Or, worse yet, is now bent on hurting you as much as he possibly can.

That’s where I am today.