Weight Watchers Can Kiss My Ass (Part Deux)

Ten years ago I went on my first trip south. Instead of being excited like most 'normal' people... I spent months grieving about my size before-hand. I obsessed over how HUGE I was going to look on the beach. Tons and tons of grief for months before I even got on the plane…and the grief continued in my head throughout the entire trip! I decided this time that life was far too short (and expensive!) to ruin a perfectly good holiday down south by tormenting myself over the number on the scales! So, I finally did it! I said I would…but never thought I could ever actually follow through with it! I managed to go away on a vacation down south without crucifying myself over my weight and/or size….not once…and it was fantastic!

For starters, I got sick and tired of being limited to those plus sized potato sacks at the local plus sized store. I HATE those HUGE sack-like dresses in dreary gray or black with tacky bedazzled rhinestones on them or bozo-esque three ring circus themes on them. Now can you please tell me which BBW designer says…”please make me a little something that screams I am huge as an elephant and belong in a circus tent-like dress? Make sure you put obnoxious patterns, rouging and ruffle on my trouble spots too please! Oh and please make it pull and stretch with all of its screaming might across my gut and ass please! Put letters across it too….that draws some more attention to my sweet spots” I was disheartened and disgusted. So, I stepped way out of my comfort zone and did some online shopping. I measured myself…found stuff I liked….and ordered it on a wing and a prayer! I can hear all of you sucking in air in disbelief….but yes…I did it with NO REGRETS! I got a couple of funky bathing suits, a sassy hot pink wrap dress….and the BIGGEST prize of all was my plus sized Barbie dress!!!

My plus-sized Barbie dress is a purple sequined number…the tank-style-top of the dress is covered in various sparkling shades of hot purple sequins, then a black elastic band waist (a la 80’s style) and finished off with purple chiffon ruffles that stopped at the top of my thighs! When the dress arrived in the mail, I whipped my nightie right up over my head and threw it right there it on the floor by the front door (I closed the front door first by the way!). I whipped the dress over my head…and it slid right on me like a glove! The hem is a little short….so short I cannot bend over or sit in public without showing my Brittany (hooch)…but I didn’t give a shit! I immediately woke up my husband by posing on his bed like Wonder Woman and I squealed “Look at me Boo!!! LOOK!” His jaw dropped and he said “Oh my God that dress is fantastic!” I agreed immediately and said “I hope you like it…because I am wearing it to breakfast, lunch, dinner, the pool and to bed every day of the cruise!” LOL! Throughout our entire vacation…I wore big sparkly jewellery, brightly coloured fitted funky tops, and outfits that hugged my curves…I felt amazing! I always wanted gel nails (so I got my hands and feet done!) I dyed my hair the lightest blonde possible…and VOILA….a sexkitten was born! All those things with a wickedly cool dark tan…and I felt like a million bucks every single moment of every single day. Step back! I felt like I am ten feet tall and bullet proof throughout the entire vacation.

So, one day last week I was standing at the Panama Canal….minding my business…and all of a sudden I begin to feel a little nervous… like a ‘virgin at a prison rodeo’ kind of nervous. I was getting WAY too much attention from the male Panamanians! While I am waiting for my guide, workers in passing trucks whistled and ogled at me. One guy almost hit another car because he is rubber necking in my direction. Tons of passing workmen were pointing, smiling, waving and calling me “precioso” (precious), “bello” (beautiful) and “linda” (pretty).! Then in my usual innocent-like fashion I batted my eye lashes and in an utter-disbelief-like-fashion I ask incredulously…”are they talking about me?” Some of them snapped photos of me with their cell phones! One guy asked to have his picture taken with me! I felt like a plus-sized version of Madonna!

When our guide Elvis arrived, I asked him “Elvis….do Panamanian men tend to favor big white women with bodacious ta-tas?” The big black man blushed from ear to ear…giggled like a school boy….and while twisting his feet in the sand like a little boy he whispered (giggled)….”yes…there are not any blonde white women here…especially as BEEEEEG and CUUURRRRVY like you! You are like a rare gem here!” A rare gem huh? My proclamation from previous trips south echoed through my head…“Weight Watchers can KISS MY ASS!!!”

So ladies…are you feeling down? Crucifying yourself over another failed diet? Are you disappointed about your current size? Do you cringe at the thought of squeezing into a tummy tuck bathing suit and walking in public? Well, worry no more! Get your ‘cottage-cheese-esque’ asses on a plane to Central America….because in Central America… Plus-sized Barbies and BBW’s are nothing less than GODDESSES!

"Confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can have. It's much sexier than any body part."~Aimee Mullins

Lynn
;)

Check out this fabulous video!!!

Embrace your Curves!

Suck-Me-In Suits

So, what is a “suck-me-in” suit you ask? It’s most commonly known as SPANX but goes by many other brand names as well. In short, SPANX-like apparel is the girdle of the 20th century! Bottom line, it is the apparel equivalent to a “sausage casing” for women. Many women (and some men) will attest that these ‘suits’ are the best thing since sliced bread...but in my humble opinion it is all in the way you look (“squeeze”) at it (and if you don’t eat too much sliced bread you don’t need one!) I consider these “super-stretchy-gut-sucking-ass-flattening-zone-compression-stocking-suits” to be a psychotic testament to the twisted view of today’s society! God has secretly blessed you if you haven’t a clue what I am talking about!

I find the name SPANX itself is indicative of something painful (pleasurable to a few people) but for the most part...painful, so the name has been well thought out, planned and appropriately chosen...for one thousand-bare-bummed spankings would be far less painful to endure than an ‘event’ in one of my suck-me-in suit selections. Yes, I said ’selections’. I have a full suck-me-in body suit, suck-me-in panties with panels that go up to and tuck under my bra, suck-me-in thighs to waist, suck-me-in thighs to bra, suck-me-in camisoles that go down past my butt; all in that all too familiar nude color...I am not sure what options (if any) women of color may have, as I have only seen the across the board white woman nude. All I have to say to those people who testify that these torture devices are ‘so comfortable’is “PHOOEY YOU LIARS!”

From the very beginning women have squeezed themselves into teeny corsets that restrict breathing, Asian women have had their feet bound to fit into too-small shoes, women have and still do have their ribs removed to emulate a smaller waist! I truly believe it is genetic because women have been doing this to themselves ever since the beginning of time. I have no doubt that even EVE probably wrapped herself tightly in palm leaves to suck it all in. I mean she considered an apple a ‘cheat’...I don’t get it...I could understand chocolate dipped strawberries...but an apple for a cheat...was it worth it? I doubt it! She didn’t need a palm leave girdle or a cross your heart bra! I digress. I can definitely relate to the twisted thinking of no pain…no gain all for the sake of beauty.

My earliest memory of a girdle involved my Grandmother. Well beyond her curvy years...I recall my Aunt Esther placing her foot in Nanny’s back and pulling with all her might to hook those damned little hooks and eyes;about a million clasps from arsehole to appetite. I remember Esther and Nanny both gasping for breath and sweating profusely...but the end result was worth the effort because my Nanny felt gorgeous...and that was all that mattered! I myself chose a much more ‘civilized’ route. I bought too-tight jeans thinking that if I fit into them I would automatically look that size! How on earth do you explain a bleeding blister and callous on your index finger from pulling your zipper up with an untwisted coat hangar? Sometimes I drew blood...but my God I looked good! Of course, my tops would be loose fitting to hide the prominent ‘muffin top’ of fat drooping (and screaming) over the edges of the too-tight jeans. One night, the zipper decided to commit suicide as the pressure was simply too much...and gave out...a total blow out! I had somehow located a bag full of safety pins and proceeded to safety pin the zipper closed. There started my romance with bartering not to pee...as it was not worth the effort! From there, I graduated to simply emptying my bladder, lying down on the bed….sucking in my gut and holding my breath until I was blue in the face and hallucinating from lack of oxygen and pulling up the zipper with all of my might! Then I found the SPANX!

My full suck-me-in body suit is the most challenging of all of my shape-slimming suits by far. It has a special crotch clasp opening that is beyond impossible to open at any time whilst the suit is donned. Besides being impossible to bend over and reach the tiny twisted clasps at a critical moment of need (full bladder or my personal favourite...sudden-onset of explosive diarrhea!) if and when you could manage to undo the offensive crotch clasp...it would whip open and flip upwards; releasing all of the oppressed (excuse me zone-compressed) body infarctions! I can see it now (from personal experience)...just like those out-of-control horizontal blinds that whip up right to the top when you lose control of the draw-string...I liken releasing the crotch clasps in this psycho suit it to pulling the pin on a grenade! Just wait a few seconds and then KABOOM...major GUNT and perineal fall-out (now there’s a pretty picture for you!).

I wear these damned things all the time...well not at the beach or under my nighties. I sometimes imagine that taking a leap off of my dresser into it would be far easier than my wiggly squiggly callisthenic routines of getting into these suck-me-in suits….then be all breathless pissy and sweaty! I must admit that when I am all ‘sucked in’ I do feel like a million bucks...from an aesthetic perspective...definitely not from a comfort perspective! When I have to pee...I will confess I do the old ‘pull the crotch to the side trick’...otherwise I would have to take off my top, slip out of the full body suck-me-in suit, drop my drawers, sit and pee in a ridiculously small public washroom cubicle, and then endure the nightmare of trying to get the damned thing back on without lying down or having room to jump about. I have done this once or twice...and I have had images of being knocked out (and subsequently discovered) unconscious on a bathroom floor with my SPANX twisted around my ankles!

Up until last night, I thought wearing any garment that requires you to barter and plead with God to avoid urinating, sneezing and/or sometimes even breathing...should be banned! But...a strange thing happened when my night was almost over. I was undressing and my husband came rushing in excitedly asking when I got the new lingerie. Lingerie? Where? I have managed to hide the fact that I am wearing suck-me-in suits for over 10 years and I finally got ‘caught’. I was about to remind him that this was not lingerie...that the politically correct term was ‘suck-me-in-suit...but before I could he said “that suit is so SEXY baby!” Instead, (in a sex kitten voice)... I said " What this old thing?"...and brought in the New Year with a KABOOM!

During a trial in which she was accused of indecency on stage:

Judge: 'Miss West, are you trying to show contempt for this court?'

Mae West: 'On the contrary, your Honor, I was doin' my best to conceal it.'”

Lynn
;)

The "Magic" of Chistmas

Don't you wish that you could actually "bottle" the magic of Christmas back from when you were a kid? Back when you were a kid...you didn't have to worry about Christmas shopping, baking, those GD Santa Swaps for under $20 for people you don't give a shit about, Christmas decorating...and worst of all...the entire hang over of Christmas debt. You didn't have to worry about calories, pay attention to what you ate or stress about gaining weight. All you ever had to worry about was your mother actually completing the phone call to Santa to tell him not to bother coming....when you have been saucy or a naughty girl/boy...I still can't believe that I bought that scam year after year...it's the same as when Dad would scream "don't make me stop this car!"... my brother Lloydie, Lori and me would instantly shut up and be scared shitless. But, what would have happened if he stopped the car? Did anybody's parents ever actually stop the car? Would he have left us on the side of the highway? NO...irrationally we would all sit in fear...fear of the car stopping! I digress...back to the threat of the phone call...the simple movement of lifting the receiver of the phone... not touching the dial...stopped me in my tracks...and I am still a naughty girl who is scared shitless of the phone receiver in my Mother's hand!!!

I remember many Chritsmas' staring out of our large picture window...desperately looking up to the sky for the sleigh. I still swear to you that I saw Rudolph's bright red nose leading the other reindeer and Santa's sleigh over my house! Every Christmas Eve my mother cranked up that "Santa Sleigh Tracker" on the radio...somehow the 'sleigh' was almost on the edge of our town right around bedtime...(highly suspicious and perfect timing I'd say!)...but I was exhausted from the emotional roller coaster ride anyway. When I was a kid, time sure moved super-agonizingly-slow on Christmas Eve! I even tried to go to bed one year at 4pm because I just couldn't stand the wait any longer! But...I got out of bed for church and Christmas Dinner with my grandparents....which was awesome. My grandparents made my Christmas complete. Every Christmas Eve before they left for their 'rounds'(cousin Sherry!) we were allowed to select one present and open it. Nanny and Grampy always gave me and Lori the same thing...mine was pink...Lori’s was blue...whatever it was it was awesome!I spent the weeks before Christmas studying the packages and shaking them in order to make the best decision for which gift to open on Christmas Eve! I was a slow learner back then...because we always opened our grandparents’ gift while they were still there...but the following year I started the gift studying all over again.

When we were kids, my sister Lori and I shared a bedroom. One night when I was about 4 years old, I distinctly remember waking up and hearing the sounds of presents being moved around....both of us almost shit our pants with excitement. Being the ballsy girl I am...I decided that Santa would like nothing more than to actually meet me in person...so in my "kitty pyjamas" (those once piece PJ's with feet included and a snap open bum)...I jumped out of bed...and started to make my way to the living room to greet the jolly fellow...but my plans were foiled when my Dad stepped into my path. My Dad is a big man...blocks the light from coming through a doorway kind of big...so if he steps in front of you...you stop. He asked "where do you think you're going?" In my little voice (like Cindy-Loo-Who)...I pulled my thumb out of my mouth... and very authoritatively informed him that I was going to meet Santa. He crossed his arms and shook his head back and forth in a no. He said "are you kidding me? You better get back to bed quickly because Rudolph is on the roof right now!" At that very second...Rudolph (aka my brother Lloyd) scuffed his hoof(boots)...on the roof directly above my head!!(The roof of our house was flat by the way!).If I knew the meaning of OMFG back then I would have screamed it out...but in a 4 year old mode 35+ some years ago...I remember my heart stopping! Now...my memory gets a little blurry after that...somehow...faster than the speed of light...I landed back into my bed from 20 feet away without my feet touching the ground...and against all rational odds I somehow fell asleep until the morning.

Waking up...I remember those butterflies doing cart wheels in my belly...so much excitement simply by opening my eyes! I had that moment where I simply woke up...and then the reality that Santa had been to my house....and a pile of gold was waiting for me just around the corner would set in. I would scream "NORI (Lori=sis)....NORI get up....come on!!!!"...and off we would go...running to the living room! In our house...Santa did not wrap his gifts...the gifts from Santa were staring right back at us as we rounded the corner into the living room. There we stood...taking it all in. My heart skipped a beat...I couldn't breathe....right there in the center-front of the tree stood Wendy Walker...the big and tall doll of my dreams!

Wendy Walker was 32" tall and she had the most beautiful blonde hair with ringlets. She did not actually "walk" at all...her legs moved back and forth from the groin...no knee action...no chance of walking...I think maybe "Walker" was her last name. It didn't matter ...I was only a few inches taller than she was...and I drugged this life-sized, stiff monstrosity around with me everywhere. Thumbelina was going to be so jealous! Do you remember Thumbelina....she was a soft doll...you pulled a string in her back and she wriggled like a real baby? Thumbelina had no need to be jealous...I still miss her the most...I LOVED her! The following year Wendy Walker was discarded to the back of the pile and replaced with Baby Tender Love...like children though...you loved them all...just in a different way than the others! I loved Baby Tender Love so much I actually almost chewed the legs right off of her!(Don't even try to tell me that you did not chew on Baby Tender Love or your Barbie's feet...because I know you would be lying!).I also had Mrs. Beasley...that doll is just plain old scary UGLY...but somehow I managed to fall in love with her too! Mrs. Beasley was a plastic headed old lady wearing a blue and white polka dotted suit from neck to toes...she had thick black framed glasses and when you pulled her string she said loving things like a Grandmother would. I don't remember what she said...but I loved her just the same.

I digress...back to Christmas Day with Nori(Lori). After everything was opened...I would take a breath or two to regain composure and I would re-examine everything...and take in that "new" smell of Christmas presents. I have no recollection what Lori or my brother Lloyd got...I didn't care. They were older and got fewer toys and more clothes...like grown-up things. I also got a can of hot pink "Silly String" that year too! I LOVED that! I can still smell it...my parents must have been some pissed at Santa that year because I made one hell of a mess all over the house with that stuff!

Then, years later...you wake up whenever...and all the gifts are wrapped...and soft...like clothes only. There are no toys at all. No excitement leading up to the days before Christmas...no 'sleigh tracker' on the radio...no need to look out the window. No more ripping through the pages of the Sears Wish Book as soon as it crossed the door step. No more worrying about Santa burning to death in the blazing fire in our fireplace...no more Grandparents. Every year after they died...I would look to the door like a loyal dog....waiting for them to come home...which wasn’t going to happen. Christmas just wasn't the same at all. In fact, it turned out to be a tremendous disappointment...I desperately searched for that "magic" feeling year after year...and I never ever found it. As a grown up...and a nurse...I would sign on to work every year...saying I wanted people with kids to have it off...but in reality I was trying to avoid the disappointment that would inevitably come anyway.

Then, out of the blue...the love of my life jumped into my world with children in tow. On that first Christmas with my step kids (aged 6 and 9)...I didn't see it coming....but that "magic" feeling rushed right back into my heart. I spent the weeks before the event searching for that 'perfect' gift for them...and it was worth every minute for the look on their faces. When the kids opened those gifts it was magical...priceless in fact...you cannot beat a front-toothless grin with the accompanying spitty speech impediment....thankth tho much Nynn(Lynn=me) !!!I'm tho happy!!! Tears of joy flowed freely from them (and me) as they opened the perfect gifts...giving oodles of hugs and kisses...all day! Before the step kids stomped into my life...I had the perfectly manicured Christmas tree with clear lights, crystal ornaments and burgundy bows...but after our first year together...and every year afterwards...I had multicoloured....dysfunctional crooked trees with randomly placed items...perfect! I also got to play "Barbies" and color all day too! I LOVE COLORING!

As it turns out...the magic of Christmas was not lost forever...it was simply 'on hold'...and within me the entire time. Can you imagine my surprise when I discovered how much Santa cursed and swore when he attempted to put the toys together (FYI-the Easter Bunny swears alot too!). I found myself too excited to sleep...waiting for that pile of gold to be discovered that Santa left at my house by the kids. I will admit that it was very challenging answering questions about how Santa was able to find them (the kids) at their mother's house...and at our house. How Santa managed to get into the apartment without a chimney or key...and best of all...the highly scientific answer that I had to conjure up when I blared the radio...and was asked how the "Santa Sleigh Tracker" worked while they desperately searched and stared up into the sky!

"Until one feels the spirit of Christmas, there is no Christmas. All else is outward display - so much tinsel and decorations. For it isn't the holly, it isn't the snow. It isn't the tree not the firelight's glow. It's the warmth that comes to the heart”~Anonymous

Nynn
(aka Lynn)
;)

Death Becomes Her

For those of you who do not know me I am a nurse. I never wanted to be a nurse...ever! Because there was no roll call in university,I decided to be the cribbage champion of the student union building and subsequently failed out of my first year of university! Now, considering that I graduated almost at top of my class in high school with a 94% average...plummeting to the lowest depths of the earth with “academic probation” followed by a “see you later” at the end of the school year was simply unacceptable to my mother...a teacher. FAILURE WAS NOT AN OPTION! So, with fists clenched she ‘nicely’ cornered me one day and said “Navy or nursing”...take your pick”. I started to say “Well, I don’t think that I am interested in either really”... but then she simply (and very sternly) repeated herself...”Navy or nursing...it is not a question of anything else...take your pick.” I thought about peeling potatoes somewhere over the North Atlantic Ocean and with head bowed I quietly answered “nursing”.

My Grandmother was technically the first nurse in our family. She did not graduate from an accredited nursing school...she did not have a cap or black stripe...but she was the epitome of what a nurse is. Nanny assumed the care of every single sick family member in her home until they died. This is where I believe I got my innate nursing capabilities from. When my Dad was a young boy it was ‘just another day’ for the relatives to be taken out the door “feet first”. "Feet first" is the exact translation of French "les pieds devant", which is a metaphorical humorous/slang expression meaning "dead". It is frequently used with "partir" (leave) and there is always an indication of movement, as of a coffin rolling, or lying on a stretcher. So, years before I was even a glimmer in my Father’s eye...death was just as ordinary as lunch...sometimes it even came between lunch and dessert!

The death theme spilled over into my world and continued to be an everyday ‘normal’ occurrence in my life. My earliest childhood memories and bonding moments with my Mother involve regular visits to the funeral parlors and going for walks in the Fernhill cemetery. I absolutely loved the cemetery...I actually remember begging Mom to take me! At the funeral parlor there was plenty of great food, punch, and socializing galore...everyone was glad to see you...it just made sense to me that the first three letters of funeral spelled FUN! I did not have a clue that going to the funeral home or cemetery was not what every kid loved doing. Little did I know... this life-and-death experience (my Grandmother’s huge heart and the unintentional funeral-parlor-etiquette-training)...during my early formative years would come in very handy and would prepare me for my life’s profession!

My current position as nursing supervisor involves being a family advocate at cardiac arrests and traumas. Over the last week, I have dealt with the sudden deaths of a 58 year old, a 59 year old, people with terminal cancer, elderly patients, some newborns and still births and some forever young DOA’s (dead on arrivals) from accidents. During these events, it is my job to seek out the family...keep them updated...hold their hands...offer an official shoulder to cry on...pass the Kleenex...provide unlimited hugs...and introduce the physician to deliver the verdict. I am their ‘ROCK’...and I feel honored to be there for them.

For all intensive purposes...my 'death-training' prepares me to stand strong...remain strong and in control...to be a ‘rock’...but in reality I am a mess! I relentlessly carry the family members with me for days...sometimes my heart feels twisted like a sponge as I think about the mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers whom I have never met. I think of them...imagine what their Christmas will be like...wonder how they are getting through the day...worry for their futures...and their present. I liken myself to be more like a Cherry Blossom than a rock...you know those chocolate treats that resemble a rock? They have a hard chocolate and nutty exterior...but with some persistence and a good bite...a soft and gooey pink center oozes out all over the place? As tough as I would like to appear on the outside...these experiences inevitably result in a break and subsequent explosive flood out in the dam!

A couple of weeks ago, two birds who were flying along and having the time of their lives...crashed into my picture window with a big loud thump!I jumped up to see what was going on...only to catch a glimpse of one bird lifting its head...looking both ways...taking it's last breath and dying right there on my lawn at the base of my window! The other bird was head first in the ground...ass up...and struggling to get back up. My first instinct (and absolute terror) was that I would have to kill it in order to end the suffering and save its helpless body from the jaws of a hungry kitty. I immediately picked up the phone and called my husband at work...I hysterically told his supervisor that it was an emergency...and when he came to the phone...I imagined myself pummeling this helpless bird to death with a shovel...and I LOST IT! I screamed and wailed and cried myself into out-of-control hysteria. Thankfully, my hubby works next door...so he rushed home to remove the dead bird...and in the process...when he helped the ass-up bird get upright...it woke up from its reverie and it flew away! You would think that this would make me feel better right? WRONG! I re-imagined myself pummeling this thing with a shovel to save it’s suffering...and the possibility that I could have murdered a living bird made me even nuttier!!! My husband held me through my out-of-control-heaving-crying spell...and after he went back to work, I ate my way through the rest of the day...wishing to God there were melted cheese vats or tubs of chocolate pudding to dive into...extra melted cheese...deep fried anything. When I get into these ‘states’...there is not enough chocolate in the world that will help me feel better! I had to lie down for a couple of hours to recover...damn that oozing pink center! Damn...a Cherry Blossom would be really really good to eat right now!

I graduated from nursing 20 years ago this week. Over the past two decades I have been privy (and blessed) to be present for the most frightening and/or miraculous moments in the lives of complete strangers. I have been there when people who fear bad news are given good news...and I have been there when people who didn’t see it coming have been delivered a devastating blow. I have seen births, deaths, miraculous recoveries, inexplicable tragedies and sudden deaths. It is during these times that I can't help but to reflect on my life and death training...I have realized that I was born to do this...prepared to guide people by the hand through these painful life moments. Bottom line here...my Mother did not pick nursing...nursing picked me. Nursing has molded me into the person I am today...and for that I am forever grateful for this amazing and blessed life experience!When you're a nurse you know that every day you will touch a life or a life will touch yours. ~Author Unknown

God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled~(Author Unknown).

Lynn Casey RN
;)

The Olympic Torch

This week the Olympic torch came through my town. My hubby and I went to watch it. It was a really cool event. There was a Coca Cola truck before the torch bearer that passed out free Coke, Canadian flags and neon shiny things. There were a couple other official vehicles with the media and torch runners in tow and then the torch runner. Lucky for us, there was a torch pass over right in front of us! I went to snap some amazing photos...and much to my chagrin...my camera was DEAD! I could have screamed! I joked that ‘oh well...at least this memory is ‘burned’ into our brains!

The following day, I happened to go to my home town 90 miles away for a visit, just to see my family and friends for the day. Well, low and behold...didn’t I get stuck in traffic right in the middle of the torch relay? I was surprised and I could not believe I’d get a chance for an actual picture of the darned thing! Well, traffic was stopped...and as soon as the torch bearer came into view a big ass truck drove right in my view. My picture of the torch bearer is a blurred mess of a flame with a truck grill in the way! I admit that I was pissed...but I laughed it off. I realized that I was fortunate enough to see the flame relay twice and that in itself was really cool! The ‘old’ Lynn would have freaked out...she would have went down on the floor kicking and screaming in a full fledged temper tantrum with red faced rage!

When I was a young nurse, I was’ bright eyed and bushy tailed’, ready to take the world by storm. I quickly voiced my opinions and rallied for change. I believed in action, not reaction. I could not understand the resistance that I had met along the way. All I ever wanted was to make our profession better. Unfortunately, I became a scape goat for negativity. I was confused and disappointed. How could I have been perceived as exactly what I have learned to hate? Much to my demise, my passion for change turned into rage and years of frustration.

A couple of years ago, I broke 4 teeth from grinding in them in my sleep. I was not sleeping well and I would cry at the drop of a hat. I reached ‘the point of no return’ and I didn’t have the energy to turn around. I found getting out of bed to go to work challenging. I noticed that I would become anxious days before my shifts. I knew that I was ‘burnt out’. I tried to ignore it. But my body would not allow me too. This burn out spilled over into my personal life. I am normally an outgoing and sociable person, but I began to withdraw and avoid social situations. I knew that I needed to do something. In the past, I would apply for another job and move on. However, I discovered that this ‘band aid’ only lasted for a short time. What on earth was I going to do?

I decided that I could not climb over the brick wall, and banging my head against it was not productive for my career or my health. I chose to take a detour instead of stop at this dead end. I realized that my fight begins with myself. I had to stop being bitter and learn to be better from my experiences. Well, I decided to change my lifestyle, instead of locations. I started to run, eat healthy, and change my attitude. I was judging myself according to what I did, rather than who I am.

Did you know that the Olympic torch has a secondary flame that kicks in if the main flame extinguishes? This is such an important analogy! To be the best person you can be you must guard your inner flame first! Now I am far from perfect! I have fallen off the wagon many times...and I have not been running for a couple of years now. But, every time I fall off...I get back on...fall off...get back on. Exercise always sneaks back into my life...never totally gone. I most definitely eat healthy...with a slip now and then. I set aside special 'me time'...take long baths by candle light, read a book, get my nails done....whatever strikes my fancy. I realized that change begins within. You cannot change the way people think...you can only change how you react to them. I think back to the song we used to sing at Camp Medley: “it only takes a spark to get a fire going...and soon all those around...will warm up to it’s glowing.” When times are tough...dig down and spark up that inner flame.


“Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must first set yourself on fire.” Fred Shero quotes

Lynn
;)

Color outside the lines

When I was 3 years old, my brother and sister decided to give me my first swimming lesson while camping at Sebago Lake in Maine. I was being a sweet, well behaved and charming little girl...just ‘lightly’ pushing my brother and sister off of the wharf into the water. After a few unplanned ‘falls’ into the water...they conspired against me...and threw me in the water! I had no idea that I was a born swimmer...I came up under the wharf...and very quietly floated under there...allowing mass hysteria to set in with a smirk on my face. When I finally surfaced from the depths...I am pretty sure I got the beating of a lifetime for the scare. BUT, it was well worth it! Of course, my brother and sister got in major trouble for ‘picking on the baby!’

Back in those days, we had one of those trailers built onto the back of a pick up truck...where us kids were ‘allowed’ to stay in the back during the drive and lay on the bunk over the cab of the truck,looking out the window.(It truly is remarkable that we survived those days...no seat belts, no helmets, no alcohol wipes!). As we crossed the US- Canada border...the border guard insisted on searching the trailer. The border guards basically tore everything apart...bunks, pots and pans, suit cases...but got quite a surprise when they ‘inspected’ the tea pot. My brother and sister tell me I had some ‘bowel issues’ back then. I guess I sometimes waited a week or more before ‘going’. Well,unfortunately for the border guards the ‘week of waiting’ was up and I had taken a great big dump in the tea pot! I not only filled it...I had replaced the top on the pot when I was done to let it ‘steep’ to perfection!

I digress. My sister Lori and I went to swimming lessons a couple times a week for many years. I really did not need lessons of any sort...it was more of a badge gathering affair. We were separated from the main group often and one day the instructor took our picture holding a badge. Now, don’t ask me why...but I thought this meant that I was ‘special’...in a short bus kind of way. Since nobody really explained why we were separated from the main group, I thought it was because we were inadequate...or too slow...failures...when in fact...we were super-duper advanced for our ages. Our pictures were taken for being extraordinary swimmers. Thank goodness this contorted idea of mine did not alter my love for swimming. I LOVE swimming…anywhere…anytime. My mother and I actually swam across Bellisle Bay years ago…I would swim the ocean if I knew for sure something wouldn’t bite my bum or sting me!

I was also a Loch Lomond majorette...baton twirler girl. I LOVED baton twirling! Especially the high rubber boots with the pom-poms on them, the sparkly body suit and that funky ‘majorette’ hat to match! Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better...they asked me to carry the banner for the Santa Clause parade! I near shit my pants! Put me right in the front where I belong people...good choice...excuse me...could you step back while I step right in front of you...where I belong...in front of you! I was the baton twirler girl of the universe! Can you imagine my surprise when weeks later I bombed in a competition? I was shocked...and horrible at baton twirling...I ended up at rock bottom last! It was devastating...I quit altogether in fact. Many years later...it hit me like a ton of bricks...out of nowhere...I had to pull over the car...I realized that I was asked to hold the banner in the Santa parade because I was a danger to myself and others with a baton in my hands! OMG! How odd is it that I thought I was a super star when I wasn’t...and thought I wasn’t a super star when I was?

Thank God I did not have a clue back then...as this could have changed the entire course of my life! For whatever reason...maybe a child-like abandon and sense of adventure...I continued to sign on and enlist myself for every opportunity possible. I played trombone and bass guitar in a jazz band for many years, tried out for(and NEVER made)a single sports team year after year (damn you Mr. Porter!.Every year I went back...tried again...never made the list. I figured there was something wrong with the coach...never ever once considered that I was the shits at sports! I did manage to become the high school curling skip though(it may have been lack of turn out at the try outs but I refuse to believe that!)Drama, student council, sang crazy songs each morning for the high school announcements (everybody thought I was CRAZY!), I got hammered at Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris...you name it...I tried it...at least once.

Years ago, I got on some exhibition rides with my step daughter. We both laughed like fools! For those few crazy minutes during each ride...for a brief moment in time...I jumped right back to 1982...when I was on the rides with my best friend Barbara...I felt like I was 14 all over again! A couple years ago, Barbara and I reunited after 18 years and we participated in the Bell City Chase in Ottawa to commemorate it. It’s like the Amazing Race and we came in 120 out of 300...it was exhilarating and we felt like kids again! We didn’t care about winning...we simply signed on to have a fun day! Last year, I signed on to do TreeGo (an obstacle course made of ropes and logs high up the trees). I was scared shitless...but at the same time I felt like a kid again! I get the same thrill when I go a million miles an hour down a ski hill every winter...and this year I discovered the ‘high’ of golf! I am not very good at it...I am simply having a blast...and that is all that matters!

My message here is simple...DON’T DRINK TEA AT MY HOUSE!!! No seriously...embrace your child-like abandon and do something absolutely crazy and fun...something you have always wanted to do. Sign on for an adventure...stop being so serious all the time...and most importantly do not fear failure...embrace adventure! When you cross something off of your list...put something new right back on it. Step outside ‘your box’ and color outside the lines! It is absolutely exhilarating! Now I have to go and find a roller derby rink, belly dancing class, and a Burlesque dancing troop!

Man does not cease to play because he grows old, he grows old because he ceases to play.-- Drew Lachey

Lynn
;)

Freedom is Never Free...

I joined the SYEP (Student Youth Employment Program) for the naval reserve shortly after high school graduation. I originally joined for the good money...but quickly learned that I was in for the time of my life! Where else can you learn some valuable life skills such as shooting a rifles, sub machine guns and 9mm pistols (they called me RAMBETTE at the shooting range), run through military obstacle courses and what to do in the tear gas hut, sailing and man-over-board exercises, fire fighting and disaster training, chef level cooking courses and best of all...how to party with an amazing gang of your peers from all across the country? After the initial summer of training, we continued to meet once weekly down at ‘Brunswicker’ for weekly GMT (general military training). This involved learning the ‘ropes’ of being a good little sailor….tying knots, seamanship, marching, saluting, and so on. Before being deployed the following summer, we had to choose a trade. I chose to be a cook because cooks do not have to do ‘watch’ or quarter deck duty due to irregular and early shifts.

The ‘real’ military training began during my first work assignment the following summer. I was stationed in Halifax Nova Scotia, and I spent the summer living on a decommissioned ship named The St.Croix...we called her (ships are referred to as she’s)‘The CROTCH’ for short. Imagine 200+ co-ed peers living on a close-quartered ship with tax free liquor and smokes! Liquor shots were 25 cents a piece and cigarettes were a buck a pack! There was some more brutal GMT training before our cooking course started...so the gang of cooks to be...from all across the country bonded for life during the psychotic and strenuous training schedule that took place. For the next 6 weeks, our lives basically consisted of running a mile before breakfast, military training classes, marching and doing gun drills on a 106-degree-in-the-shade parade square, fire fighting and disaster training, home work, ironing our uniforms, spit shining our boots until we could see our own reflection, hit the rack (bed) and then up and at it all over again. On the week ends we partied as hard as we worked all week...and became life long friends throughout the entire ordeal. That summer, I had a really bad perm...so I was originally dubbed “fire hazard hair” and then that nickname quickly turned into “wild woman” as the summer progressed and people got to know me a little better.

Back in those good old days, the girls dressed to the nines to go out. I frequently wore my skin tight A-line denim skirt, high heels, a sassy top and neon 1980’s eye shadow with big-ass jewelry and highly teased hair to boot! Let me just tell you now…those ships were not designed for high heels and tight skirts! One night, I was so hammered all I could do was crawl up the gang plank to get home to ‘The CROTCH’. There were two extremely French sailors from Chicoutimi Quebec working quarter deck duty that night. Quarter deck duty involves guarding the entryway to the ship and checking everyone’s ID to get on the ship. As I started to go down the hatch (the opening to go into the ship which is a 10 foot ladder down or up depending on which way you are going)...my high heel caught on the entryway lip and I proceeded to go ass-over-tea-kettle out of control down the ladder. Over the course of my ‘fall from grace’, my skin tight denim skirt ripped from the hem to the waist line. I landed in a heap at the bottom of the ladder with my legs spread wide open up in the air (picture a turkey waiting to be stuffed!). The two French fellows on quarter deck duty ran to my aide...stopped at the top of the hatch, pointed and laughed their guts out! In very broken English one of them said …“Guarde ca Jacque (look Jack)…there is a snatch in the hatch!” I some how managed to contort my way out of my ‘predicament’ and get to my ‘rack’ (bunk). Needless to say...I did not have to pay for my drinks for the rest of the summer...the French boys always took care of that to ensure that I was always good and drunk! That same night, we had a fire drill on The Crotch. I almost slept right through it. For those of you who have never been on a navy frigate…it is impossible to sleep through the wailing noise! The gals in my quarters decided to paint up my face before shaking me awake to get the hell out of there and get into formation. There I stood...dock side...straight as an arrow with my comrades...with all kinds of obscene images on my poor drunken face! We all had a great laugh from that one...especially when I was scrubbing the toilets with my tooth brush for the next week because I would not (could not) give up who did the offensive and phallic artwork.

Each year, our big group would reunite and start exactly where we left off...care free...and have more fun than humans should be allowed. I would go to work in the Galley (kitchen) all day...and then nap...go out all night...get about 3 hours sleep and start the day all over again. I took great joy in traumatizing the little sea cadets on the food line...especially on chicken day! I would place one hand on my chest and another on my thigh in a suggestive manner and then I would ask those poor prepubescent boys in a 1-900-number-esque sex kitten voice...would you prefer a BREAST or a THIGH while holding up a piece of chicken in the tongs! They would immediately avert their eyes to the ground...turn beat red...gulp...and whisper “just fries lady...only fries”!!!! Every Saturday the gang met down at Peddler’s Pub around noon and sang at the top of our lungs with the “Swell Guys” band until we were hoarse...and then we would continue to party until the clubs closed down...or we got kicked out...whichever came first! One night I almost got arrested for peeing in a public place. I hoisted my dress and squatted at the base of a tree in the park at the base of the liquor dome. Somebody tapped my shoulder…and I slurred “HOLD ON A MINUTE…CAN'T A WOMAN TAKE A PEE IN PEACE FOR GOODNESS SAKES?” It turned out to be a police officer...who took pity on my soul and let me off with a warning. Of course it is documented on film somewhere...my ship mates took great joy in collecting “Lynn peeing in public places” footage...thank goodness “You Tube” did not exist back then! I had a ridiculously amazing time during my service in the reserves. I learned so much...and made some amazing life long friends. We used to joke with the REG’s (full time regular force) that their job was our hobby!

It was all fun and games until my first Remembrance Day parade when the Navy got their regular blues back. Before then, we were all decked out in general army green colored gear. The first Remembrance Day parade in the old Navy blues, really set off a crying spell amongst the veterans. They were beside themselves with pride that we were marching by in the old Navy blues. As we marched by, many of the veterans were crying and saluted us! I was so embarrassed...here I was having the time of my life...never to see serious action of any kind...drinking and partying until I could not walk...saluting the tax free liquor and smokes...only to be saluted by veterans who had seen the real deal...who had lived through the nightmares of conflict and war. On this particular Remembrance Day, the troops lined up in every direction of the King Square Union Jack pathways. We had to stand straight at attention throughout the Remembrance Day service. In my direct sight…there stood four mentally retarded brothers and sisters from a well-known local family. During the moment of silence...they were smiling with glee as the leaves let loose from the trees and slowly fluttered to the ground...their faces towards the sun...happy to be alive...unaware of the sad tribute that surrounded them. I could not help but cry...to be reminded of the simple pleasures of life in the smiles of the four siblings with Down’s syndrome...to be reminded of how much we take our lives for granted...and freedom. From that day on...I thought about those veterans in everything I did for the remainder of my military career. Before that fateful day, I never once considered that I was training in the event that reserve troops may be needed or called upon to fight for our country. Mind you I still had wild and crazy bouts of fun from time to time...but their sacrifices remained in my heart in every task that I took on from that Remembrance Day forward. Now, years later, I often think of the sacrifices of our current troops fighting for the safety of our nation on a regular basis. “It is easy to take liberty for granted, when you have never had it taken from you” (Dick Cheney). I think about the hell of what our troops live and see ... of being away from their families for our freedom to be with ours...they are the real deal...and I am forever grateful...our freedom is never free...every day should be Remembrance Day

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. ~William Arthur Ward


Lynn
;)