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Tuesday on the Soapbox

A Butterfly Landing on My Car

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It was just after 2:00 pm, which meant that the interior of my car was more like the surface of the sun as I sat in traffic, waiting for one of Shelby’s many stoplights to deign to let me pass. But this particular stoplight seemingly had a grudge against me today. Literal minutes were ticking by, it was hot as all get out, and I had somewhere to be. The discontented stream of grumbling in my head was quickly building to a fever pitch.

And then, I saw it: a butterfly, its wings patterned in brilliant blue and silky black, flitting among the cars gathered at the stoplight. It hovered and darted among hoods and roofs shimmering like metal carapaces, flying as if it were searching for something to light on. After a few more seconds, it came closer, and finally lit on my windshield, right in my line of sight.

I expected it to take off again right away, but instead, it was almost preternaturally still, except for its little antennae waving about as if trying to get my attention. How delicate its wings were, fragile and almost translucent…I studied it for a moment or two more, wondering how it was staying so still, and why.

The light up ahead finally turned green at last, but it seemed the butterfly knew to lift off the windshield even before I lifted my foot from the brake; I watched it hover just above the glass, as if it was trying to keep my attention. All too soon, though, I had to advance forward, leaving the butterfly behind, hopefully avoiding the tide of traffic behind me.

Driving on through the intersection, blessedly moving at last, I wasn’t quite so grumbly anymore. The butterfly’s moments of stillness, as it balanced daintily on the windshield, had reminded me that sometimes it was okay to be still, when moving too fast could endanger you. Maybe I didn’t need to worry about rushing ahead to make up time; maybe I would be better off not to drive as if the gas pedal were an enemy to stomp into the ground.

Now, I know that butterflies in the late spring are not uncommon, certainly, but allowing myself to be still a moment and ponder such a tiny, delicate creature was uncommon for me. I’m not known for being still, or quiet, or content…and yet, in those very few moments, I was perfectly content being all of those things, merely looking at a butterfly. How much calmer would I be, if I allowed myself more of those moments? …Come to think of it, how much calmer would we all be?

I like to think that sometimes God uses the littlest of creatures to remind us of huge essential truths, like the importance of just being still. What do you think?

Tuesday on the Soapbox

AquaZumba: A Different Sort of Exercise Challenge

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Since I’ve been doing regular Zumba and holding up pretty well for a little over a year now, I’ve been wondering if my body could handle doing two exercise classes a week instead of just one. I wasn’t sure what other type of exercise I could add, however.

As it happened, my regular Zumba instructor mentioned about a month back that she was going to teach a water form of Zumba called AquaZumba, and she wanted to know what interest there would be in such a class. I raised my hand; about six years ago, my doctor suggested water aerobics to me as a way of building back strength in my damaged joints, but I hadn’t followed up on it. So, remembering my doctor’s old advice, I decided I would give it a shot. The happy result is the subject of today’s blog post.

The Experience

I showed up for class last Monday afternoon, in the outdoor pool area at my local YMCA (also where I take regular Zumba on Thursday nights). There ended up being about 20 people there for the class, and our instructor advised us to make sure we were standing in water at least chest-high so that we could get good resistance on our arms as well as the rest of us. The middle section of the pool, where the depth slowly increases, was accordingly filled out with class members arranged by height.

Our instructor demonstrated the various moves outside the water, so we could all see and know what to do. At first, I didn’t think it would be nearly as challenging as regular Zumba, but within the first couple of songs, I realized that the water resistance was certainly not negligible. Not that the resistance was hard to work through–it was just more resistance to movement than I expected. You don’t realize how much water will hold you still or keep you back from moving, but it will!

As we worked through each song, I realized that because of the water resistance, AquaZumba is necessarily a slower-tempo workout. You’re not doing as much high-intensity cardio (though you do get an elevated heart rate); instead, you’re doing more muscle toning. I could feel, as we did each set of the slower but more graceful moves through the water, that my arms and legs were getting a good workout, as well as my core muscles (which I didn’t expect at all). It wasn’t arduous, though–the water made the movements more fun since I wasn’t having to focus so hard on not falling over (LOL).

For a solid hour, the water seemed to boil with our movements as the 20 of us moved like a party of synchronized swimmers (except without the spangly costumes). (I don’t see how the instructor stood it, doing her moves on land (and in full sun) as she did!) I noticed that pretty much the whole class kept up with the exercises well, and by the end of the workout, we all seemed pleasantly tired, not flat-out exhausted.

I left feeling good about the whole experience. The instructor was encouraging and compassionate as always, and the class members were forgiving of each other as well as of themselves. Not to mention that the heaviness in my limbs was a sign that I’d had a much stronger workout (and yet a less joint-stressing workout) than I expected.

The Results

I was less sore and exhausted after AquaZumba than I usually am after regular Zumba, but I was still feeling the workout–at about midnight, I realized I’d worked my arms WAY more than I realized. Still, I wasn’t overtired, and felt energetic enough through the week to meet my regular Zumba class and my other obligations as well. I also noticed that my ankles and knees felt more supported during the workout, which meant lots less pain during and after the workout. I was worried that my completely flat feet on a slanted pool floor might cause me a mischief, but that didn’t seem to come into play at all.

Time will tell, however if my core muscles were as engaged as they felt during the workout, but I literally felt “smaller” around the middle when I left the pool that evening. Those slow twists and turns do more for the obliques and abs than I thought!

Wondering if You Should Try It?

In my opinion, if you enjoy swimming or enjoy just being in the water, AquaZumba could very well be a good fit for your exercise program. And, if you can do regular Zumba, you can definitely do AquaZumba. However, if you’ve never tried regular Zumba because you think it would be too fast or difficult, this might be more your speed.

Check online or around your local gyms (or even local parks) to see whether a class may be offered in your area. Who knows, you might find yourself becoming an AquaZumba swan by the end of the summer!

Tuesday on the Soapbox

Eating Healthy IS Expensive

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Many people will disagree with the title of this post. In fact, there are several knowledgeable sources which say that healthy food isn’t more expensive than unhealthy food at all (see articles from LATimes, HuffingtonPost, and MSNBC).

But, for every article that asserts that eating healthy is a cheaper or equal-cost alternative to unhealthy food, it seems there is an article that asserts exactly the opposite (see articles from StraightHealth and MedicineNet). It seems that no one can really agree on this issue, not even the experts–which makes for a tough decision for those of us who aren’t health gurus, but don’t like the idea of being 800 pounds due to fast-food living.

So, while trying to find out, once and for all, if going completely healthy is even worth it for me, I came to a disappointing conclusion: there is no straight answer from official sources. There is, however, my own personal experience, which is in itself possibly a clearer answer to the problem. I find that healthy food IS expensive when considered against unhealthy food, unfortunately, and in ways that are likely not accounted for by many of the recent studies done on this topic.

Healthy Food: More Expensive in Many Ways

When I say “healthy food is expensive”, I’m not just talking about what it costs at the grocery store. It’s also more expensive in terms of gas, prep time, and convenience. Let me give you a few examples:

Healthy Food Goes Bad Faster = More Money Spent Every Time You Shop

Healthy food, in general, goes bad faster than unhealthy food. Example: fresh veggies, which you apparently have to eat within 2 days of buying or you have moldy veggies. Even the frozen kind seem to go bad faster, or get freezer-burned way too easily. When I tried to go healthy in 2007, I quickly found that I was throwing out more “healthy” food than I was eating–for instance, the carrots in water that I bought on Tuesday morning were expired by Friday, and I hadn’t even opened them yet. It was frustrating!

In this way, healthier food is quite unlike the preservative-laden boxed meals and food packets. Those things seem to last forever, and are often cheaper because they don’t have the “organic” or “natural” food label, which always seems to add about 2 bucks to the purchase price of most fresh food. When it comes to the likelihood of wasting food, it’s no wonder some people choose to load their bodies with preservatives rather than buy “fresh” food that ends up not being eaten at all.

Healthy Food Doesn’t Keep You Full = More Trips to the Store Per Week

As stated, to keep the “freshest” and “best” healthy food on hand, you have to drive to the grocery store several times a week because everything goes bad faster. But you’re also going to use up what you buy much faster because healthy foods, especially fruits and veggies, do not keep you full very long. (Sure, fiber keeps you full, but when it tastes like you’re eating a wad of Silly String, it’s not that appetizing to eat platefuls of it.) I’ve noticed that when trying to eat low-calorie options, I always end up hungry an hour after eating, even if I try to include protein and fiber, and I invariably snack on junk food to cover the difference.

What this means for the average eater: you use more gas and more money to fix more food that doesn’t feed you for very long. Not exactly cost-efficient in this economy, is it?

Healthy Food Needs More Prep Time = More Inconvenient

Usually, healthy food takes longer to cook (like green beans that take 20 minutes simmering on the stove just to be edible). Frozen healthy food must be thawed, which also takes more time than unhealthy food. By contrast, in 20 minutes, I could have a pizza delivered and be eating it already. Which am I logically going to choose, from a convenience and time standpoint?

I admit, we as a society are so conditioned to being able to walk into the kitchen and immediately eat whatever is easiest to fix, and unfortunately for us, the foods that are easiest to fix are the unhealthiest for us. But while some of this is a personal choice not to spend time preparing food, some of us simply do not have the time or the culinary skill necessary to fix more than microwave meals. I’d rather not set the kitchen on fire trying to cook “healthy,” you know?

Healthy Food Has Weaker Flavors = More Unhealthy Flavoring Agents Used

To make healthy food taste good to modern desensitized palates like mine, you have to have more ingredients on hand, such as spices, oils, other food items, etc., than you generally do for unhealthy food. I personally find that fruits and vegetables just do not have the strong sweet or salty flavors that I like, or they have unwanted bitter/grassy flavors, so I end up loading them up with unhealthy additives (ranch dressing, table sugar, and the like) and canceling out their health benefits.

I’m pretty sure I’m not the only person to drown their salads and vegetables in flavoring agents, and it makes the whole exercise of “eating healthy” feel futile. Why bother trying (and failing) to eat a plate of grass (pardon me, salad) with ranch dressing on it, when I could have chosen something that tasted good on its own, even if it was less healthy? In the end, you spend money on “healthy” food and don’t even eat half of it, only to experience an unhealthy food craving later. And, inevitably, you lapse right back into old ways, spending even more money to get the food you REALLY wanted in the first place.

My Conclusion: It IS Expensive

In terms of time spent cooking, convenience/availability, gas for shopping trips, sheer tastiness, and buying “organic/natural” foods, healthier food is much more expensive than unhealthy food. It seems not to fit our modern lifestyles, and in this age of fitting two lifetimes’ worth of activity into half a lifetime, we are more likely to skimp on food to stretch a dollar or two, or save a few minutes. Plus, as many health experts say, we as a culture are now addicted to those strong food flavors that come from processed foods, and we are also addicted to how quickly those very tasty foods can be fixed.

And yet, to hear the same health experts talk, we should all be eating as if we are rich enough to afford the pricier healthy food, as well as having leisure time enough to prepare it (and taste buds that apparently can’t taste anything bitter). Meanwhile, all the food that is cheap, easy to fix, and a delight to the tongue wreaks havoc on all of us that simply can’t afford to eat any other way.

Footnote: How This Food Problem Might Be Sabotaging Health

While the total blame for the “obesity epidemic” has usually been laid across the shoulders of every individual who is obese, I believe some of the blame lies in our culture and the commercialization of food products, especially healthy food products. Being obese is no longer just about individuals making “unhealthy food choices,” not when the “healthy” foods are time-sucking, gas-wasting, tasteless options. Who wants to eat ONE bowl of grassy-tasting greens that cost 12 bucks and is already starting to go brown, when for that same 12 bucks you could feed a family of 4 at McDonalds?

I’m personally obese myself, and have been since I was 11 years old. I would love to change that, but from a diet standpoint, many issues stand in the way of that: I hate the way most healthy food tastes, I hate its impact on my purse and gas tank, and I hate that it takes 2 or 3 times longer to prepare it. Why in the WORLD would I inflict such suffering and privation on myself, when better-tasting, cheaper, and quicker options exist? This is likely the same battle, the same thought process, that goes through the minds of many people today, and it has a definite impact on diet.

Now, when healthy food tastes as good as the unhealthy stuff, is cheaper than unhealthy food, and is quicker to fix…THEN we might see the “obesity epidemic” start to go away. Until then, most of us who are big or who are addicted to unhealthy foods are going to struggle with their diets just as I have, with half the battle decided before food even hits their plates.

Tuesday on the Soapbox

To the Man I Saw on Broad River Bridge

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This poem is based on an actual experience I had about a week ago.

You were just standing there,
leaning on one of the posts
I saw you just in passing
Your eyes were cast down

All I saw was the side of your face;
you looked a little pained
I don’t know if you were crying
I was going by too fast to see

I couldn’t slow down or stop for you
because of drivers behind me
But as I passed I wondered
As I passed, I worried

A small request to God was made
in the moments right afterward
as I drove away

I prayed for you not to jump
Prayed you’d be all right
Prayed you’d know it would get better soon
and wouldn’t take flight

I don’t know what you were there for
or if death was even a thought
But I’ve stood on a bridge in my mind
too many times to count
…and one more prayer can’t hurt

Tuesday on the Soapbox

You’re Talking to the Champion of Getting Lost

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Yeah, I’m a bit infamous for losing my way, especially when trying to find my way to a place for the first time without knowing what any of the landmarks look like. Street names and numbers are excellent pieces of information on paper, but if I can’t connect those numbers and names to what a physical place looks like, I might just drive up and down the street a few times trying to find the next turnoff.

Before Google Street View existed, there were several epic-fail jaunts I found myself on…let me tell you of them.

Whoops, I Was Supposed to Go West

One Saturday evening a couple of years ago, my boyfriend and I were leaving from the comics and collectibles shop about 40 miles from home, in Gastonia, NC. We went and got something to eat in the downtown area, and from there, I reckoned that we should turn left out of the parking lot onto Franklin Boulevard to get back home.

…But about 45 minutes after turning left, we were driving on into the darkness, and none of the street signs looked familiar. I’d come this way many times, but never this late at night. In desperation, I finally called Dad (our resident navigator); the nearest street sign told me that I was on Highway 74 heading east from Gastonia.

“East?!” Dad spluttered over the phone when I told him this. “Good Lord, honey, you’re halfway to Belmont by now!” Belmont, as you might have gathered by now, is in the total opposite direction of home. We had spent 45 minutes going the wrong dang way, and I, in my bullheaded sense that I knew where I was going, had kept us going past all the unfamiliar scenery as darkness fell.

We easily got turned around and started going west, quickly reaching the outskirts of Gastonia again, and soon we were back in familiar territory. (My boyfriend got to do a well-deserved “I told you so” after this–he had been the one to sound the first warning that something wasn’t right about our route home. I know to listen to him now, as well as to listen to my own doubts and intuitions!)

Can You Tell Me How to Get–How to Get to This Address?

While I was still in college in Greensboro, NC, I had made Internet contact with a really nice guy who went to Furman University down in South Carolina, and we wanted to start dating. Since my home is a hop, skip, and jump from the SC state line, it seemed a simple thing to schedule our first date for a time when I would be home from college for the weekend.

So, on a Friday afternoon, after I had already made the 2 1/2-hour drive back from college to home, I was heading down I-85 South to Greenville, SC, confident that I had correct directions and knew all the twists and turns I needed to take to get to the Furman campus. I took all the exits off the main highways that I needed to, got into the correct lanes, and all of that…except that the college campus was nowhere to be found.

A frantic 1 1/2-hour search for Furman University ensued, as I drove tensely through the thickest portions of inner Greenville, tears working their way out of my eyes as minutes passed with no familiar street names. Somewhere–I wasn’t sure where–I had made a terrible mistake, even though I knew I had taken all the roads I was supposed to according to the directions I’d gotten from Mapquest. Instead of ending up at the college campus, I was lost in suburbia.

I pulled a couple of epic U-turns in this search, pulling onto a deserted four-lane residential road long enough to whoop around in the middle of the street, and even turning around in a business parking lot without even pausing to make it a 3-point turn. (I love my little car’s turning radius. <3) At this point, I had been lost for over an hour, and I was increasingly frightened--even Daddy couldn't tell me where I was, and I was a single girl alone in a strange city. Not to mention that my cell phone signal kept going in and out, making me miss worried calls from my would-be date, who was getting quite concerned by this time. At some point, I finally pulled over into a parking lot in front of a rather dilapidated strip mall, and I went into a barber shop, which happened to be the only business still open at this time of night. After a moment's hesitation, I walked in, realizing how vulnerable I was as I did so--I was a lone female in what didn't look like the best part of town, with darkness falling. Fear bit at me as I opened the door...would I find any help from the five older gentlemen seated inside? But it seemed God had directed me to just the right barbershop. The fatherly owner of the shop, after hearing my tearful explanation of the problem (along the lines of "Can somebody tell me where Furman University is?!"), was able to tell me that the road I was looking for had actually changed names halfway through Greenville, and it was now known as Poinsett Highway out this far. And, as he put it, "Darlin', you ain't too far off from Furman now--you only lack 'bout a mile!" The others agreed, and sought to put my mind at ease. I probably looked a mess, with mascara running down my face, my nose all red from crying, and my eyes all puffed out, but they were sympathetic, and I was grateful for it. They pointed me to continue down the road I had been on, and I saw as I left the building that indeed the road name was Poinsett Highway. (Never been so relieved to see a street sign in my life. LOL) Within a few minutes after getting back in my car and onto the road, I did indeed find the exit that led into Furman University. (My date was standing outside the dorm, and looked so relieved to see me pull up that I think he about fell over. And our date went well, even if it did start two hours later than anticipated. xD)

Random Left Turn of Fail

My boyfriend and I had taken a trip up to Lake Lure, NC, to have a picnic out in the beautiful countryside surrounding the lake. It had been a favorite family destination as a child, and I wanted to share that with my awesome wub. Though the day was a little grayer and chillier than we expected, we still had good food and good conversation outside under the shade of one of the picnic shelters nearby.

When it came time to head back toward home, I threaded my way back through the route around the lake, and made a left at the intersection we had come into the area on, starting our trip back home. Or so I thought.

About 10 minutes later, we started seeing signs for Asheville, NC, as well as Bat Cave, NC (a real town, I promise!). “Uh-oh,” I said, passing the third of such signs. “I think we might be going the wrong way…”

“Why?” my boyfriend asked.

“‘Cause, um…we’re headed toward Asheville instead of away from it,” I said, sheepishly. “Wish I’d realized this about 5 minutes ago…”

By this time, though, my boyfriend was well aware that I could find a way out of the mess as easily as I found my way into it, and he shrugged. “Well, we’ll just find a place to turn around, and we’ll be good to go–you haven’t made any other turns, so we’ll probably just have to go back to that one intersection we remembered from before,” he said.

But finding a place to turn around on curving mountain roads proved much more difficult. I kept looking for gas stations or parking lots or ANYTHING that I could just whoop into and whoop back around…but the mountainside sloped sharply down away on our left side, and only houses were on the right. Asheville crept closer the farther we looked, and we were gathering quite a crowd of drivers behind us since we were going slowly along the curves.

Finally, we sighted, on the side of the road, a blue-graveled parking lot of sorts, barely even wide enough for one car to park perpendicular to the old building it lay in front of. I darted into it, sighing with relief–and then saw the sheer impossibility of using it to turn around. There was no room to back up and change direction; if I tried to do a 3-point turn, I’d take out a wall of the old building to our right. And yet, the road was narrow. If I tried to do a U-turn, I could end up hitting the guard rail. Not to mention that there was traffic flying from both directions.

After a minute or so of sitting there, the road cleared, and I told my boyfriend, “Hang on.” Then, from a dead stop, I turned the wheel as left as it would go, and slowly, sloooowly, crept onto the road, barely even using any gas. My little car eased gently across the near lane, then slid into the far lane (which became the “right lane” to us), never even so much as grazing the guard rail or dipping its tire off the road. (Have I said how much I love my little car’s turning radius? :D)

I have to give my wub some credit here–he didn’t even flinch as we got close to the other side of the road, though his hand stayed clenched around the armrest. LOL! At last, we were finally pointed in the right direction, and we got back to the fateful intersection, this time making the turn back toward home rather than more unknown territory. (Road signs are wonderful things. Just sayin’.)

Summary

I have been incredibly lucky not to have any major fails (or accidents/dangerous situations) than these–mainly, these stories remind me to pay attention to road signs, double/triple-check my route, and ask for directions if I have to. But they’re also funny stories to tell on myself, because book smarts do not always equal road smarts. 😛

Tuesday on the Soapbox

I Don’t CARE What the Scale Says–I’m Healthier and I Know It!

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After nearly 10 months of doing Zumba classes, I have noticed a definite body change for the better. ^o^

I can FEEL the difference in my body, even though the mean ole scale tells me that I’ve only lost 7 pounds (currently weighing in around 290 pounds instead of 297-298). Despite being faced with a number I still don’t like–a number I’ve been socially PROGRAMMED not to like–I am happy with the results of my exercise routine thus far.

How Much Better AM I Doing?

  • I can walk up a set of stairs in several seconds, bouncing from foot to foot easily instead of clomping up one painful step at a time
  • There are two or three INCHES of room in the waistbands of most of my lower-body clothing (pants, shorts, skirts, and even underwear)
  • I don’t get quite as winded and wheezy when I move around
  • I can come down a set of stairs without having to cling desperately to the railing for balance
  • My left ankle doesn’t seem to turn over as easily, leading to less accidental twists
  • My waist is much more defined than it used to be
  • When I exercise, my heart gets into an “elevated but not overworked” pace, instead of going straight from “resting” heart rate to “OMG I’M BUSTING OUT OF YOUR CHEST LOL”

Not only are people noticing a difference in my looks, but I’m noticing a difference in the way my body functions and feels. I don’t feel quite as heavy and tired as I used to, even though I still look like an uncoordinated duck during most of the Zumba exercises. And even though I still wheeze a little during much of the class, I find that some of the moves that were impossible for me in June 2011 are now attainable and even fun.

Actually Seeing the Inches Lost, in Clothes

The clothing difference has been the most astonishing, for me. I’ve been used to squeezing my body into clothes, dancing and shaking myself into pants rather than just slipping them on (you know the “pants dance,” don’t lie :P). I’ve also been used to the unique pain and suffering brought on by a belly constrained too much by an unforgiving button and zipper.

Imagine, then, what I felt this past Christmas, when I easily put on a dress that had been too small in 2010. Where before the zipper would not even go up my back all the way, now the dress hung off me in becoming folds of fabric, especially around the waist. That was a measurable success–I remember crying in 2010 when I had brought out the dress to wear, only to find that I couldn’t even zip it up all the way. This Christmas, I wore it with pride.

I also have been getting back into other clothes, clothes I haven’t worn since late high school/early college (~2003/2004). I had retired a pair of jeans for being simply too small right after I went to college–the “freshman 15” was more like the “freshman 45” in my case–and in shame, I had packed them away in the laundry room. Upon discovering them in the laundry room about a month ago, I tried them on, more as a private joke to myself than anything. And they FIT. It wasn’t an “almost-kinda-sorta” squeeze-fit, either–they buttoned and zipped comfortably. :O What happened? Zumba happened. Moreover, a lifestyle change happened.

Why the Number of Pounds Does Not Matter

I purposely did not look at a scale for the first seven months I did Zumba, because I didn’t want to be disheartened. I, like most of the women in my extended family, have a very hard time losing pounds, and I refused to be a slave of the scale number. Instead, I focused on inches lost (currently, I have lost HALF A FOOT around my waist alone!), as well as body feeling. Only when I went to the doctor in early January and had to be weighed did I look at the scale.

I have to admit, I was disappointed at the small number of pounds lost. I’d never make it on “The Biggest Loser”, I know that. But my doctor was impressed with my heart rate; knowing the family history of heart attacks, he was worried that my fast and light pulse signaled problems down the road for me. Now, my heart beats slower but stronger–a healthier heart rate. He could also tell a difference in the way I was walking (not so gingerly and carefully anymore), because my left ankle is getting stronger. I count those two improvements as much more important than subtracting 10 from my scale number.

Summary

As much as I’ve worked to even get to 290 pounds, this number is not going to torment me. I know the difference in my body, and I know I’m doing better physically than I was before. I’m toning up, I’m losing inches, and I’m feeling better than I have in years, probably since before I became a “fat girl” in 1996.

So I’m not going to worry that my weight doesn’t match some magical number according to my age, height, socioeconomic status, etc. As long as I continue to feel and function better in my everyday life, I know that it’s a positive lifestyle change. Maybe if all us girls started focusing on how our bodies feel rather than how they look, we might just forget all this super-skinny-fashion mess…well, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Tuesday on the Soapbox

The Random Language I Speak

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Made-up words seem to run in our family. From my grandfather’s description of a car accident as “kaloom-bam-boom” to my parents’ word for the bits of sock fabric that always get left on the carpet (“sock doobies”), I guess I get the “creative words” gene honest. English is more fun when you can invent words, I believe. 🙂

Nevertheless, it always surprises people when one of my made-up words pops out of my mouth during a conversation. And I’m usually embarrassed by it at first–somehow, I fear I’ll get sent to the loony bin for some of the random stuff I come up with! But we always end up laughing about it.

Therefore, I will be brave and share some of the random language I speak, so that you, too, may LOL. 🙂

Made-Up Words and Family Slang

From My Dad’s Side

  • “kaloom-bam-boom” – a huge accident or fail of some sort (doesn’t have to be car-related).
  • “scooter-pootin'” – moving around continuously
  • “buke” (“bu” pronounced like “boo”) – to have an accidental bowel movement
  • “buuck” (not a typo) – to gag, especially over nasty-tasting food
  • “lamm” – to strike repeatedly and forcefully. “He’s just lammin’ that nail, ain’t he?”
  • “Big Ike” – overconfident person
  • “floof” – to suddenly fall flat on someone or on an object
  • “sherp” – to knock one’s feet out from under him (imitating the sound of such an action)
  • “sugarpoot”/”sugars**t” – an affectionate pet name for a child (why? I have no idea)
  • “asslin’ around” – wasting time, procrastinating (very descriptive 😛 )
  • “rhino”/”rhinoceros” – a big butt (like mine, lols)
  • “june around” – try to get a lot of things done as quick as possible
  • “tooters” – feet
  • “blomp” – to walk with slow and heavy steps
  • “braish broom” – yard-cleaning broom made of twigs, also used for the occasional whooping
  • “mazoozalum” – Grandma Daisy’s pronunciation of “mausoleum”
  • “klunk-plink-plink” – Nannie’s opinion of some pianists’ choppy playing styles
  • “pipe-stem legs” – very thin legs

From My Immediate Family

  • “moosh” – to kill or maim an insect; to massage.
  • “goopie” – a tiny, gross object, usually on the floor (bit of chewed food, unidentifiable sticky stuff, etc.)
  • “nidgy” – itty-bitty raveled thread (pill) on clothing
  • “fuzzbunny” – small ball of lint, usually ends up everywhere

My Own Made-Up Words from Childhood

  • “wootburgers” – strictly better than just a side of wootsauce.
  • “cubbyhouse” – a kid-size plastic or wood playhouse.
  • “giggling” – my kidlike pronunciation of “wiggling”, for whatever reason
  • “steamin’ alligator” – somebody who’s doing stuff just to tick me off
  • “beat-buttin'” – a particularly harsh (and usually deserved) whoopin’

Jim-ese

Since my great-uncle Jim was deaf and read lips, he often tried to speak the words he read others saying; he also made unintentionally hilarious commentary on how others spoke, as well.

  • “lotha” – translation of “nothing.” But “lotha” became synonymous with even less than nothing in our family. If you have nothing, you have zero, but if you have “lotha,” you don’t even have zero, if that makes any sense. LOL
  • “blellup” – believed to mean something like “hogwash”. Might have been Jim’s translation for “bulls**t”, but we’re not sure.
  • “jhi-jhi-jhi-jhi-jhu!” – only said to a baby, in “baby talk” voice. Like “goochy-goochy-goo.”
  • “rihbun” – pronunciation of my name.
  • “Jhalopy” – pronunciation of the city name “Shelby.”
  • “Gaffaley” – pronunciation of the city name “Gaffney.”
  • “Boola Sha-prings” – pronunciation of the town name “Boiling Springs.”
  • “mih-mih-mih!” – (said very quickly) brusque or angry talking.
  • “bipbipbipbipbip” – fast talking, a cigarette bobbing up and down in between someone’s lips as they talk, or never-ending talking.
  • “Bih…bih…bih!” – slow and deliberate talking (usually describing Grandma Daisy with a lip full of snuff)

Does Your Family Have Any Funny Made-Up Language?

We can’t be the only ones! LOL! If this post reminds you of some of the funny language in your own family, tell me about it in the comments.

Saturday with the Spark

Scheduling Your Creative Time

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Are you currently stalled out when it comes to your creativity? If so, I have been there, and this article is for you.

I’ve written in some of my Saturday articles before about having trouble writing my novel, and the troubles have continued even up until a week or two ago. It literally felt like it had come to an immovable standstill; some days I would just open the file that contained it, read over the last few pages of my writing, and just close the file again, not sure what to add or where to go from where I stopped. I felt paralyzed.

That is, I felt paralyzed until I began to put my novel on my to-do list.

Can You Really “Schedule” Creativity?

Well, no, you can’t plan when you’ll have inspiration. But you can carve out part of your busy day to allow yourself to BE creative. When you allow yourself time to be creative, you open the door for inspiration.

Not realizing this was my biggest mistake: I hadn’t scheduled myself any time to be creative. Without a definitive, set time for “noveling,” I was depending on “feeling like” writing, and I didn’t “feel like” writing because I didn’t see that I had time or energy to do it. The underlying problem was stress over ill-managed time.

Overcoming the Time/Motivation Problem

The last straw came when it had been about a month since I had last written in my novel. I knew that because I looked at the “Last Modified” date, and it read January 17th, 2012.

I was astonished at the date. How could it have been that long? How could I have stopped writing for that long? What was wrong with me?

And, just as quickly as I realized it, I got mad at myself. “If I’m intending to be a great novelist, I first have to get off my butt and WRITE the aforementioned novel,” I grumbled to myself.

Using the Sticky Notes desktop gadget, I finally wrote in a definitive goal for the next day: “Write 1,000 words.” That’s all I had to do–write a thousand words. Didn’t matter how far it took me in the story or anything. Just 1,000 more words: progress. 1,000 words is what I’d been doing every day before I had inexplicably dropped the ball; I wanted to hit the ground running.

…And It Worked

The next day, I looked at my to-do list for that day…and suddenly, 1,000 words in my story didn’t seem so unconquerable, especially when compared with the other stuff I had to do (write 2 blog posts, finish writing my Sunday school lesson for the week). Suddenly, I found myself thinking, “Hey, I can write a few hundred words in my novel when I get tired of writing my blog posts or reviewing the lesson.”

And that’s exactly what happened. That day, I finally started writing again, editing and adding new bits in the story in between crafting my blog posts and reviewing/writing my Sunday school lesson. Like a key had been turned in my brain, the creative “engine” had turned over and started up again, all because my novel had been given a place in my writing life again.

So, How Do You Restart Your Creative Engine?

These are the tricks that worked for me. Try them and see how they work for you and your form of creativity, whatever it may be:

  • Make “creative time” part of your to-do list. Making it a priority is the first step. If you never allow time for it, it won’t happen.
  • Write reminders for “creative time” somewhere prominent. For me, that meant putting it on the computer desktop; for you, that might mean writing it on a whiteboard in your office, or leaving a note on your coffeepot. Anywhere where you will see it consistently and be reminded to do it, especially if you’re absent-minded and living in the future like me, will help you.
  • Remind yourself of what you were attempting to do when you last left off. I’ve taken to writing “When last I left my brave hero, [X], [Y], and [Z] happened/was going on” in my to-do list so that it makes me laugh and remember what I was writing about. That way I don’t have to “catch up” on my own book if it takes a week or two before I get back on the horse. (That’s saved me a LOT of time!)

Summary

It may make writing (or any other creativity) a little less glamorous if you “schedule” time to do it, but believe me, trying to force yourself to find time (when you already feel like your day is packed full) is only going to make you feel more stressed and more down on yourself. Making sure you give yourself even 15 or 20 minutes to be creative can jump-start that long-dead project or that abandoned flight of fancy. And believe me, it works and is worth it. 🙂

Thursday in the Zone

Battling the Gamer Stereotype

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When you think of the word “gamer”, what physical appearance generally pops to mind? What mindset do you associate with “gaming” as it is in modern culture? What goals, what habits?

For many people, the word “gamer” conjures up a person of the following description:

The “Gamer” Stereotype

  • Male
  • Age range: mid-teens to late forties
  • Caucasian or Asian, upper middle class
  • Likely unmarried, in the “forever alone” category
  • If not single, saddled with a girlfriend who hates that he games so much
  • No personal hygiene to speak of (hence the phrase “gamer funk”)
  • Fat, unshaven, wears ill-fitting clothes (especially pants)
  • Still lives with parents or relatives, usually in a basement
  • Eternally unemployed
  • Socially awkward/clueless
  • Misogynistic or otherwise highly skeptical of women’s prowess in gaming
  • Foul-mouthed
  • Follower of Satanism, Wicca, or other “pagan” religions
  • Eats nothing but junk food
  • Can’t save up money because of buying gaming expansion packs all the time
  • Immature, has no life goals except winning the next game
  • Knows little about anything else except his chosen game

How do I know all of these? Sadly, it’s because these “facts” are thrown in my face every time a non-gamer acquaintance hears that I “game” with people at a “gaming shop.”

I hear stuff like:
“Oh, you’re gonna go hang out with all those boys again.”
“Gaming again? Don’t any of ’em have a JOB?”
“What are you doin’ hangin’ out with all them devil-worshippers?”
“You’re probably the only girl they ever talk to, you know.”
“Well, don’t let any of ’em bum money off you when they’ve been buying all that gaming stuff.”
“I don’t think any of those boys are ever gonna grow up.”

Why the Gamer Stereotype is (Mostly) Wrong

I will preface this by saying that I have known and/or do know of gamers who exhibit some of the characteristics listed in the stereotype list. But I have yet to see or know of a single gamer who shows all these characteristics.

Firstly, not all gamers are male anymore. In fact, in the last ten years, more and more girls are doing more gaming beyond dressup games and Farmville. Magic: the Gathering and HeroClix have both seen an influx of female gamers, and more console and PC video games are bought by women today than ever before.

Secondly, gaming is not restricted by race or social class anymore (thankfully). Though gaming was in the past more accessible to upper-middle-class folks because of the expense of games and game supplies, now gaming on the cheap is possible, allowing people to play for lesser investment. And gaming is not just a “white” or “Asian” thing to do anymore, either, though this has been much slower to change than the social-class monetary barrier.

Thirdly, many gamers I know or have known over the past 8 to 10 years are happily married or in committed relationships, and most of them have either held jobs before or are currently employed. Rather than gamers not being “responsible adults,” in fact many modern gamers are contributing members of society and have families of their own, as well as doing a little gaming for relaxation. This also touches on the stereotypes of gamers living off other people and wasting their money–most gamers these days, in the throes of this economy, are learning how to spend more wisely, and they don’t all live in their mama’s basement.

Finally, gaming does not indicate a Satanist lifestyle. This infuriates me when others typecast gamers as devil-worshippers, as if we’re some sub-human sect of beings that doesn’t deserve to live. While it is true that many games do have threads of dark storylines going through them, most of the time human gamers play the role of the hero, more like a King David, a Joshua, or a Daniel than any ancient Ba’al worshipper. Gaming, like any form of recreation, can get in the way of a Christian lifestyle if too thoroughly pursued, but in moderation it certainly does not pose a threat to the gamer or his/her family and friends.

A Small Caveat

I will admit that hygiene does sometimes go by the wayside for some gamers, and sometimes we gamers can seem hyper-focused on knowing all about the games we play. And I will say that I’ve run across my share of misogynistic idiots who think I will be easy to defeat because of my female anatomy. While much of this stereotype is overdrawn, there are some kernels of truth in it, unpleasant as they might be to acknowledge.

Summary: Gamers ARE Normal People

But a few outlying gamers who only partially fit the stereotype do not speak or act for the majority of awesome gamers I know who manage to play well and still carry on normal conversations; they game like pros and still enjoy their normal, productive lives as well. Gamers, contrary to this stereotype’s concept, are normal people who choose gaming as their way of recreation.

In a way, it’s similar to a football fan watching a game on TV or playing a casual game with friends. It’s just that our games involve character sheets, impromptu acting, a few sets of dice, some decks of carefully-chosen cards, and generally less tackling. 🙂

Tuesday on the Soapbox

Funny and AWESOME Dreams

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Since I did a post a few weeks ago about a few horrible nightmares I’ve had, I thought it only right to balance it with the following post about some of the funniest or most wonderful dreams I’ve had.

Indeed, my brain does bless me with some vivid happier or funnier dreams on occasion, which are (thankfully) just as memorable (and just as emotional) as some of my nightmares have been. For example:

Suddenly, I’m a Judo Master

One night very recently, I dreamed that I was out on the town one evening with my boyfriend’s mother and a good friend of mine from high school, who had her new baby son with her. As we were walking back to our cars from the restaurant we had just left, three guys jumped out from an alleyway and tried to mug us.

We were all ready to give them all the money we had, until one of the muggers swiped at my friend’s son, trying to tear him from her arms. Then all heck broke loose, and the three of us started kicking butt. My boyfriend’s mom was swinging this giant purple pocketbook around hitting the guys upside their heads, and my friend was protecting her son in one arm and punching each of them in the gut super-fast with the other arm. And I was throwing the muggers around, knocking ’em into each other and into walls and stuff (kinda judo-ish, but not really).

After a few minutes of us whooping up on them, the guys ran off without our money, cussing and limping. The three of us high-fived, and I woke up. XD

…And Apparently I’m a Dance Teacher, Too

A few years ago I had a dream about being abducted by aliens. It was the whole typical setup–weird noise outside my house, I go out to see what it is, and I get yanked up into this very very bright light. But when I arrived in the spaceship, the aliens (looking just like the ones in the movies, little skinny greenish-white beings with big black eyes) didn’t know what to do with me. They just stood around and tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t understand them.

I’m not sure how or why this happened, but I started teaching them how to do the Funky Chicken. (They were hopeless students, by the way, all flailing arms and legs and no rhythm. Worse than Elaine off Seinfeld. LOL) And after we had finally successfully danced for a while, they let me go, and I woke up.

…Yeah, I have NO idea. But it did give me a good laugh upon waking! 😛

Getting Interviewed for Books I Ain’t Written Yet

A few months back, I dreamed I was on a talk show that seemed like a combination of Tavis Smiley, Charlie Rose, and North Carolina Bookwatch–it was definitely a public-television talk show, but I didn’t recognize the well-dressed older man that was the host, nor did I recognize the name of the show (which I promptly forgot after I woke up).

The host asked me about my novel SERIES (mind, my first novel isn’t even complete yet as of right now), and he asked me to answer critics’ comments about some of the harder truths I had depicted in my novels. I spoke from a literary-critic point of view myself, and talked about trying to capture some of what had gone on in real-world historical events within my fictional world.

After I had finished answering the questions, the host said he was really pleased with how I was willing to dissect my own books, and that he appreciated writers who took time to research to make a good book. Afterward, I went to a random book-signing outside the studio, and there were TONS of fans there–some were even dressed up like my main character! :O I woke up right in the middle of the book-signing, and for a few minutes I was thinking I had to get to another interview. LOL

The Random Rock Concert In the Middle of a Choral Concert

I dreamed a few nights ago about singing with my local Choral Society group. In the middle of the applause from the formal, sacred music we had just finished singing, our fairly straightlaced choral director turned around where he stood at the podium, as if to acknowledge the audience. But instead, he suddenly broke into the chorus of “Come On Feel The Noize” by Quiet Riot, headbanging and fist-pumping like the best 80’s hair band singer.

We, the choir, stood there kinda shocked for a few seconds, and then we randomly joined in singing with him. The audience went absolutely NUTS, jumping out of their seats, screaming and cheering, and forming a mosh pit below the sedately decorated stage. To add to the mood, somebody in the sound and light booth turned down the stage lights and turned on these lights that threw sparkling multicolored dashes of light all around the walls. And once we got done singing it once, we started it again–all a cappella, no instruments or anything. Random party in my head! (and yes, I did wake up headbanging along to it. XD)

And Finally: My Son (Who Isn’t Even Thought Of Yet) Walks to Daddy

(This one made me cry happy tears upon waking.)

I dream I am standing at a living room window, watching a few cars drive into the driveway, and I feel a little tug at my shirt hem. “Mommy, they here yet? They here yet?” says a little voice.

I lean down to this little boy–he’s about two–and say, “Yeah, they just came in. Want to go open the door for them?”

“Naaah,” he says, hugging my leg. He is suddenly very, very shy. I go over and open the front door, and several close friends come in, all excited to meet this little boy, who I now realize (within the dream) is my son. Even my boyfriend’s older brother comes to see him, and they all gather in the living room, wanting my son to show them how he’s learned to walk. But he won’t walk in front of them–he’s shy and a little nervous.

This whole time, I’m seeing how much he resembles my boyfriend–same dark, glossy hair, same facial structure, and same skinny little arms and legs. He’s so fragile-looking that I’m suddenly afraid to let him walk on his own, for fear he’ll fall and hurt himself. And while I’m pondering all this, our friends are encouraging him to walk over to them, and he keeps shaking his head…until he looks toward the kitchen doorway. His eyes light up, and he says, definitively, “DADA!”

Then, with very deliberate, slow steps, my son walks straight towards the kitchen doorway, straight toward my boyfriend, and hugs his leg as if he’ll never let his daddy go. My boyfriend sweeps him up into his arms, a loving smile lighting his face, and the likeness between father and son is uncanny–tears fill my eyes. Then, my little boy looks back toward the roomful of people (including me) and grins this really big, cheesy grin; it’s the first smile he’s given that reminds me of myself, and the dream ends there.

The Role of Good Dreams

Each of these dreams left me pumped, in a good mood, and ready to face the day, much more so than my nightmares. My nightmares just propelled me out of bed; my awesome dreams left me feeling so much more positive about my life. I think that’s one reason we have dreams like these–keep us happy and wanting to wake up and live again. At least, that’s what these five dreams (as well as all the other great ones I’ve had over the years) have done for me.

Have You Ever Had Dreams Like These?

Just wondering if these dreams of mine remind you of any you’ve had. Leave me a comment and tell me! 🙂