Luv Ya

It’s quick. It’s easy. It’s casual. “Luv ya,” I call over my shoulder as I head out the door.

I notice when I choose this abbreviated endearment to express my love. I notice when someone chooses to say to me. I feel a bit empty. Not necessarily bad empty, just empty. Like eating fat free ice cream. It’s fine. It looks like ice cream. It’s cold. It’s just not that filling.

Even if I formalize it a bit more by saying, “Love you,” my emptiness lingers. I feel the missing “I.”

Try it yourself. Say, Love you. Now say, I Love you. Do you notice a difference?

I do. I feel me when I use “I” and I feel you when you say “I”. (DId that make sense? Hope so. I hope so.) When I say, “I,” I am owning what I say. I am in my words. I am in me. I am holding myself accountable. I said that. I meant that. And you know it.

Anytime I drop “I” from my sentence it changes the fat content of my message. “Miss you.”  “Understand.”  “Sorry.”

Recently, before heading out to do some shopping, I stopped at our local diner for a late breakfast. Two eggs over easy, bacon, no toast. Two pancakes. My favorite. A little protein to modify the effects of the sugar and white flour high/crash of the pancakes. I sat at the counter with the other single diners enjoying my urban life.

There was a young man sitting alone at the end of the counter. He was hard not to notice. He was not using his inside voice. His amplified banter with the waitress distracted me from my book. I wanted him to be quiet.

At one point his girlfriend texted him. Maybe his wife, but I hope not. He apparently was late for something they had planned and she was wondering where he was. He reported this loudly and jovially as he shoved a large fork-full of his hungry-man breakfast into his mouth.Unknown-1

After he swallowed, he shared his antidote for an angry girlfriend. He had clearly used it many times.  “Luv ya honey.” He was very proud of himself. He had the formula. “It works every time,” he confidently confided to the entire diner. “That’s all I need to say and she will be fine.” He went on eating and enjoying the company of the waitress.

I thought how lucky it was for me to hear since I had begun writing this post and wasn’t sure where to go with it. Now I knew. I also thought, how unlucky for this girlfriend to be taken in by manipulative words that sound like I Love You, but I imagine didn’t feel like it.

Perhaps that is the litmus test. Regardless of the I, or lack there of, do I feel loved when you say it to me?

Likewise, do I feel loving when I am calling over my shoulder my many variations of those 3 simple words? Do I mean it as a perfunctory sentiment? Do I mean it at all? Am I offering all the fat or 2%?

Just something to think about over breakfast…since I couldn’t concentrate on my book.

XO

 
waxseal2

 

 

 

The Law of Attraction

I recently re watched The Secret, a documentary made several years ago explaining the Law of Attraction. Watching it I was reminded that what we think about and, even more so, what we feel is what we attract to ourselves. In the film a philosopher, an

entrepreneur, a physicist, and an author discuss the theory, as well as, share ways they practice the Law of Attraction in their daily lives. They tell their success stories, from manifesting a dream house to attracting checks coming in the mail.

 

Okay, I get it and I believe it. I have experienced it my life. I attracted the life I am living today. I did dream boards and collages of the places I wanted to travel, the man I wanted to meet, the “feel” of the life I wanted to live. I held clear intentions that the sale of the family home would go smoothly and afford me some retirement money. I envisioned writing (and being read) on a regular basis. Voila!

 

This shit works!

 

So when I heard about the man at the Heart Attack Grill in Las Vegas who had a heart attack while eating a Triple By Pass Burger I recognized the Law of Attraction at work. The restaurant is hospital-themed, where wait staff wear white coats with stethoscopes casually around their necks and diners don hospital gowns. Some witness’s to the event mistook it for a publicity stunt and were taking pictures. 

 

I don’t know how to feel about this. Should I laugh or cry?

 

I did both.

 

We, and I include myself in that we, are so powerful and so careless.

Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Drivers Ed

Well, maybe not everything. I learned some things on the play ground, some in the locker room and some under the bleachers. But, those are stories for another time.

 

Mr Anderson was my high school drivers education teacher. I remember having a crush on him. It was his calmness and concern for our safety that touched me. He felt like a protective dad. Since my father wasn’t, I took all Mr. Anderson had to offer.

 

He taught me, and my car mates, about becoming velocitized. (My computer tells me velocitized is not a word, as does my dictionary, but they are wrong. Just ask Mr. Anderson.) He explained to us, his newest batch of 16 year old drivers, that when you drive 50 mph for a period of time, your body adjusts to that rate of speed making you feel you are going slower than 50mph. So you increase your speed to 55. That feels fast for a while. Then it doesn’t. Now you speed up to 60…for a while…And on it goes until you hear yourself saying, “No officer, how fast was I going?”    

Continue reading

BUTT

I have been mad at my body lately. Maybe most of my life. I was too tall as a girl in the 60’s-so I slouched. My mom would instruct me to, “Stand up straight” then she’d exclaim, “You’re soooo tall.” Relatives would ask her what she fed me.

 

My mom was 5’2. I was 5’10” in middle school. After 20 years of marriage at age 42 I put on a pair of high heels. My husband said, “Oh, now I know why you don’t wear heels, you are really tall.” I didn’t put another pair on until we separated several years later.

 

I was also called “fatty Patti” by my brother and neighborhood kids. My mom countered with, “NO YOU ARE NOT!”, then refused my request for a piece of her freshly baked chocolate cake she. (My friends now call me Patricia, it doesn’t rhythm with fatty.) Continue reading

Fat Free Relationships

I don’t like fat free food. I don’t like low fat food either. I don’t eat it anymore. I used to, believing it was good for me, but I was always hungry. Hunger and I do not get along. I avoid it at all costs. I always know where my next meal is coming from. I decided being hungry and miserable was a greater health risk than eating fat. I threw out the I can’t believe it’s not butter-I could- and returned to It is butter, really.

 

I can tell, on first sip, when my latte is mistakenly made with low fat milk. I use half and half in my coffee at home. There is nothing “light” in my frig.  I would rather not eat ice cream than eat it with all the natural fat sucked out.

 

To justify my rich taste, I read the Fat Fallacy by Will Cower. I remembered my two week trip to France. The French eat whole everything!  They are not overweight and do not have as high an incidence of heart disease as we do. I ate more bread with butter, cheese, cream, ham, pastry and wine while there than I do in two months in Pittsburgh. Surprisingly, I lost weight. I could argue I walked a lot. That being true and significant, the Fat Fallacy suggests we need fat to maintain a good weight. I choose to be a discipline of this belief-we all pick what beliefs we live by.

 

I have the same preference when it comes to my relationships. Continue reading