Picture Taking CRAZINESS

If you want to know if you’re old or young, just answer this pivotal question.  How many pictures did you take this year? I could guess your age with incredible accuracy if I only knew your picture-taking habits.

If you’re really really old, you took about five pictures this year.  One picture was taken of the family right after Easter dinner.  You also took a family picture after Christmas dinner.  You took a picture of your great-grandson on the day he was born and a rather fuzzy picture of the dead armadillo you saw on Hwy. 54.  But that’s about it.  In your estimation, birthday picture-taking is only for birthdays ending in “0.”  You have the keen understanding that a relative turning 78 will never be as impressive as the armadillo migrating to Tennessee.

If you’re kinda old, you took about ten pictures this year.  In addition to the ones above, you took an extra Christmas picture because Uncle Harold had his eyes closed in the first one and little Sally was picking her nose.  If you were really really old, you would have said, “Too bad, Uncle Harold and Sally.  We don’t wanna waste film.”  But you’re young enough to realize cameras don’t have film anymore.  So you gave Uncle Harold and Sally one more chance.  You took a picture of the azalea bushes next to the shed and two pictures of your grandkids marching in the Soybean Parade.  You took a picture of the barn cat because he’s 17 and you felt his days were numbered.  But that’s about it.

If you’re middle-aged, you took several hundred pictures this year.  You took the standard Easter and Christmas pictures.  But you also took pictures of the Christmas tree and the outside lights and little Sally dressed like a reindeer in the Christmas play.  In fact, you took lots of pictures of Sally dressed like a reindeer because she kept picking her nose. Truth is, you have a lot more picture-taking patience than old people.   You took tons of birthday pictures, even when relatives turned odd ages not ending in “0.”   You also took pictures at soccer tournaments, your friend’s 40th birthday party, and that horrid vacation in Biloxi when little Billy got food poisoning.

If you’re young, well, God bless you, friend.  You may need to go through a 12-step program for excessive picture taking.  Because of Facebook, I’m convinced the average teenage girl takes more pictures in a day than an adult takes in a year.  The day begins with the “I hate my new haircut” picture taken in the bathroom mirror at 7:00 am.  Then there’s the picture of a sausage biscuit on the way to school.  A picture of the dog in the backseat of the car eating the leftover sausage biscuit.  There are the 27 daily pictures of your bff (best friend forever).  Then there are the pictures of your running shoes, your school art project, your new bottle of hairspray, and the tacos you had for lunch which you deemed unacceptable. This is all before noon on an average Tuesday.

The moral to this story is clear.  Old people need to take more pictures.  Young people need to take fewer pictures.  And armadillos need to stay off the highway.

Side note:  Look at my blog….and guess my age.  🙂  Ancient.

News from the Fat Farm

Weight is just a weird subject.  I guess it will always be a weird subject.  This week’s blog post (a day late, AUGH!) was first published in the newspapers last fall.  I want women everywhere to know that you’re not alone in the battle.  At all.  I am walking with you, sister friend.  Trust me.  I know the struggles.  I have the scars.  Let’s put our arms around each other and walk in love and grace.  Let’s finish well. 

*On a side note:  I just got back from a wonderful time in Texas speaking with the gals at Oak Hills Church, Currey Creek Church, and Grace Bible Church Women’s Retreat.  Thank you, ladies!!  God brings people into our lives for a purpose.  I’m overflowing with thankfulness at what He did and continues to do.  To Him be the Glory forever.


News from the Fat Farm


One month ago today I was the fattest I’d ever been.  Ever.  I’ve been fat for years but this was different.  I saw numbers on the scale that were more reminiscent of an NFL football player than a small town newspaper columnist.  I had crossed a line and knew I had to get back to the starting blocks.


If you don’t know anything about being fat, allow me to enlighten you.  Like most fat people, I have three basic levels of fatness.  A month ago was my “ultra fat” phase.  Even fat people realize this stage is beyond tolerable.  My fattest clothes didn’t fit.  Sadness and hopelessness seemed to crouch at the door with the ever-growing number on the scale.  I saw pictures of myself that made the average sumo wrestler look like a fitness trainer.


Then there’s my “manageable fat” phase.  This is the phase where most of my clothes fit pretty well.  I know I’m still fat but I feel pretty decent about life and I can still hear the birds singing ever-so-sweetly in the trees.  I’ve probably spent most of my adult life in this phase.


The third level of fatness is what I like to call my “thin fat” stage.   This is when all my clothes fit loosely and my face starts to look human again.   For most fat people, we consider ourselves absolutely thin during this stage, even though we’re still fat.  But don’t blame us for taking that position.  Friends and family are the ones to blame for making us feel like runway models when we’re still chubby.


Here’s how this all goes down.  When I get to my “thin fat” stage, my friends say really confusing things like,  “Who let the runway model in the door?”  “Girl, look at you!  You’re gonna dry up and blow away.”


This leads the person of average intelligence to one very clear conclusion.  If you want people to call you “skinny” when you’re not really “skinny,” you have to get really fat first.  I have been amazed at how this works. 


Let’s say I’m at my “thin fat” stage and I go to a local women’s event.  All my thin friends are there.  Some of them have been thin their whole lives and yet not ONE person in the room calls them, “skinny.”  Ever.  My thin friends walk in the door and they’re greeted normally.  “Hey Sarah, how’s it going?”  “Hey Cindy, glad you could make
it.”  Now here’s where things get interesting.  I can walk in right after Sarah and Cindy.  I might be the fattest woman at this event.  But what do my friends say?  Prepare to be amazed.  They say, “Look at Skinny Minnie walking in the door!  Girl, you look great!  You’re so skinny!”  I know.  Life is strange.


If you’ve been reading my column for eight years, you know this is not the first time I have made confessions about my struggle with weight.  I would love to say it will be the last.  But I make no promises.  I do know I’m not giving up hope.  I don’t want you to give up hope either.  I’ve lost 15 lbs. in the last month and I’m working out every day. The birds are once again singing sweetly in the trees.  My name is Lisa and I’m on a path to something far better than “skinny.”  I’m on a path to good health.


Shiny New Toilets

Sometimes it’s Friday…and we just need to talk toilets. So I’m posting a column which first appeared in November of last year and motivated more feedback from readers than I could have ever imagined.

Shiny New Toilets

Some of you did a lot of shopping last weekend. You proudly stood in lines and fought the crowds. Not me. A new TV for less than $100? No thanks. A cell phone for half price? I’ll pass. A computer for less than $500? Let the other guys stand in line to buy it. You see, I didn’t need to shop on Black Friday because I was still basking in the glow of our most recent purchase. Two bright and shiny new toilets.

I never dreamed a new toilet could make me so very happy. So downright giddy. Are you unhappy today, friend? Is Christmas shopping making you blue? If so, please consider this heartfelt recommendation. Go buy a new toilet. Don’t walk, run. It can be life-changing. This is our story.

We bought our house almost nine years ago. It was lovely. It is lovely. Sure, the hall bathroom still has burgundy striped wallpaper from the 80’s. But for the most part, it is incredibly wonderful. I never gave much thought to the toilets. Years passed. The hall toilet started to leak and needed to be replaced. That’s when we realized both toilets were probably original to the house which would make them more than twenty years old.

So I went toilet shopping. That’s when I knew I was a real grown-up. Only grown-ups buy new tires for the car, eat spinach salad, spend vacation money fixing the roof, or buy brand-new toilets. After I bought the toilets, I should have just driven straight to the funeral home to buy pre-arranged funeral plans. That’s how grown-up I felt.

Most of you know that I’m quite a frugal gal. But when it comes to toilets, I don’t compromise. Oh no. Go high-end or go home; that’s what I always say. I chose two fancy high-end high-rise American-made toilets in a lovely bisque color. If you haven’t bought a new toilet since Nixon was president, you’ll find that toilet technology has really turned a corner.

The friendly salesman explained that I could flush an entire bucket of golf balls down this incredibly capable toilet. Every rational person begins to ask the pivotal question. How often will I need to flush golf balls down this new toilet? Does anybody need to flush a bucket of golf balls down a toilet? No. But, surprisingly, I find a lot of comfort in knowing that I could.

I never realized how uncomfortable and low to the ground our old toilets were until the new high-rise ones were installed. I felt like singing the old theme song from the “The Jeffersons” TV show, “We’re movin’ on up…”

One of the secrets to a successful life is learning to find joy in small things. Living in the country has taught me to stop and smell the roses. I stand in awe of the deer that grace our front yard almost every morning. I relish the beautiful changing seasons. Sometimes I think my rural life can’t get any sweeter. But last week it did. I now have the ability to flush a whole bucket of golf balls down the toilet. I just hope I’m too grown-up to try it.