The Smartt View

Normal people realize that some household cleaning “jobs” shouldn’t be jobs at all. They are completely unnecessary. Need examples? Fine. Ceiling fans don’t need to be dusted. I don’t plan to dust one ceiling fan in 2013. I also didn’t dust one in 2012, 2011, 2010 and so on. There. I said it. I mean, wrote it.

I also will not be cleaning out the oven in 2013. I cook. I bake. But I do not entertain guests inside my oven. No one says, “We ate dinner at the Smartts’ house. The lasagna was delicious. The table was set beautifully. But I have a feeling there were hardened baked beans on the oven rack.” No. No one says that. If they do say that, they are not normal. Unless a mammal has crawled into your oven and died a gruesome death, you do not need to clean out the oven. The toxic fumes of oven cleaner are toxic for a reason. God is trying to tell us to stop cleaning ovens.

I will not be cleaning out my bedroom closet. I’ve decided I don’t want to know. I would rather read a book or call a friend or make a big lasagna. I used to think I needed to know everything that was on the floor of my bedroom closet. But I opened the door to that closet and now I want some things to remain a mystery forever.

I will not be cleaning windows this year. When we bought our house nine years ago, the previous owner said proudly, “Let me show you how these windows can be easily cleaned.” I must not have taken good notes. But I don’t feel stressed because even though window cleaning is not easy, it’s also not necessary. We can see the deer in the front yard. We can watch the fox travel through the side yard. And we see all of that and more out of our rarely cleaned windows. Amazing.
I will not be raking leaves this year. I did not rake leaves last year. I will not be raking leaves in 2013. I know. I know. For some of you, this admission is the hardest pill to swallow. Find it in your heart to forgive me. We live on 16 acres of wooded paradise. To attempt to rake leaves at our house is to shake our fists in the face of God. We happily steer clear of such folly.

We will not be pressure washing or painting or re-finishing anything either. Personally, I think the word “re-finishing” is kind of unintelligent. If something was finished once, shouldn’t we just leave it alone? Let it be happy in its finished state. Don’t try to make it get finished all over again.

If you are an industrious Type A person, I salute you for dusting ceiling fans and cleaning baseboards and even re-finishing your grandma’s china cabinet. Just don’t expect me to join your happy band. I only have so much finishing ability inside me. And that ability had to be spent finishing this column. I’m done now. Whew! I feel like I cleaned all the windows in the house. But of course, I wouldn’t know what that feels like.

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.

I haven’t had a blog until now because, well, even the word “blog” sounds like blah, blah, blah, stomach virus. I never want to use words to abuse or irritate the general public. But I’ve been told by several people that writers are “supposed” to have a blog. I like to do what I’m supposed to do. You can ask my 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Thomason. I was not the sharpest kid in the class but one time I forgot my homework and I cried and cried because I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. So I’m going to start a blog because I don’t want people to be disappointed in me and because watching a 49-year-old chubby woman cry is, well, worse than a stomach virus.

My goal is to post every Friday. I might be posting news about “Doug and Carlie,” my new fiction book about a chubby funny Georgia girl on a quest for love and literary success. I might post recent newspaper columns. For more than eight years, I’ve written a weekly column for “The Union City Daily Messenger” and “The Weakley County Press.” I PROMISE not to post what I had for breakfast or breaking news of my upper respiratory infection.

I’m starting by posting two columns. One is light-hearted and funny and the other is more serious. I trust you to figure out which one is which. Blog readers are smart like that.