Curves

A few years ago, there was a wonderful indie film called, "Real Women Have Curves" starring the then unknown, before her Emmy,"Ugly Betty's", America Ferrara. It was a wonderful movie on it's own but I personally liked having the film be successful because the title alone was helping to shift race consciousness about body image.

Curvaceous. I like that word.

And as if I haven't had enough curves in my life in the past year, this week I started working part-time at Curves, a gym where..."women change their lives thirty minutes at a time." Doesn't that phrase have a certain appeal for a Religious Scientist?

The club is for women only and it involves using strength training and cardio exercise in a program that only requires 30 minutes of exercising (although I advocate adding another 15 minutes to ensure you get the all-important cool-down phase) three times a week.

Although I have only been there three days, I had been a member prior to offering to work there and I was making progress before Mom's illness threw my life a curve.

Yesterday, there was a gap where no members were in the club. I cranked up a CD with music I like and I worked out with such abandon and force, that if I had been the staff person watching this Banshee, I would have cautioned her to moderation. But no way. Not only did I use the machines but I had the empty floor space to dance and leap about any way I wanted and I let loose.

Moderation has never been a strong suit in my life. I over-dood it. I was already sore and tired by day's end. In addition to the indulgence of having the club all to myself, I think there was some residue emotional issues driving me: a little bit of bridal boot-camp in preparation for the big day next week; as well as a chance to physically release some of the dormant grief about my Mom that was surfacing as it gets closer to the wedding.

There have been several triggers of late that bumped into my grief but I had to suppress it to a certain degree to maintain a modicum of decorum so I could function. The day that I stood in the Canon Caucus room in U.S. Congress signing a Religious Proclamation for Animal Compassion that I had co-authored (with several amazing colleagues) I was weeping with pride and with sadness because I was unable share it with my mom. This trip to Washington D.C. was something of which I knew she would be immeasurably proud. Not to say I wasn't proud of the body of work this represented to me; and what it meant to and for the animals I love so much.
But damn--here was Dixie's daughter, actively participating in making a change in the world based on the passion of her heart, with Yankee Doodle Dandy flag waving pride to be in a country that afforded me this opportunity. (BTW, at that moment, I didn't care who was in the White House, I only thanked and blessed our Founding Fathers for making this moment possible and available to lil' ol me.) I wanted my mom to know that her kid done good.

Then I come home to the last-minute details and preparations for my wedding (for which Mom was hugely supportive) and I don't have her here to share any of it. I want to tell her how happy I am. I want to tell her about the lingerie I bought. I want her to know that true love is real and I have a man in my life who makes it possible. I am about to have all the things she never did. Let's just say that I found the Wailing Wall and I couldn't hold back. It's not that I haven't shed tears already but I tapped a new level. Maybe I was able to access it because I was so physically spent that I had no filters left. Gratefully, when Don got home he generously and patiently held me and let me cry till I was complete.

Today, I felt fragile and depleted. I knew I had to move slowly and not push the way I have been lately. I did manage to get a few errands handled in spite of the heavy traffic in Mission Valley. It was so crowded everywhere one might have thought it was the week before Christmas and people were driving like it was, too. I am going to allow myself to be in present time and take the time I need and want to move through and enjoy the next six days to our wedding.

No more curves --just a smooth path down the aisle.

Comments

Susannah said…
Glad to see you blogging again but so sorry to hear of the bumps in the road. The last line of your post brought to mind that Billie Holliday song, "Detour Ahead." But unlike the song the "soft shoulders" that surround you are those of your loving groom and your friends and family, offering you comfort and support. Sending you love and blessings as you walk toward and down the aisle.

xoxox
Susannah

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