...the Journal

The Guest
Refrigerator Door

The next set of magnets is from the fridge of my brother-in-law and his wife.

Somehow this seems particularly appropriate today!

* NEW *

Someone suggested I add a discussion board, so I have.

If you have anything to discuss, go to this link. Feel free to start a new discussion on anything.

I'm gone--but you guys chat amongst yourselves, please!


I'm a Stranger Here Myself

Bill Bryson

I enjoyed his Australia book so much, I decided to try the one about this country.


As You Like It
an outdoor performance
by our local teen age acting group

That's it for today!


26 May 2001

Everybody loves a fat person. They are so happy, so jolly, so much fun to be around.

So much for myth.

I thought Iíd talk about the black side of being fat. It was on my mind a lot during this recent trip we took. It always is.

It starts with the plane ride and always the question...will I finally have to ask for an extender for the lap belt? Well, so far no. The way I get into a plane seat is that I raise the arm of the seat next to me (Walt is very tolerant of sharing his seat with half my butt). I then extend the belt its full length, sit down, suck in, and pray. It cuts me in half, but it buckles. This means I will not get out of the seat again during the trip because I donít want to face the possibility that the package of snack crackers was the straw that broke the camelís back. I make a 10 hour flight across the pond without a potty stop because Iím too embarrassed to get up and back into my seat again.

I always optimistically test the tray table. Will it fold down in front of me? 99% of the time, no. Sometimes I can get it almost flat, but never flat. On one flight recently we were upgraded to "economy plus" for a short distance and I could actually fold down the tray table. Wouldnít you know that would be the flight where we had no meals.

If the passenger in the seat ahead of me decides to recline his or her seat, there is NO room. I canít even get the tray table to halfway down. On our flight to London, the flight attendant was very kind and observant and without making an issue of it, politely asked the passenger ahead of me if he could raise his chair for the meal. I so appreciated that. On the flight home, the attendant was no so observant and I spent the meals balancing the tray on one hand while trying to open packages of food with the other hand, fighting tears, and too embarrassed to ask for help.

On a trip, like to London, it takes a few days to get into "moving about" mode. When you are traveling with mobile people, you are too embarrassed to admit that your lungs are bursting and your feet are in agony. Our first day in London started with a 3/4 mile walk to the train station, a ride to Waterloo Station, and then walking from Waterloo Station to St. Paulís cathedral. I donít know how far that is (if anybody knows, Iíd love to find out!), but it involves starting out by walking across the Thames and then wending your way through back streets forever until you finally get to the church. When I asked Walt later how far weíd walked (we went to St. Paulís, and then back to the railroad station, and back the 3/4 mile to the hotel) he said "oh a couple of miles," minimizing the distance. I wanted to hear weíd walked 10 miles and that I was so wonderful for being able to keep up, Ďcause you never ever want to let people know that you canít keep up, even if youíre dying. (I've often thought Iíd love to see how my walking companions would do if they had to cover as much ground as I cover carrying a couple of sacks of rock salt, which would still be less than the extra poundage Iím carrying.)

Peggy was wonderful when we went walking. She never made an issue of it, but slowed her pace to mine for the first few days. By the last days of her time here, she said sheíd stopped going slow and just walked her normal pace and how proud of me she was for being able to keep up. Now thatís encouragement!

The boat on which we traveled for 8 days was 7 feet wide, about 4 feet of which was the cabin. When you are 3 feet wide yourself, walking down a less than 3 foot wide corridor was tricky. And there was the fear that the dining room chairs wouldnít hold my weight. And squeezing in the narrow space for peopleís bodies to go.

The bedrooms were "en suite," which meant we had a sink on one end and a toilet/shower on the other. The shower was small for normal sized people, for me it involved pretty much wearing the shower. Whatís worse, while the water came out of a nice showerhead mounted high on the wall, the hot and cold pipes were exposed so that by virtue of the fact I was wearing the shower, any sudden movement would mean contact with a blazing hot water pipe in a very tender section of my body.

To use the toilet was even trickier. First I had to remove the roll of toilet paper because there wasnít enough width for me and the toilet paper roll to occupy the space at the same time. Then Iíd lower my underwear and kind of back into the toilet because you couldnít walk up to it and turn around. It was quite a routine I got going there and I was thrilled that Walt and I had separate rooms so I could keep my embarrassment to myself.

We went to five plays while we were in London and only one of them had a seat that fit me. Bless Derek Jacobi and The Vaudeville theatre. With all the rest, it was varying degrees of pain from too tight seats. I didnít fit in the seat for The Lion King at all but thank goodness I was on the aisle and had "restricted view" anyway, so it didnít look too obvious when I sat sidewise with my feet hanging out into the aisle. The seats for Art were the worst. So incredibly painful, with metal edges digging into my sides, and such cramped knee space that it was almost as bad as being on an airplane again.

But you put up with stuff like this without saying anything, because to complain is to invite the well-deserved, "well--you put on all that weight; what do you expect?" And so you get a little more depressed at your lack of self control and you hate yourself more, so you do what you always do when you hate yourself--you eat something.

One Year Ago:
Karma Overdue

Some pictures from this journal
can be found at
Club Photo

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Created 5/26/01 by Bev Sykes