Looking Like a Caramel Apple

I peered into the mirror the other day and saw a stranger looking out at me. "I look like an apple on a stick!" I declared to Gizmo.

I did expect to see somewhat of a stranger in the mirror because I've lost about 45-50 pounds. What I didn't expect to see was a fat little torso perched on a pair of skinny legs. Making matters worse, I was wearing brown clothes at the time, so I resembled nothing so much as a caramel apple.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The exercise program I've been on has included more walking and zooming along on our elliptical machine than anything else. So I guess I should have expected to lose tons of weight from my lower body. Several months ago, I bought jeans that were three sizes smaller than the tents I'd previously been wearing. And even those jeans are beginning to resemble the circus material I left behind.

The shirts in my wardrobe, on the other hand, have not experienced quite as dramatic a shift. Yes, I have a bit more room in them than I used to, and there are a few sweaters I can fit into again that I haven't been able to wear for a while, but, unlike with my jeans, I can't say that my shirts are three sizes smaller and could stand a reduction of yet another couple sizes.

So until the upper half of my body reaches the level of weight loss the lower half has achieved, I guess I'll have to get used to looking like a caramel apple. Perhaps it fits me after all. I can be a bit tart and crispy on the inside and sugary sweet on the outside. Just so long as nobody tries to take a bite out of me!

Living in a Cemetery

In his comment on my post Tag, You're It, Sparks asked how I came to spend the first year and a half of my life in a cemetery. It's a logical question, since, after all, most people usually wait until their lives have ended to make their first foray into the collection of deep sixers that make up most cemeteries. But I had to break the mold. Or the burial vault, if you will.

In the early sixties, my dad's uncle was caretaker for Highland Cemetery in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Uncle Stanley lived with his family in one of two houses that were on the cemetery property. The other house was split into two apartments. When my parents got married in 1962, they moved into the lower-level apartment in that second house. Dad even helped Uncle Stanley with some of the cemetery work. I was born in 1964, and our happy little family of three lived there until the middle of 1965, when Mom and Dad bought the house they still live in.

Even after we moved out of the cemetery, we went back there for family reunions. Uncle Stanley, Aunt Ruth, and the cousins still lived there, and beside the house was a great expanse of lawn upon which we picnicked and played softball.

Yes, we played softball in a cemetery! There was a mausoleum in right field, and sometimes home run balls ricocheted off its roof. In later years, graves infiltrated left field, which would have made chasing down fly balls that much more difficult. At that point, the family gatherings were sort of dying out anyway, so it was just as well.

After we left, other cousins moved into the cemetery apartment, and we visited them often. So although I have no memories of the apartment when we lived there, I remember it well from the many New Year's Eve parties and other visits our family made.

I still love to go back to Highland Cemetery, where I wander among the graves of some of my relatives. I usually steal a glance at the lawn where softballs once flew. Uncle Stanley's house (and maybe even the apartment house, too) is now a historical landmark, and the birthday parties I once attended there are long in the past. Heck, I just love wandering cemeteries on general principle. They are fascinating places. But mainly they remind me of the cemetery where I spent my first year and a half of life.

Tag, You're It!

I was tagged by @12thnight, whose blog can be found at http://lasoleluna.blogspot.com/. She invited me to play this fun little game in which you list six random things about yourself. Here are my six things. I might even write in more detail about them in future blogs. See the rules for this tag game below.

1. I spent the first year and a half of my life in a cemetery.

2. My favorite foods are chocolate, homemade bread, Pizza Hut pizza ,and steak. And lobster. And fried chicken. And cake . . . OK, I guess you get the point.

3. I have three degrees: a bachelor's in math education, a bachelor's in music, and a master's in music.

4. I am distantly related to Nelson A. Rockefeller and President Wm. Howard Taft.

5. I have been a Kelly girl, an insurance and securities representative, a computer consultant, and a church secretary, among many other things.

6. I am now an accompanist, a freelance editor and writer, and an admin assistant for the music, theatre, & art department at a local college.

I tag the following:

@genesismoments
@lacreshahayes
@wordalchemy
@edgizmo

You can follow these people (and @12thnight) on www.twitter.com.

The rules to play are easy …

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on the blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag sixish people at the end of your post.
5. Let each person know he or she has been tagged.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Welcome to the blogosphere!

I'm probably the only writer/editor who does not yet have a blog. Oh, wait a minute, I just created one, so I'm no longer the only writer/editor who does not yet have a blog.

I guess some other poor sot will have to assume that lofty title while I join the millions of bloggers who have gone before me.

Of course, writing and editing is but a small part of what I do, but more about that will come later.

Until next time, then . . .