True Confessions and True Grit

Back in January, I wrote on this blog that I intended to get my weight down by exercising diligently.  I promised to take three water aerobics classes per week, hike at least three days a week, and work-out to my 20-Minute Workout tapes several days a week.   (see:  "Oh How I long to be Fit and Fabulous after 50")


Well, around mid-February (February 22nd to be exact), I was feeling pretty good, like maybe I'd dropped a little holiday weight gain, so I decided to step on the scale after my water aerobics class, and weigh myself for the first time in a year.  To my absolute horror the gym scale registered my weight at the highest I'd ever seen it!!!  I knew the scale had to be wrong.  There was no way in hell, that in just one year, I could have gained 18 pounds--broken leg, or no broken leg.  I complained to the gym manager, telling her the scale must be wrong.  And I spent the rest of the day fantasizing that perhaps the hardware in my femur weighed a good 10 pounds, even though it's titanium, and apparently titanium is as light as a feather, and it still doesn't explain an 18 pound weight gain!!  


After several people told me that titanium couldn't possibly explain my weight gain, I decided to go and buy a scale.  I'd prove once and for all that the gym scale simply had to be wrong.  On February 24th, I brought my new scale home, removed all of my clothes and stepped on it.  Awwwwwww, Sh__!!!!!  My new scale agreed with the gym scale.  


169 pounds.  Closer to 200 pounds than 100.  Startling, since at 5'6'', I used to be a lean 125.  I thought I had been eating healthily and yet, I had to face the fact:  I had packed on 18 pounds in a year, and about 30 pounds since I moved to Nashville 13 years ago.  I've been in denial way too long.  I was so disgusted with myself that I decided on the spot to start a diet journal, documenting every morsel I put into my mouth, and counting up my daily calories--since obviously my "healthy diet" wasn't working. 

I have no idea why I convinced myself for years that I didn't need to keep track of my weight.  Buying the scale was the best thing I ever did.    I step on it everyday, and today, after 9 weeks of real healthy portion-controlled-eating, and lots of exercise, I'm down to 153.  My next goal is 140, and I know I can do it!   

Just the Break I Needed

One year ago today, on a beautiful, sunny morning, I took a step in my yard and slid backwards down into a 3 feet deep hole (dug by my dogs) that swallowed my leg and snapped my femur in two places.  That moment will be forever embedded in my memory.  And today, during a matinee performance of the play I'm in, as I was joyfully doing the charleston backstage, I flashed on all of the pain I endured, and all of the baby steps it took me to get as far as I've come.  Finally, after one year, I'm wearing high-heels again, skipping on-stage, and dancing.


If you've never had a serious accident, you might think I'm overdramatizing because you can't relate.  (Just like people who haven't lost their parents can't relate to what it's like to be a member of the parent-less club).  But as a member of the "Broken Femur Victims Unite" group on Facebook, I know there are others out there around the world who can relate.


I was talking to someone a week or so ago, who was telling me about his recent broken bone, and he made the statement, "it was just the break I needed."  "Wow," I said.  "What a great pun."  And I started reflecting upon how my break created a great break for me too.  It really shook up my routine.  It decimated my habits, and I've been developing new ones.  It slowed me down.  It made me think.  I discovered the generosity of friends and acquaintances.  I discovered that I could enjoy just laying around.  I re-discovered the absolute importance of daily exercise.  I started a blog.  I got back into acting.  And now, in retrospect, I'm really grateful that I got to have the life-altering experience of breaking my femur.


So, I'm celebrating my anniversary today, doing the charleston!  And every year on March 6th, I'll give thanks and congratulate myself for my resiliency, and my sheer determination to rise above a hugely challenging situation.  Both of my parents would be so proud. 

No Business Like Show Business!

It's hard to believe it's been four years since I've performed on stage in a play.  Four years since I got my real estate license and decided that I needed to focus on making money at the age of 50.  I'd been eking out a living as an actress and songwriter long enough!  I remember bemoaning my choice to my friend, Nancy, at a women's support group, and I'll never forget her words of wisdom:  "But you're still an Actress.  You're just acting like a real estate agent right now."  Truer words have never been spoken.


When I got my real estate license, I imagined a flexible lifestyle where I would incorporate all of my various creative interests:  Acting, songwriting, creative writing, fitness, home renovations and dog wrangling.  But somehow, I found myself always working (I believed I had to be available 24-7 to succeed in real estate).  That is, until I broke my femur last March.  Nothing slows you down like not being able to walk!  


Over this past year, being slowed down by the broken leg turned out to be a blessing (cliche, I know, but these things usually do turn out to be blessings in some way, if you choose to figure out the way).  It allowed me time to soul search, and while I was searching I realized I wanted to find my way back to doing what I love.  Fortunately, Steve, my "spousal equivalent", prefers to be around me when I'm happy, so when I announced that I was "auditioning for a play, and after I finish the play, I'll work hard at real estate again, " he cheered me on.  And, as if the Universe were supporting me too, the audition was one of those rare instances in my life where I went in expecting to be hired.    


So, it's been three weeks so far of reporting to rehearsals at 9:00 a.m., working with a group of professionals who share passion for the theatre, memorizing lines and stretching emotions, all under the direction of Maryanna Clark, who has built an impressive theatre company, The Tennessee Women's Theatre Project.  I haven't been this thrilled to get up in the morning since I had to be on set at 6:00 a.m. when I was a series regular on a short-lived soap in Los Angeles (with my very own trailer!).  
I've been hiking most days after rehearsal (for my femur) where I run lines, and soaking in the tub most nights (for my femur), where I run lines again.  I love the process of figuring out how my character walks, talks, and feels.  I'm obsessed with my role, it's all I can think about.  And, as if the Universe couldn't be any more on my side, I'm getting real estate calls, referrals and leads without focusing on real estate at all!


The play, "The Disappearance of Janey Jones," opens in one week, and I will get to "play" for three more weeks of glorious performances.  There's no business like show business, like no business I know.....

Famous Last Words

As my father was approaching his final days in this world, he told my sister Beverly and me one evening:  "You two have done all right for yourselves; "Holly, you never got what you wanted, but you've done okay."  Beverly and I exchanged looks and laughed, but I didn't know what he meant by the comment.  Was he talking about my failed marriage, my not-so-illustrious career(s), the fact that I never had children, or that I wasn't financially successful?


I didn't ask Dad to clarify.  He was tired, over-medicated, and dying, after all.  But now, two years since we lost him on February 3, 2010, I wish I could tell Dad that I'm better than "okay."  I always wanted him to be proud of me.


When I was a teen, Dad would often say, "don't worry about getting a boyfriend at your age, there are so many fish in the sea."  Late one night my freshman year, he showed up at my friend Tina's house, (where I was supposed to be spending the night) and sat in her drive-way until I rode up in a car with Tina's boyfriend at 3:00 a.m.  My dad grounded me for two weeks, but believed me when I told him that NOTHING happened in that car.  


When I was suspended from school my senior year for calling my band teacher a "prick", Dad met with the principal, and sided with me when I explained that my band teacher had ridiculed me in front of the class. 


Dad believed in me.  When I was jealous of Beverly in high school because she was prettier, more popular, and head songleader, he'd say, "yes, but she can't play the flute! You're the first chair flute player!"  And, when I got my first professional theatre job at Disneyworld, it was my dad who received the call, came down to the Modesto Junior College, and pulled me out of class to excitedly give me the news.  


There were so many times when my dad was there to pick up the pieces when I crumbled emotionally, and many more evidences through the years of my dad's support of me and my dreams.  Oh, how I wish he could've been around this past year to watch me overcome a broken femur, and see me slow down enough through the healing process to realize that I can choose to spend more time doing what I love.  He'd be thrilled to know that I'm performing again in a professional theatre production!


As I sat here writing this, I had an epiphany:  What my dad was trying to convey with his comment was that he still believed in me, all the way to the end.  He was trying to tell me that not only have I "done okay", I am okay. 

 Dad, joking around while making pancakes! 

The Proof is NOT in the Pudding

The proof is NOT in the pudding.  It's in the putting.  As in putting one foot in front of the other, putting your best foot forward and putting your body into motion.  


At my senior water aerobics class yesterday morning, Jackie, a stately, slim, and glowing woman old enough to be my mother told me:  "You just have to make yourself do it if you want to live long."  She went on to say, "I'm in better shape now than I was when I was 41."  She told me how she had slipped a disc in her back at 41, and that it felt like forever before she could lift anything again.  She's pleased that she can now easily lift a shrub in her garden.


We were talking about the fact that I was sore from my workout the day before.  My "workout" being that I single-handedly moved an enormous couch out of our tiny den, (while Steve was at work and knew nothing about my impulsive decision to rearrange the furniture and dispose of said couch) by pushing, pulling, and eventually lifting it up on end and stuffing it through the door.  I felt so strong and powerful!  It was like lifting weights and I totally forgot any limitation my right leg might have had.  While I was moving the furniture around, I thought about how much I enjoyed renovating homes, and that it might be just about time to tackle another home renovation, if we could find a cheap fixer-upper.  Coincidentally, (or maybe there are no coincidences) I got a call from a real estate investor right after class who told me about a CHEAP fixer-upper that Steve and I might be interested in buying.  (Wow!  I'm thinking, just look at what moving a couch can do...)  For good measure I got on my exercise bike and rode it hard for 20 minutes.


I don't know the origin of the phrase, "The proof is in the pudding," but I think the only proof I'd get from pudding is weight gain.