Reflections

Categories Health, Reflections

A “Great” Weight

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I ran into an old friend of mine today, a friend I hadn’t seen in several years. She gave me a hug and then stood back a bit to inspect me. “Wow, Rebekah.” she said. “You look amazing!” Then she asked, “How much weight did you lose?”

The comment was so unexpected, it threw me for a minute. I mean, I did lose a bit of weight my 2nd senior year of college–the same weight I’d put on my senior year of high school. Neither weight change was expected or intentional–and neither final weight was inappropriate. It just happened–I went from low normal to high normal and back again. No biggie.

At least, no biggie to me. I’ve always felt comfortable with my weight, whichever/whatever it might be. I thought my body was fabulous at 160 pounds–and I still think it’s fabulous at 145 pounds. I don’t feel any different because I’m 15 lbs lighter. I’m not particularly any more or less healthy than I was when I weighed more. After all, I’ve always been an appropriate weight.

I mean, sure, I’ve noticed the comments I’ve had in the last couple of years. Someone asks me if I’ve always been this little. Another someone says I’m disappearing. Someone else says they wish they were as “skinny” as I am.

I’ve blown them off as being symptoms of everyone else’s weight obsessions. Especially since most of the people making these comments are certainly not overweight. I’ve never seen anything out of the ordinary about my own body.

But Julie’s comment today makes me wonder. Maybe I do look different than I did two years ago. Maybe it did change my appearance a bit more than I thought.

The problem is, people seem to think my “skinny-ness” is something to aspire to.

Julie says she wants to take my example. The gal who asked if I’ve always been this “little” (How a 5’10” woman is “little” is somewhat beyond me) envied the weight that I maintain so effortlessly.

But the truth is, I’m not any different than I was 15 lbs ago, when no one was aspiring to be me. I’m not even physically different EXCEPT IN LOOKS. My health status is virtually the same, my risk of disease the same, my self-image the same.

15 lbs ago, I was at a healthy weight. Now, I am still at a healthy weight; albeit a different one. The only thing to recommend this weight over that one is that I better fit society’s “ideal woman”.

It’s been an informative experience for me–one that has convinced me that we are an overly weight-centric culture.

Many of my colleagues in dietetics would disagree with me. They would say that this emphasis on weight is good. After all, weight status and health status are linked.

Problem is, too few people understand that weight (just like most other indicators of health status) is a balance. Take potassium for example. Unless you have had renal issues, you probably are unaware of the important role potassium has in your body. Your body has a tight range of potassium balance that must be maintained. If it gets too high, your body shuts down. If it gets too low, your body shuts down. Likewise, too high a weight is unhealthy; and too low a weight is unhealthy.

Yet somehow our culture has taken to thinking that weight problems are just a one way issue. They think that lower is always better. Even the health industry has gotten in on this. Did you know that once upon a time, the “overweight” classification began at a BMI of 27? That’s because risk of chronic disease increases at a BMI of 27. So why do our current recommendations place the “overweight” designation on anyone with a BMI above 25? Good question. The data doesn’t necessarily support it. The World Health Organization decided that they’d do better with a bit of a “fudge factor” down–and Centers for Disease Control followed suit.

And then your average citizen, who doesn’t know that the category is already “fudged” down, lowers the category a little more. They reason that if 25 is overweight and overweight is bad, then they better stay as far away from 25 as possible. And so an eating disorder is born–or if not an eating disorder, then certainly an unhealthy attitude towards health, self, and food.

Did you know that the “healthiest” BMI might actually be somewhere between 22 and 25? People above and below that BMI are at greater risk. So, let me ask you–based on what I just told you, am I healthier at my current weight (at a BMI of 20.8) or two years ago and 15 lbs heavier (at a BMI of 22.9)?

Do you see what I’m saying? I’m actually farther from “the ideal” than I was 15 lbs ago. But public perception is the exact opposite.

Weight is a touchy issue–but I feel our culture has been addressing it the wrong way. We’re the most weight-obsessed culture on the planet–but the only thing its accomplished for us is an “obesity epidemic” and an increasing prevalence of “disordered eating”. By focusing on weight, we’ve created a culture with more weight problems than any other.

What do I suggest? Certainly you can work towards getting to a healthy weight–ideally at a BMI between 22.5 and 25. But health is more than just weight–and you’d do better to be focusing on other indicators. For example, you could start looking at some other health-related numbers: HDL and LDL cholesterol, triglycerides, blood sugar, blood pressure, and resting heart rate are just some examples of other numbers to be looking at. You could also focus on behaviors that effect health: exercise, fruit and vegetable consumption, whole grain consumption, saturated fat intake, etc.

In general, it’s time that we got out of our weight rut and started thinking about promoting health.

Where I got my numbers:

Body mass index and cause-specific mortality in 900,000 adults: collaborative analyses of 57 prospective studies. Lancet. 2009 Mar 28;373(9669):1083-96.

  • Meta-analyses of 57 prospective studies exploring the relationship of BMI with death.
  • Mortality (death rate) was lowest for individuals at a BMI between 22.5 and 25.
  • Risks for death associated with heart disease increased at a BMI above 25.
  • Risks for death associated with respiratory disease increased at a BMI below 22.5
Categories Health, Reflections

Lessons learned…

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When I spent a summer as a housekeeper at the Sawgrass Marriott, I learned a lot. I learned how to fold fitted sheets. I learned how to make a bed “from side to side”–only walking around the bed once. I learned how to fold towels into fans and points. I learned fold points in the toilet paper. I learned how to dry a shower curtain. I’ll probably never again use most of those things (except folding a fitted sheet–I use that one on a weekly basis!) But, from being on the other side, I learned how to be a good hotel patron. I learned to use the luggage rack instead of piling my luggage on a bed. I learned the value of a tip. I learned to NOT stash the little containers of lotion and shampoo every day–wait until the end of your stay, then stow them in your bag before you leave. I learned the value of the “Do not disturb” sign–and the importance of removing it after you’re done.

Likewise, I learned an awful lot about dietetics from my time at St. Elizabeth Regional Medical Center–but the stuff that will stick with me is what I learned about being a patient.

I learned that age isn’t about how many birthday’s have gone past, it’s all about the attitude you’ve chosen to take towards the life you’ve lived.

I learned that stupidity knows no age limit–and that it’s worth being avoided at all costs.

I learned that family can be a hindrance or a help to the healing process.

I learned that power of attorney is a VERY good thing.

But the message that sticks with me the most, the piece I feel compelled to share is: DON’T PUT OFF TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF.

I’ve seen way to many patients who were dying and didn’t have to be. They ignored their checkups, they ignored their bodies, they didn’t go to the doctor for years and years. And when they finally got to the hospital, it was too late. They had a terminal diagnosis and nothing could be done but to put them on palliative care.

Please don’t be that person. Even if you don’t think anything is wrong with you, you should go in to the doctor for a routine physical AT LEAST every three years. Women should have a gynecological exam and breast exam every year after the age of 21 or the onset of intercourse, whichever occurs first. After age 50, this should include a mammogram. Men should go in for a testicular exam every year. After age 50, both sexes should get colonoscopies every 10 years and fecal occult blood tests more often than that. You should have a fasting lipid panel taken AT LEAST every five years. And you should be regularly screened for hypertension (at every visit and at least once a year.)

And when your doctor tells you something? Take it seriously. When your doctor tells you to get your diabetes under control and refers you to a dietitian to have diet counseling? Do it. Even if there’s an extra cost, you’re worth it. I’ve seen way too many people who let their diabetes fly out of control and are now missing toes, feet, and even whole legs. Your doctor tells you that you need to lose weight. Get serious about making sustainable lifestyle changes. I’ve seen too many people who continued along their current course and now have complications that can’t be treated–surgery is too risky for someone their size.

These kind of patients tear me up. Not just because they’re in pain or because they’re dying, but because it was PREVENTABLE. They didn’t have to be in pain, they don’t have to be dying. They had a choice. But when they had the choice, they chose not to take it. Rather than staying on top of their health, they decided to just let it slide. And it slid to places they never wanted it to go. Please, please, please, don’t be one of those patients.

Make your decision now. Choose life.

Categories Reflections

How Others See Me

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As part of a professional development exercise, Dr. K asked the interns to have a friend fill out a little worksheet. The worksheet contained several dozen adjectives. The friend was supposed to circle ten to fifteen adjectives they felt described the person in question (the intern.)

The instructions read, “Ask someone who is close to you–spouse, sibling, roommate, or friend–to circle 10 to 15 traits that describe you.” I chose my sister–who fits into the “sibling”, “roommate”, and “friend” categories.

She circled the following traits:

  • Active
  • Frugal
  • Idealistic
  • Independent
  • Persuasive
  • Responsive
  • Scientific
  • Determined
  • Liberal :-P
  • Precise
  • Radical

When we were asked to read aloud the traits our friends had circled, Dr. K hummed and nodded for several of my classmates. She agreed with their friend’s analysis of them. For me, she didn’t so much. Her response was more of a “Hmm” (with the head nod that indicates she didn’t see it at all.)

I guess I’m not really surprised that she didn’t agree with my sister’s analysis (even if I agreed with her analysis just fine). You see, I’m rather good at compartmentalizing–at choosing which aspects of my personality to show in different settings.

Personally, I think it’s the radical that threw Dr. K off–and I can understand why it might. After all, I don’t generally broadcast the more radical aspects of my being within a professional setting. Class isn’t really the best place to bring up my radical views regarding childbirth. And I’d prefer not to discuss my more radical environmental choices with any but my closest friends. If I’m going to rant about politics (another area of radicalism), I’d rather do it in a setting in which 1) I won’t offend anyone or 2) it doesn’t matter if I offend someone. In class and on the job doesn’t really fulfill either qualification. Since I consider many of my most radical choices to be PERSONAL choices–that I don’t want to push on others–I steer clear of getting too passionate about them among people who don’t know me well enough to know that just because I’m getting excited about the topic doesn’t mean I’m judging them for their lack of excitement about the topic. (Environmentalism, certain feminist/anti-feminist ideas, education, childbirth…quite a few topics fit under this category.)

So what do you think? From what you’ve seen of me and know of me, do those adjectives describe me? What are the first words that come to your mind when you think of me?

On the other hand, have you ever been in a situation where someone thought they knew you when they really didn’t? How did you deal with it? Did it bother you or did it just run right off your back?

Do you feel like you act the same and show the same side of yourself in every setting? Or are you more like me, showing certain sides of yourself only to certain people? Do you think that’s two-faced? Or do you think it’s smart?

I’m curious, how do others see me? How do others see you?

Categories Everyday Life, Reflections

Passable

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I’ve been teaching myself to play the piano–making faltering steps then giving up, just to take the task up again later. The progress has been slow–after more than two years of off and on practicing, I’m still only in book 2 of Faber & Faber’s curriculum. In addition to my sporadic practice schedule, a primary contributing factor in my slow progress may be my difficulty in “passing” myself on to the next song.

Both of my sisters have mentioned it to me before: “That’s one of the advantages of having a teacher–they can tell you when to go on to the next song.” As it is, I have a tremendously hard time deciding when I can progress.

At first, I insisted on perfection. My notes must all be correct, my timing impeccable, and the dynamics appropriate. Which meant that I spent forever practicing the same several songs. The thing was, I got bored with the first few songs–so I kept adding more and more–but without giving myself permission to stop practicing the first few songs. So practice sessions grew until I was playing half the book every time I sat down at the piano.

Then, slowly, my sisters’ wisdom began to sink in. I didn’t have to be perfect. It was a waste of time and energy to continue to practice “Tinkling Windchimes” (made up name, not an actual song) in order to achieve perfection. I had already learned all that was necessary from practicing that song–I’d mastered the song–I just hadn’t performed it perfectly.

Today, I sat down at the piano and realized it had been almost a month since I’d “passed” a song. “I’m going to pass one tonight,” I spoke out loud, half to myself, half to my sister. “It’s been too long.” And I proceeded to play the song terribly. Never mind that I’d been playing it pretty well for nearly three months on a decently regular basis (3-5x/week). I played it just awfully. My timing was off, I was missing notes. It was horrid.

I observed that the harder I try, the worse I do–the more I strive after “perfection” the more I realize how far from perfect I am. But I refused to give up. I was going to pass a song tonight, I had decided. So, after a couple of false starts (caused by my trying to play and talk at the same time), I played the song through again. And this time, I only faltered once. “That’s pass-able” I told myself.

And that’s when it struck me. Passable. It’s a word I’ve always despised, equating it with mediocrity. Passable: (adj) satisfactory but not outstanding; adequate. And that is what it means. In one sense, that is. But passable also means “that which can be passed, traversed, or crossed.” Passable means I can move on.

Because if I truly want to achieve excellence, if I really want to be outstanding, I’m going to have to move past my mistakes and keep learning. At some point, harping on those mistakes became a hindrance holding me back rather than a tool to spur me forward. It’s that point that I must aim to find–the point at which something is “passable”.

What’s holding you back today? What area are you waiting to get perfect before you move on with your life? I encourage you to take a hard look at that situation. How important is it that that certain thing be perfect before you move on? Is your pursuit of perfection getting in the way of accomplishment?

Just like I had to “pass” myself on some of those simple songs in order to free up some time to work on the more difficult songs, maybe you need to “pass” yourself in that area so that you can move on to something else.

“Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid holdof me. Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
Phillipians 3:12-14

Categories Reflections

A Riddle

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I am priceless; I cannot be bought with money.
You can use me, but you cannot own me.
You can spend me, but cannot keep me.
Once you’ve lost me, you can never get me back
What am I?

Answer: Time

How many times have I complained that I haven’t any time? Yet I am allotted the same time as anyone is: 24 hours in a day.

How many times have I complained at how swiftly time moves? Yet time moves at the same rate for everyone: 60 minutes to the hour.

I complain about time as though I were the only one constrained by it–as though I were the only one that felt its subtle bonds. Yet time is an impartial master, placing the same bonds on every man.

My experiences with time are not unique–but I can choose to let my response to time be unique. I can choose to embrace time as my friend rather than struggle with it as my enemy. I can choose to seize each moment rather than complain about every moment lost. I can choose to remember the past with fondness, look forward to the future with hope, and live today to the fullest.

And so I shall. I shall live my newly hectic life to the fullest: interning in the CCU, taking a 5-week summer course, enjoying this weekend’s family festival, preparing a marketing proposal with a friend, coordinating our church’s 20S ministry. And maybe somewhere, in the midst of all that, I can take a moment in hope of the future and go house shopping. Just maybe.

Categories Reflections

Mish-Mash Monday

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Don’t you just love all these amazingly alliterative titles? The ones I participate in are only the tip of the iceburg: Simple Sunday, Thankful Thursday. I regularly read Tiny Talk Tuesday posts, Works for me (or Wordless) Wednesday posts, Silly Saturday posts–they go on and on. So far as I know, no one has ever “patented” the “Mish-Mash Monday”–so today I’m claiming it as my own. Mish-mash is the way my mind feels, so mish-mash is the way my blog will be today.

Mish-Mash 1: Sea-Stitch

A couple of missionaries from our church are back in town on furlough. Richard and June spoke yesterday in the service–and I was reminded that I should post a link to June’s Sea-Stitch ministry. Sea-Stitch is a practical ministry that trains Philipino women and men to cross-stitch and gives them supplies to create cross-stitched works of art. June’s goal is to provide enough work that each of the stitchers can buy food for a family of four three times a week off of the proceeds. This practical ministry has provided many Philipino families with food–and has been a medium of introducing the workers to the family of God. Many of the workers have accepted Christ as a result of this ministry and have become active participants in churches within the Philippines.

You can support the work of Sea-Stitch by following the link to their website, checking out the neat cross-stitch designs, and purchasing some cross-stitched bookmarks, Bible covers, greeting cards, or wall hangings. (I personally picked up a good selection of greeting cards yesterday.)

Mish-Mash 2: Cup of Coffee

I had a cup of coffee yesterday–the first I’d had in ages. And I was wired the entire morning. I was still tired, and yawning constantly. But my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest.

“Like a warm cup of coffee” is unlikely to have quite that effect on you–at least it didn’t on me. Instead, this blog I stumbled upon (via a link from someone–I can’t remember who) is likely to encourage you and get you thinking about what it means to be a Christian woman in today’s world. I have enjoyed Sarah Mae’s thoughtful and thought-provoking discussions.

Mish-Mash 3: Why O Why?

Why can’t life just be easy? Why does it have to be complex? Why do I have to think things through? Why do I have to guard my heart? Why do I have to guard my mind? Why do I have to hold my tongue? Why do I have to seek wisdom? Why can’t wisdom just be plain? Why do I have to search her out?

And why do I always find myself questioning the Potter?

“Woe to him who strives with his Maker!
Let the potsherd strive with the potsherds of the earth!
Shall the clay say to him who forms it,
‘What are you making?’
Or shall your handiwork say,
‘He has no hands’?”

Isaiah 45:9

“But indeed, O man, who are you to reply against God? Will the thing formed say to him who formed it, ‘Why have you made me like this?’ Does not the potter have power over the clay, from the same lump to make one vessel for honor and another for dishonor?” Romans 9:20-21

When, Rebekah, will you see that it’s useless to strive with your Maker? When will you see that He will reveal His will in His own time? When will you let it be sufficient to know that God has good plans for you and that He will bring them to pass?

Soon, I pray.

Categories Reflections

Pride in Disguise

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I call it self-sufficiency, trying to make it on my own. I call it being a grown-up, this unwillingness to ask for help.

“I’m a big girl now,” I say to myself, “I can’t always be daddy’s little girl.” I’m going to prove myself, I’m going to make my own way. I don’t need a leg up from anyone.

I call it living my own life. I call it not being presumptuous.

I call it lots of things, but really it’s just pride in disguise.

Categories Faith, Reflections

I’ve been…

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Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been too busy.

“Busy doing what?” you might ask.

Too which I can only respond: “Dreaming.”

It had been ages since I knelt in worship–even longer since the kneeling turned to sitting. I used to kneel in worship all of the time. And when my knees started to go numb, I’d transition to sitting on the floor, basking in the presence of God. Many of my most intimate conversations with God have occurred on the floor of our church during a worship service. But it had been a long time since I’d been on the floor–and a long time since I’d last had that kind of conversation.

When I knelt in worship this Sunday, I wasn’t expecting anything spectacular–I just wanted to worship God. And when my knees grew tired of being sat upon, I shifted onto my bottom. I wasn’t expecting God to drop in–but He did.

“When did you become so pragmatic?” He asked. “When did you stop dreaming?”

You see, I used to be a dreamer. I dreamt of making a difference in the world. I dreamt of seeing great things, of doing great things. I dreamt of seeing blind eyes receive sight. I dreamt of dancing in the arms of a lover. I dreamt of owning a house that I’d minister out of. I dreamt of marriage and children. I dreamt of traveling the world. I dreamt of so much. My goals are nothing compared to my dreams.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped dreaming. Things hadn’t turned out the way I intended. I turned 21, not only unmarried but with no prospects in sight. I was 24 and still in school. I prayed for revival, but I didn’t see it happen. I stopped dreaming. I stopped believing that dreams could come true.

It’s not that I didn’t miss dreaming. On the contrary, I sorrowed over my lack of faith, my absence of dreams. I even wrote a little song about it:

Once upon a time I thought big thoughts
I hadn’t yet learned they were impossible
Once upon a time I dreamed big dreams
Before I learned to not believe

Teach me again the faith of a child
Teach me again to see
Teach me again, God oh so big
Teach me again to believe

Remember the child
dreaming to sweat drops of blood?
Remember the child
Crying for revival to come?
Bring back that heart,
that longing,
that hunger
Teach me again to believe

I heard Michael W. Smith’s “Missing Person” with new ears. I’d heard the song, sung the lyrics a thousand times without ever giving thought to what it was saying:

There was a child who had the faith to move a mountain
And like a child he would believe without a reason
Without a trace he disappeared into the void and
I’ve been searching for that missing person

He used to want to try to walk the straight and narrow
He had a fire and he could feel it in the marrow
It’s been a long time and I haven’t seen him lately but
I’ve been searching for that missing person

It brought tears to my eyes–I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. But for all my searching, I wasn’t getting anywhere closer to finding the missing dreamer inside of me.

At least, not until God asked me His question: “When did you become so pragmatic? When did you stop dreaming?”

I didn’t really have an answer–or if I did, it was a pretty defensive one. “Well, Lord, what do you want me to do?” I asked in frustration.

“Listen to the dream.” He answered back. “Let it well up in your heart once again. And let Me make the dreams reality.”

I struggled with God a bit: “So how do I know that dreaming won’t just lead to disillusionment? I’ve dreamt before–and where has it gotten me? Have any of those dreams come true? How do I know that dreaming isn’t just a waste of time–something to keep me occupied so I don’t notice when life passes me by?”

And God responded: “My kind of dreams aren’t a waste of time. My kind of dreams don’t keep you from enjoying life. The knack, Rebekah, is to dream My kind of dreams. The knack is to discover where your dreams and Mine intersect–and to jump on them for the ride of your life.”

And then He began to awaken the dreams. But this time, they’re not the fantasy castles of a little girl. This time they’re the dreams that involve blueprint writing, financial affair setting in-order, deep soul-searching. So I’ve been busy dreaming–finding the missing person I thought I’d never see again.

Categories Everyday Life, Following Christ, Reflections

The Ordinary and The Peculiar

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Ordinary: adj. 1. Commonly encountered; usual. 2a. Of no exceptional ability, degree, or quality; average. 2b. Of inferior quality; second rate.

It’s a word that often characterizes my life. Common, usual, without exceptionalism. Ordinary.

If my life had directions, a la shampoo bottles, the directions would read: “Wake up. Go to work. Work. Come home. Putz about. Go to sleep. Repeat.”

It’s not a bad life, when all is said and done. I enjoy my work, I love to putz. Sleep is good. As much as I long for the extraordinary, the unusual, the exceptional, the prime–I find myself quite content with the ordinary, the usual, the average.

I completed Nancy Moser’s Just Jane, a novel about Jane Austen, over the weekend. It was an enjoyable book–comfortably Austenish without trying too hard to mimic Austen’s voice. I could identify with Jane’s moods of peace and peevishness as she rode out the unexpected life of a spinster. Moser’s Jane was swept along by so many waves–decisions were made for her that were far less than her expectations or desires. And she let herself wallow in discontent for a while. But at some point, she has to find her home–she has to learn to be content to be “Just Jane.”

I feel that I am coming to that point–or at least that this ebb of the tide brings me to that place. I am content to just be me. I am content that my life be as usual. I am content to be unexceptional. To be ordinary.

Except that I know that ordinary I shall never truly be. For inside that “ordinary” capsule of day to day routine, I am one of the “peculiar people”.

“But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of Him who hath called you out of darkness into His marvellous light.” I Peter 2:9

Peculiar: adj. 1. Unusual or eccentric; odd. 2. Distinct from all others. 3. Belonging distinctively or primarily to one person, group, or kind; special or unique.

Yep. That would be me. Ordinary, but peculiar.

Categories Reflections

Girl Talk (by Which I mean “Boys”)

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At the DMV

Imagine the scene: A girl has just finished registering her car at the DMV. She turns aside to leave, “inadvertently” dropping her pen on the floor. She bends down to retrieve the pen. So does the guy at the booth next to her. They both look up, see one another, and walk off together to the lobby to talk for a while.

Sounds like a penny-dreadful, doesn’t it? And the girl seems ridiculously coy.

But it wasn’t like that at all. I mean, it looks like that–but that’s not how it really happened. I didn’t intend to drop the pen. And I never expected someone else to pick it up. And I didn’t expect the person who picked it up to be one of my former employees and a fellow grad student. What choice did I have but to briefly catch up with a former employee I haven’t seen or talked to since I resigned last December?

At the Hospital

Hospitals can be teaming with attractive men. That’s just the simple truth. Even my menopausal preceptor agrees–much to her daughter’s chagrin. The dietitian told me today that she responds to her daughter’s comments with “I can look, as long as I don’t taste.”

We were heading out onto the floor when a man walked out of the dining room. “That’s the one I told you about,” my dietitian whispered to me. And he was attractive, to say the least. He looked to be heading toward the elevators, so she directed us towards the elevators too. But he walked past the elevators and turned the corner (probably going to the stairs instead.) I couldn’t tell if she really was disappointed–but I could tell that I was relieved. It’s uncomfortable enough that she tells me she finds him attractive. It would be even more uncomfortable if I found myself stuck in the elevator (which makes me woozy anyway) with a rather good looking YOUNG man (I didn’t catch whether he was a doctor or a physical therapist) AND a slightly stalkerish older woman.

Unfortunately, they’re everywhere. Fortunately, we steer a WIDE berth around the doctors–meaning that I would consider myself VERY silly to go cuckoo over any of them. And I would NEVER be silly!

At the Grocery Store?

To answer Becky’s question, I have not seen the hot grocery guy since I first blogged about him. But having read her (Becky’s) insightful suggestions, I know just what to say should I run into him again. (I’m personally partial to “Boy, it sure is cold outside–and you are so HOT!” That one had me laughing for a week or so.)