ten things I won't likely experience in my lifetime, part 3

5.  Being Able to Understand Anything Spatially...My brain has not one single fissure dedicated to understanding anything remotely connected to spatial relations.  I hear that term and I think the person speaking has a pronounced southern accent (I have a spatial relationship with my kitten, Fluffy).  If I had a dime for every time I said, "That doesn't mean anything to me" during a conversation with Ron where he's explaining the length of an inch, I'd be in a cabana on some remote south sea isle.  It's not quite that bad, but almost.

When we were in the process of buying our town home a few years ago, Ron said that the upstairs living area (minus the bedroom and bath) was the same size as our then-current home's living room.  LIAR, LIAR, LIAR I screamed.  No way, no way, no way.  Well, a tape measure wielded by an exasperated husband proved me wrong.

If you tell me something's thirty feet away, I'm lost.  If you tell me it's from here to that desk over there, I'm OK.

Just leave the numbers out of it.

4.  Fitting Into A Size Two...Pretty sure I was born a size 10 and it just expanded with time.  Six years ago I had gastric bypass surgery and lost a bunch of weight.  It was great.  I walked like a fiend, drank water like an elephant and ate teeny tiny portions.  And I got a ton of new clothes.  Last year, things began to change.

 I hit menopause full on.  I didn't experience the waves of hot flashes multiple times a day or mood swings (although I'm sure there are some loved ones who would disagree), but I did notice a little more around my middle.  Then, I had knee surgery and my days of walking and yoga were strictly curtailed.  And more stuff showed up around my middle.

I have to admit...it freaked me out.  Is still freaking me out.  I feel like I'm careening down a slope that has all kinds of oil (butter) spills and sand (sugar) traps along the way.  Some days I'm like Bode Miller, twisting and turning, avoiding all those nasty pitfalls.  Other days I feel more like Barney, ambling along, singin' a song and deliberately stepping into the forbidden morass of sin and wickedness, stopping occasionally to lick my fingers.

I'm sure the ride's not over.  But I'm strappin' myself in and goin' for the big moves.  Hold on!

3.  A Love of Jazz (with sincerest apologies to my friends who are accomplished jazz musicians)...I've tried.  Seriously.  But I can't just sliiide into it and get all mellow with it like most people seem to do.  I blame it on American Bandstand.  All those Rate-A-Record segments where music was given a thumbs up or thumbs down according to its dance-ability.  Who can dance to jazz? Who can even find a rhythm?  It alludes me.  And, I know, I know...that's kind of what defines jazz as an art from.  Still...makes my brain hurt.

Words help.  It gives me something to focus on and I can memorize words.  Can't memorize a beat that's constantly changing.  (See issues of control in previous post.)

And to think...the very first music I ever recall hearing was Ella Fitzgerald on my parent's hi-fi.  Go figure.

2.  Another love like my Ron Martin...After thirty-three years of marriage we've had our share of highs and lows.  And I expect there will be more to come - that's just the way marriage rolls.  When I think of all we've experienced - both the good and bad - I cannot imagine doing it all without Ron.

We work like tag-team wrestlers.  I'll do my best until I can no longer breathe - or be civil - and I'll slap him on the face and say, "Hey, sweetie...it's YOUR turn."  Then he'll quite masterfully juggle whatever balls are in the air until he sees a fishing pond or new bike route and then it's back on me.  Back and forth.  Yin and yang.  Realist and dreamer.  Glass half empty, glass half full.  It takes two to tango.

And as long as it's not jazz tango, we're good to go.

1.  A Wink from George Clooney...need I say more?

Next time...doing church