It occurs to me that this blog, which started off so hopeful and energetic, is taking a turn for the suck-ish. Sure, there are lots of you who read every post (or nearly every) and very often you leave helpful, encouraging feedback. I love you for it more than you will every know. But honestly, I’m afraid that lately I’m not giving you what you came for.
Bulging Buttons, the blog. I liked the sound of it. It neatly summed up my physical state in a way that was realistic, but not too harsh or judgmental. I started off strong. I was eating well (sometimes), working out (sometimes), and writing a lot. I had plans… big plans. Forty-seven of them, to be precise. I was going to get fit, dammit, and take you all along for the ride. Woo Hoo! Great plan right? Except it hasn’t happened.
As usual, life got in the way of my big plans. No, I’m not going to offer up lots of excuses. I really don’t have any. Nothing horrible has happened in my life over the past several months. In fact, it’s been rather fabulous. I’m enjoying my work, my relationship is great, and life in general is pretty darn good. Okay, so the house hasn’t sold as quickly as I might have liked, but really I’m ok. Considering that’s the biggest stress in my life, I’m doing just fine.
Now here comes the shocker. I’m still fat. Fatter than when I started the blog. My sneakers haven’t worn out, my jeans are tighter than ever, and my eating habits are once again horrific. I know better. I know that I’ll sleep better, I’ll look better, and I’ll feel better if I can just shake myself off and get going again. I know I’ll be a better role model and have more energy. I know I’ll like the way I look in the mirror better and I’ll dread going to the doctor less. I know, I know, I know. I also know that I’ll have more to write about for the folks who found encouragement in what I was doing right, back when I was doing it.
So here I go again, publicly declaring that I wish to improve my overall health and fitness through diet and exercise. UGH. I wish this was easy, but it isn’t. The beautiful thing is, I know I’m not alone, and I know you’re here to help cheer me on, not matter how badly I fail.
My son plays high school sports. I thought I would never type this sentence, but it’ s true. He plays tennis and golf, and enjoys them both a great deal.
His father is a natural athlete. He was an all-state football player in high school and played on a semi-pro basketball team (whatever that is) in his youth.
I, on the other hand, am not an athlete by any definition of the word. Oh sure, I played intramural basketball in junior high, and I played on the co-ed rec volleyball team for a season, but I was awful at both.
My son takes after me in many ways; most of them I’m proud of. Athletically, however, I wish he were slightly more like his father. Still, he has come a long way.
When he was small he hated to crawl. He was much happier just being carried from place to place. Once he finally mastered that crawling thing, usually with a pathetic outstretched arm in the hopes of a pity ride, he took forever to learn to walk. At last, at nearly a year and a half, he figured it out.
Bike riding was similar. He got a slick bike with training wheels around kindergarten age. It wasn’t my idea. I knew he lacked the coordination for it, and I was right. It sat in the garage for a long time, next to the battery powered mini-motorcycle (also not my idea). They both gathered dust until one day he decided to try it again. Of course by then he was much bigger. Still, it wasn’t his thing. Finally, in the fifth grade he received a new bicycle, one suitable for a ten year old, not a five year old. We took him to the park, he rode on the grass, and he finally learned. He was rewarded with a twenty dollar bill found in the parking lot. I guess the gods were pleased.
This boy has tried gymnastics, basketball, flag football, and tackle football. He never quit any of the sessions for which he was enrolled, but he also wasn’t exactly a super star. That was okay with us and okay with him. He has lots of other talents, so if he wasn’t an athlete no big deal.
Then came high school. One day I picked him up from school and he announced that he had joined the golf team. The golf team? He had never even held a golf club as far as I knew, aside from a few games of mini-golf. They told the kids that no experience was necessary, so he tried it and liked it. A lot. Now he golfs and has a varsity letter.
He also plays tennis. This is something he has done for years in the summer. My mom is a big tennis player, at least she used to be. She has signed up all the grandkids for tennis lessons, so my boy was familiar with the sport. Still, a week here and a week there does not a tennis player make. Last year as a freshman he decided not to try out, but this year he went for it. The other day he played his first varsity match, and he was happy.
I’m so proud of my athlete. I’m proud of him for finding his own way and sticking to it. I’m proud of him for working hard to improve in both of his sports, and for enjoying himself along the way. I’m proud of him for not giving up when it gets difficult or when he is defeated in competition. I’m proud of him for being a good teammate and for never missing practice. This boy constantly impresses me. I can learn a lot from him. I’m proud to be his mother, even if I’m not an athlete myself.
Welcome to alphabet soup. I’m sure many of you understood that title completely, and a few of you may even be nodding in agreement, but for the uninitiated, let me explain.
First, HOA stands for Homeowner’s Association. Around here most of the communities built within the past twenty years have them, and many older areas do as well. The idea is that everyone in the community pays an HOA fee on a regular basis (mine is monthly, my last neighborhood had quarterly dues), and in turn the HOA sees to it that the community is kept nice. One way they do this is by maintaining common areas like green belts, bike paths, play areas, and even community pools. My neighborhood has none of those features.
A beautifully maintained greenbelt, which my community doesn’t have.
The other thing the HOA does is enforce the community’s C,C, & Rs. What are those, you ask. Why, the codes, covenants, and restrictions, of course. Before you take ownership of your house, you have to sign on the dotted line verifying that you have received, read, understand, and agree to abide by the C,C, & Rs. If you don’t, you have to look for another house. It sounds awful, and in some circumstances it can be, but there are advantages too.
Many years ago my parents found a little patio home as a vacation home. They purchased the place and happily paid the HOA fees because they took care of all landscaping, all exterior maintenance, and care and upkeep of the community pool. Unfortunately they also got the HOA president from hell for a while. Some people need hobbies other than making their neighbors’ lives miserable.
Toward the end of my father’s life he was mostly wheelchair bound, as a result of Parkinson’s Disease. He still got great pleasure out of being in the sunshine and the water of the swimming pool provided welcome relief for his failing body. My mother hired a physical therapist to come work with him on occasion in the generally unused community pool. This was about twenty years after purchasing the home. They knew everyone in the community, and were friendly with them all.
That’s why it came as such a surprise when the president of the HOA told my mother that my father could no longer use the pool with his therapist. She dug up the C,C, & R’s and found some bit in there that they were violating. Maybe it was because the therapist was being paid or maybe because it was being used for something other than pure recreation, I don’t recall. I do recall that my mother was in shock. Who’s property value were they hurting? Who’s quality of life were they diminishing? It was inexplicable and heartless. I think his illness and frailty just made someone feel uncomfortable.
Where I grew up we didn’t have an HOA. What we had were neighbors who spoke to one another. In most cases they got along great, but sometimes there were disagreements. I’ll never forgot the time my father painted our new stockade fence a hideous rusty red color. The neighbor across the road came over and made it clear to my father that another coat of paint, in a slightly less garish color, would be in order. My father complied, and they continued to get along after that incident.
In extreme cases, people would call the town. There were ordinances about things like how tall your grass could grow and what you could keep on your driveway. Overall, people kept their property nice, in spite of not having an HOA.
Fast forward to today. I drove down my street and noticed how tired and worn down it looked. Lots of the houses are in need of a coat of paint, and many yards are filled with weeds. Lots of cars are parked in driveways and in the street, indicating that people are using their garages for storage. We need a good clean up in this neighborhood.
Why does this bug me? Two reasons. First, when I moved in here I got a letter from the HOA within the first few days, telling me that my weeds had better get pulled. Ok, ok, I thought, I just moved in. Still, I did it, and so did everyone else in the neighborhood. It looked good. Second, I’m trying to sell my house. I don’t want a potential buyer to see a tired, run down street. I want them to see what I saw when I moved in. I don’t think that’s asking too much, especially since the HOA fee has gone up since then.
So here’s the thing. I would like my HOA to get my neighbors to clean up their yards and take care of their properties, but I would also like them to remember that communities are made of people, and people deserve compassion.
It occurs to me that this blog, which started off so hopeful and energetic, is taking a turn for the suck-ish. Sure, there are lots of you who read every post (or nearly every) and very often you leave helpful, encouraging feedback. I love you for it more than you will every know. But honestly, I’m afraid that lately I’m not giving you what you came for.
BulgingButtons 