Fat Genes

Do I think obesity is genetic? Possibly.  Do I think there are people who are predisposed to being fat?  Yes.  Do I think that if you’re fat you can’t lose weight? No. 

Meet my great-great grandmother, Ella Buck Eggert Jacquemann, shown here with her son, Larry. Most people have 16 great-great grandparents. I have pictures of 14 of my great-great grandparents. She’s the only one who was fat

Ella didn’t like being fat. She disliked it so much she went to a doctor. He gave her a weight loss drug, and it worked. She was so happy the drug worked she increased the dosage. It killed her in 1925 at age 45. She was greatly missed by her only son and granddaughter. Her granddaughter, my grandmother, told me stories about her.

Her son, Larry, was also fat. He got so fat he had trouble walking. People loved Larry Eggert. He died the year before I was born, but I met many people who loved that man. He was kind, generous and fat.

Larry’s only child, my grandmother, Audrey, was also fat. She didn't like being fat.

She was also kind, loving, generous and devoted to her family.

I was thin when I entered First Grade

I was the fattest kid in the Second Grade

By the time I was 8 years old my mother and grandmother were aggressively dieting me, trying to fix the problem, it didn’t work.  I got bigger every year.  This is my Fourth Grade picture.

            It didn’t work for them. It didn’t work me. My grandmother and parents were well intentioned. I remember my grandmother telling me repeatedly how much she hated being fat. She prayed not to be fat. She prayed my mother wouldn't be fat. (Both my parents were fat. I don't have a good picture to show you, plus they are both still living, might not like it.) Grandma prayed I wouldn't be fat, etc.,  My grandmother never saw a thin day in her life, and that is sad. 

My pattern of dieting has never stopped.  I do not know that it ever will.

Then I had a daughter. I never prayed my daughter wouldn't be fat because whatever she was I would love her. I did vow to never diet her, and I didn’t.

She always ate whatever she wanted. I’m not advocating that method. It was reactionary anti-dieting. I am sure it led to dental issues, but she’s not fat.  She is also a model.  Follow her on Instragam Lily Lindquist.

 I don’t know if fat people carry a gene that makes them unable to process certain foods. I don’t know if fat people have a gene that made them carry more weight when they moved from physical labor to brain labor. I do think aggressive dieting can make you so hungry you compensate for it in a meal that is too large. The Bible says the iniquities of the father carry over to 3 and 4 generations. Is that how long it takes to learn? I don’t know.

I am my own work in progress and my own experiment. I know it can be learned.  You may have fat genes, but you can overcome them.

I Am A Viking

I was walking on stage at karaoke when Johnny Caruso stretched out his hand and offered to help me up.  “I got this,” I told him and walked on stage.  “But Marian, I wanted to help you.”  Note to self, must remember, men like to be helpful.  My parents raised me to be self-reliant.  I cannot tell you the number of times my father drilled into me, “You are Viking.”  Vikings are self-reliant.  Vikings travel the world taking what they need.  Vikings establish new territory.  No one conquers Vikings, and during the world wars they remained neutral.  Nothing is better than being Viking. 

I have eight great-grandparents, only two were Viking.  Those two hold the hallowed position of being my father’s father’s parents which endowed me with the awesome Swedish last name.  In the United States, a Swedish last name on a female conjures up the image of a statuesque, beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed, liberal, sexy woman. 

Viking self-reliance extends to my core.  I saw a friend at karaoke and asked where her husband was.  He hurt his back moving the mattress.  I acknowledged mattresses are heavy.  I told her I am working on a project involving rock, which is also heavy.  I was thinking about buying a wheel barrow but it is a single project.  Once it’s done I would have to store the wheel barrow.  It’s not worth it.  She asked how I was moving the rock.  Hauling it by the bagful.  She thought I was nuts.  No sweat, I am Viking.  When I buy the rocks at Home Depot they ask if I want help getting them in my car.  Absolutely not, I had no trouble getting it on the cart, I can load it in the car.  What do they think I am, a wuss?

When my daughter was little she wanted Christmas lights on the outside of the house.  That is filthy work.  I did not hesitate getting up on that ladder and stringing the lights amidst the dust.  Heck, I painted the entire house by myself.  I am a Viking.

Even a Viking has limits.  When Lily was little I purchased a swing set from Toys R Us which was no more than a quarter mile from my home.  I paid $40 to have it delivered.  My mother asked why.  Because the box weighed 200 pounds.  I cannot lift or move a 200 pound box.  It was being delivered to the back yard.  Then I was paying a man to assemble it.  She shook her head in disbelief. 

A company was going out of business and offered my daughter a 6’ framed mirror.  She wanted it.  Would I pick it up?  I met her at the business.  She shows me the mirror and tells me it is heavy.  I lift it, its okay.  I had already put the car seats down.  There is a man working on the asphalt.  “Ma’am, can I help you.”  He asks.  “I’ve got this.”  I tell him, “But thank you, I appreciate it.”  We load it in the car.  We go back upstairs to peruse the rest of the stuff the company does not want.  The owner looks at me and asks, “How did you do that?”  “Do what?”  “Lift that mirror.”  “I’m very strong.”  I tell her.  “I am a Viking,” I tell myself.  “That’s unbelievable.”  She says incredulously.  “I work out.”  I add. 

Being Viking extends beyond housework.  When I was pregnant I was told if I wanted an epidural I must preregister.  Two weeks before Lily was born my doctor asked if I preregistered.  No.  “Why not?”  He asked, “Do you hate yourself?”  I registered.  I do not hate myself.

A lot of people ask what kind of weight loss surgery I had.  None.  This is often followed with, “You/She did it the right way, diet and exercise.”  I lost 110 pounds with diet and exercise, but you do whatever you need for yourself.  It is your body.  I am not here to tell you there is a right way or a wrong way.  If you want to lose weight I encourage you to get yourself there however you want.  You do not always have to be a Viking.

Diet Soda and Belly Fat

If you are a female who was old enough to drink soda in the 1970s I am sure you were introduced to Tab, drink of the gods.  Yes, long before Diet Coke there was a strange tasting diet cola named Tab, all females drank it.  Tab does not taste like Diet Coke and is probably an acquired taste.

In 1980 I went on a school trip to Mexico City.  The first thing all us girls wanted when we got home was Tab.  We craved it.  We talked about it when we were together.  Wish we could have a Tab.  Alas, there was no Tab in Mexico City.  There was also no drinking age, so we subsisted on Sangria, cerveza and tequila, much to the chagrin of our chaperones, who succeeded in getting us banned from the hotel bar.  But money talks, we bought alcohol directly from the back of the bar.  

Fast forward to 2015, I am still keeping tabs on my weight, and I occasionally enjoy a Tab.  My refrigerator is stocked with them.  When I am invited to a BYOB event put on by one of my former high school classmates, I bring a 12 pack of Tab.  Most do not know Coca Cola still makes it.  Tab excites them, takes ‘em back. 

You can only imagine my mortification when I read an article last week that said a study showed taking out all other factors, even one diet soda contributes to weight gain and dangerous belly fat.  NOOOOOO!!!!

I had to put that to the test.  On Saturday all I ingested was coffee, water and Tab.  I did not eat anything to eliminate all outside factors.  Yes, that’s the kind of crazy I am.  Prior to beginning this experiment I weighed myself and measured my waist.  Throughout the course of the day I drank 3 Tabs, which is 2 more than I would drink on any given day. 

The next morning I again weighed myself and measured my waist.  My weight was down 5 lbs. which I expect to see back as soon as I eat.  My waist was down an inch.    

From this very small sample I conclude occasionally partaking in a diet soda will not increase my belly fat.  I think people who drink diet soda tend to have larger bellies than people who do not that’s why they are drinking diet soda, they want their belly to be smaller.  

Service Dogs and Medical Marijuana

Condominiums and Homeowners Associations are a form of communal living with rules.  Before the first condo, townhome or single family dwelling is sold pre-construction, the rules are created and exist in a Declaration.  Buyers agree to be bound by those rules.  There are age-restricted communities and pet-restricted communities.  The new trend is smoke-free communities because we, as a population, hate cigarette smoking, so evil. 

Some restrictions are older than others.  The age restriction has cycled through the court system.  The rules are rigid as are equity memberships in amenities, like golf courses. 

Service animals are making their way through the court system.  I have participated in a fair amount of service animal litigation.  I represent a small number of condo and homeowner associations.  I have sued homeowners to get rid of their animals for communities enforcing their restrictions.

In every store imaginable I see dogs, service animals, on leashes, in baby carriages, shopping carts and carriers.  I see airlines enforcing limits on the number of animals allowed on a flight.  I see restaurants banning animals for health reasons.  It takes very little to ask a doctor to write you a prescription for an animal.  You can buy a service animal certificate on the internet.   There are genuine service animals. 

In my opinion, medical marijuana is trending and it will happen.  Medical marijuana benefits some medical conditions.  I am also certain when medical marijuana is legalized it will not be any harder to obtain than it is to get a support animal. 

Land developers are selling the smoke-free environment as an amenity, like a gym or swimming pool.  Mark my words, you read it here first, smoke-free condo or not, wherever you live your neighbors will be smoking medically necessary marijuana, but not tobacco, until they find a condition that helps, like anxiety.  

Stalking Frank McCourt

Stalking Frank McCourt

By,

Marian A. Lindquist

            In Angela’s Ashes Frank McCourt writes about his childhood.  He was born in Brooklyn to Irish immigrant parents.  The McCourts had a hard life in Brooklyn so they returned to Ireland, where their lives were harder. McCourt’s father was a drunk, who left the family, which subjected them to tremendous hardship. But Angela’s Ashes rises above the hardship and is a story of redemption. Angela’s Ashes won the Pulitzer Prize because it is beautifully and vividly written.  McCourt’s childhood comes alive in the book.  I had my nine year old daughter, Lily, read Frank McCourt’s story because I believed she needed to understand something about the lives of people less fortunate.  I think she is not grateful for all she has.  No more ungrateful than your typical nine year old, but ungrateful nonetheless.

My alcoholic husband also left our family.  I share Angela’s trait of falling for the man who was kind to me.  Angela had very little education or marketable skills, which was the norm for a woman in her place and time, but it did not bode well for the McCourt children.  Fortunately for Lily when her father left I was a lawyer.  That has helped us a lot.  Angela McCourt was young when she had her first child, and after that she had more in rapid succession. I was thirty-four when I had Lily and I waited a long time for her because I wanted to be a mother since I was six.   Lily and I enjoy our lives together.

I pay a lot of attention to Lily.  She is widely traveled, albeit only in North America.  She attends private school and takes private art lessons.  I think she is particularly blessed.  But what do you hear coming from her mouth numerous times daily?  Complaints, and it’s not productive complaining that brings change.  It’s insidious, self-destructive complaining about how she was mistreated, how there is not enough or how some other child misbehaved and got something to which he was not entitled.

            Years ago I read the Bible from cover-to-cover annually.  This is a good practice although I don’t do it anymore.  While reading the Old Testament I saw repeatedly the Jews were doing well, enjoying their Promised Land until they disobeyed and it was taken from them.   What always got them into trouble?  Complaining.  Yahweh/Jehovah through Moses, brought his children out of Pharaoh’s slavery into the desert and dropped manna from the sky, for their daily consumption.  Seems like everyone ought to be grateful, right?  No, they wanted meat. 

            Adam and Eve were in the Garden of Eden with everything they needed.  God told them, “You can enjoy everything in the World except those two trees, stay away from them.”  (If you thought there was just one tree you didn’t read Genesis, did you?)  What had to come before Eve ate the forbidden fruit?  It wasn’t just temptation.  It had to be temptation with complaining, something like, “Why can’t we eat from those trees?  What kind of rule is that?  Who does He think He is to say I can’t eat from the tree?”  (What happened to the second forbidden tree?  It was hidden and its location is a mystery.  Geraldo Rivera and Robert Ballard are searching.)

            Complaining is the greatest sin in my house.  I haven’t been successful at completely eliminating it, but I think the easiest way to get away from it is to be aware of what you are doing, try to stop and recognize and be grateful for all you have.  That’s why I brought Lily to Angela’s Ashes.  Now, if you’ve read Angela you might ask, “How can you think that is appropriate reading for a nine year old?”  It’s because I’m a lawyer.  Lily is growing up in a law office.  She spends hours there.  She is familiar with adult problems. 

            Lastly, Lily and I don’t read books together, we listen to audios.  I know a lot of purists don’t like audio books but I love them.  When I was Lily’s age I read many a book, but now as a single, working parent with a house to maintain I read very few books but listen to audios in the car and while I’m cleaning the house.  It brings joy to time I’ll tell you that.   I read Angela’s Ashes the first time and McCourt’s next book ‘Tis, but Frank McCourt actually reads his own audio books, as opposed to hiring an actor.  In McCourt’s case I think you get more from the audios because listening to him tell his own story is incredible.

            Lily became engrossed in Frank McCourt’s stories.  They led us to many a discussion about alcoholism, illness, poverty, Ireland, religion and how people used to live in a time not so long ago.  Lily began asking all our adult friends, her teachers and school librarian if they read Frank McCourt.  Lily was sorry when Angela’s Ashes ended so I immediately got her ‘Tis which she and I both like as much as Angela.  

After we listened to all of Frank McCourt’s books we got the Malachy McCourt books, written by Frank’s brother.  Malachy describes his life in vivid English and can string together adjectives better than anyone I’ve ever heard.  You learn more listening to both brothers because Malachy tells fascinating, funny stories that Frank leaves out and tells more of Angela’s later years.  Frank was a teacher for 30 years and led a more ordinary life than Malachy.  Malachy’s experiences were extraordinary.  He was a bartender, actor, New York celebrity and globe-trotting gold smuggler.  Malachy smoked cigarettes, drank too much, ate too much and through his writing brings you understanding of the hurt that comes from the memory of want and longing.  I think Frank has enjoyed more commercial success because Angela’s Ashes makes me want to pick him up like an abandoned puppy, take him home and care for him.  Malachy either has more flaws than Frank, or is more frank about his flaws.   He can not be compared with a cuddly puppy but strikes you more as an abandoned mutt who has to fight daily for sustenance.

In addition to the McCourt family of books there were three documentaries available at Amazon.com, so I bought them.  It was a few months that our house was engrossed in all things McCourt.  They became part of us, as had Laura Ingalls Wilder and Harry Potter before them.  We missed them when it was over.    

            Then one morning I had on Good Morning America and caught a public service announcement that Frank McCourt would be speaking at a teachers’ function in Miami-Dade County, one county to the south of us.  My ears perked up and my fingers ran to Google, where I learned he would be at the Miami-Dade County Teachers’ Education Summit.  There was nothing on the computer that made it look like it was open to the public and the Teachers’ Union office was closed for Spring Break.  I called several clients who were Broward County Teachers.  They said they thought we could get in.  I decided I had to try, even if I had to talk my way in. 

            The Education Summit was at a Marriott Hotel beginning at 8:00 AM.  I decided we should sleep there.  That way we would wake up and be there.  I also started thinking, “If Frank McCourt is speaking at a Marriott at 8:00 AM where do you think he is sleeping?” 

            I went to Marriott’s website and checked to see if there were any rooms available.  There were.  The Hotel gave me choices as to what I wanted in a room.  Did I want a Queen or King?  Did I want a City view?  Did I want to be on the Concierge Floor?  That was it.  I wanted to be on the Concierge Floor because if Frank McCourt was sleeping at the Marriott he would be on the Concierge Floor.  I happily booked the most expensive room in which I have ever slept.

            For the five days leading up to the Education Summit Lily and I were giddy with excitement.  We could not wait to see Frank McCourt.  Just the mention of the name “Frank McCourt” set our hearts racing and made us skip breaths.  Yet all the while I was concerned, were we really going to get to see Frank McCourt?  What if we couldn’t get in to this event?

            Lily told me we must get hard cover copies of Angela’s Ashes and ‘Tis for Frank McCourt to sign.  I went to three bookstores before I found one hard cover copy of Angela’s Ashes.  Lily’s art teacher suggested Lily hand write McCourt a note and I slip the concierge a $20 to deliver it. 

            Friday after school we headed from Fort Lauderdale to Miami where the traffic was bumper-to-bumper, like inching your way out of a stadium after a football game, for miles.  Lily, the ever-vigilant, spied a bookstore on the other side of the street where she tells me we may be able to purchase another hard-cover copy of a McCourt book, preferably ‘Tis.  I curse figuring how to turn the car around in the middle of the traffic.  The angels were with Lily that day because that store did have a hard-cover copy of ‘Tis. 

            Upon arrival at the Marriott Castle of Frank McCourt, we immediately began scanning every face we saw for resemblance to him.  I tucked Lily’s note in an envelope along with a biography of me that was published in a Florida Bar publication when I received an award for pro bono service.  The bio spoke of my service to children and the poor and the fact that I was a high school drop out.  I have copies of this bio in my office to pass out to new clients.  I enclosed it with Lily’s letter hoping Mr. McCourt would find us worthy of reply. 

            Lily and I toured the hotel, familiarizing ourselves with it.  We enjoyed happy hour in the bar, with Lily drinking Shirley Temples.  We checked out the pool and the exercise room.  We ate dinner in the restaurant.  We never saw Frank McCourt.  I also didn’t like the idea of parting with the letter and giving it to the concierge.  What was she supposed to do, shove it under his door?  Would she really do it?  She didn’t look friendly.

The excitement was growing unbelievably in Lily.  She so wanted to see Frank McCourt.  Would he read her letter?  We figured we could surely pass it to him during the book signing, so long as we were able to get in to the event.

            I awoke at 6:00 AM and went to the gym.  Afterwards I went to the Third Floor where the event was being held.  They were setting up tables selling Frank McCourt’s books.  Wish I’d known.  I asked one of the ladies what time Frank McCourt would be speaking?  9:30 AM.  I went back to my room and opened up the envelope which contained Lily’s letter and the photocopy of my bio.  I jotted a short note to Frank McCourt telling him how much he meant to us and prayed over that note.

            The breakfast room on the Concierge Floor opened at 8:00.  I went at about 8:03.  The room had a sign in sheet.  I signed my name next to a line numbered three.  I was the third guest to enter the room for breakfast.  Frank McCourt signed in at number one, where indeed he should be as he was the main event.  I glanced around the room and spotted Frank McCourt eating breakfast.  I cautiously approached him.  I told him my daughter and I were big fans and passed him the note.  Then I scampered to the room where Lily was sleeping.  All I said was, “Frank McCourt is in the breakfast room.” Lily was up like a bolt of lighting.  She bounded out of bed, used the restroom and grabbed a clip to put her hair in so no one could see it was not brushed, unless you looked closely.

            I made Lily put a plate of food in front of her, but she didn’t want to eat.  She just wanted to stare at Frank McCourt.  It was unbelievable to her that she was mere feet from the famous literary man we had grown to love. 

In the past year Lily and I took a trip beginning in Wisconsin and ending in South Dakota to see home sites of Laura Ingalls Wilder.  We saw a replica of the Little House in the Big Woods near Pepin, Wisconsin.  We drove to Walnut Grove, Minnesota where they have a lovely museum.  Then we drove a mile out of Walnut Grove to a farm where we paid $5.00 into an on-your-honor wooden box entitling you to proceed down a private road to a place On the Banks of Plum Creek where the Ingalls’ dug out sat.  The spot is marked and sunken.  You can sit in this isolated spot and it takes very little imagination to see two little girls, Mary and Laura Ingalls, playing, laughing and giggling 150 years ago.

            Laura Ingalls Wilder died before I was born, so all I could show Lily was a Creek.  This morning we were in a room with the living, breathing man who mesmerized us for weeks with the tales of his life.  Until I saw the announcement on Good Morning America I never even thought there was a place we could go to see him.  I need to expand my mind.  On his way out of the breakfast room, McCourt spoke with us for a moment.  Lily told him that her father left when she was little too, but it did not bother her as much as it bothered him.

After he left the star-struck Lily sat in his chair thrilled by its warmth. 

            We went down to the Third Floor event and were immediately met by gatekeepers who asked if we had tickets.  We did not.  They asked if I was a teacher.  I told them I was an attorney who had seen the event advertised on television.  They said it cost $25 to get in.  I joyfully gave them $50 for Lily and I.   They handed me two hard-cover signed copies of Teacher Man as this was included in the price of admission. 

            We entered a large ballroom room filled with tables of ten.  Lily was the only child in the room, but that’s normal for her considering the places I take her.  We got a lovely table near the podium dead center.  Our backs were facing the podium but you can turn chairs.  Also as part of our $25 we were presented with really huge plates of breakfast which included bacon, eggs, potatoes, toast, and sausage.  I wish we could have sent those plates back in time and place to the McCourts in Limerick because we had no interest in that food at all at all.

            Frank McCourt entered the room.  We turned our chairs to face him.  Lily snuggled against me and we listened as he kept us enchanted for about 80 minutes.  He told some stories from his book and Lily and I grinned in recognition, and he told other stories too.   This was undoubtedly, one of the happiest days of our lives.

            After he spoke Frank McCourt signed books.  Lily and I got in line with our copies of Angela’s Ashes and ‘Tis.  Lily had concern over which book he would sign to her and which he would sign to me.  I told her to have him sign both to her.  She said but then she would grow up and want to take the books out of the house and I would have no signed books.  I assured her I was fine with that.

            When Lily got to the front of the line Mr. McCourt asked if we had lots of books.  I told him we were avid library goers because there is only so much space in the house.  He shook both our hands and handed us a note that read:

                                                                        12 April 08

            Dear Marian + Lily –

            Thank you for your letters and your kind words.

            I am lost in admiration for the life you’ve led.  Marian – that you fought the good fight, that you are such a powerful figure in the community, the way you help people.

            And Lily, You are a jewel of a young lady and I hope you’ll be as determined in getting an education as your mother was.

            When I go around the country and meet people like Marian + Lily Lindquist.  I know there is hope for all of us.  Thanks again.

                                                            Sincerely,

                                                                        Frank McCourt

I made copies of that note and carried it in my brief case so I could read it frequently.  I framed the original, along with the envelope, in which it came, with a short bio and picture of Frank McCourt.    Other lawyers see that letter hanging on my wall.  They ask how I got it and I tell them about Frank McCourt and the Marriott.  They shake their heads and admonish me for bothering the man at his breakfast and tell me I’m lucky he didn’t have me arrested for stalking, that’s how lawyers think.  I assure them I never put him in fear. I knew I was interrupting his breakfast, but I was careful to be minimally intrusive.  It was the weekend and I was my nurturing mother self, not my week day aggressive, scary lawyer self.  Besides all that, Frank McCourt and I are lost in admiration for each other.

Eulogy for Gloria Pomerantz

I met Gloria in the Summer of 1989 when I did temporary legal secretarial work for her.  I had just completed my first year of law school.  My first impression of Gloria was not her striking physical beauty, though Gloria thought she was so beautiful that her very presence struck envy in other female attorneys.  I was struck by the gigantic poster board pictures of her beautiful grandchildren, Nicole, Richard, Eddie and Jessica, all over her office.  Gloria was a doting grandmother to those small children.

We became friends and I met her whole family--Her mother, Rose.  Her brother Howard, her sister Harriett, daughters, Debbie and Sherri, son-in-law, Richard, and her husband, Jerry.  I learned about her father, the land developer, and how her second husband told her she should go to law school.  Until then she never thought she was smart enough to be a lawyer. 

After I became an attorney and opened my own practice I still worked at Gloria’s office at night, sometimes as late as 1 AM, to supplement my attorney income.  I interviewed and hired Kay Povey to be Gloria’s secretary.  I remember this vividly because Gloria called me the Sunday morning before Kay was to start work.  Gloria’s mother had just died.  Gloria asked if I would please be at the office to help Kay.  I said I would be.  That Sunday night my brother was hit by a car, and Kay was on her own.  Fortunately Kay is brilliant.

Gloria and I also co-counseled cases together. We were very different personalities, but we were both hard workers.  I remember once going into Gloria’s office with my step-children to pick up some documents.  As I foraged through her desk I looked at my step-children and said, “Don’t mess anything up in here.”  That’s a joke, you’d have to know Gloria to know that.  Did you ever see her car? 

My funniest Gloria story pertains to a case we co-counseled in Palm Beach County.  We had to go up there several times for court and depositions.  This began a ritual of going to a restaurant in Palm Beach proper after each such appearance.  The restaurant served a gazpacho margarita which is gazpacho with a tequila floater.  That drink was so delicious. 

So one day we’re up there, enjoying our gazpacho margaritas, and we have plans to meet Gloria’s husband, Jerry, for dinner in Boca, Mizner Park.  Gloria always spoke so glowingly of Jerry.   I had not yet met him.  Gloria had more than one margarita.  I only had one, ‘cause I was driving.  We got to Mizner Park and were met by Gloria’s step-son who was joining us for dinner.  We sat at the table when in walked Jerry.  Jerry also had a striking physical presence.  He came into that restaurant wearing pants and a t-shirt that was so thin you could see his chest hair through it.  But Jerry’s chest hair was not his most striking feature that would be his stomach that swayed back and forth, just above his knees. 

Gloria had a glass of wine with dinner.  After dinner, when they asked if you want coffee or dessert, Gloria told Jerry she would like to have a coffee drink.  Jerry admonished her telling her, “Gloria, you already had a glass of wine, if you have a coffee drink, you will not be able to drive.”  Gloria responded, “Marian is driving.”  Jerry looked at me and said, “You’re very smart.”  And I was thinking that coffee drink is not her second drink. 

On the drive home I asked Gloria, “Why does your husband dress like that?”  She said Jerry says he makes over a million dollars a year, and can dress anyway he wants.  I responded anyone can dress however they want, but that sounded like an anger issue.  It was a precursor of things to come.

Aside from any trial in which she represented clients, Gloria endured a lot of personal trials.  Her divorce from Jerry was nightmare.  After that divorce she saw a psychic who said something about the love of her life, which Gloria immediately equated with Jerry.  When she told me the story I said I can’t believe after all that crap when someone mentions the love of your life your mind goes to Jerry.  They had some kind of soul connection because she was actually doing a drive by of his house, her old house, when the police were there because Jerry had died in the house and his body was being removed from it. 

Gloria and I were both very maternal.  Once my daughter had a medical emergency and I couldn’t get to my step-daughter to pick her up at school.  I called Gloria.  She and her secretary, Angie, raced to the school to pick Margaux up for me.

Gloria’s daughter, Sherri, died after an almost decade long battle with cancer.  No cancer patient ever had a more zealous health care advocate than Sherri.  I went to hospice to see Sherri.  In my law practice I visit a lot of dying people.  I have never seen anyone in worse shape, but still completely aware, vocal and demanding as Sherri was that day.  In her pitiful condition Sherri told her mother to get her out of hospice because she was going to die there and she didn’t want to die.  Sherri was moved to a hospital room where she lived another 3 months.  I doubt there is a stronger force on earth than a lawyer mom caring for her daughter who is dying of cancer. 

I’ve also never met a person more afraid of death than Gloria.  A year or so after Sherri died Gloria told me she had a visitation from her.  It wasn’t like a dream.  It was real.  Gloria said Sherri told her, “Mom, it is so beautiful here.”  My hope is they are enjoying that beautiful place together and that Gloria’s trials are over.

From Invisible to Objectified

My friend, Carolyn, is coming to visit in February.  She is delighted by my weight loss, “Will I even know you?”  She asks.  I tell her she will, because I am the same, I just look different.

But oh the difference the weight loss makes.  How invisible was I?  I was not invisible to people I encountered regularly:  clients, neighbors, co-workers, groups to which I belonged.  But to those who saw me occasionally, I was instantly forgettable.  I would be introduced to someone who was glad to meet me, but they had met me before, numerous times.  I was like a blob that morphed into the environment. 

I was recently told I make my Facebook page all about my weight loss.  I never intended to use my page to glorify my weight loss.  It keeps going back to weight loss because I am constantly asked questions about weight loss.  I figure if a couple people ask the same question, there are others wondering.  So I write.

Why do you think dieting worked this time when you did it so many other times and it didn’t work?  I think it’s a miracle.  I can give you a formula diet + exercise + diet contests, keep doing it.  But really, I think it’s a miracle.  I am not kidding. 

Here’s a recent frequently asked question, “Do you ever wish you had lost the weight earlier before you were so old?”  No.  I never question that.  That question ranks right there with, “Did you ever want to have more than one child?”  I am sure it wasn’t supposed to happen, or it would have.

There is magical wonderment that comes from losing substantial weight and greatly changing your physical appearance at 50, particularly when you are as contemplative as I am.  My observations on wondering why I would be so old when I was transformed lead me to when I was blessed with a spectacularly beautiful daughter, at age 34.  My daughter is not only stunningly gorgeous, she is also kind, caring, compassionate, a critical thinker, driven, hard-working, ambitious and at least as protective of me as I am of her.  The contrast in our physical appearances has given both of us a remarkable education in perspective.

When she was in middle school another student tried to make trouble by saying my daughter teased her.  The child’s mother came complaining to me.  I asked what happened.  She said my daughter taunted her daughter’s weight.  I knew that wasn’t true, because I know there is no person on the planet with more empathy for fat people than my daughter.  I was used to every discomfort obesity brings:  airplane seats, clothing limitations, amusement park rides.  I had lived with them my entire life.  They were my normal.  My normal so bothered my daughter.  She wanted to work at a fat camp to try to encourage campers to be all they could be.  She wanted to design clothing for Lane Bryant’s to make them prettier.  She wanted to find the cure for obesity.

One day, coming home from the beach, we hopped a short wall to get back to the car.  I stumbled and fell, ripping apart my leg very badly, bleeding profusely on the sidewalk.  It took me a few minutes to get my bearings, figure out how to get up, wrap my leg in a towel and get back to my car.  I needed assistance.  Lily called for help.  A large number of white men walked right past us.  A Haitian woman came to our assistance, helping me up and into the car.  Lily was furious the men kept walking.  She surmised they didn’t want to help because I was fat.  This is a lesson in invisibility.

Years later, like magic, I was transformed from a caterpillar to a butterfly.  I am invisible no more.  What joyful revelry that brings.  Recently I realized the questions I was being asked had nothing to do with can you tell me how to lose weight.  They changed to would you say your rear end lifts up or is flat?  Can you twirl so I can see it?  Are you using your body for its intended purpose?  What do you do to satisfy your female needs?  What are some of the things you do with that smokin’ hot body?  Are you happy because you get male attention you didn’t get before?   These questions are about objectification of body parts.   I am sure some will say I have fed this objectification with some of the really great photos of myself I have posted.  I am not going to stop posting pictures. 

My daughter now models.  I learned a model’s photo is rotated all the way around to make sure she looks attractive from every angle.  I learned you zoom in searching for flaws.  My daughter has 10,000+ Instagram followers including middle school girls who want to be like her.  One girl sent daily messages telling Lily how beautiful she was.  After a few such messages Lily sent the girl a picture of herself with no make-up and a scrunchy face asking, “Still think I’m pretty now?”   Lily says models sell illusion.  It is not that she doesn’t really look like that, she does.  But the message is look like this, and you will be all that.    

Losing more than 100 pounds to get to a normal weight improves the quality of your life exponentially, even if the only thing it does for you is take away the invisibility cloak.  Lily has said that when you look pretty people look at you and smile and are happy.  She is correct.  The difference is incredible.  Invisibility and objectification are not going away.  But all that being said, your value far exceeds the way you look.  You are more than the size and shape of your ass, thighs, hips, boobs or waist.  You are more than however perfect or imperfect your teeth are.  You are definitely more than the amount of male attention you receive.  You are so much more than any or all of your body parts.  At the core of my being, I am exactly the same as I ever was.  Carolyn will recognize me.