Ode to Marie

This post is in memory of Marie Wicklund.  Mother to my husband.  Grandmother to my children.  Wife of my Father in law.

At 1:30 Central time today, my husband lost the matriarch of his family to cancer.  Damn that disease.  It pisses me off.  

She had not been feeling well for quite some time.  Aching all over.  Appetite decreasing.  Overall malaise.  She went to the hospital and they found cancer in her liver.  The doctors suspected that it had spread from somewhere else.  After as many non-invasive tests as they could perform confirmed that she had 6 months or less to live, she decided to go home.  Not two weeks later, she is gone.  There was obviously more cancer in her little body than she could stand.

She was in her late 80's and lived to see her 5 children achieve both personal and professional success.  She raised them through many moves around the country.  Through financial ups and downs.  Taught them all to be upstanding and honorable adults and excellent spouses and parents themselves.  My husband says that she could stretch a dollar like no one she had ever seen.  She was the quintessential Mother.  Cook, maid, seamstress, laundress, doctor and psychiatrist--all rolled into one, tiny little package.  Her (very large) boys were scared of her.  She could open up a serious case of whup ass.  No one messed with Mother.  No one.

Because of her, my husband stands up when I get up from a table or come back to one.  He opens doors for me.  He is the consummate gentleman.  I love that about him.  He is so respectful and admiring of women.  He says "Yes, Ma'am and No, Ma'am" and now, so do my children.  

She was not raised by her own Mother, but rather by her Aunt and Grandmother.  She had every reason to be cynical and cruel, considering that she was essentially abandoned by her parents, yet.  Yet.  She devoted herself to her children and was one of the best mothers I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  

My own children loved her deeply.  They tell me that they will miss her "adorable southern accent" (like, pass the buddah (butter), please) and that time that she decided that she would vote for that "nice lookin' black man, Elbamo", much to the dismay of her predominantly Republican family.

I will miss her, too. The thought of her being gone the next time I go to Dallas just absolutely breaks my heart. I got to talk to her this past Tuesday on the phone.  She was asking for me. She sounded tired, yet a little upbeat to have her family surrounding her. I am so grateful to have gotten the opportunity to say goodbye--even if it was over the phone.  I have lost a little bit of my heart, and so has her family.

So, at 1:30 Central Standard time, on November 15, 2008.  The world changed just a little.  The balance was tipped just enough to break a family's heart and yet remind us of the significance of this event and that supporting and loving one another will heal our wounds in time.  Did you feel it, too?

Mimi, you will be missed by all of us.  May you rest in Peace and watch us from above.

The name is Luke. Luke Skywalker.

I am at war. 

My enemy is fleshy and weak.  Occasionally it shows itself and other times is hidden underneath layers.  The color varies from sickly white to very slightly tan (but mostly sickly white due to obsession with sunscreen but that is totally for another post).  

The enemy?  My arms.

All of my life, I have longed for thin and muscular arms. I want a redo on this part of my body.  Okay, on several parts of my body, but mainly my arms.  I have fairly nice legs.  My ass is a little juicier than I would like, but it is still okay in clothes.  I could do without the muffin top, but that can be hidden most of the time and is not too severe to warrant an all out hatred.  I even have an okay stomach.  Kinda whacked from two kids but still sorta flat, too.  But my arms?  Oh, my arms.  They are just kind of--there.  I suppose if I ate less crap and drank less alcohol, I would have better arms.  I gain one pound and it goes right to my arms.  There have been periods where my arms look like Popeye, only with out the muscle or the tattoo.  I don't do tattoos.  I hate needles and can't commit to anything for too long, with the exception of my husband and my children, because I am stuck with them (and I sort of love them a lot too, but I digress).  

 My friend, Cathy, who arguably has the best damn arms on the planet earth, works out really hard.  Plus, she has four kids and I swear that has something to do with it.  She claims it is genetics combined with hard work.  Really?  

Okay, then I blame my Mother.  But that's for another post, too.

Since I refuse to give up alcohol, sugar or white food, I am now mastering the art of looking really thin in the arm department in pictures.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Anorexic Arm Tutorial.  My friend Veronica (aka Yoda of the flattering picture), is a total master of the anorexic arm.  It does help that she is, well, totally skinny and already has good arms, but she still gave me a tutorial on how to give the appearance that you have skinny arms in pictures.

Behold pre-anorexic arm tutorial:

That's that bitch, Veronica, looking all skinny on the left.  Completely starving-for-months-because-I-am-so-stressed-I-can't-possibly-eat-a-tiny-bite-bride in the middle, and my fat-assed, well-nourished and liquored up arm, on the right.  I look about 15 pounds heavier than I actually am (no, seriously).

According to Yoda, one must angle the arm out and away from the body while the picture is being taken.  You have to be careful not to angle too much, though, because you can look as if you have a dislocated arm.  Oh, and also, it still looks fat (and dislocated) if not done properly and that totally defeats the purpose and you have to delete it from your digital camera right away.  After 10 tequilas (just for sipping, Ana), we tried a few arm moves.

Here we are, mere students of the Anorexic Arm in mid tutorial.

Yeah.  Not so much.

We're just getting started....

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Jedi Masters of the Anorexic Arm!

See? See what I mean?  OMG, Lisa!  Eat a sandwich!  Arm not quite at dislocated angle, you might be able to see what looks like a muscle, but is really an optical illusion.

Smoke and mirrors.  The story of my life.

P.S. Ana (6 foot tall goddess on the left) looks good all the time and is a bitch, too.

I will love him and pet him and name him George.

I ate street corn from this lady twice. Twice.  I. Ate. Street food.  In Mexico.  I thought for sure that I could add a tiny wittle itty bitty parasite to my innards so that I could finally lose the last 6 pounds that are HAUNTING my hips and butt.  Well, also my arms, but now I am Jedi Master of the anorexic arm photograph.  Thanks, Veronica.  You are an excellent teacher.  You are like, totally Yoda to my Luke.

Anyway, I am sad to report that not only did I not get the tapeworm.  I also gained 1.5 pounds--which totally defeats the purpose of eating food off the street in hopes of getting sick.

P.S. Anorexic Arm photos and how-to post coming soon...

I interrupt Mexico posts to show you cute pics of my kids on Halloween

So, as you can see, Victoria was a witch (I will refrain from commenting on how absolutely appropriate her choice was) and John was a Police/Swat guy with a really huge gun and a stocking on his head.  Mostly, he sat on our front lawn, or that of our friend, Cathy's, and "shot" at people.

I was hoping to get a cute shot of them in their costumes and maybe use it for our Christmas card this year.  Well.......

Not so much.  

He even went rouge and used a knife to "attack" his sister.  The shot I missed, right after these, is of John holding the fake knife to her throat while she was screaming.  Cute.

Ahhhhhh, sibling love.  There's nothing quite like it.