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Dear Diary – Every day Pinterest emails me posts they’ve chosen for me ‘cuz they think I”d be interested. They’re usually completely wrong. However, the chart of yoga poses did catch my attention, not because I do yoga, but because I live with men and have been conditioned me to zero in on certain things. It was actually one pose in particular: wind relieving.

I had to laugh out loud because all I could picture was a sign on the studio bulletin board for a community ChiliFest, and a room full of doughy, mature ladies in spandex suits, tights, headbands and ’80s leg warmers… with cartoon toots.

Dear Diary – My basil plants, the only seeds that grew from the 7 packages of seeds I purchased from a local flower farm, are on steriods. It’s been about 2 weeks since I last harvested a big bunch. This weekend, I plucked and dried 8 cookie sheets of herbs. Three days later, I harvested another half sheet, and could have plucked more. Guess what everyone’s getting in their stocking this Christmas!

Dear Diary – I got to eat dinner out…sort of! It was a catered meal in a church parking lot. I had to bring my own chair, but I didn’t have to cook and it was a big step up from McDonald’s, so it counts as “out”.

Dear Diary – I was blessed to be part of a worship team on Sunday morning, but the expression “early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” did not apply. Instead, it was more like “late to slumber, early to tumble, makes a tired, overworked woman grumble”. Except everyone was still abed when I got up, and comfortably snoozing when I left. There was no one to complain to and no amount of caffeine in the world to perk these old bones. My eyelids felt like sandpaper except for a brief period between 12 and 12:05. It was a pretty gritty day.

The trip to the church is about half an hour, and in a pitiful effort to be joyful, I put on perky music. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. It could have been a mistake had the sun not been shining. The bright rays caused my eyes to tear up, and as I blinked away the dewiness, I noticed a rainbow to the left and right of the sun.

A sun dog or sun bow can appear when light passes through ice crystals in the atmosphere at an angle of 22 degrees, creating a halo effect. Usually it’s just a bright spot that mimics the sun, but occasionally, it is an actual rainbow. And this rainbow was bright and colourful.

As the beauty of this strange phenomenon infused my fatigued brain, lines from the song boucing through the speakers also seeped into my consciousness:

Your resurrection power burns like fire in my heart…

You are the fire that cannot be tamed…

You are stronger than our hearts, You are greater than the dark, with You, we are victorious.

Rend Collective, “More Than Conquerors”

Rainbows have long been a symbol of hope and promise. Remember Noah? There have been a few times in my life, when things seemed bleak or blah, that God painted a rainbow for me, and I couldn’t help but marvel at His faithfulness and creativity.

This past year has certainly had some bleak and blah moments. I have mourned losses of people, places and positions. I have often felt lonely and lost. I’ve kept busy but deep down there’s been a longing for a place and a crying out for a purpose. Breathing and taking up space just isn’t enough. And here’s God, painting rainbows and singing reminders that He is the Light in dark places, early in the morning to someone He didn’t create to be a morning person. Hallelujah!

God has a sense of humour. If you don’t believe me, tomorrow go to Wal-mart and just look at people.

Carlos Mencia

Dear Diary – As much as I hate bathing suit shopping…the wrestling, the sweating, the loss of dignity and the complete breakdown – even before I’ve even tried one on, but I may have to take the plunge into that Little Shop of Horrors again. When I purchased my black bathing suit, I was looking for something a little sexy but my options were limited by my shape. I ended up with the one that I didn’t get so tangled in, that I ended up laughing hysterically in the dressing room, frightening the waifer-thin, doe-eyed adolescent sales clerk who was new and hadn’t experienced the trauma of serving middle-aged sausages women in spandex!

It was incredibly hot this week, and since we’re about to undergo major (and incredibly expensive) plumbing surgery at home, I ran away from home. To cool off, Mom and I decided to go for an evening swim. Auntie M was joining us.

I was thankful I had had the foresight to use the bathroom before I put I attempted to put my suit on. When I purchased this sexy suit, I had less fat to stuff in weighed less and was slightly more bendy than I am now. This suit had very thin straps, which has to support very hefty weight. These tiny straps are also part of an elaborate corset-style back on my suit. The longer I wear the suit, the longer all those strings become as they try to hold everything in place. The suit itself, fits snugger than it used to, so pulling it on is kind of like stuffing meat in a sausage casing. You just kind of have to squeeze your eyes shut and keep wiggling and stuffing until everything is contained. So I stuffed and squeezed and succeeded, only to realize, the suit was inside out. To add insult to injury, the padding in the bust, which serves no purpose, was wrinkled and folded in on itself, giving me the appearance of a tween who has stuffed her top with tissue. I know this because I tried it once in Grade 5 and I got caught. At school. In front of boys. It’s not really a story worth sharing.

I wasn’t sure which problem to fix first – the whole “it’s inside out” or the “stuffed with tissue” texture. I opted for the whole suit, which meant more wriggling and squeezing. Dry or wet, this suit does not come off easily. Instead, the strings roll together into a jumbled mess, that creates a roll, that tightens around the waist, making it even more difficult to roll down. And once off, I have to repeat the whole nightmare to get it on again. Having successfully done so and now sweating profusely, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time um….unfurling the bust pads.

I could have worn my bikini but it was still sunny and no one needed to be blinded by the Pillsbury dough babe. I’ve tried wearing a t-shirt over it but when you get out of the water, unlike plastic wrap, it clings like a toddler to whatever Mama wants to take away. It also rolls up the back and becomes a giant knot that threatens to squeeze the air from your lungs. And it’s humiliating, at 48, to have your parents undress you.

I enjoyed my swim, but not what came next.

It may be time to visit the Little Shop of Horrors again.

“Men have an easier time buying bathing suits. Women have two types: depressing and more depressing.
Men have two types: nerdy and not nerdy.”

Rita Rudner