I am approaching the end of my weight-loss journey and the beginning of a new way of living.  I have lost 35 pounds so far with not many more to go.  The losing is nearly over; the time to make this new me into ME is fast approaching.

I applied for, and was offered, a new job.  I’ve been here for nearly two months.  It’s a change, going from the second-in-command of a department to the know-nothing wanna-be admin flunkie.  The know-nothing part is starting to diminish.  The admin part is sometimes hard to swallow.  The company is good, and the perks are *really* good, or at least they are if you like beer.

It’s a silly thing, but I’m making a concerted effort to take better care of my teeth.  I’ve been lucky so far, but my first filling (at age 34) was enough to get my rear in gear and start flossing regularly and brushing more frequently.  The fact that my teeth are yellowing and one front tooth is dead is only adding to that; I have an appointment for whitening and a veneer to make me feel better about my smile.

I’m leaving for my medieval camping trip soon, prefaced by an unusually horrible pre-trip sewing extravaganza.  Hopefully I’ll have pictures soon.

My attempt to maintain my own domain has flopped after 3 posts.  I’m debating about dropping it altogether and just being happy with WP.com – after all, it’s been nice to me so far.

I feel very lucky that I’ve steadily lost weight and haven’t yet had to deal with any of the emotional fallout that comes with gaining a few ounces instead of seeing that scale number drop.  I even said as much when I was complimented on my progress during my weigh-in yesterday.  And my leader, bless her, said, “It’s not luck.  You’ve been working hard and it shows.”

It took me a few minutes to think about it and realize that she’s right.  I have been working hard.  I’ve been tracking my food intake and my activity, and when I’ve made mistakes and miscalculated, or gone off track I’ve made efforts to account for those and counteract them with exercise and activity.  I’ve tried to take the program to heart, and I’m seeing good, steady results.  Even this week when I’ve been eating crap (I’ve had cherry pie, restaurant omlettes, Taco Bell, pizza, and sushi all within the last 7 days) I’m very aware of what crap I eat, and how much of it, and still work towards making better food choices even as I indulge.

The weight loss is showing.  My pants are all too big, to the point that even belting them looks bad from all the excess fabric bunching.  I’m hesitant to buy clothing since I know I’m aiming to lose more, and I don’t want to waste money on things I’ll be able to wear for just a few months.  I did, however, buy a pair of pants off eBay that are the same size and cut as my best-fitting pair currently, and hopefully those will tide me over until I get closer to my goal weight, whatever that may be.

Only 13 lbs away from being allowed to play with my new eee PC!

I have been way overdue for a henna application, and since I had some free time last night I decided bite the bullet and get this thing done.   I usually do my whole head, but my roots were about 4 inches long and I wanted to try to blend the brown with the existing red, so I tried a root touch-up.  It worked surprisingly well for such a risky endeavor; I could have ended up with a striped Easter egg head, but the shades blended beautifully.  If I’m feeling sassy in a few weeks I’ll do a whole-head application just to bump up the color and intensity a bit.

One of the down sides of henna is the time it takes.  Last night saw me cooking dinner with my head wrapped in plastic wrap, which was then topped with a fleece winter hat (to keep all the heat in and keep that dye releasing).   The whole process from the mixing of the henna paste, the initial hair wash, through the application and the wrap, the waiting, and the final rinse and dry took about 7 hours.  Not counting the wait, total attention time was nearly 2 hours.  Total cost, not counting the raiding of the pantry items, was about $5.

The fun part, aside from knowing I’m not destroying my hair with chemicals, is how creative I can get with the paste mix.  I vary my paste ingredients by using different liquids as a base (herbal tea, black tea, coffee, etc.), using different ratios of spices for extra color (cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, etc.), adding molasses or honey to help keep the paste moist, and changing up the essential oils.  The result is a bowl of goo smelling–not unpleasantly–of dried vegetation, earth, patchouli, oranges, and spices.

It’s like a Turkish coffeehouse for my skull, and who doesn’t like that?

My issue this time is with the use of music that serves no other purpose than to make the funeral attendees cry.  As if there isn’t enough grief floating around in the air already.

The funeral I attended this past week was for a very loosely-related lady who passed away, somewhat expectedly, in her 93rd year.  Those attending her funeral were primarily family, and that family is mostly of 1st- and 2nd-generation Italian descent.  Dark suits, carnation on the lapel, musical Italian being whispered in the pews, the works.  Much of the funeral mass was typical Catholic depression: the old hymns that are played at every funeral, the incense, etc.  (The music was provided by wanna-be Christian rockstar-types, all breathy and soulfully wavering to the electronic piano, but that’s a whole ‘nother rant which I won’t get into now.)  Other than the rather incoherent rambling of the presiding priest who obviously didn’t know the deceased at all, it wasn’t too out of the ordinary. The service continued as gloomily as one might imagine, through the main funeral rite, and that’s when Bizarro Church World made an appearance.

I mentioned this was a funeral Mass for a 93-year-old Italian woman, yes?  A woman who never spoke English, and was about as Italian as Italian can be.  So when the rite was complete for this little ethnic grandmother, the Christain rockstar wanna-bees break into a song that reminded me of nothing more than an old Negro spiritual.

There is nothing wrong with spirituals.  I find them lovely, meaningful, and a pleasure to sing.  However, I can not imagine that the deceased would have thought so, or appreciated the song.  Not only that, but the words, which consisted mainly of I’m coming home, people who already died are waiting for me, isn’t it grand?  And despite the sheer incongruity of it all, people sobbed like babies.

To the people who planned the service and particularly the music: Seriously, did you really need to do that?  These people have been crying for days, did it give you a sense of accomplishment to tear down that barrier of strength they’d erected in preparation for these last few hours?  Are you so proud of yourselves for “moving” these mourners with your overused vibrato and inability to sing a true, solid, honest note?  Is this the way you serve your church, by tearing at the raw wounds until they bleed again and again and again?

Perhaps I’m just stinging, myself.  This funeral was in the same church where my brother’s service was held.  It was presided over by the same priest.  The same musicians played and sang the same way.  We went to the same cemetary afterwards, and returned to the same hall for a meal.  Maybe I’m still smarting from the repeat memory.  But to my mind, there has to be another way, and if that’s what you get when you die a Catholic, I’m glad I’m no longer a part of it.