embracing willendorf, chapter six: blissful nakedness and a leather jacket from goodwill: did i mention my baja?
by byron ballard

I am the whitest white woman that my Cherokee friend MariJo knows. Or at least that’s what she claims. Centuries of British ancestors in one tribe or another have produced some very fair skin. And I’ve never been a sun worshiper so my stomach tends to be as white as my arms and vice versa. But this year was different. This year—with some encouragement from my outdoorsy friends—I decided to get a tan.

I haven’t had a tan since one summer in college when I didn’t have a job and swam during the day and played miniature golf in the late afternoon. My student ID from that fall shows a round and dark face and a curvy sexy smile. It was a treat I thought I could have again, with planning and a lot of sunscreen, some twenty-five years later.

Carefully, carefully, the freckles connected and I had what could be called some “color”. I celebrated by buying one of those pump bottles full of oil that smells like coconut. I step out of a hot shower and spray this goo all over me and rub it in. It feels like endless summer, like drinking rum drinks in the autumn. As the level of oil goes down in the bottle, I’m adding almond oil to the pump bottle and continuing my dreams of summer. My daughter taught me how to wrap and wear a sarong, and I wore that to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Oiled, semi-tan body wrapped in a sarong--could this be me? Oh, yeah.

And I bought a leather jacket. A few weeks before I unloaded all my clothes at the Goodwill, I was checking out suit jackets at the store. I picked up three very nice ones, perfect for meetings or a jaunt to the country club. Then I spied a rack with the sign “Special Finds”. Since my daughter was still exploring the fascinating world of minimally used shoes, I wandered over to this rack to see what was so special.
And there it was. Not biker black but a warm, slightly soiled brown. Padded shoulders, snaps. Sweet. I put down my sensible business jackets and took the leather one off its hanger. Just for fun, I tried it on. It fit, if I didn’t snap it. And it smelled good and felt better. I strolled to the nearest mirror, trying to look like the kind of radically cool person who wears leather jackets.

The woman looking back at me was someone I hadn’t seen before. The warm brown looked good with my brown hair. The shoulder pads were a little much but not bad. The woman in the mirror smiled and her whole face changed. She liked the way she looked in that jacket. She liked it a lot. So I bought it--using a credit card at the Goodwill was another first for me. And I carefully stowed it in the trunk of the car, marveling.

As your shape changes, you will find yourself with clothes that get bigger and bigger. It’s magic. You start loving and listening to your body and your body begins to change. When you started the loving, you had a closet full of clothes that more or less fit. Later, you have a closet full of clothes that fit someone larger than you. Then the day comes when you give away most of your clothes and your closet is empty and the choices of couture are endless.

And, to me at least, baffling.

For too many years to count, I had gone to the Plus size section of a department store and had bought something shapeless and loose-fitting. Basic pieces like pants and shirt or sweater, usually in cotton, often in black. Is that what you’ve been doing too? Haunting the Big and Tall or Ladies department, taking things from the rack that are probably too big and not even trying them on? It’s a familiar scenario for those of us who may have grown to be Fashion-Challenged.

As you love your body into a different shape and level of fitness, you will actually find clothes that fit. Sculpted in the seat, tapered at the waist. It will be a revelation and it may be somewhat daunting for you, as it has been for me. I finally had to admit about a month ago that I have no idea what looks good on me. I bought a couple of form-fitting blouses and I’ve gotten a few pairs of pants. But beyond that, I’m not sure. I’ve asked a friend to go on a shopping safari with me in a month or so and help me look for my own new style.

I’ve also been paying attention to clothes in a way I didn’t before. I notice what our customers are wearing and what my fellow shoppers at the drug store look like. Last night, I went by the drug store after work to get a thermometer and the woman behind me in line looked great. A ribbed loose turtleneck sweater and a long coat with wide-ish shoulders. Tapered and fitted slacks gave her a long, lean and powerful look that I admired. And her hair was blown back by the wind and her cheeks flushed, adding to the look of strength and vitality.

See? I’m working this through in my head. You may be luckier than I and boldly reach for the exact right thing from the rack, but I think I’m going to need some help.

One of my healthcare providers has been helping me set some goals for myself. I don’t work a lot with goals--I think of them as suggestions rather than Holy Writ--so I was unsure how to proceed when people asked (as they inevitably do) how much more are you planning to lose?

Heck, I wasn’t planning to lose any. It started happening when I asked my body what she wanted and she replied, “Fresh fruit. Vegetables. Water. Long walks by the river.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. It seemed for a while like I lost 10 pounds every holy day. Pagan holidays in my tradition happen every six weeks--Solstices, Equinoxes and Cross-Quarter days. So I was losing a little more than a pound a week.

I wondered--how much should I weigh? I had a vague recollection from The President’s Council on Physical Fitness in middle school (the fitness Nazis) that someone my height ought to weigh 135 pounds or so. But hadn’t all that changed lately? And what the heck is a BMI? Beth, the aforementioned healthcare provider, caught me checking out the BMI chart above the sink in the exam room. She steered me away and warned me against taking something like that to heart. Look at it this way, says she. What did you weigh ten years ago? More or less than now? More. Twenty years ago? More. Thirty years ago? I’m not sure. So, says Beth, have you ever, as an adult, weighed what you weigh now? Maybe high school, I replied. But I’m not sure. My colleague Kim assures me that I’m smaller than I was in college. Now I need to rustle up one or two of my high school chums. Another clue came a couple of months ago, when we were cleaning out drawers and found some clothes from my depressed-grad-student days. I tried thee pants on and they were a little big. And we found a shirt I’d worn in eighth grade that fits now.

Most amazing of all was my Baja. Remember those? Funky hooded shirt/jackets from Mexico that every hippie in the 70’s owned? Sometimes striped but mine was a solid, oatmeal color. I’d bought the largest size I could find but it was too tight in the hips and I set it aside. It came to the light of day in the great clean-out.Well, now it fits, that Baja. And as I walk around the track at the river, I’m just another middle-aged hippie, trying to stay warm.

My daughter is going through her Goth phase these days so I’ve been inheriting the bright colorful clothes that don’t appeal to her anymore. I’ve traded her some ultra-baggy black sweaters and I’ve gotten some t-shirts, a denim skirt and a pair of corduroy pants to keep me warm in the winter. She offered me a couple of pairs of jeans but they weren’t quite right, as you will discover in the next chapter. I look forward to her chucking unwanted clothes down the steps and asking me to bag them for Goodwill. I go through them first, appreciating hand-me-downs from my baby. Life does go full circle, if we can be patient and if we pay attention.

I’m also looking forward to all new costumes for the madrigal group I sing with. We have mediaeval costumes for the festival music and I recently created a long princess line surcote of gorgeous brocade. I bought a chatelaine’s belt to wear low on my hips, accentuating the long line at the waist. I’ve never been able to wear this style before because I always had too much hip and butt to pull it off. But now? It looked pretty good, if I do say so myself. We also have Victorian clothes for the winter music and I’m thinking maybe I’ll even need a bustle this year.