Grandma S was fat--very fat. I remember her sitting in her chair and taking up a large expanse of the room. I also remember thinking how on earth she was able to cook for herself and Fuller (my great-uncle who was mentally retarded) in that tiny kitchen that may have been 80 square feet and had a large kitchen table in the middle. She did manage, and she probably wasn't as fat as I remember.

When I was a kid, I was super-sensitive to fat comments. I wasn't fat and no one in my family was really fat, but a number of us were overweight. I see pictures of me and Grandma S snuggled together, and she doesn't look any bigger than I am now. But Papa M liked calling people fat. I don't know why, but he would even call skinny people fat. My mother considered it a compliment if Papa called her fat--I thought it was an insult of the highest degree.

Plus when you're a kid you always see things as bigger than they are.

So, when Grandma S really did get FAT (she probably weighed close to 400 pounds when she went to the nursing home), it wasn't really a shock, but it was sad. She could no longer get around and cook. Walking was extremely painful for her. Her legs and feet were so swollen that she couldn't wear houseslippers. She hated becoming dependent on people, but she couldn't seem to help it--she just kept gaining weight.

I have the next 50 years to work on not becoming extremely fat. I know that will be my fate if I don't get my weight in line now...scary, but I'm glad I have the ability to see and do something about it. Now, is the time!