I was in the garden, poking along, enjoying the plants and art exhibits. In a few minutes, I would go into the butterfly exhibit and get my yearly dose of the beautiful, winged creatures.

It was discount day at the gardens and like a diligent senior shopper, I was off to pick up my discount while it lasted. It was getting a little warm on this perfect May day in the desert. The sky was blue and we were favored with a light breeze. The real heat of summer had not descended yet like a smothering blanket on this little Tucson desert.
Inside the butterfly exhibit, the air was damp and humid. The plants were green and lush. The guardians at the gate made sure we were respectful of the entrance and exits so the little beauties didn’t get out. There were small, frantic black ones with orange and white spots, darting around. The larger, more languid brown specimens surprised me when they opened, and their diaphanous sky-blue colors featured spots like eyes on each wing. Some master and commander types in the deepest black with orange stripes hung in glass boxes. Some clustered around orange and banana slices on vibrant glass plates. Blue and green, brown and black, periwinkle and black; they danced around the running stream in the petite jungle of their home.

Satisfied with the beauty of the place once again, I emerged from the rainforest enclosure to continue wandering the garden.
Walking the labyrinth of the various specimens the garden had to offer, I felt it was time for a spot of refreshment. I began searching for the café I knew was nestled in there somewhere. In my hunt I found myself behind a woman and her small daughter who she held by the hand. Having an eye for color, I couldn’t help but notice the vibrant pink striped dress the woman was wearing. A veritable collage of pinks, maroons, tans and brown. It was pretty with full flowing sleeves, a belted waist and full skirt. On top of all that, she wore a spring hat, colorful sunglasses and dress shoes. The little girl, likewise, had on a little spring dress and gaudy pink sunglasses.

Given my usual ensemble of shorts, a cotton shirt, sandals and sunhat; I would have felt a little underdressed except that most everyone else at the gardens was dressed in similar fashion; dressed down and for the heat.
As we wound our way out of the specimen gardens, I couldn’t help but notice that the pretty dress the woman was wearing covered up a massively overweight body. Her arms and legs were heavy, her back rolled over the tight belt, and it was clear the striped pattern was a trompe-l’oeil that was picked carefully to fool the eye on an extreme weight problem.
Once that registered, I was free to overhear the conversation between the two.
“Well, we can go to get the cake pops first and then go to the store for some groceries. Or, we can get the groceries first and then go to get the cake pops. What do you think, honey?”
The little girl kept walking and didn’t respond. Then the mother repeated the choices and threw in another third option.
“Which do you want to do?” There was almost a pleading tone to the mother’s voice.
Finally, the little girl responded, “Cake pops.”
“Okay, good, we’ll do that.” The mother seemed relieved and they continued to make their way out. Our joint paths ended at the café, and I went to order some cold tomato soup.
As I sat and enjoyed my cold gazpacho and croutons, I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in the flowing striped dress and her need for what appeared to be validation from a five-year old.
As a free-lance writer and social commentator, I wondered if this was the tip of a story.
The next weekend, my adult daughter invited me to go to another park for a birthday party. My cuter than cute granddaughter was invited to a chum’s birthday celebration and my (big) girl thought it would be fun if we all went.

“Come on, Mom. It will be a hoot. You get to see what all the moms my age are getting up to.”
Given that my options were a relax-and-stretch class with a bunch of middle-aged women on floor mats then, lunch with my cat, I decided to go.
We arrived at the big park at 10 am; in time for lots of games, then presents and a light lunch. Enough time to get all the five-year-olds home for an afternoon nap. Our five-year-old, Doodle (not her real name – Dorothy) was all dolled up. She was wearing her bestest marine animals t-shirt, matching pink leggings, fluorescent tennis shoes. Her mom had done service in putting up the hair in tight little pigtails and ribbons, all guaranteed to last about 45 minutes before tumbling down.
Regardless, the girl darted out of the car the moment she was unbuckled from the backseat. Grabbing the present, she ran pell-mell to the gathering group of kids.
It was a big park and Lenora and I ambled at a slower pace toward the festivities. The first thing that caught my eye was the large red and yellow jumping gym in one corner. It was one of those blow-up things you see at parties and events for hire. Kids were already inside jumping around like hooligans and screaming with delight. I could hear the hum of the motor next to the bouncy thing that apparently kept it inflated.
Lenora spotted another mother. “Oh, hey!” she called. “Mom, I’m going to say hello. I think they are serving lemonade over there.” She made a vague wave and I waved back.
“No, problem. I’m just going to walk around,” I replied. She scooted off.
My leather backpack in place and a water bottle at my hip, I decided to get some of that lemonade and make the rounds. I grabbed a red cold cup, helped myself to some ice, and poured lemonade out of a big bottle. Mothers were busy around the food table getting out napkins, plates and plastic ware, all ready for the early lunch.
I decided that since I was merely a guest and not a contributor, to not volunteer for anything. I smiled vaguely at the mom-helpers and wandered away from the table with a sugar cookie in hand.
Next, I was drawn to the make-shift stage where a magician was performing magic tricks to a group of kids sitting in front of him, all agog with interest. I laughed.

How funny, I thought. A magician. Actually, that was not the end of festivities. In a far corner, a young woman and an older man led a small, fat, grey pony around in circles for some very excited riders. I was starting to shake my head.
A bit further into the park, there was a grassy area. I spotted Doodle and some of her chums gathered around a princess in full dress reading to them from a book. I got a little closer and realized the princess was Snow White in full yellow and blue dress, like in the movie. The black, pageboy hair cut must have been a wig.
Wow! I thought. This is really something. For a kid’s birthday party!
Circling back to the food table I realized there was another picnic table nearby that was covered with boxes of board games and several kids had discovered these and were digging into Monopoly Junior.
I got a refill of my lemonade and grabbed another cookie with the intention of finding the daughter and following in her wake. It was then I noticed what had to be the hostess of the event. She was in an intense conversation with a smaller, thin man who seemed to be about the same age. The intense conversation came to an end. The thin man shuffled off to do something, and the woman returned to the food table to continue organizing stuff.
It was with some surprise that I thought to myself, It’s that woman from the park!
I stood staring for a minute. The big, voluminous dress was gone. In its place was a large t-shirt with elaborate designs on the front, black leggings and flats. The hat too was gone. In its place was a large hairdo with lots of layers and curls that looked professionally done. I got a bit closer. The woman had her head down concentrating on what she was doing. But enormous black eyelashes fairly stood out from her face.
Approaching the table, I slowed to refill my cup with ice and add in some more lemonade. Sipping from my drink I remarked, “Nice party.”
The woman stopped what she was doing for a moment and looked up. She had a nice, full face. Not beautiful but with perfectly done makeup. The eyes, the lipstick and foundation, all of it, looked like she had just stepped from the beauty shop.
“Thank you,” she replied. “We try.”

“I’m Caroline, Lenora’s mom. Dorothy’s my…”
“Oh, yes. You’re the grandmother. My daughter always likes all the little…marine animals your granddaughter wears on her shirts. She thinks they’re…cute.” She smiled with a little force.
“Yes, well, her dad is the Fish Guy, so we like to encourage…”
“Sheila, did you check on the cake?” The hostess turned and moved in on another woman who was monitoring a huge pink box.
Feeling I had been dismissed, I moved away.
Wandering about a bit more, I relocated Snow White who looked to be winding down on her story. I could see Doodle who was staring, entranced by the spectacle. She was clearly completely in love with Snow White. I was sorry the show was about over. Oh, well, I thought, there’s the jumpy gym before lunch.
I caught my girl by the hand as the group was breaking up and we were on our way to jump house when her mom showed up.
“There you two are,” Lenora said with mock sternness.
“Like we have been misbehaving,” I replied.
“Well, apparently, this is the place for that,” she laughed.
“Isn’t it just,” I retorted. “Have you ever in your life seen so many activities at a party for just fives before? Wow!”
Lenora shrugged.
“I think at my five-year party, we played musical chairs, had cake and ice-cream and everyone thought it was great!”
“Well, Mom, you know. Things change. People may do it a little different these days.” She sounded a little defensive.
I decided to let it go. “Maybe. I met your hostess. Large gal, over there,” I waved. “At the food table. Sort of an intense person.”
“Oh, yes. That would be Joy. The mom. She is a little intense. Don’t mind her. I take it she just likes to have everything right.”

I nodded. Does she ever, I thought.
Doodle spent a few minutes in the jumpy gym and by that time, lunch was served and presents were to be unwrapped and then cake. We all snacked on sandwiches, chips and more lemonade. A huge mound of presents got unwrapped with squeals of delight from the birthday girl. At long last, the enormous chocolate cake was served. The little blond girl I had seen at the park with the mom blew out the candles, we all sang Happy Birthday and the party was over.

We tramped back to the parking lot. Doodle with a little gift bag in her hand. Me with another cookie (!) and Lenora with a slice of chocolate cake to give to the Fish Guy when they got home.
Dropping them off, I wheeled on back to my place. I needed to check the cat’s bowl for kibble and water and then maybe take a nap. All the festivities and walking around in the fresh air had about done me in.
Two hours later, nap done, cat taken care of; my free-lance writer’s itch was getting the better of me. I do articles for various magazines; my name, Carol Kane, has popped up here and there. Of course, I am always on the lookout for another interesting ‘angle.’
Despite my daughter’s assurances that Joy, our hostess, was just a stickler for detail, things about the party, about the woman kept bothering me. After seeing her at the park with the elaborate get-up on an increasingly warm day and then to see the totally over-the-top fantastic kids’ party; I kept getting that feeling of something below the surface.
Joy had a cadre of friends. They too were a group of chunky monkeys. But Joy did seem to be the head monkey. Now I should talk. Having been on the slim side most of my life, middle-age had done things to my waistline I don’t think any diet could fix.
Lenora, busy chasing after her young’un, was built like a bean pole, just like her dad. And Doodle, constantly growing, ranged from pleasantly plump to slightly skinny depending on the day and month.

No, it was the conversation that I had overheard in the garden. The giving the little girl all those choices and then expecting an answer like you would from an adult. The whole thing was a little…weird.
Joy, in fact, was a little…weird. I felt like I needed to look into this thing some more. First I had to decide what this ‘thing’ that I was looking into was. What was it? The party, the food, the weight. What? I decided to start with the easiest thing to consider, the weight.
I did a little research. Google shows that Wegovy and Ozempic are widely used to control weight. Contrave is used as an antidepressant and to curb appetite and reduce cravings. These show 15% weight loss. Zepbound shows 20% weight loss. If they work so well, why are there still so many chubby women (and men). Shouldn’t we be seeing more whippet thin types running around? Is the problem the food? Or something else?

I was out for a hike on my favorite trail. Again, I was wearing my usual: cotton t-shirt, shorts with pockets (for stuff), a water bottle on a shoulder strap, a small leather backpack and a large hat. With my two walking sticks (for upgrades and downslopes,) I was ready to go. Since I don’t listen to music when I hike, I get a chance to enjoy nature, watch the hills, hear the birds and, of course, watch the people. You can tell the oldtimey hikers. They all dress in some version of what I was wearing, even garb older than mine.
Then, there are the college girls out for a romp. Generally in something very low-cut in the front and high up on the thigh. Hopefully they brought enough water! These girls often arrive in packs and chatter like a flock of birds or they are in two-somes, busy impressing a new boyfriend.
Then there are the Very Serious Women Hikers. Frequently hiking alone with a very determined air. They have all the gear; water, correct shoes, sunglasses, hats. They are frequently overweight and are clearly doing penance for their sins and they are working hard, very hard, to get that weight off.
I sigh. I hate to see such a lovely day and fun time turned into such drudgery and work. Ah, me. But, then again, I am not usually beating myself up on a daily basis for being 50, 75 or 100 pounds overweight. Probably makes a difference.

I sat out on my front porch, enjoying a coffee and the evening sky. Again, the summer heat had not set in yet and the evening was warmish, even balmy. From where I was sitting, I could see the DQ ice cream place half a block away. As always, the drive through station was full of cars all waiting to get their ice cream. I sat and wondered about the days past when part of getting the ice cream was going in and hanging out with your friends. What happened to that?
My phone rang.
“Hey, Carolyn, there’s going to be a great speaker at the Women’s Center on Thursday. I hear she is really good. Want to go?”
“Sure, Kath, let me check my calendar.” I went to check my bulging social calendar. Nothing. “Yeah, sure. Nothing on. I’ll go.”
“Great!” She chirped. “7 pm. I’ll meet you there. Yeah?”
“Yep, we are on.”
We both hung up and I went back to watching the DQ customers.

The next Thursday we shuffled into the hall and took our places on the metal-folded chairs. I hate those. They always make my butt cold. Whatever. The women around me were buzzing with excitement. There was coffee and water on the side table. I went to get a cup and scurried back to my seat. The hostess was banging the gavel.
“Evening, ladies and some gents.” She nodded to two men tucked furtively in a back corner. “Our speaker tonight is well known in her circles and has spoken many, many times to groups of people. Sharon S. will share her experience, strength and hope about her path of battling with alcoholism. Sharon.” With a flourish of her hand, the leader relinquished the podium.
A tall, good-looking woman of about 50 years got up and began to speak.

For forty minutes I was enthralled with her stories of drunkenness, drug addiction, living on the streets, having biker boyfriends and the whole enchilada. She did loop back to the past and talked about her older sister.
“My older sister was the smart one, the pretty one, the one who got all the grades, the prizes, the awards, the boyfriends. She did well at everything she touched. The apple of my parents’ eyes and I could never really measure up. I wasn’t enough.”
And there it was. For a moment, it was like the room stopped, a short wrinkle in time and I got it. “I wasn’t enough.” There it all was in a nutshell. The answer.
That night when the meeting broke up and I got home, I checked on the cat, poured another decaf in my cup and settled onto my chair on the porch. I called my daughter.
“Lenora,” I started.
“Yes, Mom,” she replied.
“Did you, do you…ever feel like you are not enough. Like you weren’t enough as a kid growing up?”
“Enough what?” she asked quizzically.
“Enough of anything, everything,” I responded.
“Mom, are you okay?” she asked.
“Me?” I was surprised by the question. “I’m fine. Why?”
“Well, sometimes it seems like you worry about a lot of things. Maybe…too much.”
“Ah, right. Yes, I see. Well, it’s getting late so say nighty-night to the Doodle.”
“I will, Mom. Love you.” She signed off.

I sat and sipped my coffee. The desert stars were starting to twinkle on and I was left to ponder the meaning of the phrase ‘not enough.’

The end.

Cew
5/26