Who hears those voices?

When I'm driving around Clear Lake, I hear my father's voice as he let me drive his car, “Don't drive so close to the center line,” he would repeatedly say. I was 16 years old when he let me drive his Plymouth and I'm still hearing it now that I'm collecting Medicare? It was a good lesson he tried to teach me and obviously I'm needing to hear it again because I'm still hugging the center line.

“Modulate your voice,” is what my mother would constantly tell me. My cousin's mom would say that, too. Was it the family catchword?

My brother, who rarely spoke to me because I was the annoying little sister, told my mom to make me stop running around the house in my underwear. Come on, I painted the barn in my bra and cutoffs. And my mom and I would go skivvy dipping in the pond. But he did have a point and so I did cover up. Reluctantly.

I still hear my stepfather asking me to go down to the garden by the pond and requesting for me to get some steaks/ stakes for dinner. Funny guy.

When I was 21 years old, my favorite aunt told me that everyone else was either a circle or a square. “You, my dear, are a triangle.” I was always proud of her thinking that of me but not quite sure what she meant. She also gave me M. Scott Peck's book, “The Road Less Traveled.” I read the first few paragraphs and thought I had it all figured out. Maybe I should actually read it these 50odd years later.

My Dutch uncle told me that the best thing I had going for myself was my long brown hair. I thought so too. I still like my hair even though it's now a different color. But it's funny that he didn't say that my brain was the best thing I had going for myself.

Ex-husband No. 1 told me he'd divorce me if I got fat, but I got smart and divorced him, because he was a jerk.

The study hall teacher constantly told me to stop talking and stop goofing around. (Where had I heard that before?)

Mom told me a thousand times (yes, a thousand times!), when I was 9 years old, to curtesy to Mr. Schnute, my piano teacher, after I finished playing my recital piece. The recital was in a school gymnasium with a very high stage. I did curtesy to Mr. Schnute, except he was backstage and I curtsied to him, with my back to the audience. Yes, my back to the audience. I can still hear the laughter as I walked down the steps from the stage to where my parents were sitting (trying not to laugh).

I hear my cat Sox in my sleep, telling me to wake up and feed him. He's not a voice from my past, but he is a voice, a very loud one who eventually gets me up. My other two cats, both pure white and polydactyl (they have many more toes than normal, like Hemingway's cats) aren't as vocal or impatient as Sox. In fact, Noodle (Claire's mother) isn't verbal at all. Claire does like to talk to me, but she's not demanding.

Ex-husband No. 2 always said that I was too sensitive, that someone needed to take care of me. I'm assuming now that he meant him. Nope. I was too stubborn to let anyone take care of me. I wouldn't even let him buy me a pair of tennis shoes. Maybe he meant dumb, not sensitive (who won't accept a gift of tennis shoes?).

I have this theory about the DJ from Hell. When I have negative thoughts, I realize that I'm listening to the DJ from Hell on KF%# Radio. So I switch the channel to KLuv, thus telling the DJ from Hell to move along. It works.

Recently British actor Emma Thompson, 63, was on a talk show talking about how she hated her body from age 14.

I'm not sure I was aware of my body, except for my bra size, at that age. After losing 50 pounds, I'm not sure that when I look in the mirror my inner voice is saying, “Oh man, you are a hot chick!” But I do hear the doctors telling me that my cholesterol is “perfect” and that my blood sugar levels are “better than perfect” and that “people would kill for your arteries.”

This tells me that the yearlong journey of changing my food habits and losing weight has been worth it.

What's a girl to do? Continue on this “road less traveled.”