If you really knew me...

You'd know that I have never lived alone.

You’d know that I have a voicemail on my phone from my Nana that I refuse to delete because I want to have her voice somewhere “just in case”.

You’d know I still have my “blankie” safely put away in my closet – for emergencies.

You’d know I am overly critical of myself and have a tendency to be a perfectionist – this makes doing things l love (crafts, baking, writing) more stressful than they need to be.

You’d know I still care too much about what other people think.

You’d know that I’ve seen every episode of “Sex in the City” and I hate that Big’s real name is John.

You’d know that if I had the room I’d have rescued animals everywhere.

You’d know that I believe in “ghosts” and have seen a few.

You’d know that I have a bit of a sixth sense and sometimes ‘know things’ I shouldn't.

You'd know that I watch movies I like over and over...until I can quote them.

You'd know that I work movie/TV quotes into regular conversation on a daily basis.

You’d know that I believe in God but hate what humankind has done to religion.

You’d know that I am horrible at taking my own advice.

You'd know that I find my Zen when I crochet.

You'd know that I have a hard time allowing others to do things for me.

You’d know that when my children are happy it makes me cry.

You’d know that I am not comfortable in my own skin most of the time.

You’d know that I am a sucker for romance novels…especially if they have good sex scenes.

You’d know that I love to be swept off my feet.

You’d know that I feel guilty when I treat myself to things like massages and pedicures.

You’d know that it takes a lot to get me to go to an event by myself.

You’d know that I have a hard time throwing things away – I might need them some day.

You’d know that I am often afraid to speak my mind because I am afraid…of what might happen if you really knew me.

[This fabulous idea was borrowed from this post that I found through my Twitter feed.]

That Thing with Feathers

I don't know when it happened. Can't even pinpoint it with generalities (well, actually, I probably can…but that’s beside the point).

All I know is that one day it was gone.

I woke up one morning and could not find my Hope, my sense of Awesome-ness.

Look at this face:

That face is full of Hope – overflowing with Awesome. The owner of that face can accomplish anything he wants, whenever he wants - and nobody can tell him any different. He is talented, smart, handsome and invincible.

He still has his Hope.

Many moons ago I was the same way.

I liked to sing - so I sang - all the time, no matter where I was or who I was with. Made up new words to go with popular songs on the radio. Heck, I even taped my “hit songs” (seriously, I wrote “My hit song: xyz” on the cassette labels – aaaand I just aged myself…eh, who cares?) so I could share them with my Nana and whomever else would listen to them. Even composed a song about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches - for real.

My parents bought me a marionette for Christmas one year - I loved it. As my puppet collection grew my grandparents built me a puppet stage - so I put on shows. My brother, friends and cousins always got roped into participating. I wrote skits for us to perform giving them roles that I created especially for them – and then the adults were made to sit in rows of dining room chairs to watch our “performance.” I even made up tickets - they had to give us their ticket or they couldn't see the show. Those were the rules.

During the Holidays when family got together I was the kid with the “great ideas” for how to get everyone involved in the Thankfulness Celebration. I made goofy hats for everyone and orchestrated the “go around the table so everyone can share one thing they are thankful for” activity.

When my parents went to “adult parties” I did everything in my power to tag along…because I was addicted to adult conversation. As far as I knew – I held my own – the adults all said I was “very grown up” =) Adult conversation was much more interesting than just talking to my friends.

This one time (go ahead...say it) I called into a local talk radio show late one night while my babysitter prayed that my parents weren’t listening in their car. It was cool! The host even sent me a certificate in the mail for being his “youngest caller” (still have it – shit you not).

I had no fear, no shame and an abundant font of enthusiasm for things that made me happy. There was no worrying about what other people thought or the “what ifs”…I just ran with it.

Then it happened.

Suddenly (or at least that's how it seems to me) you couldn’t pay me to get up in front of a room full of people. My knees began to shake uncontrollably if anyone was listening to me sing (and no freakin’ way was I going to record my voice – singing or speaking). Perform? As in…on a stage? Not. Gonna. Happen.

And then…I gave up my dreams for someone else’s. Worst of all? I gave up my power – for a lot of years.

There were some dark times during those years. Times when I didn’t think I would EVER be truly happy again.

BUT!! In the beautiful words of Emily Dickinson:

Hope


Hope is the thing with feathers 
That perches in the soul, 
And sings the tune--without the words, 
And never stops at all,


And sweetest in the gale is heard; 
And sore must be the storm 
That could abash the little bird 
That kept so many warm.


I've heard it in the chillest land, 
And on the strangest sea; 
Yet, never, in extremity, 
It asked a crumb of me.

Hope sang her song. On those coldest nights in those darkest places she sang.

She sang LOUD and she sang STRONG and she NEVER. GAVE. UP!!

When the storms were raging and I couldn’t hear her sing she wrapped her wings around me and waited.

Then….

One day I realized that somewhere deep within my grown-up, sorry self was that awesome little girl that used to write puppet skits and sing “hit songs” that she wrote into her cassette recorder.

That realization was the first step toward reclaiming my dream…the second step was going after it.

Then Hope put me in the midst of a bunch of other Awesome People who fed my hunger for the Awesome-ness that I was lacking…until I had it all back!

That was the beginning of The Beginning!

Hope gave me the strength to take back my Power and take charge of my life in a very real way.

I got stronger with every passing day.

Now, I can sing (if you count Karaoke) in front of folks with only minimal knee shakeage…still working on being ok with hearing my voice on tape (I’ll get there – it has been suggested that I try doing voice-overs...eh…we’ll see). I still make up words to songs…usually about my kids and/or dogs. Dogs don't criticize - usually. The kids just roll their eyes and tolerate my silliness.

Traded in the puppet skits for blogging – although, I the puppet stage is in my garage and my mom has the marionettes.

Rather than organizing “activities” for gatherings I now prefer to cook for them…I specialize in food-coma-induction…and I’m not terrible at desserts either – just sayin’.

The face in the photo back at the top? That’s my grandson. Now that I have my Hope back and have reclaimed my Awesome-ness I can fully enjoy him - and his sister (the kisser in that pic) – I can be goofy with them and serve ice cream for dinner (but only if they are going home with mommy and daddy after) and quote Disney flicks all day long and just BE! No boundaries, no limits.

Bottomline? Like the poem says – Hope  “never stops at all” – she is there, forever and always. She patiently waits for you to accept her nudges, listen to her song and open your heart to welcome back the Awesome that has always been yours – you just forgot it was there.

Now it is your turn! I have passed the baton to you. Hope is real. Hope is alive. Share your Hope with someone who needs it...you won't be sorry.

Migraines Suck!

There is no other way to say it. Migraines suck donkey balls.

They involve intense pain, light sensitivity, noise sensitivity and a strong desire to be allowed to curl up in a ball - and die.

I suffered my first migraine headache when I was 22-years-old. It hit while I was at a family reunion - in Las Vegas...yeah, I'm *that* lucky.

The pain and pressure in my head grew until I was paying homage to the porcelain god while my mother held my waist-length hair back for me. All I could think was “Thank GAWD my mommy is here right now.”

My head hurt so bad by the second day I remember asking for something sharp so I could poke a hole in it to let the pressure "drain out" - for real! Said it out loud to a room full of people.

After a not-so-wonderful experience at a Vegas medical facility I flew home early to seek treatment at “my hospital” with people I knew and trusted.

I was referred to a specialist who operated under the assumption that I had either suffered viral meningitis (since my neck had been uber painful during the peak of the headache) or I had just suffered my first migraine. Since the pain meds essentially knocked out the headache after a couple doses I was thinking migraine (they do run in my family afterall) but he kept me out of work for several weeks – looking back I realize he must have been  thinking meningitis (however, the only symptom I had that matched that diagnosis was the neck pain).

From that point forward I suffered severe headaches – only a few have been “as bad as the first one” but all of them are awful.

But…it wasn't until last year that I finally received the official diagnosis of "migraine headache". After 20 years of dealing with headaches so intense that they often cause me to wish for death while curled up in the fetal position, crying, someone finally listened.

During those years I had one doctor call them "tension headaches" (he prescribed stress-reduction to ease them). Another labeled them "cluster headaches" (and blamed my allergies for the pain). One doc even told me I was missing the sinus cavities above my eyes and claimed that was the reason for the pain (but they are there and he offered no solutions – so I found a new doctor immediately). All of them suggested wimpy non-narcotic treatments for me at various times - but not one used the word migraine.

Because none of the doctors I saw would address the real issue at hand, I became a hoarder of pain meds. Whenever I had an illness or procedure that warranted a prescription for pain meds I ALWAYS kept the leftovers for my headaches. The BEST treatment, I had discovered, was to take 1/2 of a pain pill (more than that would cause increased nausea) and sleep - in a dark room, with an icepack on the back of my neck.

I also learned to recognize the difference between a "headache" and a "migraine" fairly quickly. Occasionally, if I caught it early enough, a fist-full of ibuprofen and a couple caffeine-laced headache pills would stop it - but not always.

Over the years I have missed a lot of work because of my headaches - but it wasn't until last October (right after I was finally diagnosed) that someone asked me why I didn't have an "Intermittent Medical Leave of Absence" on file because of them.

A what?!

Turns out it's a medical certification that protects people who suffer from chronic illness (like migraine headaches) from loss of employment due to excessive absences.

Fabulous! Why didn't anyone think I needed to know about this sooner???

The sequence of events that precipitated the whole "why don't you have one" conversation went down like this: I woke up one morning with jackhammers going off in my brain and tears sliding down my cheeks. I suffered in silence for a bit - praying it would just stop…or I would die…whichever was quickest -  when that didn't work, I woke my Hunny up and begged him to take me to Urgent Care - and he did.

The folks at the Urgent Care were wonderful! The guy that checked me in spoke softly, the nurse in triage did too. When I got into a room they turned the lights off for me. *sigh* The doctor said "migraines suck" (softly) as we reviewed treatment options. He treated me with several medications & slapped on some high-flow oxygen for good measure (I had to Google it - it did help). My discharge paperwork said "Migraine headache" on it.

This was huge.

When I left Urgent Care my pain was down to a 4 from a 9 (out of 10). I stayed home from work that day and the next.

Then, less than 2 weeks later, it happened again - only this time I was throwing up too. Not cool!!

I decided to skip Urgent Care and try for a visit with my regular doctor. I called as soon as they opened. They squeezed me into the schedule and I saw her about 9am. I was adequately medicated, home and asleep within an hour.

My doctor diagnosed me with a migraine - actually added it to my chart right under "asthma" and "environmental allergies" - and wrote me two prescriptions: one, a known migraine treatment and the other an anti-nausea medication - just in case…

FINALLY! I had an official diagnosis and was receiving appropriate treatment.

I missed 2 days of work (doctor's orders), again.

As I explained the latest tale in the headache/missing work saga to my BFF (who just happens to work in HR) she asked me why I didn't have the medical certification on file at my work...then she cursed herself repeatedly and said "OMG!! I cannot believe I didn't think to tell you about this sooner! Actually, your HR should have contacted you and asked if there was a chronic illness behind so many sick-days, but that's beside the point! SHIT! I am so sorry! You need to get an Intermittent Leave on file ASAP!"

So I did.

Having that little piece of paper on file that says I suffer from a real condition (one that causes me to be incapacitated and unable to function properly at times) and gives me some lee-way with work absences is a god-send. I cannot tell you how much weight it has taken off my shoulders!

But...the greatest relief by far (after suffering with severe headache pain for 20 years and being given the run-around by the medical establishment) is hearing a doctor finally call my headaches exactly what they are - migraines.

I knew I wasn’t making this shit up!

Abracadabra

Can’t think of anything to write about…again. Either there’s nothing there or I’m being incredibly lazy. 

I’m leaning toward “lazy”

It seems I would much rather just sit here watching a movie that I’ve already seen and let my brain turn to mush than force it to formulate something witty to post on this blog.

Basically, I am coming up with excuses…too tired, my foot hurts, have the whole weekend to write, worked hard today, blah, blah, blah….instead of blogging.

Too lazy to think of something creative and yummy to cook for dinner as well – so I had some of the potato salad that I made last night…then I steamed the corn-on-the-cob that we bought last weekend (before it goes bad) and had that too (there may be some butter smudges on my keyboard - I'll have to check that later).

While I was making my “dinner” I spent some time chatting with Emma…our black lab…as she attentively watched me wander around the kitchen.

I asked her why I couldn’t come up with anything fantabulous to write about - Emma didn’t really have much to say about that – she just blinked her sad, blinky, Lab eyes at me and licked her chops while glancing in the general direction of my plate.

Pretty sure she was hoping I’d drop something that she could scarf up…I didn’t – so I just gave her a bite. 

The waggy tail led me to believe she was grateful… now she’s whining for more. 

She’s not really supposed to be eating “people food.” Oops. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the blinky, sad Lab eyes.

After eating my make-shift meal (and hollering at Emma to quit whining already!) I decided: enough is enuff! I promised myself that I would stop making excuses and just write. 

Maybe...just maybe...if I simply start writing down random stuffs a blog post will magically appear…and guess what?! It worked! =)

Behave Yourself!

“May God bless you, and remember to be Christians in the parking lot.”

For several years’ worth of Sundays this was the closing line of the senior pastor at the church I attended. It was (still is actually) a pretty big church. Some might even call it a “mega church.” There were always a lot of cars in that parking lot.

The first time I heard the pastor say this I giggled…much like the other newbies in the crowd that day...but then we filed out of the sanctuary and began the battle to get out of the freaking parking lot and on the road safely! Insanity!

Even after an hour-plus-long worship service it seemed that many were unclear on the concept of “being a Christian.” All the trappings of courtesy and common sense seemed to vanish as the masses maneuvered their 2,000 pound assault vehicles out of parking spaces and into the lanes of traffic headed toward the exits. It was behavior more suited to a rock concert venue than a Church Parking Lot.

There was no mercy – even for the elderly and handicapped. After several hair-raising Sunday 'adventures' we took to enjoying a cup (or 3) of coffee while waiting out the parking lot melee.

It has been many years since I've had to endure a Sunday morning in a "Christian Parking Lot". That's a long story worthy of its own post...perhaps some other time.

Tonight, I was reminded (and not in a good way) of those dodgy Sunday mornings as I drove past one of the rather large churches in my neighborhood (there are a few). Someone leaving the church parking lot rudely cut someone off and then turned right on red when they did not have a clear lane.

It was the moment they careened toward a near-collision that I saw it. The brand-new bumper sticker, affixed to the rear window of the car, identifying them as a member of the aforementioned neighborhood place of worship. 

SIGH.

I've endured entire sermons devoted to the concept of “walking the walk” and behaving yourself - especially  when you have stickers/emblems/signs on your vehicle that ID you as a “Christian”. These sermons implored the faithful to “set a good example” for the World to follow. The person I saw tonight, obviously, has not had the benefit of one of those sermons. Such a shame.

As I continued down the road toward completion of this evening’s errand I had to giggle to myself. There was a very good reason I never put one of those “fish symbols” or “WWJD” stickers on my car(s) over the years…I didn’t want to *HAVE TO* behave myself if some asshole cut me off on the freeway! I know, I know,  it's twisted logic...but it's my logic. 

The Parking Lot

It never fails! I seem to think of all kinds of stuff to write about when I am at work. It’s not like I can just stop working and start writing (well, not really anyway) so I had to come up with a way to get those ideas and thoughts down on paper for later use.

Lucky for me I work for a company that uses and teaches the Six Sigma management strategy.  I was sent to the training a couple years ago. Among the strategies and tricks was the concept of the Parking Lot. A piece of paper kept handy during meetings to jot down stray ideas and topics that come up for later review.

I found an old legal pad with only a few pages left on it and decided it would be my Blog Parking Lot. I’ve been jotting stuff down ever since I got back from vacation.

I get all excited about the ideas and look forward to writing and fleshing them out…and then, at the end of an 8 or 9 hour day, I arrive at home and immediately crumple into a heap of exhaustion.  

So far I have two full sheets of yellow paper filled (front and back) with totally awesome ideas (no, really…they are awesome – I checked)…and not a single post to show for it.

SIGH

My brain goes a mile-a-minute when I’m not supposed to be writing for personal use but as soon as I have the time and am able…nothing.

It’s maddening really.

I have a quote on my desk at work: “You don’t find the time to write – you make time” ~Nora Roberts

This is my goal…make time each day to work on the ideas and thoughts that float around in my brain all day every day.

A couple weeks ago I suggested that someone write about the very thing that was causing them to suffer writer’s block…so tonight I took my own advice – for once. 

Gonna Leave a Mark

We went shooting today.

Target shooting waaaay out in the country on my Hunny’s Aunt’s land.

I’m a decent shot…but today, I made a stupid error in hand position and ended up with wads of tissue and a paper towel wrapped around my left thumb to stop a fresh ‘slide bite’ from bleeding. Such an idiot.

The injury to my ego was more painful than the wound itself.

Damn thing bled and bled…I could NOT figure out why it wouldn’t stop bleeding…and then I remembered… I have been taking a baby aspirin every day for about three months (because of the injury to my foot). Dammit!

Eventually got the bleeding stopped, created a fresh “field dressing” and got back to the shootin’.

The paper target I was aiming at is officially dead.

When we got back to where we are staying I realized just how sore my dang thumb is gonna be. Freaking ow!

Removed the make-shift dressing, washed my hands, poured perioxide over the wound (EEEEEEOOOOOW!) then sealed it with liquid bandage (that shit stings BTW) before using a butterfly to hold it together (sometimes being a nurse comes in "handy").
                                                             

About the time I needed to open the jar of liquid bandage I realized that I use my left thumb a helluva lot more than I realized. Actually, I tend to use both hands to complete many tasks throughout the day. *SIGH* (Luckily, I use my right thumb for the space bar and, therefore, can type with relatively no pain *wink*.)

Needless to say my Hunny has earned some serious points this evening!

He has helped me with a ton of little things that elicited a sharp intake of breath or a muttered “Ouch dammit!” Helped me secure a glove over my hand so I could shower without compromising my new dressing and helped me wash the grit and gunpowder off too!

He even washed my hair! *Happy SIGH*

Yep! Definitely keeping him!

This Much is True

The first time I danced with my Hunny I was 13 and he was 14. The song was “True” by Spandau Ballet and we were in my friend Patty’s back yard – it was an 8^th grade graduation party. Our first kiss happened when we were both 15 (took him long enough!).

Our relationship was on-again-off-again over the course of a couple years during high school. I broke up with him for the last time my junior year because there was a boy at school I liked – and my Hunny, it seemed, was always on restriction – we never, ever got to see each other.

I saw him again – in passing – when I was 21, married and a new mom. I was Christmas shopping at Target – he was the front-end manager there. We said a brief hello then he had to get back to work.

Fast forward a bunch of years (about 20). No longer married and exploring the world of social media I did a search for him on Facebook. Of course, since his name happens to be very common there were a gazillion matches. I looked through several pages before I gave up – no one looked like the boy I remembered.

Then it happened. One morning as I settled into work I got a notification on my smart phone that I had a new friend request on FB…it was him!! I let out an audible squeal followed by a too-loud-for-work “No fucking way!!” He looked EXACTLY the same. Of course, I immediately clicked on “accept” and sent a message that said “NO WAY! How the heck have you been?!” He answered an hour or so later.

****

I danced with My Hunny again when we were both 40 – we were in my kitchen and the song was “True” by Spandau Ballet. When we kissed again, after so many years, it was exactly as we remembered – I wondered aloud how it was possible that he even "tasted" the same.

It is as if our love was always there – waiting for us to reconnect – as if our souls were connected even when our bodies were apart. Perhaps we had lessons we had to learn before we could be happy together. Corny? Maybe.

So what - it feels real to us. I read a book once where the souls of two lovers found each other in every manifestation of their lives – no matter what the time period – and they always recognized each other…maybe that’s how it is with my Hunny and me?

Doesn’t matter either way…he loves me more than cake =)

WHOA! Creepy!

I tend to have lengthy conversations, with myself – in my head.

Under most circumstances I do not consider myself ADD, however, during these internal chats I tend to jump around a lot.

Case-in-point:

Last night my Hunny and I were in the kitchen making roast beef sandwiches for dinner (was too lazy to cook anything - what with all the vacation prep I’ve been doing). I asked him to get out the condiments he wanted on his sandwich (already had mine out on the counter). He handed me the mustard and I said “Ick. Are you sure this is all you want?” (I am not much of a plain mustard fan – especially on a cold RB sandwich). Hun’s response was “I don’t understand why you don’t like mustard and its yummy goodness.” I just shrugged.

Then the internal rant began while I assembled the sammiches:

Mustard isn’t all bad. Sometimes I like mustard on my hamburgers – if I’m in the mood for it. In fact, the last time we are at The Lake I had mustard on my burger and it was good. The Lake! I am so glad we are going there again this summer. I wonder how many times we’ll have burgers this year? I wonder if the grill has a full propane tank? If not we can just go out to eat…mmmmm clam chowder in New England…Hey, we can have go to that lobster place too…good thing lobster isn’t as expensive there as it is here cuz I’m gonna want to have it a few times while we are there…ugh but the boyz are coming this year…and that other extra person…ugh…I wonder if she is going to have the cash for the eating out portion of the trip…

Then, out loud, I said:

“That’s going to be so awkward.”

And Hunny said:

“I know, I wonder if she’s thought of that part.”

Me: “Huh?!”

Hun: “Cash for extra stuff. Hope she has some cuz we don’t.”

I just stood there. Stunned. Silent. Hun stared back and eventually asked me WTF was my problem.

Me: “How the fuck did you know what I was thinking about?”

Hun: “Dunno. I mean, really, we’ve been together for a long time – even when we weren’t together we were ‘together' (more on that later).So, yeah…I know what you are thinking.”

Me: *snort* “Uh huh? Ok…but that was just…creepy!”

And, with that, he took his sandwich and walked away.

I just stood there…still a bit stunned. How in THE HELL had he known exactly what I was thinking about? All I said was it would be awkward – the rest of the “conversation” took place in my head.

OMG!! Is he like Sookie? Can he hear my thoughts?!?! SHIT! I hope not…cuz if that’s the case he knows way too much! Crap! 

More Than Cake

My hunny loves cake.

Let me expand upon that a bit: if he was on death row his final meal would be nothing but cake – with buttercream frosting - but, ONLY the kind made from the recipe on the back of the C&H Powdered Sugar box (that is very important).

This past Christmas (when I was making fudge, and baking oodles of cookies and dipping candies) his only concern was “When will there be cake?” (Really? Because where I come from there isn’t usually “Christmas Cake” – just sayin’.)

There is a special cake he likes to have as his birthday cake – it has Oreos in it and on it. I bake it special every year (he only gets this cake on his birthday - no other time during the year). It is HIS CAKE. As in, if you touch his cake, and he catches you - you are dead, and no one will ever find a body.

You get the picture, right? He LOVES cake. Like *love*, loves it. A lot.

Today, he told me he loves me “more than cake.”  

I am not at all confident that I know how to handle this situation!! The man says loves me “more than cake”!! That’s sorta like an addict loving something more than his drugs…or a hard-core Trekkie (the kind that wear the uniform and Spock ears) loving something more than Star Trek.

This. Is. Big.

This is bigger than big…this is life-changing!

We may have to “next level” this thing! 

Not So Fly

Actual conversation with my 14-year-old son…this past weekend, in the car, while driving to the store to buy him some clothes – because he has outgrown every single thing in his dresser!

14yo: YES! Gonna get me some fly threads!

Me: Excuse me?

14yo: Yup! Gonna be some fly threads…like a G6!

Me: Hey buddy! We are on a budget here. You might have to settle for something a bit less…a G3 perhaps?

14yo: MOM!! Really? *groan*

Me: Yes, really…unless you have a job and some cash hidden away somewhere I don’t know about.

14yo: FINE! (folds arms across chest and exhales dramatically) What about G4?

Me: Nope. G3.

14yo: How about G3 ½??

Me: Dude! You will wear what I buy for you.

14yo: G3 ½?

Me: What is this?

14yo: I’m negotiating…like on Pawn Stars.

Me: (facepalm) Great! Well, it’s not going to work.

14yo: ARGH! Fine mom. G3. You don’t love me.

Yes, my boy! That is definitely it! I obviously do not love you – at all! In fact, I spend hours of my free time thinking of ways to show the world exactly how much I do not love you. For example, by purchasing new clothing for you and forcing you to leave the house bathed, with brushed teeth and wearing clean/presentable clothing…sigh. Yes, definitely it. I do not love you! SIGH!! You big (literally, because you are taller than me) dork!

Dust in My Zen Garden

What do you suppose it means that dust has collected on the surface of my desktop Zen Garden? Even the rake has a layer of dust on it.

This can’t be good. I’m thinking it speaks to the lack of attention I’ve given to my personal Zen during the past several weeks. Months?

In my defense I was “out” for nearly a month due to my own clumsy nature & the resulting injury and no one was tending my “garden” while I was gone. Still…there is a pretty obvious layer of dust on the surface of the sand, the rocks and the frame in which the garden resides. Sigh.

How does one “dust” sand? I think I can fix the state of the rocks and the rake fairly easily but I am completely unsure of how to remedy the situation with the sand.

Google is no help. I suppose I will just have to figure it out on my own. Perhaps this will be an exercise in "restoring my Zen".

Stairs Suck!

I fell down the stairs last week. Yep. Fell right on my ass and totally screwed up my right foot – specifically the big toe on my right foot. It happened really fast, but I’m fairly certain that what happened was that my foot (I was wearing socks) slipped off one step onto the next. This threw me off balance and down I went. When my foot came to rest my big toe was bent under and as I fell it rolled under. I also banged up my back, rear end and arms, but my foot hurt the worst. It hurt so much I was dripping sweat and panting (think Lamaze type breathing) trying to keep myself from passing out. Then the nausea kicked in. All three of my men (my OH and 2 sons) had come running at the sound (I can only imagine how my journey down the stairs sounded to them) and I immediately let them know *I* was ok but my foot was not. Then I asked for a bucket – I felt sick. After some time I realized that I needed to figure out how to get off the stairs and somehow get to the car so that OH could take me to the emergency room.

Upon arrival at the ER I asked OH to get a wheelchair from inside the door since using the crutches my son had retrieved from the garage so I could get to the car was NOT happening again (I suck at crutches. No, really, I do).  He did but was mumbling about “Great, my GF is going to tell them she ‘fell down the stairs’ fabulous.”  I registered at the front desk. The RN took one look at my already swollen and bruising foot and said “I am ordering an xray for you right now.” Sigh. Duh.

The ER was not super busy (thank goodness) and I was being examined within about a half hour. The final verdict was “severe sprain”. Oh, yay. I’ve had sprains before…they hurt like a mutha and take WEEKS to heal. The ER doc prescribed some pain meds and gave me a fancy “walking boot” to wear and told me to stay home, elevate my foot and let it heal. I have obeyed like a good girl.

It has been 9 days since I fell. I still can’t put weight on my foot, the initial bruising is healing but new bruises have appeared in the last 24 hours. I followed up with my regular doctor 5 days after the ER (per instruction) and she extended the “stay off that foot” another week. SIGH. Fine.

So, here I sit. Foot elevated, obediently taking my prescribed anti-inflammatory medications and “staying off” my foot. It doesn’t seem to be getting better. I can’t drive, I can’t cook (since that requires standing in the kitchen) or do most of the things I usually do in daily life. This sucks!!! Stupid stairs.

I hate stairs. 

The 50/50 so far

April is in full-swing. So far I have read 7 books and watched 12 movies. In all fairness I got bogged down on the 3rd Hunger Games book. Loved the series as a whole, but the 3rd book was the most difficult to finish. I am one of those watch-a-good-flick-over-and-over people...so I've watched far more than 12 films since January 1st - but only a dozen that were new-to-me. Enjoyed the film version of Hunger Games enough to see it again with the men in my house...although to me the movie, as a whole, *assumed* the viewer had read the book. They did a poor job of building the background for someone viewing the movie sans book knowledge. The next few books will be lighter...gonna go back to my favorite genre...romance...before tackling more thought provoking novels.

Challenge Book Update

As an avid reader I started this challenge feeling certain I could "quite easily" meet the goal of fifty books before the end of the year. First book? Piece of cake. Second book? Not-so-much. Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card turned out to be more trying than anticipated. Science Fiction is not my usual genre. There were moments when I thought I might never get to the end. 

About half-way through the book I had a thought: when was this book written? I can't tell you why this question popped into my head - it just did. Turning back to the copyright page I saw the original copyright year of 1977. WHAT?! That can't be right! How can this book be filled with so many familiar (to me) things if they didn't even exist when it was written?!?!?! Suddenly - this was a very interesting story!

How could Mr. Card write about portable "desks" (touch pad technology) with "the nets" and "logging off" and "messages marching across" the screen of the desk, what amounted to ebooks and email...not to mention "discussion groups" on "the nets" for any number of topics?!?! Spooky I tell you! Down right spooky! 

The story itself is pretty amazing. Concepts about space travel, altering time and its perception, war with extraterrestrial beings and virtual reality games. There was even an "instant communication transmission" system...I'm sure this was a novel idea in 1977. A way to "transmit" documents, videos, news and more - a necessity of daily life for us now. 

Ender's Game was an adventure...I'm glad I read it. Apparently, it's being made into a movie for 2013 - I might have to go see it for next year's challenge!