18 Jan 2015 1 Comment
Sometimes I like finding nightmarish photos that creep me out, because it just feels so gosh darn good to know I’ll never have to set foot in those places. I mean, work with me, universe. Rehab has been mentioned, but I happen to know it doesn’t do any good unless the rehab-ee is on board with the whole thing, and it’s a perfectly harmless little habit. I’m not giving it up, because when that Zen rush hits, it’s just too good. Perspective is everything.
16 Jan 2015 9 Comments
Did we dance on Tuesday? I don’t think we danced on Tuesday …
It isn’t an insignificant omission, is the thing. Because life really IS a dance and if we let the silliness fall off our cracker even once, we could be setting ourselves up for a lifetime of resting bitch face. Yeah, see, we meant to have fun but we forgot. And then our faces got bored with smiling and now we feel powerless to, you know, like, fix any of that.
Seriously. Okay, the rules have changed then — we’ll just dance ANY old day and preferably EVERY day, and even if we happen to forget once in a while, RBF won’t have time to set in! It’s important, and I’m thinking this could be a breakthrough. Register your opinion in comments!
12 Jan 2015 2 Comments
It’s been a jumbled week since I last sat here with you, my un-judgy alter ego, and you aren’t the only one I’ve neglected. Three straight days of seeing doctors from Wichita to Kansas City, helping a friend get moved, no in-house wifi all weekend, feeling behind on all my projects BECAUSE I AM, trying to keep chilblains from claiming my extremities (because sometimes I have to step away from the fireplace), it’s been grueling. I can’t even get my head wrapped around it enough to describe it to you. I might as well just sign off and go look for a recipe.
Back later, of course … because you’re the only one who actually gets me.
x0x0x
06 Jan 2015 5 Comments
Today we get the pathology on my eyelid biopsy and find out where it goes from here — nowhere, or back for more carving. Either way, we dance — it’s Tuesday. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if anything potentially negative is coloring your day, focus on the unicorns!
05 Jan 2015 6 Comments
2015 looks fine so far, relatively speaking, but there is much to do as the year rolls by. Each of the eight points delineated by Neil is a rant aimed specifically at me — a kick in the shorts toward a more focused writing experience. So on January 5, 2016, remember to ask me how I feel!
Neil Gaiman’s 8 Good Writing Practices:
02 Jan 2015 Leave a comment
“Μaybe old people were never children, like we claim with Mrs. Bentley, but, big or little, some of them were standing around at Appomattox the summer of 1865. They got Indian vision and can sight back further than you and me will ever sight ahead.”
“That sounds swell, Doug; what does it mean?”
Douglas went on writing. “It means you and me ain’t got half the chance to be far-travelers they have. If we’re lucky we’ll hit forty, forty-five, fifty. That’s just a jog around the block to them. It’s when you hit ninety, ninety-five, a hundred, that you’re far-traveling like heck.”
The flashlight went out.
They lay there in the moonlight.
“Tom,” whispered Douglas, “I got to travel all those ways. See what I can see. But most of all I got to visit Colonel Freeghleigh once, twice, three times a week. He’s better than all the other machines. He talks, you listen. And the more he talks he gets you to peering around and noticing things. He tells you you’re riding on a very special train, by gosh, and sure enough it’s true. He’s been down the track, and knows. And now here we come, you and me, along the same track, but further on, and so much looking and snuffling and handling things to do, you need old Colonel Freeleigh to shove and say look alive so you remember every second! Every darn thing there is to remember! So when kids come around when you’re real old, you can do for them what the colonel once did for you. That’s the way it is, Tom, I got to spend a lot of time visiting him and listening so I can go far-traveling with him as often as he can.”
Tom was silent a moment. Then he looked over at Douglas there in the dark.
“Far-traveling, you make that up?”
“Maybe yes and maybe no.”
“Far-traveling,” whispered Tom.
“Only one thing I’m sure of,” said Douglas, closing his eyes, “it sure sounds lonely.”
(Ray Bradbury, “Dandelion Wine”, 1946)
… grateful to my friend Angela Petraline for sharing
31 Dec 2014 4 Comments
Didn’t feel like losing it over anything on Monday, so you got a break. Love it while you can because that’s over in 4 … 3 … 2 …
So Monday was okay, as I recall. Tuesday afternoon we’re tootling along Hwy 10 when the tootle goes away.
Kim sits, hands on wheel, just long enough to assess how and why and mutter “F*ckin’ embarrassing” before he starts walking. Li’l Truck inhaled the last of the fumes about a quarter of a mile short of an exit, beyond which there is rumored (according to the sign) to be a service station, but just before Kim gets to the exit ramp somebody in a big black truck pulls over, picks him up, and drives away.
Which, after the shortest, most obscure Monday Rant you are likely ever to hear from me, brings us to Thankfulness Tuesday. Because yes, there was a service station just beyond the exit ramp. WAS. Extinct and crusty. Enter Ric, driving back to KC after the cold burial of a much-loved friend. Spots my husband strolling along the highway, hunkered against the chill, a heavy coat, stocking cap pulled over most of his face, imposing enough man that you’d notice, and of course pulls right over. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ric. Ric isn’t a big guy, but he sticks in your mind that way. He repairs heavy equipment and does pipeline work, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t afraid of much, but his kind heart is a lot bigger than all that. He insists on driving back down the 4-lane to get the Madster and me, carts us all back the other way to where the service station really IS, then west one more time where he uses his new truck to shield Kim from Highway Harm while he pours gas in the tank. And yeah, then follows us back to the same service station so he knows for sure we made it, and tells Kim to give that piece of green to somebody who’s looking for it.
But wait, there’s more. Kim’s a good mechanic, knows a lot about a lot. For instance, he’s known since he bought the truck that it needs a new sending unit for the gas gauge, and probably a new fuel pump while you have the tank dropped, but since he doesn’t have a place to do his own work anymore and hasn’t loved the estimates he’s gotten, he’s just gradually developed a little system. The system failed yesterday. But only so we could start getting acquainted with Ric, and so he could offer to replace the unit for parts at his cost, plus labor. Helps him, lets my husband win. Think it’s gonna happen.
Also it’s HumpDay AND New Year’s Eve. Do with that what you will, kids.
26 Dec 2014 Leave a comment
My blog just texted me that it was lonely. (And it spelled out each word because it’s, you know, my blog.) I feel awful — less than 24 hours after the kindest, splooshiest day of the year I wander off and forget the ones who mean the most.
But I’m back with a vengeance, launching bizarrely-benign torpedo-thoughts … configured sort of like my old paper airplanes … into what’s shaping up to be 2015. For my Faithful Facebook Friends, today’s post will be an instant rerun. Whatevs — can’t get there today, hope you didn’t have to work either!! (And sorry, because I know some who did.)
22 Dec 2014 6 Comments
My tolerance for whining is minimal, so I try not to do it.
Just the facts then.
If you’ve never experienced an auto-immune disorder there’s no way to explain it to you, but I’m willing to try because at least a dozen people on my Facebook feed, including me, deal with fibromyalgia and/or other auto-immune malfunctions on a daily basis. If you’ve somehow formed the opinion that we’re lazy, unmotivated, hopeless weenies, at least scan the information below. Most of us, like you, have dreams and plans, if only our bodies would get in the game.
Part of the frustration that comes with fibro is its unpredictability — one day you’re flying high, the next you can’t get out of bed. More often, the transition takes place between one hour and the next. A second frustration is that, plan as you might, there will be social opportunities missed and projects that never really get off the ground. A third, if you can call it a frustration, is that when flares hit they’re fairly relentless and the prolonged pain and hypersensitivity in bones, joints, muscles, tendons and other soft tissues let you know that everything is on hold for a while. A fourth is that while researchers are on the brink of several breakthroughs, the root causes of fibromyalgia remain elusive, ergo no effective treatment yet.
I’m blessed that my husband gets it and doesn’t see me as dead weight to haul around, but not all are so fortunate. It can be a lonely walk, so for friends and family who have to carry the burden of all we DON’T know about the auto-immune spectrum in general and fibromyalgia in particular, here are the fruits of my highly-personal, mostly-unscientific research into the disorder known among the ranks as “the invisible beating.” (Click pics to enlarge.)
Omigosh, you’re still here? You are either a really caring soul or you have a vested interest in the subject, or both. We can all help make things better for each other — that’s the truth. I’m glad you’re a part of that …
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