Pain

Sorry for the stream of consciousness posts. If you're reading this, I hope it makes sense.

Hating a diagnosis where they're like "dont know what causes it. don't know how to fix it. just keep the pain down" and then the pain isn't going down. It's now moved from foot to ankle, which might be progress. I've missed two days of work (unacceptable) and the prospects of being able to walk on Monday don't look good. I'm going in anyway. There's too much to do and too much still hanging in the balance. I hate missing work. I hate feeling this way.

Had a little bit of a breakdown this morning. Had to take a shower; just felt so grimy. But that's pain added to pain. Took two pills against my better judgment. Will admit it took the pain away, and now I am nice and warm downstairs. Hair is sticking to my face now. No moisturizer, so my face is cracky and ashy. Feeling so beautiful today. So sorry for myself. So pitiful. Wah.

Too many responsibilities crashing in on me. I remember this pain from several years ago and how I felt helpless. I remember choosing a life verse while in the shower: Isaiah 40:31. I claimed renewed strength. I took "wait" as literal. I claim that verse still. Perseverance. I'm not asking for perfect, even though I strive for it. I don't think happiness and contentment require perfection.

Hubby is doing a great job as nursemaid. Hasn't complained once and has helped keep my spirits up. He has no idea how to comfort me, and I have no idea what to tell him. He remembers how he felt when the roles were reversed. I love him for that. When this is done, I'll get him a card or something as thanks. He loves cards as a surprise. I love that he loves such simple things. Yes, sometimes simple is more charming than irritating. I love him.

In Love With Fall

As I recuperate from injury
Alone in the house
Dark skies from approaching storms
Satisfied from dinner
Warm from painkillers
I think about fall

It's like God is resting
After toiling outside all day
Hot and sweaty and covered in grime
Then taking a long swig of sweet tea
To cool off His body and His thoughts
And take a long breath

Kids are selling cookie dough
Football players are in high spirits
America is honoring its veterans
The air conditioner is resting
And I'm thinking about soup
The weather is cool

Crisp air and long sleeves make me happy
Dog is ready to play at the park
Anticipation of all the best holidays
And social calendars start to fill up
Winter is beautiful under a blanket of snow
But fall is my favorite

I Write, You Read, We Smile

[[Disclaimer: I'm on painkillers, so no guarantees about coherence or eloquence. I hope I get my point across.]]

My boss told me a story earlier this week about two very unique young women who became friends in high school and, after graduation, kept in touch. What's unique? Their preferred method of communication is not texting, Facebook, or even email. It is writing. These two young ladies, who are my new inspirations, are corresponding via snail mail by writing real letters to each other.

This same boss, who's a pretty well-read guy, shared an article with me earlier in the month. I fell in love with the concept of creating notecards and actually using them (and immediately became jealous of this woman who owns an actual letterpress and knows how to use it). Slightly off topic: Don't be surprised if you receive a little note card from me, just because. However, if you want one, make sure I have your address. Handmade cards will become more common after I regain the use of the room I use as an office and uncover my craft stuff from the piles in the garage.

And, somewhere in the back of my memory bank, is a vision of my friend Martha lamenting the loss of letter-writing as an art. Martha, who is an Altrusan like me, is passionate about the cause of erasing illiteracy.

And so, my point. You knew I'd get to it, right?

Why not create a program to teach young girls the fading but forever elegant art of letter writing? Entice them with a card-decorating class, and end with a charming story that encourages them to write and mail their cards ... just because. I'm a firm believer in the power of one becoming exponentially influential, and I think this could take off. I'm working through formalizing this idea. What do you think?

To Confer, Converse, and Otherwise Hobnob

... with my sister Altrusans. Next weekend is the fifty-fifth annual conference of Altrusa International Inc. District Nine. And I'm its program coordinator.


Many amazing women have held this position before me, and many more amazing women will hold it after. It's a rite of passage, really, on a long journey of self-discovery. No, really!

I'm pretty proud of what's been implemented in my two years as program coordinator. We've seen two of the highest numbers of first-time attendees EVER, in large part because we just got the word out that Conference is the thing to do. I wrote scripts for the awards luncheon to ensure the winning projects and people all got an equal shake and that the luncheon ran smoothly. I laid out the program more effectively (at least, I think so). I started the practice of giving each attendee a CD with all workshop, awards, and common materials instead of making individual folders and CDs for every workshop, for every club (that was genius, really). And, I hope, I helped workshop presenters prepare their material to the best of their ability.

And through it all, I have learned a few things about myself and others. First, not everybody just "gets it." They need explanation, and they won't be upset with you when you spell it out. Next, delegation is a good way to get things done, but you have to be sure your vision is relayed; interpretation can kill it.

I learned a lot about Conference itself, too. Like how much work goes into making it happen, but how easy it really is to do. OK, that's not making sense, but what I am trying to say is that a club shouldn't be worried that it "can't" host conference. It can. I also learned that we are just scratching the surface of the potential for leadership training at this event. We're going to need more resources.

Anyway, it's been a good run. And now, if I am elected (I'm unopposed) governor-elect at this conference, I'll have two solid years to plan and put the right people in the right place. My challenge will be to make the Mighty Ninth flourish. Many amazing women have taken up this challenge before me, and each has made it happen.

Are you an Altrusan? If you aren't, maybe you should be. Altrusa is opportunity, you know. Make lifelong friends, make a difference in your community, and make a difference in yourself.

Sunday.

Rest in peace, Tucker

Today was a good day with a little bit of sadness mixed in to keep me honest.

Sunday is traditionally grocery day at my house, so we all got up, dressed, and headed downstairs to attack our day. Instead, our day attacked us. Macy, who'd been a bit ill yesterday, proved she wasn't quite over it. Slimy poo decorated our kitchen floor, and its odor, well, it stank. Poor Macy. We let her outside while we scooped, wiped, and then mopped. Side note: Macy looked so cute trying to bite the mop.

OK, then on to grocery shopping. I was so mentally exhausted by the poo ambush that I called Mom to see if we could possibly just pick her up some stuff while we were shopping for our own food. That was OK with her. Apparently she wasn't having the greatest day. I won't tell tales on her (today), but I will say that she's probably the weirdest person I know.

Then, lunch. We discovered a great place in Coppell and headed over to Wal-Mart for a NEW GRILL!!! The old one was just about disintegrated, so we got a cute little grill that takes up less space on my tiny porch. I knew I'd be having fresh grilled veggies for dinner! (You may notice that I could barely contain my excitement.) I whipped up some rosemary garlic butter, skewered some taters, onions, and zucchini, and started the marinade on the steaks. Brett and Noah bought some chicken and pork chops, so we threw them on the grill, too, and the feast was on!

Now, I'm wrapping up some Altrusa stuff in preparation for tomorrow's meeting, and just enjoying my puppy and my husband.

The bittersweet end to my day was firing up Facebook and learning that my good friend Cheryl lost her beloved Tucker this morning. I am saddened, because Tucker was my friend--and Gigi's friend--too. I remember him as a little ball of curly fur when he came to visit shortly after Cheryl brought him home. He was a happy dog, and he remained joyful his entire life. I know he brought Cheryl so much joy, and I know there are hard days ahead for Cheryl as she adjusts to life without her precious family member.

Memories of Tucker brought up fresh sadness--grief is now too strong a word for time-mellowed feelings--for my sweet Gigi. One of the ways I keep her memory alive involved me coining a new phrase and applying it to my new sweetie, Macy. Gigi was not much of a licker; her kisses were nuzzles underneath my ear, and she would "gimme kiss" on demand. That soft, wet, cold little nose could always ease my stress, illness, sadness, or pain and replace it with a smile and a special Mommy-and-me moment. That's "Gigi love."

Today, Macy has shown me the hallmarks of her own brand of affection: She tucks her head under my knee while I scratch and rub her back, eventually turning herself inside-out with happiness. When she does that, that's her "Gigi love." All my animals for the rest of my life on Earth will have Gigi love, and like my precious Gigi, they will leave their own unique legacy and memories for me to cherish.

Most likely, I have many years to enjoy Gigi love with Macy Lou, and I am thankful for that. Losing a pet is quite possibly the worst experience I've had. In many ways, it's worse than losing a human family member. My heart aches for Cheryl tonight.

Macy Is Illin', or How I Spent My Saturday

1. Wake up earlier than usual (around 8:30) because I know I have to stop by Mom's this morning. Looking forward to something tasty for breakfast because I'm already a little hungry after last night's sub-stellar bowling event.


2. Read a little of The Lost Symbol until snoring husband flips over to face me. Stare at snoring husband until he opens his eyes a little. Engage him in conversation enough to wake him up. Inwardly snicker a bit at my diabolical success.

3. Shake head in disbelief when husband proclaims "we" woke up too early to have breakfast. "It throws off the whole day," he says. Um, OK. It's now two hours until his designated lunch time. I will try to make it.

4. Load large ladder into not-quite-big-enough car and drive to Mom's to replace air filter. Who builds a house so you need a ladder to change the air filter? And what idiot doesn't notice that when looking for a house for Mom to live in? Oh yeah, that's me.

5. Go to fat-girl store, looking for something formal for the Gov's Banquet. Didn't find anything, but they have something at the store in Cedar Hill, which is only about two hours from here.

6. Try fat-girl sections in major department stores. FOUND SOMETHING, and cannot believe the luck. Not only does it fit, but it was a return and so is drastically marked down. Not sure all parts of the suit will work, but the jacket could be worn with the pant/skirt that I already have. Score.

7. Am finally cleared for nourishment. Choose Mexican food, because I am so freakin' starving at this point. Was able to contain my eyes-bigger-than-stomach syndrome. Food was gooooooood. Drink was even better. Mint at the end was fabulous.

8. Drove around. Went up to Allen and checked out their new little apartment/shopping community. Would totally have loved living there if I was a 20-something. Really nice. Really cool. Really largly undiscovered by the public so far, which is good. Probably will be crawling with peeps around Christmas.

9. Side trip to Stonebriar. To my happy surprise, it was still free gift time at Clinique. I needed cleanser. Got it. Got freebie. Very happy.

10. Came home. It's 3 p.m. Hubby going to play cards in 45 minutes. Opened door to smell of poop. Bad poop. Slimy gift on kitchen floor. Larger, more sold gift on living room carpet (which is just going to have to be replaced anyway). Smore stealthy gifts in "throw-up" areas of kitchen. Spots of blood. I lose it. Call vet. Vet says dog probably ate something bad. (Duh.) Says bring dog in if no improvement.

11. Clean up vom. Vom myself in kitchen sink. Scott cleans up vom. Voms himself outside. Nice.

12. Macy outside, uncharacteristically NOT eating grass. Must be near death, I think. Macy comes back inside. Voms again, beginning the whole cycle over. Two rolls of paper towels later, Macy is in living room resting. Mommy blogs. Daddy leaves for card-playing. Momy leaves back door open for Macy (gotta get a doggie door).

13. Eat, Pray, Love comes on Starz. Perhaps I can watch without vom. Macy sleeps. My poor puppy.

I Miss You

When you lose the most important man in your life, the grief just never goes away. Some days it's just a vibration that drones in the back of your mind, just below the surface of your consciousness. As you carry on with life, nobody knows the difference, but the grief comes along for the ride, adding a touch of gray to a sunny day. It's insignificant as a hangnail--irritating and sometimes painful, but mostly ignorable. Some days the grief is actually dormant, giving you just a moment of peace, a respite from your underlying sadness, a brief return to "your old self." Some days, though, it lies raw and angry on the surface of your skin; you flinch to the touch. You ache to talk to him again, to hear his voice and beg his wisdom. These days come along when you are burning to tell him something. Today is one of those days. On days like today, I pull out Granddaddy's Bible just to see the notes in the margins. Sometimes a particular phrase will stick with me and give me pause to read a passage or two. It's not my daily quiet time; I just like to see his handwriting and remember how much Daddy's looked like his. It's about as close as I can get to him now. There's so much I need to tell him.