So, my 75-year-old mother broke her wrist while roller skating. She fell. (I’ve been instructed to point out that she fell in the most graceful of ways.)
Go ahead and laugh. I did and so did she. She even laughed when she found it was broken in two places and required surgery. She laughed during pre-op and laughed post-op. She laughed when she viewed the x-ray showing her dandy new titanium plate and pins.
I ferried her about for a couple of days while we got the medical stuff taken care of, but she’s been pretty self-sufficient. Luckily, it was her left wrist.
Orthopedics have come a long way. She’s not in a cast; she wears a brace which allows her to move her hand. In fact, she has exercises she must do requiring her to move her hand this way and that. Initially, I was worried she wouldn’t do the exercises.
She does them near constantly in between doing stuff she probably shouldn’t be doing: like using her cordless drill to replace a large board in my fence.
Mom’s a character.
On the other end of the spectrum, Chef Boy ‘R Mine has been having trouble with his back. It’s pretty serious and he has a referral to a surgeon. I’m pretty wigged out about it all. He’s only 30.
Step One is for him to have a steroidal lumbar injection to help manage the pain. I’m leaving for Atlanta on Wednesday to be with him and act as his chauffeur the day of the procedure.
Me? I’m more or less intact. I just did a freelance project on self-care and I’m all hyped up to be good to myself. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it. I had a lovely week at the beach with my best friend. I’ve been getting out and about much more than I have in the past couple of years. I’m active with a book club and a writing group; and starting to hang out in Charleston again.
Although I’m worried about the kid, it’s mostly good to be me these days. While the rain has been unrelenting this summer, I’m having a good time.
I just got back from the beach on Saturday and I’ve still got vacation head. It’s been a hard reentry to the real word as this vacation was just stellar. My best friend and I spent a week at Myrtle Beach eating good food, drinking adult beverages and people watching on the beach. It was good and I am so missing my 11:30 a.m. daiquiri.
Happy Thursday, y’all.
Today is my baby boy’s 30th birthday.
I don’t know how it is possible that I am old enough to have a 30-year-old child. Life is one, big goofy trip.
I had a rough pregnancy and he was 9 weeks premature. After he was born, I only got to hold him for a minute before they whisked him off to a NICU isolette. In that minute, I fell irretrievably in love with him.
Suffice it to say that Chef Boy ‘R Mine is the love of my life.
He has turned into a marvelous man and an exceptional chef – I honestly don’t know how it was that we were surprised by his decision to become a chef. The evidence was there all those years ago.
Happy Birthday, Punkin’, I love you.
I’m very pleased to announce that I won the West Virginia Writers 2015 Annual Writing Contest in the Nonfiction category with my piece Marybelle.
Marybelle is a memoir of Vietnam and my fourth-grade year.
The story is special to me and I’m very pleased, and honored, that it won.
You can read it here:.marybellenarrative
Maggie is in her end days. I’m quite sure of it. She doesn’t seem distressed, just confused. She’s been an interesting cat – until lately, she’s never been very demonstrative. These past few weeks she has demanded attention and has been given it. These past two days, she has kept to herself….away from the food and water.
Yes, she’s in her end days. I will let her go and, if she develops pain, I will assist. She hates being in the car so I hope it doesn’t come to that.
She’s been an interesting cat. I’m going to miss her.
A few weeks ago, I fell for no good reason and landed on my knees. The impact was such that I’m quite sure I left an impression in the concrete sidewalk. One knee was torn up and developed a horrendous scab; the other swelled to the size of a softball. Both of them astonished me with their cries of pain.
The pain took my breath. For a good four days, I couldn’t stand or sit or walk or lie down without pain so intense I was reminded of labor. The pain wasn’t baby-producing intense, but it did provoke the same sort of awe.
This week, I got news that sucker-punched me. No. Nobody died. My relationships are all intact except maybe for the relationship I have with myself. For several days, my self-esteem has been crying out with the same level of pain as did my knees.
I have decided to get over it.
Today, I spent my time in the much neglected garden doing triage. I didn’t get as far as I had hoped due to the electric lawnmower dying, but I accomplished much in getting my equilibrium (and self-esteem) back. The puppies frolicked in the warm spring air and I tended to tender plants while guiltlessly executing weeds and banishing leaves.
Gardening season is upon me. I much prefer the awe of an Appalachian spring over the awe of surprise pain.
I’ve had the traditional version of this song stuck in my head for days. And then! And then, I discovered this version on Youtube. It’s still stuck in my head, but now I’m oozing as I sing along.