Happenin' Stuff

So much has been going on these past few days, I don't know where to start.

Thanksgiving was nice. We did the usual preparations, except we are all chipping in more and more and Mother less. She should actually be doing nothing but when you figure out how to keep her from it, let me know, okay?
Last year I was flat on my back and had to rely on Daughter to do my part, too. This year I hung in there and wasn't flat on my back until Friday. But the massage therapist has helped. If I ain't a lot better, chiropractor, here I come. I hate being on muscle relaxants too much, but sometimes that seems to be the only solution. Daughter and I are doing a duet at church tomorrow, so I may be hollering for help in putting on my pantyhose. I'm not sure it's possible.

Speaking of being flat on one's back, one of my dearest, bestest friend's husband fell off the roof and landed flat on his back. He has grievous injuries to his back and at least ten if not more ribs broken. One surgery has been done, the "real" surgery is set for Monday if his lungs have healed enough.

I am heartbroken for them. Their lives have changed forever. As she once told me, "There was  your life before you fell, now you have a life for after you have fallen."

If you are of the praying sort, get to it, please. They need it.

I have been asked to speak to the genealogy society here. I reckon it's because I'm so old they figure I can remember way back yonder. Unfortunately, I'm so old I can't remember way back yonder, so I'll read some of a book or two of mine and we can laugh and talk about it.

I can still talk real good.

And, speaking of books, mine are still selling pretty well. If you've missed one or two, you need to contact me. Also, Christmas is coming up and I have a book for just about every age.

Oh, and please raise your hand if you know my password for my e-mail.

Eh, me neither.

Later.

What the H.E. Double Toothpicks is Wrong with Everyone?

I am angry.

Not one, but two friends reported being ignored, humiliated and treated shamefully in public yesterday.

They may think these are strong words, but in my anger, they are fitting.

BB (Best Bud) broke her leg, if you recall. She had to take papers to the courthouse. On crutches, she hobbled across the street, with wallet, keys and papers in hand. No one helped her do anything. She had a hard time reaching the basket you put your stuff in to go through the machine that made sure she wasn't going to blow up the place. Bending awkwardly made her drop her stuff. Two fat cops sat there and watched her struggle to pick it up. The "lady" behind her, just sighed heavily, impatient for BB to hurry up and get out of her way.

No one helped her.

Going back across the street, after carefully making sure nothing was coming, a truck roared out of no where and sat there, gunning his engine till she got out of his way.

Another friend, whose knee is injured is on a cane, reported the same thing when she was out in public and her hip came out of joint as she was trying to hoist herself from a chair. She was in excruciating pain, and people just kept on passing her by, ignoring her. 

 Finally, one of our illegal aliens saw her and came to her rescue.

Welcome to America.

The Blind Leading the Blind OR The Blonde Leading the Blonde. Take your pick.

I admit I am used to folks helping me. I am generally in some degree of pain, and my movement is limited, sometimes more so than others.

My good friends know this, and usually ask questions when I am with them, "Are you okay to sit here? Do we need to stand up and walk? Can I get you anything?"

I appreciate it. Makes me feel loved and understood.

But yesterday, I went to Best Buddy's house (here after mentioned as B.B.) She of the broken leg. She of the very long legs.

Not a good combo, no matter which way you look at it.

For once, I got to pet her a little. Toted her stuff. Set her shoes out of the way, locked the door, stuff like that.

Made me feel good, and I hope it helped her.

To be honest, I'd rather be on that end of the stick, but I hardly ever am. For me (and for B.B., too) it is far easier to serve than to be served.

We don't like being helpless, or hurt.

But sometimes, you know, that's just the way it is.

Feet, Back and Other Woes

This week has been a bad un.

I've had a doozie with my back, crying like the big old baby I really am. Between that and Daughter with her hurt foot, it's been the lame leading the lame. I threatened Husband that he dare not get so much as a hang nail, or else the boat would surely sink.

Although he has took to hidin out in the woods, he is yet to become puny or injured.

And, by the way, crying like I did caused a lot of amazing things to happen. If I hadn't been so embarrassed about the crying, I could get  used to being waited on hand and foot and having a very clean  house.

The cats have enjoyed me being abed a lot, they like to be there anyway, and have enjoyed the company.

Daughter and I have had some together time as I've taped her foot, or she's had to sit while icing it down.

I guess there's an upside to everything.

Why Is It?

I'm getting a haircut in a few hours, and it started me thinking: (Oh, no, I hear you say)

Why is it when your hair finally looks really good, the  next time you wash it, it all goes to grass and you need a hair cut in the worst way?

Why is it when you get all your nails out to a really nice length, you break one and they all go, just within a few days, until you might as well be grubbing worms barehanded?

Why is it when you have an injury - sunburn, bruise, cut, amputation, whatever - that's where your friends and family will thump, slap, rub or squeeze as soon as they see  you?

Why is it when you get the farthest away from  your car that it starts raining - hard - when only minutes before the sun was out?

Why is it when you look your absolute worst, but really have to - run out to the mailbox, run in the store for a loaf of bread, run to the gas station to fill up - that is when  your Prince Charming from high school that you had a really bad crush on, shows up, looking  not a day older and dressed immaculately? (He looks at you kindly and says, "You look vaguely familiar. Are you the mother of one of the girls I went to high school with?")

Why is it when you finally hit that perfect pitch high note, or hit the ball the farthest you ever have, or hit the bulls eye twelve times in a row, or do a perfect cartwheel, there is never anyone to witness it?

Why is it when you say something absolutely brilliant, there are only a handful of dunderheads that hear it, but when you say something really, really stupid or embarrassing, it's in front of a crowd?

Why is it when you are out and about and you really have to pee, that your elderly third grade teacher stops you to chat about how  much fun she had at her 107th birthday party (that you weren't invited to) or the neighborhood hypochondriac stops you to tell you about her latest surgery/illness/episode, or you have a flat tire three miles away from the nearest bathroom and you don't have cellphone service in that area?

Why, people, why?