I'm Back

I know it's been over three weeks since I last blogged.

I can explain.

First, I've been working (and still am) on the "final" hahahahaha editing of my book which, God willing, will come out sometime this calendar year. 

Or not.

This sort of puts a damper on writing anything else.

Then lightening struck our router.

Various and sundry other things happened.

Now, Yankee Cousin is visiting. Her first day here, we had a mighty storm, which knocked our electricity out for six hours. When the electricity finally came back on, it was bed time. But the next day we realized we couldn't do anything with the computers. 

And then a great storm  knocked out our electricity. Again. 

We called tech. support. Lightening had struck our modum this time. 

Sheesh.

And I probably won't be blogging much for a while, till I get this monkey off my back (the book, not Yankee Cousin).

But one funny before I close:

We were in the car talking about food (what else?) when banana sandwiches came up. 

It's pretty clear not many places in the country understand our love of banana sandwiches. But Yankee Cousin was here every summer of our childhood, so of course, we asked.

"You do eat banana sandwiches when you're back home, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, do you get made fun of?"

"Oh. I don't do it in front of anyone."

I'll be back!

What a Week!

I knew from the beginning it was going to be a tough week for me. 

On Wednesday, I had to travel to Canton to my publisher's to discuss the beginning process of publishing my next book. I knew the meeting would probably take a couple of hours, which it did. Then, of course, we had to stop and eat before driving home. That's sitting for the better of five hours for me, which is not a wise thing for me to do, and generally I avoid it because of the repercussions. 

To make it worse, the next day I had to travel again. This time it was to Epworth to pick up the CDs. This is about 45 minutes from my house, so there was an hour and a half in the car, plus, of course, we had to stop and eat.

Now, to say I'm happy about the progress of the book is an understatement. I'm getting excited about it.

But my body cannot take all those hours on my posterior. I always am made to pay dearly for it. 

I was surprised when I went to bed Thursday night that it wasn't too bad.

But (there's always a but).

At five a. m. I awoke out of a deep sleep with the worst foot cramp I've ever had. It was pulling my foot up toward my knees. At the same time, my calf muscle was cramping, pulling my leg back toward my rear end.

I woke up screaming, and hopped out of bed in order to put my foot on the floor to stop the agony. 

Only, my leg didn't come down and I was pitched forward due to the force. 

This was not good.

I screamed some more, tried to catch onto something to keep from going to the floor. The oak rocker helped brace my fall as it slammed into the dresser. I knocked everything off my bed table but the lamp, breaking my grandmother's little heart trinket box in the process. I whammed my cheekbone on the edge of the table  and my arm sort of hooked into the rocker.

Husband tried to leap through the air to catch me, but failed. He told me later all he got was a poke in the eye as I came down.
By the way, Daughter slept through all this.

We somehow got me back in the bed, where I whimpered for a while. My arm and face where hurting. But of course, it being 5:00 a.m., I had to go to the little girl's room. Unfortunately, every time I raised my head, I thought I might throw up and felt "fainty fied" in the words of my people. So I had to wait a while before it was finally safe to sit up.

It took a while to go back to sleep because my arm was hurting so much, but I finally did.

Yesterday was not, shall we say, one of my better days. I didn't know I'd hurt my wrist pretty badly, too. I guess I stiff armed out, trying not to fall and sort of jammed it. 

When I was trying to put myself back together right after I fell, I realized my hand brace wasn't on, which was a "God thing" because if it had been, I couldn't have stopped my fall with my hand. When I was finally trying to go back to sleep, I put it back on. That's why it wasn't till morning that I realized my wrist was injured too.

Of course, my back screamed yesterday like it was my fault I fell. Sheesh.

Today is better. I have a very sore arm, with a giant bruise, but my wrist is better and I got a massage and fresh tape on my back. 

Now to figure out how to never, ever have cramps again.

Husband the Hoarder

If there is one thing Husband  hates, it's a drawer that is less than running over full. Half empty is dreadful. Empty might put him in a coma, I don't know.

I have drawers (like in the dining room) that are specifically for stuff like table linens, napkin rings, etc. I have FORBADE Husband to go anywhere near them. 

His hands begin to twitch. He paces. He glances furtively from side to side and agrees.

Do you really think I believe him?

Ha.

So, about every three months, I pile everything he's dumped in those drawers in his chair and tell him if it isn't cleaned up by the end of the day, it's going in the garbage.

This works surprisingly well. But it is only temporary. 

He also tries to sneak his junk into my sock drawer, my drawers drawer, my bra drawer, my sleep wear drawer - well - you get the picture.

When he does that, I dump it all on his side of the bed. He likes to sleep in  his bed, so he takes care of that pretty durn quick.

He has the garage so full  only one car goes into our two car garage. 

He has his side of our little studio full. It's beginning to creep over to my side. GRRRR!

If you are one of our neighbors, I urge you, I plead with you, nay, I warn you: If Husband shows up at your house with a box, a bag or even bulging pockets, lock the doors.

I'm gettin' me a sign to read: BEWARE of Husband. He's full of it.

Blog or Rant?

I don't know whether to call this a rant or a blog. You decide.

Yesterday when we arrived home after taking Mother to the doctor, Husband checked the mail box. There was a package in our mail box.

There was a large, squashed, cardboard boxed package wedged in our mail box.

Husband could not pull it out, it was so tightly wedged in there.

Husband got tools and could still not get the cardboard boxed package out.

He finally used a knife, cut the end of the cardboard box, removed the contents, then broke down the cardboard box, thus removing it from the inside of our mail box.

Other packages have been delivered and pushed in our mail box, but  none quite so forcibly and none impossible to remove.

Were we upset? 

Yes, yes we were.

Do you know that when you attempt to look up your local post office's phone number in your phone book, it is not there? Only their physical address. 

You can call a 1-800 number for customer service.

Strike 1 and 2.

I call the toll free customer service number. There is a "twenty to forty minute" wait, as all were busy with other customers. As you probably knew before I told you.

Strike 3.

I'm a sucker, there's gonna be a lot more strikes.

I decide to hold. So I toted the phone with me while I: read a section of the local paper, flossed, brushed, washed and moisturized my face, put gunk on my hair, took my medicine and drank a glass of water, closed all the window blinds, put on my jammies, read a chapter in the Bible, read my Oswald Chambers devotional for the day, read an article in Guideposts, read a chapter in Heaven by Joni Erickson Tada, and cruised facebook for some time.

Strike 4.

After a 55 minute wait, a man welcomed me to the USPS customer service line. How could he help me? He was in, or at least from, India.

Big strike 5. 

Et tu, federal government?

He spoke English well enough, but still got confused about mail box versus cardboard box. At any rate, after a lengthy process he gave me a complaint number and said my local post office would be calling me by Tuesday or Wednesday. I remarked it was a pity that the local post office phone numbers weren't published anymore. So he happily gave me their number.

Strike 6

I wish he would have just done that to start with. As in, "Would you like to call them directly, or let me handle this complaint?"

I took the phone number.

But, Lord, I'm just too tired today to call.

Maybe after lunch.

Catch Up

Well,  it's been a few weeks. I know I ain't blogging like I was. But I'm trying to get this book off the ground, and between that and everybody going to the doctor forty-eleven times, I'm pretty worn out, plus sick of the computer.

Husband had himself some surgery. He looks like he was on the losing end of a knife fight. (Although he reassures me that if he had been a real knife fight, he would have won, of course.)

He had this teeny weeny spot above his lip removed. Now he has thirteen stitches, a bloody, swollen mouth (think duck bill) and a bruise running down his chin and under his neck. 

What he doesn't have (now) is cancer. This is good. Right now, it's just bad and ugly.

Of course, he's not been able to bend down or lift. He's milking it for all it's worth. He's developed this whine to his voice when he says my name that reminds me of a dentist's drill.

Mother, of course, had to have a run in with the hospital during all this. She'd been on antibiotics for a U.T.I. and it caused her to develop Ulcerative  Colitis. We had the joy of spending the entire night in the ER. But she is better now, at least for now.

Other Brother passed a kidney stone. I think he got an A+ for his effort, since the doctor said it couldn't be done.

I'm still in physical therapy for my tootsies. It seems to be helping!

We won a million dollars in the lottery. (Not really, just seeing if you are paying attention.)

Our car has to have a software update. Is that totally ridiculous, or what? 

Next step in the book process is to get a nice list in order as to how I want the book to flow.

And I'm still waiting on the CD to come back from being "pressed". Either it was really wrinkled or somebody in Nashville is listening to it over and over....or I'm in a long line at the press place.

Well, I guess that's it for now. If you think of something else, let me know.

Father's Day Past

In a few months Father's Day will be upon us again.

Please don't mention this to Husband, as he will begin to whine, as he always does, about what "I did to him" on Father's Day long, long ago.

When Daughter was four or five years old (she is now  pushing 28) I suggested we go for a nice drive that Sunday afternoon. You know, just the 3 of us, our sweet family, on Father's Day. To sort of celebrate.

At that time, our road was a one lane, sandy trail more than anything. Recently "they" had come in, widening the road to a great extent right after they cut down timber.

This did not bode well for our wonderful living on this mountain all by ourselves life.

Anyway, I cheerfully suggested we ride out that road as it now went beyond our house, and see just how far they had graded and made a wide road.

We had a sturdy, 4 wheel drive Blazer that had only been stopped once, and that's when the blizzard hit. It snowed up over the bumpers and then froze it in place, rendering the poor Blazer immobile for several days.

So we strapped Daughter into her booster seat in the back, got in and took off. 

Wow.

We were amazed at how far they had graded. It looked like it went on for several miles. But as we went further in, it got muddy, so we decided, after sliding down a hill despite 4 wheel drive, that we better turn around and head for home.

Carefully turning the Blazer around, we headed back up the hill. 

(You know this isn't going to end well, don't  you?)

Even in 4 wheel drive, it just couldn't get up that slippery, muddy hill. So Husband gunned it. And we sunk up to the axle in mud.

He got out and surveyed the situation. "Okay, I'm going to find some wood and large rocks to make braces under the tires so they can get some traction."

This took a while.

"Now, I want you to gently give it some gas as I push."

Um, okay...

Did I mention it was a straight shift?

He began to push. "Give it gas!"

I did.

"More!"

I did.

The Blazer moved. Well, the tires moved. They spun like crazy. 

"Stop!"

Husband (or I think it was Husband) came to driver's door. I burst out laughing, as did our baby child in the back seat.

Husband was not laughing.

But there were those two big old baby blue eyes staring at me from a face totally encased in good old Georgia red clay.

We finally made it back home. I got the garden hose and washed Husband off. Thankfully, no one drove by to see where the new road led while he was in the front yard taking a cold shower. 

All but his undies were lost causes, we bagged them up and tossed 'em, because no matter what, that red clay wasn't going to disappear.

My suggestion is to avoid Husband at all costs on Father's Day. Or at least don't ask him about how his Father's Day is going. 'Cause I guarantee you, he'll start in.

Some people just can't let the past go,  you know what I mean?

Talkin' to Myself

I know it's been a while, but a lot of stuff  has been going on. I won't talk about it because it makes me tired.

So:

I was mumbling to myself and wondered how long I've been talking to myself.  In fact, I said, "I wonder how long I've been talking to myself?"

And I sez, sez I, "Well, for as long as I can remember."

When I was around four, I recall my daddy walking into my playroom and asking was someone else there? I was puzzled. "No, just me."

I'd been pretending something or other and was changing my voice for different characters. That's a form of talking to one's self, I think.

I figure it may be because I was alone a lot to fend for myself in the play department. Being an only child until I was almost eleven made me use my imagination, which has come back to haunt all of you.

Talking to myself has probably saved lives. I can yammer on like I'm preachin' your funeral, and by the time I've stopped, I'm over whatever I was maddern far about.

It has made ideas click as far as "sayings" for my characters (sorrier than the bottom of a greasy paper sack is one of my favorites), as well as thickened plots.

Talking to myself has helped me remember whatever I've forgotten, too. "Now, where did I put that?" Surely you do that, too.

But mostly, I think, it's a form of entertainment when no one else is around. 

I'm pretty good company, after all.