Feel
Inadequate.
When I feel inadequate
When others point out blunders
When uncultured praises rubbish attempts
When someone sees a crumb
When planks feel like boulders
When feelings are numb and sting
When emptiness drums loudly
When tethers fall or fray
When painful moments color all worlds grey
When perfection outweighs awkwardly graceless
When intelligence wrestles tongue tied blubbering
When I feel inadequate
I
Just
Want
To
Quit
The looking glass iiii
“No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you.”
Joshua 1:5 ESV
http://bible.com/59/jos.1.5.esv
What really does not define me is the fact that I am going blind or that I carry a big stick.
Some days it seems my lack of vision creeps into every aspect and I am more aware than ever that the eyes are failing me. Other days, I am able to do all that I physically want to, like garden, clean, eat, go for a walk and crochet. Then there are those days. Ones where the clouds creep in. Just like the distant thunder of a rain storm that rolls ever closer, the peripheral world becomes darker and darker until for some very odd reason there is a book shelf in front of me instead of an open doorway. Like for instance this morning, when the rainy seven a.m. lighting did not allow me enough light to see my dear baby granddaughter’s wide open-eyed greeting.
About ten years ago, my vision became a markedly difficult issue as I attempted to care for my family and my pets. We began coming up with pathway lighting, rope lights and other deck lighting to help me out at night. I had a number of attempts to train a helper dog for myself.
our little collie back then was no help at finding the newborn lambs in the darkest corners of the barn The shepherd lifestyle was ended with it’s dangerous night life. I gave up teaching squirrels, I mean children- they move too quickly. The choir pianist in me retired to memory lane. So many goodbyes.
I knew that I needed some independence since there weren’t many people other than immediate family who could really guide me, so I got my first walking stick. Or mobility cane.
A mobility cane is not the same as a walking cane. It is not meant for heavy weight bearing. Instead it is more like a really long finger that acts like a braile reader for the path ahead. I have watched many videos of people navigating busy crowded sidewalks. Their ability to walk in New York City amazes me. I’m just trying not to face plant from a curb. The signs others see as helpful on the sidewalk edges have often found the center of my face. Rather than giving me any warning, they are not friends of mine!
While the white cane affords me some independence at times using my husband or daughter to lead me around like a little child is easier. However there are a few stories that the cane has etched into my memory along with a few times it should really have been at my assistance that turned out funny. Here goes.
Once I began using the white cane at church to assist in my go-betweens. Often there was a young child asking me, “What’s that?” When the child persists in a rude or beyond curious fashion (skeptical and disbelieving that i am blind) I respond with “it’s a big stick so that if you try to run away I can trip you.” If there is still focus on the stick instead of our relationship or face to face contact, I tell them it’s a weapon like the lightsaber! Children without proper respect can be quite frustrating. Dealing with the constant badgering was one of the reasons I quit teaching kids club.
In all actually It really has nearly tripped children. Especially in the mall when they are running away from parents. Of course I feel bad, but most of the time I was thanked for slowing the toddler down. One time at the mall I was using one of my lightweight expanding mobility canes and tripped my own companion. It was my younger daughter and needless to say, the stick broke. From then on I only use “indestructible” white canes.
So for the story of not having the aide. My little four year niece and I were walking behind her family through the mall. When walking with a group it is common for those in more of a hurried path to their end, to cross the path right in front of me. After this happened on several occasion without my niece and I slowing for the “running retriever” my brother just grabbed my loose hand and kept us on target. People at the mall can be really rude when it comes to separating larger group walkers. Oh, well, there are a lot more people with tunneled vision than you might think.
Shopping and holding a walking cane is not easy. I have become so accustomed to being “lost” in the shopping environment that for the most part I just stand still like an old fashioned mannequin that is out of place. If anyone runs into me, it’s because they didn’t see me. I am slower than a sloth in the department stores.
On occasion I get brave or really have to go to the bathroom. So I pull out the cane and march away from my person. The day that I named my mobility cane Moses is very memorable to me. We were at Wally-world and I needed to return to the auto section where Gavin was getting some oil or air filter for the vehicle. On the way back to him, I noticed how the people just seemed to slide off to the side as I tapped my way back to that area of the store. It seemed as if the stick were parting the water, or the Red Sea had congealed right up. I tried to smile at some but they seemed to gather that I smirked to myself and could not see them. They just looked away. I felt like Moses had parted the waters and the path was cleared to walk on dry ground. There were no stumbling blocks. No person stood before me in my way. They all moved out of my path.
I began to think about the phenomenon of the Red Sea. And other happenings like that. Then I remembered some of my nightmares. Like falling over logs, chairs, stones, or other blockages and music stands or instrument cases scattered all about the floor and there is no way I can cross the gym floor with all those moving basketball players. I duck my head and wince and flinch but still the balls hit me in the face and head constantly. What a challenge. Sometimes this dream comes and I actually cry out loud.
Exodus is one of my favorite Old Testament books. The first few chapters of Moses’ story are so compelling to me. Listening to them over and over does not bother me at all. It’s kind of like watching a favorite video for me. One time I heard a sermon on Exodus 4:2 “What is that in your hand?” (This was before cell phones were a fixture.) The point of the sermon is that God uses us right where we are at and with what we have at hand. Whatever you find most frequently in your hand is what God wants to use for His purposes and His glory.
So while I know that Moses had a personal aid named Joshua; Exodus 24:13 tells about Moses’ return trip to the mountain for a second set of tablets for the Lord God to write on. This time he took his young helper with him. So while I may have it backwards and should call my aid Joshua, we have far to many of them in our family already. Then I began thinking of Joshua and his journey after Moses left. While Moses was no longer with him to help in the journey to the promised land, God was. He promised never to leave Joshua or forsake him.
There are times I forget my mobility cane. There are times I wish I had brought it with. There are also times it becomes a burden and I can’t carry all those tings. I will always need an aide. I can no longer go anywhere by myself, unless I walk. Living in the country has brought me to a very vulnerable and often lonely place. While people may forsake me, my guide dog might trip me or break my nose, the Lord is always near.
That might not be very consoling when I turn around to walk out of my library and run into the bookshelf instead of the doorway. But using my mobility cane in my own home is not something I want to do. If the traffic in our house picks up too much, like during the supper hour, I prefer to get planted. It’s just easier than running into the cross traffic and causing accidents like spills and burns.
So Moses and I are becoming quite the companions. I have used this aide mostly in congregational settings. Using it on hikes and park walks is also advantageous to the limbs and face. While I am waiting for Honey to shape up and start helping more, I will continue to use Moses. And don’t judge me for making Moses white instead or black or some other skin tone. Most seeing guide mobility canes are white. Okay I do have a yellow one, but i have not used it much. It’s usually just the handles that become a fashion statement! All I care is that it tells me where the step is so that i don’t fall up or down.
“And the LORD, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.””
Deuteronomy 31:8 NKJV
About listening to Leslie Caron’s memoir
So far I have avoided doing any book reviews because of all the copyright issues. But this actress so intrigued me that I spent hours on YouTube watching her film clips and listening to her many interviews. While most people get pepper books, mine come on a little floppy disc and I plug it in to my player. I am thankful for the technology today and the chance to still “read.”
The Title
Perhaps it might be fitting for her own thinking. But she gives no glory or credit to the the Creator. Rather it is to the “Stars” that helped build her career. She was discover by Gene Kelly and first performed in “An American in Paris.” Through the book she does five credit to the many film makers, directors, and actors and actresses whom she had the pleasure to work with. , be married to, or otherwise be engaged with during her life.
So the title is to her own belief that the “Stars of Hollywood ” are the Heaven that she is thanking. Perhaps her gracious mannerisms could be learned by a few people. We all have others who help to shape us and build our lives into the castles that we become. Perhaps we all could learn a few things about the thankful, grateful heart of Leslie Caron.
The Memoir
Writing a memoir has always been a dream of mine. So as listen to my talking book library it is the memoirs that I spend the most time on. Often to the point of going past due on my book returns! Sorry. Study yang the memoirs of others will be my next constant background work to writing my own.
Leslie Caron grew up in France and was old enough to understand the World War II traumatic effect on her family. Her references to both the past and the present and the lessons that she learned are refreshing. She gained wisdom through all of life’s events and writing the memoir late in life lends a grandmother’s knowledge to her many stories.
Being a teacher at heart (homeschool mom, said Bible school teacher, etc.) my listening catches the learning curve that people allow themselves. How did Leslie learn from her mistakes and her successes? If you get a chance to pick up the book, be assured she shares her expertise in light of her hands on experiences. Her drive to learn language, acting, and the other endeavors that she took on shows determination and grit.
The Writing
Her style as a writer was developed over the years that waited for an acting job. She has a present-tense style that lends to watching a film in action. Very fitting for both her life story. This too tempted me to to look up many of her her scenes and stop the book just to check out the movie. I enjoyed each one that I viewed.
The Language
The book was a good read. Recommended for those who can handle the lifestyles of the entertainment world. While I have no desire to learn their secrets and the way that people follow their”fashion,” Leslie Caron kept the book on the street in it’s language. There were a few bedroom and closet discussions that were not detailed to the point of listening ears embarrassment. Because my books are read to me, I prefer not to have bare floor bathroom talk in my books. This is just not my kind of reading material. So for a nod to the title thank heaven she kept it clean for the most part. Would I suggest this book for my mother? Probably not. Do I want to share it with my daughter? Well, as a learning tool perhaps. Would I listen while my husband was in the room? Yes. In fact I did a few times and then shared movie clips from YouTube with him also.
Final Notes
“Thank Heaven” by Leslie Caron was a good read. Worth the time if you enjoy films and movies with music, dancing, and depth of character. Her inner beauty as an actress did shine through the book as she gave credit to the many stars that invested in her life.
What’s the point with list making anyhow?
Every where I look there is some list. Ten best of this, 20 worst of that, five things that boost something, eight reasons to do this. What’s with the list making and who really enjoys the statistics game?
Basketball season is here and my mind returned to the squeaks and squeals of the court. During high school they never let me take stats during the games. I missed too many things because of my eyesight. And constantly asking the person next to me for “my” stat answer just didn’t cut it. They fired me on the spot. The rest of my high school career was spent in the pep band. I have always enjoyed the role encourager. Leading in nosie making has always been a key crowd control pattern for me.
Today, I am on my church’s prais team as the pianist. Not the keyboardist. I hated keyboarding. The idea that one can play piano, add other instruments, and play the rhythm section all at once is pretty close to playing organ for me. Using all four limbs in contrasting motion to fill an orchestra of sound is completely impossible to me. Most of the time I fill in the bass and add rhythmic jazzy chording. At times my classical training jumps in and I get bored of the quitter keyboarding rhythms. Okay, so now that I have given a horrible review of my abilities as a pianist, back to this list idea.
Last night I had a nightmare that caused me to cry out in the night. I decided that I’ve been drinking entirely too much coffee. So I should keep track of how many cups I drink in one day. Today I have a migraine from the caffeine craving.
Meanwhile, my insomnia has returned and while the MP3 IBible does keep my brain occupied for some of the night, I came up with a list of my favorite cats throughout my life. Other people count sheep in the night. Other people count backwards from some fancy number by threes. Other people get up and watch train documentaries on PBS. Other people make cleaning lists. Other people read dumb lists on facebook that helps them decided what kind of dog not to get. I made a count down or up of all the little fur balls that have purred in my lap. There’s probably more than ten, but these will do as my favorite through the years.
The first cat that I called my own was named Mittens. While my mother had always had a good mouser, Mittens was mine. The love of my middle school years, I defied my boy cousins by giving him a “girly” name. They thought his name should be socks. Mittens was a gorgeous gray colored saddle with white markings. I think he had blue grey eyes, but my memory might fail me., Saying goodbye to cats is not fun. In life, however, it is this lesson that teaches us people have more value than pets. Mittens was the pet of my paper route years. Delivering paper route in an older community gave me several “death’s door” deliveries. The first customer that died, was when I noticed a two day pile up and the television still on. I notified the neighbor and learned the following day that she had passed on. Saying goodbye to Mittens seemed minimal compared to when a favorite friend’s husband died on my paper route. Hearing her laugh about how he died, was a new experience for sure.
Tigger was the second pur-buddy to leave me. Tigger was true to his striped name and very fast. But this was more traumatic, because my children were little ones and witnessed the event. The postman ran over the cat when the dog chased it under the pickup. Lady never did like cats much. But we had hoped to remove our mouse problem by having a cat in the basement. Poor Tigger. Poor wee children.
Socks was number three. My cousins favorite cat name ever returned. A beautiful calico cat that rode over in the wheel well of the pickup from the neighbor lady, This one actually survived the dogs chasing game. But her fight to save her kittens, gave a deadly infection from the battle. She was our sheep-cat. She use to sleep on the backs of the warmest ewes and lambs. Lucy the lamb and Socks were quite the pair! Her kittens became my ten year old daughter’s mission. She fed them with a dropper for two weeks until I decided some kitten food slurry would maybe help her out. Needless to say, I wasn’t a very kind mother when that summer blew through. I just didn’t have the patience.
Saying goodbye to the fourth purring friend was rough. Patches was Socks survivor. This cat was amazing at how high she would jump into the air. Patches was the summer of trying to teach my children some sports rules. So we acquired a bad-mitten net and some little plastic birdies. I tried to teach my girls the abilities only to find that Patches kept jumping into the air to catch the birdies. Soon it became the girl’s complete joy to watch me attempt to hit the little plastic bouncer and then wonder where in the world the cat would be after the retrieve. This mostly white calico made us fall in love with a cat’s athletic ability. It was far better than mine, or the kids, or my husbands. Saying goodbye to Patches was rough because a rabies skunk took her into the garage and the tangle ended with two pops of the rifle. I had managed to bring the dog inside, but forgot about the cat. The encounter has ruined my taste for shredded wheat cereal. Amazing the weird things that one remembers. Like what I had for breakfast should not be a big memory, but it is.
The fifth kitty adios was a pair. Susan and Sunny were the answer to Patches’ departure. We picked them up from another home school family. Named after flowers, “Black Eyed Susan” and “Sunny SunFlower” were also the pair that joined us at the same time as our collie Dolly. These two are the beginning of the genes for our barn cats that we have today. Because the Tom that came around was pretty wild, so are their offspring.
The sixth goodbye that was sorrowful was the cat with the longest life. Daisy was the best of them all. She was Yolanda’s girl. We even had pictures of the tow of them together. Daisy really did love her best I believe. They had a good bond. Daisy lived the longest of all the cats we have ever had. I think we got her to the vet nearly ten years. She disappeared a year before we lost Dolly. I think she missed the college girl too much.
Not sure if he is number seven or not, Fresca was the year of kittens that were named after off-brand soda pops. There was Shasta, Pibbs, RC, Jolt, and others. Fresca was the long haired one of the bunch. He lived three or four years as my purring pet. He also became good friends with our new puppy at the time, It was hilarious to see him lead us on our walk to the corner and back. He walked the line on road the best of any cat we have ever had. Some of the neighbor farmer’s took to calling me the neighborhood cat walker. Fresca got owl-ly or catty in his later years and refused to be friendly with our zuchon puppy. The dog’s feeling were pretty hurt the day the cat hissed him out of the bush.
Mooch and Garfield were the year of comic strep cats. Pictured above, Mooch was a college friend save. The friend moved and needed to re-home the two. While we could not say their Korean given names the new one for Mooch became her personality completely. We took them booth to the vest but Garfield was no match for Fresca or the other township Tom. He disappeared pretty quickly. Mooch however stuck around about five years. So that makes eight and nine. Glad that they were a few years apart. Sometimes my husband says cats are a dime-a-dozen. But taking care of them is far more than a dime from the paycheck.
Suga then would be number ten. She was offspring of Mooch. The only kitten and sister that the mother cat ever took care of. She just didn’t have the mothering “hood.”The tenth goodbye of the favorite cats. So saying goodbye to cats seems like a list better made in the sleepless hours of the night. Writing the list out covers four decades, three houses, eight different vehicles (or is it ten), nine dogs, and countless brands of pet food. There are so many more things to count when one cant sleep in the night then just sheep. Oh, yeah, we had those too.
Now that I have a friend that does cat fostering and rehoming for her life work, it seemed appropriate to count these four legged creatures in print. Everyone has their list. Cars, baseballs caps, tractors, horses, or what’re the collection is, we all have something that makes our motor hum.
For me it is writing.
Okay so here is another blog written in the year eighteen that proves no matter what the topic, I can write something about it. I could get even more detailed and five the cat breed and color for each, their gender, model and make. One time my brother asked me what kind of tractor my husband was driving to snowblow the driveway (in Iowa). I had no clue. Had he asked me something significant, perhaps I might have had an answer. I teasingly answered the year and make of my piano- 1974 Everett. Now there’s something I know that is not significant to him!
Whether it’s a short list, or a detailed drama, I enjoy writing. List making is great for those sleepless hours. Writing is my new daily to do! It makes my motor pur, So I guess it’s my new passion. Just have to listen to the Spotify sound waves instead of my little Suga. She lives with a new family now. She’s very happy to inside “all the time.”
Thus ends at this time in my life any cat that puts whilst I pet it’s soft fur.
Six to one and half dozen to the other
Children say the darn-dest things! And sometimes those silly jokes from the elderly to the little child are pretty funny too.
Once upon a time immigrants could only come into our country from Ellis Island. The lady of liberty was their first greeting to a land of hopes and dreamers. And today no one can seem to agree if the “dreamers” should be allowed to stay or forced to go. Yet we have an aging population that will desperately need care in the next ten to forty years. Alhzeimer’s and brain degenerate dies eases just may need this flood of immigrant healthcare workers to take care of our aging population. That’s my own opinion.
Telling silly stories and ridiculous jokes is one of the elderly past times that I enjoy listening to but haven’t quite the knack for proper repetition. The older one gets the more common it becomes to have frequent repeating pun lines. Remembering them is the key to long life I think. One story thus repeated in my family is about Ole Olson.
In a small Norwegian settlement in the Dakota’s there lies a little cafe named Ole Olson’s Fine Cuisine. In it you’ll find everything from white sauce Norwegian dishes, to German dumplings, to Fine Chinese cuisine. Upon the visit to the restaurant an out of towner was overheard asking the owner how he came upon the establishment. Here is Ole’s reply. “Well, when I got to Ellis Island with my wife and child, we happened to fall in line with some very fine brothers from Norway heading to the Dakota territory. When we got up to the name taker, she asked my name. I could tell by the process, that though I spoke no English and neither did the brothers, Name giving was the proper answer. The gentlemen ahead of me replied- ‘Sven Olson’ and ‘Ole Olson.’ So I stepped up to the window and said ‘Siam Ting.’ I could not read or write English but was given a pice of paper for identification. I gestured to the brothers and Sven figured out what I wanted. He laughed heartily and slapped me on the back . ‘Ole we have another brother!” They insisted I come with them to Dakota, My wife Lyi and child Kyi became LeeAnn, and Kiya Olson. And we’ve been here ever since!”
I really do a better job of writing this joke than telling it. My dad and those out in western South Dakota can tell the joke in about two minutes. It took me nearly twenty to write it.
Here’s a much shorter joke I heard recently.
Q: Why didn’t the skeleton go to the movies? A: He couldn’t find anybody to go with.
As a child, sharing things with my sisters became a daily mealtime, snacktime and playtime reality. They being older than I, soon found that I was a very bad tattle teller and learned to exclude me from their schemes. I remember as a pre-teen my sisters getting jammed fingers in their fighting days. I found my six years younger brother to be an ample playmate. I could boss him around as long as I wished or until I compromised and played his way occasionally. Before he arrived on the scene while the tattle teller was still ruling within, my mother had to learn how not to referee the sibling rivalries. On one such occasion, she responded to my telling with “It’s just six to the one and half a dozen to the other.” I couldn’t believe that she didn’t see the same unfairness that I had. I stomped off angrily with “that’s the same thing!”
Indeed, the same thing.
While it may be difficult to understand that it rains on the just and the unjust alike, that the Lord gives wisdom to all those who seek it. That there are really smart people who are atheist and really smart people who give all the glory to God. While I am human and unable to fathom the deepest secrets of the Almighty God, perhaps it is the simplest things that get the mind stumped more often.
How did Siam Ting live his whole life as Ole Olson’s other brother? How do children have the same parents end up so totally different even when they grow up in the same house? How can six Cookie’s and a half-dozen Cookie’s be identical? How does the garden grow even when there’s so little sunshine and the rain never stops? How?
Why was it so hard to give up my helper Seymour eight months ago and I didn’t even shed a tear to give away the little want to be house cat that just can’t live in the same house as my husband? While I miss my helper from time to time, a needy cat is not on my to do daily list. Suga just really wasn’t letting me get anything done. She will make a nice house cat for someone else. In this case the feelings were not six for one and half a dozen for the other. I was definitely playing favorites with that adorable loving kitty. And it’s not fair to expect her to live at the threshold of “wanting” in the house in a world so cold, when someone else not allergic to cats will really enjoy her soft furry body.
And yet asking questions like these never made me any smarter. There are still people who think my opinion is invaluable. There are still times I fail to ask a question and guess very wrongly. There are still others who think life can be “qualified.” While the quality of my life isn’t the same as it used to be, my life still qualifies to be fed. Mentally, spiritually, physically, emotionally I still have the same needs that I have always had. Being blind might be a physical challenge for me that leads me to tears, yet I will continue to have much of the same needs I have always had. May God spare me the thoughts and the pungent people who think about life in terms of quality. The struggle to win life’s battles will continue to make me want to fight for fairness.
Dream on.
First things first
This morning while I contemplated what the day should have in store for me, I remembered that someone in this house said that caramel rolls could be a daily occurrence at mealtime. Seeings that it has been four days since the cotton-candy-like cinnamon roll melted across my tongue, I decided to get the dough going after the kitchen clean up. So while the dough rises, I am thinking about all the quotes about bread.
While the earth’s voices can get you hooked on Panera bread, or sandwich shop commercials there is voice far more compelling. Deuteronomy 8:3 comes in the middle of a narrative about the Israelites journey through the wilderness. While I am not in a fourth year journey of desert land, there are days when I feel being blind and living in the country has given me a wilderness lifestyle that is akin to hermit living. But if I really wanted to get the analogy correct I could say that I am stuck between the walls of a Sinai monastery. But that’s pretty depressing.
Back to Deuteronomy.
When Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days, he was tempted three times. The first temptation was food. Issn’t that amazing? Most people find that it’s being alone that tempts them to eat the whole bag of chips. Or the half-gallon of ice cream. I’m not like that. I’m one of those people that could easily forget to eat. The day might stretch clear into the afternoon, before I realize that I haven’t had any lunch yet. Food is not my driving motivator. Which is good, because I can’t drive, and I would probably going to every fast-food emergency food establishment at my hour of need.
“Man live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that proceeds form the mouth of the Lord.” When bread is not the sustenance of the would, that what is?
This year at Christmas time, we were blessed to be ministered to by our daughter’s devotional from young adult retreat. It was a three part letter that the Camp where she worlds sent out during the week leading up to the Christmas worship season. While it was rather long, we did take the time to read each of the letter installments. Her ability to lead us into the season in awe and worshipful reverence was such a blessing. It’s that very thought provoking devotion that made me think about my goals for the new year.
First things first. Put first things first.
And the most important first thing in my life has been finding my sustenance in the words of our Lord. Jesus is the bread of life . He will be my everlasting manna during this journey into a visual wilderness that continues to make me feel lost.
When I look up to find a doorway or a wall instead of the way to where I thought I was going, I will remember that He is with me. When the dog comes out of the darkness of my peripheral black hole, I will find solid in Jesus. When my nose finally heels in its new crooked state, I will remember the brokenness that my Lord endured for me. While Jesus set his eyes on the way before him, knowing that the cross lie in his path, this I will remember when my path is interrupted by an opened cupboard door.
Being visually impaired and on the journey to blindness, I will put first things first. Though I refuse to use my walking cane in my own home, I will ask my Lord for grace to endure all the brokenness that comes from this journey. This year the Bible verse that I chose to be our family’s theme verse is Luke 1:37.
“For nothing will be impossible with God.”
Teach us to number our days
Anyone remember the year they were eighteen? Not really. I do remember it as the birthday that my mother forgot and that my dad gave me a birthday card with just his name on it. Granted as the spring of my junior year in high school, I was rather busy and wasn’t home much that day. But reminiscing about that year wasn’t my plan for this journal entry.
Follows seventeen of course. Eighteen that is, follows seventeen Obviously. But each year it seems many gather for the New Years celebrations as if just by chance the clock won’t keep ticking and the next number needs to be encouraged on it’s way. I usually just go to bed. God seems to be in control of numbers. He’s got a whole book for then in the Bible!
Goals. New Years goals. Changing, rolling over a new leaf. I usually do that. Misplace them. Then wonder what happened to the past twelve months. Sometimes I recap them in a Charistmas letter. That’s kind of fun. Not this year.
Honey broke my nose.
I repeat. Honey broke my nose.
One week ago while playing frisbee with her “hyper pet” red one, she jumped up and my nose collided with hers. Not good.
I didn’t talk to her for a whole day. It hurt.
The only word she heard for two days straight was DOWN!
So since the glasses still hurt the noggin, the Christmas letters are still in the box, the letters have not been read by me, and there issn’t much that can be done without the spectacles.
I’ve been cleaning house.apperently one can still see dirt without glasses on!
So while I sat crocheting a large hook afghan, I began making my New Years resolutions.
The first was to write a blog each week. 52. There are fifty two weeks in a year. To date I have only written that many in the last two years. This is a lofty goal for me. But maybe they will be shorter.
There are other goals, but I don’t want to bore you.
For now, I will keep cleaning up my stashes of clutter. I will continue to let my crooked nose grow back together. And hopefully I haven’t just done a “Pinocchio” and lied about my plans for the year eighteen.
The daily surprise of RP
Everyone loves surprises, right? Well if you are talking about birthdays or gifts of course. If you are considering accidents and natural disasters NO!
Living with retinitis pigmentosa involves an element of surprise that for the most part includes chaos and a lot of spilled milk! The first body parts to suffer are the toes and the head. Unless the person with RP wears steel- toe boots there’s a sure factor that there will be some broken toes.
The funniest broken toe problem that I had was when I grabbed to left shoes to wear at church and didn’t check them until church. On top of that we were headed to take our eight year old to camp after that. So it was a Kmart stop on the way to Des Moines for a pair of flip-flops so that little toe could be free to be fat as it pleased! I remember walking through Kmart barefooted and wondering if they would kick us out!
RP loves foreheads, faces and noses. The greetings to those unsuspecting places can occur daily when one is tired. The not so funniest moment for me was when the teeter totter kissed me right between the eyes! The whack could be heard throughout the whole acreage. I had picked up a snake and was going to scarce my husband with it when the end of the see-saw bit me pretty hard. I flew back and landed on my back knocking the breath out of me. Should have been on video. We could have won with that one! I broke my nose that time.
Kitchen cabinets should roll up like roll-top desks. Who ever decided hinges were a universal cabinet feature did not have RP. Every time we moved to a new house I learned by the school of hard-knocks about the cabinet doors. When will we ever learn to shut those doors right away? If you have RP and live with someone that does not-the kitchen can be a war-zone of dishwasher doors and such. I have a permanent dent in one shin from the dishwasher door. Uffda!
I use to claim that I never broke any bones. Well it just wasn’t as noticeable. The toe or the nose doesn’t get a cast for your friends to sign. My sister broke her arm going down the slide as a child. I remember helping her get dressed. That was the era of girls shirts that buttoned in back. Really we had to help each other before the casted arm. Not sure why I remember it especially as a casted arm thing.
My grandmother was the first family member to have the degenerative eyesight. I don’t remember that she ever broke anything until her age related osteoporosis began to affect her life. However I have an uncle with the disease that broke his leg during his career from a stair step fall. It was a pretty bad break. The story helped me to be quite cautious of stairways. His hanging back two steps behind other walking companions has kept him from further accidents. He has not adopted a trusty walking-cane yet. Never understood why.
My father also inherited the disease. His numerous broken bones began quite early in his twenties. But his cowboy behavior was the beginning of many woes. The more dangerous approach for him has been using a cane, a GPS device and walking in an old community with various pitfalls and oddball curbs. His favorite saying is “Concrete doesn’t give!” (Meaning budge, move, or dent.) Bones are no match for concrete. The hard cement wins every time. We are all a little glad his GPS will not hold a charge anymore. The hospital doesn’t need anymore of his hard earned money.
So how did this rib-thing happen anyhow? I was headed back to bed when the doggie gate I had placed in front of the door greeted me and the rug under my left foot slipped backwards. My ribs hit the gate with full hug force. The blow took away my breathe and the rest is history that I don’t want to repeat. Needless to say, I have already planned to give the gates away. My memory doesn’t serve me any better than my eyesight, so tripping triumphs can’t exist in my home anymore!
The puppy that caused me to think that I needed the gates in the first place has been spending more time outdoors. She may have learned something about compassion from the whole experience. Gentle, and sit NEXT to me are now part of our vocabulary.
Those eyes! Usually what people say when looking at a gorgeous baby. Or blue eyes that are deep pools of water. Well, for those of us with RP those eyes are sometimes not very helpful. So getting a dog that will truly be a “watch” dog is a great goal of mine. Teaching “those eyes” to be my eyes might just break me-literally! I sure hope we can learn from our mistakes and keep my home a safe-zone from now on.
Not just for children
When the drip-drops woke me up this morning I knew getting out the door would be something like pulling a stubborn donkey to his feet. Honey sits down and digs in her haunches at the first sign of raindrops. I thought I was allergic to rain. She is worse!
So today her food went into a mini-pop bottle. That kept her busy -oh, about five minutes! Then I was quite tempted to give her a sleeping pill so that I could go back to bed. Not really, just tempting, that’s all.
The dishes are all finally washed from our family gathering on Sunday. I know okay, I know I am am really lazy if it takes me two days. But the meat dish had juice in it to take to the cats in the barn. And I kept forgetting. I only feed them once a day, it wouldn’t be fair to take it down at a different time.
So the dishes are done and the cookies are made. Bother, now I have more dishes to do! What’s next? Rainy day project lists are always for little kids. What about me? Can’t I have a rainy day list?
Most people go clean a closet or do some baking or paint the dining room. Perhaps the best option for me is to just clean the counters off! Cleaning isn’t very fun though. And anything that I do on a rainy day HAS to be fun. I use to curl up with a talking book and crochet. For hours… since the chiropractor told me I have to take more breaks, I really haven’t gotten any crochet projects done. It takes hours-hello.
The cookies are made and I didn’t even snitch one. Yet. So now it’s back to the cleaning list. I did get the floor in the bedroom swept, with a little honey-help. She ate the lid to some container. I threw it away after coaxing her to give it up for a treat. That wasn’t easy. I mean sweeping the floor. This crazy RP gets me dizzy often as I loose my place in the room. Luckily after t sweeps the dust pan was clean on the third swipe.
Rainy days are meant for inside activities. Playing hall-fetch didn’t last very long either, so now that the sun came out it is time to go get our feet wet again. I really don’t like wet feet. So forgive me for this rubber boos and shorts fashion statement.
Now that I have spent the morning writing perhaps I should actually make that list. Let’s see…
To all those with a real diagnosis o ADHD my apologies for this distracted by a four month old puppy writing. And good luck on that list!
