Above the Clouds

(28 July, 2011 12:56am)

   Okay, so the title doesn’t have really anything to do with gardening, but it’s still nature themed.  And I’m now officially on vacation, so bite me.  And what an interesting start to a vacation if ever there was one.  This morning my puppy got into my purse while I was in the shower and chewed up a bottle of anxiety medication.  I’m not sure if she actually got any pills, but I called the Pet Poison Control hotline just the same.  Turns out the cure is hydrogen peroxide and monitoring from home.  Who knew peroxide was the doggie version of Ipecac Syrup?  She was NOT happy… but hopefully she’ll learn.  And before anyone bitches about how I carelessly left it out for her to get it, my purse was on a table, the pills in the bottom of it, with a bunch of books, her training collar, and it’s remote on TOP of my purse. 

     I was able to get everything finished, cleaned, organized, and such by early this afternoon so that I’m not returning home to a million things.  It sort of defeats the purpose of going on vacation to lower stress levels if you leave for a few days then come back right into the middle of it all. 

    So here it is, about 12:30am, I’ve been here for a little over 2 and a half hours and I’m only beginning to unwind.  I have my airport security incident and rough flight behind me, clothes, makeup, and meds put away, and listening to the “City of Angels” soundtrack.  The flight did get me thinking a bit, though.

     On my last few flights, there were usually small kids who were unhappy to say the least.  This time was just the opposite.  I had a cranky adult sitting next to the window in my row with 2 small kids who treated the take-off and landing as if it was the coolest amusement park ride they’ve ever experienced.  Even the most nervous about flying found themselves smiling.  I tend to turn into a bit of a kid as soon as I see the tarmac.  There’s something about powerful airplanes I’ve always loved.  From the 747s to military aircraft.  I get that from my late grandfather.  It’s the design, the power, the beauty and engineering of them that I can sit there at the terminal and watch them for hours.  Then comes the inevitable take-off.  Going from ground level to 10,000 feet in less than 5 minutes at 400+mph is just awesome even if it is just simple physics.  Try blowing across the top of a flat sheet of paper sometime… This flight was one of the roughest I have ever experienced.  From the time of take-off until we skidded for a bit upon landing in the pouring rain we flew through turbulence.  Only the landing was a bit freaky.  But it was over before we even realized it.

     I haven’t really seen my aunt in a few years.  We talk on the phone and email, see each other for a few brief hours around the holidays, or when she’s here for a quick visit.  Those few hours are generally filled with superficial conversations, catching up on anything big going on (new boyfriends, pregnancies in the family, etc.)  I spent a lot of time with her growing up and have looked up to her my entire life.  She was that intelligent, powerful, hard working/hard charging corporate woman in the 1980s.  That stuffed shirt men’s world didn’t exist for her.  She proved she was every bit as good if not better than her male peers.  (Not to mention drove cooler cars) So I can’t wait to get some real quality time with her these next few days.  She is working the next 2 days, but we have dinner plans while I have plans to just plain RELAX all day.  I don’t have to get out of my pj’s if I don’t feel like it.  I may or may not have internet access from my laptop (hence it being saved this way then posted), but that’s fine.  I can catch up on reading, meditate, or just do nothing at all.  And for the first time in ages, I’m almost calm.  This is a very long overdue vacation and I intend to enjoy it.

Wilting

     So, it's 130am and I'm still very far from sleep.  I actually got about 7 hours of sleep last night and woke up 2 hours before my alarm this morning.  I'm noticing a pattern here:  2 days up, at least a few hours of sleep on the 3rd day.  A full night if I'm really lucky.  So I did what I always do when I get up or give up on trying to get sleep:  I start my coffee pot, read my emails, check out the school's website for anything I might need to know for the Fall semester, sign onto Facebook, play a few minutes of the current game addiction, and start my day.  First thing I see this morning is this on several status posts: 

I was going to complain about how hot it was today, but then I realized:
1. it isn't 109 degrees;
2. I'm not 5,700+ miles from home;
3. I'm not dressed in a full BDU uniform and helmet and carrying 70+ lbs.;
4. there is very little chance that anyone will shoot at me or that I might drive over a bomb in the road today!
Thanks to all who serve.
Repost so they all know how thankful we are for our Freedom!

     Keep in mind that we've been dealing with triple-digit temperatures and heat indices lately.  I have yet to post on FB about this wretched weather and humidity.  My hair pretty much says it all.  Of course the first thing I did when I read this was resist the urge to cry.  I was kind of engaged (he asked, but promised a beautiful ring when he had the money, but neither happened) to a Marine who was deployed to Iraq 2 years ago.  It's amazing how fast memories and feelings can return with the Tiniest little thing.  I put myself through absolute hell and went through absolute hell for 9 months.  I give an enormous amount of credit to military wives/husbands with or without children.  Under the best of circumstances it's hard.  Trying to play the peacemaker to a severely dysfunctional family and their soldier while dealing with an injury that requires surgery but never healed right and coping with an ill parent hospitalized for a life altering problem, knowing he has at least one other girlfriend on the side, listening to constant abuse from his father but afraid to not answer the phone because it might be "that call," and just getting through day to day things is damn near impossible.  But I did it.  I knew he was cheating just before he left, caught him cheating again during training, and received copies of emails, including X-rated chats and "I love yous" while he was overseas.  Yet I stayed.  My biggest fear was that if I tried walking away or brought up any major problems, he would be distracted from his job and end up getting himself killed.  This was even though I knew he spent most of his days shuffling paperwork in an office while watching movies then getting off to play video games and watch more movies or tv until he went to sleep.  Not exactly a tough gig.  But there was always that danger present, so I remained silent.  I had already been blacklisted by his dysfunctional family for speaking up about his father's sexual abuse toward me and his lack of even trying to stand beside me.  I should just do what they do:  stay silent, pretend it never happened, plaster a Prozac smile on my face, and carry on.  I can't even watch a television commercial promoting a new show about these wars, or praising our brave men and women, or announcing the homecoming or death of a soldier without feeling like I'm going to be sick.  Even now.  I didn't even get a hug or kiss when he arrived home because his father wouldn't allow it and for the first time ever, my ex was made to feel like he finally mattered to that monster.  Even if that "pride" was nothing more than a way to gain attention from people, a way to profit for his "stress" and the fact that he actually did something that monster wanted him to do.  And I was left with nothing but difficult decisions to make, pain, and scars I don't know are ever going to heal. 

     I did realize today that I'm no longer angry with my ex.  Yes, he cheated on me with more people in the 3 and a half years we were together than I've dated in the last 16 years.  Yes, he constantly made me feel inadequate if not outright worthless more often than not.  And yes, I can't honestly say that he meant anything he ever said or did.  Part of me wants to believe I meant something to him or he wouldn't have stayed with me so long, but when I think about everything that he did and how horribly he hurt me for no other reason than his own gratification or familial and peer acceptance, I honestly don't know.  The night he left my house when we decided we were going to take some time and think about what we wanted to do, he promised he was only a call or text away and would always love me.  Yet as soon as he pulled out of my driveway, he went straight into his psychotic, immature, manipulative, disgusting ex's bed.  And the beds of every other person that acknowledged he existed.  He blew me off and ruined my birthday, never even answered a call, text, or email when I held my dog for the last time and she died in my arms, then ended our relationship in an email on FB blaming ME! 

     I have absolutely no idea why I stayed with him for so long.  But I realized today that while I'm no longer angry at him, I'm angry at myself.  Why did I stay so long having learned my lessons years earlier the hard way about abuse and cheating?  How stupid am I to do such a stupid thing?  And then, after all of that, begin a relationship with a guy I was introduced to by a friend of 16 years who said she knew him.... we started out as friends; we'd trade sarcastic jokes and jabs at each other online, spend hours talking in instant messenger (he was in the Army stationed in Iraq... that should have been my first clue to run), then began spending every night talking on Skype shortly after my ex sent that email.  He capitalized on a horrible situation and preyed on my vulnerability.  He knew what to say, how to say it, when to say it, and seemed like he genuinely cared.  He bought me my favourite flowers for V-Day, a small, personal gift for my birthday, made sure he told me how much he loved me at every opportunity, listened when I spoke.. but that too was a lie.  Even though he was legally separated, he was trying to make up with his wife.  Plus he had several girlfriends in addition to me that he lied about.  They were all just friends from school, wives of other soldiers, etc.  And I saw none of it coming until he too, sent me an email.  Even then he couldn't be honest.  He "will forever love me... I'm an amazing woman that he doesn't want to lose...he's doing this to protect himself from his 'bitch and psycho of a soon to be ex wife..."  All of it was a lie.  And I regret everything that happened between us.  But I can't change the past.  I've accepted it and forgiven them for being such hurtful, sorry males, but I can't find a way to move on from it.  How do you learn to trust people after that?  I find myself thinking, re-thinking, and questioning everything everyone says or does that hasn't been part of my life for years.  And it's not fair to others.  Or myself.  

     Then there was this afternoon and evening.  Back in April I was stopped for having a headlamp out in a ticket happy town.  It had been out since that Friday, but I immediately went that afternoon to buy the new light only for it to start raining that night and discover late the following afternoon that my father, the one with all the tools, didn't have the right size socket.  He either left it at a job site (something that's not all that uncommon with small, rarely used sockets) or I had lost it the last time I replaced my headlights.  No shops are open on Sundays, so I was going to take it to a shop the following morning.  Naturally, I was pulled over Sunday evening on my way home from dinner.  I had no real problem with the $54 ticket other than having to pay a $54 ticket, but I didn't find my car's registration card immediately.  The officer said he was going to run my license then come back to see if I found it.  I found it buried in the back of my glove box the moment he opened his patrol car's door.  Now I was taught that if you get pulled over, shut the radio off, turn your interior light on, and keep your hands where the officer can see you at all times, not moving unless asked to.  If you watch the news at all, you'll realize there is no such thing as a "routine traffic stop."  So I wasn't about to try to get out of my car to hand it to him.  With my luck, I'd end up getting shot, so I just waited for him to return.  I guess he decided that since he was already in his car, he would just write me up a 2nd ticket for failure to produce while he was there.  When he handed me the 2 tickets, he saw my registration in my hand and said to just call, plead not guilty, show the prosecutor my paperwork, and the ticket would be dismissed (with court fees, of course).  That's exactly what I tried to do the next day.  When I read the ticket number to the incompetent court clerk the next day and said I was pleading not guilty, she informed me that there was a second ticket as if I didn't know.  I simply explained that I was going to pay it the following week either online or in person since I was driving with a light out.  It turns out she entered nothing into the computer so I received a summons in the mail about a missed court date.  By that time, I had already paid the light ticket, so I went in person to find out when I was supposed to appear.  That date was tonight.  I spent the morning driving to and from campus to take care of tuition paperwork, then the afternoon at the doctor's office.  After having drawn 18 vials of blood (yes, 18... that's not a typo), he wanted me to try out a new medication when I got home.  There was an excellent chance I would be in no shape to appear in front of a judge, so I stopped on my way home to try to reschedule.  And I was not only told no, but yelled at because it was not only an inconvenience to them, but "too old" of a ticket.  I was tired, hot, in pain, and just plain out of patience by the time I showed up in her office.  She was the same one who screwed up my paperwork in the first place, yet here she is getting nasty with me.  So I told her in no uncertain terms exactly how I felt.  (She was the same incompetent jackass who screwed up and had me arrested like I was some kind of drug dealer or murderer over a speeding ticket 10 years ago.)  I was just a bit out of patience.  Damn me for making someone actually do their job, but double damn me for trying to make her do it right.  I was told to show up an hour before court if I wanted to speak to the prosecutor.  Traffic court was expected to start at 7, so I showed up at 6:10 only to find the doors to the building locked.  It's 95 degrees, heat indices still over 100, disgustingly humid, and we're expected to stand outside until who knows when.  The officer let her in when she showed up at 6:30, but we weren't allowed to enter the building until 7.  It's been 10 years since I've been to traffic court.  Now we have to go through security screenings just to enter the building.  I was definitely glad I didn't wear a belt, because we even had to take those off to go through the metal detector.  I was amazed at what people find appropriate to wear in court.  Or look like, for that matter.  There was a young guy, probably about 20, in an expensive dress shirt, tie, slacks, and huge hickeys all over his neck.  Classy.  Then another kid showed up in knee length denim shorts 10 sizes too big for him so that they sagged below his crack (a pretty common theme among many there) and a shirt that was stained and torn apart in places.  He wasn't coming from work.  Turns out that's how he dressed when he showed up with his mother.  One woman was asked to change her outfit since it looked like she had just left a Playboy party (and I wish I had taken a picture of the officer's face when her mother wasn't dressed any better), and so on.  As I'm standing in line, there was an 18 year old girl behind me who whined about everything.  She was pretty familiar with how traffic court works, but has yet to learn how to drive or get her car fixed.  All the while, her mother stood there playing Solitaire on her cell phone.  If there weren't 5 armed officers right there, I probably would have slapped her.  I chose to tell her what I thought about her incessant whining and her lack of respect for personal space.  The cops just laughed at her.  Nothing was started until 7:45 and court itself started just after 8pm.  So I got the ticket dismissed, paid my $35 court fee, and came home.  Next time I think I'll take my chances at getting shot if this ever happens again. 

Fertilizer

     Fertilizer is excellent for gardens.  It adds the right ph to the soil, helps flowers bloom larger, vegetables and fruits grow bigger.  But one thing you can't help think about is what it really is.  There's 3 kinds, really--a myriad of toxic chemicals out of a box or spray bottle to water your plants (I only use natural Orchid food for mine, but I'm looking for something a bit healthier than Miracle-Gro when I water the plants and feed them), then there's the 2 rankest kind--one is derived from crap.  Literally.  What cows and other animals excrete.  Then there's compost--essentially biodegradable garbage.  I bring this up because sometimes you have to look at the source of something to figure out if it is worth it.  In the past week, I have been called many things, including a scumbag.  Normally, I probably would have been a little angry because most name-callers don't have enough guts to say it to my face, but use public forums like facebook, or the old-fashioned way--gossiping.  In this case the sources were essentially fertilizer.  No matter how hard you try, you can't polish shit.  Well, according to Mythbusters you can, but no matter how shiny it is, it's still shit.  Then there's just overall garbage.  It smells bad, attracts insects, and you generally try to avoid it when you can.  I mention this because the sources are not only the basis of fertilizer just because of their actions, but I can't help but laugh at those who hang out with pedophiles, rapists, women beaters, drug addicts, and other such lowlifes actually called me a scumbag.  And why?  I have no idea.  I suppose it makes a person with a very miserable life feel better to try to bring others down to their level.  It's by no means an excuse, but at least it's a bit understandable.  I mean, if you have to try to make someone else look horrible to make yourself feel better and look good in front of others, what, exactly, does that say about you?  So when you're dealing with selfish, hurtful people, it might make a bit easier if you look at the source.  It is not our place in this world to judge others, but there's an awful lot of judging going on.

     I know it's a difficult if not impossible for some to think about what they say or do and the effects on others before they do something stupid.  Just think about how much better this world would be if people began to do that... Just a few random thoughts. 

Another Brilliant Idea

      I think this might be a record--2 days in a row writing.  I'm working on only an hour sleep, broken into a half hour nap at 530am and another half hour nap at noon.  For the life of me, I couldn't sleep last night.  And true to form, the longer I was awake, the worse the pain got (in part due to a huge low coming through the area), the harder it was to fall asleep.  At 430, the furry little demon came downstairs as I was watching the horrible newscasters on ABC and wanted to cuddle.  It's a rarity for her to be sweet and cuddly.  She's more of a hyper, gotta run, gotta play, gotta chew kind of puppy.  Even when you're petting her she's dancing and jumping, so I found myself relaxing.  That is until she heard my mother get out of her bedroom and up the stairs she went, pouncing, running laps, and playing tug of war with her clothes and shoes.  Within ten seconds of my parents leaving, just as I was starting to doze off finally, on the bed she leaps, barking, pouncing, stealing the blankets, sticking her nose in my face, licking, and raring to play.  I grabbed my awesome new robe (Bath and Bodyworks weren't lying when they advertised "worlds softest robe."  It looks and feels like something you'd find in a posh hotel) poured a cup of coffee, and napped on the couch for a half hour after hiding treats for her all over the house.  I decided to skip the resistance training this morning as well as the yoga (which I have to take yet another break from because of an ear infection throwing off my balance--something that's kind of required when doing yoga), but did my usual stretches and a 15 minute workout with my light weights.  Then it was time for my other latest experiment--fruit smoothies.  Now that we have a blender that crushes up ice very well without leaving huge chunks and all the amazing fruit in season at the local farmer's markets, I figure it was not only cheaper, but much healthier than the fast food places.  Yesterday's raspberry-peach didn't turn out too bad, but could have used a little more peach in it.  This morning I wasn't hungry as usual, so I used strawberries, blueberries, a bit of pomegranate juice, and some tofu.  Yes, tofu.  It actually gives it a perfect texture without all the extra sugar, fat, and calories of frozen yogurt.  And you can't taste it.  Now I'm trying to think of what to add to pineapple, since we have a whole one sitting on the kitchen counter just begging to be used.  

      Finally, I broke down and started the new resistance training program.  Holy soreness, batman!  I only made it through 20 minutes of the "warm-up" exercises with the bands before my muscles finally revolted.  And that was at the beginner level bands!  When I read the enclosed manual yesterday and checked out the bands (which can be changed to 7 different intensity levels) it looked and felt easy enough.  Kind of like when I started yoga.  After watching the video, I didn't think I would make it through the first session, but it was sooo much easier than I expected it to be with exception of my flexibility level at the time.  I assumed the training would be a great complement to yoga since it not only tones, but strengthens all muscles and joints.  While I still believe it is, easy is NOT how I would describe it.  But like with everything else, I'll get there even if I have to take it much slower than I anticipated.  I can say this--I highly recommend it even if the first few sessions are going to hurt like hell.  But if it means I can return to wearing heels again, fit back into half my wardrobe, and be able to walk and survive a day with tolerable pain, it's worth it.  But for now, it's motrin and heating pads. 

Watching the Grass Grow

    I can't believe it's more than halfway through July already.  Two weeks before the end of another strenuous semester, I began a "bucket list" of sorts for this summer when I found it difficult to focus on the papers and presentations I had to finish up.  Upon checking my school's email on Friday to see if parking passes were available for purchase yet (Yes, we are charged $75 a year for parking in addition to an enormous tuition bill), the main website proudly announced "5 weeks left!"  Damn.  That's it?  Only 5 weeks left until the semester starts up again.  While I have done some things on my list, most of it has been untouched for one reason or excuse after another.  I cannot afford to go to Washington, DC in a few weeks for the annual APA (American Psychological Association for those who don't know).  The cheapest hotel rates I could find ran about $175 a night (plus $20 a day just to park, plus internet, plus mass transportation.. you get the idea).  DC is only a few hour drive for me, so the trip itself is affordable travelwise, but somehow I doubt that some of the most brilliant minds in the field of psychology would appreciate me sleeping in my car.  I also will not be able to afford my road trip to Indiana to visit my sis.  On the bright side, if our President pulls his head out of his ass and we receive our monthly disability stipends next month, she may be coming out here for a short vacation.  That would mean a trip to the Jersey Shore (something still undone on my list) and depending on the cost, a very long overdue fishing trip. 

        I am going to visit my aunt in Orlando in just under two weeks (Thank you Aunt Sharon for getting me the hell out of here!) so I will be able to cross that off my list.  There aren't words to describe how excited I am to take a short break from around here, spend time with a woman I've spent my entire life looking up to, and just getting a chance to unwind without constant noise, bustling, schedules, and half-finished projects.  

     Also this summer I have at least made it to NYC (ok, so it's only about an hour or so train ride, but still,) to take my nephew to the American Museum of Natural History.  I wish I had the money and the time because I would have loved to stay for a few days to show him Central Park, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Cloisters, and a few other "must see" learning expeditions.  We only had a few hours, but to his delight there was a special exhibit on the worlds largest dinosaurs.  Even after some whining about how "girlie" the butterfly exhibit I intended to see, he changed his mind the second we walked in the tiny room full of hundreds of the beautiful little creatures.  One even landed right on his head, much to the amusement of those around us. 

    I can also cross off my list books I intended to read, which I'm currently in the middle of The Bell Curve, cleaned out and have almost reorganized my office/workout room, found my art portfolio and began sketching again.  I will have to admit that I'm not half as bad as I thought I would be not having picked up a pencil, pastel, or charcoal in almost ten years, but I'm still nowhere near the caliber of my mother, or depending on the subject matter, my brother.  I spent a few days down the lake, cursing my genetics for a wretched sunburn.  My father can spend 10 minutes in the sun and turn a dark, beautiful, almost olive toned colour.  My mother can spend days in the sun and develop an amazing tan.  Me?  I develop freckle on top of freckle so bad that I almost look like one of those puzzle art pieces from the early 90s--you know the ones that if you stare blankly for a few seconds a 3-D picture appears?  Or I burn.  And I mean dark red almost purple.  Even with sunblock.  And if I am lucky enough to develop a bit of a tan, it only lasts for a day or so.  Damn those Northern European genes.  I still haven't given up entirely on getting rid of my Casper-like hue, but I'm not entirely beyond looking into an insta-tan spray that won't turn me pumpkin orange.  And while admittedly part of my desire to tan even some is due to vanity, I've discovered it also helps cover up and heal bruises.  I have so many bruises I look like a domestic violence poster-child.  Some are from my dog, most I can't explain.  And almost all are on my legs, giving me yet another reason to not wear shorts.  Not to mention the nightmare finding a decent looking pair of shorts.  In preparing for my trip to Florida, I once again braved shopping for the damn things.  And once again, I returned home without any and frustrated.  For once, bathing suit shopping was actually a pleasure (as styles seem to have turned more towards 1940s-early 1960s as opposed to the stringy, barely covering styles of the past few years).  I was actually able to find not one, but two suits that are very Marilyn Monroe-esque.  Shorts, however... I have underwear that covers up more than the latest styles.  Then there's what stores are calling "Bermuda shorts"--tapered pants that fall just below the knees.  Now I'm not huge by any means, but I'm also a far cry from the anorexic, pre-teen runway models.  I have curves.  Yet to try on these monstrosities.. well... imagine the token "hippo lady" in most Disney Pixar films.  All I would need are tacky, oversized sunglasses, a bouffant hairdo, and some kind of clunky, pleather orthotic slip ons to complete the look.

     I am still slowly increasing my workouts, but this recent bout of Lyme has admittedly kicked the crap out of me.  I've been watching what I eat, avoiding things I know cause pain flares, continued stretching and yoga, walking the furry demon when it's not too hot, but I was hoping to have started running again by now.  My biggest problem lies in my feet.  Inserts, being careful of what shoes I wear, weekly pedicures and almost daily soaks has not helped.  Some days I am able to be on my feet moving and walking around for a few hours.  Other days, in less than a half hour, I'm not beyond crawling.  And I don't know what to do.  I'm hoping my specialist can give me some answers this week without having to go through more rounds of oral steroids or cortisone (also steroids) injections.  It's pretty difficult to lose weight when you're put on medication that causes you to gain it.  And just as I start to lose the weight from the previous round of them, I'm put back on the stuff. Hopefully by the time I finish my education, there will be a cure or at the very least, safer, more effective, and longer lasting treatments. 

Dead Flowers.

      Sometimes there is so much to do, a to-do list that seems never-ending, but always being added to, and dealing with typical Murphy's Law mishaps and disasters, it becomes difficult to focus on any one task from beginning to end.  I was supposed to be up super early this morning to hit the swim lanes for a few laps (my latest form of exercise), continue sorting, packing, labeling, and preparing all the goods we are donating to a local charity this Saturday, hopefully get some more reading of my latest summer list Water for Elephants (so far, an excellent read), clean the pet cages, bathe the furry little demon dog, schedule my car repairs with my nephew's step-father, and plant red and orange sunflowers and similar coloured alstromeria.  So far, I have 90% of one box packed full of bed linens and clothing, planted the flowers, cleaned the parakeet cage (which I found something the female absolutely LOVES--being outside--unfortunately, her partner is terrified of it so after finishing their cage, changing their food, water, and fruit, my mother and I spent the afternoon listening to her yell and scream), walked the dog, set up my car's appointment, did the dishes (again), and read two chapters.  

     Lately, I have been slowly losing weight again, making sure I get at least an hour of exercise a day, and will spend between 30-60 minutes at minimum just sitting on my deck or the beach in the sun while reading to help bring up excessively low vitamin D levels.  I have noticed for the first time in many years I am actually developing a real tan--not my usual lobster red to pink sunburn followed by hundreds of freckles while maintaining my Casper-like paleness once the sunburn fades.  I have also noticed an overall lessening of my severe joint and muscular pain.  While I still deal with it every day, it's finally down to a level I can tolerate without having to rely on pain medication.  Well, all except my feet--think the author from the novel Misery having his ankles and feet smashed with a sledgehammer.  Yeah... it's been that bad.  

     In the midst of all of this, I was throwing more "stuff" into a garden I turned into a compost area.  I could neither miss nor believe what I found.  Out of over 200 Tiger Lily plants along the pathway, less than half are still alive.  The rest looked as if someone went sledding down the hill directly over them!  They are crushed, bent, dying, and I have no idea what (or who) could have caused it!  Having picked up a beautiful Star Hydrangea plant the other day, I am almost afraid to plant it for fear it too will suffer a similar fate.  Last month's hail storm tore apart the leaves of my Pink and White Hydrangea, my Lilies, and all of the Hostas.  They look like they have been chewed apart by insects, but are slowly recovering. 

     And just like my poor, hail attacked plants, things are slowly recovering.

When It Rains, It Pours

     So, it looks like I'm going to finish yet another book on my summer reading list tonight.. (I've read Criminal Shadows, Stephen King's "UR" on my mom's Kindle [not a bad short story, but I discovered I'm not too fond of the Kindle], and Rhoda Janzen's Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, the one I'll most likely finish tonight) just this week.  Considering my summer break thus far, I think this is a record for me as of late.  Since spending a bit more time in the sun, I can honestly say most of my joint/bone pain has eased considerably.  I spent 2 days down the lake swimming with my nephew, took him to see "Mr. Popper's Penguins," (mostly because I was entirely too sunburned to even THINK about another day down the lake), and have been thinking of ways in which to entertain him when he's here and the weather is uncooperative.  I've been mildly sunburned less than half a dozen times in the past 10 years, but learned the absolute WORST is having your hands, knees, and feet burned.  I couldn't help but remember my last rafting trip down the Delaware River about 12 years ago when I received 2nd degree sunburn on my back and chest in addition to sunstroke.  While working in a garage, aside from the general pain of the burns, driving was almost impossible.  I almost prefer that to having been burned in places I use constantly.  

       I learned on Sunday evening that my Uncle Warren had passed away at 90 years old, but kept the news to myself due to a party my father threw that day.  Without getting into the odd details of that side of the family, I've only met his wife, my aunt, and stay in semi-regular contact with her and my two cousins (two of her children).  The funeral was held this morning and even though I had never met the man, I have heard enough about him over the last several years to learn he was an amazing, sweet, wonderful man--most of all, he was family.  I was upset by the news, but even more upset that I could not be there for my family this morning since it was over two hours away and my car never would have made the trek.  It goes into the shop this week for transmission repair, then my front brakes and rotors are in need of replacement very shortly after.  

      To add to the list of "dammits," I received a near hysterical phone call from my aunt and Godmother that my grandmother was rushed to the hospital tonight.  Instantly, I was reminded of the times my mother was rushed into the ER, but she is not nearly as old as my grandmother.  Fear and panic do not begin to describe even the surface.  The worst part is having to wait until the morning to find out test results, how long she's going to be admitted (if at all), and preparing to drive to the hospital as soon as we know anything.  

     And, since it IS me, the guilt always shows.  I feel guilty that I was unable to be there for my extended family this morning and even more guilty that for the first time in ages, I was having a great dinner with an old guy friend when I received the call from my aunt.  Driving to meet my parents at over 100 miles an hour since I could not initially reach my father on his cell, I blasted my stereo in an attempt to keep calm.  Then the "bad thoughts" crept in.  After one possible date fell through on Monday due to dumb luck on my part, I was on kind of a date when once again, something happens and I have to cut things short and rush off.  While those thoughts were brief and fleeting, I still cannot help but feel awful for them even popping into my head.  I would like to believe that in times like these, such brief, inappropriate thoughts happen to everyone at some point.  

     I am also worried about an amazing woman with whom I've had the privilege to become good friends with.  After a few month respite, she has been feeling worse and her seizures are becoming more frequent.  She is among a very short list of people (including her awesome fiance) that I can text or call at odd hours when I need advice, need to vent, or when I'm just plain worried about stupid things or how they're doing.  Him and her are two people I feel not only blessed to have come into my life, but love them as family.  In many ways, we are in a way family, but we are also a kind of support group for each other.  The three of us know firsthand how hard it is to survive on such small, fixed incomes, among other medical problems, she also has been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, and with exception of seizures that have a known cause (which is not my place to say), our other illnesses may be different in title, but very similar in nature.  We become each others support group in ways.  Being fortunate/unfortunate to still be living at home, I am still in the process of cleaning out "stuff."  What isn't being donated, I have several bags that both of them can use for their apartment as well as some OTC medications he can use but cannot afford at this time.  It's just a matter of waiting for this latest clutsersmuck to calm down some so that I can definitively set aside time to meet up with them.  Without sounding arrogant or bragging, there isn't anything I wouldn't do to help a friend or most of my family out.  And have, even at my own sacrifice.  While I know certain people would never reciprocate (which I will not mention), that's just the way I was raised.  For that, I thank my mother, my aunt in Florida, my grandmother (who I'm praying for right now), and my Babci (great-grandmother) God rest her beautiful soul.  And I know, with so much is going on at the moment, with amazing friends to lean on, I will get through this.  And for that, I love them even more for it.

New Season, New Plans.

I admit I have been slacking in not just the garden department lately, but also in my writings.  I did finally go out and weed the gardens on Saturday, "planted" a few roses, and put a few lilies in my oriental lily garden so when my father had his party on Sunday, there would be at least something colourful to see other than a dozen green, leafy stalks.  I do have to add at least another 2 inches of mulch to the gardens, finish the stone edging, and lay down the river stone out front.  Right now, the weather is a tad too hot and humid to be lugging around 60lb bags of stone and 40lb bags of mulch.  And it's only getting warmer.  I don't see myself planting flowers in the remaining gardens until the fall, when mums are in season simply because I'm not thrilled with too many of the seasonal flowers.  Those I am are extremely finicky or my mother is allergic to them.  

     As far as my latest diet and workout regime, I will admit to feeling somewhat better.  It's barely there, but it's there.  Then I remembered this morning how, about four or five years ago, I would go tanning about 3 days a week.  (Yes, I know just how horrible tanning beds are for you, but it was free, and I had a vacation I didn't want to look like Casper for)  One thing that I remembered about that summer was how much better I felt overall.  The joint pain was minimal, the muscle pain was eased quickly with stretching, and I even looked healthier.  I learned then that even if it's a horrible tanning bed, being in the sun does wonders for your body.  (and not just an awesome tan).  So, I've taken it upon myself to spend as much time outside as I can, even if it's parking my beach chair on the deck for an hour with a book to read.  True to form, I overdid it a tad.  I have spent the past 2 days swimming in the lake with my nephew.  While I was seriously disappointed in just how out of shape I truly am, it was great to see him having so much fun that didn't involve a computer, hand held, or television screen.  And I'm paying for it.  My hands, feet, arms, and knees are sunburned.  I mean lobster-red, puffy, dry, skin searing sunburned.  But I will say this:  the only things that still seriously ache are my head, my feet, and my back.  Meaning I'm able to be up and do more each day as long as I can.  

      After several disheartening, sad, and infuriating events lately (another time for details), keeping busy is one thing I need to do.  It keeps me from thinking.  And trying to not think about everything that's happening/happened isn't such a bad thing at the moment.  For now, it's all I have.  And so to make the best out of a so far beautiful summer.