I wouldn't exactly call it a slamming on of the brakes....it was more like a moderate, sustained application. At any rate, the result was the same. You see, Baby Growndy Up Girl was driving behind me, as we went in search of the perfect little black skirt for her. As we turned into the parking lot, I was forced to stop rather hurriedly, to avoid hitting the car that without so much as a glance from it's driver pulled straight out of a parking space, right in front of me... then....BOOM. Baby Growndy Up Girl missed the fact that my car was no longer moving, and she rear ended my beautiful Gypsy Rose (recently sprung from the car hospital for the repairs needed as a result of the incident which shall not be named), with the force of something between a bump and a slam. I would argue that it was more of a slam, and less of a bump, seeing as how every muscle in my back and neck has now frozen up and I am in dire need of a muscle relaxer, but be that as it may, we quickly parked and jumped out to asses the damage. Remarkably, neither car bore a scratch, so maybe it WAS more of a bump, and I am just a wuss. After a mild lecture from me on the importance of being alert when driving, and striking out on the black skirt in the Boho store, we headed to the second shop on our list. No black skirt was found, but when we exited, she was the new owner of a cute tee, a new pair of pants and a dress (Happy Early Birthday to my girl). There we parted ways. One big hug and two I love yous later, I headed to my car. I was answering a text - vehicle still in the parking spot, like a good girl - when my phone rang.
It was Baby Growndy Up Girl, and I couldn't tell whether she was laughing, crying or both. I managed to make out the words "I didn't hit another car..." "Well....what did you do then?" I mean really....we had only been apart for a minute - what trouble could she have gotten into?
This might be a good time to insert that BGU Girl has always been a really good sport about the fact that she drives an antiquated boat of a Grandma car...a BUICK for goodness sakes. She calls him Gunter, and is appreciative that he gets her where she needs to go.
"Mom", she gasps...."I was trying to unlock my car...I put the key in the door, but it wouldn't unlock. I took it out, tried again, and then jiggled the door handle. Behind me came this old man's voice". "What the hell are you doing, young lady?!", he shouted. BGU girl was unwittingly trying to break into Grumpy Old Grandpa's car, having mistaken it for her own. "Oh Lordy...what did you do then", I inquired, trying to suppress the belly laugh that was starting deep within. "Well, I just kind of yelped, and ran off", she replied.
As I hung up, convulsing with laughter, I said to myself.....well, sometimes, Karma is a swift mistress - that is her payback for hitting my car and causing these spasms in my back.(OK, fine...I will own up to it - perhaps not the most Motherly of responses)
Off I went to the Teeter. Produce was my first stop. The aisles were full of people pushing buggies back and forth, jamming the up and down sides, going the wrong way and stalling in the middle....OH NO!! I silently began berating myself....this is THURSDAY....I try to avoid the Teeter like the plague on Thursday because it is SENIOR SHOPPING DAY. I always leave angry on Thursday, because in the last year, the Cashiers have taken to automatically giving me the senior discount - without even inquiring as to my date of birth...the Senior Discount is for people 60 and OVER. I am nowhere NEAR that....alright, FINE...I am not quite there YET.
I took a calming breath and persevered. I wanted the Pork Loin that was on Special, and I needed some cream for my coffee....and Asparagus to go with the Pork Loin. The required items being secured, I headed to the checkout. I scanned the Cashiers. I selected the kind looking new girl. I anxiously watched the register screen....and AAUUUUGGGGGHHHH....there it was. The discount....she entered it without so much as batting an eye - and I was wearing my best tie dye shirt and super cute earrings! To add insult to injury, as she put the last bag back in the buggy, she said it. "Can we take these to your car, DEAR?". Before I could utter a terse No THANK you, the Malibu Barbie that was unloading her kombucha and Kale in the neighboring lane fixed me with a knowing smile (displaying blindingly perfect white teeth) and gave me a cock of a perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to say "You really should take her up on the offer of help, DEAR".....I stood as tall as my muscle spasms would allow, gathered my dignity, and exited stage right. As I stewed in my aging juices, I could almost hear Baby Growndy Up Girl saying with a shake of her head," Laugh at me, will ya? Karma is a swift Mistress!"
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Sunday, July 1, 2018
Blessed and Messed
Yesterday morning, I had coffee with some friends. Laughter and conversation were abundant, and as these ladies were talking at the same time, one ended her sentence with "I am blessed" - the other "I am a mess" (referring to the flake of the delicious pastry we may or may not have been consuming).
You know how I love rhyming words....Blessed and messed. Those words have swirled around in my poor stroke addled brain ever since.
They really describe my week.
On Monday I took my beautiful Gypsy Rose car to the body shop, for the repair of the damage from the accident which shall not be named. Then, I waved off a beloved group of people heading to serve on the mission field...in Zambia.....where they will be spending time with my Peace Corps Boy/Man...able to hug him, assess his degree of health and happiness, and did I mention hug him? Messed.
On Tuesday, John and I marked our 30th wedding anniversary. Impossible to believe. Blessed.
On Friday, we woke early, to get a jump start on the fun. John had the day off, and we were going to celebrate Tuesday's anniversary. First stop, my nail place. Kudos to John for suggesting it. (Full disclosure - my feet were in rough shape - I was ruining the new sheets with my cracked heels, and I may or may not have scratched his legs once or twice lately.) After my pedicure, I decided to get my eyebrows done - seeing as how I was already there, and they were approaching giant caterpillar shape and size.
The lovely young woman stirred the wax and applied the strips. Before she yanked, she took my face in her delicate hands and murmured. "You need chin waxed", and rip - off came the wayward bits of eyebrow. After I caught my breath I stammered, "Beg pardon"? (As any good southern women would). "Chin. Need wax"...after further examination, she amended her statement - "Face. Face need waxed". (Full disclosure - I hate the fine hair that has sprouted on my face as I have gotten older, and nothing sends me running from a room faster than one of my daughters giving me the high sign. You know, the one where they discreetly point to their chin. That is code for - EEWWWW, you have a long white hair sprouting from your chin). "I.....well....ummm." I managed to get out - equal parts insulted and intrigued. "You can DO that? Won't it hurt?!" "For you, worth the pain" she responded. So, that is how I found myself slathered in hot wax - looking for all the world like Emmet Kelly with a clown beard. Riiiiiip...rip, rip, rip. I rose a good two inches off of the chair, and to quote Wanda Sykes - "Everything went white". It is not an exaggeration to say that when I finally made it to a mirror, I was astonished and mightily relieved to see that I still had a couple of layers of skin remaining. (Full disclosure - I love the hair free look, and I will be subjecting myself to this monthly torture from now on!) Blessed AND Messed.
The week was bookended with Two post stroke victories that I long felt would not be gained. Last Sunday, I had my first audition since the strokes, and am proud and astonished to announce that I will once again be treading the boards in an upcoming production of Steel Magnolias. Today, after 17 months and 2 weeks of having completely lost my singing voice, I sang in Church - 3 weeks after regaining the ability to sing. I mangled the last 2 measures, because I couldn't sing through my tears of joy.
It was a voice not quite as strong, agile and reliable as in days gone by. But I will take it. It's loss was so grievous to me, that I didn't speak of it to many. It was the thing I mourned the most - hands down the worst thing that the strokes took from me. I am so grateful that it has been restored to me. Blessed.
Each day this week, I have struggled with my anger at the state of our world - our country. Appalled by the mistreatment of the Stranger, the child, the other....Disgusted by the twisting of scripture to support things that are the very antithesis of the Bible I read. Flummoxed as to how we came to be so polarized and lost as a nation.....as people....as Children of God. Messed.....So Messed.
Messed and Blessed. Blessed and Messed. Rhyming words that not only describe my week, but life as a whole. In the immortal words of the poet Stephen Sondheim "Good times and bum times, I've seen them all and my dear - I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here. I've run the gamut A-Z, three cheers and dammit, C'est La Vie, I got through all of last year, and I'm here....look who's here....I'm still here". Blessed and Messed. I'll take it.
You know how I love rhyming words....Blessed and messed. Those words have swirled around in my poor stroke addled brain ever since.
They really describe my week.
On Monday I took my beautiful Gypsy Rose car to the body shop, for the repair of the damage from the accident which shall not be named. Then, I waved off a beloved group of people heading to serve on the mission field...in Zambia.....where they will be spending time with my Peace Corps Boy/Man...able to hug him, assess his degree of health and happiness, and did I mention hug him? Messed.
On Tuesday, John and I marked our 30th wedding anniversary. Impossible to believe. Blessed.
On Friday, we woke early, to get a jump start on the fun. John had the day off, and we were going to celebrate Tuesday's anniversary. First stop, my nail place. Kudos to John for suggesting it. (Full disclosure - my feet were in rough shape - I was ruining the new sheets with my cracked heels, and I may or may not have scratched his legs once or twice lately.) After my pedicure, I decided to get my eyebrows done - seeing as how I was already there, and they were approaching giant caterpillar shape and size.
The lovely young woman stirred the wax and applied the strips. Before she yanked, she took my face in her delicate hands and murmured. "You need chin waxed", and rip - off came the wayward bits of eyebrow. After I caught my breath I stammered, "Beg pardon"? (As any good southern women would). "Chin. Need wax"...after further examination, she amended her statement - "Face. Face need waxed". (Full disclosure - I hate the fine hair that has sprouted on my face as I have gotten older, and nothing sends me running from a room faster than one of my daughters giving me the high sign. You know, the one where they discreetly point to their chin. That is code for - EEWWWW, you have a long white hair sprouting from your chin). "I.....well....ummm." I managed to get out - equal parts insulted and intrigued. "You can DO that? Won't it hurt?!" "For you, worth the pain" she responded. So, that is how I found myself slathered in hot wax - looking for all the world like Emmet Kelly with a clown beard. Riiiiiip...rip, rip, rip. I rose a good two inches off of the chair, and to quote Wanda Sykes - "Everything went white". It is not an exaggeration to say that when I finally made it to a mirror, I was astonished and mightily relieved to see that I still had a couple of layers of skin remaining. (Full disclosure - I love the hair free look, and I will be subjecting myself to this monthly torture from now on!) Blessed AND Messed.
The week was bookended with Two post stroke victories that I long felt would not be gained. Last Sunday, I had my first audition since the strokes, and am proud and astonished to announce that I will once again be treading the boards in an upcoming production of Steel Magnolias. Today, after 17 months and 2 weeks of having completely lost my singing voice, I sang in Church - 3 weeks after regaining the ability to sing. I mangled the last 2 measures, because I couldn't sing through my tears of joy.
It was a voice not quite as strong, agile and reliable as in days gone by. But I will take it. It's loss was so grievous to me, that I didn't speak of it to many. It was the thing I mourned the most - hands down the worst thing that the strokes took from me. I am so grateful that it has been restored to me. Blessed.
Each day this week, I have struggled with my anger at the state of our world - our country. Appalled by the mistreatment of the Stranger, the child, the other....Disgusted by the twisting of scripture to support things that are the very antithesis of the Bible I read. Flummoxed as to how we came to be so polarized and lost as a nation.....as people....as Children of God. Messed.....So Messed.
Messed and Blessed. Blessed and Messed. Rhyming words that not only describe my week, but life as a whole. In the immortal words of the poet Stephen Sondheim "Good times and bum times, I've seen them all and my dear - I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here. I've run the gamut A-Z, three cheers and dammit, C'est La Vie, I got through all of last year, and I'm here....look who's here....I'm still here". Blessed and Messed. I'll take it.
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