Whaz in yer foot lockah?

Oh lordy, the next door neighbor boy was playing with Hansolo, and noticed the foot locker in the living room. He is a sweet three year old.

He says to me "you got dead body in there?"

Again he is three....uh, so I say to him. "do you have a dead body in your footlocker at your house?"

"yeah!" he nods. Perfectly natural giving me a look like, crazy woman , where else would you keep a dead body?

So now I have been pondering all evening....are my neighbors killers ....or worse, do I look like someone who would have a body in the foot locker.

Personally, I think I look more like the type that would dismember bodies and make strange alters with the remains. Or sell them on eBay. (wait.. I really HAVE sold body parts on eBay Bwahahahaha!)

I just love this part of town!! It feels my writers mind a steady diet of junk food!

negative mental chatter

Yesterday we touched on changing negative mental chatter. I wanted to give a quick update on that whole issue within myself.

As noted that hypnotherapy session happened on January 11, 1990.

So any guesses how well that worked for me?

We are now 23 years out.

Occasionally in life I will be confronted with something that makes me cringe and curl up inside and try to add negative mental chatter back into my sound track.

A seductive attempt to return to the self defeating/self abusive self that I once stewed in 24/7.

The last attempt was this winter when my thyroid dose was off and I was tinkering with the thyroid-related psychosis.

The barb I tried to inject was "you are too fat to eat"

This is what shook down:

I stepped up on the scale and saw the needle zip to 185.

uggh, Damn thyroid. My weight has been and issue since the RAI treatment in 2008. I took in a heavy breath  and stepped off and looked at myself in the mirror. I glared at me, then leaned in closer.  "you are too fat to eat." I told my reflection. "when you see food you need to repeat  "you are too fat to eat."

I stared me down seeing if the words would jell within me.

My reflection frowned, and shook her head instantly. The self defeating barb bounced off me.

My self esteem and healthy skills have made it difficult to step backwards and return to that time.

All that hard work I and my three therapist did, has indeed paid off. I have successfully installed a functioning BS detector/repulsion grid within my head.

I have no intentions of ever going back.

A healing journey - part 9 1/4 - the stone monument

* as requested. Something about this time of year always makes this resurface. Perhaps its the shedding of the winter clothes to the more revealing summer outfits. And as women, (especially women with scars) this causes the mental chatter to pick up.

Yes I realize we are jumping in to the story at part 9 1/4th ....but it stands alone. This message needs no supporting cast.

I was in Hypnotherapy for 3 years (? maybe 2? I can't recall anymore) to help deal with my PTSD. I worked with two fabulous women who helped me to save my life. I mention one session with them below.

****************************************************************************

She hesitated only a second as she reached her destination to look skyward
then
she launched herself into the air
she flew, her uncombed hair streaming after her
into a giggling heap she tumbled as the ground caught her
once again she careful climbed the old tree and perched on a high branch
surveying her kingdom.
The wind beconned and she spread her wings and took flight
she soared in silence only for a second before
she heard sceaming
reluctantly she landed and looked up.
Her mothers face was red and hot and she was hollering 'LITTLE GIRLS CAN'T FLY!! YOU WILL FALL AND BREAK YOUR NECK!!'
Pectoral muscle wither and her shoulders droop, her wings clipped
another of the skypeople grounded to the earth.
oh yes
the intent was to safe guard her daughter from harm
unknowingly her words cut the childs soul
oh the danger of the words hastly spoken
in fear, anger, fustration...
poisonous bullets that lodge themselves in childrens souls,
slowly leeching there insidious toxins
'you are ugly'
'you are fat'
'I wish you were never born'
'I dont need you'
'I dont want you'
'you will never be any good'
'its all your fault'
'go find somewhere else to live, I dont want you anymore'
'it didn't happen'
'it happens to all young girls'
'get over it'
'I hate you'
'you are no good'
' just like him'
'SHUT UP!'
shut up indeed
how to still those voices, those sound tracks left in ones souls.
here is how I did it...


A healing journey - part 9 1/4 - the stone monument

January 11, 1990

OMG hypnotherapy was WILD!!
we were working on self hate.
They took me on a magic carpet to a nice place and then I was guided up to a
stone monument where all the words and sayings I have been told/have told my
self were carved deep into the stone. The statue was REALLY tall. so
incredibaly tall, and cold.

I wouldn’t look at it because I knew I was responsible for a lot of it.
I finally sat down and wanted to cry because I didn’t think it was possible
to change it. The words were carved in there so deeply.
_____ had me go inside my body through my navel & go find my inner shaman. At
first inside the circle of trees was no one, just 4 lights and a square pit.
Before I could call her she rose up from the pit. She wore a doeskin dress
and had long dark hair with lighting bolts in it. Her name was not spoken,
it was as if I had always known her...Dogdancing.

I can’t recall what we initially talked about, then we started working on
the words I was told/told my self.
I recall the sting of 'cinder P'
And the _____ asked if any words wanted to change/or would consider changing
'I DON'T NEED YOU'
came to mind (that is me speaking to my self)
I kept trying to change it to
' I do need you'
but my subconscious changed it to
'I don’t BLAME you'

I turned the words into a shawl & put it on, feeling its warmth and
friendliness.
I turned the words into a stamp and stamped the saying all over me (as _____

put it 'Validating it')
Dogdancing also gave me the seed of self love in the form of an orange seed.
I put it in my arm pit to grow and be nurtured.

**************
That silly 'seed' sat in my armpit for 8+ years before it finally was time
for it to sprout and start growing. I thought it was rotten cause it never
seemed to grow! But boy when the time was right it grew like a wild weed,
consuming me and transforming me.

To fill in and heal those words carved in the stone monument was a long
process. To change how I thought about my self and my body was a long
process. I wanted to change and grow overnight. I wanted to make huge leaps
in my healing. But I didn’t. It was a slow steady progress. Lots of concious
work on my part to stop the negative tapes in my head. To not continue to
tear my self down with negative self talk.

I can recall when I added. ' I like you ' to the mental chatter in my head.
At first it was a laughter producer. In time it joined in and blended in.
Don’t know when it stoped being a saying and it became something I beleived.
Stop repeating the negative crap in your head. Replace it with factual
truths. Pick something...'I fold the laundry nicely' something and replace 

it in your mental soundtrack. To bring peace to your head chatter you have
to start somewhere.

We all need to restore that balance within us. To befriend ourselves, to
stop the abuse of ourselves, to heal ourselves.

heal ourselfs indeed.
The weight of the words of the past are like chains we carry in our soul.
So heavy we can't return to the sky.
But yet we instinctivly know we are all skypeople and ment to fly.
Give someone back there wings.
there dreams...
the belief that yes little girls do indeed fly.
Make that someone ...YOU.

thend

.......I turn off the monitor and set my lantern down and stretch my arms. My purple wings stir.
Outside the wind becons
My daughter hears it and heads to the door, we giggle as we both try to fit through at once
our bare feet only get one step on the porch before we are carried aloft
we are skypeople
we are ment to fly
....we are ALL ment to fly

Yearly speech IEP

(soooooo tired this morning eyes crossing. Didn't get home from work/into bed till 4:00 am.)

Hansolo had her yearly  IEP meeting this week for her speech therapy. Of the three sound goals she has mastered two of them, so they still want to keep her for another year and focus on her "S's."

I normally try to listen and take notes, and ask questions so I can glean anything that I can do to further help my child. All while also trying to present the image that I am a well balanced parent who doesn't suffer from various mental health issues.

But this meeting I freaking lost my mind!!

As the speech therapist was reading down the list of topics she got to "Things hindering progress" and says.

"Her attendance. You really need to work on that."

No response from me, and it probably looked like I was pondering the info.

But inside I could feel my head slowly rotating like Linda Blair's in The Exorcist. I heard some part of me say in a quiet voice leave it alone.

Too late.

I felt myself rising up off the chair in a possessed levitation hover. My mouth opens and green pea soup comes pouring out.

"I will not send my sick child to school! I don't keep her home for fun. She has been sick more since starting school then in her entire life. This communal tables with six+ kids sitting shoulder to shoulder, face to face, sharing pencils out of a common tub is a giant germ factory. You teach them to cough into their elbow, but their elbow is in their neighbors face. Go back to individual front facing desks and I bet her attendance will improve!"

The priest sprinkles holy water on me and I return to my chair.

She has speech therapy for 45 min on Thursday's.

She missed speech therapy two times.

I'm getting to dang old to play nice with others.

and the talent show winner was.....

My Anxiety!

Dude it pulled out all the stops to make my day a long one.

Last week I was informed my daughter had been selected by the school to read her poem in the school talent show.

Miss Hansolo had issues with social phobias (Not to mention she is in speech therapy) so I was unsure if they /I could get her to go read before a LARGE audience. .

(Sorry for the blurry pictures... fidgety nervous mama behind  camera)

Much to my surprise that little turkey-bob knocked it out of the park. We arrived early to the dress rehearsal so she could go walk on stage and get comfortable. By the time she got to perform She was in her groove...and was so cute taking command of the stage and belting out her poem.

It was amazing to see her growth and confidence in just a years time. She enunciated clearly and used all the lessons from speech therapy. I didn't see ANY of her nervous tongue action (she likes to lick her nose when stressed). It was like an out of body experience.

But the true performer of the day was my anxiety.  We covered what a lunatic my writing mind is recently.

Now let me introduce you to my anxiety mind.

Its starts the day of with a few rounds of

"your not going to hear the alarm clock! your going to miss the dress rehearsal."

I ignore it.

"She going to see a bug and have a melt down on stage."

Stop it.

Once we got there...it ramped up speed.

"she is going to fall off stage, she is going to fall down the stairs, she is going to trip over the mic cord and be embarrassed  she is going to drop the mic, she going to get up there and lick her nose and everyone will laugh, she going to freeze and then run off stage in fear.."

I remained cool and calm on the outside ignoring the assault occurring internally. I presented a pristine cool pond on the outside as I pretended I was totally comfortable with everything. I hoped that would reassure my daughter, and stop the insane chatter internally.

Turns out my daughter had it  in the bag and was loving all this talent show stuff. Where she got this from I don't know.

I on the other hand was contemplating taking ativan to stop me from bolting out the door in parental-per-performance anxiety.

Smooth sailing through dress rehearsal. Take that anxiety, you only get to torture me, you can't hurt my daughter.

Watching all these beautiful children perform was a big connection to my fellow man. To see the hopes and dreams of everyone was like drawing a pail of pristine water from my inner well. It gave me much to reflect on. I never saw myself as the mother of a child who wasn't socially awkward...I'm not sure how to react to this. I am the epitome of social weirdness.

I hope I don't hold her back if this is her path. I see personal growth looming in my future, just because I am the mother of a child who is is going to make me get out of my box.

The actual performance was amazing. Just amazing. I drank up all that childhood excitement and connecting with my fellow humans.

This apparently pissed off the anxiety though and it did this to me near the end of the show as its final act of the night.

"You shouldn't be here. Someone could come in here and start shooting, or detonate a bomb. Gathering like this are no longer safe."

I glanced down at my happy daughter curled up next to me laughing at the skit on stage. I glanced at the people around me. The faces all absorbed in the moment. The love and life just radiating in the auditorium.

The joy I had been feeling pooled in my stomach and soured into fear.

oh you bastard, that was not fair. That was not fair.

I've done it now.

What a witch of a mother I am. WOW, your not going to believe the callous heinous act I am guilty of today.

 I noticed that my daughters Pokemon binder was splitting at the seems and in need of replacing.

I also noted her collection is too large for the binder. 

When I bought the all back binder originally, I caught heck because "MAMA!!! its black! I wanted pink!" She cried for days.

Mindful of that, I searched for a pink one. Finding none as large as her black binder I got three smaller ones in different colors.

I asked her to come help me sort the pages into the binders.

She hollers from her room, "I don't care what binders they are in, you can do it."

THAT should have been my cue to RRRRUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!!!! 

She wanders down to check my work. "MAMA!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!! YOU HAVE STEEL TYPES NEXT TO GRASS TYPES!!" (commence full on weeping/wailing and waterworks.)

It took her just a nano second to categorize me and stuff me in with the likes of Hitler, Dalmer, Gacy, and several other bad people.

I sat there feeling slimy. Again I ignored my cue and offered up, "Look I put your blues in the blue binder so you can find them easier."

That pushed her over the edge. "THOSE ARN"T BLUE!! THOSE ARE WATER TYPES!!!"

Oh lord, I am going to be paying for her therapy for a long time to fix all this damage my callous words have caused her in this life.

Not done yet she then eyes the three binders. "I HAVE TO CARRY THREE NOW?! I'M GOING TO CRY UNTIL I GET A BIG BINDER AGAIN!!"

The din reaches epic proportions.

*&^%$!!! I think she means it!

"Do you just want me to put all the cards back into the back binder?" I say holding up the battered broken old one.

She shoots poisonous darts at me with her eyes. "NOOOOO!! I want a pink one!"

Now do you see why I want to complete and have menopause behind me PRIOR to her going through puberty?  If she is like this at 6 imagine the level of devastation she will unleash at 12 hopped up on out of control hormones.

Once again the space time continuum wiggles and blurs as I travel forward into the future.

"Oh hi, Mom." My son-in-law wearily says as he plops down next to me. He exhales a deep sign and places his arm over his eyes.

I place a comforting hand on his thigh. "Whatcha you do this time?"

"I'm not really sure, she said 'Do you want chicken for dinner or pizza' and I hesitated and said uuh... and the next thing I knew she was dialing 911 screaming at the dispatcher to get a car over there because I was acting hostile....and you?"

"She unpacked her Pokemon cards to give to your kids and ....damn it, the steel types were still next to the grass types. I have been accused of retro crimes against the state."

He lowers his arm and nods in understanding. "Have you already called Dad to come bail us out?" he asks glancing around the holding cell.

"No I say snuggling up to the bars, I'm going to save my one call and rest here for a while. I feel safer locked up, much safer."

Don't-nuts

So I am having the sort of day where its either go back into therapy or go eat donuts. Donuts are cheaper and quicker so I opted for that option.

What I really need right now is a box of Twinkies. That would right the balance within me and return me to harmonic bliss. I have two months to wait for that, so I have to struggle through this without one of my biggest food therapist.

Me and Hansolo went and got a dozen donuts when she came home from school.

She picked them out.

Let me stress that again.

SHE PICKED THEM OUT.

Upon arrival home I open the box and ask her which one she wants.

She looks in turns up her nose. "You should have gotten twists."

The space time continuum wiggles and folds and I find myself in the future with a young gentleman. He and I are on a blanket at the park woofing Twinkies like frat boys. My grand kids are playing "penis" squirt guns near by.

"I just don't get it mom, she picked out the house, choose all the paint, and furniture and still its my fault we live there."

"Preaching to the choir Son-in-law." I say stuffing another Twinkie in my face. " I did warn you through, I tried to tell you what you were getting into when you asked for her hand in marriage."

"Yeah, you did..." he chuckled reminiscing with a distant look in his eyes. "You were so subtle and discreet with your RRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yell."

I pat his leg in condolence. "You'll get through this, you will."

He grew silent. "you know mom I think, I finally have figured out that message you put in our wedding card."

We looked at each other smiling in silent conspiracy.

I nodded.

When loving my daughter and living life with her, expect twists, enjoy the twists, and always get at least one twist, no matter what she says.

I knew you when

I knew you when your skin was a blank canvas


I knew you when your soul was a flawless mirror reflecting the sunny sky


I knew you when you could still fly,


before your wings were clipped.


I knew you before the abuse harmed you...


turned you inside out.


I knew you through the dark years,


when your own hand reached up and became the abuser.


I knew you when the darkness snuffed your inner light out,


and you died inside.


I knew you in the zombie years,


where you walked and talked but were not there.


I knew you when you first sat on his couch and listened to his calm voice.


I knew you when he reached out his hand and said "You ARE worth saving"


I knew you when you thought he was lying.


I knew you when you stood with most of your feet over the edge


I knew you when nothing held you up and the lulling mermaid songs of the abyss beckoned you.


I knew you when you glanced over your shoulder and first looked at him,


as he repeated  "You ARE worth saving"


I knew you as you slipped under the surface and all that held you was his words.


 "You ARE a person of great value"


I knew you when you at last turned on your ears and really heard what he was saying.


I knew you when you stopped fighting the rope lowered down to save you,


when you stopped trying to hang yourself with it.


I knew you when the strength returned to your hands and you grabbed that rope.


I knew you as you fought and clawed your way out of the darkness


I knew you as you stripped bare the inner mirror and faced all the monsters in your reflection


I knew you when you battled with yourself


when the fights left you bloody and torn


I knew you when you fought to cut yourself free...when all you had to do was open the door and walk away.


I knew you when your skin was a map of scars


I knew you when your soul was a shattered mirror tentatively and shyly reflecting your soul


I knew you when you learned to fly,


I knew you when you learned your wings were healed.


I knew you when you took your power back


knew you when you live this all in one afternoon,


and over a years time too.


I knew you were not alone


I knew there were other struggling and fighting the same fights


now others know too.

The honest truth

When I tell you I have lived an exciting life, I am not lying. (lioning? heh)

People have asked me if I think writers are born or made. Me personally I think it can be done both ways. My Great Tiny Grandma might have opened that conduit in me when I was barely five years old and sitting with her listening to the story's behind the pictures in her family album. Each summer she would bring them and we would go through them. I loved to listen to the stories behind each one.

"That is Elaina and my dad's snake Satan." She said, pointing to this picture.

She turned the page and there was a picture of her dad kneeling in brick rubble next to a safe, with the door ajar. He had a strange look on his face, like....like he had just returned from the future to find his house destroyed.

"That is my dad." she lovingly cooed. "He was an inventor. Did I ever tell you he invented a time machine?"

The hair stood up on my arms.

What ever barriers may have been within my soul and mind at the time, blocking the path to a writers life, strained against there tethers  like hungry dogs awoken by the wet smell of blood. "Honest?"

"Honest truth" she whispered glancing about to make sure no one was listening. "We had a zoo in our back yard and he use to go places and come back with stuff."

She flipped back a page to the lady and the snake. "The future is where he found Tina he brought her back to pose with Satan and then returned her."

My developing writers mind was now whirling like a bucket of eels. In the stillness of my mind the sound of my beating heart reverberated in a ominous pounding. I could taste the thrill on my tongue ..wait a minute. "I thought you said her name was Elaina?"

She chuckled."Doesn't matter, she has been captured and is now being held prisoner in my photo album."

My mind lurched and something deep within me opened and fell inwards. My vocabulary not big enough to label it or fully understand the ramifications. But instinctively knowing her words had redirected my destiny.

Her father indeed was an inventor  and a photographer. The family albums are sprinkled with the photos of his models posing with Tiny Grandma and or his birds and snakes. Tiny Grandma over the years would tell me different stories about them each time we looked though the albums. Most pictures were not labeled, so when she died the family got together to do that. That is when we discovered, she told all of us different stories. The photos remain unlabeled, because beyond the fact that its a model, we have no idea who these beautiful mysterious women are.

My generation is the last to know this truth. The next generation will inherit these books and go on living hence forth, thinking they are related to those women.

This photograph is in my album. When you turn it over it reads in my 5th grade penmanship. "Jar and me"

When I was eleven I found a photo album at goodwill. I opened it and saw this picture. IT FREAKED ME OUT. Those were the exact shoes I was wearing at the time. My hair in the same style, it was like an alternate universe existed and I was peeking into it. That was me...in some other place and time.

I slammed the book shut and bought it and took it home with me. I trimmed off all identifying stuff on it and signed the back, showed it to all my friends, spun a few yarns about me and Jar, and then stuffed it in my photo album. Where it has laid (lied? heh) ever sense.

No one but you readers here today know the truth.

This photo is in my album as well.

This is the last time I saw Tiny Grandma. You want to know what we are smiling about?

 We were preparing to leave after the visit and everyone was saying their goodbyes. I had leaned into her bed and laid my cheek on her soft cheek and whispered to her. "I will see you yesterday!"

As I pulled back she squeeled and clapped her hands with pure joy. Delighted to discover that it was I who had inherited her dad's time machine.

That's the truth.

Or maybe its the honest truth....and the student has now become the master.

Oh yeah? Well the proof is in the purse!

I posted this a while back.  Best-est older sister on planet.

I know what you thinking. How can you trust the judgement of a woman who wears olives on her fingers and talks to herself on her blog.

I'm not saying you would want me as a character witness for you at your trial, but you can trust me on this one.

The proof is in the purse.

My sister is incredibly talented. At EVERYTHING. And if she isn't she has the kahonnies to learn to be talented at it.

She recently took up leather work again.

She made me this in the 70's.

Then never touched leather again until she decided to pick it up again in February and make me this:

My question is how does she do that? It's like she wakes up and says, "Oh, I think I will learn to play the harp today. Casually glances at a harp book at noon, and then calls me to come to Carnegie Hall for a recital that evening.

Spontaneous genius craft creativity, is that a superpower?

She really caught me off guard with the choice of picture. I knew she was making me a purse but I NEEEEVER saw the choice of picture coming. That is one of my drawings from my book Lina Likes.

"Lina likes to pretend her bike is a run-away mustang named Diablo, and she is a Mexican princess named Boots!"

I consider her to be extremely talented as far as art goes, and it is incredibly honoring that out of her vast repertoire she stepped aside and choose a drawing I had done. I am just giddy that she copied something I drew, after I spent a life time coping her work.

Her stitching is FANTASTIC, a two liter of zero coke got spilled into it and not one drop dripped out. Its design is perfect for smuggling in juice bags and snacks for the kids at the movies. It is just so me.

I am glad she listened to Uncle Ben and heeded his words. "With great power comes great responsibility."

She uses her awesome superpowers for good.

Menfolk, caution: I'm gunna use the T word.

I skipped my period last month.

Since I am fixed there are no pregnancy worries.

I am hoping this is the start of actual menopause vs my thyroid just (DELETED)ing with me, as it has done in the past.

Periods should be something women can turn off and on at will.

Don't want it anymore? go visit the Maxi-pad Alter and sacrifice tampons to the statue of Aunt Flow, and *boop* its gone.

Want to get pregnant?  go to the store and order what you want. The kid at the counter should say stuff like "Light flow to go, hold the cramps!"

I'm so ready for it to go away.

I also would prefer it goes away soon. Before my daughter reaches puberty.

Can you imagine the hell my house would become with a pre-teen with raging PMS hormones and a old bat like me suffering hot flashes and menopausal hormone flairs? That is akin to crossing the streams in Ghost busters! You just don't want to unleash that much unholy hell!

My poor menfolk would have to move out. Their lives would be in danger.

The list

Yesterday TBJ pitcher Happ got hit in the head with a line drive. My son and I watched the video and discussed it.

From the sports angle, the medical angle and the angle of tossing around ideas that could have helped him not catch a 100 mph baseball in the head.

"bet that hurts." he said.

"Oh yes it hurts. I got beaned in the temple once with a hard ball while running track in 5th grade."

I went on to tell him the story.

"You have been hurt a lot of ways" he commented.

and I couldn't really argue with that.

Here is the list.

1. Fell down stairs as a toddler, scar on forehead and concussion.
2. Hiding under parents bed and jerked my head up and put a 2" long hunk of wood under my scap.
3. Got bit by a horse on the first section of my pinky finger. (I can describe in detail to you how that pain went though my bones all the way up my arm.)
4. Fell down a cliff, yup cartwheeling the whole way.
5. Trashed the ligaments in my left foot in a slip on the wet kitchen floor
6. Beaned in the temple with a hard ball. (MZ was pretty impressed his hit went all the way to the track and hit me)
7. Fallen off of multiple horses.
8. Had a toe broken by a horse standing on me.
9. Crushed myself in my own car and broke both collar bones and a 4 ribs.
10. Got punched in the face by a demented resident - THE DAY I  had gotten my teeth pulled and dentures placed.
11. Back was trashed in an OJI when a resident tried to kill me.
12. been inside a car that backed over a downed very LIVE power line.
13. Been ejected from a raft in class 3 rapids
14. gotten my pelvis messed up when a pony reared up and flipped over on me.
15 Been in a T-bone car accident and received an injured elbow.
16. numerous spectacular roller skating falls.
17. Got separated from my parties in the lava bed caves and fell in a crevasse, the  A'a lava  just chewing my leg up for lunch.
18. there some other stuff, but I have to wait for some statues of limitations to run out...

(I am not ever going to include the overwhelming massive amount of self inflicted 3rd degree burns, I have done to my self over the years.)

Looking over my list It looks like I have lived a life of danger and should probably have my own stunt man.

I just think I have lived a writer's life.

Had I lived a safe, stay on the path life I don't think I could write like I do.

I walk with a limp nowadays.

When I was a young child I used to walk with a limp too. A full on fake-out-vying-for-an-Oscar limp. When people would ask me what happened I would give them details of a horrific horse related accident. I loved the attention and the mysterious air it gave me.

The karmatic humor is not lost on me, when I am asked nowadays why I limp, and  have to give details of the horse related accident. "I broke the first rule of riding. Sky, you, horse, ground...keep them in that order."

walking away

Back story: farm kids got a welsh pony for Christmas one year. They wanted to ride her. She was acting spooky, I insisted on getting on her first. She reared up and flipped over on me. She dislocated my pelvis and fractured my sacrum. $15,000 worth of surgery/hospital stay and one metal plate and 4 big ass screws and I am good to go. That was an interesting Christmas. Ambulance ride and emergency surgery.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr Namechangedforprivacy shut the door to my room and paused for second, then took a deep breath and come over and sat on the edge of my hospital bed. It was 4 hours after surgery and I was finally awake enough to talk to him.

"I saw your scars during surgery and I wanted to talk to you about them." He said quietly, gesturing to my abdomen. "can you tell me what happened?"

I took in a ragged breath and launched into the story. I had no choice. I can lie away, if need be, all my other scars but not those. THOSE ones do not look like an accident. They are a collection of over 100 circular burn scars artistically arranged into something similar as an African tribal stomach scarification.

(have to admit they looked really freaking awesome when I was 115 pounds and had a flat stomach. However, not so attractive now on a 190 pound, all stretched out from 2 pregnancies belly.)

He just wanted to make sure I was not in danger or in an abusive situation.

We talked for a bit about everything my body and back had been through so far in my life.

Dr Namechangedforprivacy was an older orthopedic doctor getting ready to retire in a few months. He then told me how unusual my injury was and that he has to research it before he operated. He was surprised to find that there was only one other briefly mentioned case history. He enjoyed the whole fresh unusual orthopedic injury to treat.

"Geezze! I can't even get hurt like normal people." I said trying to calm my nerves.

He didn't smile. His face was still hiding something.

"Will this injury put me in a wheel chair?" I finally asked.

He leaned back like he was tallying up a list in his mind. "No. You are walking away from this one." Again with his face still hiding something.

I waited.

"With all of it." he said gesturing from my head to my toes, "everything you have told me,and the existing injuries (the herniated disks from that OJI), leads me to think you will be in a wheel chair when you are 50."

We sat in silence as I processed all this.

I made a mental note that he said: you will be in a wheel chair vs you will probably be in a wheel chair.

He patted my leg. "Some merry Christmas" He got up and headed out.

"Dr Namechangedforprivacy?" I called after him. "I'm not going down without a fight."

He smiled and looked over his glasses and wagged his finger at me. "stay off the pony at least until I take your stitches out."

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At the time of that accident I was years and years away from 50.

Today I am a heck of a lot closer. I will be turning 48 this year.

Each year the arthritis shaves off another sliver of my mobility and function. This Winter I lost normal range of motion in my right hip. Just recently I discovered I can no longer crouch down. My knees are failing me.

The floor has become no mans land. Things dropped there are magically out of my reach. To retrieve them has become a monumental task.

Someone once told me it must be easier to be born disabled...because you wouldn't know what you were missing.

I don't buy that. my farm daughter with cerebral palsy KNEW she was suppose to walk. She determined on till she learned.

I have been blessed with being surrounded with fierce warriors who despite the crap life shovels on their plate they go forward.

My Tiny grandma was crippled by polio and spent a large portion of her life in a wheel chair. It didn't slow her down, or turn her bitter.

I do not have their strength. I feel panicky at the thought of being a burden to others. To no longer be able to physically take care of myself.

It is a small comfort that most the things my hubby and I enjoy can be done from a chair.

but....this slow progression of turning to stone is....difficult.

Damn you Dr Namechangedforprivacy. I know you are right. I have always know you were right. But I will be damned if I am in a wheel chair one sliver of a second before I turn 50.

Even then you will have to catch me first, I have no intentions of going quietly into the good night. I can run surprisingly fast for a old fat woman with multiple orthopedic issues.

water weenies

Husband comes home from work. As he is putting his coat in the closet he says to me: "The kids are outside pretending their squirt guns are penis's"

I nod my head, "I know. Who do you think taught them."

It occurs to me, I may not be the best influence on humanity. Just saying.

phone is dead

Time line.

10:55 am ...surfing the net looking at cats, right up to the last minute before heading over to pick up Hansolo from school. Leave house 10:56 am

back to house at 11:07 am.

and the internet is down. I pick up phone. dead. I mean REEEEEAAAALLLLY DEAD.

What the?

pace, check. pace, check, reset router, pace, reset breaker for house, pace, check.

Resigned to my fate of being off line, and isolated and disconnected from humanity as a whole, and lacking any Valium to take, I start doing what one does when the internet is down. What I should be doing... like chores and stuff. I take the trash to the curb.

and that is when I see it.

the wire dangling from the power pole.

eyes scan back to where it should be connected to the house, and see the coiled other end resting quietly in the yard.

First thought in my writers mind of course is "IT'S BEEN CUT! we are all going to be killed by lunatics in our sleep because our true identities have been discovered. Call the feds your witness relocation status has been compromised!"

I have to slap my face to stop the writer in me. "Stop it. Keep it together woman, you are NOT in the witness relocation program! and ...wait a minute!! " I glance around. Our line is the only one down.

"Not only has it been cut, but you have been singled out." my writers mind continues ignoring me.

I can maintain control, until its fixed. I'm good. I can do this. The writer in me can spin all the yarns it wants, Just how bad can internet withdrawals really be?

I place the can on the curb and start back to the house. The neighbor waves at me.

Again my writers mind jumps "She knows you can't call 911! She's trying to stall you so they can install microphones in your house. "

Be QUIET! I hiss to it. Wait, microphones? why would anyone want to spy on me?

"They have been reading your blog."

Oh yes, fat toothless hairy legged bloggers are a high security risk for hooliganism. Oh dude! did you have to say blog? Now I want to blog! a thousand ideas flooding me and aching to be blogged. Writers bucket overflowing, awesome-coolness dripping ever where. wasted on dead silence and a stilled keyboard.

I  sit at the computer and pitifully stare at its corpse.

Oh my friend, such an untimely death. To die mid video of Maru.

I raise my eyebrows to weep...but first I again check the phone. Nope still dead.

Check my watch.

Time line.

4:30 pm.

Its been five hours and thirty-four minutes. I am going to get the bends, I just know it. Hmm,  better google the symptoms so I know when to call 911. My hands reach for the keyboard.

"Fool! the lines been cut!"

NOOOOO!!!! This is worse then any torture known to man!! leaving a writer alone with their mind and a mystery!

Addendum:

Phone line fixed. No yelling or cursing required, just a simple call to ask if those dangling wires in the yard are any danger to small children. (oh yes I know they arn't, but that writer in me knew the fastest two ways to get the phone company to fix it was to "endanger small children" or threaten to reconnect the lines myself hah!)  Planets aligned in perfect harmony. Net once again filling my veins with its addicting tentacles. heeeeaaavy sigh. Life is good.