I am really feeling my age today. I was working in my goth garden, building a dry rock bed.
As I was pulling the wheelbarrow full of gravel up and over the path steps, the heel of my foot caught the corner of the Adirondack chair’s foot rest and down I went.
And I hit hard. Backwards. I fell so contorted, that I thought I split my lady parts clean in half. Center stage, corner of the foot rest, right leg facing north, left leg south.
And the wheelbarrow fell on top of me. The metal stand came down hard on top of my left toe and split it in half and lifted the toenail off. I had tennis shoes on.
I swear I heard the birds laughing. Or maybe they were spinning above my head like in those cartoons.
I picked up my pride and walked the pain off. Me falling is like a Seqoia falling in the forest. Due to my height, it is a long way down.
I walked into the house.
I assessed the damage. I had to remove my polish off my toenails, which I screamed bloody murder because polish remover on a cut doesn’t feel so hot. My left toenail was not pretty.
I thought I was okay. Later, I fixed dinner and my husband and I went for a walk, in which I tattled on myself about falling. He scolded. He knows me too well. Doing too much. But as we walked, my body got stiffer and stiffer and my right foot started aching so bad I realized I was limping. My lower back and hips felt like meat pulling from the bone.
I took a shower and my body is wreching with pain. I think I may have sprained my right ankle. It’s pretty swollen. Sheesh.
But I had completed my rock bed. And he promised me he would buy me plants to fill in if I completed it. He didn’t think I would.
I faced my fears this morning and crawled half way under our deck and collected rocks for my goth garden.
In my pajamas.
Before you start thinking, what the heck is this girl doing? Let me tell you how it started.
I was feeling pretty good this morning after taking a Benadryl. I wasn’t sneezing as bad as I had been, but I wanted to sit out back without my allergies kicking up. So I took a Benadryl and sat in our patio chairs with my husband and a hot cup of coffee. Peaceful.
All was well until I saw a weed in the flower bed in front of our deck. Not thinking much of it, I hopped up and pulled the weed.
Then I saw another. Then another. So I put on my gardening gloves sat down on the edge of the stones, in my robe and PJs and started pulling weeds.
Then I was too warm. I pulled my robe off and continued. I leaned over and looked under the deck.
“OOOOOO! Look at that rock! Look at ALL of these rocks! I need it.”
Isn’t this an awesome rock? It’s like a pyramid!
My husband, not looking up from his iPad, said, “I wouldn’t be crawling under there.”
So I went back to weeding.
But I wanted that rock!
But how was I going to get it? No way am I crawling under there. There are weird things like spiders and bugs.
But I wanted that rock.
So I grabbed the rake, leaned over and pulled the rock closer to me within reach. Not bad! Then I saw another. As I continued to pull rocks over to me, my husband started trimming a few of our ornamental grasses.
By now I was on my knees, in this weird yoga-like position trying to reach a rock further under the deck. It was just out of reach. I leaned in further.
Then I saw it. I had seen it before, but forgot about it. It was the wannabe dead body. It scares me everytime and my husband is now laughing at me, “oh my gosh you’re crazy up underneath there!”
Doesn’t it look like a dead body? It freaks me out! I think I have been watching too many “Bones” episodes. I crawled back out and stood up to take the rocks I collected over to the side yard.
“Ick, I feel like I have bugs crawling all over me”. As I was heading to the side yard, my husband snuck up behind me with some of the ornamental grass clippings and touched my shoulder. I pretty much came out of my skin!
That man laughed and laughed! Not funny. I’ll get him back…
Look at all of these rocks I got!
I think I’m done for the day. Last day of my vacation and I’m sad. Usually I’m ready to go back to work, but this vacation was unbelievably relaxing and I would love to stay home a few more days.
Enjoy your Sunday and if you are looking for rocks, happy rock hunting!
I was cleaning out a few drawers this morning and came across this picture, a past co-worker drew me. He gave it to me when he put his two week notice in to retire. I cried. We had worked together for 5 years and he was the one on my interview team I swore I wouldn’t like or get along with. And ironically, he was the closest to me. He was my work spouse. And the sick, twisted medical humor that would come out of that man’s mouth would keep me in stitches.
Do you have a work spouse? As noted above, Bill was my work spouse when I worked at the hospital. He was the charge nurse, and I, the secretary. We worked together pretty much the same rotating schedule. Those were the good days. We both had a sick sense of medical humor that only the two of us could appreciate. But we had to, to keep positive with some of the things we experienced.
Bill’s opposite scheduled co-worker, named Dan, worked with me two or so days every other week. Dan was my part time work spouse. And some shifts, Dan and I would laugh so hard, we’d cry and we could hardly keep it together to do the simplest tasks such as answer the phone.
One time it had been a bad night and I was annoyed at something and I made a crude, vulgar comment (I won’t repeat). Dan said, “well I can’t imagine what that would look like, how does that work?” and he started to move around in his chair like he was trying to mimick my comment. He looked so stupid, I lost it. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see from all the tears. With Dan, it didn’t take much to make him laugh and once I started laughing, he would start. That was it. We couldn’t gain composure. The phone rang and neither of us could answer. The longer the phone rang, the funnier it was, the harder we laughed. Eventually I picked it up but I couldn’t udder the words for a greeting. It was a good thing we all worked the swing shift and not day shift because we would have been in the boss’s office, Miss Prudy McPrudence. If we were too noisy, she would put an orange cone on our desk in front of us and say “cone of silence.” Just like a kindergarten teacher would do.
Another coworker, Charity, also my best friend, had me laughing over dinner one evening. So hard, its a wonder I didn’t choke. She was telling me about how her daughter-in-law has the perfect back; one you would see painted in a portrait off the side of a bathtub. As the conversation continued, I made the comment about her back. Her response was, “I’ve never seen my back.” Now, it may not seem funny to you, but in the cafeteria of the hospital, all eyes were on us because of my laughing and she couldn’t understand why it was so funny until I explained the context of it. That did it. We laughed until we cried. Our sides ached from laughter and being full of food.
My best friend Carla, growing up we would laugh hard. So hard, that her drink would undoubtedly ALWAYS come out of her nose. We still have a good laugh occasionally and I am thankful I have her as my best friend. Good times. I wish they would never end.
When I left the hospital, I hadn’t laughed like that in a very long time. Then I worked closely with a Practioner at events named Adi. He was young enough to be my adult son. Between our marketing sales strategies, we would people watch. And people comment. Need I say more? Sometimes we would laugh so hard one of use would have to walk away to gain composure.
Since then, I have held 3 more jobs and I have never laughed that hard at work since then. I laugh hard with my husband, but not at work. Maybe it’s maturity in my roles, or maybe the moment hasn’t arrived. I do laugh, but not deep, lose composure, side-splitting laughter. Maybe someday something will strike me funny, probably when I least expect it.
Laughter by all means is the best medicine. If you can’t laugh, and I mean laugh until you can’t breathe, laugh until your side hurts, then you are not humbled in life. It’s those moments that provide us with the ultimate memories and relationships, no matter how long those relationships last.
Talk about aging! Here’s a somewhat comical little story for you.
Last night I was lying in bed, barely awake and my stomach started growling. Well I’m certainly not going to get up and go eat something that late. Now way, my stomach can simply deal with it.
As my belly consistantly continues to argue through incessant growling, I was annoyed and I finally give in.
It’s dark in the house, I didn’t bother putting on my glasses because hey, I know where I’m going!
Half asleep, I shuffled myself into the kitchen.
I open the fridge and instantly squint because I’m blinded by the tiny bulb that lights the path to what I’m seeking. I grab the carton of almond milk and take two giant swigs. That should tide my growling belly over until morning.
I shut the fridge, spin around and head back toward the bedroom. Not able to see well, due to the fridge light, I run smack into the corner cabinet. Stunned, I back up and shift left and head straight. I kicked something heavy on the floor. I kicked it HARD. It stops me, dead in my tracks. OW. What…the…heck? My first reaction is to lift my leg and grab my foot to console by baby toe. I lose my balance and have to fight to find the counter and grab it. I dont recall leaving anything on the floor? But with that kick, my pinky toe cried “weee weee weee” all the way to the bedroom. Limping.
I decided since I was up I might as well make a pit stop into the bathroom before snuggling back into bed.
Still blinded by the light, I didn’t back up far enough and caught the edge of the toilet. Thankfully our toilet has its own “room” and the “room” is not very big, so the wall caught me before I hit the floor. And I hit the wall HARD.
I shuffled my way back into the bedroom, pain in my toe, shoulder aching, now I am swinging my hands around looking for the foot board because I’ve tagged it with my hip bone before. And that HURTS.
I felt my way to my side of the bed where I crawl in back to safety.
This house is dangerous. Let’s just set that straight. Last night was a reminder of the little things that I recall when I worked at the hospital and people would come in for broken bones.
I’m going to be one of those statistics. I will be one of those little old ladies who get admitted into the hospital for a broken something and it will be because of doing a stupid something. I just know it.
Next time, my belly can cry and groan all it wants. It will stay hungry and it will like it.
It hasn’t snowed since Wednesday. The weather has warmed up by maybe a degree, but enough to bring rain rather than more snow. And ice.
When I opened my blinds this morning I let out a sigh. My view is still about a foot or so of snow. At least I was able to get to work the past two days, despite sliding down the hill of our complex. But getting up the hill is challenging and pulling into our driveway is almost comical.
I feel like a lone duck right now. Waddling around looking for any sign of fresh turf not covered in snow.
Being cooped up in the house has tested my patience. It really has tested my patience. I’m ready for Spring, sun, warmth, flowers, allergies and asthma attacks. Well, maybe not the latter, but the sun and warmth for sure.
I went to Costco last night after work and finding a parking spot that didn’t have snow or ice was almost unbearable. So were the people. Others were lolly gagging around looking at merchandise while I’m aggressively pushing my oversized cart through the aisles of people, what felt like herds of cattle. They were mooing at me, I’m sure of it….with their carts full of five gallon drums of tuna and Himalayan salt grinders, enough to de-ice my driveway I’m sure, and their five mile long rolls of toilet paper.
All I needed was bacon, coffee and chicken. I love rotisserie chicken. When I go to Costco, I buy two. It will last me a week.
But I hate picking it. If my job was picking rotisserie chicken, I’d get fired. My husband says, “you’ve missed all this meat!” And I usually say, “THEN DO IT YOURSELF!!!” and walk away. It grosses me out, it stresses me out. I think I’ll keep my day job.
And during the time I’m picking it, my dogs are under my feet. The pug consistently barking, the other consistently drooling.
Spring will soon be here. I just need to be patient. Then I can happily blog about my walks on the beach, inconsistent sneezes and puffy eyes. But hey, I’ll at least be outside and warm!