I have been sitting in silence this morning. Yet my mind races with an obscene amount of questions and ideas of many random things that from what I can tell, have no connection.
There has to be a connection somehow.
I received a magazine in the mail the other day and it was addressed to both my husband and I. We looked it over and we made the loop of our nightly walk together after dinner.
“I didn’t order this” I said to him, “I’ve never even seen this magazine before”.
He thumbs through it while juggling the mail and puffing ona cigar, before finally handing it all over to me so he can get a closer look at this magazine. It was from our realtor, from 8 years ago when she sold us our home.
She published a friggin’ magazine.
I was jealous.
No, I was beyond, without a doubt, envious. So unbelievably envious.
And of course, there went my mind spinning out of control over the next couple of days trying to figure out ways to accomplish this.
My mind won’t stop. I hope this is not another one of my crazy ideas that I get overly obsessed with and lose sleep over.
My painting on the weekends is the cause of my mind opening up to all these ideas. I just may be getting my artistic expression back after all of these years.
10 to be exact. 10 years. I thought I would never be creative again. And it just happened. Over one day of picking up a paint brush.
What a blessing in disguise, I cannot begin to tell you how thankful I am. I seriously thought I had lost it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten Chicken Cordon Bleu….over 20 years. The last time I ate it, was at a restaurant in California and I woke in the middle of the night sicker than anything. I haven’t touched it since.
Until this morning. Yes for breakfast.
Last night I prepared it for my husband and I and we were unable to sit down together to eat because of circumstances beyond our control. So he grabbed fast food, I ate one of my chocolate chip cookies I had made and some hot tea.
But this morning I am hungry and I am too lazy to roast my normal morning veggies. I cut off about a quarter of the chicken breast and heated it.
It tastes much better homemade, with fresh ingredients. A fine way to start my morning and think about what I will do, on this overcast day of mine.
Wanting to paint again, I may line up ideas for Christmas cards. I know it’s early, but if I don’t start now, they won’t get done by Christmas.
And if doesn’t rain, which the chances are unlikely, but if it doesn’t, I will continue to work in my Goth garden.
Friday I took the day off to see the chiropractor about adjusting me after my fall last week. He asked what I did and I told him and while I was on the table he scoffed, “oh yeah, you really needed me.” The pain was instantly gone. He is THAT good. I felt this mad rush of heat, almost sweet relief come over my spine, up my neck and flushed around my face. That was it. He hit it dead on. He adjusted my hips and flipped my legs side to side like a limp rag doll. “Better isn’t it? You’re more limber than you were when you walked in.” I sighed and muffled a “yes” as my face was plastered into the table. He is the only one I will see, the only one I trust. I have known him for years. I stood up and hung on for dear life as my body adjusted to the corrected position. A little dizzy but instant relief.
After that, my next appointment was to see the optometrist, AGAIN. 4th or 5th appointment and my left eye was still blurry. After I sat down and popped the new order of lenses in, I yelled “YAAAAY! FINALLY I CAN SEE!!!”
He whipped around in his rolling chair with a surprised look and flatly stated, “really.”
“Yes, really let’s order these.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head sarcastically.
He can be so professional but snarky at the same time.
“Yes I’m sure.” And I rolled my eyes.
He hesitated for a moment. “YES REALLY!” I reassured him. He slowly turned back around. I have seen him as well for years and decided I will be sad the day he decides to retire. My appointments always take forever because I love talking to him.
After that I was onto the next appointment that I care not to discuss.
However, today I felt like a new woman and I had bought some plants for my goth garden. I decided I want, not only near black plants, but weird ones too.
Then get this….a couple of weeks ago I found some faux stone at a second hand store for housing design. I drove to it today to see what they wanted for the stone. The gal told me $1.75 a piece and I thought, NO WAY AM I PAYING THAT. My gosh it’s faux stone and used for crying out loud. She asked me how many pieces did I want. I told her, “you give me a good deal and I will buy what you have. She stood there a minute and said, “ok, how about $6 for all of it?”
I was secretly giddy inside. I said, “you have a deal!” They sell faux stone by the pound but I wasn’t going to tell her that. I came home, my car trunk full. I immediately ripped out the wood path I made a few weeks ago and put the stone in. Now I have the look of an old garden path.
The plants I bought were Elephant Bush, Elephant Ear, Black Mondo Grass, Sedum, a 3 more weird things I can’t remember the names.
But the best part is the sconces I had forgotten about. We have had them for years and I’m going to hang them on the fence. What do you think? I think it will give an eerie look to the garden at night. I have so much more to add and so many more weeds to pull and so many more plants to purchase. I must be patient! My hips are still swollen and my back is still sore. I don’t want to over do it!
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.
I have been trying to read the book Les Miserables by Victor Hugo for months. Since January. I have wanted to read it for years and I purchased it at a church book sale for $1.00.
I am officially on vacation this week and it is well deserved. Not to toot my own horn, but this year has been a flurry of emotions. Just as I started my new job last July, my father became ill and passed away one month later, 4 days before my birthday in August. I had one month of training, and within that month, I was learning a new job, commuting and driving to my parent’s home before and after work, to help care for my dad as he transitioned to accepting his demise. One month on my job. I cannot believe I survived through it without falling ill myself with all of the stress. I believe most of my hair fell out.
I cannot get into this book. Les Miserables. As I soaked up the sun first day of vaca yesterday, with book in hand, my husband laughed and told me “good luck.” He knows. How dare he, thinking he knows me all too well. I laugh in the face of his mockery!
Ha, ha! Ha, HA-HA!
Vacation is a perfect opportunity to read this book. Honestly, I haven’t read a book since graduate school. I had to read so many chapters, study so much, and write hundreds of papers that I swore it would be months before I could read or write again.
It has been two years since I’ve picked up a book for pleasure. I was going to go for my doctorate but three more years of reading and writing papers at that moment would have been challenging. Too challenging to accept at the time. My husband said he wanted his wife back. And I am disappointed in myself for not being able to pick up a book in two years because I love reading. But I swear to howdy, when I start reading anything…ANYTHING, my eyes glaze over like a factory glazed donut gone wrong on the belt.
I swear to you, I am trying. I fight the battle with my eyes and wandering mind and turn to something that doesn’t require me to think or concentrate. How pathetic is that? Maybe it’s because my work is all mental? Writing and updating policies, managing, going to meetings, editing, communications, and budgeting/accounting. All brain work.
But my gosh, I am officially on vacation! What is the issue? My collegues asked, “where are you going?” And I indulged in a list of potential travel places. As I sit here this fine morning, honestly? I truly believe this will be a stay-cation. I need to relax this year. The last thing I want to do is plan. I plan all day at work. I don’t want to plan. Not plan a drive or ferry, hotel or whatever….no itinerary. Maybe just a couple of day trips. Maybe.
The thought of going across the border sounds lovely, but the thought of soaking up sun in the comfort of my own backyard without hearing the bussling of other hotel guests sounds lovely.
I will add the element of an umbrella in my fruity drink. And wear my feathered slippers.
Today, the weather is beautiful. Perfect for starting my goth garden!
I spent a couple of hours pulling those dreaded weeds. They fought me to the bitter end. I honestly don’t think I even made a dent in the area, but I did. And it is enough of a start to keep me motivated.
Last night my husband says to me, “I can’t wait until Halloween..”
“Because we can add gargoyles and tombstones to your goth garden.”
I hadn’t thought of this, but it could work if I could find decor made to last and not that cheap plastic crap.
That’s all I could say.
I recently purchased deep purple Calla Lillies. Today, I have been digging a path and flower bed to start my “gothness.”
Fast forward through pain stakenly digging, arms now full of hives, sunburnt, sneezing and out of breath, I start having a vision. What I didn’t realize, is how much Calla Lillies smell like corpses. And yes, I know what a corpse smells like… working in the medical field for 20 years, a person has smelled plently of living, rotten and the dead.
My first thought when I got a whiff of the lillies was, “gross” and my second thought was, “this is perfect for my goth garden! An ambience of corpse smell versus beauty!”
I don’t like lillies, especially Easter lillies because I have associated the flowers with, yes, you got it, dead people. Everytime I had a patient die, friends would send lillies. I told my husband multiple times, “if I die before you and you bring lillies to my funeral, I swear to howdy I WILL HAUNT YOU.”
He thinks it’s funny, but I’m serious.
Anyway, I have a large old pot I tipped over and I want to have some sort of foliage spilling out of it, but I’m not sure what yet.
I want to create a rock border with a center path. I started the border just to give me an idea of how it will look.
I am really starting to get into the groove with this goth garden thing, but had to force myself to stop because I could feel the hives on my arms creeping upward. Bummer, but if I get worse the E.R. will be my evening and NO WAY will I allow that! It happened once before and I know my limit now.
Time to relax and I realized even our chairs look goth!
I tell you, I am so excited about this garden I can hardly contain myself! So now I am writing this, relaxing with my sun hat on (usually I don’t wear one, but my head had a little too much sun) and I’m sitting outside with a glass of wine.
Even my clover has a bit of a goth look to it.
I look like such a nerd in my sun hat but who cares! I have wine!