This piece took a while, but it gave me zero grief to make. I have definitely become a little too attached to the green felt, so I'm determined to walk away from it for a while and use a different fabric next time. Most of the buttons from this piece came from one of the several jars of buttons I found in the barns on Robert's grandma's property.
I used up a lot of neutrals to make this piece, but sunshine found its way in.
I am eager to share the piece I made for the Columbia Art League's Interpretations VII, but I haven't taken proper pictures of it, and I have been unable to travel and see the show. I've been apart of Interpretations twice as a poet, and this is my first time as an artist. I have been a little bummed about missing the reception and not being able to meet with the poet I was paired with. I'm hoping I can travel at some point next week and see the show before it comes down. I should have pictures and the poet's poems to share soon.
But for now, there's many paths to take in the threads of this piece, all leading to sunshine.
Robert has been doing a great job keeping up with our two businesses, taking care of me, and doing all the necessary chores at home. But there have been some things that have slipped through the cracks. Robert mentioned to me that he was going to have someone help us with our yard for a while. We already have someone who helps us stay on top of mowing and leaf/snow removal, so I was confused.
When he said he had hired someone to do dog poo duty, I was shocked. That type of thing exists???
This morning I noticed someone outside. I quickly pulled up our home cameras and yep, someone was in our yard, and all I could make out on his shirt was the word POOP in capital letters. The heck with work. I called Robert. "No need to call me," he said. "They're texting me the play by play."
The play by play of doggie poo duty?
Apparently these doggie poo duty folks text their every move:
No need to worry. Poopy pickup is on the way.
This is your poop technician, and I have arrived.
Taking the scoop for the poop out of the truck.
Ready to take a load off your yard!!
What do you feed your dogs?!???
I honestly don't know what they texted (although they really do call themselves poop technicians), but I was laughing so hard thinking about the play by play.
I wanted to say thank you but I can't even get myself out to the porch to say thank you. I can go up the stairs to the house unassisted, but I cannot go down the steps without help. I've learned the hard way that our rock landscaping does not make for a soft landing place when you fall off the porch.
I would wholeheartedly recommend this poopy scoopy business, but they failed to do one important thing. The man's shirt said POOP instead of P💩💩P.
I have been at home more than I had hoped to be this week. I went to work for a couple hours on Tuesday and a little more than a half day Wednesday. Unfortunately the evenings have continued to be complete hell. Everything is fine until there's swelling, and when that happens it feels like I'm going to bust through the cast. I've been doing almost continuous icing, even at work and through the night. But for some reason the icing during the night is like trying to spit on a forest fire to put it out.
The good news is that all that fire and swelling hopefully mean a lot of healing. A lack of sleep is a small price to pay for healing. I also think about our neighbors who have a newborn and two kids under the age of five, and I instantly feel better about the quality and quantity of my sleep.
Robert was on a job in a different part of Kansas City today and offered to bring me lunch from a vegan place I love. It's a good 30 minutes or more from our house, so I rarely get to eat there. He walked into the place and a customer said, "Thank you for spending your white Johnson County money on this place." Seriously! I asked Robert what he said in reply. Robert told me he was thinking, "Well this guy isn't wrong..." But he ended up saying, "We've all got to support this place!"
Robert said when the customer left he drove off in a Hummer.
I'm not sure if it's the lack of sleep, but the strange interaction Robert had at the vegan place seems even funnier after our first visit from the poop technician.
Here is a fun video I found while sorting thousands of old pictures and videos. It seems appropriate here. It's the moment Robert and I first discovered Siri would translate emojis in meaningful and sometimes life-changing ways while driving. As you can hear in the video we got very lucky our first time trying out this new technology. Over the years we've discovered it all depends on the car, the Siri voice, and the emojis.
I am getting closer to some kind of normalcy. I had my checkup yesterday and only have to wear a hard cast for a week and a half. Everything is looking as it should. Apparently I shredded the tendon, so the doctor lassoed the shreds of the tendon to another tendon. That's what I got out of the conversation anyway. Thank you unknown tendon for kindly holding onto the rogue tendon.
Robert and I thought it would be cute to do a candy corn themed cast. But really it just looks like I belong at a construction site.
I came home from the checkup and immediately folded a basket of laundry standing up with my scooter. It was my gift to myself.
I sat down to work on an assignment, and after I reached the halfway point, I realized my focus was in the toilet. It was tough to get comfortable! I spent the rest of the day trying to keep my leg from resting on my stitches.
As it turns out, the stinging nettle pain is actually something to do with the stitches. I've had stitches a few times in my life, but somehow my brain forgot what a torment they are. The splint that I've been wearing had mounds and mounds of cotton batting in addition to two plaster pieces. I now have a sock, some batting, and the cast. I can definitely tell the difference. The stitches hurt like hell, but the cast is lighter. I'm hoping tomorrow is better and/or I can find things that hold my attention and distract me from the stinging nettles.
I just finished two excellent books. I've got that feeling we all get when we finish books. I'm both jazzed up about life, but I can't read more than two sentences of anything else, because I'm still stuck in the worlds of the books I just left.
Candle Island by Lauren Wolk (Juvenile Fiction)
This book has everything - a mom and daughter sharing a secret (I was clueless right up until the secret was revealed!), an island, orphaned osprey named Gulliver, supporting characters with their own ginormous things going on, a horse named Hog, opera, poetry, painting, a library. You name it, this book has it.
I particularly loved the details and language. When Lucretia and her mom arrive at the island Lucretia checks out the pasture for her horse. She looks for any plants that might make Hog sick, which is something she learned from her grandmother.
Wolk writes this about Lucretia. "I wanted to be alone, in the wildest possible place. That was what I craved. If I was to be by myself, I might as well be the kind of alone that made me glad."
Each time Wolk writes about Gulliver, which is nearly every page, it’s such a treat. His character has more personality than some people I know. There’s no way this bird doesn’t have roots in truth. He’s too real. “He splashed and jostled his way out of my hands until he was sitting in the sun-warmed puddle, clearly content.” Each screech, whistle, and expression is so precious.
I also love how Lucretia and her mom are both painters and super supportive of each other’s artistic processes. Lucretia sees, feels, hears art everywhere. The island is brought to life through Wolk’s descriptions and also how Lucretia experiences the island.
Blade by Blade by Danusha Laméris (Poetry)
When I read the first poem, "Barefoot," I knew this was going to be a zillion star book. I immediately bought a copy and returned my library copy. During my childhood I spent every summer barefoot, only wearing shoes when we went into town. My feet knew our holler better than my eyes or my hands did. Laméris captures this feeling, which is not something I've ever thought too much about. Not until I read Barefoot.
"I'd marvel at how I could feel/ a gopher stir underground from yards away, that slight / rumble in the earth. This was foot-knowledge, heel-knowledge, / knowledge of sole and arch, that domed curve, vaulted nave, / everything that entered there, sanctified, holy."
I thought, how does it get better than this poem? But the glow of Laméris' words continues to light the way.
In "Slither," another poem so closely mirroring my childhood, she writes about lizards, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. She does this brilliant thing with the skink, writing about how she grabs one, and folks, she uses a line break to sever the tail. I am not even kidding here. She's so sneaky in her brilliance. This shines the brightest in her poem, "Alphabet of the Apocalypse," which has so many clever things going on it feels like I'm reading that Highlights magazine, noticing something different every time I read through the poem.
The entire book is a treasure, too short, brilliantly composed, each poem asking the reader to lift the rock of its words.
Hopefully I'm never stuck in bed for so long again, but after spending so much time in there, I'm officially on the prowl for a new piece of art for our bedroom.
Just this year Robert and I splurged on some special frames for our horde of magnets we've been collecting on our travels (and a handful we've had since we were kids). We bought some sheet metal and had it framed so it could hold the weight of the magnets. We started with three frames, two for our entryway and one for the bedroom. One of the frames in the entryway is a work-in-progress. So three was the right move. We can also change them up every now and then.
The one in the bedroom has been a delight this past month as I've been recuperating. There are so many favorites. In two of the corners are what I fondly think of as the scrambled egg ladies. They've graced the refrigerators of my youth, college apartments, the refrigerator of my first home with Robert.
This is the last fridge Robert and I owned that could hold magnets. I was a nanny for several years, so I always had a gaggle of kids with me, thus the magnet letters and beautiful artwork. The first time we put a magnet on a fridge that couldn't hold them, and we watched it sadly zoom to the floor, we were completely aghast. And momentarily lost.
We both had metal pegboards/tool chests in our offices, so for a while they lived in clumps here and there in places that were hard to enjoy them.
Robert and I both have identical KC Pizza Hut magnets from our childhood, which is unusual because I did not grow up in KC. I think mine came from my uncle. I used to stare at it and think about how people in movies would order pizza (Home Alone comes immediately to mind). I thought it only happened in movies. It certainly did not happen in the rural area where I grew up. When I found out Robert had the same exact magnet, I told him this and he said he didn't really know why they had the magnet, because Pizza Hut delivery (any delivery) was too expensive for him and his mom. So we have the same magnet and the same longing. Two kids whose big dream when they grew up was to order pizza and have it delivered right to their door. Dreams do come true!
My favorite magnet is from the Catacombs of Paris. It's a little book!
Prior to taking a tour of the Catacombs of Paris, I only wanted to be there and learn more about it. But then we found out they have concerts, and now I think about how much I would love to attend a concert there every time I see the magnet. I think it's tragic the bodies were buried in such a way, their remains now a cautionary tale, constantly gawked at and often disrespected, but I'd like to think that the music that stirs them every so often is mending in some way. I don't care what happens to my body when I die. Whatever is the least burden to the earth. But if there was the possibility of music near my remains, and there wasn't the option of reincarnation, and I could politely haunt , I would choose the music. No matter the ridicule or disrespect. Even if it was Zydeco or classic rock, I would still pick that over the absence of music.
This morning I had a message from Dropbox in my inbox.
Until about a year ago all my phone pictures went straight to Dropbox. I would move them into the correct folders and iPhoto (now called Photos). I was always about two or three years behind! Last year Robert helped me set up my pictures so that they automatically went into iPhoto. I could just create a new album in iPhoto, drag the pictures into their albums and be done. Any pictures that went back to live in Dropbox I just export every so often. These are pictures that are not keepsakes - inspiration for art, ukulele songs/chords, pictures from books etc. The only small issue with this new system is that I still had about three years of pictures to organize in Dropbox! Every so often I moved about a hundred at a time. I was slowly whittling away at it.
When I was told I was going to be on bed rest for almost three weeks I decided I was going to finish moving not only the rest of those remaining pictures in dropbox (about two years worth) but also all the really old picture albums from 2004-2008, which is when I switched to a Mac.
It was a lot of work, but it was easy to do laying on my back. I officially finished it all on Tuesday this week! Everything is organized, easy to find, and I now have the joy of all my pictures from the past 20 years being in one place. 19, 044 things organized!
Next week I have my first check-up since the surgery, and I am excited to get one step closer to taking steps again. I've had a few hairy days where it felt like my foot was constantly getting stuck in a patch of stinging nettles, and that has mostly disappeared. I am now just dealing with a lot of heat, swooshing pressure, tingling, and some deep aches. If I go lower than toes above nose for more than 10 minutes it's extremely uncomfortable. I am hoping this is the next thing that goes away. The sooner the better!
I'm also about a third of the way through my last semester. My capstone class has felt terrifically challenging for being what it is, which is creating a portfolio of assignments from all of my classes. We are sorting them by program objective first, and it's been a weird scavenger hunt that I am not always doing right. Another class (collection development) has been challenging, but that was my expectation going into it. Thankfully it has been interesting thus far. My third class (event planning) is almost wrapped up and then I will do a different class for the rest of the semester. I think it's programming for seniors.
Josie went back to work this week but has been taking care of me at night. Nights are the worst! So long! Especially when I need to move about every 20 or 30 minutes. But nothing beats an 80+ pound dog cuddling the brambly hurt away. Each time I reach for her at night, and she's there, it's such a comfort.
The small celebration in my last post has opened up into this ginormous, blooming hope. Wednesday night I woke up and realized my toes were uncomfortable. It was a weird feeling. I realized both that they were uncomfortable and that I really hadn't felt them since before the surgery. I lay there in the dark pondering what to do. Should I move them? What if it was painful and the pain kept me up the rest of the night?
I took a chance. I wiggled them. Just the small toes, mind you. I learned the day of the injury that there was something about moving the big toe that caused bright white pain, so that's going to be something I work on later.
So yes, I wiggled my toes and nothing happened! I was strangely elated. Our bodies break. But they also heal too. It's tough to remember that second part during the times we're broken (or in self pity's chokehold).
The next day I felt some of the weight leave the leg. It went from cement anchor while I waited for the nerve block to wear off. Each move took effort from the rest of my body - "Here you go leg - here's a boost!" shouted the rest of me, from my teeth to hips. Then there was just this heavy, throbbing weight. And on Thursday it became, almost miraculously overnight, just a leg in a splint.
Where did I read that beautiful piece about celebrating just being alive. Oh yes, that remarkable book I can't stop talking about, A Perfectionists' Guide to Losing Control. The author's toddler daughter was wondering why they were having a party, and the author replied, "'You know why we're having a party? Because mommy is trying really hard at something! We're having a trying party!'" Lots of weird parties here, the latest being a toe wiggling party.
Josie has been doing hard work too, taking care of me. She has been in bed with me more times than not. She leans her body against the injured leg, sometimes uncomfortably so, but who can say no to such a sweet face? Robert says that she is trying to absorb the pain from me, and who knows, he could be right.
Look at how cuddly she is. She's a masterpiece, stinky breath and all.
One morning I couldn't figure out why the bedroom smelled like peanut butter. Turns out Robert gave the girls some peanut butter on their snooters, and Josie saved some for later. She was insistent about having her crusty peanut butter snout in my business.
Margo has been going to work each day. She is a creature who needs routine, which I can relate to and respect. We have worked really hard perfecting our morning routine since I changed jobs in January and Margo officially became employed for the first time in her life. Because I go to work later in the mornings there is time for more than a walk, brush, and goodbye hugs like my last job. That was an easy routine for her.
Our pre-injury routine began with me working in my home office (which is upstairs) on my personal endeavors (art, chaos, sometimes both). Margo would take a nap on her pillow at the top of the stairs. After I wrapped up in my office I did my workout (my workout room is also upstairs). When I started heading downstairs she would follow. If I took too long with chores, she began to not so gently herd me toward the door. We would go for our walk. After our walk, I brushed the girls, alternating each day between the slicker brush (which they love) and the FURminator (which I love because it gets so much more hair), and washed Margo's face with a warm washcloth and then her special tear wipes. She has a tear duct issue that isn't uncomfortable for her, but it causes her to cry a lot and sometimes get crusty, which does look uncomfortable. After grooming them I would get ready for work, and then we would head out. First, we dropped off Josie at Robert's office, and then Margo and I would head to the shop. If I deviated from any part of this weird equation that equalled Margo's routine, she let me know about it. She would either try to herd me in the direction of whatever it was that we weren't doing (for example, no walks on stormy days) or give me deeply disappointed, borderline homicidal stares (if I failed to brush her if I was running late). Here are a few of her stares, which she was born doing. It's a little unnerving to see a puppy look at you like how did I get stuck with this obnoxious piece of garbage?!? Robert often comments that it's a wonder she hasn't killed us one night while we're asleep.
(WARNING only look if you're not prone to nightmares). Included is a video so you can feel the stare. Most times we feel the stare before we see it, and on occasion she'll stare long enough for us to examine our souls.
Margo has not understood my injury at all. In fact, I think it's fair to say it has deeply confused her. Last Tuesday she finally had enough and started to not so gently herd Robert toward the door, remarkably around the same time we would normally go to work. So Robert took her to the shop, and that's what he's been doing since then. She really does have many important jobs at the shop. She even has her own business card, which J designed for her. Margo is there for emotional support. She's the president of both HR and our social media. And most importantly, she is there for all of her friends, which is almost every customer who comes in the shop. One of our UPS drivers comes in even on his days off to see her, and one of our mail ladies brings Margo cookies (Margo hasn't won over the second mail lady yet). There was even one customer who came back after he already picked up his item just to say hi to Margo. He drops by almost weekly now to see her. So naturally, when he asked if we would be a sponsor for his American Legion's upcoming mouse race, Margo wholeheartedly gave him our support.
One of the best things we did during the remodel of the shop was add cameras everywhere. Since we do not have any way to see what's going on in the shop from the back room where we work, the cameras have been a life-changer. We still have the annoying alarm for when customers come in, but we can now see them before we hear the alarm and also keep an eye on customers who need time to look around without us hovering. Our outside cameras have been a riot as well. We have had everything from people sleeping out front of the building, a wide assortment of animals roaming the wooded area out back, and even someone peeing on the side of the building in the middle of the day. No joke!
We had some training on our sand carver last week, so I let everyone know that I would be listening in and watching what I could via the camera nearest the sand carver.
A couple days Robert has needed to drop Margo off early or pick her up late. So I played a little Where's Margo to check in on her. Can you find her in this first camera screenshot?
She's behind the chair at my desk! You can see just a bit of her foot and tail.
Waiting for Robert to pick her up. You know she's wearing The Stare.
J has also sent me pictures of Margo hard at work. Margo absolutely adores J, so I think a big part of Margo needing to go to work each day is because she misses her J! Here they are together. Margo is doing her job - making sure J doesn't work too hard. It's impossible to turn down a squishy lip break!
It's lonely in the house without Margo, but I understand that her job is very important to her. Once I'm capable of hauling myself around on a scooter again, I'll be right there with her, forming a new temporary routine and doing the important work of helping customers on their journey to celebrate, commemorate, congratulate, and recognize the special people in their lives. It's not librarianship, but it's important and incredibly interesting work that I love and now miss the short time I've been away.
With my leg officially letting me know it's healing, I can't help but get excited about everything I love in life all over again. There will be coffee again. Showering inside! Scooting around work. I'll be able to do workouts again! I can take over laundry duties again (Robert, bless him, needs to stay in the kitchen where he belongs). It's tough not to get stupid drunk on the hope.
Tomorrow will be one week since my surgery, a milestone I'm celebrating early. There are hours I'm engaged in work, school assignments, reading. And there are hours I'm gritting my teeth, counting down each quarter hour as I ride the pain and tame my imagination about what's going on under the splint. I stopped taking pain meds after Saturday, and the days have been doable, but the nights are like some terrible horror movie.
Robert went through a similar surgery when the tendon on the side of his ankle snapped. I'm not sure what the name of that tendon is, so let's just call it hellraiser. Though our stories are similar, Robert had the extra challenge of discovering there wasn't a groove to hold hellraiser once it was stitched back together. So he went from splint to a hard cast, because they had to grind out a new groove in his ankle bone to hold hellraiser. So yes, we've both had haywire tendon surgery stories, and he knows what I'm going through, but his was on a whole different level.
Each time I share a new pain with him, he's so nonchalant, like he's describing how a server works.
There's the fire-hot glass pain in the bottom of the heel (his response - "oh that's just blood pooling").
There's the gnawing on the back of my heel with razor teeth pain (his response - "just your stitches rubbing on the splint").
There's the feeling of giant spasms in the calf area, which feels like being bitch-smacked by a fish. You know the feeling when you're fishing and the fish comes out of the water and it's flopping everywhere and it smacks into you with all its spiny glory - that feeling but on the inside. When I told Robert this, he said, "well that's probably just your tendon coming back together."
The squeezing python pain? "Oh, you just aren't elevating it enough. That's the swelling against the splint." Like my leg is literally a sausage bursting from its casing.
Last night there was a new sensation. I told Robert it was feeling itchy in there too. Having some experience with my disgusted looks, he was even more succinct than ever. "Dead skin." And I was like, "Dead skin what?!?" He started to explain, "Well your leg isn't getting any air." But I was done. No more. I've learned my lesson. It's better to think there's a menagerie of creepy creatures having a nightmare party down there.
A couple big things happened yesterday that instantly lifted my mood and Robert's too. First, I had a shower after not showering since last Tuesday. Robert and I plotted for days the best way to do this. And really, the best way ended up being what was going to be the most entertaining for Robert and neighbors. That's how you know you're making a sound decision.
Robert waited until all of our neighbors were out taking walks and as a bonus, a city worker was digging up and replacing the old gas line in our yard. Then he found the most obnoxious spray setting on our garden hose, hauled me out of the house, plopped me on a chair where I could be viewed by our entire neighborhood, wrapped up the injured leg in multiple plastic bags, and proceeded to cackle maniacally as he Jackson Pollocked me with soap and the sprayer.
The good news is I can now tolerate being around myself and we've got a good plan for the next shower. The only difference is that we're going to do it in the dead of night.
And I also have something to do during the long hours - plotting vengeance. Robert always says he loves my creativity. So I'm sure whatever I cook up for him will be something he'll enjoy.
I knew Robert was going to pick up the girls from their little vacation at their doggie daycare, but I was so exhausted after the shower I went to bed for a while. The next thing I know there's golden retriever flying at me. Robert said Josie flew past him when he got home and opened the door. She went straight for me.
I'm the lump to the left. 😁
I am extremely fortunate to have a husband who is so incredibly nurturing and such a lover (he helped me take off my nail polish for the surgery and even found a walker like thing for the toilet so I could I use the bathroom independently). But I also have this dog who went from this happy, goofy sweetheart who made it clear from the beginning that she was a baby who needed our love and protection. Never once did she show signs of being protective or nurturing like one of our past dogs, Rose. Even as a baby, Rose made it clear that she was there to take care of us and keep us in line.
Suddenly, with this injury, Josie has become a total nurturer. She has glued herself to me since she's been home and has been so incredibly gentle with my giant boo boo. We were going to try to keep her out of the bed, but she made it very clear that wasn't happening. I told Robert if she just happens to land on me the wrong way, we'll have one hell of a story for the emergency room.
So here I type in bed, and her butt floof is all up in my laptop as it should be.
Margo is a different story. She got up this morning and gave us some hardcore stares. So Robert finally surrendered and took her to work where she can be with her beloved J and do her important shop dog duties. I love her to infinity, but she has her own agenda!
Well, I've got some important cuddling with my Jo Pie to do next. The most important thing on the list today.
"Adults can change their circumstances; children cannot. Children are powerless, and in difficult situations they are the victims of every sorrow and mischance and rage around them, for children feel all of these things but without any of the ability that adults have to change them. Whatever can take a child beyond such circumstances, therefore, is an alleviation and a blessing...the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books can re-dignify the worst-stung heart."
Dear Writer by Maggie Smith
Favorite moments:
"When I say that attention is a form of love, I'm also saying that attention is about devotion and commitment. 'Paying attention' is a metaphor in itself: attention a form of currency we pay to things we value."
On Titles and Epigraphs was the most helpful chapter. "When we 'try on' a title - for a poem, an essay, or even a book - we can ask ourselves: What does the reader need to know early on or at the outset? What information or frame of reference could the title provide up front so that the piece of writing can begin unencumbered by exposition? Are there details or explanation that could be moved into the title, so that the piece's load is a little lighter?"
"As you try on titles and consider whether to use - or remove - epigraphs, think about the welcome mat you're laying out. Think about how you've invited the reader inside and prepared them for what's going to happen next. Is the reader overburden or underprepared? Or do they have everything they need?"
I'll never use this one, as I'm constantly editing and shaping as I write and think, but this is the best way I've heard it explained: "Don't worry too much about the form as you get the raw material down; that would be like making a container at the same time as trying to fill it."
The second most helpful chapter for me was Generative Writing Activity: Line, Sentence, and Stanza. "Whether the line is enjambed or end-stopped, the word at the end of each line is emphasized. Imagine a little spotlight trained on the last word of each line in your poem. Do you need a spotlight on his, and, or the? Or would you rather shine it on words with some importance, some metaphorical weight in the poem? Don't waste a spotlight."
I thought her signature at the end of some chapters was a little much and weird, but her advice was sound. I bought the book only a few minutes after opening my library copy because I knew I was going to want to pick it up again and again. So I'll get over the fact that she's a little full of herself. I'm excited to look through her poetry books and see if I've missed any and maybe also reread them.
I'm officially on the the mend now. I was very fortunate to get an appointment with the surgeon on Monday. He scheduled my surgery for Wednesday, and I was in and out in just a few hours. I'm on bed rest until the end of September, which means I'm typing while laying down. But I'm two days into it, and I'm feeling hopeful. Only 9 months and I'll back on the court playing tennis. The doctor has a detailed plan for the next nine months, and from what I heard I may be putting some weight on the leg by Halloween. I'm ready to get this plan going!
Robert has been taking good care of me, and his mom has even come over when he's gone in case I need anything. I can't quite get around on my own yet, but I'm so close.
One of my three classes this fall has a group discussion component. When we were trying to figure out a time to meet this week, I mentioned my surgery on Wednesday and asked for Tuesday, the day before, or for Sunday. The surgeon told me once the nerve block wears off, even with pain medication, there will be a couple days of pain. Well, in less than 24 hours, my group all came together and decided to meet on Tuesday. So, I'm still caught up on my assignments. So much to be grateful for.
The only thing that's kinda rotten is that my girls are in doggy daycare right now. Prior to the surgery, Josie would still very carefully get in bed with us at night. Right around the time I was ready to fall asleep, she would get down, which is what she usually does. But for the week prior to my surgery, I would wake up and she would be back in bed with us, snuggled as close to me as she could get! We couldn't figure out what was going on. Then one night, Margo woke up Robert because she needed to go out. While he was waiting on Margo, I gave a yelp of pain in my sleep. He said Josie didn't even think twice. She gracefully and soundlessly jumped up on the bed and was by my side in seconds.
This is the same dog who acts like a whirly dervish, the first dog we've had who is a complete baby and wants to be treated as such. She is also 100% Robert's dog. I can't even begin to tell you how loved I feel right now. But her need to make sure I'm ok is why she's out of the house for a few days. Even though I'm on bed rest (toes above nose) for two weeks, I'll be turning some kind of magical corner around Monday. And then we can figure out how Josie and I can snuggle without her plastering herself to my booboo.
Though it doesn't sound like much of a difference, a boot and a splint wrapped in what feels like the entire stock of guaze at any given Walgreens is a pretty mighty difference. I'm a fairly strong person, but it feels like I have a damn anchor made of cement down there. It's also unwieldy and both Robert and I are terrified of it. I didn't have fond feelings for the boot, but I will be happy to see it again in two weeks!
This is the book I can't stop talking about. It's been so incredibly helpful!
I am not sure how this book ended up on my to-read list. Usually I add the name of whoever recommended it in my private notes, but there's nothing there. I almost didn't read it, because I would never call myself a perfectionist, and no one has ever called me one with any seriousness.
But here I am with this book that I know is already changing my life. I saw so much of myself in this book it was tough to read at times. I had to stop after each moment of connection and take the time to process it. I have even found myself using the information from the book to help me move forward from a place of anxiety and attacking myself. I think it's within my power to figure out ways to make all the things that define me (good or bad, perfectionism or not) a little bit more adaptive than maladaptive.
Powerful moments for me:
Pg. 27: Adaptive vs. maladaptive perfectionism. Interestingly enough, I had a doctor's appointment and the doctor used the terms to describe a function of the body. Maybe others have heard of this, but it was news to me. I feel like this is something concrete that I can think about to help me use behaviors in a positive way.
Pg. 29: "Trying to get rid of your perfectionism (or for me, my need to be in control) is like trying to get rid of the wind by whacking it with a broom. Perfectionism is too powerful for an eradication approach. When you try to get rid of your perfectionism, all you're doing is hemorrhaging energy at the opportunity cost of attending to your wellness."
Pg. 84: "Each type of perfectionist has their own way of expressing the dynamics inherent in maladaptive perfectionism, but regardless of context, the raw formula is the same: you get separated from your self-worth, and you think restoring your worth hinges on an external outcome. You start trying to compensate for something you don't need to compensate for. You start trying to earn something that already belongs to you." This rings true. It still almost bowls me over reading it a third, fifth, twelfth time.
Pg. 86: "Relying on a strategy of superficial control instead of accessing your power is tantamount to moving a car by pushing it from the bumper instead of getting inside and driving it." This is so much of my life, it would be funny if it didn't hurt like the dickens. I have superficial control lying all over my house, in my mind, everywhere.
Pg. 106: "Everything a child who does not feel loved does is done to answer this question am I worth loving yet? The child asks some version of that question indefinitely, but not forever. When the answer to the question continues to be perceived as "No," the message is internalized...An invisible switch is flipped. In the child's unconscious mind, freedom to be who they are is no longer an option. It's too unsafe and two destabilizing. With freedom off the table, two choices remain. The first choice is performance. They choose to play the part of someone who is worthy and hope to God no one finds out they're pretending. The second choice is destruction. They choose to destroy themselves with the mentality of "If no one else cares about me, why should I?" To read something like this in a book is such a hopeful, powerful thing.
Lastly, Pg. 170: "Perfectionists waste so much energy trying to turn their disappointment into something else. We keep asking, "How can I get rid of my disappointment?" The better question is "What else do I also feel?"
While reading this I realized that one of the tools I use while creating art is a tiny part of me giving myself permission to let go. I use this tool as a way to surrender some of that control I constantly feel like I need to have. I can only hope that by using this tool I'm able to let go a little more with every finished piece.
I picked up this book from the library on Friday, and it's clearly meant to be (The Pivot Year by Brianna Wiest)
I ruptured my right achilles tendon and am a sad grab bag of emotions right now. I know that with my need for exercise and a lot of it, I have a target on my back for injuries. But the funny thing is I've been working like hell to strengthen my pelvic floor and core even more, up from an hour a week to 2 1/2 hours a week since my trips to Mayo. I haven't reduced my tennis any either. I've actually been playing like there's music inside me. I don't think I've gotten any better, but it's more and more giving me a place to go to heal. And then it breaks me. It's just an injury, but I've got to figure out a new place to sort out my thoughts and feelings. I don't want this blog to turn into all the rocky bits I've had going on. I try to get to a positive place or find the moments of gratitude before sharing too much. And just that process of looking for the blooms in the thorns has given me the strength to work through each challenge. The growth and healing during and after the loss of my library job, learning how to run a business that I've never had any experience with (a blessing cloaked in a challenge), working through my G.I. issues with the help of so many and getting on a healing path.
But occasionally there are things in life that are harder to process and work through, things we add to our load of unsolvables that we carry in one large knapsack that can never be put down. I lost someone close to me, someone I didn't expect to. It happened late last spring, and the pain of it has been all-encompassing. I know I am strong and can grow from it, but I'm still in that place where I wake up most days and relive the loss. I spend these days fighting to not let it destroy me. Exercise, especially tennis, is where I go to ruminate, heal, and rage until I'm exhausted. This injury has left me particularly vulnerable. At this point I can't see myself ever being in a good place where I can write about this loss with any kind of gratitude or positivity. But it's just as much a part of me as my breath, and it will shape who I am going forward, so it's time to say it out loud and not be upset at myself for not being able to scrounge up any kind of positivity or peace for it.
When my tendon ruptured I was working through nerves because I was playing with new people. We were all joking, having a good time, but I hadn't found my groove thing yet. I took one step back to receive a serve, and the tendon exploded and I went down. Even during the initial shock of pain, I knew it was bad. I couldn't put any weight on it, and these incredible strangers helped Robert carry me off the court and to the car. I can't even begin to tell you how mortified I was. Even as I remembered seeing another player go down several years ago much the same way with a torn ACL, and how everyone jumped in to help her, I couldn't get past the embarrassment.
I can already find the gratitude for this latest challenge though. There is much to be grateful for. As Robert was reaching out to others for help - he has an athletic trainer friend who knew which ER we should go to and another friend whose sister owns a medical supply store, I was thinking holy hell, I don't have a single person in my life to say, "this horrible thing happened, and I'm completely wrecked by it." And just as fast as that emotion flickered through me, there was this relief that I did not have to share this ridiculously embarrassing thing with anyone, Robert being the exception of course. He's the one person in my life who continues to be there for me. He's seen it all. The good moments. The ugly. The stuff we know we're going to laugh about once we figure out how.
While I was at the ER I asked one of the nurses whether I did anything to create this injury. I went through the stretches I did, the tennis I played the day before, everything. It was a relief to hear her tell me that sometimes this kind of thing just happens. One thing I've realized recently thanks to a special book is that I'm so ready to blame myself for everything because it means that it's still within my control if I'm the one who caused it. But it also completely depletes me when I tear myself down. So I was really proud of myself for trying to get ahead of this problem by asking her.
I'm twenty four hours into this situation and now I'm ready to process it rationally and develop a plan. Really, it's many plans. But the first thing I'm going to do is not let the embarrassment and worry eat me up. So I'm owning up to the fact that I did not go down in a blaze of glory. I went down just backing up to receive a serve that had a little more sauce on it than I was expecting (something we do all the time in tennis). I played the day before, worked through my current roadblocks, ate what I was supposed to the morning of, stretched everything, and walked on the court ready. Sometimes shitty things just happen.
I am doing the boot and scoot this week, meeting with the same doctor who did Robert's ankle surgery next Monday (he's out of town or I would be in sooner), and doing the surgery as soon as he assesses the injury. And then it's 6-12 months recovery. Not too bad, right? There are already two things that I think are absolutely hilarious. The tournament I was playing in was called The Bracket of Death because it's a condensed into one day. While carrying me to the car on my lawn chair throne, Robert told me I didn't have to take the name literally. Second, the first song that was playing at the beginning of the tournament was Boot Scootin' Boogie. The universe was trying to warn me! I try to pay attention for signs from the universe, but they're usually not sung by Brooks & Dunn!
I can feel the injury like a hot, evil thing lurking in the boot, but it's not painful if I leave it alone. Other than my pride, the thing that hurts most is my back, which hurts with every breath. I am thinking I must have gone down hard and the scooter has been kind a jerk to my back (the dogs think it's a jerk too). But the scooter has a cute basket, and it has given me mobility, so I'm not going to talk too much shit about it. I also have an extra day thanks to the holiday to get used to this new reality and become a human again, ready for life and work again.
We've had a lot of construction around my neighborhood this summer. A bridge was replaced, yards and roads have been ripped up to replace old pipes, and we have three houses at the end of our street that have been torn down and are in various stages of rebuilding. There have been times I've needed help just getting off my street or I've been blocked and needed to wait. Yesterday we went for a walk and discovered that Josie's favorite street to do her business is being torn up. Robert and I jokingly refer to this street as "The Beloved Poop Fields of El Monte," because Josie has such a fondness for pooping there. I've seen her go poo just minutes before walking El Monte and if we turn on El Monte, she poos again.
So yesterday we needed to go a bit further, I was already late, Josie was giving me crap for missing her street, and we came across this sign.
As we passed Josie's beloved street again, she got as close to it as she could and did her business. That was the best she could do. This is likely some kind of divine message from the universe.
I can't even begin to tell you how this collage came to be. For the longest time I only made planned art. If a planned piece took me somewhere unmapped, I was not resistant. But I do like a plan! The past couple years I have been winging it sometimes. Even when I'm winging it, a plan often forms in the process of picking out the papers, thread, or fabric.
When I sat down with the papers for this collage I only knew I craved yellow. Eventually a hand grew in the piece, and after I got used to it being there, I moved it, kept moving it, kept asking what it wanted to be. I was so focused on the hand fluttering around the canvas, I was ignoring what it was trying to give me.
Today it's officially 20 years of shenanigans, adventures, ruffled feathers, goofiness, comfort, squishes, front porch sitting, and love. We haven't been able to count all the stars or drive any kind of vehicle, Buicks included, to the moon. So our love keeps going like one never-ending fruit rollup.
We can't say that every minute of our relationship has been perfect. We are opposites in a lot of ways, which has made things very interesting. Robert is a lover who wants everyone in his life to always be happy. If someone isn't happy, it becomes his number one priority to figure out what he can do to help change that. If I think someone isn't happy or processing big feelings I'm like peace out! Process that shit and get back to me when you're ready.
One of the things we've worked so hard on in our relationship is to find a balance between these two extremes. I like space when I'm processing or chewing on things. Robert likes kumbaya time when he's processing or chewing on things. If there's one thing we've learned these past twenty years it's how to find a bridge between space and kumbaya time and also understand each other's perspective better.
There have been times he's given me my space and I've found myself seeking his comfort, and I know there have been times I've been very smushy and loving, and he's wanting that space. Relationships are work! And so much communication!
Robert is the most nurturing soul I've met. He is unflappable, thoughtful, brilliant, and goofy. I am like a shrieking pterodactyl of whatever feeling I'm feeling the most. When I first met him I both fell in love with him and also at the same time, wanted to be more like him. He's definitely made me a better person and is there for me 100% during the messy parts of my evolution. I can't speak for him, but over the years his inner shrieking pterodactyl side has definitely been creeping out. When he giggles, it's one of the best sounds on the planet. He also sings to the dogs all the time now, and I'm pretty sure I've helped nurture that obnoxiousness.
I'm thrilled I've had this much time with my best friend. We've had some bumps along the way, lost loved ones who shaped us, and have both been down at the same time a few times (the worst and sometimes later, funniest moments). But man, we've had so many good moments, always, unanimously agreed on all the big things together, and have had a blast. I hope we're always together, but even if something happens to one of us, these past 20 years have been the best years of my life.
We've had similar but unusual stories. We've been the guardians to kids from each side of our families. As adults we connected with siblings from both sides who we did not grow up with. We each lost the glue that held our families together, and both times it was the first time and completely knocked us down. We've renovated too many houses, sometimes together, sometimes together but silently seething. We've learned any kind of remodel is hard, even if you're just swapping houses that are next door or across the street from each other. We both have had the best people come and go in our lives, sometimes holding onto them for dear life, and sometimes letting go.
I am thankful every day I wake up and he's still here and all mine. And I know he feels the same way about me (he sings me songs too).
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