Scattered Not Gory

The Magic of Christmas 

The above image is one of the few family Christmas photos featuring me and my siblings as children. My older brother is standing next to me and the younger is barely in the frame. That is is elbow. This is a Christmas morning circa 1965 or 1966 with my mom as photographer. It was my intent to post this along with memory lane jog before the 25th of December but I was smacked with a doozie of a head cold that left me horizontal as often as possible. What little present energies were spent getting to (and attending to) work. Even still, I was sent home early one day and called off another. I've already burned some 2017 PTO hours.

Today is the best day of the last ten. The worst is over. Knock wood.

I've forgotten where this was going . . .     oh, nowhere really, except that Scattergories is one of my favorite games. Daughter and I played a couple of rounds between my coughing and sniffling. Some FB friends were passing around a Scattergories with a twist--using the first letter of your last name to answer the questions posed:

P    Animal: Porcupine.
      Girl's Name: Penelope
      Boy's Name: Peter
      Color:  Purple
      Movie: Poseidan Adventure
      Something You Wear: Pants
      Drink: Pink Lady
      Food: Pigeon Peas 
      Item in Bathroom: Pipe
      Place: Portugal
      Reason to be late: Pothole
      Car: Plymouth
      Composer: Puccini
      Author: Patricia Cornwell
      Singer: Paula Cole

I still don't know where this post was going, has gone, it is just . . well, is.    I hope everyone had a please holiday and if you had a break, I hope that too was pleasant.

Happy New Day!

Click image for MORE Monday!** 

**published too late for Monday, but meant for Monday or at least earlier on Tuesday.  Yeah, still kinda scattered, operating at about 86% (generous).

On This Day

Thanks to a nasty cold, I've spent the better part of the last two days horizontal. Sleeping, whenever I wasn't medicating, coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose. And as such, have spent little time thinking about the party we hadn't planned, the meal we weren't having. My mom would have been seventy-five today. It is hard to remember the smile that traveled a mile, the laugh that went on and on when the mood struck just right and not be sad that it has to be a memory and not present to experience.

Still, to have had moments of glee, pockets of pleasure in our time together is something to be grateful for and certainly cause for celebration. Someday.

Happy Birthday, mom.

Mandala and Recent Days

 Well, the cold that was getting better slid back. And so, I was down for most of the last few days.

 But, I'm better again. Just in time for the weekend (well, after Friday) and I believe, more snow.

 But, before going down for the count this last time, I did finish some of the assignments. These

were posted to the private group FB page. There have been some really amazing 

submissions. I'm awed by the journeys, stories, and artistic expressions being shared. 

I have three more completed that have yet to be scanned and uploaded. Still, I'm three (or is it four?) behind as of tomorrow morning. Whichever of the next lessons I choose, I'd like my interpretations to be more . . . elaborate, I guess. But, I am limited to the supplies and resources I have on hand and of course, time (and head space) to execute the lessons. I must remember not not concern myself with being behind or or playing catch-up or how artistic my offerings. I must remember what the true goal, the lessons being taught, and the insight I hope to glean from the exercises. 

Long story short, I'm having fun creating and questioning. YaY for PLAY

While I Was Sleeping

You know being relevant or coming up with something interesting, funny to say about what's current is just as hard as it might ever be depending on the serendipity of it all.

Lily and her lady got married on New Year's Eve. They've been together forever. Well, not literally, but a really long time. So, one-congratulations to them (and the families).  And two, this along with the Robin Roberts oh-so-pedestrian, "thank you to my girlfriend" statement of a few days ago fired up digital and print media types (again and again) about how we gays are ruining the planet. 

ain't she somthin' ? ! 

To which I say: pfffft. 

Oh, there is more but I don't want to spend the very small feeling better window treating narrow-minded, ignorant bigots. 

So, congratulations ladies, all.  

In other news, I'm several days behind on my mandala journal/journey. But, it is cool. It is that kind of deal. I have the emails and know what the subsequent assignments are. I may or may not choose to do them all to catchup. It is not about catching up, it is about my thinking, feeling, creating each day as I see fit and as fits me. 

My cold is feverishly working its way out of my body. Today is the first day in many that my entire nose is working more often than not. The chills that are not weather (what about that  weather, yo?) related  are abating.I'm still coughing like crazy but my energy and its cousin, appetite are inching back into existence. 

While all won't be well, being physically well is two steps in the right direction. 

To close and to bring it back to the lovely . . . a friend's Robin Roberts post elicited a, "why should we care" type comment from one of her friends. To which I replied, "I'm excited for the day where it just IS. . . that is to say, not newsBut, today is not that day and so, it matters and so, we 

(some of us) care, quite a lot."


Happy Wednesday soon to be Thursday! 

And welcome air temperatures well above zero. 


*click on the images

taking the deepest breath

Yesterday was my son's thirty-first birthday.  I was prepared to post poetic about the thirty-one-derful reasons why I not only love him, but like him So SO SO much.

But yesterday was also the day I learned that my mother has lung cancer and that she's been sitting on this news for a few weeks.

waiting to exhale

inhale, exhale

Many, if not most of us take breathing for granting. I mean it is just there, like . . . air. It is as natural as wings and the Super Bowl. and speaking of wings, did you hear some days ago about the shortage of wings?

Our local wing emporiums had been pushing folks to order their Super Bowl wings days in advance, not necessarily due to the perceived shortage of wings but mostly to avoid the last minute Game Day pick-up rush and delay. there were horror stories about folks waiting 45 minutes for their Game Day wings . . . and the GAME starts in 10 minutes!!!

The wing shortage rumor has been refuted. Still, there will be lines. I think. I won't be getting wings from any of the emporiums. But, back to the point at hand, breathing. granted. taken for.

My phone rang very early on the morning of January 23rd. An actual call (versus a text message) that wasn't from my mother. But, it was about Mom. She had called a friend to take her to the ER and the friend called me.

SOB Shortness of breath.

The ER visit turned into a week of poking and prodding, testing and scoping, and a general upset of routine. Very tiring and quite overwhelming for her, as she repeated. Often. And for me it was an  exhaustive yet educational exercise.

And then she was discharged to her  home. Home with the newest normal, oxygen. And further limitation on mobility and independence. The first night was the hardest (so far). After having spent most of the evening with her while she acclimated to the oxygen canister, waiting for the delivery for the concentrated oxygen and related training, I was called out in the middle of that night by the medic alert company: mother having problems with her oxygen, am I able to go.

Yes.

The trouble was mostly anxiety.

And now, in addition to anxiety and fear there is dependence and guilt. There is confusion and helplessness. There is exhaustion and desire.

There is . . . breathing.




 

The Worst

Coughing, that is the worst. You're on the train and the fit comes over you. Best not to try to suppress, for that only makes matters worse. You hack and wheeze up a lung. Some riders try to ignore you, others stare daggers at you as though you are deliberately trying to make them sick, while still others, offer you a cough drop.

Or ten.

Coughing, that is the worst.

Or no, worst than coughing is the sneak attack sneeze. That sneeze that results in a big wad of snot shooting out your nose, and dangling down over your lips, chin. All before you were able to grab a tissue from the pack . . . you left on your desk.

Damn.