60 seconds of bad things

Missy, this post is for you.

How many different things can go wrong in 60 seconds?

Well, lets see.

First off I was a teenager when this happened. That’s “Thing One” right there. There is almost nothing right about life when you are in 10th grade.

It was raining and I chose to wear white. Specifically a white knee length skirt. Not a poodle skirt, but that length and feel. This was back in the 80s and it was soooo cool to wear saddle oxfords, with a white poodle-type skirt. I was also wearing layered shirts. One in electric blue and one lavender. With the sleeves rolled up. And the collar turned up. And I had the socks to back it up. Layered of course! But the thing to remember is the white skirt, that’s (Thing Two)

My mother (who was very cool) was out of commission that day and couldn’t drive her image-concious 15 year old to school, so I had to settle for my desperately un-cool dad. To my 15-year-old mind he was spastic and guaranteed to do the WRONG THING in front of my friends. (Thing Three)

We pull up in front of the school. This was a school where the drop off was right in front of the exposed front doors. No awning, no portico, no shelter and nothing to hide behind. (Thing Four) did I mention it was raining?

Cool kids (I honestly don’t remember which cool kids, but there were some there) were gathered near the front door. (Thing Five)

This is all set up of course, but believe me without some of these the rest of the incident wouldn’t be nearly so bad.

So we pull up in front of the school. I get out of the drivers side. (did I mention I was driving? When learning to drive I grabbed at every opportunity to practice) My un-cool daddy gets out of the passenger side and

He Waves To The Cool Kids. I wanted to die!!!! (Thing Six)

I stalk around to the back seat, grab my book bag, dodge my dad’s attempted kiss   NOT HERE DADDY ! and make for the front door to the school. Now here’s where it ALL went wrong.

I recall grabbing for the front door of the school. I KNOW I got my hand on the handle and tried to use my weight to pull it open (the doors were notoriously stubborn) I did mention it was raining, right?

The next thing I know, I am on my back (Thing Seven) with my feet in the air (Thing Eight) and my skirt on my face (Thing Nine) with my panty covered butt pressed up against the GLASS doors of the school (Thing TEN).

I got up. I’m now soaked. I have no dignity left. I stalk around the car to the driver’s side. I open the door. I remove my father from the front seat. I get in. I fume.  I snarl.  I wait for him to re-enter the car on the passenger side.

By now there are cool people gathered all around wanting to know if I’m okay, or wanting to laugh I don’t know.

I just want to go home. So I start the car.

One problem: the car was still on. (Thing Eleven)

You know that horrible sound a car makes if you try to start it when it’s already on? yup. I made a car make THAT sound after pressing my muddy butt to the glass of my high school front doors in front of half the cool kids in the school.

I tried really hard to convince my mom that my dignity demanded a day home to recover.

She didn’t buy it.


the same thing always happens

Every single time I get started in a fitness program I . Get. Hurt.

Not badly this time, but this is ridiculous. I mean swimming for goodness sake, who manages to hurt themselves while swimming? okay, other than my niece who sprained a wrist climbing out of a pool once. I meant aside from that. She’s accident prone anyway. She once busted a knee just standing still.

I start ice skating, I develop a weak ankle.

I start running, I twist an ankle.

I start a martial arts/sword fighting program, I get my right knee destroyed and have to have surgery.

Anybody see a trend here?

When I had to slim down before the wedding I decided to go with something nice and SAFE. A walking regimen. Every morning I would get to work, put down my bags, put on my tennis shoes and go walk the halls of my building for 30 minutes. Every morning. Great plan, right? No stairs, no un-even ground, nicely air conditioned, no weather to worry about. The worst I’ve got to worry about is a random professor coming out of his lab to ask me an office question.

So what happens three weeks into my new plan and just five months before the wedding? My left knee starts to swell up. Then it gets really unstable, like there’s a jelly fish inside the joint and with every step it has to squish out of the way, or I just have to roll right over it. Finally it gets to the point where I’m on crutches and have to go have the knee drained, then get an MRI (inconclusive, but might be a torn meniscus) and then operated on. All in a rush so I’d be able to dance at my own wedding. The doc actually asked for an autographed photo of the event to put up in his office next to to all the athlete photos.

dancing at the wedding

Of course the doc, who is a sports medicine orthopaedist and very very good (he fixed my other knee. ‘nother story, ‘nother day) got a real surprise when he got into the knee. He had been expecting a torn meniscus. What he found was a weird growth that looked like a sea anemone. He took photos, faxed them over to the oncologists at the next building over (Emory University Hospital) and asked them “What IS this thing? and What do I DO about it?” so they walked him through scraping it out of there and that was that.

Turns out I have a very rare version of “pigmented villonodular synovitis” All of the previously observed ones have a blood supply, that’s how they grow. But mine didn’t. It was just filled with clear fluid. So I’m now in medical journals. Or my knee is anyway. But I digress….

My point is this, it seems like every time I try to start a fitness program, I get hurt. This time it’s my back. I have ALWAYS done my freestyle stroke with all of my breaths coming on the right side. I know, I know you are supposed to do three strokes and breathe, and then three strokes and breathe so you will alternate sides. But I just can’t. I’ve never been able to. It drove my swim coaches crazy. I learned to do 2, 4, 2, 4, 2, 4 instead of the 3, 3, 3, 3, 3, in races.

Well this past Tuesday in the pool I decided that I’m a grown up now. I can try to learn to do this stroke properly and do those darned alternating breaths. So I did it. Nice and slow. Not pushing hard I just did three laps with the alternating breathing. It wasn’t awful. I did manage it, but I felt like I was wrenching my head up out of the water for every single breath on the left side. The rest of my hour I did breaststroke and MY version of freestyle with all my breathing to the right hand side.

And now, two days later, I can hardly move I’m in so much pain. I’m going to the doc tonight after work to get her to straighten me out. And I’ll be back (hahahaha) in the pool next week, so it’s not nearly as serious as the knee thing was, but it does get annoying to always seem to get hurt three weeks into ANY fitness prgram.

I guess the answer to all this is that I just don’t need to stop. Ever again. Then maybe I won’t get hurt.

hug some-bunny

Like most kids growing up, I loved visiting my uncles and aunts. Not really to hang out with the adults, but to play with my cousins.

There was this one cousin who was not my age, but I really liked her. I think I was about 10 or 11 at the time and Laura Ann was 2 or 3. So it’s not like we played at my level. We didn’t climb trees or ride bikes. Whenever we visited, Laura Ann and I had endless tea parties and played make-believe with stuffed animals (All with names of course. It was very important to get the names right). wow, that child had a LOT of stuffed animals and toys. It never really occurred to me to ask why she had all this stuff. I guess I just figured they had more money than we did.

Laura Ann was a very sunny child. Cheerful and sweet, gentle and so much fun to play with.

My parents lived about 3 hours away from her parents so we didn’t see them all the time, but I do remember loving it whenever we got to visit. The house was one of those big, old 1920’s era stone structures on a quiet street in the suburbs of Birmingham. I adored the high ceilings and hardwood floors.

When I was about 12 or 13 I remember being really mad at my mom and dad because they were preparing for a trip to Birmingham to see Laura Ann’s family and they wouldn’t take me and my little brother along. I couldn’t understand why we couldn’t come too.

Finally, to shut me up I think, my mom told me that Laura Ann was sick. Really sick. Something called leukemia. That’s why they couldn’t take me with them.

“Was it catching? is that why I can’t go?”

“No honey, it’s just that we are gonna be spending our time taking care of your Uncle and Aunt and we need to be available to help them.”

So Steve & I stayed at a family friend’s house and had a grand time in their HUGE rec-room all weekend while my mother and daddy went off to sing at Laura Ann’s funeral. I don’t remember knowing anything about Laura Ann dying until my mother got home and handed me one of Laura Ann’s stuffed toys.

Later I found out that just before her final hospital stay this tiny little, cheerful 4 year-old had gone around her playroom pointing to her toys and naming off names of friends and relatives. Her poor confused daddy followed her around the room and his breaking heart thought that Laura Ann was confused about the names of her toys. But gradually it dawned on him that she still knew the names of each toy, she was telling him WHO she wanted to give each toy TO.

Laura Ann had been told that she was going to the hospital again and that this time she might be coming home or she might go to see Jesus. And she understood. She wanted her toys to be taken care of so she made the child’s equivalent of a will the only way she knew how: She took her daddy round and round her play room naming off the final destination of each toy till he got it right.

As a child I marveled at her unselfishness. As an adult my heart just breaks for her daddy. What must it have cost him to memorize that list?

Laura Ann has, almost my whole life, remained the perfect example of childlike faith and trust in God. And acceptance of HIS goodness.

God please help me be like her.

I got a bunny by the way. It’s named Laura Ann. I hope she didn’t mind my changing the name.

I love comments

I just had a conversation with a friend of mine who I hadn’t heard from in months. I had been really worried about her, but she’s okay.

The funny part is this.

Here I was trying to track her down so I could hear from her (I even called her folks. That’s how worried I was) and it turns out…..

She.   Reads.   My.   Blog.

But she never comments. Irony.

So here it is, your engraved invitation

If you read this blog, please comment.

The writer really loves that sort of thing.

It feeds her ego. 


the Management

You will find the comment link below the post. Please just click it and follow the directions.  If it says “no comments” that doesn’t mean don’t post, that means no one has posted…yet!  so you get to be first.


when a 14-year-old says it’s too gory……

Okay, so I love musicals, right?

and my brother played Sweeny Todd in Highscool and did a fantastic job! (not just my opinion by the way, the local paper said he was scary. “Too creepy to possibly be a teenager” or some such comment that indicated their awe of his towering talent.)

Anyway, I love the music from Sweeny Todd. My family will sing bits and pieces of that thing at the drop of a hat. It’s rather disconcerting for guests actually, to be sitting at a table full of my family and we all break into song with (from their perspective) no warning whatsoever. What they don’t realize of course is that something that has been said at the table has given us a cue and off we go into “it’s Priest, have a little Priest. Is it really good? Sir, it’s too good at least.” Leaving our guests wondering what on earth they have stumbled into.

When we heard that Tim Burton was doing a new movie version of Todd my family was thrilled. Hoooray! Yipee! We shall all go. It will be a family outing. We will sing along with the movie. Wonderful.

Then the trailers came out and it seemed a bit….dark. Yes, I know, I know it IS about a guy who goes around killing people indescriminately but on STAGE you can only get just so gory, so the true depth of darkness doesn’t really come across. Also OUR memories of the songs are fun and filled with laughter. Because we sing them around a table or on road trips. This was clearly not the…..um…feel that Mr Burton was aiming for.

So the movie came out, and I put off going to see it. Christmas week just didn’t seem like a good time for blood and carnage on that level. Not really in the Christmas spirit, ya know? and now weeks later, I get an email from my 14 year old, goth-inclined niece. She has gone to see the movie. Guess who took her? My brother (her dad) who once played Sweeny Todd.

my niece emailed me afterwards to inform me that I probably shouldn’t see the movie as it was, now get this

Too gory for my brother (her daddy) to handle!!!!!

Well, I guess I’ll be striking Sweeny Todd off my list of possible movies to see. When a modern-era, 14 year-old, gothic tomboy who loves vampire movies and japanese anime violence tells you that it’s too gory,…..folks. its. too. gory.

oh well. There’s always the sound track.

my first meme

Missy at it’salmostnaptime tagged me. Which is kinda flattering ’cause I’m new to this whole blogging thing. But I’m loving it. Also I’ve never done a meme before, so if I mess this up, Missy forgive me.
The rules for this meme are: (1) Link to the person that tagged you.
(2) Post the rules on your blog. (3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself. (4) Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs. (5) Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Deirdre’s weirdnesses

1) reading in the bathroom. yup. Still do it. I USED to do it because it was the only place in the house I could be to get away from my little brother. But I still do it. I find myself regretting my lack of a book when I go to the bathroom at work. Sometimes I’ll even borrow a Science magazine out of one of the professor’s mail slots on the way to the toilet cause it will give me something to do while I’m in there. I HATE staring at the blank bathroom walls while waiting for my body to do whatever it’s gonna do, ya know? I always feel slightly ashamed of myself on the way out though. Like there is something shameful about reading in the bathroom.

2) the only thing that stopped me biting my nails was when I knocked out my front tooth and had to have it re-made. After they made it and “evened it up” with the rest of my teeth, I could no longer chew my nails. If it hadn’t been for that I’d probably still have my hands in my mouth, just like when I was a little girl.

3) Favorite breakfast ever: take a banana, peel it, split it. Place three scoops of Peanut butter Chocolate ice cream on top. Devour. I used to own an ice cream shop and bakery. There is nothing more dangerous than having to check the ice cream cooler at 8 a.m. JUST to make sure that it is still running okay and that all the ice cream will be fine for the afternoon rush.

4) I will read the same book over and over and over. without any break. I’ll get to the end and just turn right around and start over. I don’t do this all the time. Just when I’m particularly enjoying it. My hubby says that’s weird.
5) favorite hair curlers? Baby socks. My mom started me on this when I was a little girl. She would wash my hair, roll it up in baby socks (secured by tieing each sock off to itself) and then in the morning she would un-roll the socks and I’d have this head of long Shirley Temple-esque curls. I was gorgeous. for a 7 year old. and I loved playing with my curls all during church. maybe she did it just to keep me occupied.

6) The only claim to fame I have is that I learned to walk on Billy Graham’s lawn. See my folks and the Grahams all went to the same church and on the way out of service on Sunday mornings the mom’s would lean over and say things like “I’ve got the roast, you bring the veggies. 1:00 ? okay.” and we’d go home, pick up whatever the item of the day was and go trotting off to the Grahams for the afternoon. This was right around the time I was learning to walk, so some of my first steps were taken on his lawn. I’ve always thought that was really neat. I wish I’d been older and able to enjoy it more.

Really, I could go on and on, but it only asked for six.

Ok, the tag-ees are:

Trish at etrish
Wendy at String-n-Strands
Janet at Janet’s Planet
Ann at borninacottonfield

I can only do these four ’cause I haven’t been blogging long enough to know bunches of people I can pass this stuff on to.


Do you remember the BBC show “connections” ? it was a science show….well kind of, it sort of was a history show…..but it also …..um, it made a lot of connections okay?

The narrator jumped back and forth through history and pulled together tidbits of knowledge from history, science, math, philosophy (all those things we didn’t pay attention to in school) and made it all make sense.

Sometimes I find myself wondering if Heaven is going to be like that. Am I going to get to watch a movie of my life with Jesus making the connections and making it all make sense? am I ever going to know where I fit?

Cause right now, I’ll be honest: there’s a lot that isn’t making sense to me.  Especially when I sit in the room that we have prepared for a mother and baby and get the news that they might not come after all.  She might decide to stay with her abusive boyfriend.

Did you know that you can hit a person, in the head, with a board, hard enough to make them cry and give them a headache for two days AND IT DOESN’T SHOW ON THEIR SKIN !!!!!!

My hubby ACCIDENTALLY hit me in the head with a board this past weekend. We were taking apart a bed and one of the rails wouldn’t come out of the head board. So I obligingly knelt down and held the head board down so Martin could pry the rail loose. I remember seeing it come free and thinking “great!” and then the next thought was “uh-oh”  right before I got smacked on my right temple.

Oh buddy it HURT. But there is no bruise. You’d think that there would be. I mean, a BOARD t0 the HEAD for goodness sake!!!!

So my strange brain has started wondering how many women out there are getting hit on a daily basis and no one ever knows

Because    it     doesn’t      show.

Which leads me back to this friend of a friend of a friend who just MIGHT come up and stay with us to get away from the man who is abusing her and might, just might, give us her baby. And I (with my weird brain) just have to wonder: did God LET me get hit in the head Saturday so I would have a bit more sympathy for her?