True, that.

Ah, Arizona!

The devil wanted a place on earth
Sort of a summer home
A place to spend his vacation
Whenever he wanted to roam.

So he picked out Arizona
A place both wretched and rough
Where the climate was to his liking
And the cowboys hardened and tough.

He dried up the streams in the canyons
And ordered no rain to fall
He dried up the lakes in the valleys
Then baked and scorched it all.

Then over his barren country
He transplanted shrubs from hell.
The cactus, thistle and prickly pear
The climate suited them well.

Now the home was much to his liking
But animal life, he had none.
So he created crawling creatures
That all mankind would shun.

First he made the rattlesnake
With it's forked poisonous tongue.
Taught it to strike and rattle
And how to swallow it's young.

Then he made scorpions and lizards
And the ugly old horned toad.
He placed spiders of every description
Under rocks by the side of the road.

Then he ordered the sun to shine hotter,
Hotter and hotter still.
Until even the cactus wilted
And the old horned lizard took ill.

Then he gazed on his earthly kingdom
As any creator would
He chuckled a little up his sleeve
And admitted that it was good.

Twas summer now and Satan lay
By a prickly pear to rest.
The sweat rolled off his swarthy brow
So he took off his coat and vest.

"By Golly, " he finally panted,
"I did my job too well,
I'm going back to where I came from,
Arizona is hotter than Hell. "

Three reasons why I need it to rain.

1) So my car will be clean.
2) So the dust will leave the air.
3) So I'll stop thinking that I should drive my car into the lake. (Which is really just a variation of #1.)

Seriously, on my way home tonight I was looking through my gritty, filthy, mud-stained windshield and I was thinking that I should just give it up and go to a car wash. ... Then I turned the corner onto Rio Salado, glanced over at the lake and thought "Or I could just drive the car through the shallow end of the lake".

Uh, no.

No, I don't think my 10 year old Dodge Neon could drive through even "the shallow end" of the lake.

Also, I don't know that there IS a shallow end, since I'd rather DIE than get in fish-and-other-creepy-underwater-creature-infested waters.

Clearly, I need it to rain. Why? Because (maybe) that will make my brain work better.

Good grief.

It amazes me.

My body, that is.

Mostly, in a good way.

Not that it's an amazing body, per se. It just amazes me. :-)

When I think about all the things that my body has done, had happen, learned and re-learned in the past 12 months, I am amazed. When I remember how I felt a year ago, six months ago, a month ago, and I compare that to how I feel now (even with a stomach bug that's ensuring I have the cleanest colon on the block), I am amazed.

Don't get me wrong, it's still not in tip-top shape (and who's kidding who - we all know me and my love affair with butter ... I will never have a "tip-top" bod) but it's my body. It's gone through a lot, it's really tired and the funniest things make me sore in the weirdest places, but it still works. In a lot of ways, it works better than it ever has.

I am amazed.

And grateful.

The End.

Heh heh heh...

I love Batman.

The End.

She's my favorite. (Also, I heart Jim Rockford.)

As any frequent reader of my blog will know, my mom rocks.

I mean it. Seriously, she rocks!

For a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that she's come every single time I've had surgery in the last year (which was a lot of times - three) and has taken care of me (and the shopping, and the driving, and the vacuuming, and the laundry and the dish-washing ... you get the picture) while I'm down for the count.

I love her. Like, totally. (In a different way than how I love Nathan. ... But more.)

Not only is she super nice, but she's fun (and funny), a great little alterer of dresses and skirts and shirts, and we have very much the same taste in entertainment - which makes for a good time. This last time she was here, we watched a lot of classic TV. Our favorite? Hands down, The Rockford Files. Mom's favorite part of the show? The answering machine messages at the beginning of the episode. Per Mom, and I quote, "We should have something like that at church. If we did, no one would be late. ... I sure never wanted to be late to watch The Rockford Files, because I knew I'd miss the answering machine!"

This is for you, Mom. Enjoy! ... Well, enjoy the messages. Don't look at the pictures. They're a little grody, esp the pizza. (These slides were - obviously - not chosen by me.) You know what they should have shown as images for the 3 or so minutes of play time? James Garner, that's what. Over and over again. And then again. (Too bad no one ever asks my opinion before they make and upload a youtube video, right?)



Mom and I had a blast fast-forwarding through the car-chase and/or driving scenes in Rockford, so we could get right back to enjoying the witty dialogue and circa 1974 cars and wardrobe.

Seriously, Rockford's a good time.

Just like Ude. (Well, not just like her. In a different way than her. ... Kind of like how I love her, and how I love Nathan, but differently. You know what I mean.)

Besides watching TV, Mom and I:

altered many pieces of clothing
watched Jane, and The Pie Maker and Dan (amongst other things)
baked to our little hearts' content
ate fudgecicles, Chinese food, raspberries, chocolate cake and fried chicken (listen - I have cravings, severe cravings - don't judge)

Of course, we also went to the doctors a lot of times and she listened to me whine about the gauze in my bum and my broken tooth. So, it's not like it was all a party.

But, in retrospect, it was mostly a party. Why? Because she's my favorite, and when I weigh the hard/bad things against the good ... with her, the good always outweighs the bad. I'm so lucky that she's my mom and my friend. (And that she likes fried chicken and chocolate cake as much as I do.)

Happy Independence Day!

Oh. My. Stars.

Watch this. Right now!



I've always had a soft spot in my heart for lawyers. (I kid. ... Sort of.)

I heart Francis Scott Key. (Always have. The man had a way with words. You know how that gets me.) I can get through the first verse okay, but the second verse slays me.

"What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:’Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave."

The "as it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses" makes me choke. Every time. The visual imagery that verse brings almost always makes it impossible for me to actually sing the third verse (which is a crying shame - no pun intended - because the third verse is even more beautiful than the first two)!

I'm so grateful for my country, for my heritage, for my freedom ... for the men and women who do and have served in our military ... for the men who died holding the flag while the British bombed Fort Henry.

Oh. My. Stars.

I am so grateful.

Happy Birthday, America! I love you!

Happy Birthday, Canada!

She's 144 today, folks. (How do I know? Because I am a good girlfriend and I follow Nathan Fillion on Twitter.)

So, this one goes out to my two favorite Canadians...

My one true celebrity love, of course.

And my Lizzie. (Do you know how hard it is to find a picture of your friend alone, when she is a wife and a mother of three? Impossible. That's how hard it is. So, I finally gave up and am posting this one of her and Baby Drew, even if he was born on American soil.)



Happy Canada Day!

And the survey says...

A few days ago, Mom and I had a Science Experiment Dinner.

Grilled PB & J (raspberry jam - it's a must)

versus

Grilled PB & Nutella

I put the question to my FB friends, and received a few comments/votes.

Per my public, there was a 50% response that Nutella was the way to go, a 30% response that PB & J would be their preferred grilled sandwich, and the remaining 20% commentary was made up of ... well, commentary ... as well as suggestions for other grilled PB concoctions. (PBJ & F = peanut butter, (raspberry, of course) jam and marshmallow fluff and PB & C = peanut butter and cheese.)

*As it would turn out, both the suggestions came from the Weagles. So you know that now I'm curious and will have to try both. Why? Because if there's one thing I've learned about Weagles, it's that you should trust them in all things food related. They know good food. The End.

For Judy and me, we're gonna have to go with the grilled PB & J all the way. Seriously, people, they're SO good! If you've never tried it, you must. One tip I will give you, load the sandwich. Like, twice as much jam and peanut butter as you would usually use. You want it nice and gloppy.

Delish!

Look, Ma... No hands!!!

So, when I first came home from having the ... erm ... procedure done a couple weeks ago, one of the first things I noticed was that I couldn't bend. Honestly.

Could. Not. Bend.

It turns out that I had gauze sewn into my bum and that was probably a lot of why I couldn't bend in the middle. I was strung as tight as a marionette. (I referred to myself as Pinocchio more than once folks, and it wasn't because of my ability to "tell stories".) Between the gauze and... well... overall soreness in the region, I was unable to bend. This made getting up and down incredibly difficult, and sitting altogether impossible. As a result, I came up with a way to lower my weight down onto the couch and/or my bed using only my arms (it turns out that I'm stronger than I look - I only dropped myself, like, three times). As I've mentioned, I'd lie on a side until I felt like that hip had popped out of the socket, then I'd do a push-up off the couch/mattress, get up, literally turn myself around and then lower myself back down onto my other side.

This has been, pretty much, how I have lived for the last two weeks. Lying on my side. The only respite I have had was standing. At the counter, for support. (Because my balance wasn't such that I'd trust myself to stand in the center of a room without something to brace what I considered to be an imminent fall.)

Here, my friends, is what we like to call The Evolution of Standing at the Kitchen Counter:

Phase One: Standing at the kitchen counter supported by 4 pillows, because I couldn't bend at the waist AT ALL and needed the support stack to be as tall as I am, lest my waist bent even a fraction of an inch and I have searing pain in my nether regions.



Here's a frontal view of Phase One. (Note: These pics were all taken now that I am able to free-hand stand. Even a week ago, I wouldn't have been taking such a frivolous stance with my hands in such a way. Oh, no. Standing was very serious business back then. Very serious, indeed.)



Phase Two: When I no longer needed the stack of pillows to support my full height, but I still needed the counter to support my weight because my back was tired (from all of that lying on the couch y'know). ... Clearly, by this point, I had had my marionette strings removed and was able to bend in the middle. (I could bend in the middle when standing, but couldn't SIT to save my soul, as there was still a ridiculous amount of swelling that made it impossible to put any weight on that end of me without me wanting to spew curse words. ... And no one should even want to think like that in front of their mother.)



And here's a bonus view of Phase Two. (I use the word "bonus" very loosely. Mostly, I just found this shot amusing, and since my self-photography is more for amusement purposes than it is to win any beauty pageants, here ya go.)



And now that you've seen both Phases One and Two in all of their Leaning On The Counter Glory, I'd like to unveil the current way in which I stand in the kitchen:



Okay, I don't really stand in the kitchen like that all the time these days. (Constant Jazz Hands would get a little old, even for me.) In all reality, I am usually still kind of propped up against a counter here or there, you know, because I am a little clumsy and would hate to have a great and mighty fall. Also, I've been doing a lot of sewing (it's a dress and top altering sweatshop here, in case you hadn't heard) and it helps to have the counter under me to catch the weight of whatever it is that I'm taking in or adding elastic to in an effort to re-make my entire wardrobe.

But still... I can stand. Hands free. Like a real grown-up.

Now, there's some real progress.

Here's hoping that by next week, I'll be able to eat without spilling. (Don't hold your breath, folks. There's only so much "growing up" a girl can be expected to do.)

The Serenity Prayer

I'm pretty sure we all know it:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

But does anyone else ever have a day when it is literally the only thing that holds them together? As in, that little prayer is the glue that keeps you from having a high-speed-come-apart?

"God grant me the courage to change the things I can"

This has been my mantra today.

It's been an odd day, comprised of felicitous surprises, conversations with dear friends, plans made for later in the year when (I hope!) I'll be feeling much better - balanced against an accidental sitting down full-force on the couch (insert expletives here), realizing the spaghetti sauce I'd had stored in the fridge had gone South (when all I wanted to eat in all the world was a big plate of spaghetti), digging through literally five different piles of medical forms to research dates of service and insurance pay-outs (again).

At about 2:45 this afternoon, I fell down (onto my side, not my bum this time) into my bed and cried. Some days ... it's just too much. (Also, I'm stepping down from a high powered narcotic to a mid-level drug today. This probably had a lot to do with my emotional runninng of the gamut and subsequent fall apart.) I took a look at the clock on the all, buried my face in my pillow, and gave myself 'til 3:00 to lie there and wallow in my pain, both literal and emotional, and then pick myself up and control what I could control.

And control, I did. Almost everything that came my way after that. (Thank heaven.)

At 10:00 PM, as I take my last dose of pain pills for the day, I am grateful that this particular Thursday is behind me. It wasn't necessarily a bad day. In fact, on a lot of levels, it was fantastic - but it was intense - and there were things that were hard. I'm grateful for the perspective that The Serenity Prayer gives me, for the empowerment that comes with changing those things that I can change.

And I'm grateful for Ativan. Because it helps me let go of the stuff that I can't change.

Amen.