sueeeus

This holiday has really thrown me for a loop. I haven’t been this sick in donkey’s years. The good thing about being sick is that it has forced me to slow down; to stop. Just stop. I’ve spent many hours just thinking, praying, thinking, and praying some more. I think it’s been good for me. Of course the vicoden helps put me into that reflective frame of mind. It does an excellent job of taking the pain away. But I tend to get a sick-to-my-stomach feeling, too. That could be from the antibiotics, though. Either way, I’ve got meds to help me through and I’m on the road to recovery. I’ve written pages and pages in my paper journals, and I even read a book (Lamb, by Christopher Moore, subtitled The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal). The book was something that would probably offend some or many mainstream Christians, but I enjoyed it. Moore did his research well, which impressed me. It’s a down to earth and funny story. Okay, so the conservative Christian in me had a hard time with a few places here and there, but all in all it was well done, and I have to say I am impressed –the man had to have done some extensive study of scriptures to come up with the tale he spun.

Lady Linoleum has a daunting and impressive list of resolutions. I was thinking of putting some together, but am waffling now. Maybe tomorrow I’ll give it some more thought.

The year is coming to a close. I haven’t even made a post about our Christmas. That’s the problem with being sick. Too sick to even blog. What is the world coming to

My husband, the cool cat, every once in a while makes a comment that I must only post pictures of things that are important to me on my blog, and wonders why there are no pictures of him. “I see how it is,” he says. Of course, he won’t be looking over my shoulder when I post this picture, so he won’t know that he has, in fact, appeared on my blog.
My bestest boys, Santa and the slobber Elf (Christmas Eve at Grandma’s house). They’re both pretty cute, I have to say.

This one’s not as gross as the sore throat. I took this last week, but decided to post the madonna painting instead.This is a reflection in my wedding photo. My beautiful niece C and her sweet brother M, fatherless now. I was thrilled that they came to my wedding. At this time in my life, at this age, I decided I no longer wanted the pomp and circumstance of a big to-do, and decided to run off to Vegas for a quick and quiet ceremony (which is the absolute last thing I’d ever have wanted to do, at any other time in my life). Only a handful of people attended, but those who did were my closest friends and family, and it couldn’t have been a better celebration.

Mercy Me, is it Tuesday again It’s the last of the reflective surface self portraits, I believe.Everybody say “Ahhhhh”. This is a reflection from a hand mirror as I attempt to get a look at my throat, which is exceedingly sore. Things have progressed from a normal cold. I thought I was better after a couple of weeks of annoying cold symptoms, then got hit with fatigue, nausea, chills, aches, headache, earache, cough, and the lovely yellow phlegm that we all know and love. Two days of that, and the sinus congestion and nausea are gone, but the throat is very sore, and the ears, they are bothering me. I’ve been faithfully irrigating my sinuses daily, drinking gallons of green tea and inhaling eucalyptus oil, but now I see that there are white spots on the tonsils. I suppose I’ll break down and go to the doctor tomorrow, unless things clear up tonight. I hope they clear up.

Self portrait Tuesday blog: http://selfportraittuesday.blogspot.com/

…Which I never forward. I don’t mean any disrespect to the kind people who send me these messages, but that last line, where they say that if you don’t forward it then bad luck will befall you, or you are not a truly nice person, blah blah blah, just ruins it for me. Sometimes when I really like the message, I might forward it, but I delete that last coercive bit before sending. Anyway. This came to me today, and it was sort of sweet.

By the time the Lord made woman, He was into his sixth day of working overtime.

An angel appeared and said, “Why are you spending so much time on this one ”

And the Lord answered, “Have you seen my spec sheet on her She has to be completely washable, but not plastic, have over 200 movable parts, all replaceable and able to run on diet coke and leftovers, have a lap that can hold four children at one time, have a kiss that can cure anything from a scraped knee to a broken heart -and she will do everything with only two hands.”

The angel was astounded at the requirements. “Only two hands! No way!
And that’s just on the standard model That’s too much work for one day. Wait until tomorrow to finish.”

But I won’t,” the Lord protested. “I am so close to finishing this creation that is so close to my own heart. She already heals herself when she is sick AND can work 18 hour days.”

The angel moved closer and touched the woman. “But you have made her so soft, Lord.”

“She is soft,” the Lord agreed, “but I have also made her tough. You have no idea what she can endure or accomplish.”

“Will she be able to think “, asked the angel.

The Lord replied, “Not only will she be able to think, she will be able to reason and negotiate.”

The angel then noticed something, and reaching out, touched the woman’s cheek. “Oops, it looks like you have a leak in this model. I told you that you were trying to put too much into this one.”

“That’s not a leak,” the Lord corrected, “that’s a tear!”

“What’s the tear for ” the angel asked.

The Lord said, “The tear is her way of expressing her joy, her sorrow, her pain, her disappointment, her love, her loneliness, her grief and her pride.”

The angel was impressed. “You are a genius, Lord. You thought of everything! Woman is truly amazing.”

And she is! Women have strengths that amaze men. They bear hardships and they carry burdens, but they hold happiness, love and joy. They smile when they want to scream. They sing when they want to cry. They cry when they are happy and laugh when they are nervous. They fight for what they believe in. They stand up to injustice. They don’t take “no” for an answer when they believe there is a better solution. They go without so their family can have. They go to the doctor with a frightened friend. They love unconditionally. They cry when their children excel and cheer when their friends get awards. They are happy when they hear about a birth or a wedding. Their hearts break when a friend dies. They grieve at the loss of a family member, yet they are strong when they think there is no strength left. They know that a hug and a kiss can heal a broken heart. Women come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They’ll drive, fly, walk, run or e-mail you to show how much they care about you. The heart of a woman is what makes the world keep turning. They bring joy, hope and love. They have compassion and ideals. They give moral support to their family and friends. Women have vital things to say and everything to give.

HOWEVER, IF THERE IS ONE FLAW IN WOMEN, IT IS THAT THEY FORGET THEIR WORTH.

…the realization that I’m usually sick on holidays. This goes back as far as I can remember. The sickest I’ve ever been has always been on a holiday or break. As far back as high school, and college. I’d never be sick, until break time, when whatever stored up depletions (is that an oxymoron ) would band together and hit me with the full might of their fury. This may be a trait I share with my dad. To his credit, he never missed a day of work in his life. He would get sick from time to time, but always on a break or a holiday. Is it will Willing oneself not to be sick, holding it at bay until one’s duties are fulfilled

I’ve been in the working world for 20 years, and my company provides sick leave. It’s okay to miss work once in a while. But I rarely do. Instead, I get sick on holidays and vacations. How smart is that This is MY time. My precious time. I get so little time off. It shouldn’t be spent being sick.

…in the one where I use real names and write out some of the deeper things of my heart, where tears are often shed, and comfort is often found. I write in this journal on momentous or meaningful occasions, like birthdays, Thanksgivings, Christmases, anniversaries, new year’s days, days of losing loved ones. And such.I started this journal on January 1st, 1994. I also sent one just like it to a certain Sweet Pea, but alas, it was lost in the mail. My fault. I should have wrapped it like Fort Knox.
See Tears.
I have many journals, though. All currently in work.
There is one for the master To Do list (top left). The first page is entitled, Projects in the Scheme of Things. There are pages with different categories of projects. Art projects. Sewing projects. Photo projects. And such. There is the special occasions journal (top center), mentioned earlier. Proceeding clockwise. The everyday journal, started on March 26, 2000. This one is filled with lists, dreams, thoughts, worries, hopes, disappointments, and such. Not just those reserved for special occasions. The last entry was on my 40th birthday, earlier this year. Next is the prayer journal. I write out prayers for people in this one. I recently started writing fragments of thoughts that might one day be turned into something beneficial for mankind, in the form of children’s stories. The fragments start with prayers for healing of broken hearts and how things in childhood are often carried into adulthood, along with the pain, tears, shame, doubt, misunderstanding and myriad other emotions. And such. The next journal is another list journal. A list of family members and gifts and projects that pertain to them. And such. We come to the pregnancy and feeding journal. This one is well worn. The title page says, New Beginnings, New Life, 17 May 2004. I started this journal the day I found out I was pregnant. My friend A., my college roommate gave me this journal. It has a beautiful picture of a ship on the cover, that reminds me of Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Dawn Treader. What a fantastic name. In this journal are thoughts and feelings, pregnancy experiences, doctor visits, letters to my unborn child, and, for the third trimester, a record of every single thing I ate, what time I injected insulin, how much and what kind. I was so disappointed to have acquired gestational diabetes, but I managed it well, and it disappeared when the placenta came out, just like the doctor said it would. In this journal is also recorded an entry for every time I’ve spent connected to my companion the Lactina. Time and amount. Milk for a year. And finally, the last journal. A sketch pad of sorts. Another project journal.

Journals are very therapeutic. I love journals. I love the written word. I love paper. And now, I love to blog. But I still write in my paper journals as well.