To the left, to the left...

 "update" is defined by Merriam-Webster as "an act of bringing something up to date by incorporating the most recent information, fixing errors, or making it more common."

So, here I am to update my blog! It's kinda funny, looking over the years at the things I've done over my work-from-home lunch breaks.

Alright, it's not really funny. In fact, considering how the turns have tabled (yes, that's what I meant to say) and working from home isn't such a rare thing anymore, it's probably not even interesting for anyone to read about what a person has done on their work-from-home lunch break. Household chores, run errands, walked around the yard with the dog(s) and/or cat(s) and/or horse(s), napped, worked on crafts, and probably the most common, continued to work.  Nothing surprising there.

But obviously "updating the ol' blog" is not one in which I've been partaking recently.  I haven't been purposely avoiding it. I still love to write, I've just been using my work-from-home lunch break time to either continue working or to work on ProPresenter stuff instead.  

I don't know why today is different. I did ProPresenter stuff before starting work today so I don't feel like doing it now.  I feel like crapola because I've got like a sinus infection or a head cold or allergies or something, and my head is all stuffed up and half of my face is swollen and I've got a splitting headache and I would just rather be almost anywhere than upright today.  No, that's not true; I don't know where I'd rather be today, but I don't want to be where I am, no matter where I am.  This illness is annoying me and it's wearing me down.  And at the same time, I know it's nothing to whine about.  There are begillions of people out there who wish their only issue was some little run-of-the-mill spring upper respiratory annoyance, and I'm man-colding the hell out of it because it's happening to me.  This is probably why I don't blog so much anymore: I either feel guilty for sharing the things that are currently annoying me because I know they could be so, so much worse, or I don't want to open up the can of worms that the little voice in my head is telling me to keep closed because I'm trying to be a better person and not go all ballistic on people when something they do annoys me anymore.  I think that's called "showing grace" or something like that.  

Grace is forgiveness and salvation that cannot be earned through works. In case you didn't know.  

So instead of being mad at people when they do stupid things that don't make sense to me or things that irritate me, I try really really really really really hard not to dwell on that anymore.  This is a LOT harder than it sounds.  But to be able to actually pull it off? Is such an amazing freedom.  For real.  But to pull it off without people thinking I'm just a push-over?  Yeah, that one I'm still working on. 

I know the answer is that I just shouldn't care what people think of me, at least not in that way.  And yes, this is about a particular situation that is bothering me, even though it shouldn't. And hopefully by the time I post this, it won't anymore.  I'm trying to reconcile it in my mind so I can let it go. Someone at work didn't like the way I did something and asked me about it, but the way they asked me was just so unprofessional and rude, more accusatory than questioning, and that's what caught me off guard and made me mad and is why I'm trying to remind myself that revenge and hatred is not the answer, the answer is grace and forgiveness and letting it go because we all have bad days at work and there have definitely been times when I have wanted to be unprofessional and rude to other people as well when they catch me at inconvenient times on busy clinic days.  And besides, this person's whole demeanor is more accusatory than questioning so it's not like they were singling me out or anything.  I guess it was just the rudeness that I didn't like.  People who think they need to be loud and obnoxious to make their point are so hard to deal with.  

And this is by far NOT the only such person I've had to deal with recently! So I'm probably doing a bit of, what's that called? Projecting? Something like that.  I didn't even think of that until now.

Alright, see, I feel better already.  That burning desire to exact revenge has been gone since yesterday. I know I can't change other people. I can't speculate on what makes them do what they do, but I can forgive them for treating me ways I don't deserve to be treated and move on with my life, working extra hard to make sure I am more aware of how I am treating others.  Hoping that if I treat them harshly without realizing it, they will have the grace to forgive me, too.  

Because I come from a family of champion grudge-holders, and it is NOT an easy thing to overcome, I tell you what!  And I don't mean, like, You ruined my wedding, I'm never speaking to you again!, I mean, like, You said you'd call me back and it's been eight months, two weeks and four days so you must not care anymore so I don't care anymore either and I'm probably not going to your wedding. (True story.)  

But that, my friends, is a topic for another time.  One that usually gets shelved because, you know, I'm trying to show grace and all that.  And not trash-talk my family in public.  

And on a completely unrelated topic, I feel like I should explain today's title.  It has nothing to do with marching, or the military, or anything like that.  See, when I first start a blog entry, I go to the previous blog entry and see which side the image was on, so I know which side to put the new image on.  And in order to remember which side to use, I repeat (in my head) something with that in it over and over and over so I don't forget.  And then, when I go to write a title for the blog post, I usually just go with whatever is stuck in my mind at the moment.  And there you go.  Blogging demystified. 

On that note, time to get back to work!

Wow, another blog entry where I'm not crying because I'm not talking about how much I miss my Dad! Don't get me wrong, I still miss him madly and not a week goes by where there isn't some point or three during the week where I cry about it (usually in the car either on the way to work or on the way home from work), and some time I will write about where I'm at emotionally with that these days.  But not today.  My face is swollen enough today without crying and making it worse.  And, now I brought everything back in a nice, neat circle so it really is time to bid adieu.  BYE!

A rose by any other name...

It's odd, isn't it? How people don't like being stereotyped into certain categories unless they are the ones putting themselves into those categories.

For example, this weekend I finally got off my lazy ass -- well, I don't know what pushed me over the edge, exactly, but I got tired of the house being cluttered and I cleaned.  Not that it was horrible, but the floors needed sweeping and the rugs needed vacuuming, and it just needed a good tidying-up (or tidy-upping?). It didn't take long and it looked so much better and made me feel so much better.  I feel almost like a functional human again!  But I digress; I know this is one of my major flaws. I am not a great housekeeper.  

I remarked to my hubby something along the lines of how nice it was that I was feeling like keeping up the house again.  I meant it more as a thinly-veiled comment about my mood, not about my accomplishments.  And he said something along the lines of, Yes, it's always nice when you're in the manic phase.

Oh em gee, don't say it like that, I retorted.

Not because it's not true. At least, I don't really think it's true. I'm not manic-depressive bipolar.  Or am I? No, I'm not.  At least I've never been diagnosed that way. Just because I have times when I feel like I can't be bothered to do anything around the house, and then times when I actually can force myself to do the normal human things...that's not the same as being manic.  If I was manic, it would be more extreme...right? I'd be obsessing about cleaning the house. Like, it's all I would want to do, every waking minute.  

Right?

That's a rhetorical question. I don't want to know. I don't want another label. Everything I do doesn't have to be due to a mood disorder or a behavioral quirk or a neurodivergent tendency.  I don't want any more diagnoses than the ones I already have, which really aren't that many - depression and anxiety. I think that covers just about everything, really.  Oh, I could probably push and get some kinds of spectrums added on there, and that might qualify me for some other kinds of medications that might give me more energy and focus on those days when I just keep walking by the dishes in the sink and wishing someone else would wash them.  But, why? 

I don't always like things the way they are now, with my mood. I don't like it when I don't want to get out of bed, or when I don't want to clean the house. I want to be the kind of person who wants to get everything done and then find more things to do.  But I'm just not.  I don't want to be the kind of person who relies on medication to be that kind of person.  It's bad enough that I already rely on medication to be the kind of person that isn't annoyed with everyone and everything every single day of their lives.  I've resolved to be that person, and to take that medication.

My point being, I don't know.  I'm not saying that I think I need more medication.  That was just my funny little example that I took too far because that's what I do when I'm writing, with no one to stop my train of thought.  

I'm saying that the world needs fewer labels.  

It seems like people are saying they want to be themselves and recognized for the individuals that they are, and then they go and place labels on themselves so they fit into easily-identifiable packages. Just like everyone else.

I don't understand that.  I, too, want to be myself and be recognized for the individual that I am.  I don't want to be labeled. I don't want to be easily identifiable.  I don't want to be easily understood.  I'm a mystery.  An enigma.  You think you know me?  You don't know me.  You don't know half of what I've been through.  You only know what I want you to know.  (Except you. You know what I've been through. And you're probably not even reading this.  And God knows what I've been through. Everyone else is on a need-to-know basis.)

But again, that is not what I came here to write about. But too late, I already did, and now I have to get back to work.  So, that's all I have to say for now.  

OH MY GOSH, A BLOG ENTRY WHERE I DIDN'T CRY BECAUSE I DIDN'T MENTION HOW MUCH I MISS MY DAD!!

I forget how much I love NASCAR...

 

...until I go to an actual race.  There's just nothing on earth like actually being there, hearing the engines fire, feeling the vibrations ripple through the air and permeate every cell of your body when 42 race cars go by on that last pace lap before the green flag flies, then the excitement when they come around the last turn and open 'em up before crossing the start/finish line that first time and the low rumble turns to a scream... and even before the race, walking around and taking it all in, the sunshine and the heat and the smell of garages and the clank of wrenches being thrown back into toolbox drawers and the whirring of pneumatic power tools and the sounds of ratchets being turned and plans being discussed.  Man, I just love all of that. 

I came up with a new saying today. Even watching Denny Hamlin win is better than going back to work.  And I say this from experience now, because we just got back from the NASCAR races at Las Vegas Motor Speedway this weekend.  The Busch I mean Nationwide I mean Xfinity race on Saturday where Kyle Larson won, and the Cup race on Sunday where Denny Hamlin won. Two of my least favorite drivers. Well, I do have some empathy for Denny Hamlin now since he lost his Dad earlier this year, but professionally I still don't like him. ANYWAY, I'm sitting here working from home, looking at all the yucky snow in our yard, occasionally being reminded that the temperature here is a whopping 13ºF today, trying so hard to get work done while my poor cat is driving me crazy because she thinks she's been neglected AND she won't go outside because it's too cold and snowy. And the sunburn that I sustained primarily on the right side of my face, neck, arms, and the bottom half of my calves and ankles is uncomfortable in various stages from mild itching to random sharp but short-lasting pain (and also covered up because it's frickin' cold here today).  And I'm thinking, I don't care, I'd rather have to watch *gulp* Brad Keslowski win than have to be working right here, right now.  

So yeah, it was a pretty good weekend.  Even though our son, who was supposed to go with us, didn't get to go with us because he came down with the influenza B the day before we were supposed to leave.  :(  He's feeling better now, or so he says.  I don't blame him for not going. He's not the crazy NASCAR fan like we are; I don't think he would've enjoyed being dragged across the country while feeling like crap.  And of course there's the matter of being contagious, too.  I am still super bummed that he didn't get to go with, because it would've been even more fun with him there.  This was his Christmas/birthday present from us.  Guess we'll have to find something else to do now.

It was "unseasonably warm" there while we were there.  On Saturday the high was I think 91? And on Sunday the high was in the upper 80's.  I didn't bring shorts because I didn't know it was supposed to be unseasonably warm.  Which is probably a good thing because I probably would've sunburned all of my legs, instead of just the little bit that was showing from where I had my pantlegs rolled up to the top of my ankle socks.  Yeah, I have some weird tan lines. The problem is, I hate the feeling of sunscreen on my skin.  Specifically, the feeling of it on the palms of my hands to put on the rest of my skin.  So unless I can wash it off my hands right away, I hesitate to put it on.  So Saturday, even though we had SPF 50, I didn't reapply.  On Sunday, we figured it out and got spray stuff, and I didn't get burned any more than I already was.

Anyway...while we were gone, the Blizzard of the Century was taking place back home. We were predicted to get anywhere from 5 to 25 inches of snow.  We got closer to 5.  THAT was fun to come home to!  What was even worse was coming from 80ºF to 10ºF.  Of course we brought our winter coats, but when we go on vacation in the winter, we leave our coats in the car.  And then we momentarily forgot where exactly we parked, so that was fun, too.  Going from being on the verge of heatstroke to the verge of frostbite in the same day? Highly recommended.  NOT!!

There were only a few times I kind of cried during the race.  Thinking about how much I missed my Dad, and also how I wished my son was there with us.  I never got to go to a NASCAR race with my Dad.  I tried to, but my Mom wouldn't go so he wouldn't go.  Or should I say, she wouldn't let him go.  It was too loud for her.  Too many people. It involved flying, which she didn't want to do.  No, I'm not resentful.  Just hurt.  

That's literally all we did was go to the racetrack and then back to our hotel.  It's not like one goes to the racetrack just before the race starts.  One gets there a few hours before the race starts so one can go through the vendor trailers and buy merch and then watch qualifying and practice before the race actually begins.  And if one has a pass to the infield (which we didn't this time but have done in the past), one goes to the infield and goes through the garages and all the cool stuff therein.  It's funny, because this is like the 3rd or 4th time we've been to this track, but the 1st time we've been there for an actual race.  We seem to like Las Vegas.  I was wondering why this weekend, because it's loud and noisy and dirty and sleazy.  But that's not what I like about it. I like the Las Vegas away from the Strip and away from Downtown.  We've been to Red Rock Canyon National Park a few times, and THAT is what I crave about Las Vegas.  The desert.  The mountains.  The natural landscape.  It's breathtakingly gorgeous.  I was bummed that we didn't have time to go to the park this time.  There are other parks out there I want to check out sometime, too, but that's the only one we've been to so far.  I just love nature.  

Anyway...that's about all the time I have for today. I better sign off so I can go catch up on some work, both paid and unpaid. That's not right. One is paid in money and the other is paid in...um...fulfillment? The one that isn't my professional career that I went to school for and that helps pay the bills, pays me by giving me a creative outlet and allowing me a way to serve Jesus and my church at the same time? Or something like that.  Short story long, I'm gonna go catch up on some things on ProPresenter before my lunch break is over.  Someone else had to cover a few things while I was gone and now some other things are all messed up and it's driving me crazy and no I'm not a control freak, thank you for asking.

Have a great day! God loves you and so do I!

The Year of the Horse!

Or as many of us know it, just another typical year. 

Ha! Ha! Ha!

My hubby and I were born in the year of the Tiger. And you know what? Our son was also born in a year of the Tiger.  So if I was the kind of person who believed in coincidences, there'd be something to that. 

We were also all three born on Tuesdays.  And now that I think more about it, we were all three born in odd hours, too.  The boy was born in the 9am hour, I was born in the 5pm hour, and the hubby was born in the 7pm hour.  

I'm really not superstitious. I just like finding patterns and things in common. According to one of the doctors I work with, whenever I point out the Theme of the Day to him.  Because a lot of our clinic days end up having Themes.  And not obvious Themes like "people with epilepsy".  

But, I digress.

I have been missing my horse lately. Late 2023 and the entirety of 2024 were such effed up years, loss-wise, for me.  Our last dog died a few days before Thanksgiving 2023, and then my first horse died Memorial Day weekend 2024, and then of course my Dad died in August 2024.  I feel like all I did was wait for my loved ones to die that year, except I didn't expect my horse to die.  I mean, it wasn't a total and complete surprise, because she was 31 years old, but she still died pretty suddenly, considering.  

And of course, I'm in the horse video and post algorithms on all of the socials.  For a long while, I couldn't watch any of them.  For a long while, it was even painful to still take care of the horse we still have, and my dearest, darlingest hubby took over most of that responsibility for me.  For a while, I never wanted anything to do with horses ever again.  Which was a completely new emotion for me, for the first time in 49 years.  

I'm over that now, too.

I love watching the videos and seeing the posts again, but man, it makes me miss Nicker.  I know I still have Shasta, but Shasta and I don't have the same relationship that Nicker and I had.  Don't get me wrong, I love Shasta with all my heart. But Nic and I were, like, she was my heart horse. 

People ask me if I'm going to get another horse. I think that even if my hubby was agreeable to it (which he isn't, lol), I don't know if I would right now. Our new place isn't as set up for horsekeeping as our old place was. My body isn't as set up for working with horses as it used to be, ha ha ha.  The ground is a lot harder now.  I don't know. I will forever be a horse crazy little girl but I think my days of horse ownership will be over when Shasta decides to join Nicker at the Rainbow Bridge.

Which I don't want to think about right now. Shasta's 29 years old now.

So I'm hanging out at my Mom's house today. I hate that it feels natural to just call it my Mom's house now instead of calling it, you know, my parents' house.  I hate that there are none of my Dad's shoes or jackets by the back door anymore.  I know, I know, it doesn't make sense to leave such items around anymore, but it doesn't make it feel any less weird.  

So far it's going okay, I guess.  My Mom complains a lot.  This is not anything new.  Seriously.  I've learned in the last few years to just let her vent for a while because I know that she doesn't talk to many other adults during the day anymore, but it can still be a struggle for me to sit here and listen to someone complain about just about every single thing that happens. Especially things that don't make a difference at all in the grand scheme of things. 

Alright, I don't want to come on here and just complain about my Mom, either. I know I'm lucky to still have her in my life, and I thank God every day that I can be here for her.  But I also pray for Him to help me to know what to say and when to say it. And most of the time I pray for Him to just help me keep my mouth shut. If it is His will. Which it must be, because that's what I do.

I wonder if it would be His will for me to keep my mouth shut if my sister showed up?!  Heh heh heh...

Anyway...

Tomorrow I get to WFH. Or WFM as the case may be. The last time I did that (two weeks ago), she got mad at me (not really) because I wasn't eating. She kept trying to feed me every time she walked out to the kitchen, where I set up my little temporary workspace.  Every time she'd come out there - Do you want a breakfast bar? A banana? Some yogurt? A sandwich? No, Mom, I'm not hungry. (I'm really not. And plus I bring my own snacky snacks on which to graze -- not because I don't like what she has, but because it's habit to put such things in my work bag.)  It makes me laugh on the inside, because when I was growing up, food was very regulated here.  I don't know what that was about, but I like to think it had something to do with why I developed a binge eating habit later in my life - because when I was suddenly allowed to eat whatever I wanted and whenever I wanted, I went nuts and wanted to eat as much of whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.  And, boom! Now I have unhealthy relationships with food and issues with impulse control. Yay me!

Alright, I'm gonna sign off for now. TTYL!

Sometimes it's better to receive...

So the other night, I was playing on my phone before I fell asleep, like I usually do.  

Don't judge! I'm improving, in baby steps. I used to play games on my phone instead of going to sleep.  I haven't done that for a few months now, thank you very much. Now I just watch videos and read random articles and sometimes get caught up in searching random things that may have crossed my mind at some point during the day and made me think, I should look that up later.  (I think they call that "doom scrolling" and it may or may not be better for my health than playing games, but that is not the point right now.)

On this particular night, I noticed that there was a number by my telephone icon.  I hardly ever use my phone as an actual telephone, so this caught my attention.  A few clicks taps later, I had discovered a file called "Deleted Voicemails" that apparently contained 666 messages.  That's an odd number, I thought, although of course by definition it is, indeed, an even number.  Religious and somewhat superstitious that I am, I decided I had to do something about that, like maybe delete all of the "Deleted" voicemails.  Because I'm also the kind of person who likes to delete "Deleted" anything files, because if I said I wanted them deleted, why aren't they already deleted?! Annoying.

But 666 is a big number for a person who doesn't use their phone as a telephone, so I thought, I wonder how long it took me to amass 666 deleted voicemails? So I started scrolling down the list which, of course, also shows names/numbers, dates and times, and transcriptions of questionable but somewhat decipherable quality.  

And then it hit me: these go back for years.  One of the things I was bummed about after my Dad died was that I didn't have any saved voicemails from him -- my Mom was always the one who called on their behalf to wish me happy birthday or whatever, and they changed the greeting on their own voicemail a long, long time ago to go with the mechanized generic voice instead of his.  It seemed like a long shot, but what if somewhere in those 666 messages was one from my Dad?  It was a chance I was willing to take.

And...I found one!  Not just one, but I actually found about six of them! Oh my gosh.  I felt like I had just won the lottery.  I listened to them, of course.  It was so amazing, hearing his voice again!  Not the strange, quiet voice he had at the end, but the robust, happy voice he used to have.  They weren't very long messages, and in fact they were all kind of about the same thing, but still...hearing him say my name again, hearing him laugh, hearing him say, "Talk to you later, love you, bye" again...I genuinely cannot put into words all of the emotions I was flooded with. I thought I would never hear his voice again! So the surprise of finding these treasures, and the tremendous joy and extreme sadness of listening to the messages...I was such a bawling mess after that.  I've never been that happy but crying so hard in all my life.  

I literally could not stop just thanking God after that.  I couldn't even find succinct ways to express my thanks, which I usually make an effort to do.  It was just a non-stop stream of, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you" until I fell asleep.  And when I woke up to empty my bladder, I started thanking Him again, and in the morning when I woke up, I started thanking Him again.  Because I just have, like, no other explanation for finding those messages at that moment when they've obviously been there for a while.  

I haven't listened to them again yet. This happened a week ago, last Friday night.  Honestly? I'm afraid to listen again.  The emotions that overtook me when I listened the first time were so intense, I don't think I'm ready to feel that again right now.  Hearing his voice was so comforting, and of course I saved those voicemails in a couple different places so I don't lose them again (I hope!) now.  Knowing I have them is also comforting.  But hearing his voice was also very painful, and that's the part I don't want to revisit again yet.  I'm sure that some day I will want to listen to them again, but not today.

It feels weird, almost "wrong" as if there was such a thing, to admit that. Like I should be saying I want to listen to it over and over and over again.  Like that's what I'd have expected someone in my position to be saying if I wasn't the one in my position.  The things you can't know about grieving until you go through it yourself, I tell ya...

Anyway. Once again I have managed to finish my point in the allotted time, and now work is beckoning me back.  I suppose I should go take care of that; the sooner I finish, the sooner I can get my weekend started! And I was ready for the weekend to start on Monday!

Toodles...

And so it goes...

I had another vivid dream the other night.

Actually, I have vivid dreams pretty often. I think it's a side effect of my medication, or something.

Anyway, this particular dream involved several recurring elements, the main one being my Dad; and the other one being that we were in Grand Rapids, the town where both my parents were born and raised.  Okay, there was another recurring element as well: we were at my Godparents' house -- in this case, my Godparents being my Dad's best friend from high school and into adulthood and his then-wife, "then" meaning the time when I was a kid and we were spending a lot of weekends up there with them (yes, I feel I must clarify this because I have two sets of Godparents or at least two Godmothers, I don't know, families are confusing).  Only we were the ages we are now, and my Godparents weren't living in that house anymore, but apparently we were.  

Anyway, so my Dad was back again, alive but not exactly well, but walking on his own and mentally coherent and stuff.  But in the dream, we all (and by "all" I mean the only other people I remember being there were my Mom and my hubby) knew -- including my Dad -- that he was only there for a short time and wasn't going to be staying very long. I mean, it really was like he had come back to visit.  Anyway, I remember in the dream, he was sitting on the couch in the living room and I was trying to find a phone for him. Then I found one and I was like, "Who do you want to talk to first? Uncle Joel or Cousins Davies?" and he was like, "I don't know, whoever you call first, it doesn't matter to me," so I called my cousin (and yes, we call him Cousins Davies in real life, it's a long story) (oh and for that matter, Uncle Joel isn't really my flesh and blood uncle, he's the aforementioned Godfather with whom my Dad was friends with from childhood) and gave the phone to my Dad, and that's about all I remember of that part.  I also remember that while my Dad was on the phone, my Mom was sitting outside on a park bench in the yard just zoning out, and I was like, Don't you want to come inside and spend some time with Dad before he leaves again? And she just looked right through me and kept staring off into space.  So I went back in the house and while my Dad was finishing up his call, I was trying to think of all the things I've thought of in the last, what, 17+ months that I've wanted to ask him so I could ask him but I couldn't recall a darn one and it was frustrating because I know there have been a ton of things I've wanted to ask him or talk to him about, and there I had the chance and couldn't think of anything. 

And that's about all I remember.

I have a lot of dreams about my Dad.  I think I've mentioned that before. I remember, a few weeks after he died, I admitted that to my Mom because she said she wished he'd come visit her in a dream. And I blurted out that I'd had several dreams like that already. And then she looked sad and I didn't want to make her feel worse than she already did, so I stopped mentioning that around her.  Because, I don't know why she wouldn't have dreams about him, but I would.  It didn't make sense to me.  Except that I want to believe with all my heart and soul that I was his favorite person in the whole wide world, but you can't say something like that to your own mother, ever in your life, especially not right after your father (and her husband of 60+ years) has passed away.  That's just downright cruel.  So I keep it to myself.

Anyway...

We were having a discussion the other day. Sort of.  Not my Mom and I, because that would be silly! But we were talking about mental health illness and demonic possession.  And now you're like, Whoa! That escalated quickly!  It stemmed from this week's sermon, where I actually felt compelled to write down a few notes (and I am not implying by that that the sermons aren't usually interesting, because they are; I just mean that usually I'm sitting in the AV booth listening for key words so I know when to advance to the next slide, and in the meantime I'm listening to the sermon but trying not to get so lost in it that I forget to listen for the key words, or if I'm not understanding or relating to what he's saying, or if the AV booth is particularly messy I'll start tidying up or I'll grab some Clorox wipes or alcohol wipes and start cleaning things.  But this week, some concepts such as, sometimes people do bad things just because they do bad things -- not because the devil was involved.  Um, what? I have to ponder that for a while.  Me and my un-Biblically-educated self.  I'm working on that part.  For the second year in a row now, I'm reading the Bible in a year. I think I could do the Bible in a year for about ten years in a row and still feel like I don't know much about it.  But, I digress; unlike my hubby, many of my beliefs have come about from experience and not through teachings.  (I don't mean that he hasn't experienced them; I mean that he grew up being taught these concepts first and then seeing them played out in real life, where I've kind of seen a lot of crapola played out in real life and then learned later that there are actual names for these things, such as Grace and Mercy and Sin and such.  It makes more sense in my head than it does in words.)  

Because for a long time, I struggled with wondering why people do bad things.  Not even just bad things, but really malicious, cruel things to other people.  I don't mean, like, serial killer things, either.  I mean, things like lying for no apparent reason.  Hurting another person for no apparent reason.  What's the underlying "apparent reason"?  And then I learned that it could be Satan.  That made a lot of sense to me.  And now, I'm learning that it might not be, after all?  That people might just be that evil at heart?  I don't know. There's a lot of depth here that I can't formulate into words.  I'm not as completely shattered as I might sound like I am, it's just something else I have to think about.

Which, I don't know if you've ever read the Bible or not, but that will definitely give you something to think about.  Like just when you think you understand something, you don't.  It's definitely interesting and thought-provoking.

Anyway...

That's about all I've got for now.  I'm blogging after work because I had to get this off my mind before I lost it.  There were other things I wanted to write about from this week's sermon but I can't remember what they were, dangit.  I should actually keep my notes next time so I can refer back to them, I suppose.

Another point I wanted to make is that depression just sucks. I'm not in a down cycle right now, but I am definitely fighting one off. I wonder what it's like to not be constantly fighting off a depressive down cycle?  I wonder what it's like to be one of those people that always has to be moving, always has to be doing something, instead of someone who can be content just sitting around like a blob and not doing anything?  Or one of those people who can see that something needs to be done and just does it?  Like the dishes, or putting clean clothes away, or mopping the floor, or changing the cat litter box... sometimes I just hear people complaining about how it sucks being chronically ill and I'm like yep, I know what that's like.  I don't think of depression as a chronic illness, but it is.  And somehow I manage to live with it, and I have for almost 40 years.  40 years of fighting this stupid mental illness.  Sometimes it feels like it's going to break me, and sometimes it does break me.  But it hasn't won.  And it's not going to win.  I am going to win.  Even when I don't feel like a winner, I am going to keep fighting.  Even if I have to fight from the couch, or my bed, or behind a mountain of clothes that need to be put away or an even bigger mountain of clothes that need to be washed.  

Tell me that's not the devil sneaking in and trying to break me.  Tell me, if that's not the evil one, why I feel better and stronger after I pray about it, and ask God for help. Tell me why I feel more like a "normal" person the more time I spend reading Scripture and serving others in God's name and glorifying His name? 

That's what I thought.

I'm gonna sign off now. I've been sitting in front of this computer waaaaaaaay too long today!

Another year of blogging.

I had two of the oddest and most vivid dreams last night.

In one of them, I was driving my Equinox on the highway. I believe it was supposed to be 94, just before Spaghetti Junction, heading west.  I was alone in the car, and the traffic was moderate, and suddenly someone up ahead lost a trailer. A metal utility trailer, with nothing on it.  I knew this because, in the far right lane, this trailer was just, you know, cruising along by itself.  The rest of us were attempting to continue to drive at speed, as the trailer was pretty much still staying in the right lane, but it was slowing down enough that we knew it was going to be a hazard at some point and we didn't want to be there when it was.

But of course, it wouldn't be a vivid and odd dream if that happened, so the next thing I knew, I looked over and it was sparking - because the tongue was starting to drag on the asphalt.  I also noticed that it was veering toward the guardrail on the right side, so I was at least glad that it wasn't veering into traffic, and I kept trying to sneak around it, but there was just too much traffic and the other drivers were leery of driving next to it as well since it was starting to swerve.  Then, it happened -- the wheels broke off, and sparks were flying everywhere, and pieces of broken trailer were flying everywhere, and I was just praying that I would make it through (I was in the left lane, so as far away from it as I could get).  But it was like we were in a war zone suddenly, pieces of burning tire and metal were flying around and landing on the road, and we were trying not to drive over it. I thought I had made it and was clear, and then BAM! I heard something hit my back tire and I had this sinking feeling that I had been hit. 

Nothing happened right away, but a few seconds later the car next to me had it's rear tire explode and it went careening off out of control into another car and sliding sideways down the road. And I was praying that the same thing wasn't going to happen to me, and then all of a sudden I heard a loud explosion and the next thing I knew, I was trying to wake up (it's weird, trying to wake up when you're in a dream) and I was laying in the back seat of the Equinox, which was all crumpled up and lying in a ditch on it's side. I managed to crawl out and everything was like black and burned out and there were smoldering piles of cars everywhere, but I recognized that it was my Equinox because I could still see the Ewok sticker on what was left of the rear window.  And I was like, Crap! They got me! I have to get out of here!

The rest of that part wasn't quite as vividly detailed. I somehow ended up with my parents (because in the dream that made sense) and we went to the ER but we were there for my Mom even though I was clearly in rough shape, but my Mom kept insisting that nothing was wrong with me and it was all in my head and she was the one who needed to be seen, even though I could barely stand up and barely keep my eyes open and I was really, really sore. I don't know, there's probably something subconscious to that...lol

Anyway. The other weird, vivid dream I had last night wasn't as storylike as that one was. It was that my sister and her new husband had decided to buy a horse farm, but neither one of them knows anything at all about horses, so they invited my Mom and I over to see their new place.  (Which would so not happen in real life. None of it. ha ha ha.)  And I thought they just meant that they had like a horse or two, but we got there and it was like this big facility with like hundreds of horses, and they had taken over as the owners and had all this staff of trainers and hired hands and everything, and it turned out they weren't hands-on with the horses at all but just wanted to say that they owned horses.  And in the dream I was like, that's really dumb, you don't even like horses.  And my sister was like, That doesn't matter, I own all of them now.  

I don't know. They were both just so vivid, that I felt like they really happened.  I woke up from the one amazed that I wasn't sore anymore.

=================================================================

Maybe the one was mildly prophetic.  I was sitting here at my desk working this morning, and I heard a delivery truck driving down our driveway (which surprised me, and in fact I had been texting the hubby about it earlier because he said he was expecting a delivery and he hoped they didn't just leave it up by the mailbox like they have been doing lately, and I replied with something like I was pretty sure they would because no one in their right mind would try to drive a delivery truck down our driveway of glare ice right now) and then I heard the sounds of a delivery truck crashing into a snow bank and, to my surprise, I could look out my office window and see the front of a delivery truck!  (Which I should NOT be able to do!)  You know that feeling I described a few entries ago of sitting in my car at a complete stop on 35W, hoping that the car behind me was going to stop in time to not hit me? It was a feeling a lot like that, only it's a little different when you are hoping the delivery truck is going to stop in time to not hit your freaking house!

It didn't hit the house. But it was close. Like within 5 feet. If there wasn't a pile of snow in front of my window, it could have very well hit the house.  Our driveway is like a big, icy slide right now.  It would almost be funny, except the truck demolished my favorite bucket o' flowery crap that I had out there. The one with the "Welcome" sign that my Dad made, and the horse and dog yard thingy that my parents gifted me, and no I don't put these things away in the winter because the bucket thingy was full of dirt and super heavy and I had it off the beaten path where it was out of the way of the plow so it WOULDN'T get hit by anything. Except wayward delivery trucks, I guess.  

And now, the delivery truck can't get back up the driveway. They called another truck to come help them and apparently that didn't work either. Can you get banned from receiving packages from certain carriers for things like this? I don't know.  I guess we'll find out! 

But seriously. My take is, shouldn't professional drivers know better?  I'm not even a professional driver and I wouldn't have taken a big delivery truck like that down a hilly driveway.  You can see that it's icy.  In the past, drivers have left their trucks at the top of the driveway and walked the packages down to the door, or even left them at the mailbox at the top of the driveway.  Or, hear me out, refused to deliver them. But what do I know? I'm not a delivery person, I'm just a nurse.

They've got tow truck #2 here now. Hopefully the second try is the charm!

========================================================

It looks like someone put the bucket o' dirt and the Welcome sign and the horse thingy back up. I'm so happy that they weren't ruined. Thanks be to God and I actually do feel bad that the rest of their day was probably ruined because of our driveway. And I felt that way before I knew that my little yard thingies weren't ruined, just to be clear. I just feel bad because there really isn't anything I can do to help this situation. I don't know how to run the tractor, and even if I did, I don't know how to use it to get a delivery truck pushed up an icy hill.  I have a horse...but she wouldn't be any help at pulling a truck up a hill, either.  I would just be standing out there freezing my ass off, shrugging my shoulders and looking around as if the solution was going to magically appear in front of me.

And no one likes that.

========================================================

All righty. Back to work now. TTYL!
 

And so this is Christmas, and what have you done?

 Another year almost over, a new one almost begun.  

As one is wont to do at this time of year, I've been thinking back on the past 12 months and trying to decide whether it was an overall good year or not.  And then one of my friends posted the sentiment that is the focal point for today's post, and it struck me as one of those things I must share for relevancy's sake.

And here we are.

One day soon, but not today, I'll go through and perhaps list the major occurrences of every month of 2025, mostly to prove to myself that there were good things that happened this year.  It wasn't an altogether horrible year.  Not by a long shot.

I've just had a hard time these past few weeks or so.  

I remember, shortly after my Dad died, one of the things "people" told me was that the second round of holidays was going to be harder than the first.  I remembered those words, obviously, but took the advice with a grain of salt at the time, because that's just what you do when you're on Grief Auto-Pilot.  When all of the well-meaning people you know try to tell you how it's going to be, and you know they mean well but you don't really want to hear what it was like for anyone else because no one else could possibly know what it's like for you.  

And they don't.  But they do.  

But that won't change things. You still won't want to hear what other people have to say. But those of us who have been through it will still want to say it, because we want to help other people who are going to go through what we have already been through or are still going through.  Because this grief thing is horrible and if we can do anything, anything, to make it even the least bit easier for someone else, we will.  

But we can't.  

I think of that when I talk to people now who have lost loved ones, especially other adults who have lost a parent.  I hear myself saying the things that others said to me that I internally cringed upon hearing and sometimes I hate myself for saying those things to other people, knowing that they are internally cringing at my words, too.  Mostly I try to choose my words very, very carefully, keeping all of this in mind.  Trying to put myself back in their shoes, and doing or saying what I needed most at that time. 

But that just sucks because then, you know, I'm back at that place again.  Ground Zero.  August 2nd, 2024, at 7:30pm.  The place in time I have wanted to distance myself from for 515 days and counting.  

Anyway...yeah. My point being that the second holiday season without my Dad has been very difficult. I don't know if it was more difficult than the first one was, but it was definitely more difficult than I thought it would be.  I'm not sure why. Maybe because of all the emphasis on families getting together, and memories of Christmases past, and even farther back memories of Christmases as a kid, and all that stuff.  Or maybe because life, in general, has kinda settled into it's new normal now and then the holidays come up and nothing is normal anymore and the days are cold and dark and I've got this darn cold I can't get rid of and I didn't even feel like putting Christmas decorations up this year and it's kinda hit me out of the blue and I can't even drive the Lincoln right now because there's snow and ice and salt on the roads and I just miss my Dad and I'm not getting along very well with my Mom lately either and it's not that we're arguing because I'm not going to do that, I'm just going to keep quiet and not argue with her because that's the right thing to do.  

Urgh.

I miss my Dad.  I don't like that this year, 2025, is the first year in which he wasn't here at all.  I remember feeling like this in September 2024 -- the first month in which he wouldn't be on earth at all.  It's like that, but on a bigger scale.

I think about him every day, but most of the time now, it doesn't make me so sad that I have to stop what I'm doing and cry.  I mean, I am right now, of course, but usually it's not sad things.  I feel like I've come a long way in that respect.  It makes me happy and makes me feel loved, remembering him.  So many of the good parts of me, are from him.  I was always a Daddy's girl, and I will always and forever be a Daddy's girl...and nothing will change that, not even death. 

Alright, on that note, I gotta get back to work.  Good thing I'm not on camera today, since my eyes are all puffy now. Actually, come to think of it, I don't look or sound much different than I did before, and crying actually helped clear my sinuses out a bit, so, yay! It made my headache worse, but I'll take the wins where I can get 'em right now.

Toodles!

It's beginning to look a lot like...

 

It's beginning Christmas to look a lot like. That's how I read it, anyway.

I just realized I never wrote anything in here last month. I'm kind of not surprised. I think about writing in here a lot, but then I get distracted by something else and never get around to it.  Or I'm behind at work so I work through my lunch break instead of playing on the computer.  I mean, NOOOOOOO, no one does that, ever...especially not salaried nurses!

Actually, last month I didn't get to WFH much.  Mainly because the Medicare extension allowing coverage for telemedicine visits expired and wasn't re-extended or something like that, so we had to open more in-person clinic slots. Poor me...there were days I had to go in to the office 4 days out of the week! The horrors!  (I'm being sarcastic here. I know you can't tell in writing.)  It made me realize how spoiled I've become -- I mean how blessed I am -- with my job where I can work from home so often.  Going to the office every day makes me crabby. And it's nothing to do with the actual office itself, because I like the office and I love the people. I really do. The more time I spend with them, the more I like them which is a definite conundrum to working from home like we all do so much now.  

It's the commute that's getting to me.  On a good day, the commute from my office to my driveway takes one hour and five minutes.  But let's face it, there are no "good days" when you're talking about rush hour traffic.  We've always gotta slow down for no reason somewhere along the way.  Or now that it's winter, we never go the speed limit.  I do like driving, but I wish all those other people would get off the road first.

At the end of October, I was driving home from my Mom's house one Friday night -- if I remember correctly, I had spent Thursday night at her house and then worked from her house on Friday and was driving home that evening, so not too late in the evening. Instead of taking my usual route, I decided to take the faster freeways so I could theoretically get home faster.  HA HA HA!  That backfired on me.  Suddenly the lane of traffic I was in decided to stop moving and first I thought I was OK because I slammed on the brakes in time to avoid hitting the car in front of me.  But the car behind me did not slam on their brakes in time to avoid hitting me.  Even though it was only about 6pm, it was dark and rainy and I was shaking and mad, and the other lanes around us were moving so after I heard that sickening CRUNCH I carefully moved over to the shoulder, because I'm not stupid enough to stay in the freaking middle lane.  I was, however, stupid enough to figure the person behind me -- you know, the one who HIT ME!? -- would follow me.  HA HA HA HA again.  Nope.  They just kept going.  And I was so upset I didn't realize it at first.  So naturally I didn't get a look at their vehicle, or their license plate, or anything like that.

Hey, don't come at me saying I should have got that stuff. You weren't there. You don't know how fast it happened, and how difficult it was to see since it was dark and rainy, and I was focused on getting my car out of traffic while the other car was apparently focused on blending in with traffic.

So, yeah. That was fun. Short story long, I got a new tailgate and bumper now. Well, my Equinox did, anyway.  That's about the most exciting thing that's happened recently. Thank God for car insurance! I was super mad at first about the other person just driving away, but I'm over it now.  There's nothing I can do about it anyway.  It wasn't the right thing to do, but at least I wasn't hurt and my car wasn't totalled.  Someone out there is driving around with some Specific Blue paint from MY Equinox on their front bumper.  I lost my DeColores bumper sticker, and the decal from the dealership where we bought the Nox, but I didn't lose my Ewok window decal.  

And, Medicare now covers telemedicine visits again, so this month I get to work from home more than I did last month. Yay!  

A few months ago at work, we switched to Teams for our phone service provider. This is the first time I haven't had an actual physical phone on my desk. It was weird at first, dialing through the computer instead of a real phone.  It's still a little weird, but I can say that because I'm over 50.  Our house has actual phone jacks.  We have never used them, but they're there anyway.  But it's nice having Teams as our phone service at work because it's a lot easier to use when I'm WFH'ing.  I don't have to use my cell phone anymore! It's the little things sometimes.

Now I'm just babbling. I got a new keyboard a few weeks ago and I like the way it feels and sounds.  There's a word for that but I don't know what it is right now.  I unintentionally wrecked my last keyboard by packing it in my bag with too much other stuff.  Anyway...I don't like typing on the laptop keyboard. Plus it doesn't have a 10-key pad.  And I really don't like using the touch pad for a mouse, especially when I'm trying to do the church stuff on here.  

I have a lot of dreams with my Dad in them. Well, it seems like a lot, it's probably like one a week, sometimes more.  They're usually just like very casual (for lack of a better word), just like a regular life-type situation and he's just there and it's, like, no big deal or anything.  Those are the best. Sometimes I'll have dreams where I'll know in the dream that he's not alive so I'll be like, What are you doing here? And he'll just smile at me like he's got some big secret or something and act like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.  And then sometimes, and these are the absolute worst, but every now and then I'll have dreams in which he dies again.  Not in the same way, but from the same thing, if that makes sense. I mean, like, one time I had a dream that he was back at their house on the couch but in the same state he was in last time I saw him, and I was like, Oh, I thought you already died, what are you doing here? And of course he didn't answer me, but I was doubly upset because I was like, I thought we already did this, you mean we have to go through this all again?!  But thankfully, the vast majority of the times my Dad appears in my dreams are not like that at all.

This morning, when I was in that half-awake state and the news was on before I got up, I dreamt that my Mom and I were standing on the sidewalk across the street from the shop where my Dad used to work, and that he was sitting in the doorway, just sitting there, not really doing anything.  And then I heard this voiceover in my dream about someone being shot at Edgerton and Jenks (which is a block away from where the shop was) and I was like, oh my gosh, that's right over there! And I pointed in that direction and my Mom was like Yeah, so? And I was like, So we should get out of here! And my Mom was like, That's way over there! We're safe over here. And I was like, No we're not! Come on, let's GO! And I ran over and tried to get my Dad to stand up but he wouldn't move, either. It was odd. And then I woke up and actually paid attention to the news and they were, indeed, talking about someone who was shot at Edgerton and Case and how the area was sealed off from Edgerton and Jenks to Case, or something like that.  I don't know, it amuses me when the news filters into my dreams like that. 

There's a lot to unpack there.  Not really, though.  My Mom lives in a high-crime area and refuses to leave it.  Something can happen half a block away and she's not bothered by it because it's not literally right in front of her face. I don't have time to unpack all of that right now, or share my feelings on it in a civilized manner. So I shan't.

Besides, it's time to get back to work.

TTFN!

Something went wrong, alright...

 

It's called, I have new hobbies other than writing in my blog. Ha! Ha!

I've been spending my WFH lunch hour computer time working on computer stuff for church lately.  Sorry not sorry.  I do miss writing, so I am actually a little sorry because I do need to journal occasionally for my own sanity.  Or so I've been telling myself for the last 40 years.

But I'm not sorry because doing computer stuff for church is playing on the computer for the Lord, thankyouverymuch.  I never did fit in very well with any of the other official committees.  I do a lot of Bible Studies (which I also enjoy very much) but even some of those get challenging after a while.  But this?  Besides the fact that we have called ourselves the Awesome Committee?  This does not feel like "work" at all.  

I was trying to explain to my Mom what I do, keeping in mind that my Mom hasn't actually gone to a real church service since...probably since I was in elementary school and begged to go to Sunday School, so she actually walked me to the Lutheran church two blocks away a few times (or maybe more, I don't remember more than a few times, though).  I know she does watch some church services on TV now, though, so I tried explaining that, you know how churches have big screens up now on which they show the lyrics to songs instead of having everyone use hymnals?  Or the words to responsorial prayers instead of everyone having to have a bulletin from which to read along?  Kind of like a slide show to go along with the service?  I do that.  I make the slide shows and then I run the presentation during the service to keep the slide show moving along.  Because it doesn't run automatically.  And NO, it's NOT PowerPoint. It's a way more intensive program than that.  It does so many more things and I've only tapped the surface of what it can do! 

Why do I keep getting plopped in front of programs that people are already using and then getting tasked with figuring out how to use them better?  I'm a nurse, not a computer programmer! 

I'm only half complaining.  Everyone has their back-up career, right? Maybe not a career-career, but I guess this would be mine.  

Anyway...so that's what I've been doing when I'm not writing in here.  I've been watching video tutorials and reading articles and posts on user forums and trying to learn how to use said program better.  And having some creative fun in the process, too.  Win-win-win!

Sometimes I feel like sitting down and writing, just to get it off my chest, what I would say to my sister if I could say something to her that she'd hear.  But then I actually thought about it, and I thought -- I don't know what I'd say to her.  I think one of the last things I said to her was that I didn't have anything to say to her, lol.  And I think that's still actually correct.  Because I don't have anything in particular I want to say to her -- but I would dearly love to hear what she has to say for herself. I'd want to hear that before I'd decide what I wanted to say.  (Unfortunately, I probably wouldn't think about what I wanted to say before I said it, though. So it's probably best that this is probably going to stay a hypothetical scenario.)

My Mom has given up on getting in contact with her. Again.  She does this every so often.  She was sending her cards for her birthday and anniversary and sometimes just because, and occasionally trying to call her and leaving voicemail messages for her.  As she does.  And then she gets annoyed that she makes all this effort for nothing and decides she's done and she's never going to try to get in touch with her again.  For a while, and then she tries again.  I don't even point out that I can clearly see the cycle -- Hell, I lived the cycle and might even still be living it now except the 'I'm not going to try contacting her' cycle has gone on for a very long time this time for me, if that's the case!  Anyhoo.  The last I heard, she was giving up this time because my sister allegedly told my nephew (her son) that she intended to call my Mom but just hadn't yet.  IDK. Like I said, I've tagged out.  I guess the only thing I would want to hear at this point, the only thing that really pisses me off, is why she didn't come visit my Dad when he was in the nursing home or when he was on hospice.  ALLEGEDLY (and I say this because it's obviously all hearsay to me) she told her husband that she was having a hard time after my Dad died because she didn't get to see him.  Which, I have no idea why she told her husband she didn't get to see him, because she was notified many times in may ways by many people about what was going on when it was going on.  So my anger comes from the fact that she's probably lying (and I know that's speculation on my part) to her husband about what really happened. She's probably saying that we wouldn't let her come down to see him.  Which isn't true. I would have let her see him.  For him. Not for her.  

Whatever.