Aces and Eights

 

On August 2, 1876, James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok was shot from behind during a poker game in a saloon in Deadwood, South Dakota (known as Dakota Territory at the time) by one Mr. Jack McCall, who had (as the story goes) lost a lot of money to the notorious gambler and gunslinger in another poker game a few weeks prior.  Wild Bill made it a rule to never sit with his back to the door, but at this particular juncture, it was the only seat open and no one would switch.  That turned out to be a fatal decision for the infamous Wild Bill, and the hand he was holding -- two black aces and two black eights (the exact identity of the fifth card is lost to irrelevance) -- has since been known as the Dead Man's Hand. 

Since I grew up going to visit the Black Hills, including Deadwood, just about every summer as a kid, I've known this story like the back of my hand since as long as I can remember.  I've been to the No. 10 Saloon in Deadwood (which claimed to be at or close to the location of the original saloon) many, many times, and sat in the spot where Wild Bill supposedly sat when he was killed, or maybe it wasn't, but it could've been.  They used to put on a re-enactment called The Trial of Jack McCall that started with the (fake, of course) shooting of Wild Bill and then Jack McCall running away down the street and being captured by cowboys on horseback and being brought to the local jail and then put on trial.  One year we went and my Dad got called to be one of the witnesses. I don't know, it was one of those things that bored the crap out of me as a kid but my Mom thought it was a huge deal that she got my Dad to be one of the tourists that got called to be a witness without him knowing ahead of time (basically I think you just got pulled up on stage to be heckled) and even after he got called up there, as a kid it still bored the crap out of me and I didn't get why it was such a big deal and mostly when I was a kid what I really liked about Deadwood was that there were actual real live horses going up and down the streets all the time, pulling replica stagecoaches and wagons and some standing on corners that you could even pet or pay to sit on and have your picture taken, although I was always confused about why they had people dressed up like native Americans standing next to horses who were tacked up in western saddles.  

My Dad liked the Old West and Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley and all those guys, and the Black Hills and Deadwood and all of that.  I'd like to think he'd be pleased as punch to know that he died on the same day that Wild Bill Hickok died.  148 years later.  I know I think it's kinda cool.  

So, yeah. I survived another August 2nd.  Not really knowing what to expect, I woke up crying and had a couple of moments throughout the day, not to mention that now-familiar feeling that just up and smacks you upside the head out of nowhere many times in the weeks leading up to that date.  But all in all it wasn't as scary as last year's August 2nd was, I think because it wasn't the first one I'd been through so I knew to expect the unexpected and to just kinda go with whatever I felt and to try not to be a biatch to everyone. Actually, I guess I avoided everyone expect my hubby, and that wasn't an accident.  We were camping all weekend.  OK, let me rephrase that; we were at a Christian music festival all weekend, staying in the camper (which is different than camping) so really the only person I was around who I knew was my hubby, anyway, which was fine by me.  

We had a great time! Mostly. We left on Friday and it was raining. When we got there, it had stopped. It took two tries to set up the camper because the campsite was so uneven.  We pulled the camper in one way and had it pretty much leveled, but then the hubby decided it'd be easier to level it if we pulled it in the other way, so we un-did everything and set it up again.  Which wasn't so bad, it was just a primitive site without hook-ups and we work well together at getting the camper set up (well, I think we do, anyway)  But then I got sick, because I hadn't eaten anything except a banana all morning and it was hot and I was ignoring all the signals my body was putting out that it needed something to eat and IDK, I donated 2 units of red blood cells on Monday and haven't felt quite right since then so I think that has something to do with it, too; anyway, as soon as we got the camper leveled I crashed, which sucked, because I felt like every ounce of energy I had was depleted and that is not a great way to start a music festival weekend! Plus it was raining and cold and so I was crabby and on the verge of tears and, yeah. Good times. Not really.  It had been like living in an oven here for the last week or so, so when I packed I didn't bring any jeans or sweatshirts, so of course when it rained it cooled down. Luckily I keep a warm jacket in the camper all the time. Alright, I'll quit complaining because despite all the little minor physical annoyances, I got my sad, sorry ass to the concert grounds to see one of my favorite artists, Crowder! Hashtag worth it!  

Thankfully, it stopped raining overnight, so our chairs got mostly dried out by the next morning.  However, I had signed up to do a 5k walk/run the next morning. I'd already paid and everything. And I really, really wanted that t-shirt, ha ha.  There was no way I was going to try to finish a 5k anything, but I did have to go register in person to get the t-shirt. So I got my pitiful self up out of bed and walked to the other end of the campground. Thinking it was still going to be cold, I wore my longest pair of jean shorts, and a t-shirt, and my long-sleeved jacket (not the warmest one, which was still drying out, but the thinner one) and headed out. And you know what? It was sunny and humid.  So I was sweating my ass off by the time I got to registration, which was like half a mile away from our campsite. But I got my damn t-shirt and then walked back to the campsite, only having to stop to rest once, and then crashed for a while again after forcing myself to eat breakfast.  And yes, I was drinking PLENTY of water, so that wasn't the problem.  I was still feeling just completely drained.  A little better than on Friday, though. The sunny and warm weather helped.  I still didn't want to walk around and look at all the vendors (yet I still somehow got like 17k steps in that day, go figure). The music was amazing, we saw Aaron Cole and Patrick Mayberry and Matt Maher and the headliner was For King + Country. (Forgot to add, on Friday besides Crowder being the headliner, we saw Jamie MacDonald, and my hubby also saw Ben Fuller but I stayed in the camper sleeping during his set. Sad Tash.) We missed Rachel Lampa on Saturday and another artist, I can't remember who, on Friday. But we could hear them from the camper, so, that was cool. 

So that was the weekend. I have today off because why not?  I also have tomorrow and Wednesday off because last August 2nd I wished I would've taken a couple extra days off so that's what I did this year, and I also thought my hubby was still going to be off work this week, but he's not.  I don't remember the last time I wrote in here, if I mentioned that he was laid off for two months or not. But he was. And it was actually not a horrible thing at all.  But he had to go back to work today, so it's just me sitting around the house wanting to stay in bed and cry all day.  A little. But not really.  We have Vespers at church on Wednesday and rehearsal tonight so I got up this morning and finished that presentation, and now I'm doing this. And laundry. Because camping for three days and two nights generates about two weeks' worth of laundry somehow.  

Oh wait, we weren't camping. We were staying in the camper.  My bad.

One thing that happened since I last wrote, my nephew got married! I guess I did mention that was going to happen in my last entry.  Well, it did, and it was beautiful, and now I feel old. I mean, I felt old before then, but, yeah. We had a good time.  If you're reading this, you're most likely FB friends with me so you've seen some of the pics, and I already posted last time how my Mom wasn't going to go. She didn't.  I'm so glad I went, though. The hubby and I hung out with my younger nephew (the brother of the groom) and his fiancee. I just love those two so much! 

Of course, my sister was there. She didn't say a single word to me.  At one point, I was standing right behind her. She and her new husband (whom I've only ever seen in FB pics) were sitting in the front row, in front of the flowery arch thing where the ceremony was going to be, and everyone started gathering in that area to take some pics of the bride and groom before the ceremony. I was literally standing right behind them taking pics, and when I was done I looked at them and my little pea brain half-recognized him from, like I said, the few FB photos I've seen, and then connected the dots that the pale woman next to him with the long brown hair and the big, round glasses, wearing the purple dress, must be my sister.  

Y'all, I would not have recognized this woman if I had run into her face-to-face on the street.  I haven't seen her in person for about, IDK, 10 years or so? 11 or 12 maybe?  Not even in pictures.  She has lost a lot of weight, and it does NOT look good on her.  She has not aged well.  She's only 6 years older than I am, which would make her 57yo, but she looked like she could be in her 70's.  She used to wear make up and style her hair and paint her fingernails, and she hadn't done any of that. And she was wearing a dress that was like three sizes too big for her and she just looked frumpy.  I mean, she was never a fashionista anyway, but this was like...I don't even know. For real, though, it was the oddest feeling ever to just look at her and feel, like, not even a tingle of recognition.  Not even the slightest bit.  When I was seated where I knew I was out of her line of sight, I would purposely just stare and be like...Nope, nothing.  I'd even tell myself - Tash, this is your sister. This is your flesh and blood. This person has the same parents that you do, grew up with you...and still, nothing. No feelings either way, actually. Neither love nor hate.  Just indifference.  She and her husband sat by themselves the whole time. I walked close enough to her to say "hi" many times. I actually felt sad for her. I was hoping she'd have changed and would've actually been somewhat sociable.  But no, she was just as socially awkward as ever, just like my Mom, just like she's always been, staying in her own little bubble and ignoring everyone else.  

I mean, I think I have social anxiety. But then I see my sister and/or my mom in social situations, and I go -- never mind, I'm good.

The one thing my hubby, bless his soul, pointed out, was that at least she seemed happy with her new husband. They seemed to be enjoying each other's company and not fighting with each other while they were sitting together alone at the big table all by themselves and hiding in the corner away from everyone else.  So  not only has she not changed, she's found someone who isn't going to help her change, either.  Nice. Well, whatever. To each their own.  I think it's hilarious that I was the one going around greeting the other family members (I mean besides the groom, who was doing the same thing when he wasn't busy, lol) who were there, which should have been her job.  Oh, and the other family members who were there were HER former in-laws.  

Well, like I said...whatever.  I didn't go there for her benefit, I was there for my nephews, despite her not wanting anything to do with me.  She and I once promised each other that we were going to break the cycles of the past, and not be like our parents and just stop talking to our siblings and not have anything more to do with them or their children for no apparent reason.  And yet, that is exactly what she has done.  And what she is perpetuating with her own children now, too.  

Alright, enough of that, already. I'm gonna sign off and do some more laundry and maybe take a quick nap before I head to Vespers practice.  I've taken up drinking a Diet Dew every other day or so again for some reason, but the thing is that it really messes with my sleep, and also I've been having some really weird and disturbing dreams lately so I could use an hour or two of comfortable sleep in my own bed again.  Not that the camper bed isn't my own bed, but it's not, really.  It's the camper bed. It's not the same.

TTYL!

Hot Fun in the Summertime...

I used to love pineapples as decorations. I even found the cutest little pineapple stained-glass window hanging thingy and put it in the camper and started hanging it in the window when we went camping. You know, once we landed and set up our campsite and everything.

Especially after we toured Glensheen one of the most recent times and they pointed out that pineapples are used throughout the home as a symbol of hospitality. 

On a side note, I am absolutely positively in love with Glensheen.  If you ever get a chance to go, you absolutely must. Unless you don't like touring early 20th century mansions that also happen to be former crime scenes.  

Anywho, then I found out that pineapples - especially when displayed in transient transportation vehicles, such as campers and on cruise ship doors, often signify something I don't want to be a part of, I was crushed. Like a can that sweet, sweet fruit I love so much.  I shan't display my cute little pineapple stained glass window hanging in the camper anymore. It still lives in the camper, but it's still in a drawer, wrapped up in a towel, wondering why it doesn't get to symbolize hospitality any longer.

Because, little stained glass pineapple...we aren't THAT kind of hospitable.

ANYWAY...I can't believe I didn't blog in June.  This summer is flying by.  I don't even know where to start or how much to include.  It's been an emotional one so far, that's for sure, and that is not going to let up anytime soon.  

The Lincoln needs a new radiator. That's funny because that was one of the pieces that I thought would be good for a while because it's one of the last pieces my Dad replaced. But then I remember that he replaced it like 15-20 years ago, so it's not exactly new anymore even though it doesn't have a lot of miles on it.  That's the way it is with classic cars.  My hubby ordered a new radiator today.  Also, he tore apart the dash to find out what kind of windshield wiper switch we needed, and I set about what I thought was going to be an easy task of ordering a new one of those, only to find out that they are really hard to find!  But I found one. It was only $150.  And then when we got it, I was comparing it to the old one (even though when I was searching for it online, I used the exact same part numbers that are on it, and the one I found was a Motorcraft part with the exact same numbers so it should be the exact same frickin' part) and they are just slightly not the same size.  If you don't know the way your heart sinks when you find out a really hard to find part that you managed to find for your classic car turns out to be not exactly the same as the original part, consider yourself fortunate.  However, my hubby thinks it will still work. And as anxious as I am for him to get in there and find out, it's also stupidly hot and humid outside and I am NOT going to push him to go out there and work on it in this kind of weather.  As much as I want to.  I'm a mechanic's daughter, I know better than that. That's how I learned most of the swear words I know, ha. Ha. Ha. 

I think that's it for car news. The poor Lincoln has been parked most of the summer so far, then, with the radiator leaking.  I drove it on Mother's Day.  I've been driving the Maverick here and there. But we haven't gone to any car shows with the cars this year.  Maybe we'll pick that up again next year.

My hubby is actually laid off this summer, which is a good thing because the job he was on was literally killing him.  Either by stressing him out physically and mentally firsthand, or secondhand stressing me out to the point of strangling him in his sleep. I'M KIDDING! I wouldn't do that.  But it was a very stressful job for him, and when he finished his part and they offered to keep him "busy" for a few months until the next part starts, he negotiated being laid off instead.  And then came home and wrote up a beautiful To Do list of things around the house he was going to do -- fixing the Lincoln and the Maverick, rebuilding the deck (on which the wood was literally rotting off), digging up the front garden for me, getting a screen door on the front like we've wanted to do since we moved in, and a bunch of other stuff that he rarely has time or energy to work on. 

AND THEN...our pastor resigned. And my hubby, not only being a man who lives and loves to serve in church but also being the current church council president, stepped in to help. Because the next week, three of the main staff people were scheduled to go on vacation for a week, too.  So! Long story short, he's been spending most of his time helping out at church instead.  He did get the deck rebuilt (but not yet stained or sealed, lol) and some other projects done. And I know that our church staff and many people in our congregation are thankful for him stepping in and helping out, and I am, too.  This is what he wants to do when he retires -- he wants to help out at church all the time.  

Which is what he's doing right now, and I'm being called to help. I'll be right back.

Alright, I'm back. Story of my life lately. I don't mind helping out as well, but unlike my hubby, I'm also still trying to work my day job.  Which has been crazy busy lately! I don't even want to talk about that right now. I'm kind of caught up at the moment, but I have clinic tomorrow so that will probably change.

Let's see...well, we have a new cat! We still have the "old" one, too, although it's awkward because she's now the young one.  I didn't know how old our "new" cat was when I agreed to rehome her - not that that would have changed my mind, but I was still surprised when we went to pick her up and I looked at her rabies certificate and it said she was almost 13 years old. I never thought to ask how old she was! Long story short, again, she used to belong to my friend and her family, but they had to rehome her when they moved and the person to whom she had been rehomed found themselves in a position where they could no longer keep her, either, so they contacted my friend to see if she could either take her back or find a new home for her.  My friend was still unfortunately unable to keep her, but asked me if I knew anyone, and she caught me at a moment when I was feeling like our little Sierra needed a friend to keep her company and had been secretly debating over whether a kitten was a good idea or not.  A cat seemed like an even better idea! So that's how we got Fifi.  She's an absolute cat. I mean, Sierra isn't a typical cat. She loves people, has never hidden under furniture or hissed or acted like a cat, she's always acted more like a dog.  Miss Fiona is very much a cat. She hid under a couch in the basement for the first week. She'd come out to be petted but hissed and spit at Sierra.  Let me explain - Sierra loves everyone and everything, and her first reaction to Fiona was to run up to her and rub on her and love her and try to play with her.  Which would work, if she was a dog or a person.  But it doesn't work with other cats.  And poor little Sierra didn't understand what hissing and spitting meant at first.  

They get along only marginally better now. Fiona doesn't just stay in the basement anymore, she does roam about the entire house - but doesn't enjoy being around Sierra yet. Although she tolerates being in the same area as Sierra for about 30 seconds and then runs from her.  Sierra is still kinda clueless and still wants to love her and play with her.  God bless Sierra. If more people had hearts like Sierra, the world would be a better place.

And the creme de la creme...my nephew's wedding is in three days. The potential family drama that will hopefully turn out to be nothing but in my head, I'm preparing for all sorts of scenarios because you just never know what my sister and/or her husband will come up with.  As I said, hopefully they won't try to bring up ANYTHING with me. But you're talking about people -- well, a person, anyway; I guess I can't speak to the values of the person she married since all I know about the man is hearsay from my parents -- with no moral compass.  Someone who, the last time she talked to me, it was to ask me at her son's graduation party (the same son, nonetheless) whether I approved of her boyfriend, the boyfriend she invited to her son's graduation party right under her then-husband's nose and expected all of us to act like nothing was amiss even though we all knew damn well that she was cheating on her then-husband with this guy that she tried to say was just a friend or I don't even remember how she tried to say that she knew him or justified why he was at her kid's graduation party anymore.  Someone who, in the 12 years since, has forbade my parents from even saying my name around her.  Someone who refused to come visit her dying father and then -- again, hearsay, but it still makes me see red -- cried "wolf" afterward, saying that she was upset because she couldn't be there at the end of his life.  Even though she was invited to be there, many times.  

I think I'm prepared. I've been praying hard on this every single day, sometimes several times a day, asking God to just help me keep my damn mouth shut.  In the name of showing grace and love.  But I had the thought a few weeks ago, off all the scenarios I've been trying to come up with to make sure that I would be able to react appropriately, the only one I don't think I could handle is if her or her husband say something about my Dad.  Especially if they accuse me of being the reason that she didn't come visit him.  

If that happens, I think I will need my hubby to physically remove me from the premises before I have the chance to say something that I will regret. Not that I would regret saying something to her or him, but I would regret starting something at my nephew's wedding.  That is something I would regret very much.  So I cannot let it happen, no matter how much I am provoked. So I pray to God that they do not provoke me, because I am trying to be the best person I can possibly be that day.  For my nephew.

And the other thing is, my Mom isn't going.  Because (she says) my nephew doesn't really want her there, because (she says) he never returns her calls. Remember in my last blog entry, when I eluded to someone saying they weren't going to someone else's wedding because that someone hadn't returned their phone call? It was not an imaginary scenario, unfortunately. I also do not believe that it is the real reason, but you know how it is. That's the reason she's given, and I don't know how that sounds like a "better" reason than whatever the real reason is, but there you have it.

So, once again I get to go be the awkward ambassador for my dysfunctional family.  I spent a lot of time doing this when I was a teenager, as if being a teenager alone isn't awkward enough, but there was a period of time when I was meeting a lot of the family whom I had never met before due to my parents being estranged from them.  So there were a lot of questions like, How are your parents? Why don't they come around anymore? It sure would be nice to see them again! And me just kinda shrugging my shoulders like, I don't know what their deal is! It's as confusing to me as it is to anyone! I'm just trying not to be the same kind of crazy!

I sure do miss my Dad.  He's the only person who could convince my Mom that she should go to this wedding.  He's the person I would have to sit by at a shindig like this. He would've kept me calm.  

On top of all that, the 2nd "anniversary" of his death is in a few weeks. The second year has definitely been harder than the first, but I don't want to talk about that right now, either.  

Because on that note, I'm signing off.  I'll try to check back in later and let you know how it went. And share some more thoughts, because I've got a begillion of 'em.

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.

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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!

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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.

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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!