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.

I'm giving up...

About a hundred* years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I cried a lot. I mean, a LOT.  

* OK, a quarter of a hundred, plus two.

Oh yes, I hear you nodding knowingly and sighing, wishing I would've chosen something unique to write about.  Pregnancy hormones.  How stereotypical.  What's next, morning sickness? (Yes, I had that, too, for about 6 months.)

And besides, I hear you lament, that was so 27 years ago.  Don't you have anything else to write about?

It's relevant, I promise.  Because that's the first time I remember actually taking a good, hard, introspective and retrospective look at myself, and the other mothers in my life (namely my mom and my sister), and being scared to death.  That's one of the reasons I was crying all the time.

Some of the other reasons were very valid, too. It was a tumultuous time of our lives. We weren't sure where we were going to be living (because my hubby was being promoted, which was a really good thing, but he was also being sent to other states to work and there were rumors he was going to be offered a job in another state), we were newly married, my hubby's father had died about a year prior -- and I didn't even realize at the time how that alone was another wrench in the machine! -- and just a whole bunch of other Life Things that I could write about and get totally distracted by writing about right now.  My then-untreated depression and anxiety, our eventual moving to another state and therefore me quitting the job I loved and leaving our family and friends and moving to some town I've never heard of and being alone most of the time and being too depressed and anxious to go out and make friends or anything.  Whatever.

But what scared me is that I suddenly saw things in the way my parents raised me that I realized I did not like at all.  Mostly it was the controlling (which, let's be honest, was my Mom more than my Dad).  How I could only use the phone for 10 or 15 minutes at a time for no apparent reason. Or how I couldn't have friends sleep over, for no apparent reason.  Or I couldn't invite friends over at all, for no apparent reason.  It always, always seemed like my Mom automatically hated everything I liked and was against everything I wanted to do.  I couldn't do after school things because I had to be home right away.  Why?  I don't know.  "Because I said so."  When I got older, I told my Mom that her rules didn't make sense, which is why I didn't want to follow them and why I wanted explanations for them, and I got the ol', "Because I said so" and "As long as you're living under my roof, you'll do as I say," lines.  That was it.  End of "discussion".  It made me frustrated.  So frustrated.  

And when I was pregnant with the boy and staring down the barrel of motherhood, it made me mad.  So mad, all I could do was cry.  Why did it have to be that way?  It made no damn sense.  And I needed to know why it had been like that so I didn't repeat it with the child I was about to have.  

I guess that was the first time, too, that I realized that people's behavior's are affected by their pasts.  I mean, that concept didn't really, REALLY hit me until just recently, but that's when that seed was planted.  Because honestly, most of the reason I cried was because I thought I was doomed. Because my sister was a mother by then, and I had seen the same behaviors in her, and I thought, Crap, it's hereditary!  Even tho my hubby, bless his heart, assured me that it wasn't.  That we were going to be different.  That we were going to parent with purpose and rationale, and when it was appropriate, we would explain to our child why we had the rules for him that we did.  

Thank God for my husband.  For so many reasons!!!

Anyway.  I'm not sure why this particular scenario came to mind this morning.  Maybe because I'm still trying to figure out why people behave the way they do?  And the "people" I'm still trying to figure out are my mother and my sister?  I mean, one of life's great mysteries is that my sister and I grew up in the same household but turned out so vastly different.  I've always blamed it on the age difference (she's 5 years and 10 months older than me) but the older I get and the more I learn about people, I believe it's so much more than that.  There's a reason she has always been my Mom's favorite up until the last 10 years or so, and there's a reason I was always my Dad's favorite.  Personality-wise, I definitely take after my Dad more than my Mom, and she is a spitting image of my Mom more than my Dad.  In fact, I don't see any of my Dad's personality in her.  

The title of today's post was meant to tie into the fact that, while becoming more aware of other people's actions, I've also become more aware of the fact that I can be judgmental and I'm trying so very hard to give that up. Because spending time alone with my Mom, who is very judgmental, has made me see what that looks like to others, and I don't like it one single solitary bit.  So, much like when I was pregnant with the boy and suddenly seeing behaviors in others that I recognized in myself that scared me so much, all I could do was weep, I have been making a conscious effort to just be a better all-around person.  

And oh, it does pain me to say this ("this" meaning the implication that I don't want to be like my Mom), because I do love my Mom.  She's my Mom!  She gave me life.  She supported me the best she could.  But she has been through some shit in her life as well that has made her the way she is, and that's the kind of thing that also fascinates me.  Because some of it makes perfect sense, now.  More on that later. 

The moral of the story for now is, don't judge anyone because you don't know what they've been through.  Cliche, I know, but it is so very true.  

Made it to another Friday!

I swear, this month has 5,624 days.  Every other month in recent memory has just zipped by, but this month, holy moly! Every time I turn around it's still August.  It feels like it's gotta be at least November by now, but nope.  Still August.  

Last year I was pretty non-committal about my birthday.  It was a milestone birthday and all, but given that it was literally a month and a day after my Dad died, I really didn't feel like celebrating.  And this year, I kinda don't feel like celebrating, either.  Not even to make up for not celebrating last year.  Not even to call it a milestone-plus-one birthday because who does that?!  Next year will be our milestone anniversary (30th) but this year is one of those inbetween years where neither one is a milestone.  We don't even have the day off this year for the first time in, like, ever.  

We usually take our birthaversary day off to go to the fair or something, but not this year.  The fair ends on Labor Day and our birthaversary is after Labor Day this year, so that didn't work out.  It's in the middle of the week so it's not like we could take a long weekend and go do anything fun, so, I guess we just ended up not planning anything. Welcome to life in your 50's, kids. It's like a party, all the time.  At least, you want it to still feel like a party but sometimes you just can't anymore, because life.  

Not that we don't have big, fun things planned on the horizon. Just not next week. 

Anyway...seasonal allergies are kicking my ass.  And it's that time of year where I don't know whether it's allergies or a cold, or both.  It's probably allergies but it's a good reminder that cold and flu season is right around the corner.  And the temperature outside went from 85 to 65 like it saw a state trooper.  I do not like it.  I am not ready for "fall weather" yet.  I mean, I like wearing hoodies as much as anyone, but I don't want to yet.  I don't like being cold.  And I know that complaining about it will change it, so, here I go.  Because my body aches and my throat hurts and I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep the rest of the day.

So the other day, when we went to the fair, we ended up driving past the nursing home where my Dad resided, but from a different route than I usually took to get there. I didn't know we were going to take the route we took to get to the fair (long irrelevant story) and I had figured out pretty quickly and well in advance that we would end up driving past it, so I can't even say it caught me off guard.  But when we drove past it, I suddenly couldn't stop crying.  I hadn't had an crying episode like that in a long time.  And I drive within a block of that place almost every time I go to work (thanks to fair traffic having 36 all backed up).  So it wasn't even that I haven't been close to the place recently. I don't know what it was exactly, and I'm not driving myself crazy trying to figure it out. I just accepted it, had a little cry on the way to the MIL's (where we parked), and got about my day. 

I used to wonder what people meant when they said they thought about someone [who had passed away] every day.  Did it mean they actually sat and thought about that person intentionally and then got all sad because of it, or what?  Well, now I know. Because at some point every day, I think about my Dad.  I see something that reminds me of him or something he liked or something he would have liked, something I wish I could tell him about, or I stop and look at a picture of him for a few thoughtful seconds, or something like that.  Or I go to my parents' house and my Mom says something and in my head I hear the smart-ass remark that my Dad would have said. That happens a lot. It makes me sad. Oh, well.  It's hard to explain.  Part of it is that my Mom just tends to be so negative about everything that I try very, very hard to keep all of my comments positive when I'm with her just to combat that. And that's not a new thing for her at all -- she has always been that way. I recognize that now.  And I don't want to perpetuate that.  So I try to only say positive things or nothing at all.  Do you know how hard that can be?!?!  Because I like to vent, too.  But certain people you just can't vent around.  Because you'll say something like, This person mildly inconvenienced me today because xyz and the other person will overreact and be like Anyone who does xyz is despicable and selfish and horrible! And you're like... That's not what I meant, I was just having a bad moment and it was mildly inconvenient but I'm sure it wasn't malicious... but it's too late.  And then every time you see that person for the next six months, they ask you had anyone xyz that day, and you say no, and they smirk and say, Yeah, they know better now, don't they! and you just sigh and change the subject.

I don't know what I'm getting at here.  I didn't actually have a specific case in mind in that scenario.  I just find people and their behaviors very, very interesting. And I'm also very, very annoyed by people who presume to know what other people are thinking. Maybe because of all the times I was told what I was thinking, and what the person thought I was thinking was so far from the truth it wasn't even funny.  YES I'M TALKING ABOUT MY MOM AND MY SISTER lol. Alas, I don't have time to trauma dump right now.  I have to get back to work. Because lunch break blogging is fun!

Alright. Toodles!

 

8, 8, I forget what 8 was for...

You know what? I don't know exactly how many weeks it's been since my Dad died anymore.

I'm not even kidding. I don't.

It's like, once we got to 1 year (52 weeks), I stopped counting. 

I've noticed that Fridays don't bother me as much anymore.  I still don't like them, but I don't hate them, either.  They're by far not my favorite day of the week again yet, but I don't dread them.  I never fail to recall that they are the day on which my favorite Dad in all the universe left me, but that fact doesn't quite ruin the whole day for me anymore.  But if it ends up being a bad day, if I end up moody for no other apparent reason, that's what I blame it on. 

When I think of my Dad (which is still daily and, for the record, I don't want that to change nor do I expect it ever will) I don't feel that heart-crushing sensation every time anymore, and my eyes don't start welling up with tears if I think about him too long. OK, well they are now, just because I said that.  But usually they don't.  I feel more loved than hurt these days.  More thankful that I was so blessed to have had a Dad who loved me more than anything, and less feeling absolutely torn apart inside because the first person on earth to love me more than anything is gone. 

OK, now I'm starting to cry, when I was just thinking I haven't cried for a while, either. 

But my point is that, it's odd, the difference a year can make.  A year ago I had no idea how I was going to carry on being my father's daughter without him here.  How could I be a Daddy's Girl without my Daddy? That would make me just a Girl, and we all know I'm not good at that!  How could I be me without my number one fan?  I mean, my husband likes me and all (lol) but...you know.  

If I thought I'd gone through the gamut before my Dad died, what with losing him slowly (or not-so-slowly at times) to dementia and such, I don't know how to explain what I've gone through in the last year and am still going through now. 

Because when one of your parents, or both of your parents, or I suppose any prominent figure in your life, really, dies, there's one big thing that has to happen that I'd never realized before. Because I'd never lost anyone in my life who had as big of a role as my Dad did.  You have to sort of re-invent yourself.  Maybe that's not the right term; maybe it is. Obviously, I'm still working on it, whatever it is.  But, you know, it changes everything in the family dynamic. 

I don't know exactly how to explain the depth of this.  How you have to change the very way your mind works.  You don't have that person to rely on anymore, so you have to shift your way of thinking.  Even if you're 50 years old, you have this harsh realization that you have to be more of an adult because you can't ask your Dad anything anymore.  Even if you couldn't really ask your Dad anything for the last 5-10 years because he was already losing his mind anyway, at least there were some things you could ask him and think maybe he might be giving you the right answer.  But now, you can't even ask him at all, so, you better learn to figure it out yourself.  Suck it up, buttercup.  

It's eye-opening, for sure.  But I can only imagine that he's sitting up there, watching me figure things out and smirking at it all, going, Yep, I told you so!

That's all I got for now.  Toodles!

 

13 years?!

 

That's how long I've had this particular blog going. 

Thirt. Teen. Years.

I thought I just started it, like, a couple of years ago. 

😆😆😆😆

I crack me up sometimes.

This blog is a teenager!  I've been writing in this blog longer than I've been working at [place where I work]! Longer than I've been driving the Nox! 

I mean, I know that I started this blog about the time we started our adoption journey, but it doesn't occur to me that that was so long ago now.  I mean...I was in my 30's when I started this blog.  (Late 30's, but still.)  Now I'm in my 50's.  (Early 50's but still.)  

Erh ma gersh. I wonder how many times I've changed the password in 13 years?  Ha. Ha.

Anywho...

Not much going on today.  I drove the Lincoln to work last Thursday and Friday. That was fun!  It's not stressful at all driving a literal land yacht though pre-rush-hour traffic.  I even tried leaving early so I'd not hit the heart of rush hour traffic.  But who am I kidding? Driving that thing in the city at all is stressful.  It used to just be stressful because it's such a boat, but I'm used to driving it now.  That part doesn't stress me out.  What stresses me out is other frickin' drivers.  People who don't know that there's a reason to leave space between me and the car in front of me -- my car doesn't have anti-lock brakes, therefore it takes longer to stop than modern cars.  Not only that, but I don't want other cars that close to my car. In general, but especially in a classic car that's going to be more difficult to replace parts on if some idiot causes any damage.  

It's also not really fun driving a boat with no air conditioning on the hottest days of the month. But I didn't care -- the reason I drove it to work is because we decided to finally go to the North St Paul car show on Friday night, and the easiest way to do that was to go directly from work.  So actually, I spent the night at my Mom's on Thursday night so just drove the Lincoln to work Thursday morning.  I stressed out about parking it in the lot at work, too, because that's how I roll. 

At least, I consoled myself afterward, I wasn't still working in downtown St. Paul and had to try to park it in the parking ramp! I think that would've been a big H-E-L-L N-O.

But I knew it was too long to fit in just one spot, but I didn't want to park as far away as humanly possible like I usually do.  I know, I don't overthink at all.  I still worry that kids are going to steal the hood ornament, because my mind is still stuck in the 90's, lol.  Anyway, I tried like 3 different parking spots before I settled on one that I liked, because it was far enough away that I didn't feel I was taking patient parking, but close enough that I didn't think anyone would mess with it without being noticed.  (Cars have been broken into in that lot before.)  And it had to be in a spot where I could get the door open without being in danger of hitting another car, because those doors are as long as some compact cars, and I had to be able to drive forward out of a spot because it's a freaking long car.  Anyway.  Hashtag car girl problems.  

Then I got to my Mom's house, and we went and ran her errands or whatever, and got back to land for the night.  She had thoughtfully cleared space in the garage so I could park there.  But the neighbor across the alley had their garbage receptacles placed so that I wasn't able to just pull up and execute the ol' 3-point turn to get in like I used to.  I did end up moving their receptacle once, but it still took about 5 minutes of back-and-forthing it to get in.  A little embarassing, but more maddening than anything because my Mom -- bless her heart -- who does not drive and has no freaking idea what it's like to try to back any vehicle, much less a 19.4-foot behemoth, into a small garage, just stood there smiling at me the whole entire time. I was hot and sweaty (no A/C, remember) and getting more and more frustrated and in my head was like WHY ISN'T SHE HELP DIRECT ME INTO THE FREAKING GARAGE?!?

Ahem.

I'm trying to show grace.  But if you see someone struggling to park something, anything, wouldn't you maybe HELP THEM!?!?!  

Alright, alright. I'll quit. It's not the first time I've tried to just say -- no, it's OK, she doesn't drive so she doesn't get it.  But it's also not the first time I've completely understood why my Dad got so frustrated with my Mom so many times.  Like, all the time. With anything having anything to do with driving.  

So after I executed my beautiful 38-point turn and got the car safely parked in the garage...my Mom was like, "You should have pulled in straight, it would have been a lot easier."

No. No it would not have been. Because I would have then had to try to back it out the next morning.

LE SIGH.

I love my Mom, I really, really do.  But this is how we get along. It's how we have always gotten along. This is not new. It has always frustrated me to high heaven and back, and I need to vent about it or at least write it out so I can try to figure out new ways to deal with it and/or try to understand it so I don't just keep it inside and get mad about it.  It's like she's in a bubble and doesn't see anything else around her but her.  I know she had childhood trauma.  Lots of it.  I have started to see how it has affected her, but I'm not going to write about it here yet.  Mostly I'm going to write about how it has affected me, because it has.  

Anyway...so that's the story of why I drove the Lincoln to work on Thursday and Friday.  I might drive the Maverick to work sometime. I don't know why I feel like the Lincoln is so much more reliable than the Maverick.  Maybe because the Lincoln has actually been gone through by a mechanic and the Maverick hasn't?  IDK.  But we've driven the Maverick back and forth to the cities many times and it's been fine, too, so, whatever.  We have an AAA membership, it's fine.  :D  The Maverick is easier to park. A freakin' barge is easier to park than a Lincoln Town Coupe.  

Probably. I've never tried to park a barge before.

So. I've been working on planting more flowery crap in my yard this year, a little at a time.  I used to be afraid to, because I wanted to make sure everything was perfect and I wanted to research what to plant where, and I wanted to decide on what kind of landscaping and whatnot and everything. Somewhere along the line this year I was just like, eff all that, I'm just gonna start buying stuff and putting it in the ground and whatever happens, happens!  Actually, that kind of started last year.  But I had this problem of buying things to plant and then waiting too long to plant them because I was overthinking where to plant them because I wanted everything to be perfect. I bought 10 Norwegian Spruce seedlings that came with 2 lilac bush seedlings and waited so long to plant them that only like 5 of the seedlings survived to planting. That was last summer, so I ended up planting them anyway, and some of them took off but then a couple of them got accidentally mowed down and, long story short, two of them (and neither of the lilacs) survived to this year.  Now one of the seedlings is taking off and the other is, eh, I think it might still be OK. The year before that, I planted some hostas under some of the trees up front, but the deer ate them. This year I noticed they've come back a little bit, but the dang deer have eaten all the leaves off my hostas in the front.  Last summer (actually, late fall) I also got some plants from my sister-in-law -- something called hot lips, and I forgot what the other one was -- that we planted in the yard, and the hot lips survived the winter but then got accidentally mowed over and didn't come back after that.  I also tried to transplant some phlox from my mom's yard but I think I put them too close to the A/C unit and they all seem to have died. 

ANYWAY, I've picked up a few other things this year here and there and have randomly yet somewhat strategically planted them in the yard.  The only thing I think I may have waited too long to plant are the bleeding heart roots that were delivered right before we went on vacation -- but we'll see. I planted them anyway.  If they come up in the spring, yay!  I thought I was pretty much done for this year, but then I realized that fall is a whole planting season, too.  Every single year I threaten to plant tulips and things that will come up in the spring, but I never have. This just might be the year.

Alright, the real reason I wanted to write is because I got a new keyboard with round keys that I'm trying to get used to.  It's not bad.  I think I'll like it.  Temu retail therapy seems to be my new thing.  

I'm outta here for now!  TTYL

A whole new world/I'm still standing

Don't hate me (actually, if you're going to hate me over this, it's your own loss) but I'm not a huge Disney fan. Despite the fact that Fantasia is my favorite movie of all time.

Just because I'm not a fan doesn't mean I'm a hater.  I've just never been a princess type of girl, or a movie-goer, or into the things that are, you know. . . popular.

But you know how it is when you're trying to think of a fitting title for that day's blog, and a phrase pops into your head, and then it becomes a song and you realize that the only part of the song you know is the chorus but you can't get it out of your head anyway?  And so since you're not a Disney person, you don't really want to post images from the movie because that feels somewhat really misleading. . . so you post an image of the sheet music because that's what really comes to your mind when you see or think or hear that phrase.  But much to your dismay, the music shown isn't actually the music that plays in your mind, but at that point you don't care and just post it because you don't have all freaking day and people probably won't notice, anyway, unless you tell them?

Welcome to my thoughts.

I really don't know how the rest of the song goes.  I can't even claim I know the whole chorus, just the title.  

Anyhoo.  I'm still standing, better than I ever did.  Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.  I'm still standing, after all this time.  

That's also fitting. I'm gonna go add that to the title. 

It's weird now, having passed the one-year mark. I feel like a huge milestone has passed.  I mean, it has, I know.  But I'm glad, because the more time that passes, the more I can forget about what it was like at the end.  And the more I can forget about that, the more I can remember the good stuff.  And the more I can remember the good stuff, the less sad I feel.  That doesn't make sense -- you'd think remembering the good stuff would make a person more sad.  I'll have to keep working on that one to figure out what exactly I mean by that.  All I know is it's a comforting feeling, remembering the good things.  It makes me want to get up and do things instead of sitting around having a pity party.  I'm tired of having a pity party. 

I think that's why I've been subconsciously avoiding going to my parents' house the last few weeks.

Since my Mom doesn't drive, she literally hardly ever leaves the house.  This summer she has started going out in the yard and pulling weeds and doing some yard work and just sitting at the table like she and my Dad used to do way back when, but even for the last few years she didn't even do that.  When it was hard for my Dad to move around, he would just sit in his recliner all freaking day, in the living room.  

When I talked to my mom on the phone on the 2nd, she said something like, "I thought you and I would've gotten together and done something today." Which was news to me.  I was like, You never said you wanted to get together and do anything. And she said, We never had a chance to talk about doing anything.

I was like, Waaaaaaait a second! I call you every freaking day.  You had plenty of changes to talk about doing something.  She said something like, "That's not the kind of thing you talk about on the phone."

???

Over the last year, and this was a really hard lesson for me to learn but I have learned it and I have learned it well . . . over the last year I have come to realize that I had a very different relationship with my Dad than I do with my Mom.  Well, duh, I know, doesn't everyone?  Even so, most of the time we tend to lump "our parents" together as one being, don't we?  Until one of them falls out of the equation and we realize that they actually were two separate people; go ahead and laugh, but some of us didn't come from broken homes so we didn't have to learn this until much later in life.  I think I've ever written about this in here before.  

Anyway.  I was kind of proud of myself because I didn't feel bad about not doing anything with my Mom on the 2nd.  I didn't want to do anything with anybody.  I didn't know how I was going to feel, so I didn't want to have any plans made.  And it worked out perfectly! We went to Bible study in the morning, as we usually do on Saturdays, and I didn't feel like talking to anyone or interacting with anyone, so I didn't.  To be honest, the last place on Earth I wanted to be that day was in the city, or in my parents' house.  Everything in that house reminds me of my Dad, but in a depressing way.  It's not the minimalistic house of my childhood anymore, full of sunlight and fresh air and music and energy.  I don't like being there, and even if my Mom had suggested doing something together on the 2nd, I would not have been up for doing anything there.

Alright. That's about all I've got for now.  It's time to get back to work, make some calls, prep some notes for clinic tomorrow, and drink some more water.  TTYL!

The first year: DONE

My Mom just asked me The Stupidest Question Ever.

I'm generally in the "there are no stupid questions" camp.  But honest to goodness, I was just talking to my Mom on the phone not five minutes ago, and she said to me, "So you remember what today is, right?"

Um.

No. It's only been on my mind all the time for the last year.  I've dreaded this day for most of the last year, once the initial fog lifted.  There is no way on God's green earth that I would ever forget that today is the one-year anniversary of the day my one and only Dad, the person who probably loved me more than anyone else on the face of the planet (except my husband but that's a different kind of love), took his last breath on earth.  I've been fighting to get that image out of my head all day. I've been avoiding writing about it all day because that's not what I want to remember today.  I hate August 2nd.  I want to skip it. I want to skip this whole month, actually, because even seeing the word "August" makes me wince now.  August just hurts. 

And then? I was looking for an image to share for this blog, and one of the images that came up was for an article entitled something like, "Why grief may hit harder after the first year," and boy oh boy, I am not even ready to try to tackle THAT thought right now.  

Because today?  Hasn't been as bad as I thought it was going to be.  It has been painful, don't get me wrong.  I have cried several times.  I have chosen to avoid most people today, and the ones I could not avoid I did choose not to interact with.  (So if I interacted with you at all today, consider yourself special!)  I spent the day cleaning and organizing and this made my sad little heart feel happy and in control. I thought of happy memories, and that made me happy, too.  I wore one of my Dad's t-shirts, even though it's three sizes too big for me, and I didn't care that it was three sizes too big for me.  I almost cried when we couldn't drive the Lincoln to Bible Study because apparently I left the door open last time I drove it and that drained the battery (I do not know how I managed to do that...all I can imagine is God didn't want me to drive it this morning for some reason, so there we go.)

I bit my fingernails down, but not nearly as bad as I used to.

I feel like I've come a long way in the last year.  I do miss my Dad, and I know I always will, but I am so glad that he is not suffering any more. 

Since I wasn't going to write today, that's all I'm going to say for now.  Before I turn into a blubbery, sobbing mess, I'm going to sign off and play some mindless games on my phone and try to get to sleep.  Sleep hasn't come easy lately, but I'm not sure if it's because of that, or because I switched from Ozempic to Mounjaro and am finding myself with more energy -- which is a very welcome change that I'm trying to embrace by keeping up with housework and yardwork.  Either way, I'm gonna go. TTYL.

The first countdown.

 

Welcome back!

Oh, wait. I'm the one who was gone.  

In case you're not friends with me on the book of faces, we just got back from an awesome 10 day (or so, I wasn't counting and don't feel like doing so now) vacation.  It feels like it was a lot longer than that because we accomplished a lot of things, and I'm so glad I took today off to regroup and do laundry and mentally prepare to go back to work tomorrow.

So what did we do? Well, the first two days and the last two days we drove for like 8-9 hours each day.  Not our usual M.O., but it was necessary this time and I'll get to that in a bit.  The first part of our trip was the NASCAR phase.  We landed in Lexington, North Carolina, which was our home base for two days, the majority of one of which was spent touring the shops and a few museums of some of our favorite NASCAR teams.  Talk about NASCAR fangirl geekage!  It was so cool.  We got to see and learn some NASCAR history, and see a few of the actual shops where they were working on the actual Cup cars.  So freaking cool.  Having basically been raised in a garage myself, it was surreal to see these begillion-dollar facilities and their WHITE shop floors and their techs with their clean working environments.  My little puny human brain just couldn't make sense out of it.  I thought they were working on CARS?!?  Regardless, it was cool.  Especially at RCR, where my favoritest drivers of all time once called home (Kevin Harvick, who later went to a different race team and is now retired, and Dale Earnhardt, who is now racing in heaven).  It was even cooler because our tour guide was a former Pit Athlete (that's right, they're not Pit "Crew" anymore) and so he shared a lot of info with us that the average ordinary regular person wouldn't know.  We had a great time and bought a lot of t-shirts and magnets and decals and took a ton of pics.

The next phase of our vacation was to drive a little farther south, to visit my hubby's sister and her husband in a little town about an hour and a half from there at their "new" place in North Carolina!  I put "new" in quotes because they bought the place and retired there about ten years ago, and still have their house up in the cities where our niece lives, but we hadn't visited them in NC yet.  So it was nice to FINALLY see it (they've been fixing it up) and mostly it was nice to just spend a few days with them.  I feel like we didn't get nearly enough time together, and I hope we get to go back again soon!

The final phase was actually the whole reason for the trip, which was the Via de Cristo Annual Gathering in Charlotte, NC.  That was Thursday-Sunday, and was our second year attending.  And it was actually bittersweet because last year's trip to Vegas to attend the annual gathering was fraught with challenges: there was the one day we spent basically the whole day in the ER because the hubby wasn't feeling well and had just been diagnosed with sarcoidosis, but wasn't sure if the chest pain and trouble breathing he was having were related or not; and then on the day we were leaving, while we were sitting in the airport waiting to board our flight, my Mom called me to find out when I'd be home because my Dad wasn't doing very well.  I basically went from the airport to the nursing home and spent the next 4 days there, then went home Thursday night (with my nephew and his fiancee so they could spend the night at our place), and went back to the nursing home Friday and that's the day my Dad died.

So! Lots of emotions going on as we basically repeated the same thing we were doing last year at this time when the worst week of my life began.  

For the most part I've been okay.  Had a few moments where it just hits me again, and I'm sure there are more to come.  I'm not looking forward to the rest of the week.  I'm trying not to think about it, but I still am, of course.  One year.  One fucking year already.  I think I mentioned before that when it first happened, I wanted to put as much time between myself and that day as possible. And I still do.  That was an awful day and I don't want it to be close by.  I want it in the distant past, so the good memories can take over.  

It's a beautiful thing when the good memories take over.  

So! I took today off, like I said.  I've actually accomplished a lot so far today.  I got a little bit of yard work done, but it's really hot and humid out so I didn't get as much done as I would've liked.  I'm also doing our vacation laundry, and I got half the garage swept and part of it cleaned up (it's amazing, we've only lived here three years but the junk that's accumulating in the garage already...I filled the dumpster up quickly with stuff that I'd just put to the side to deal with later. Because if I haven't fixed the yard art I inherited from my parents up in the last 3 years, I'm not going to do it now.)  Dumpster is the wrong word, it's not one of those big dumpster thingies, it's the regular-sized household thing you put your trash bags in so the waste management company can pick it up once a week.  Receptacle but that's not the word I'm looking for, either.  Oh well.

I'm all inspired to landscape my yard now after seeing my SIL's yard in NC.  I need to retire so I have time to do this stuff, lol.  Both of my hubby's sisters have these beautifully landscaped yards, and I have plenty of space to plant stuff but I just...don't. I need to just start buying stuff and planting it and see what happens.  I did plant 3 hydrangea bushes earlier this month, so, yay!  We'll see how they go.  And I bought like 5 bleeding heart roots to plant, too.  The problem is, I overthink these things.  Like, where should I put them?  Does it really matter? Well, kinda, because if I put them in the wrong place, they'll get plowed over in the winter.  Or eaten by deer.  But I just need to do it anyways and figure out what works and what doesn't.  The deer are gonna eat stuff no matter where I put it.  My hostas have no leaves anymore, but they grow back every year anyway.  More cats: we need more cats.  HAHAHAHA

Alright, I suppose. We have Vespers rehearsal tonight and I'm debating over which classic car to take.  Neither one have air conditioning (one has it but it doesn't work, and one doesn't have it at all) but I don't care because I need to drive a classic car tonight.  I should check the weather and see if it's supposed to rain, because that will help me decide.  Because one has wipers that work and one doesn't.  Which reminds me, I should order the parts that the one needs to get the wipers to work.  

Alrighty.  Thanks for reading.  God loves you and so do I!

Oh, I forgot to say that the reason we had to drive was so we could bring back moonshine from NC. ;)

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping, into the future...

Eleven months.  Almost a whole damn year has passed since my Dad left this earth, can you believe it?  Eleven frickin' months.  

I can't.

"They" say that the first year is the hardest. When my Dad first died, I was so impatient. I wanted time to go by quickly so I could get this first year over with, and get all these "firsts" done.  I had just spent years going through all the "lasts" and I just wanted to be done, finished, completed.  Moving forward again.  

Recently -- well, up until Father's Day (see last post), I thought I was starting to do alright.  Meaning that I could think about him without tearing up.  (That's "tear" as in the tears you get when you cry, not "tear" as in what you would do to your clothing when you were upset in Biblical times.)  Not that tearing up is a sign of weakness, but to me personally it feels like other people see it as weakness so I want to be able to talk about my Dad and think about him even without getting tears in my eyes.  Because yes, I'm always and forever going to be sad about losing him, but I'm not sad about the fact that he's not suffering anymore, nor am I sad about the fact that for almost 50 years, I had the best Dad a girl could have ever hoped for.  I am the luckiest kid in the whole got dang world.  Maybe he didn't buy me a pony or teach me how to become a mechanic or let me drive the Corvette, but all that didn't matter in the end.  I was his favorite, and now I get the honor of owning his favorite car.  So there.  I'll be a brat about it if I want to.

But eleven months is hitting me like a tidal wave, and I am completely starting to dread the next month or so.  I don't want to do the first anniversary.  This is starting to feel like the wound was pretty well scabbed over but now it's getting pulled off again -- not just pulled off but dug into and pulled off so that the wound is as big as it was the first time, or even bigger and more raw and irritated than it was before.  Not nice and pink and healed underneath, but just as red and angry as ever, as if it's just been festering for a year instead.  

I have survived 100% of my bad days so far. I will survive this, too.

This is only the first year.  I have to do this for the rest of my life.  Hopefully "they" are right and this will be the hardest one.  Not that August 2nd for the rest of my life is going to be easy, but I'm pretty sure it can't be much worse than it was in 2024.  At least I can hang my hat on that.  If I wore a hat that I needed to hang.  Up.

Siiiiiiiiigh.

I'm so glad I have his car. It has really, really helped.  Really.  More than I ever could have imagined it would.

Sometimes I have these little intrusive thoughts (my new favorite term, now that I've found out that's what they are and I've been having them all my freaking life, lol) about having the Lincoln at a car show and then my sister and her current husband show up and are all like, opening the doors and sitting inside and everything, and I get to swoop in and be like, Excusez-moi? This does not belong to you in any way, shape, or form, so I will thank you kindly to get your sorry asses out of MY beautiful car!  Which I know is totally not the preferred Christian response, but I need somewhere to direct my feelings at right now, and I choose Anger, and I choose my sister because why not.  That's all the explanation I have time to give right now because I have to get back to work.

TTYL!

Drama at the bird feeder

 
Sometimes I wish there was a law that after a person loses a loved one, they could get, like, a stack of passes to use when they needed them for the next year or two for those days when they just don't want to do a certain thing.  You know, like family gatherings or social events or getting out of bed some random morning, things like that.  Things that become less socially acceptable to do the more time that passes.  

On the other hand, I know that it's not good to avoid things that are difficult.  That they usually only get worse the longer you put them off, yadda yadda yadda. 

But, honestly, what would be the harm if I just skipped Father's Day this year?  My son is old enough that he doesn't need me to do anything on his behalf for his father anymore, so honestly, there isn't anything I need to do, anyway.  

I was having a perfectly good and happy first few weeks of summer (or summer-like times since it's not officially summer yet) until I realized that Father's Day is coming up very quickly and that it will be my first Father's Day without a father.  Which is weird to say, because I do have a father, but he's not here anymore.  

I thought Father's Day was hard last year, because he was in that stupid nursing home and had no idea that it was a day different than any other day.  That just made me sad.  HA!  I didn't know what "sad" was at that point.  

Do not tell me that there are things I can do to honor my Dad on Father's Day. I am fully aware of that.  I don't need any ideas for things to do.  I don't want to sit around and be sad all day, but seeing the words "father" and "Dad" and all that crap everywhere I go now is like being reminded over and over and over again that this is another dreaded first, and the the worst and last dreaded first is right around the corner.  I really do want to just run away and hide and avoid the world when that day comes around.  

I think it's on a Saturday this year.  I might need to take that Friday off.  

And in case you're wondering about today's picture, that's what you get when you search Google images on the word "dread".  

And in case you're wondering about today's title, that's what's stuck in my head all morning after watching (in my peripheral vision since I'm also WFH today) the woodpeckers and the red-winged blackbirds battle royale over the empty birdfeeder outside my office window.  I will go refill it when it stops raining.  There are other birdfeeders out there not even 10 feet away that they can go to, anyway.  Not sure why they all gotta fight over the empty one today.  I can't do it right now because I'm a victim of feline paralysis -- there's a sleeping cat on my lap. 

First world car girl problems: I'm going up to church tonight to play on the computer in the AV booth for a little bit (long story, I'll get to that in a second) and I don't know if I should take the Equinox, the Lincoln, or the Maverick.  I want to take the Lincoln, but if it's going to rain I shouldn't because the windshield wipers are on the fritz.  So I could take the Maverick instead, I suppose.  Or the Nox.  

So, yeah.  I'm learning how to put together the "slide show" presentations that play during church services.  The awesome part is I can do this remotely from home.  The down side to that is, I want to see what it looks like on the big screen, which I can only do from church.  And I don't want to wait until Sunday morning during the service to see it and be like, Wow, that was a really unfortunate choice of font shape/size/color I went with there.  Maybe no one else would care but I WOULD!!  Or if anyone else did care, they'd probably blame the worship director and not me, which would be even worse!

Alright, I need to go eat something before lunch break is over.  TTYL!

What a difference two weeks makes, or something like that.

I can't believe I haven't written in here for two weeks.  Actually, I can, because I've been busy.  

We've put something like 300+ miles on the Lincoln so far.  Crazy, right?!  And we haven't even driven that far. Maybe the odometer's broken.  (Kidding!)  (Mostly!!)

Last weekend, we took it to it's very first car show every.  Actually, considering today is Monday, I guess it would've been the weekend before last.  The ad said the gates opened at 8am, and the first 100 entries got dash plaques, and we got there at like 8:15am and were #'s 142 and 143 or something like that.  So I was a little bummed because I was all about the dash plaques -- something to commemorate the Lincoln's first show!  I have a small collection of dash plaques for the Maverick (although not for that particular show...) but really wanted one for the Lincoln.

Mind you, I don't actually put them on the dash(es).  The Maverick's are in the glove box.  But they're fun to have, to prove that she's been in shows and stuff.  Oh well, lesson learned: next year we get there at 7am.

So we parked our cars and, in case you didn't see the pics on FB, here's a pic of me and my cars at their first show together:

We had fun! It was a big show (for a little small town festival), probably 200 cars.  We didn't win anything, but that's OK, it's all about hanging out and having fun. Which we did. We ran into more people we knew than we thought we would!  Our son even showed up for a while, which was awesome.  It's always fun to watch people looking at your cars.  The one thing I love is that so many people have Maverick stories.  So many people either had a Maverick, or someone in their family had a Maverick, or they know someone who had a Maverick.  She gets a lot of "Hey, I remember those!" comments.  Good times!

The next day, we drove the Lincoln back to St. Paul and took my Mom for a drive and out to eat.  Maybe she was just being stoic or whatever, but I thought she would've been a little more excited about riding in the car again.  Then again, I'm way more sentimental (and mental) about cars than she is, so maybe I was just projecting my own excitement and thinking everyone should be as happy as me about the Lincoln being on the road again.  It was fine...I guess.  The air conditioning doesn't work, which I think annoyed her, but whatever.  I did my due diligence.  

The next week at work was crazy. Just busy.  One of those weeks where I was in clinic all week so I was behind on everything else.  I know that eventually the tides turn and I catch up on everything else when I'm not in clinic, but I also want to be the person who is always caught up (which in 9 years and counting, has rarely happened) so it was bothering me.  Which is really nothing new for me, at work.  We were planning on going to another car show on Friday evening, but it was threatening to rain, and I was wanting to get them both waxed before then but it didn't look like that was going to happen, and by the time Friday afternoon came around I was like, eff it, I don't even want to go to the car show...but I didn't want to tell my hubby that.  Because I really did want to go, but I didn't feel ready.  And it was on  a Friday.  I don't like Fridays.  

But we went.  And it was still kinda crazy there.  Not as many cars as the first one, but it seemed like a LOT more people!  Which was alright. We had a great time! Hanging out, eating food truck food, walking around and looking at cars, catching up with people we haven't seen for a while, and again the boy came out to hang out with us for a while after work.  

I even got to cuddle a Boxer for a few seconds!  There was a guy walking by with one, and some kids that were playing nearby wanted to pet it, so I just kind of snuck in there and pushed the kids out of the way (just kidding, I didn't, but I wanted to) and pet her, too.  She was brindle. Her name was Leia. She gave me Boxer kisses and I could've left the show then and my evening would have been complete. Can't forget the hearts...💖💖💖

If you're friends with me on FB, you already know this.  Some time later, when awards were announced, they started at like 20th place and went backward.  I didn't expect to win anything (but still hoped), because at the previous show we were reminded that it's really just a popularity contest, and even though we lived in that town for like almost 20 years, we don't really know anyone there.  We weren't in the car show scene there, and even if we were, we didn't have any of the high-powered muscle cars or jacked-up trucks that took the trophies at the first show we went to.  But you never know, right?  So I was pleasantly surprised when we were called up to take about 5th-6th place with the Maverick!  Yee-haw, take THAT, boys!  (Yeah, I was the only woman up there with the other winners.  Technically both cars were listed with both the hubby and I as owners, but he made me go up to get the trophy.)  

I say it got 5th or 6th'ish because I really wasn't counting, and they weren't giving place standings at that point, just going down the list.  But I'll find out in a few days, probably, because they were taking pics of each of us so it'll probably be in the local paper.  I'll find out for sure.

So then, imagine my surprise when a few minutes later, my name was called (I mean butchered) again for the second place trophy with the Lincoln!  I actually did not believe it and just kind of stood there looking at the hubby and the boy like, What did they just say?!?  Both of my cars got trophies? And the Lincoln took second place?!?  Gosh, imagine if I had actually waxed it like I wanted to! ha ha ha.  

So not only was I the only woman up there, I was the only one with TWO trophies.  My first thought was, oh my gosh! We beat Camaros and Chevelles!  😂 And my next thought was, TO GOD BE THE GLORY!!

And driving home, I was thinking...we got that trophy at about 7:30pm, which is about the time my Dad breathed his last on a Friday much like that one, 44 weeks earlier.  I hadn't thought about it being Friday until then.  There I was, driving home in my little Maverick behind the big behemoth Lincoln that was my Dad's favorite car most of my life, the one that he has been wanting me to take for years and years and years, and now that I finally have it, it has a nice trophy from it's second show, and it's not even cleaned up and shined up and looking as nice as it possibly could.  I don't like to say things like "I know he was there" because I don't know that for sure, because I don't know what happens after we die; as much as I'd like to think he was watching from heaven, I don't know if that's what I believe actually happens in heaven.  But all that aside, I'm going to say that I feel like he would've been proud, too.  He would be happy to know that other people liked the Lincoln and that we're not just letting it sit around and grow more rust.  

Speaking of that, one of my friends asked me this weekend if keeping track of how many weeks it has been since my Dad died has helped.  It occurred to me later that I wasn't intentionally keeping track of how many weeks it had been; in fact, for a while I couldn't help it.  A lot of times I wish I didn't, because it makes me think about it more. But, my brain works the way it works, and I can't change that.

Anyway...I gotta get back to work now.  Long story short version: Car show season is off to a great start!! TTYL

Sometimes it just turns out that way...

So. Last Wednesday I'd decided, to heck with waiting. Last I'd heard the car was probably going to be done on Monday, and it was Wednesday and we hadn't heard any updates.  We were supposed to be leaving Thursday morning to go camping out of town for the weekend and were tentatively putting those plans on hold in case we had to bring the car home. 

In case I hadn't mentioned it yet, the shop is an hour away from home.  So getting it home would take a little planning.  Two drivers and three cars, KWIM?  I mean, we did have the option of taking the car back to my parents' garage until such time as it was convenient for the hubby and I to drive into the city together in one vehicle so I could drive the Lincoln back home.  But who wants to do that?!  I wanted to bring it HOME! Straight home! I didn't want to have to ride into work with him in the morning (because he starts work like three hours before I do) and then take the Lincoln to work and worry about it in the parking lot there all day.  I'm probably overthinking everything, but that's what I do.

Anywho, back to Wednesday.  On Wednesday I decided that I was going to drive by the shop on my way home from work and stop in and see how it was going.  Most normal people would probably just call, right? But I'm not most people and I'm surely not normal!  I wanted the chance to talk to my cousin and besides, I also needed a pic of my car in the shop for the archives.  (I'd say "for the scrapbook" but I don't do scrapbooks.)  So I psyched myself all up for this and was completely pumped, and drove myself over to the North End after work and was cruising in the alley looking for a place to park so I could go inside and see what was going on when...

...my hubby called me.  "Where are you?" he asked me.  Since he'd already known my plans, I told him: "Behind the shop, looking for a place to park. Why?"

"Your cousin just called. The car is done and ready to be picked up."

It took me a minute to process this.  The what is what, now?  The car that I'm stalking right now, is actually DONE?  Instead of going in to see how it's doing, I could go in and actually get it because it's actually done? Ready to drive home?  OMG! I was rendered speechless.  I didn't have the car money with me.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't want to leave.  I suddenly not only forgot how to adult, I forgot how to human. 

"What...should I do?" I asked my hubby.  "Where should I park?" as if he was with me and could tell me.  The filter between my thoughts and my mouth was failing me. At least I remembered I was behind the wheel of a car.

"I'm about 20 minutes away. I'll come over and pay him and we can figure out how we're gonna do this. You go in and talk to him for a while."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that. That sounds like a plan. I'll go park and go in and talk to him for a while. See you in a bit!"

So I did just that. Found a place to park and walked into the shop. Much to the surprise of my cousin, who remarked on how quickly I made it there considering he had literally just got off the phone with my hubby less than five minutes prior.

Long story short, we made plans to pick up the car the next morning instead.  Talked for a while about everything he did to it and what an awesome car it is.  And I totally forgot about getting a picture of it in the shop for the archives.  D'OH!

And the next morning...I brought my baby home!!  Oh my gosh.  I love driving that car.  I wish I could get a job just driving the Lincoln around.  Like being a chauffeur, but not having to actually let anyone else in the car with me.  Maybe my hubby.  Maybe.  ;)  

We did hang around the shop for a bit, catching up with my cousin.  I could write two whole blog entries about that!  I'm resisting the urge to go off on how unfair it is that we weren't in touch when I was younger, but I won't.  Whatever happened, and I'm not really sure what happened and probably never will know, but it's in the past.  I am trying not to have resentment for not knowing family I could have known, but am definitely so very thankful now for the chance to meet long-lost family and to know them now.  God's plan, right? Not mine. I guess there was a reason this all happened the way it did, not just now but in the past as well.  Before me.  I can't sit around and dwell on how the past could have been different.  So I won't.

Anyway...we got the Lincoln home and I snapped a few quick pics for proof, and we got her in the garage and then we turned around and finished packing up the camper so we could head out!

That whole trip is another thing I could write three blog entries about.  We went up to the town where my parents were born and raised -- which is near where we usually go camping for Memorial Day weekend.  There's a little, primitive, off-the-beaten-track campground up there that we started going to about 5 years ago, that we used to go to as a family when I was little, on a lake that my Dad and his Dad used to fish when he was little, and it turns out a whole lot of my family on that side has fished a lot and camped a lot at this place, too.  Shortly after we got the camper we have now, we were looking for places to go camping and I suggested this place because I hadn't been there since I was little.  And that's how it's become our tradition to go there every year now.

Last year we didn't go because the week before, my Dad's health had taken a turn for the worse.  That was the first time, I believe, that I got one of those early morning phone calls from my Mom saying that his oxygen sats were low and he wasn't waking up and they recommended that we come in as soon as we could get there.  He rallied back in a day or two, but we still decided to stay home that weekend.  We went fishing instead, and on that Saturday, my horse Nicker died suddenly.  (Well, I mean, she was 31 years old but she hadn't been acting ill or anything until that day.)

This year, we ended up staying at a different place, though, too, because -- well mostly because I didn't feel emotionally up to going there yet.  That place holds so many memories for me, it makes me miss my Grandpa and nothing else has ever made me miss my Grandpa because I have so few memories of him.  Anyway, the other reason we found a different place was because it was supposed to be in the 30's at night so I found a campground with electric hookups so we could use the heater :D  Good thing, too, because it did get cold at night!! Even with, like, 5 blankets on, I was freezing.  Still had a good time, though. During the day.

During the day, we met up with another cousin whom I haven't seen in literally decades, but at least this one I've been in touch with over the last 15 years or so.  And one of our aunts, whom I haven't seen in 21 years.  She used to live with us when I was little, and she was at our wedding.  I can't tell you how awesome it was, to be reunited with so much family (and it really wasn't even that many people, but it felt like it!) in such a short amount of time.  My heart felt like it was overflowing.  

The feeling of meeting people that are family, whom you've either never met before or haven't seen in a very very long time...it's so hard to describe.  I hope it's one you've never had to experience, because it is heartbreaking to have to experience that in the first place, but on the other hand, it is also such a fulfilling feeling.  For me it has been, anyway. Of course it occurs to me that not all situations would be this way.  But the few that I have had, have been just amazing...like finding pieces of myself that I've been trying to find all my life.  I don't want to say "instant friends" but there is a connection. One that I always longed for growing up, because I knew I had a lot of relatives out there, but I didn't know any of them.  I always wondered what it was like to just see a bunch of people and know you were related to them.  To be familiar with them.  And be comfortable around them.  To be able to be yourself around them and not worry about what they thought of you.

No, I don't have issues, why do you ask?!

Alright. So, short story long...when we got back home Monday, we took the Lincoln to the car wash and gave her the first good bath she's had in about 10 years.  Now she needs a good waxing and detailing but she already looks a million times better!  The new license plates finally came in yesterday, so now it's really officially official: the car is mine.  Legally 100% signed, sealed, and delivered certifiably mine.  

So tomorrow morning we're taking both cars to a local car show. :D  I can't wait! They both need good wax jobs, actually, but that's OK. We're going with the "survivor" aesthetic, and I'll have to find time to wax them both soon!

But not right now because right now, I have to get back to work.  TTYL!

Divine Intervention

I wrote "Happy Friday!" on the book of faces this morning, and I realized that I actually mean it.  For the first time in I don't know how long (just kidding, 41 weeks), I mean it.  I am having a happy Friday, and I hope everyone else is, too.

That's not even the introduction to some wonderful life-changing news, like I won the lottery or got a raise or brought the Lincoln home or anything.  I KNOW, RIGHT?!  Trust me, I am the most surprised of all; nothing remarkable or dramatic has happened, nothing has changed on the outside, yet here I am, having a good day for no apparent reason. 

It's the kind of "happy" I would describe more as "peaceful".  Today, I'm happy to be alive and to be able to enjoy all of the gifts with which I have been blessed.  I asked God for everything so I could enjoy life; He gave me life so I could enjoy everything. I am truly blessed.

I just realized I never shared the link to my previous entry on FB, and apparently if I don't do that, no one ever reads my blog.  I am not good at marketing myself.  That's why I miss Xanga; I could just sit down, write, post, and BOOM! People would find and read my blog their own selves.  I didn't have to be like, Hey! You! Read this!  😲

Anyway, there were a bunch of storms here yesterday.  By "here" I mean in the vicinity of our homeplace, during the time when we were not here.  Storms make me nervous, but not being here when there are storms here makes me even more nervous.  Not to mention that I missed out on some good photo ops.  Well, I don't know if I missed out on any, because I wasn't here, and our ring cameras aren't pointed at the sky, and our house is in a valley so I probably didn't miss any good photo ops, after all.  Long story short, everything was OK in our little corner of the world.  There were tornado touchdowns not too far from here, and one of our friends from church had some damage to outbuildings and lost some chickens, but as far as I know there was no loss of human life in our area.  

I feel like I'm reporting the news now.

Regarding my last blog entry that I didn't pimp on the social medias, and the title of today's blog entry, the parts I was all stressed out about ordering for the Lincoln made it to the shop safely yesterday morning. And...drumroll, please...they were the right parts!

Now, I feel like it's sacrilegious (which looks like it's spelled all kinds of wrong, but I triple-checked) to say this, but sometimes I wonder if our loved ones in Heaven don't have a hand in what happens down here, too.  Ya know?  We don't know what Heaven is truly like, who's to say that someone like, oh, say, my Dad wouldn't, like, tap God on the shoulder sometime and be like -- Hey, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now; how about if I take over this one for a little bit?  And then when I'm sitting here trying to find parts online that I know nothing about, he just, like, waves his hand and BAM! makes the parts I need show up when I need them to, and tells me those are the parts I need, and makes all that fall into place while God is off doing way more important things for someone else while I just need a couple of helpful favors.

I don't like the thought of being sacrilegious. But I do find so much comfort in thinking that my Dad still has a hand in all of this.  From finding the right mechanic, to helping me find the right parts...it's just a peaceful kind of comfort.  I obviously don't want to mess anything up on the Lincoln.  It was his baby, and now it's mine.

Which is another unexpected surge of emotion I had this week.  We got the new title.  The one with my and my hubby's names on it.  I thought I'd be overjoyed to get this damn piece of paper.  It just made me sad.  It felt almost like a betrayal.  It almost felt wrong.  Like, that's my Dad's car, but that's my name on the title.  Like all those times he said, "Someday this is going to be yours..." and I always rolled my eyes because "Someday" meant -- well, it meant when he was no longer of this Earth.  So there was more proof that he's gone, not like I need more proof, but there it was.  In my hand.  In my house.  In something that I've been happy about and looking forward to.  "This car's going to be yours someday..."  Yep, well, "someday" is here, the car is mine, and my Dad is gone.  

Inheriting cool stuff sucks. You're happy to have it, but the reason you have it pierces your heart. 

I'm afraid I'm going to feel like that driving it and showing it.  I hope I don't.  So far I haven't, but so far I've only driven it the 5 miles or whatever from my parents' house to my cousin's shop.  And I've felt anything but heart-pierced then.  The first time, I was nervous, yes, because it's such a big car and I didn't want it to break down.  But it felt natural driving it.  It feels like I am meant to drive that car.  The second time driving it, I felt so comfortable... not just because it has big, plus seats, lol.  Like comfortable in my soul.  Comfortable like how you feel when you're in the right place at the right time doing the right thing with the right people and the right intentions.  

Comfortable as if my Dad was right there with me, and nothing could ever go wrong in the world again.

Until we pulled up to the stop light and the engine started spitting.  It had half a tank so I knew it wasn't running low, but I also knew it had 10+ year old gas in it, that even my mechanic cousin said he was amazed that the car runs and drives with that stuff in it's veins.  Was this it?  Was it's time drawing near?  Come on, baby, I said, rubbing the dash.  We're going to the shop to get all fixed up.  You can do this.  Just a few more miles on this old crappy gas and I promise, you'll feel better than new again.

And at the next stop light...she sounded even worse. I started formulating my back-up plan: instead of sitting at the red light (because she only did it when she was idling), I'd have to deviate from the planned route, turn right, and avoid red lights as much as possible.  

It was a tense few minutes, but we made it.  I knew we would :)

Gotta get back to work.  It's still a happy Friday, even though I'm crying.  My hubby was in the neighborhood so he stopped and checked in on her, and my cousin hopes to have her done on Monday.  Here's hoping!

Maybe my Dad was right...

I know I've written in here before about how, when I was little, I wanted to be a mechanic when I grew up, because that's what my Dad was.  And how he made it very clear that he did not want me to be a mechanic when I grew up.  He even made up a song about it; well, he didn't make up the song, he just changed the lyrics to an already-written song.  You may or may not have heard it, it's called Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.

Only my Dad's version was, of course, "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be mechanics..."

And I've probably written this before, too, but he was onto something there.  I have, like, no innate mechanical drive.  Nothing has ever made me want to take something apart just to put it back together again.  I'm not a frilly girly-girl, but I also don't like my hands being dirty (although if I have a good pair of gloves I'll touch just about anything...) and I get frustrated easily when things I'm working on don't go the way I want them to.  Which happens a lot when dealing with cars.  Whether it's a stripped screw or not being able to find the right O-ring you need to put your fuel tank back together, it can make a person go to "I love my car" to "Don't talk to me" in 0.002 seconds flat.

I know, because I've been there. This ain't my first rodeo, but it's my most recent, so it's the one keeping me awake at night.

I'm happy to say that I am playing a part in the Lincoln Saga -- I'm the Elusive Parts Finder.  I've been training for this all my life.  Sort of.  I used to help out at my Dad's shop all the time, usually by cleaning (sweeping all the floors and cleaning the countertops and the "reception" area, and answering the phones, and accompanying him on parts runs, and watching him fix cars when I wasn't doing that kind of stuff.  Parts runs looked easy back then. He'd call one of his guys (depending on the part -- he had guys for new parts, guys for used parts, guys for domestic parts, guys for imported parts, and guys specifically for VW parts).  It's how I learned what "networking" is, honestly.  Sometimes we'd just have to wait for the nice guy in the Napa truck (remember when Napa trucks had the hats on them? I do!) to bring the part over, sometimes we'd have to go to the parts store to pick it up, and sometimes -- my favorite times -- we'd have to go to the junkyard to get the part ourselves.  Usually the part would already be pulled in that case, but sometimes we got to walk around the junkyard and look for a car that might have the part we needed.  Then one of the guys working there would come cut it out with a sawzall if my Dad didn't wrench it out himself.  ;) 

That's why my first reaction upon hearing the Lincoln needed a new gas tank, was to hit the junkyard.  Then I remembered that it's 2025 and they probably don't let you wander junkyards anymore, and if they do, the chances of finding an old Lincoln with a gas tank worth pulling (or having pulled) at a junkyard are probably next to none.  And that, even if I knew who my Dad's guys had been, they're probably not in the parts game anymore, either.

But...I have something they didn't have.  I don't have to sit on the phone all afternoon like my Dad did, calling different shops in town, trying to find parts that seemingly no one has in stock, getting more and more frustrated and dejected because I can't find what I need and/or get it here as fast as I need it.  Because I have *ahem* The Internet.  

Therefore, I can sit online all afternoon, searching different shops around the country, trying to find parts that seemingly no one has in stock, getting more and more frustrated and dejected because I can't find what I need or I'm not exactly sure it's what I need and/or get it here as fast as I need it.  

Not being mechanically inclined and ordering parts online is a challenge, though, I tell you what.  It was bad enough when ordering the gas tank online.  There is a lot of faith involved there.  If you've never ordered car parts online, most sites have you put in the year, make, and model of your car and then they sort out the parts available for you based on that.  But they're not always right, go figure.  I know that some parts can fit many different years and models, but not all can.  But it's hard to order something not knowing what exactly it is replacing.  Anyway, long story short here is that I did actually order the correct gas tank sight unseen, but it was stressful. There's a lot on the line there; if it was the wrong one I'd have to send it back which is a pain in the ass, and would also delay this project even further, and make me look like a dumbass.  On top of that, there were other things that needed to go with it that I wouldn't have known to order if my hubby hadn't been right there beside me (like the sending unit, although had he not been in the room with my I probably would have ordered it anyway because it sounded like something that needed to go with it) (and i'm not just saying that to sound cool, lol).  I was so relieved and happy when we determined that it was, indeed, most likely the right gas tank.  And after we dropped the Lincoln back off at the shop on Monday, and I didn't hear any word about it being the wrong gas tank, I was more and more confident and even a little proud of myself.  Of course I had Someone up there helping me, I can't take all the credit. Heh.

Then my hubby called and said everything was a mess with my car.  (It's MY car when things aren't going right.  Otherwise it's OUR car.)   I was like...WHAT?! Don't do this to me.  

Apparently there were other parts we were supposed to order. I don't know if they were supposed to come with the gas tank and didn't, or what.  But I furiously took notes and said I'd get right on the internet and get them ordered tout de suite.  (Luckily, or not as it would turn out, he called with this right at the end of my workday.)  

One thing I needed to find was a bung plug for the gas tank. Yes, I wrote that down correctly and even had him spell it. I've never heard of an effing bung plug, so I figured it'd be easy to find.  HA!  I found bung plugs for oxygen sensors, bung plugs for Camaros and Mustangs, and soon found myself with fifteen tabs open trying to figure out what exactly a bung plug was and what purpose it served and what other names it could possibly go by.  

The other part was easy enough. Not an O-ring, but the rubber boot that goes from the filler neck to the gas tank.  By some miracle, I found both of these parts (or what I was most certain was the plug I needed but by another name) at the same online store.  In Florida.  The parts totalled less than $75 (nice) but the cost for overnight shipping was $380 (WHAAAAAAAAT) so I opted for not overnight shipping because that seemed insane. Right? In the meantime, hubby and I were texting back and forth and he was like, When you find the parts, you should have them overnight to the shop.

But...I shared the above information with him.  And then he shared how much per day it costs just to have the Lincoln in the shop.  Don't get me wrong, I don't think we're being overcharged at all for shop fees. I get it.  Suffice to say that we all want the car out of the shop ASAP.  So it *gulp* made sense to have it overnighted. 

Hold on, the story does get better, and that's not sarcasm.

You might be wondering why I didn't call my mechanic/cousin at this point just to make sure I had the right parts, right? I did think of that.  But it was well after 5pm by this point and no one was answering the shop phone. And I don't have his personal cell phone number yet.  So, relying on faith, I put in the order. And thought about it allllllll night, hoping it would get there, hoping they were the right parts.  

Fast forward to this morning. I tried calling the parts place right away because in my rush to order last night, I put the order in twice and couldn't cancel the extra one.  Also, I wanted to get tracking info for the order so I could let my cousin know.  There was no answer and no voicemail.  So I sent a couple of possibly passive-aggressive emails...lol.

A few minutes later, the guy from the parts place in Florida called me.  Turns out the overnight shipping fee was going to be WAY less -- try $60 instead of $380!  Unfortunately, since my order got to them after 5pm, it wouldn't get there today but will tomorrow. And then he even called my cousin directly to update him, and after they discussed it, it does sound like they are the right parts, after all.

So! While waiting for those parts to be delivered, there are other things on the Lincoln that my cousin can work on.  And I'm still praying that I found the right parts, and that they get there tomorrow morning, and that some day real soon I'll have that damn car in my own possession.  Which feels like it will be a minor miracle at this point.

Gotta get back to work! TTFN!

 

Nurses Week 2025. We put the "fun" in "dysfunctional"!

I always say that I never wanted to be a nurse when I was little, but somewhere in the oldest of my memory banks, I do have a memory of playing with a little dress-up nurse "costume" when I was little. If I remember correctly, it had the little white nurse's cap and a blue cape.  Maybe a little case to go with it.  I had the feeling that it had been, like, my Mom's, or something?  Maybe not, but I don't think it was new to me. It might have been something that had been new to my sister. Most of the toys that had anything to do with dolls or dressing up or anything, for lack of a better term, "girly" would've been hand-me-downs from my sister.  

And I also remember that one year for Christmas, I received the little "doctor" kit. I think it's by Fisher Price? The one with the little toy stethoscope and BP cuff and syringe and I don't remember what else.  One of the doctors at work has one in his office now.  The stethoscope really worked. 

When I was a senior in high school, I decided I was going to go to school to be a medical assistant after I graduated.  I knew I wanted to do something in healthcare but didn't know what, and that was a quick program.  I could get my foot in the door and figure it out from there, I supposed. 

But, that never happened.  A month before we graduated, I was in a car accident (you know what, that was actually exactly 32 years ago yesterday) and I spiraled downward quickly thereafter.  Physically, I mean I didn't end up in the hospital nor did I break any bones. I was T-boned on the driver's side (someone ran a stop sign and hit my car) and I hit my head on the driver's side window, and I was all kinds of sore for a long time afterward.  I used to have all the medical records but they washed away in The Flood of 2020.  I had an abnormal EEG afterward and had to go to physical therapy and saw a neurologist and had MRIs and CT scans and TENS therapy treatments and sued the guy and a few years later got some money.  My first car and love of my life at the time, my 1977 Maverick, was totalled.  I got addicted to pain killers and muscle relaxers and fell into a deep depression, and ended up not going to college for anything at all.  But THAT, my friends, is another story.

A few years later, actually it wasn't even that many years later, it just feels like it for all the unwise decisions I made in the interim... anyway, a while later I found myself ready to pull myself out of the muck in which I had fallen and ready to retry the whole Responsible Adult thing again.  I found a program at a local nursing home where they'd put you through Nursing Assistant Certification class if you worked for them for a certain amount of time.  Why not, I thought.  Healthcare was still calling me.  

So I did it. I became an NA/R, which was early 90's Minnesotan for Nursing Assistant, Registered.  I worked in a locked dementia unit at a nursing home for my first job.  I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it, either.  I wasn't sure it was my calling, but it was better than working retail.  

I'm not going to go through every month of my employment history for you. This isn't my frickin' resume.  (You can find that on LinkedIn. ha! ha!)  I'll just skip along and say that as a CNA -- sorry, as an NA/R in Minnesota, I worked in a couple of nursing homes, and I also worked as a Home Health Aide.  I really enjoyed working in home health, except that I was putting a LOT of miles on my vehicle at the time (which was a 1984 VW Vanagon pop-top weekender...) which was not cool.  We didn't have a good vehicle to drive the crap out of at that time.  I mean, the Vanagon was a good vehicle, and funner than heck to drive, but I didn't want to pile 100+ miles on it every day.  

Wait, am I talking about nursing, or cars? I forgot for a second. ;)

I said I wasn't going to write out the loooooooong version of my resume here, which is what I ended up doing. Two days later and, delete, delete, delete.  The short story version is, I worked as a CNA in the mid-90's, then switched careers for a minute, then married my hubby and had the boy and became a stay-at-home Mom for a while, and then a couple minutes later, decided to go "back" to nursing school.  

Nursing school was Hell.  I used to think it was the worst time of my life, but now I can most confidently say it is NOT the worst thing I have been through.  This is worth saying, so I'm going to leave this part in.  You see, as far as school goes, I was used to not having a problem with it.  I breezed through elementary school like nothing; the work was never hard, the tests were always easy, I loved learning and always got the best grades and toward the end of those years, my teachers were saying I could go to Harvard if I wanted.  Then middle school hit, and school got challenging.  And I had never been challenged in school before, so I retreated into things other than school.  When the going got tough, I got outta there. Mentally, anyway.  By the time I recovered and realized I just had to "apply myself", I was midway through my junior year of high school and, while it was too late to recover all of the academic damage I had done (no more Harvard in my sights...) I did manage to get good grades again and redeem myself, at least in my mind, as Someone Who Could Accomplish Something If I Put My Mind To It.  That was big at that point in my life, but that's another story.  

I tell you this because by the time I hit nursing school, I was in my 30s and had been out of school for a while, but my experience with it was that it could be hard but if I just stuck to it and focused and worked hard, I could do it.  

Insert laughter here.

Generals were pretty much like that. And then I hit the core nursing classes, the ones that meant the most, the ones I knew would be the foundation on which the rest of my life (well, my nurse life anyway) would be grown, and testing went just like this:

And if you got the wrong answer, you were DONE.  

I never had test anxiety until nursing school.  That is why I cried almost every other day.  That is why I wanted to drop out almost every other week.  It was the longest two years of my life.  I can't tell you what all happened those two years because I don't remember it.  It was a blur.  A blur of books and papers and tears and some alcohol may have been involved, too.  And I made a few friends whom I will always cherish because without them, I would NOT have stuck with it and graduated on time.  Somehow with honors.  But I tell you what, during those two years of nursing school, my Dad had open-heart surgery and my beloved dog Portia died, and my husband's grandparents died, and one of my ponies died, and I don't know what else happened in our family but it was rough. And the only thing that had to matter was nursing school.  It was crazy.  I don't know if I'd do it again.  

Anyway.  The whole working in nursing experience has been interesting for me.  As a CNA, I've worked in nursing homes, both in the "general" population (for lack of a better term" and on the locked dementia units that they now like to call "memory care".  I've worked in home health and in hospice.  I've worked primarily with adults although I did have a couple of peds patients back in the home health days.  And then I worked in the hospital, on med-surg and very occasionally helping out in the ER as a CNA.  As a nurse, I worked first in med-surg and then I cross-trained to OB and post-partum, and to the ER, and charge nurse, and sometimes I got to work in the PACU which was an interesting change.  In nursing school, I always thought I wanted to work in the OR, but that chance has never really come up -- or when it has, I've not felt like it was my true calling, after all.  I've worked all three shifts: days, PMs, and nights.  The hospital where I worked was just getting into 12-hour shifts when I left, but I kinda liked the 12-hour shifts.  It was nice to work your ass off and then be done for a while.  

And now, as you probably now, I've been at a specialty care outpatient clinic for the last 9+ years. In neurology.  Epilepsy, to be more precise.  Sometimes I get asked if I chose epilepsy for any specific reason -- and my answer is, nope!  It just worked out this way.  I was half-heartedly looking for another job and even though I didn't have neuro experience, I applied for this one, and I was offered the job the same day I interviewed.  And here we are!

So, that's a little summation of my nursing experience.  What I do on a daily basis now is so different from what I used to do working in the hospital, but it's just as hard.  Don't ever let anyone tell you that clinic nurses have it easy, because we most certainly do NOT. Being a nurse is hard, no matter where we work.  

I know, all jobs can be hard.  I'm not trying to belittle other jobs.  Everyone has their calling, and I do believe mine is in nursing.  I know it's not in construction, or teaching, or sales, or a number of other things it could that just don't make me feel warm and fuzzy and fulfilled while also allowing me to support my family the way nursing does.  I feel fortunate to have a career where I can be myself and try to help straighten out chaos and help others understand complicated things.  

So, if any of my fellow nurses (including, of course, nursing students, nursing assistants, nurse practitioners, retired nurses, etc.) are reading this -- I hope you celebrated yourself somehow this week!  Nurses are awesome people and most of the non-nurse people we know wouldn't last ten minutes at our jobs. I'd say more, but my break is over and I have to get back to work now 😇😜