Coming To

I’m starting to come to.

Really.

Finally.

I am.

After this tough year…well, tough couple of years…it’s such a gift to feel like I’m actually able to inhale and exhale after holding my breath too long.

Except for the walking better part (which I have to say is HUGE), not a lot of things have changed.  A lot of stuff still sucks.  A lot of stuff still doesn’t.

What has shifted is my ‘tude.

It’s a good thing.  A very good thing, Martha.

Here’s a newsflash…I am less angst-ridden and crazy when I spend more time on God’s will and less time on mine.

Like I’ve never heard/learned/forgotten/relearned/heard/forgotten THIS lesson before.

But even when I’m doing my best to do it God’s way…maybe especially when I’m doing that…I still have those pesky expectations…

Like the expectation that I will mostly feel safe and good, as will all the people that I love.

That Tom will have a job, as will all of the people that I love.

That I’ll be able to walk, as will…

You get the idea.

That this winter won’t last for freakin’ ever.

That I can make a new friend or two (apparently without ever leaving my house).

That I can keep on ditching Weight Watcher meetings and lose EXTRA weight.

That I can keep a blog going…because I have so much to say that is helpful, useful, and funny.

[To blog or not to blog.  THAT is the question.  To which I have answered a definitive “Uh.  Um. Yeah.  Maybe...when I feel like it.”]

Anyway.

A really big part of going through all this stuff has been trying to deal…not only with the struggle with the different situations…but even more…even worse…with the fear that began creeping into my bones…that fear of what’s coming next….which has probably been more spiritually and emotionally devastating…and kept me stuck longer…than the actual pain of living through the junk.

Jesus was always saying “Fear not.”  It’s in the scripture, like 50,000 times.  That’s because the disciples, people hanging around, etc., were just as big at being wussy wimps as I am.  They wanted to know what was next.  What was going to be required…so maybe they could prepare themselves.

Not too much to ask, right?  Jesus did, after all, know what was coming up.

So, he told them some stuff, but most of it, they didn’t understand.  What they did get, they mostly just whined and argued about.

So, there you go.

What I know in my knower…and have FINALLY started to reconnect with…is that if I just focus on this day and do God’s will to my best ability, I will have what I need to deal with tomorrow, if and when it comes.

Challenges come and go.  Fear too.  Sometimes we do well.  Sometimes not.  But…the longer we stand, peering into the unknown darkness, the murkier everything looks…even what is right here…right in front of us…waiting to be experienced and done today.

This hour.  This minute.  This is where the focus is.

With God’s help…

This we can handle.

****

I heard something the other day that made me think (a little).  Somebody (not a clue who…email forward?  The Millionaire Matchmaker?  Jack Bauer?) said that part of our problem as people is that we think of ourselves as a body with a spirit.  When, in fact, what we really are is a spirit with a body.  Pretty important distinction when you’re looking at the big picture…and shopping in the Big Girls Store.

****

I told a friend the other day that my experience w/turning things over to God is a lot like that story about the guy hanging off the cliff praying for God’s help.   You know the one  where God sends all these different rescuers to get the guy down, including finally dropping a rope down from a helicopter.  The guy falls off the cliff, of course, and dies.  He hits heaven and wants to know why God didn’t help him.

I can so relate to that story.  The main exception being that, in my case, it’s more like God just seems to drop me a Care package of raw materials to make the rope.

Which is probably good, because no way would I go swinging through the universe hanging off the bottom of a helicopter.

Unless I was in a mood.

 

Winter Romance

I had a day yesterday.  I was out in it.  IT.  The storm.  

On the highway.  In the storm.  Driving.   

Going south on I-35.  Me…Cherie…driving wide-eyed and tight-lipped as I passed a 5-mile graveyard of at least 2 dozen car wrecks.  Flips and flops and skidding madness of every kind of vehicular craziness.  Following Tom across 20 miles of black ice to the Des Moines airport…so we could return the rental car he got at Kansas City airport the day before.

Before I go on, though, I want to remind you.  Tom and me? 

Different planets. 

No.  No.  Not Mars and Venus. 

Minnesota and Missouri. 

This is never so apparent as when it starts snowing. 

My people?  We stay inside when it snows.  There’s no debate.  We venture out only under the most dire of circumstances…like stroke or heart attack…you know, things where someone else is driving.

Tom’s people?  They think:  Snow???  Snow!!!  Oh, boy, oh boy!  FUN coming!!  Quick!  Hurry!  Before it’s too late!  Let’s get outside and play!  Let go drive around and shovel somebody out of something! 

Remember when I wrote this?   <- It’s a good one, you should read it.

Fast forward 30 years.  The only things that have changed are the nightie and…and…who am I kidding, a lot has changed since then.

So, back to my story.  I’m following Tom to the airport.  35-45 mph winds blowing 7” of fresh snow.  Whiteout conditions.  Black ice everywhere (which, BTW, were the only places that the road looked  fine to me…which shows you how much I know).  Tom’s horror stories from the night before of coming to a complete stop in the middle of the interstate because he couldn’t see anything except snow when semi’s would pass…

We manage to make it there and back.  I’ll spare you the details.  You get the idea.  Tom was having some fun.  I wasn’t.  Yadda yadda yadda.

We’re almost home when Tom sees a mini-van buried up to the axle in snow.  The poor guy is trying to dig out of  8” of snow with just his feet and hands. 

Tom looks at me.  “I’ve got a shovel in the back.  Should we go back and help that guy?”

I’m deep in thought, planning my tomato soup and grilled cheese tranquilizer.

I wonder what he means by we.

“Um.  Yeah.  I think so.”  

Tom lets out a whoop, does a jack knife in the road, and heads back to help. 

I watch my husband going around and around and around the van, shoveling out tires, getting down on the ground to shovel underneath…shoveling tires again…pushing and rocking the van…shoveling…pushing…shoveling some more…and finally pushes him out…in crazy wind and snow that is literally horizontal and reminds me exactly of those low-horizon-sun-middle-of-winter-North-Pole-frozen-wasteland videos.

Van Guy…who speaks very little English…keeps repeating  “Thank you very much.  Thank you very much.  Thank you very much.”  Tom tries to High Five him, but Van Guy grabs Tom’s hand, clutches it to himself and shakes and shakes it as Tom tries to back away. 

Tom gets back in the car.  30 years disappear.  I see that guy I fell in love with.  Strong and handsome.  Smart and capable.  That open, generous heart.  The one who wants to save the world…one frozen Mexican motorist at a time. 

Just this teeny bit of snot hanging off his nose.

That’s my guy.

 

Country Club Warehouse

A couple of weeks ago, Kate and I took a walk on the wild side and went to check out Costco. 

Kate has shared a Sam’s Club membership with her grandma for a couple of years.  They’d been talking about switching…mostly because Costco is practically in Kate’s back yard.  ’Course, I wanted to look, too. 

We toodled on over one day…got a “free pass” at the front desk, so we could browse…and nodded solemnly when sternly admonished that we couldn’t actually buy anything unless we plunked down $50 to join. 

True to her cheapskate roots, Kate brought her receipt from Sam’s Club so she could compare prices on 5-Hour Energy Drinks (which she and Kris buy by the case) and ditto Fiber One granola bars (something about Kris – don’t ask). 

I have to tell you, Costco is visually stunning.  Huge and lit up. Especially at Christmas time with all the colored cellophane packaging and fancy-wrap booze bottles and cheese trays and white light Christmas deer lawn ornaments.  Row after row after row of what are supposed to be BIG DEALS.  An enormous warehouse full of stuff packaged in huge quantities…shouting “Hey!  You!  Sweetcakes!  Come on over and looky here at this!  Wanna buy Something?  Oh, yeah!  How about me?  C’mere, honey!  I can save you time!  I’ll save you money!  Take me home and I can make you happy, Baby.”

Kinda like the Red-Light District of warehouse shopping.

True to our cheapskate/hillbilly roots, Kate and I marched right past the hookers and spent 90% of our time in the refrigerated and frozen food aisles…sidling from one demo lady to the next (and back)…snarfing down samples of lemon chicken with capers (too salty for me, Kate loved it), pigs in a blanket (not bad, needed mustard, Kate passed) and Parmesan / Caesar Chicken Pizza (two thumbs up). 

The loneliest loser in the store was some poor 80-year-old sample guy passing out tiny paper cups of grapefruit sections from a jar.  Maybe he was just there to meet girls.  You never know.

We almost got caught, though, in the gourmet food section.  Oy.  So much fanciness and foodiness.  Like Brie en Croute and smoked salmon…which made me ask Kate to make and bring chutney and cashew brie to Christmas Eve (she owed me since I took that to her wedding shower – that’s what I say) and wonder if Tom could smoke a salmon along with a couple of pheasants.  But nothing I saw made me want to plop down $18 to buy it pre-made.  I’d much rather spend 10 bucks, get twice the salmon, dig around in the freezer at home, and have Tom Bell do all the work.

He did an excellent job.

Since my months of being infirm with that stinking foot surgery AND with my impending death from old age in 40 or 50 years, I have a whole new attitude about BIG, FAT stores that put the skim milk in the very back corner.  (Especially the ones that make you buy 2 gallons at a time.)

Not a fan.

I realize this positions me squarely in the category of Cranky Old Fart, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care.  I have graduated out of the More is Better mentality when it comes to shopping.  I mean really.  Just how many years would I have to eat 100% whole wheat pasta (which I have mixed feelings about in the first place) before I polished off 10 pounds?  3 years?  5?  15?  How many avocados can one family really, truly eat before they’re feeding the garbage disposal?  And how many people actually polish off a 3-pound bag of lettuce salad before it’s mushy and liquidy brown?  You tell me.

Unless you’re on some reality show with 500 kids,15 dogs, 5 goats, and 12 exotic chickens, I’m pretty sure that most of that stuff just ends up keeping our trash guys overemployed.

Too big.  Too much.  Too far to walk.

I’m onto something, here.  As Baby Boomers age, we’re just not going to put up with all that walking past 2 city blocks of car batteries and Auto Fresh to get our 8-oz container of low fat cottage cheese.

That’s what I say. 

Somebody better pay attention and scale it down.

Those big, fat stores are trying to play us…making us feel like savvy bargain shoppers and rich big shots all at the same time.  We walk through those enormous sliding doors into the Land of the Rich and Fabulous Shopping Giants.  We flash our little cards and suddenly, we’re part of “The Club.”  We might not be able to afford a country club (or even want to – give me a matching bedroom set – that’s my idea of jet setting), but we can surely pay our way into Costco (especially if you share a membership w/your grandma) and shop like big shots for exactly one year.

Then, reality dawns when we haul these mongongous boxes in and out of our teeny little Geos and try to find a way to squeeze all the pasta and peanut butter and huge jars of spice into our pantries…realizing that we’re going to spend the next 9 months trying to pawn this stuff off on our kids.  There is ALWAYS that moment of:  WHAT the hell was I thinking?

So, Kate and I?  We decided to pass on the Costco Country Club Warehouse Membership.  Lots of reasons, but the biggest was that the deals were few and far between.  We decided that the Costco’s corporate business plan depends upon the fact that most people can’t figure percentages or price per pound in their heads anymore and can’t remember where they put their pocket calculators. 

Kate was lucky to have me with her.

At the end, we were both a little jangly.  Sensory maxi-load.  When I suggested we make one final swing through the wine section and check out the prices (we’d heard they were good), Kate made a face at me.  I knew she was DONE at that point.  Because seriously?  I’ve never known Kate to knowingly pass up a good deal on wine.

We left without buying anything.  Kate decided she wanted to stay with Sam’s Club.  I decided to let her keep picking up my 5-Hour Energy drinks and pecans.

Walked on the wild side. Saved some jack.  Lived to brag.

S’all good.

 

Settling Down and Settling In

Settling down and settling in.

Thinking about those two this morning. 

Thinking about how hard it is to sit down and write with all the undone and unknowns swirling in my wee widdle brain. 

I heard that phrase again yesterday from a writer who said something to the effect that he didn’t know what he was really thinking until he settled down to write. 

Amen and pass the plate on that one.

But how do you settle down when sitting down to think/write just seems to make your problem of jangly thinking/living/being more apparent?

Hnh.

Problem. 

The more chaotic things are here…the less I’m home…the more projects in process I have…the more times I have to pick up and travel…come home…unpack and start again…the more excruciating it feels to try to settle down and settle in to write. 

Isn’t life supposed to get simpler as we get older?   Can I ever remember a time when life DID seem settled? 

Semi-routine maybe.  Never what I would call settled.

Burp.

Could be that I’m losing my ability to filter the chaos of 21^st Century chatter from that which I need to fully focus.

Focus. 

There’s a word right up there with God in its utter inscrutability.

I was thinking it was just me, until I went to church with Kate on Sunday. 

Valley Church.  Good speaker who talked a lot about courage that comes from God.  This guy’s day job is financial advisor, so he knows maybe more than the rest of us, the angst and anxiety of this past year.  It was a good sermon…had me looking up King Hezekiah in 2Kings this morning, which is no small coup for any preacher.

He opened his talk with this question:  “How many here are glad that 2009 is over?”

There was a rumble and resounding “I am!” across the hall. 

I blinked at the people around me.  Huh?  You mean OTHER people are having a tough time besides moi? 

He went on to say that Iowa lost 40,000 jobs this year.

40,000 in our shoes.  Maybe even worse shoes than ours.

Huh?

40,000 people for whom focus has now changed – and that’s not counting their wives and husbands and kids and parents.

Tough year.

He went on to read scripture and share personal stories about how our courage and confidence come from God.  That God is above and beyond all these circumstances. 

Fresh spring air.

That speaker started to change my focus. 

Here’s my biggest takeaway from his sermon:  When things start tanking, instead of asking ourselves…How long will this pain LAST?  Maybe we can start asking ourselves…How long will I have this particular opportunity to reach out to people who need God now like never before?  Because it’s in the tough times that people are most open to the gospel.

Nice.

****

This morning, I started thinking about this brand new 2010 and some of the things I’m grateful for:

Here…in no particular order:

Tom and I are still chugging along.  31 years, now.  It’s pretty much a miracle. 

After all the holiday hoopla, I’m only 2 pounds up from my all-time low weight (on Weight Watchers – you know – this time) and still down almost 25 from my all time high.  I am totally breaking new ground here.

Living in Waukee.  It’s pretty good being close…but not too close…to the kids.  

Restaurant coupons.

Brett Favre.

The Farm – Tom and I both love it – for very, very different reasons. 

Hope…finally…for a normal gait after foot surgery.

Restaurants with great, big, fat salad bars (Ruby Tuesday – you GO, girl!)

Our 401k  is mostly back.

Living exactly 1 mile from Fareway Foods.

The brand new YMCA, not much more than spitting distance (if you’re a really good spitter)…72,000 square feet of workout bliss.

I have people in my life who love me.  Some even like me.  Ditto and back atcha.

The next season of American Idol starts January 12^th – 2 hour premiere – I get to laugh hysterically at dorky people singing badly.  My guiltiest pleasure (not really).

There’s more…but that’s good for now.

Happy New Year.

 

My New BFF

Yesterday, I was at Wells Fargo doin’ some bi-ness. 

A nice teller, about my age or so – you know, youngish – commented on my hair color being gorgeous – which I thought – holy schmoly – she must be reading my mind. 

Except that I’d just been standing there waiting my turn in line (a skill I’m trying to develop since we moved to The City) thinking… Man, this hair on my head is so ugly.  It has gotten out-of-control brassy.  I wonder what color I should change to?

 ‘Course, my new best friend ended all that nonsense with one comment.

And sparked a spirited dialogue with another youngish woman (who had gone completely gray – that gorgeous, sparkly silver we all want – you know – in another 30 years or so) and was telling me and my new best friend that her hairdresser had said her hair was starting to go darker again.  Which led Lady Silver Hair to conclude that it was her recently dearly departed husband who had given her gray hair in the first place.

Hnh.

In the next 2 or 3 minutes…the time it took for my new best friend to walk me to the safety deposit vault and sign me in (so I could put in the title to the F-250 – paid in full – Yeah, Baby!)…I found out that her husband had been let go from JC Penney last spring…after 34 years…exactly 4 months before he was eligible for full retirement. 

Like in Tom’s case…Penneys didn’t terminate him…they terminated his position. 

A couple of months later, her husband had a stroke…she said from the stress of the whole thing. 

Her story got me counting my blessings again…which I’ve been having a hard time doing lately.  

I’ve been struggling.  Re-thinking and re-planning.  Restructuring.  Back to our old budgeting days.  Watching some of our balances go the wrong way.  Trying to stay Christian while I put numbers to betrayal.  It’s a lot of work.

Staying in the truth about money and resources has not been pretty.  My mood swings back and forth between my Eeyore self and that first screaming woman who gets killed in every catastrophe movie you’ve ever seen.   

Anywho.

Now is a little like going back to the gym after slacking off for a few weeks.  Everything about this new budget creaks and hurts, but I know I can do it.  I just have to practice the old skills until I’m on my game again.  It starts with getting into the truth about what’s going out and what’s coming in.  I’ve done most of that crappy work…for now anyway.

But I digress…

The real lesson was…and I’m pretty sure this was one of those God’s lips to my ears deals – is that there are worse things than losing your job.  Losing your job and losing your husband is much, much worse. 

Well, unless you’re Lady Silver Hair.

All of which got me thinking…

Wonder if my new BFF can get me a job?

 

Twofers

Sometimes it just doesn’t pay to buy those 2 for $4 potato chips.  

I say this with some authority because I just had a couple of them kick my butt.  They tag-teamed me and knocked me flat to the mat.  Stomped me a couple of times for good measure.

Not my fault.   I was totally out-muscled.

Dang.

I’ve been such a happy little Weight Watcher for several months now.  Slow but sure.  Pokey poking my way down almost 20 pounds. 

I’ve even managed to keep losing in spite of  The Foot Surgery (and loooooong convalescence) AND The Lowden House Project (not to be confused with The Blair Witch Project)…the kind of challenges which generally set me up for an almost religious belief that I deserve all things high fat and high calorie in copious quantities.

Every so often, though, there’s this leetle neurotransmitter twitch that plays me a happy song…something about  tomorrow always being  better than today when it comes to healthy eating and exercise.   It actually sounds a little (a LOT) like a drug addict who says he wants to quit tomorrow. 

That “This is the LAST time I’ll do this” gymnastic hop over the truth.  As if overeating today will make me stronger  to not overeat tomorrow.  The mythology of that one last, perfect binge that will end all temptation. 

The Last Meal Syndrome. 

Have anything you want right now because tomorrow you’re going to wake up a completely different person and never, ever, ever do that again.

In my own defense, Mom (who is also doing WW) made me promise (against my will) to watch Biggest Loser.  Turns out, nothing makes me hungrier for a potato chip or two than watching a bunch of really fat people sweat gallons and show their off their gynormous bellybuttons and manboobs.

Sigh.

Ok.  But here’s what’s different this time.  I’m going to my WW meeting tonight.  Knowing that I’ve gained weight.  Hat in hand.  Admitting the Truth that I need help as much, if not more, than the first day I walked in.

Even though I’m not the Biggest Loser.  That today I might even be the Biggest Gainer.

Old Cherie wouldn’t do this, you understand.  Old Cherie would say…I screwed up TOO bad…it’s too much…I can’t handle it…and I’m not going back this week.  I just can’t face that scale.  Then I’d add another bad week to this bad week. Then another. And the next thing you know, I’d be OUTTY.

And then, next thing you know after that, it would be somewhere around March, 2010, and I’d have gained all my weight back and then some.

New Cherie says…Ok.  I suck at this.  Maybe I can do better.

New Cherie is going to hit the gym, go to my meeting and stay away from the potato chip aisle.

Take THAT you stinkin’ little Twofer…

 

Back At It

Back in Waukee for a few days.  Trying to get my lower back back.  Sleeping on a futon mattress atop an air mattress (in Lowden) could be worse.  But my lower back says it could also be much, much better.

Went to the Y yesterday.  Second time since surgery.  I’m much improved foot-wise.  The first time I went, I barely managed to walk half a mile at 2 mph – with much limping and grimacing and holding onto the side rails.   Very disturbing since I don’t EVER remember walking less than 3 miles per hour on the treadmill before that. 

 Not to mention how crazy UNCOOL it looks (and sounds) to snort and gasp while schlepping along slower than a snail’s pace at the Waukee Y for the Young and Buff.

 This time I managed to do 1.25 miles and actually KICKED…IT…UP  to 3.0 mph for 7 whole minutes…which seemed more like 7 whole hours.   

 Still limping.  Just limping faster.

 I also popped off 20 minutes on the elliptical. 

 Then I pumped some iron…yo. 

 Training for this year’s Turkey Trot.  

 Last year was that torn tendon.  This year I’ve got that new bone graft in my foot. 

 It’s always something between me and that free pumpkin pie.

 

Take It or Leave It

Just a second or two to write.

I’m winning the paperwork wars – or at least a major battle or two.  Set up the new filing system I should have done right after we bought the farm.   Huge deal for me and Tom and I’m proud of myself for finally facing the monster and sticking him in yellow and red accordion files (plus brown AND blue).

Just wanting to connect this morning.  To feel the love.  Nothing like sifting through a big pile of expired 2-for-1 dining out coupons to make you feel like a lonely loser.

Trying to pump myself up for the final move from Lowden next weekend…and fight the ultimate Declutter vs. Bring-It-to-Waukee battle of my life.  This is Tom’s junk I’m talking about, of course.  My junk is priceless.

His basement.

His garage.

The attic is mine.  Baby clothes and Hug-a-Bunch dolls in big plastic containers and dusty garbage bags.  The frame of an old couch that was there when we moved in.  Two cribs from back when Jenny and Lorie were babies. 

Now, Jenny and Lorie have their own babies.

I keep telling Tom that if we haven’t used it in a year and a half, then we don’t need it.  Of course, that’s not entirely true (when it comes to my stuff).  And I guess we do still want our table saw and Tom’s reloading bench and that enormous horizontal file cabinet (see paragraph #1).

I’m thinking this morning about how our lives are shaped as much by what we leave behind as what we bring along.

More and more I feel like I need to travel light.  I think it’s the key to enjoying being a middle-ager.  But the more I try to fling the extraneous, the more I butt up against the hard fact that…in order to do that…I have to be willing to change myself…to let go…not only of physical stuff, but my attitudes and ways of looking at things. 

Like my old problem solving strategies…the ones which aren’t working as well for my new life as a 50-something. 

 When I was younger, there was just so much more energy to throw at challenges.  Something wrong?  Work harder!  Work longer!

Now, there’s less drive, less energy, less in reserve.  So, now maybe it’s more about living simpler and working smarter.  More about being disciplined and consistent over time.  Less about furious bursts of energy in the moment. 

More doing your homework every day and less cramming for finals.

Which is a  lesson I started learning  when I became a mom and finally got it:  The key to progress is consistency.   Then, I got more practice when I went back to college in my 40’s.

Still learning it.   (Learning is a good thing.)

Stuff  (commitments, projects, crises) can slow us down to a turtle’s pace.   Just the mere lugging it around…emotional baggage, spiritual shortcomings AND material things…can eat up all our time…

Lots to do today and for a few days to come.

Don’t abandon me if I’m incommunicado for a bit, because I’m not abandoning you. 

 I just have all this crap to move and this old house to sell….

Love you guys.

 

Some Things I’ve Learned

A few of these are a repeat of a piece I wrote a little over a year ago.  Which I didn’t realize until about a minute ago.  But, HEY anything worth saying is worth saying 2 or 3 times.

 1)  Wanting and getting are WAY more fun than having (to take care of). 

 2)  Here’s a crazy thought:   Work on my life instead of everybody else’s. 

 3)  Pay attention, but don’t micro analyze.

 4)  I need to do what  I love sometimes…even if nobody else wants to do it with me or pays me one red cent. 

 5)  Music can change my mood…for good or bad…faster than almost anything.

 6)  I know how to be rich and poor.  Both are stressful.

 7)  Rich and poor are very subjective terms.

 8)  Sometimes girlfriends are helpful.  Sometimes not so much.

 9)  Helping others helps me more.

10)  Everything and everyone eventually break – when I accept that, I do better.

11)  God isn’t necessarily mad-sad-happy-glad just because I am. 

12)  Don’t force HAPPY all the time.  It’s distracting and I usually miss something important.

13)  Something good usually comes from depression…IF I let God sift out the crap.

14)  The fatter I am, the less social.

15)  The harder I am on myself, the harder I am on everybody else…especially Tom.

16)  Humility doesn’t come easy.

17)  Just ‘cause I don’t have all my oars in the water, don’t mean I ain’t in the boat. 

*****

A few days ago: 

We’re sitting on the couch watching TV. 

Cherie says:   ”This is not good.  I keep trying to use the remote control to make a phone call.”

Tom says:  “Yeah, I do that  too, but I only get the operator.”

 

Limpin’

Gorgeous morning.  Kitty and I are out on the front porch.  It’s sunny, so I’m struggling to see this stupid computer screen…though I’m determined to stay out here and ENJOY THE WEATHER.  I always forget how hard it is to get the sunshine  and electronics to work together.

Kitty’s is in her “pretty dress” harness tied to a 25’ tether, mackin’ on grass and unfortunate grasshoppers.  I’ll probably see all that again pretty soon in a gooey little pile on the carpet.

Got my boot off last Thursday.  There’s nothing graceful about that or me.  I herk around like a marionette with a bad hip.  Plus, my foot and ankle feel and look a lot worse now that I’m on it all the time (way puffy, way hurty), but maybe that’s just how it goes with these things.

 BUT…at least I’m back in my cute sandals.

Speaking of cute sandals…Kate and I went for sushi and a movie last night.  We saw Julie and Julia.  Girl bliss, if you like to cook…or watch other people cook. (We like both.)  Otherwise, maybe not so much.

Interesting especially from the fact that Julie’s claim to fame is that she was a loser blogger who decides to cook her way through Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year –  over 500 recipes in 365 days – and blog about it.  I could relate to a lot of it (esp about the loser blogger who never finishes anything)…until the happily ever after part…where her blog gets her a book and movie deal…and becomes a real writer…you know, after all that hardship with unsalted butter and deboned ducks.

I’m feeling more scattered than usual these days.  The house in Lowden is weighing pretty heavily, especially with the thought of winter coming and all that entails.  We need to get back over and finish what we started, or at least make some significant progress.  I’m wanting to just stab a For Sale sign in the yard, but having trouble getting Tom on board.  It’s a great house, she just needs her mommy and daddy to LET GO.

I re-upped with Flylady last night.

Dang.

I fired her a few months ago for being such an obnoxious bother…which I have done before at least the 3 or 4 times.  She can drive me BEYOND nuts…BUT when I get as overwhelmed with all the lists and loose threads of all the projects in all the places as I am now…which invariably lead me to morose procrastination…she can be a voice of hope - albeit a noisy, nagging one - with her reminders to  declutter and 15-minute-at-a-time stuff.  Plus…she’s a lot easier on you at the beginning so there’s some advantage to rejoining as a brand new Flybaby…lower expectations.

Ok.  Need to brush my teeth and head to the library to look for a book on how to sell your own house.