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Dear Diary – I’m starting to acquire quite a collection of single grieving socks on my dresser. It seems more and more join the sock support group every weekend. Last Saturday, I put 4 pairs of my “baby socks” (as Hubby calls them) in the washing machine. Every one went in with its mate. I was very careful. I also checked that the washing machine was empty after I tossed the load in the dryer AND the dryer when I emptied it. No “man” left behind and all that. But when I folded said load, I had 1 mated pair and 3 heartbroken socks. What is going on? Are they escaping to sock paradise, lounging on a beach somewhere toe-jam free? Did they win some sort of “lottery” in a post-apocolyptic sock world?

Last week, an unrelated miracle occurred – Hubby asked me to help him purge his wardrobe again. (It was wonderful!) But this unrelated miracle gave me hope. As he pulled out an older polo shirt, a blue facecloth fell from the folds. I’m hoping that perhaps one day my grieving socks will be reunited with their mates, that they were all just static-clinged to another garment and they will be found.

In the meantime, if this continues, I’m going to have to start wearing mismatched pairs of socks. Which means if the other mate isn’t found soon, one sock will be significantly battered and faded while the other hasn’t aged a day. If they’re truly in love, it won’t matter.

Dear Diary – I’m concerned about my parents. I called one afternoon this week but they weren’t home. They didn’t call me back for over an hour. It turns out they were off gallivanting all over town. First they went drifting on the back country roads. Then they got gas. Next they cruised over to Home Hardware for a new toilet seat and toilet paper holder before heading home! Last night I got an email telling me they bought a new veggie peeler. They’re out of control and spending all of my inheritance!

Dear Diary – I started sewing a gnome this week. Now I remember why I’ve debated sewing them for my Etsy shop (if I ever stop procrastinating and set one up!) They have tiny feet, like me, and attaching them to the body is like trying to complete an inside-out 3D puzzle. Maybe the 4th time will be the charm…

Dear Diary – After hobbling around for more than a week with a sore ankle, I broke down and called my rheumatologist just to see if he had any openings this week. I figured he wouldn’t but it never hurts to ask. I talked to his joyless office administrator and she confirmed he did not, but she noted my complaint and said he might want to talk to me. He called 5 minutes later. I nearly passed out. We chatted and he asked me if I could come in at 5. I nearly passed out again.

So I flew around the house like a fat, wounded pigeon to get supper organized and my hair tamed. I was supposed to be recording a “music video” at the church at 7. The church is the opposite direction of the doctor’s office.

He poked; I winced. He prodded; I yelped. He commented with words like “odd”, “strange” and “unusual”. In fact he used “odd” a lot. He concluded that either it was an odd (see again!) inflammatory episode or I fractured something. He gave me a prescription for an additional anti-inflammatory, a requisition for an xray and the delightful news that I should have an MRI. I break into a sweat just typing MRI.

I hobbled to my car and sat in rush hour traffic, willing the bus in front of me to plough through traffic so I could get home…or over to the xray place that said it was still open. I got to the xray place but of course, no one was anwering the phone. So I hobbled in, taking the scenic route around a tall snowbank and a big puddle. The place was empty save for the intake worker, and long story short, I was in and out in record time! I grabbed a chicken thigh and potato, which Hubby had warmed up for me and rushed out the door with my music and a muffin 9which Hubby had packed for me). Hubby texted the organizer that I was going to be 10 minutes late.

I didn’t know what to expect when I got there.

I had spent several hours discussing my wardrobe with another singer and friend. I had showered and washed my hair, and put it in braids to try to give it some shape. I really wanted to wear heels but had to settle for less “grandma-ish” sneakers. I can’t even get my winter boots on. There was no time to style my hair (and the bathroom was just too far away), so the braids came out and I had to trust that if I was sporting an 80’s hairdo, someone would tell me.

There were 9 musicians set up in a U-shape, with 3 static cameras, 2 people with moving cameras, and 1 person taking photographs. The room was buzzing with conversation, everyone flashing raised eyebrows and nervous grins at each other. Our discomfort grew once the video recorders started invading our personal space as we tried to focus on the music and on worshipping the Lord. Akward, yes! But as the minutes passed and all the tension was stripped away, we melted into a unified chorus.

After it was finished, we all hung around, not wanting our time together to end. It was a fantastic way to get to know new people and I think it really helped us bond as a group who are passionate about music and worship through music. I’m looking forward to seeing the end product, knowing what an onerous task it must be to combine all of the footage from so many angles.

The pastor sent me a photo the next day. I told him it was my best side:

Dear Diary – I was happy to let a friend help me today. Usually I am her wheels; today she was my feet. She dropped off my prescription for me and I picked it up through the drive-thru. She shopped for her groceries while I went to chiropractor. And we celebrated with Tim’s tea and long visit in the car.

It’s so much easier to be the helper than the helpee. I’m independent and I worry about bothering others and taking up their precious time. But it’s okay to ask for help when we need it because when we let others help us, we give them the blessing of being the one to help.

Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.


Dear Diary – I think my body has absorbed so much soap and hand sanitizer that when I pee, I clean the toilet.

I wish cleaning other areas in my home were that easy.

Instead of cleaning house, I just watch an episode of Hoarders and think ‘WOW, my house looks great’!