Dear Diary – I’m beginning to think the DJ on my radio is nuts! Why else would he play Friday I’m in love on Monday and Manic Monday on Friday?
Dear Diary – I’m hoping that this Saturday’s monthly “walk of shame” will be less painful. I just found box of “fat clothes” and in it, 2 skirts that now fit. Sometimes it pays to be a pack-rat, or just lazy. Watch it be -1,000,000 degrees on Sunday morning.
Dear Diary – Sometimes I want to answer the question, “what do you do?” with the answer, “I cook”! I try not to add “poorly executed experiments “ or “burnt offerings “. Cooking is something I have to do every day! Lately though, the February blahs, sticking to a budget, and a sore and swollen foot, have conspired to turn cooking into an unpleasant, however necessary, task.
Since March has arrived, it was time to pull up my socks (even if the left one is fitting tightly), so I learned to spatchcock a chicken.
Spatchcocking is splitting a whole chicken or game bird, and the instructions were basically, remove the backbone and flatten the chicken. Without shears, I had to wield a sharp knife and use brute force. The sound of cracking bones was unnerving, but I focused on channeling Julia Child. She was a fearless cook in a time in history where women were not particularly welcome in the culinary world. I proudly shared my accomplishment with Younger Son, who commented that I seemed psychotically delighted with myself. I was! I had just ripped a chicken apart with my bare hands. My delight wasn’t directed at this poor bird in particular, but after so many recent chicken fails, dominating it with my hands was oddly satisfying! I then cooked it using Mary Berg’s chicken &gravy recipe and it was delicious!
Oh, and the Eggs in Purgatory, though slightly unappetizing on a plate, were delicious too.
Dear Diary – This week took a twisted turn early Tuesday morning. I heard the thump in the night and I immediately recognized it as a body. You may wonder how I can identify the sound of a body hitting the ground in the night, but relax. Youngest Son occasionally fell out of bed at night. But, I reasoned, he’s in the basement and hasn’t done that in years. Hubby must have kicked his bookshelf in his sleep again.
5 minutes later my bedroom door crashed open!
As far as we can figure, Hubby was sleepwalking when he fell. Obviously in distress, he asked me to run downstairs and grab a couple of ice packs. But with my on-going issues with my ankle, I can’t run! I can’t even hurry to the bathroom. I grabbed my glasses and hobbled down the stairs, the thumps from my footfalls sounding like a one-legged pirate.
After a brief assessment and discussion (and without turning on the blinding light of the bedroom), I headed down again to grab the phone. Hubby had hit his head and elbow, and was experiencing burning pain down both of his arms.
Thump, THUMP! Thump, THUMP!
By the third trip down, I was pretty sure the neighbours were cursing me. Kind EMTs arrived, with heavy boots and heavy footfalls, so I knew the neighbours were awake. After their assessment, Hubby disappeared with them, under his own steam, into the night. I made a cup of tea, tidied up, and tried to get some sleep.
The phone rang just before 7 a.m. I rolled over and grabbed the cordless phone in bed next to me, only to stare at it. I was only awake enough to realize it wasn’t the right phone, but not to fly to my cell phone across the room. With a broken laundry basket between it and me, I knew I had to move carefully lest I end up tumbling too. I could totally see Hubby and I like Sylvester and the dog, lying in hospital beds in the same room, sneaking over to pummel each other when the nurse was away.
He was ready to come home. Hubby’s CT scan showed “nothing” but he continued to experience a severe and debilitating burning sensation in his arms. Every bump made him groan. I made sure I avoided the train tracks!
We booked an appointment with our GP but for the following afternoon. Both unable to sleep, we spent the afternoon watching t.v.: Border Security, Cash Cab, Engineering Disasters. My friend called around 2 in the afternoon to see how we were doing. I told her we were “still alive”. “What do you mean?”, she asked. I replied, “I haven’t killed him yet”. 🙂
The house is chilly, but Hubby couldn’t stand anything touching his arms. Instead, he put on the hood of his hoodie and wore it like a cape. He reminded me of the Sith Master, and I had to resist the urge to call him “dark lord”.
By 4:45 p.m. I was wilting badly and after talking to my parents, I laid down in bed.
My presence was soon required. Hardly refreshed by my 5 minute nap, I prepared to go out to pick up dinner. We had decided on A&W burgers. I took Youngest Son with me for moral support.
Hubby’s gas tank was low. Hadn’t I just filled it up? I swapped cars in the driveway because I wasn’t visiting a gas station in rush hour! My mitten got stuck to my key ring.
It wasn’t until I flipped on my right turn signal that I realized I was turning into the McDonald’s parking lot. I had driven to the wrong fast food restaurant. “I’m so tired,” I laughed, as I circled the lot, “but at least I got us to McDonald’s safely”. Then we headed across the road to A&W. It tasted so good.
I offered to barricade him in his room for the night. Instead, he elected to sleep on the couch. I even gave him a bell to ring if he needed help. It was a great idea until, tucked safely in my bed, I realized I would never hear it over the fan in my room, and I can’t sleep without the fan.
This filtered version of my story isn’t as funny (you have to laugh or cry!) as the version I shared with Eldest Son. I knew I could make him giggle, and that would make me giggle, and it would help. He understands the family dynamics, the inside jokes and the witty thoughts I had had. Anyone else might think I was a big fat jerk! Even though I made Hubby laugh sometimes too. I love Hubby and I am willing to do for him, whatever he thought might ease his discomfort.
We’re now a mismatched pair. His feet work, while mine do not. My hands work, while his do not. So my hands prepared his coffee and food, and changed the channel. And I respected his request: No Touching!
Tomorrow I will be his taxi to the doctor. I will wait in the cold car for longer than my bladder will appreciate. (There are plenty of reasons I keep a roll of t.p. and an empty Tim Horton’s cup in my car)! I will even do my best to avoid the potholes and train tracks for a smoother ride.
I missed Bible study and my Wednesday post. And I’m still facing Youngest Son’s covid booster appointment, band rehearsal, youth group (with a 2 hour layover for this taxi driver), a car appointment, and leading worship on Sunday morning. It’s going to be a long week, but when we got married, we vowed “for better or worse”. We’re both worse, but at least we’re doing it together.
Dear Diary – It’s a waiting game now…waiting for tests, waiting to see a specialist, waiting for the kettle to boil so I can make Hubby’s morning coffee. As frustrating at times as it has been, it’s good that he’s working from home. I don’t want to be his taxi to work with all the other early morning risers. I have a list of things to do longer than my arm, including renewing expired passports (before the covid grace period expires, for me at least). Never mind, the printer ran out of ink and it won’t accept the new one…
Package 2 of 2 with my new fabric arrived at the beginning of the week, but package 1 of 2 is still out there somewhere. Hubby found one of my missing socks stuck to the inside of his t-shirt. All of the usual daily jobs and irritations haven’t taken a hike, and we’re both so very tired. I had a flashback to life with Youngest Son and I wonder how I ever survived. Then I remembered…lots of tears and Youngest Son’s older brother. He was a huge help because Hubby was working shifts.
I truly believe with all my heart that God will walk us through this most recent upset, but my head still gets overwhelmed easily. My thoughts run away on me, and like a kid toward an ice-cream truck, I have to run back to God. I have to be like the little donkey that carried Mary to Bethlehem, I just to have to be faithful and keep plodding along in the journey and trust God to lead. After all, once that donkey arrived where he was led, not only did he earn his rest, he witnessed a glorious event that changed the world. He saw Jesus, face to face.
So when you’re on your knees and answers seem so far awayCasting Crowns, Just Be Held
You’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held
Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place
I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held