Updates
Gracie's not coming.
Who would have thought there would be legalities involved when a baby girl wants to spend time with Grammy?
It will happen soon enough.
I'm a grandmother. Aren't grandmothers supposed to know how to be patient?
Sweetie's back is healing pretty well.
Except that it turns out he's allergic to adhesive so his 4" incision looks like it got hit with a hot frying pan.
Surprisingly it hasn't bothered him much. The itching has subsided thanks to steroid cream and good nursing.
Suzi shows no sign of a sore shoulder. She can romp and play with the best of them. I'm glad for this but my wallet not so much.
I haven't been blogging much due to the fact that my writing group end of the year recital looms large on the horizon. Along with hunting for something new to wear, I've been revising my story. (Both equally difficult) I think down to 1000 words and it's still too long. The reader's digest version is definitely not as funny in my mind. But what do I know? I need to learn to read slower, project my voice and/or hold a microphone while I'm holding my papers - while my hands shake like I have a palsy, use some props, AND connect with the audience somehow. Yeh, right. Note to self: DO NOT drink 5 glasses of water before the show.
At the risk of sounding like a record stuck on the same song, it hit me this morning, once again, how hard it is to think of Dad's house as my house. I went upstairs to check on Maizey. The stairs are covered with dog hair, dust and roofing tools. On my way down, I thought I would sweep them off. And then I thought about the whisk broom I always used to use. The whisk broom that dad kept in a compartment in the back of the van. And then I had to tell myself that we don't even have the van anymore so no telling where the broom is. Then I thought how weird it is that my mind can travel these back roads of my memory in a flash but I can't remember the very last line of the story that I have typed at least 30 times. There's really no reason to be sad over a no-longer-existent whisk broom but every time I have one of these longings, I have to remind myself that everything has changed.
I think I'll go to the mall and hunt for something new to wear. I saw an ad for some shoes at Anthropologie that might be some of the cutest I've ever seen. High heels, covered in bright flowers, for a mere $158.00. Good thing I know myself well enough to know I can't even stand up in high heels anymore. But it might be fun to try them on!
Happy Saturday to you.
Wishing you happy memories and a comfortable shoes,
Merry ME
P.S. I hate the new blogger.
Who would have thought there would be legalities involved when a baby girl wants to spend time with Grammy?
It will happen soon enough.
I'm a grandmother. Aren't grandmothers supposed to know how to be patient?
Sweetie's back is healing pretty well.
Except that it turns out he's allergic to adhesive so his 4" incision looks like it got hit with a hot frying pan.
Surprisingly it hasn't bothered him much. The itching has subsided thanks to steroid cream and good nursing.
Suzi shows no sign of a sore shoulder. She can romp and play with the best of them. I'm glad for this but my wallet not so much.
I haven't been blogging much due to the fact that my writing group end of the year recital looms large on the horizon. Along with hunting for something new to wear, I've been revising my story. (Both equally difficult) I think down to 1000 words and it's still too long. The reader's digest version is definitely not as funny in my mind. But what do I know? I need to learn to read slower, project my voice and/or hold a microphone while I'm holding my papers - while my hands shake like I have a palsy, use some props, AND connect with the audience somehow. Yeh, right. Note to self: DO NOT drink 5 glasses of water before the show.
At the risk of sounding like a record stuck on the same song, it hit me this morning, once again, how hard it is to think of Dad's house as my house. I went upstairs to check on Maizey. The stairs are covered with dog hair, dust and roofing tools. On my way down, I thought I would sweep them off. And then I thought about the whisk broom I always used to use. The whisk broom that dad kept in a compartment in the back of the van. And then I had to tell myself that we don't even have the van anymore so no telling where the broom is. Then I thought how weird it is that my mind can travel these back roads of my memory in a flash but I can't remember the very last line of the story that I have typed at least 30 times. There's really no reason to be sad over a no-longer-existent whisk broom but every time I have one of these longings, I have to remind myself that everything has changed.
I think I'll go to the mall and hunt for something new to wear. I saw an ad for some shoes at Anthropologie that might be some of the cutest I've ever seen. High heels, covered in bright flowers, for a mere $158.00. Good thing I know myself well enough to know I can't even stand up in high heels anymore. But it might be fun to try them on!
Happy Saturday to you.
Wishing you happy memories and a comfortable shoes,
Merry ME
P.S. I hate the new blogger.
Comments
Funny...I think our memories are on the same wave length Mary. Ahh well, I don't really care anymore.
Maybe in one week I will take a walk down memory lane and remember where I put the stakes for my tent, or some other useless data, but I'll still remember the stuff of my loved ones. How can we not do that? I think they are necessary at times to bring us back to the present? That gift? :)
Have a Splendid Weekend!!!
P.S. Wishing I still had a Dustbuster, lol!
LOL
Sad news, but Gracie will come soon?