Being sick

There was a time, when you were sick, you went to the doctor...and got an antibiotic.

And you usually felt better in 3-7 days.

Then they taught us that antibiotics didn't fix everything (which is why it still took 7 days sometimes) and paying to see a doctor and not even getting a prescription to validate the fact of your sickness, was, well...painful.

So now days when you get sick, you wait. Wait for the potential cold to pass...7-10 days. Then you think, well maybe just a few more. Surely I will feel better...tomorrow. At some point you have to concede that perhaps a doctor's visit is in your best interest...cause you feel like crap. And have for 2 and 1/2 weeks.

So I, um, you, leave work early to get checked out and render this illness defeated! So what started out as a cold? then seemed more like pharyngitis when you lost your voice and maybe just allergies, since the face was itching turns out to be a sinus infection, ear infection and urinary tract infection...because maybe you waited just a little longer than you should have. How are you supposed to know?

Thank the pharmaceutical company's greedy little pea picking hearts for Z-pak. Three infections for the price of one antibiotic and a couple of days instead of another week to 10.

Maybe I'll feel better by the weekend.

Going bump in the night

Once upon a time, not so terribly long ago, I was afraid...

of a lot of things.

Every now and then I can strike something from my list and have one less fear.

This is a good thing.

As I walked through the woods last night, yes, last night, it seemed funny that this peaceful place once frightened me. All the little sounds from creatures great and small that I might admire in the daylight, become so menacing when you can't see them.

Every little snap of a twig.

Family

I have a sister. She is an only child, just like me. Her daughter does not call me Aunt. She calls me "step-mommy girlfriend" and she is married to my "formerly conjoined twin from another life".

Sometimes a square peg will indeed fit into a round hole. When you open your mind and heart to creative possibilities


...and power tools.

A story long forgotten

Something made me think of this yesterday...

After my parents bought a house in Florida, my Dad wanted a palm tree in the yard. Mom didn't...and it was usually easier to just let Mom have her way. But Dad could sometimes make an end run around my Mom...he was a clever man.

He had acquired a palm tree seed somehow and while my sons and I were visiting he told them they were going to plant the seed and wouldn't that be fun? I think they were about 3 and 6. Of course, they agreed wholeheartedly.  Dad dug a hole, the boys put in the seed and watered it, then Dad gave them magic dust to sprinkle over it. Mom was at work during all of this conniving. When she got home the boys excitedly explained about the palm tree and the magic dust. My Dad got one of those looks. My Mom and I took the kids to the beach. My Mom voiced her exasperation at my Dad's behavior, outside of the boy's hearing thankfully. She could not understand his desire for a palm tree, they make a mess, she said. No big worry, she continued, what were the chances that the tree would even grow. No telling where he got the seed...or how old it was. She ranted awhile, I nodded my head, then moved on to other things. Soon the palm tree was forgotten. The boys ran and played. As we headed home the boys were happy...and exhausted. We pulled into the driveway and they tumbled out of the van, their excitement suddenly peaked as they spotted the palm tree standing where they had planted it hours earlier...every bit of 3-4 foot tall.


My Dad was so proud...but smart enough to smother the smile. He knew that palm tree was a protected for all time, because it was...the boy's magic palm tree.

Random thoughts of the day

As I fell asleep last night...

Many of human similarities are innate. It's our choices that make us different.

This afternoon...

There is no greater critic than the person not doing the work.

How's that for deep?

You never know

I asked a man at breakfast who had done his art work (tattoos)...as they were very well done and I was somewhat afraid he'd caught me staring. He told me the name of the artist then shared the stories behind each piece. He has a full colored sleeve on one arm (shoulder to wrist) and working on a grey scale (black only) on the other. We talked for a long time about meanings, ink, artists and perceptions. I was wearing long sleeves...he said, looking at me, he would never guess that I had ink. I pulled my collar over to show him. He admired mine as I had his. It's nice to share a common interest.

Looking into the looking glass

I stand before the mirror, nothing there but me and truth. I am getting older, no denying. I examine my face closely. I see the sun damage from a youth spent under the sun. That's what we did when I was young, played...outside. Suntans were in. The only thing applied to the skin was what would make the tan darker, deeper, quicker. I see the lines on my face. But mine are not so much from worry or frowning. They are more obvious when I smile...around my eyes and the otherwise smooth plains of my cheeks. I guess I won't complain too much, if I've earned my lines from a life well spent.