I was humbled today in thinking of what being home right now has afforded me.

I have been able to write on my novel at my pace and whatever time of day I desire. I have been able to sleep as much as I desire, resting a body weary from overwork. I have been able to spend large amounts of time playing with Kashi, Fancy, and Madison. I have been able to lose myself in my favorite books, savoring the craftsmanship of others. Being alone so much, with so little contact with even friends, I have been able to delve more deeply into the bible and pray for fully for family and friends and this world in which I live.

And I have, this day, been able to share my belief in the Lord Jesus Christ.

I struggle with worry and fear even when I believe absolutely in God's sovereignty. I battle my own ability to trust in His timing and look toward the coming weeks without any sign of employment or any response to the dozens of resumes that I have sent out to prospective employers. I am weak in my faith.

But God reminded me that even weak faith is something He can use to His glory. A vendor from my old job called and was overly upset that I had lost my job. She went on and on about all that I had done for the organization and the value it had in an employee who had such diverse talents. She did not understand why I was not as upset as she.

I shared my concerns with her and asked that she keep me in mind if she learns of any communications work, but I was able to also honestly stress that I believe that God is in control of even this. Somehow, in some way, my no longer working at that job is to my benefit, even if that benefit is only to glorify Him.

She was flabbergasted and asked me how I could believe that God was with me in being "discarded" by the organization. It was strange how her response mirrors my own hurt in the matter, but it also made me realize that I had no more tears for the decision that was made. It is still extremely hurtful to see so much of what I labored mightly to create and sustain set aside to wither and die away, but it was their decision not mine. I did do all that I could to honor God in my work and did not stoop to engage in the destructive behavior of others nor neglect my own responsibilities as so many of my co-workers do on a regular basis. I could not have worked harder, perhaps smarter, perhaps not. If the organization does not value ethical behavior and hard work, then I could not do more than I did.

I didn't disparage the organization to the woman, nor will I to anyone else, except for in the privacy of my friends and the veiled anonymity of this journal only a few read. For as hurt and even angry as I have been over the decision, I have not been public in the "truths" that have been so carefully shoved under the carpet there. The vp who left has done much damage to the organization, but he doesn't understand that he is actually hurting the low-income children and families who the organization serves or might serve in the future by his actions.

I could, and did, thank her for her concern. I could, and did, tell her of how Christ saved me and some of what He has done for me in the course of my life. I shared how weak my faith has been just now, but how very much God cares for me even so.

I think on how MS has made my emotions so very difficult to bear. I think on my anger at the butchery of the privet yesterday and how even now it has passed because I understand that there is essentially nothing I can do about the situation. I spoke with the county representative and had her look at the damage. She had me document it and assured me that the county would replace the privet if need be and would re-seed the grass that was destroyed. I used the energy of my ire to effect a repair on the fence that has long been on my mind. If the county comes through, the area will look better sooner or later. If it does not, it does not. At least I was able to not vent my ire on anything other than the fence pole. I spoke calmly with the county representative and at least in a civil manner with the general contractor. I wanted to yell at him, asking him how in the world he could think it was okay for him to hack away on the privet that was so clearly a part of someone's landscaping and far away from the brush he had been hired to clear away from the easement. I wanted to yell, but I did not. I merely asked him not to touch any more of my landscaping.

I think on these things that I am learning of myself and my faith and those who care for my well-being and those whose actions do not truly follow their words. I think on that which I have been able to do just now. I think on the wondrous moment that I could earnestly and honestly glorify God to another who does not yet know of His grace. That itself was a gift of this tumultuous time.

I will finish by saying that it is a bit eerie at times how much I mirror Megan, how her fiction reflects my truth and vice versa. I think on the truth I penned for her and wonder at how it really is for me...

But Megan understood that to spend all her time wishing for that which was not would bring her more heartache than that which was.

NOTE: Never, ever, ever, ever do anything while you are angry. You will only end up making things worse.

I got out the sealing pitch to try and cover all the twisted, broken, and exposed places on the privet. Then, after thinking on the whole matter, I thought I would go ahead and try to effect a fence repair that has been on my mind for a long time.

You see, the privet had grown up between the fence and was pushing one pole over quite badly, pulling on the entire fence from that point. I decided to pull the long pole out of the top of the fence, push the leaning post back over, and re-thread the pole back through the errant post and all the others along that side of the fence.

It was a good plan...just rotten timing.

Now, I thought my ire might actually help me gather the strength to maneuver the pole. I was right. However, I did not take into account the fact that the tar-based pitch would still be quite wet. When I reached out to use the privet as leverage to help push the post back into place, I ended up with my hand covered in the pitch.

For the record, soap, dishwashing detergent, 409, Windex, and Comet do not remove the stuff. However, as my friend noted during a desperate call for advice, mineral oil seems to help. After five rounds of olive oil (the only "oil" I have on hand) and comet thrown in for good measure, I was finally able to end up with just a faintly dark palm. I think the rest will fade in a few more washings.

I am trying really hard to be patient, but I am failing badly.

The county had a contractor come through to clear out brush dumped in the easement behind my home that runs back toward Cameron Run. Many of the flooded homeowners asked it to do so. But there was no survey work done at all. The contractor came in and just started hacking away. Those men cut off half of the privet that I had growing as a privacy screen to my yard. That privet was also shading the hosta bed that I planted to make beautiful that space. I have also worked for four years to clear out the weeds and plant grass to get rid of the mud pit.

The grass was scrapped away, the privet butchered, the hostas were crushed, and the mud pit is back.

I am very, very frustrated!

There is something in my backyard to which I am allergic. I have tried and tried to figure out what it is to no avail.

Saturday, my left wrist started itching. I knew I had been out in the yard last week, so I figured that I must have pulled up the wrong plant while weeding or something. By this morning, I discovered several outbreaks on my face. One of them is on the side of my nose , so putting on a Breathright strip is getting difficult. I cannot sleep without one, but I fear doing so might keep the oozing sores from healing. I also have outbreaks on both cheeks, on my chin, and on my right temple. Oh, not scratching and trying to keep it from spreading is so fun... I am trying not to feel like a monster, but frankly the stuff is quite gross.

I find it rather curious that I was out in the yard Tuesday and the sores did not really appear until Saturday.

Mysteries of My Life

How a twice-baked potato can spoil... [NOTE: Eating one that has can wreak havoc on your stomach for hours and hours and hours.]

How 72 can be quite cool and 74 be unbearably hot...

How I can hardly control my shivers as I get into bed and wake up hours later sweating...

How I can get my feelings hurt again and again in the exact same situation with the exact same stupid expectations...

How I can be so "smart" and "talented" and "such a good writer" and have no job and no prospects...

How I can lose so many things in such a small home...

How such a pliable, flexible person as myself can have a such a stubborn dog...

How being ethical and hardworking gets a person nowhere...

How my lower left appendage can ache so much after six weeks in a cast...

How someone can be born a human being and not understand or fit in with the rest of her race...

How my own mother can care so little about me...

How after eleven years I never tire of watching my puppy dog curled up asleep...

How having multiple sclerosis, arthritis, and asthma can be a blessing and not a curse...

How my faith can be my stronghold and yet be filled with an overwhelming longing to belong somewhere, to finally fit in somewhere, to make a contribution somewhere...

How baby spinach salads can be so tasty...

I have two paintings from 1888 signed by Mrs. Leigh Chalmers that have been in my family for a long time. For several years now, I have been trying to find out who she was.

Tonight I discovered that the last page of the constitution of the state of Texas was signed by Leigh Chalmers, Secretary of the Convention that convened in 1875.

I also discovered that in 1885, Examiner Leigh Chalmers was appointed to look into the amount of money Wyatt Earp received in 1882 from US Marshall Crawley Dake. The case was based out of Dallas, Texas.

I believe the second Leigh Chalmers might have been the first one's son. Read the following obituary...

The Evening Star, December 28, 1903, p. 3

Major Chalmers Dead

Was for About Eighteen Years Connected With Department of Justice

Maj. Wm. Leigh Chalmers, who died last evening at the Mt. Vernon House, 9th street and New York avenue, was well known in this city, as well as in Austin, Tex., where he had been for many years prominent in business and political life prior to his assuming a residence in Washington.

Maj. Chalmers was born September 13, 1832, in Jackson, Tenn., but in early boyhood removed to Texas, where his father became secretary of state of the republic, under President Sam Houston.

In 1879 Mr. W.L. Chalmers came to this city, and for a number of years held a position in the office of the secretary of the United States Senate. In 1885 he was appointed to a position in the Department of Justice by Attorney General Garland, and with the exception of a few years was connected with that department continuously to the time of his death, having for many years traveled throughout the United States making examinations of the United States courts.

For several weeks prior to November 1, 1903, he had been engaged in laborious and exacting duties connected with the examination of certain United States offices under the Department of Justice in the Indian territory.

On returning from the west about the 1st of November last he was in bad health, and on reaching Hamilton, Va., where he had a country house, he became very ill of pneumonia, from which, however, he recovered sufficiently to permit his removal to this city. The disease was superseded by and complication with an acute inflammation of the brain, from which cause death ensued at 11:40 p.m. yesterday.

Funeral services will be held at 904 New York avenue at 2 p.m. tomorrow, and interment will be made at Congressional cemetery.

~~~~

Could Mrs. Leigh Chalmers be the wife of either of these men? How did my family come to have her paintings? A family from Texas. Paintings owned by family members born at the turn of the century, who also lived twice near Washington, DC, before settling back in Texas.

Why didn't she sign them with her first name?

Curious and Curiouser...

Well, I keeled over in the yard again. Rather stupid of me...

I didn't mow last week, primarily because I was glued to the couch and drowning in the reality that I no longer have a job. This week, already it has been difficult to move as well. Yesterday, I waited for the phone to ring. I waited again for comfort. And then I threw the cell phone across the room (thankfully it is not broken) and dove into a thick book. All day I thought of the prescriptions waiting for me at Target, but couldn't inspire myself to pop off the couch, venture out into the heat, and drive the two miles it would take to pick them up.

So today, the pressure was on. I had to get up at 8:00 to take care of something and crawled back into bed at 9:47. The next thing I knew, it was 2:45 and Kashi wanted out and the birds wanted out and those prescriptions were weighing heavily on my brain. I did roll out of bed, but I did not get into the car until 5:30. It was an arduous journey to my vehicle.

I pulled away and started heading home before I remembered that my filter needed changing in my new HVAC system. It is quite dirty. I had checked it during the flood and promptly forgotten to get another one. So, I U-turned to head back to Lowe's and picked up some of them...yet another thing on the credit card. I was in sweats since clothing is not something I wish to tax myself with, which garnered me quite a few strange looks given the heat. I didn't care. In fact, I did some rather blatant staring back of my own. I did congratulate myself that I actually popped in a new filter as soon as I came home.

I wanted to rest on my laurels for a few more days, but I saw a weather forecast that spoke of rain for the rest of the week. Given that this strange stuff masquerading as grass in my back yard is as high as Kashi, I determined that I should mow.

It is hot. It is hot. It is hot. I puked in the flowerbed, drank some Gatorade (Blue because I am rather sadly out of Orange), and went back outside to finish. I should have used my inhaler. I keep forgetting that my oxygen drops with exertion. I keep forgetting and ended up face first in the grass. When I awoke, I was covered with mosquitoes because I had forgotten the protection. I checked my oxygen sats, learned I was at 84, and sat with the nebulizer. No coughing, just a wee bit of wheezing...yet I was in poor shape.

Of course, since I was drugged up, I decided to finish the yard. What's a mowing without an edging, after all? I whacked on the roses, which are looking rather peaked for the first time in four years, and gave them some fertilizer. I pulled some weeds. And then I sat down and studied that strange grass that now looked like thick spider legs that had been chopped off. Since I don't know what it is and I don't want it spreading, I started pulling it up, huffing and puffing and destroying. By the time I finished, it was 9:00 and I was covered with dirt that stuck to my sweaty arms and legs.

It took me an hour to cool down enough to take a shower. I am now clean and have just finished another nebulizer treatment to be on the safe side. With that bad asthma attack last weekend, I should have remembered that ones like that are often followed by secondary attacks...sort of like aftershocks.

I cannot pay someone to mow. It can't just let it grow willy nilly. Yet, mowing in the summer heat is not something that I can do easily without harm to myself. What's a gal to do?

The yard sure looks nice...

I spend most of this Sabbath with my father and step-mother out in the boondocks where they live. [Although I should note that much of their boondocks has been developed of late, filled with restaurants and superstores.] My father harangued me about who I had working for me to get a job and how many resumes were out there...which I found quite draining. But my step-mother had some more fruits from her yard to share (extra plants), had bought some suet for my bird feeder, gave me a Sudoku puzzle book, and made me a hose for my shop-vac as insurance against future flooding. Yep, she made me one, slicing off a piece of a long hose she had and popped on a new end. I didn't even know that was possible. It was as if she were giving me some "pick-me-ups" to stave off the sadness of another jobless week looming before me.

My grandfather marinated and cooked steaks to perfection, and my step-mother whipped up the most tasty of twice-baked potatoes, so dinner was quite satisfying.

Between my writings student's family and my step-mother, I was occupied on something else besides my sadness and worries. For this, I am truly grateful.

Yet...I am struggling because I feel so alone. All last week stretched out before me, mocking me. I wished for and wanted my friends to rally around and call me and check in and buffer me with stories and such. I wished my brother and sister would have called to see how I was doing. I wished to be needed somehow, in some way, to dispel the feelings of failure, of worthlessness. I didn't want to be an afterthought. I wanted to be planned for, important, loved.

I think I am plastered to the couch because I have been working 75-80 hour weeks. I think I am bone weary and heart sore and troubled by the fact that all that work amounted to so very little in the end, despite the caliber of what I accomplished... I think I need the time and space that this unemployment has afforded me.

Yet...I am struggling because I feel so alone...and this next week is looming large.

What a beautiful evening I spent at the home of my writing student. They had friends with 4 children over, and we had a revelry filled with sumptuous food, music, and lots of games. [Yes, I smoked everyone at Up for Grabs again.]

Being with them was so incredibly peaceful, truly so. We spread the joy of the new game, played some Uno and some computer-based Sudoku. My writing student played the piano quite beautifully, and some of the other kids chimed in as well. 14 people milling around, chatting and playing games, and eating good food in good company.

What more could you want in an evening?

My writing student mother called this afternoon to get me out of the house. I really resisted, wanting to stay in my pajamas and not wanting to be around anyone, not wanting to have to be cheerful. Ever the persistent friend, she convinced me to pull myself together and come on over.

When I arrived at their home, I saw all the kids on their bikes. After parking my car, I got out and hollered at them, "I think all you children are morally obligated to come play games with me!" To my intense pleasure, the oldest son hollered back that they would be in shortly.

Once inside, the youngest two went in search of Skipbo to no avail. So, the oldest son pulled out a "new" game, new because it had been lost in the recesses of the bedroom where my writing student abides.

Oh, I was ever so unenthusiastic about learning a new game. I hemmed and hawed something fierce, but he ignored me and started setting up the new game. The middle girl read the directions out loud and off we went into the wild blue yonder of my NEW FAVORITE GAME: Up for Grabs. Alas...I am already half sure that I will not be able to find a copy of my own.

I actually won. I mean, nearly all the games we play there, I am at the mercy of those brilliant children. My three degrees are naught before their mental prowess. But in this game...I am master!

What a precious gift my friend gave to me this evening

I received a reimbursement check from my old job today and rolled off the couch to drop it off at the bank before the 2:30 deposit cut-off time. I then drove over to the grocery store to purchase some food that is more appetizing than the dregs that are currently in my cabinets.

While at the store, I was determined to buy nothing more than what I intended to buy in the first place. The first item of interest was some more baby spinach for salads. It was $1 off. I then when to get some cranberries for the salads, and they were $1.75 off. The chicken was $2/lb off, essentially half price. The pasta was $1.88 off and only $1 a package. The small pizzas were $1.98 off. The paper towels were $5.98 off. By the time I worked my way through the my mental list, only the salad dressing was not on sale. My total savings: $48.31.

I was more and more surprised as each item went into the cart. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was not picking out sale items, nor was I choosing off brands. Each item was simply on sale. I should not have been surprised. God clearly walked before me today in that grocery store.

Thunderstorms tore through this area again. I lost power briefly.

My father keeps calling to find out if I have a job yet. When I reply that I do not, he queries me as to what I have done to get a job. His memory is not the best anymore, so I have to explain again and again and again why I was fired (if I do not understand "reduction in force," how could he?) and why I do not yet have a new job.

My brother called today asking the same.

Is it absolutely crazy of me to be curled up on my couch since Saturday?

My oxygen sats are finally better, though I am still so utterly fatigued. I have been reading and watching TV. Today, for instance, I watched a marathon of Celebrity Poker Showdown, 12 hours of it. Perhaps, I am now ready for the World Poker Tour? Bet strongly before the flop to bully your opponents. Ace/low card is a throw away hand. Play tight with several players in the game, but loose when it is heads up. If you have trips or another "unbeatable hand," milk your opponents, check/calling them to sucker every chip you can.

I have written on my novel some, but Megan hurts too much for me to spend much time with her just now. Aryanth would be a better companion, but the story intimidates me at times.

I took a shower today because I thought it was bible study night, but I forgot that we had a three week break, not two this time. All that water wasted.

Perhaps tomorrow will be a paragon of productiveness...

The storms are raging once more.

The birds are agitated, and Kashi is whimpering behind the couch. He keeps trying to find a place of safety to him. I understand how he feels. I wish I had one as well.

131 homes in the streets behind me were flooded out last Sunday. Many of them have been condemned. Fairfax County officials have been in the neighborhood ever since the evacuation that began late that night. At the entrance to this end of the neighborhood, county officials have set up a staging area where fire trucks, ambulances, police, gas company vehicles, and power company vehicles are parked. Piles of supplies and scores of individuals add to the controlled chaos there. Inspectors ride around on golf cart, and tow-trucks haul out the water-logged cars and trucks. Three giant roll-offs have been parked in the neighborhood, where individuals and heavy equipment operators can dump the debris from the flooded homes. Industrial pumps have been operating around the clock ever since.

The windows are rattling with thunder, while hail is pouring down once more. I wonder, looking outside, how much more those families can take.

There has been sun the last few days, but with the sun has come oppressive heat baking the area. Scattered thunderstorms also keep battering this neighborhood.

I suppose I should be content with waiting yet another week for a phone. I should be quite thankful that I live a block away, yet eight feet higher than all those homes. I should appreciate each moment I do have power and be grateful each time it comes back on in under a few hours.

My babies are a bit inconsolable. They do not understand that this time, too, shall pass. I do understand...yet I also know how they feel.

What an Independence Day this is...

I had no electricity for the last 22 hours, so while the air-conditioning is now on blast, I am still sweating. The phone is still out, and just now I learned that staying home all day was a waste of time. Getting up at 8:00 when I had been up most of the night because of the heat was a waste of time. The appointment for the 3rd was moved to the 10th, and no one bothered to call me.

I could have camped out on a couch at a house with AC, but stayed in the heat because I didn't want to miss the opportunity to have a repairman come out from Verizon.

Saturday, I had a rather nasty asthma attack that was worsened by the fact that I couldn't get to my nebulizer for about 45 minutes. My oxygen sats stayed dangerously low even on Sunday, and I am quite fatigued from the whole mess. Even now I am only up to 93.

I am ready for something good...something easy...some peace.

This day was worse than even I imagined...very much so.

No one in my office said goodbye or interacted with me but for a couple of people who needed to know where documents were. No one. In fact, only one person in the entire company, save for my boss, even acknowledged my departure...via voice mail.

I knew this day would be hard, but not as difficult as it was.

I was asked to review a 200K grant application late yesterday that had to wait until this morning. I actually tried to do so last night, but my phone is now dead due to the flooding in my neighborhood, so I assumed that I could not log-on to the server via the Internet. Besides, I really have no business working at night now....

So, when I arrived, I reviewed the document that was due this day. After five weeks of work, it was a pile of cut and paste crap that neither communicated a compelling case for the organization nor addressed the actual questions. I was fairly dumbfounded and then quickly sunk into despair.

In my heart, there was no question that I would not try to rewrite the whole document so that the organization had a better shot at the grant. I came this day, as with every other day, to honor God in my work. But tears stung my eyes knowing that my plans for a transition, for closure were shot, knowing that only my boss would probably understand or appreciate the sacrifice...and rather stellar writing.

I worked until after 4:00, bringing my writing student in to help several times and outright demanding that my boss give me her attention and assistance when I asked. The only real less than terrible spot (other than interacting my brilliant, talented writing student) was when I asked my boss to explain something, taking notes on her phrasing, and then crafted a concise and compelling case for supporting the organization's new efforts in Community Assessment.

I was proud of the work because I know that it is good and that it can be source material for many other types of documents concerning Community Assessment.

Yes, I can get lost in the craftsmanship of writing to the exclusion of all else...even feeling like dirt.

At the end of the day, I felt like I was begging my boss for an exit interview even though time was running out. I asked if she could move another appointment and when she explained that that one had already been rescheduled, I practically shouted (okay...the shout was in my head, but it was all I could do to stay my tears) that this was my last day, that I was having to spend it doing someone else's work, that I was not able to get anyone to listen to what I have done and where everything was (no closure), and that I deserved better, I was worth more than this...

When she set aside everything else to meet with me, I could barely keep myself together. I wanted to rage at her, I wanted to weep, I wanted to just walk away. We were pressed for time once we did start talking that while I did try to speak up for myself, I failed to really say what I wanted.

I was angry and hurt that she had not worked to make this day smoother, or at least carved out time for me. I was bitter even in my obedience to Christ in honoring God in my work...bitter because the person responsible for the document still had a job, whereas I do not. I was confused in the logic that my job was eliminated for budgetary purposes, yet outsourcing communications is quite expensive. Then again...I am not the "right folk" for this organization...

I was...and still am...overwhelmed by feeling as if I have been crumpled up and discarded. That all my work counts for naught. That I am nothing...

Still, in the midst of all of this, I tried to focus on the small comfort that my writing student was there with me, two offices away, finishing some things I had wanted to see completed...and being kind to me. She has been God's grace these last eight days. I cherish that gift from Him.

Were I to be honest, I would admit that I still feel like dirt. I thought I had worked out a few things in my mind, but really...I feel the same.

The one board member with whom I have worked closely over the past two years spotted me after the board meeting today and changed directions to speak to me. He held out his hands and offered his congratulations. It was all I could do to keep from crying.

Whatever did the president say to make him think congratulations were in order? I LOST MY JOB! What good is there in that? About what should I be happy? He finished by saying that if there was ever anything he could do to please ask. I looked him straight in the eye and replied that I could send him my resume.

I walked straight back to the office I have been using (I cannot bear to be in mine) and sent it straight off to him.

I cried in my office. I sniffled on the way home. Tears leaked out at my writing student's house where I was trying to wish happy returns on both her parent's birthday. The flood came once I arrived home. No shopvac needed this time.

I keep telling myself that this is my work's loss. They are choosing mediocrity. Yet it does nothing to salve my battered and bruised heart. I spent 26 months of the hardest, highest caliber work I have ever done, all the while working to the benefit of the company rather than myself...what a fool I have been.

How can communications not be important to a growing company? It has to be. So, therefore, why am I the wrong folk?

Two more days. I really cannot believe that this is happening.

I packed up my plants, a small table from India, and spare Dr. Pepper today. My office is getting barer and barer. Again, it is good that my writing student is the one who is actually using it, while I am tucked away in an empty office.

I cloned some grass this afternoon. After some cropping and some cloning, I got an exterior shot of a building that is a far better representation of the property than came through the lens in the driving rain we have been having. Given the fact that I am definitely not a graphics artist, I am quite pleased with my grass-that-was-not-really-there.

My goal this evening is to work on my novel. It is about time, after all, that I start transitioning to doing things for me in the evenings...rather than for my job.

Last night I was up until 3:30, the night before 4:30...all in the battle to keep groundwater from flooding my basement. I am thankful to report that the shopvac-pump-hose-method was a resounding success. A success because I never once had to lift that 16-gallon bucket and dump it into the bath.

~~~~
Work was hard this day. I struggled through editing the photos I shot yesterday as I thought about Friday. Since my heart was already heavy, I packed up all my personal things from my office in the afternoon. Three more boxes made their way to my car. What is left is the portfolio of my work that I have been building and some personal files. I very much didn't want to be sobbing over boxes on Friday evening.

Having my writing student at the office with me has been such a wonderful blessing to me. She is brilliant and talented and a joy to watch work. She is a buffer and a distraction. She has been a willing companion to blowing money at the deli across the street, drowning my angst in grilled chicken wraps and pizza. I could not imagine how these last two weeks would have been without her.

Plus, she is driving us to work. I have reveled in the privilege in helping teaching her how to drive. I am honored to do so...and welcome yet another distraction.

~~~~
Kashi is beside himself with all the storms...I wish I were better at consoling him...I don't speak dog very well...

Well, the rain came down in buckets all day, flooding streets and homes alike. I was, rather stunned I might say, to come home and find the basement only squishy from my battle last night.

On the drive home, battling my way through torrents of rain plummeting down on the highway, I plaintively asked my writing student's father to bring over some short hoses I remembered spotting as I helped clean out their garage a week ago. The new shopvac I bought last year --after I caught the other one on fire whilst trying to stem the then flood of water--has a pump feature. I figured that he could ferret out how to make it work, which would make my impending fight ever so much easier. This way, I would not have to keep emptying the 16-gallon bucket every 20 minutes.

Being a rather clever fellow (actually he is nothing short of brilliant), he had the pump feature set up in short order. I tried sucking up some of the squishy water beneath the floating laminate floor using the swollen cracks, but the shopvac has to have four inches of water before the pump feature does its magic.

Happy that I might get some rest, I walked my writing student and her father to the car, fantasizing just how long I could sleep before I would need to wake up and check on the basement. Oh, my dreams crashed around me in nothing flat.

I walked back inside and thought I would take a look see before I changed out of my work clothes. Hmm...my work clothes are drenched. I have confirmed that not only does the pump feature work beautifully, but also that MUCH water can enter a basement long after it stops raining.

I have to go and pump some more now that my Orange Gatorade break is over. While sucking up that water, I shall remember what truly excellent work my writing student did today. I tasked her with finding out how to do PDF forms. She has never created a form or used either Adobe Acrobat or Adobe Designer. Not only did she create functional forms, she also documented the procedure so that other staff can learn how to do so as well. Now...could you have done that at 17...in less than a day's time?

Simply put, she inspires me.

When it rains...it pours.

I have been "shopvac-ing" water for over four hours. I just cannot do it any more. And can only hope that since the rate of incoming water has drastically slowed, the water that will be there when I wake will be manageable. Thus far, I have emptied the 16 gallon container 13 times.

The dryer also seems to be on the blitz.

I have to get up in 3 1/2 hours to go to work for the last week. We are doing a property photo shoot in Annapolis, so I really need to be there. Doing so is one of the projects I would like to complete before Friday.

More opportunities to trust God, eh?

Oh, my heart and body and, yes, soul are weary...

Hours and hours later, the potting bench is finally put together! I will not write just exactly how many of the final screws I put in before I remembered that I own a cordless drill. Still, I am quite overwhelmed at the gift. It is ensconced on the lower deck now.


It was pouring down rain while I finished the job, but I was determined not to be defeated by poorly written directions. Once I did finish, I decided, since I was already quite drenched, that I would go ahead and prune back the crepe myrtle and the rose of sharon trees. I have a hard time whacking off things that bloom, but the crepe myrtle was blocking the front door and the rose of sharon was covering 2/3 of the lower deck. Once I was done, I called for a special pick-up and hauled the cutting to the curb.


I suppose the pile does not look quite impressive, but it really was much hard labor on my part. By the time I was finished, all of my clothing was drenched through to my skin, but my trees look beautiful, so that is all that matters. I do need to mow. Mowing with a cast, however, is just not the easiest thing to do.

~~~~
I think you could say I am practicing productive avoidance, eh?

I threw myself in to cleaning out the storage area of my writing student's basement. Her mother doesn't quite get how very much hours of hard labor mean to me just now.

I have to admit, though, that I get a bit bossy whilst cleaning and organizing. Move this, get rid of that, stop what you are doing and do what I say. Follow my orders, and I will whip your space into shape is my motto. No stopping for breaks. Ignore the phone. Just get it done and you will thank me. It is an ugly, beautiful thing.

Of course, little does she know that my study floor is covered with papers that need filing. There is an ironing board in my living room that is covered with clothes that need ironing. I have stuff I have already brought home from work littering my table and need to find room for more.

Am I the kettle calling the pot black?

I was so busy drowning in my hurt and confusion that I failed to notice that some time this week my rose of Sharon trees and bushes started blooming. Even more than the wysteria, the rose of Sharon is my favorite part of living in this small home. They bloom in June and carry their blossoms for months. Their beauty is a comfort and a balm to my soul.

I suppose, that in truth, it is time for me to start looking past my situation.

I am still quite filled with tears and quite filled with fear, but there is something beyond this job...and I need to start looking.

If I were able to look past my hurt, I would see how very gracious God is being to me just now.

I mean, here I have my writing student at work with me each of my last days. She is extraordinarily talented and quite intelligent. So watching her work in such a capable fashion brings solace to me. Having her companionship on the drive in and home has stayed the ever present tears. Laughing with her and talking about the novels we are each writing is a blessed distraction.

It could have been different. At least I get to have some closure in that which I have been doing. At least I am not alone in a rather unfriendly work place. At least I can see this one good in all the rest of this mess.

Have you ever been chastened and encouraged at the same time?

I didn't want to go to bible study this evening because if I am not actually doing something, I start to think about what is happening and I start crying. I hate what is happening. I hate crying. I am so very frustrated. Why?

My writing student was to intern with me this summer, so her time at work has been reduced to eight days. She came to work with me and accomplished more than many people at work I know. I was disappointed, however, that my boss failed to greet her. In fact, she did not even talk to me. Actions really do speak louder than words.

Since my writing student was with me, I decided to still go to bible study, to stave off the sorrow so to speak. Her mother drives us each week, so we raced home, threw together dinner, and were ready to go (almost).

Well, we are currently delving into Isaiah. Right now, we are still in the introductory lessons, but it is enough to remind me, even by my own words this evening, that sometimes God's idea of what is good and perfect for our lives is not what we would expect. If I believe He is sovereign, which I do, then this, too, is what He plans and purposes for my life.

I am still hurting, but at least tonight I found solace in the life I have in Christ and had a sharp reminder of where my focus should be. God has given us such a profound gift in His Word.

Well, the president sent off this email to the entire company that messaged not what I was told, but what made him and the company look quite good after work yesterday. I was floored and felt even worse than I did last Thursday. His opening salvo? That the staffing choices were made on ensuring that the "right folk" remained with the organization. I guess I am wrong folk.

This morning, my boss had scheduled a two-hour meeting to go over my options and develop a plan to find some closure on my work. Well, she blew me off. She called to say that she would be about a half hour late. I left the office after waiting three hours for her to show up. I drove home in tears and plopped down on my couch to reluctantly work on some collateral. I would venture that over the past six months, 95 percent of the time she has left me hanging. I shouldn't have expected anything else. But she keeps saying that she is disappointed in the decision to let me go and wants to help. Right...help me right off the edge of the emotional cliff I am standing upon just now.

If I could afford to walk away today, I would. No questions asked. Hands down I would. I am, however, desperate for this last paycheck. There is absolutely no way that I could afford to turn my back on a check that would cover 85% of July's mortgage payment.

Still, I wish that a giant hole would open up in the earth and swallow me whole. I feel like dirt.

I do not know how I will spend nine more days at a place where I am neither respected or my work valued. I was an utter fool to think that working nights and weekends, that juggling four different responsibilities, that being more efficient than much of the rest of the staff...that anything I did would matter. If ever I thought that this organization cared about its staff, I have been thoroughly disabused of that notion.

I should be glad. I have been increasingly uncomfortable with struggling to not be a part of the messaging that was not based on the truth. My boss kept telling me that things were going to change. That the restructuring would bring about greater intellectual honesty and those staff who have rested more on laurels past than on current achievements would not remain. Boy, was I a fool!

You know, I believe quite strongly that if you take money for youth development, then you should be held to a high ethical standard on delivering what you promise. It seems, however, that those who point out what is not taking place are the ones who are punished. Those who just plain don't show up for work are rewarded. Those who continue to do was they want regardless of corporate policies are promoted.

Do I sound frustrated? Bitter? I hope not the latter, but I am so angry and hurt that it is difficult to see much else but how ethics and honesty lose and deception and laziness wins.

How can I find a place to work where ethics and honesty wins? Where hard work is valued? For someone who is supposed to be smart and talented, I feel stupid and such a failure.

I learned of something new to me today: Su Do Ku.

Do you know of this? It is a puzzle. A grid of squares. Three smaller grids of nine squares make up a larger grid, so that you have nine squares in each row, column, and grid. Each square should have the numbers one through nine once and each column and row should also have one through nine, with no repeated number in any direction. The puzzle comes with a few numbers, which you use to determine what the missing numbers might be. The Washington Post has easy, medium, and hard versions varying throughout the week.

My step-mother, a mathematician by nature, savors the puzzles, working through them one at a time as she finds the time. Today, she erased the numbers off two of the puzzles (an easy and a medium one) and taught me the logic behind attacking them.

I relished the challenge and hung out at there house as I first solved the easy one and then battled my way (with assistance at the end) through the medium. I cannot imagine solving a hard version, but I am game to try.

I very much welcomed the distraction from what is swirling around my mind and my heart. I, too, am thankful for another tool to try and battle the cognitive disfunction that plagues my MS beleaguered brain cells.

Check it out!

I awoke this day in tears. It was not, however, because of the news of my job which has been laying heavy on my heart.

Thursday morning, I forgot to take my medicine. Yesterday, I could hardly put two thoughts together unless I was focused clearly on a task. Thus, this was the third day without my arthritis medicine. I was in so much pain that I could barely make it to the bathroom to swallow the pills. After also taking a pain killer that is not the best decision to couple with Celebrex, I stumbled back to bed to wait it out.

A couple of hours later, I thought I could bear this day. At least physically...

I was supposed to help my writing student's mother sand and paint her shutters. I had planned to call her and tell her to set the children to sanding them and that I would help her paint them next Saturday. I wanted to rest and to...well...wallow. But before I could call her, she called me. She called me to say that they were going to leave the shutters for later and
planned on cleaning out their rather messy garage.

You know how I feel about organization!

I couldn't help myself. I made my way over to participate in the process. Shortly there after, I press for her to take the three kids who didn't want to be there to that which they had planned to, assuring her that I would stay and marshal the remaining folks into much productivity.

Really, her husband seems to barely tolerate my "home improvement plans" for their home at times, but I hope that he wanted me there plowing ahead. I chivvied him into throwing out some of the things that he had accumulated, pieces of wires and such, made a few suggestions as to carpentry adjustments he could make to their organization systems, swept much sawdust, and cleaned out a few shelves and boxes.

At one point, I was trying to reach something and stood on my tiptoes without thinking. While I could not really do so, the attempt sent sharp pain through my lower left leg. I wondered if perhaps I had pulled the fracture back apart. A short while later, I tripped over a broom that had been left lying on the floor.

Was I crazy for sweating for hours in their garage? While I really like this family and would do anything for them, all that work was really for me. I felt rather blessed to have such labor in which to drown my turmoil.

I vacillate between being angry at having my investment at work abandoned, fearing for my financial responsibilities, being overwhelmed for all that I have to think about, and feeling like a failure.

For a few hours today, I had a respite from all that. What more could I want?

I came home, sluiced off the dirt and grime, popped another pain killer, and tried to read a book. I keep turning the pages, but I don't really know what I am reading. I think I shall try to sleep...so I can start tomorrow anew.

I lost my job today.

I spent just over two years pouring my heart and soul into organizing chaos and creating collateral and a website that represents the capacity and scale of this organization. I have pulled together all the press, created a boilerplate materials...awk! Why even write it? Why punish myself further with the incredulity with which I am overwhelmed. I truly cannot see the wisdom in letting go someone who has produces what I have and demonstrated my skills...but there I go again.

I am completely and utterly overwhelmed...and I keep thinking about my mortgage and about health insurance. There is no choice for me. I have to keep it current to avoid the whole pre-existing condition exclusionary loophole. There is too much at stake for me.

I lost my job today.

I lost my job today and received many more free ferns.

In what world can you get an instant fern garden the same day you lose your job?

Do you subscribe to the belief that if something tastes particularly good it is a sign that your body is craving it? I am not sure if I do, but I know that at times water doesn't seem to quench my thirst the way Gatorade does.

I have never, ever liked the idea of a spinach salad. In fact, I have vehemently eschewed any and every opportunity to consume one.

Well, a few weeks ago, I got a free gourmet prepackaged salad that happened to be made of spinach instead of lettuce. Given the financial crunch my ungrateful HVAC has placed me in, I reluctant to pass it up even though the very idea of eating it dampened my appetite. I stared long and hard at the bowl before I could muster up the courage to take a bite. So, I am not quite sure that I can fully describe my surprise when I discovered that the spinach was, in actuality, quite tasty.

The deli across from work has started carrying salads, so I bought two last week, remembering how much I enjoyed the free one. In the past four months, greens have not been a part of my daily diet. They, too, seem to be more satisfying than usual, so I actually went to a grocery store for the first time since that horrible repair bill and bought a gargantuan tub of baby spinach and other fixings.

Tonight, for dinner, rather than the pantry food or left over food or old bean burritos (and 89 cent meal) or the few deli sandwiches I have bought in weak moments, I had a spinach salad with grilled chicken, black beans, sweet white corn (from Trader Joes), shredded carrots, crumbled bacon, diced cucumbers, and dried cranberries.

Spinach anyone?

My leg (formerly ankle) hurts. I found it difficult to ignore today. So, of course, it makes perfect sense that, once home, I wrapped my leg, cast and all, in a kitchen garbage bag and went outside to mow the lawn.

Close your eyes and picture a chia pet. Now, transplant that image to small spots across a plain of dirt. That is my front yard. It is funny, most of my back yard is lush and green (especially since I am no longer a mowing murderess), but there is a barren patch that stretches from the first of my lower deck all the way by the sheds and to the gate on the side of my house. Then, from the gate all along the side of the house is more lushness. But once you get to the front portion, there is really only a wide strip of lawn to the left (facing outward) in front of my rose bed. The rest is a barren wasteland barring the chia spots.

I haven't mowed in a couple of weeks, so my now longer grass was quite tall and in need of mowing.

I did feel a bit sorry for myself, slipping on the grass from wearing the garbage bag (I didn't want grass clippings all over the cast). Imagine how foolish I felt when I discovered that my writing student's mother had called with news of another free fern. Something to be thankful for again, instead of focusing on that which I wished were different.

This time, I will be getting a red cinnamon fern...I cannot wait to see it!

My writing student's mother gave me the gift of ferns today!

We actually scavenged them from her neighbor's yard. [Who doesn't want ferns in his/her yard?] My friend did more of the digging than I, but I was the one who greedily urged her to clear out this entire area of the yard and thin out another (that I would have to share the labors of the afternoon with her was weighing heavy on my mind as we considered whether or not we had a sufficiency).

When we returned to her house, I happily helped her plant the fern she kept (still feeling guilty about how many I was getting). I rather enjoyed planting with her. She is skilled with the shovel (were I to do so I would start wheezing), while I have a deft touch in scooping soil around the plant and properly pressing it down firmly. Sharing oneness with the soil is quite satisfying to me!

Her husband, after months of hinting, cooked chicken satay for me. I might have showed a bit more greed in consuming the results of his rather skilled culinary labors.

It was too dark when I returned home to plant mine, so I tucked them in a darkened corner and doused them with water. I cannot wait to see them in their new home!

This day had two bright spots:

1. The visit to the car place for the 30,000 check-up, state inspection, emissions test, and oil change was 1 and 1/2 hours shorter than estimated. The service manager actually put a priority on my work (instead of the usual two hour time frame for just an oil change...is it really free if it takes so long?). Perhaps this is because I have not yet been willing to fill out a positive survey after my service visits? Whatever the case, this is my sixth service visit and the first that was not an arduous ordeal. [I did bring a TV tray to use in the waiting room so that I could get some work done on my laptop. Let me tell you, it took great intestinal fortitude on my part to ignore the stares I received walking in with it.]

2. Kashi had a positive vet visit today. He is on the third medicine (another Chinese herb) trial to find something to help with his copious drinking and and oft violent tremoring. And...it is working! Kashi had gotten up to four bowls of 24 ounces a day (quite a bit for a small dog), but he has dropped back down to two. His tremors are worlds better too.

Now, do they make a Chinese herb for stubbornness?

I have been schlepping about on the boot cast for just over a week now. Doing so is getting old.

No one at work has made any attempt to help me get around or assist with things I am doing. In fact, at the awards luncheon on Monday, I had to lug three boxes of collateral, three 24"x36" display boards, and the display frame all by myself. These two men who came upon me in the parking garage stopped me to help. They asked what company I was with that would send a cripple to do the set-up. I changed the subject with my effusive thanks. Then today, this man, who was getting his briefcase from the car, spotted me going to the door and called to me to wait. At first, I didn't understand him and kept on walking. He then abandoned collecting this things together to come over and open both glass doors. It does hurt to push off with my bag leg to get the doors open, but I never failed to understand that he was trying to help.

I know my boss, if she were to read this, would say all I have to do is ask.

However...I have asked. I am usually greeted with hesitation or remarks they the person has other things to do. Why should one person, in a company of 65, be responsible for the set up and break down of events? I will be working and staff will just stand around me. Lending a helping hand is absolutely not a trait common to anyone I have encountered at work.

I nearly cried when I realized this stranger was going out of his way to help me. I wish I had help more often. I wish things just weren't so difficult.

I am struggling with writing these days. My heart is quite full of conflicting emotions, and I wonder about pouring them out here. I mean, this journal is for me, but I know others read it. So, I have hesitated to write.

I wanted my birthday to be special. I wanted my family to call and send cards. The day passed (and many days after) without cards. I wanted it to be special because of where I am right now.

I have been set aside by my mother, charged not to contact her unless I am ready to apologize for abusing her. She and my step-father heaped vile anger upon me via voice mail and email. All begun because I said I had already chosen my clothing for the trip I was taking to take the photos of her most recent project. I am approaching my forth decade and have been struggling to set the most basic of boundaries with her. She started to tell me what to wear. I replied that I had already chosen my clothing (work clothing since we would be at the show house, but a pants suit that would be most comfortable on the plane). She launched into a tirade about how selfish I was and what a disappointment I was and hung up on me. With that click, with the silence that followed, something moved inside that I could no longer ignore. It is not selfish of me to want to choose my own clothing. The words she flung at me were not what is true and real about who I am.

After wiping away my tears, praying about my words, and checking with a few others, I emailed boundaries for the trip: no criticism about my hair, clothing, eating choices, or decisions. We would focus on the work at hand...or I could remain at home. I was coming to help her. Period.

When she received the email and called me, I was in the shower and didn't answer. That was enough to send her over the edge. She is quite skilled at saying the unforgettable and used every verbal barb at her disposal. She also had my step-father call and leave an equally hurtful voice mail. Hurtful emails followed.

In addition to all the rest, she also claimed that I help her less and less in my own selfishness. I spent many hours helping with my grandmother's funeral and setting up the scholarship fund. I spent months on her website and weeks on her brochure. Yes, I never help her any more.

I will not apologize for abusing her. There is a line within me that I cannot, will not cross. She and my father never rescued me from my uncle's attentions as child. They regularly left us with violent drunks. My sister says that it was just the way things were back then. I disagree. I have accepted that I will never be able to talk with my family about the choices of that time and the scars that mar me still, because we just don't speak of such things. If you do not speak of them, then they didn't happen. There was a time I longed for that, but I have accepted that such a conversation, barring the grace of God, will never happen. However, I will never apologize for something that is completely untrue. I will never admit to being that which I abhor, that which I would never inflict on another person for the weight of it in my own life.

I have struggled for years with how to honor a parent who does not really love, who chooses to focus what needs to be "improved" over all else. I have struggled and failed at finding a balance between pleasing her and standing up for myself.

I never heard: "I believe in you." "I will always support you." "You can do anything you set your mind to do." I heard: "You are an embarrassment at your weight". "You are selfish, which is why you are not married. No one could stand living with you." "You wasted your time getting a Ph.D. since you don't even use it."

Even now, with three chronic, incurable diseases, she never called to see how I was doing, even when one of my siblings let her know I was ill. I had to learn to stop longing for a "mother."

I found myself in the position of no longer trying to please her, because I knew that would never be possible. I found myself in the position, however, of trying to mitigate the criticism sure to come by making choices that might appease her...clothing, hair, etc. But in the last few years, I have started responding to her directives by saying such things as 'I'm 35; I think I'm old enough to pick out my clothes." It didn't work. Perhaps my attempts were too feeble.

It is funny, her favorite book is When I Say No I Feel Guilty. I said, "no." I do not feel guilty. It cost me my family.

My brother believes it will blow over. My sister believes differently. She knows my mother has not spoken to her brother and sister for over two decades.

It has been five weeks. Waves of sadness wash over me still, yet I am walking in more freedom than I have in years. It is with chagrin and a bit regret that I have been realizing how very much I adjusted of who I am, of what I would prefer or enjoy, to avoid her criticism. It is relief that I no longer carry that burden.

It is not that I no longer wish to have a relationship with her. But I am no longer willing to cater to avoiding her displeasure, her vicious ire. I have tasted better.

My best friend's mother sent me a note with a refund check in which she signed off "Bonnie or Mom, whichever you prefer." She will never understand what her offer means to me. Her daughter sees the best in me, something I count as precious each and every day for the past decade. My mother sees the worst. My mother ridicules my guffaw laugh. My friend welcomes it.

While it is a struggle still to believe my friend over my mother's words that still ring in my ears, I choose to pick out my own clothing. I choose to wear lipstick only when the mood strikes. I choose to be accepted just as I am. I choose love.

One of the best birthday presents ever has been given to me this year. One of my friends who lives in Pennsylvania offered to drive down and pick the birds, Kashi, and I up, haul us back to her rather lovely home, and bring us all back home again on Sunday. Such a sacrifice of love all that driving!

Well, after packing far too much stuff in her vehicle, traveling four hours north, driving through a torrid rainstorm, dealing with two very exhausted boys, and stopping for a bathroom break, we arrived safely. While I only packed a backpack for myself, I did feel the need to also bring a duffel bag of pet supplies, my camera, my computer, Orange Gatorade, four pillows, the bird cages, Kashi's bed, my work bag, a baby gate, and some DVD's to watch. There was precious little room left for my friend and her two little boys.

Kashi feels like he has died and gone to doggy heaven. My friend's home is the largest one I have ever visited, with carpet in much of it, so he has been running around, traveling up and down the stairs, being happily chased by her three year old. Really, such room to frolic and explore, with a willing companion and without the slippage hazard of hard wood floors, is a true delight to him.

Today is definitely a good day.

I just arrived home from work...with more to do.

Last night, I worked until after 2:00. Then, well, I lay in bed for hours because my ankle ached. So, this morning, knowing my first (of five total) meeting was not until 11:00, I showed up at the doctor's office. Several x-rays later and a visit to an orthopedist, I learned that my "ankle" is not injured at all. I learned that my lower tibia is fractured. I learned that I should have seen him when it happened so that it could be in a cast. I learned that it is too late now to do so. And I learned that I would probably be in this boot cast for 6-8 weeks and on crutches for the first four weeks.

The crutches lasted to the parking lot. I am frankly too tired to haul myself around them.

I did take the opportunity to ask if I could work from home tomorrow to closet myself with the last of the collateral design work that has been pushed aside for other priorities for the past three weeks. I shall sleep through my commute time. I shall work in my pajamas. I shall be productive.

If I cannot write about how tired I am... If I cannot write about how much I am working each day and each evening... If I cannot write about how much my ankle hurts...

Well, then I should get back to work.

Hours to go before I sleep...hours to go before I sleep.

Okay, I believe that it is time that I admit I have a colossal failure in my lawn. An entire bag of seed (enough for 4 times the size of my yard) wasted. I watered and watered by hand, but it appears as if the water was not enough to soak through the uppermost layer of topsoil. I am in mourning at this moment for a lawn that will not be.

I do believe that since is rather STINKING hot just now, I shall give up all current attempts at establishing a peaceful sea of green and pin my last hopes on the fall...crossing my fingers that those 2,400 lbs of top soil stay put and do NOT fill up with weeds welcoming the fertile opportunity to expand their domain.

~~~~

Madison's weight has inexplicably plummeted. I am worried about my avian friend...

NOTE: Should you be considering watching a cheezy Sci-Fi movie entitled Dark Breed...skip it.

Well, I am half ashamed to admit have finished watching six hours of the American Paintball Championships. By hour four, I had teams I was routing for and players I could identify. No words written, nary a one. More naps. Two books read. A whole vacation blown.

I did not wake up yesterday until 2:58 in the afternoon! I couldn't believe it. I feel as if I am being robbed of my mini-vacation. Today, while I managed to get out of bed by noon, I ended up lounging the whole day away reading and napping and nary a word written on either of my two novels.

I keep thinking that there is time to write still left today, but I am already thinking that another nap might be in order.

I suppose all that extra candle burning has caught up with me.

Today was my first day of my four-day holiday, but I practically spent the whole day running around with my father to help him get his Passport application off for processing and pick up a few things we both needed.

My b-day is just a week or so away and for it, I have asked those who might be leaning toward a gift to send just money because I would like to pool it toward a video camera. I want to start recording those things about my life that I am forgetting or might forget. I want to make memories for later. But I also want to do more. I want to capture the family stories that my father tells me nearly every time we are together. He is loath to be on film, but he is the only one left to carry this history and his memory if failing more quickly than mine. Never more have I been convinced of this than I have been today.

Last night, he called me back four times in a row to ask the same questions about coming over today. Five total calls and I still wondered if he would show up today.

He called this morning to say he was lost. This is the second time in three trips over here that he has had to point out landmarks and streets to me for me to figure out where he is and navigate him back toward my home. Those of you who know me understand the lucridiousness of this. I am, possibly, the most navigationly challenged person in America.

I had to walk him through his papers at the Post Office again and again. Once we finished and we had walked outside, he wanted to go back inside to retrieve his birth certificate. I had to reassured him again and again that he was supposed to submit it with his application and he would get it back. I told him so while we were at Target, at Petco, and when he was getting in the car.

He is only 63. I hate what is happening to him and the fact that he won't go see a doctor when there is so many good drugs these days for what he is experiencing.

I did have to get up at 8:00 after staying up until 2:00 to try and send the file. At least this morning it went through and I have tomorrow and Sunday and Monday to sleep.

Right now, my bed is calling me.

ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am taking the vacation day, but yet I am still working this evening! I turned off my Blackberry and vowed not to turn it back on until Tuesday. However, I have a project I need to get to the Printer before tomorrow morning. I stayed at the office until 8:00 waiting to get back in touch with my boss so that she could help proof the work. I made the three changes and then came home to PDF the document before using WinZip to package it for FPT via the Printer's website (For whatever reason, I cannot use any FTP site at work and always have to use my home computer to do so). And, alas, I discovered that the file on my flash drive is corrupted--according to Adobe PageMaker--and I have abandoned my three-hour plus attempt to repair it and am trying to transfer the original document from my work server to my home computer. However, the file is 49 Megs and the process is going to take a long while more, then I need to make the changes again and start the upload to the Printer process.

I want to be done...so desperately I do. Mentally, I feel like a child stamping her foot in a temper tantrum, but there is nothing that I can do. I just have to work through this before I can say that I am done until Tuesday.

What did I say I would do? Treat this all as an opportunity? Mmmm...perhaps a Dr. Pepper will help!

I think I will pop in a movie to help pass the time. Perhaps Deep Impact would be fitting? A disaster movie for a disastrous evening?

I could say that I was half-way through my marathon week, but thoughts of blowing a vacation day on Friday to extend the holiday weekend further are dancing around my head. Were that to be the case, I am on the downhill road to completing this arduous journey.

Again, I have hours still to go, hours and hours and hours. I did manage to work with my writing student this evening. Our plans included spending one hour on homework/work items and two hours on our stories. We ended up working the entire time on our obligations instead of our desires. I must admit, though, that while I wanted to spend time with Megan and Aryanth, I surprised myself with some purely academic thinking. I am not through, but I am writing about the component concepts of communications without finding some sort of reference, thinking theoretical all on my own and loving it.

I discovered something surprising to me today. Last Monday, while golfing, I got a free Gatorade and ended up bringing it home. It was Orange, which I remember not liking, but I kept it because it was free (I'm still struggling with the ramifications of $4,500 combo of accident and new HVAC system). Tonight, I drank it because it was available in the refrigerator and I was reluctant to haul myself down the steps to the basement for a new bottle of the Gatorade that I prefer (Have I mentioned lately that I am tired?). Well, what do you know! I actually guzzled the Orange greedily and was saddened to see the empty bottle. I am thinking that my next Gatorade run should include more Orange.

Here is my thoughts on continuums that I popped into my concept paper:

Note: Many consider a continuum to be represented in one dimensional, linear format. However, often continuums are best represented in two or three dimensions. For example, questions inform answers and answers often lead to more questions. Therefore, the Q&A process exists on a continuum, one that may best be represented in a two dimensional format. One example would be a rectangle bisected from one corner to another. Any vertical line drawn within the box would have some part question and some part answer. Since, conversations can be written, aural, and/or visual, a three dimensional representation may serve best. A pyramid, with the three mechanisms of conversation represented on each side, could serve as a visual representation of a conversation, with the continuum being a plane, on any axis, slicing through the pyramid.

In many ways, my day is just beginning. I am certainly burning the candle on either end, with my valliant attempt to keep my new grass seeds sufficiently moist, willing them to grow, for the fourth time to be the "charm."

Tonight I am trying to organize thoughts for a future of which I am uncertain, working with half-knowledge of integral components and trying to maintain a positive outlook. I am still stubbornly clinging to the idea of possibility, but I find myself worn down by those who are mired in the what has been rather than the what could be.

I left ankle seems to hurt a bit more with each passing day.

Knowing that I have hours still to go, I thought perhaps I would treat myself to my first Thermacare pack, one for my neck since I am having ever increasing stiffness and pain in that area. Now, I just have to remember where I put the box when I unpacked my shopping bags a few weeks ago.

We had something like a five-hour meeting today that was needed, yet arduous. This week, I have multiple-meeting days, much homework for many of them, and still my own work to do. The very thought of it makes me weary. What I am trying to do, however, is to think of each one as an opportunity to do something different, to think critically, to delve into the experience.

How will I do?

I hurt my right ankle today. It is a bit inconvenient since I am still wearing a brace on my left ankle from a fall at work. My right ankle is bruised and swollen and hurts went I walk. But that does not bother me as much as the fact that I cannot remember how I hurt it. I remember that whatever happened hurt at the time and I remember wondering if it would be a momentary twinge or a longer-term hurt. However, I cannot remember actually hurting it. What happened is just not available to me. That frightens me more than the thought of two bum ankles.

I took Kashi for a walk and was attacked by two dogs. I called animal control and spent about an hour with the officer. I napped for about two hours because I awoke so tired that I was dizzy. I watered the lawn twice. I ate two left over burritos from Taco Bell, drank two Dr Peppers and a glass of milk, and munched on candy from that Variety Store. I put out more birdseed and watered the ever thirsty fountain on my deck. I remember all of that...I just don't remember how I hurt my ankle.

2,400 pounds of topsoil! Yep, that's right. Sixty 40-lb bags are now on my yard, filled with grass seed, watered, and carrying my hopes for a beautiful lawn.

I slept until noon. It would have been longer, but Fancy and Madison were impatient about getting out of their cage for the day since it is the weekend. I reluctantly rolled out of bed, let Kashi outside, and welcomed the day with my birds. For the next two hours, I sat on the couch and channel-surfed, thinking about my lawn.

I have tried twice to create a front yard after the whole sewage pipe fiasco...and failed twice. Of course, now that I have committed to stop murdering as I mow, I thought perhaps just one more try might be worth the labor.

So, I picked up the phone to see if my writing student's brother was available for hard labor. I half hoped he wasn't, but he was. I threw on some clothes and went to pick him up. Gloves in hand, he joined me in the car and off to Lowe's we went. I figured foregoing groceries a while longer (the time of depending on what's in the pantry is nearing an end--I'm running out of stuff) in favor of spending some money on the yard would be a great investment because pulling up to a green lawn each day would be quite a pleasure to me.

Our first trip was 20 bags of top soil and 7 of mulch. I really wanted to mulch the flower bed I created with my best friend and got enough to finish the mulch in the front. Let me tell you, even with my helper, lugging the bags onto the cart, loading them into the car, and then schlepping them across the yard is quite draining and really not much fun. I had thought that 20 bags would do it. Boy, was I wrong.

So with the soil spread out and the mulch in place, we headed back to Lowe's with the ambitious goal of getting 40 more bags of top soil. That is 40 bags to get on the cart, into the car, and onto the yard. When we were checking out, the cashier watched us struggle to move the cart up and then told me that "next time" we could just pay for them and drive around back where someone would load the items into my car. Really, if I were a violent person, I would have slugged her just then. She did call for help to get the bags in the car. So my helper and I had our own help.

40 more bags later, I thought we had sufficient cover to the barren spots in the back and the side yards and all over the front yard. I ran my helper home and came back to start the seeding process. Worried a bit about the birds who've come to enjoy my backyard offerings, I put seed out, worked it into the soil, and covered the soil with seed again. Surely I will get a lawn out of this!

I actually am contemplating making the work of establishing a new lawn a bit harder. I will have to water twice a day, but I am considering keeping Kashi out of the back yard for at least a couple of weeks. Of course, he has already "needed" to be walked three times since I finished my labors. I am not sure I can keep it up, but there were two very barren spots at the bottom of my steps where he regularly lands as he leaps from them to the yard. I am hoping that if I could grow grass there, it might hold up under his enthusiastic coming and goings if given a proper start.

So, here I sit on the couch, weary from my labors, but excited as to the possibility, the potential of this day.

As tired as I am, as soon as I got home I stripped off my work clothes, put on my mowing ones, and headed outside. After raising the lawn mower four notches, I proceeded to work my way around the yard. I must admit that it is a wee bit hard for me to feel as if I did a proper job since it is not closely cropped, but I did give it a neat trim.

Kashi seem to like it. He rolled around a bit and found it quite cushy.

Since I am now officially birdie central, I sat out on the deck for a while listening to the local chatter. When I realized that I was growing hungry, I went back through the house to retrieve the pizza I had left in the car (free food from work). I stopped to let Fancy and Madison hop on my shoulder because I thought they would like to listen to the avian news.

Fancy has been out with me many times, but this was only Madison's third time. With his crest raised, he listened intently to the news and then joined the conversation. I just love hearing his trill. However, a car drove by and startled him. Madison took off and flew all the way down the street. I was horrified. Fancy had shot off back toward the house, so I left her to race down the street after Madison. I was terrified that another car would come before I could catch him. Thankfully, I found him safely perched on the rear view mirror of a truck.

I huffed and puffed my way back to my house, found Fancy in the rose bushes, and brought them both inside. While breathing asthma medicine through the nebulizer, I thought how remarkable it was that he flew so far on clipped wings. Really, he is such a stubborn bird!

My I am bleary-eyed with exhaustion, but I have work still to do.

I have worked every evening, well past midnight. I have gotten up early every morning to get in some more work before heading to the office. I have struggled with dizziness because of my fatigue. My muscles are weak and not holding my joints as they should. My ankle still hurts from a fall a week ago, my back and neck hurt from the arthritis (I have forgotten to take my medicine twice this week), and these strange bruises on my arms hurt. I am tired. Yet, I have work to do.

All this week, I have been looking forward to Friday...to the knowledge that even if I work this weekend, I will get to sleep in on Saturday as long as I wish.

I only hope that all of this will not be for naught.

Speaking of getting it right, I have learned that I have been torturing my grass.

"Mow it lower! You need to put it on the lowest setting. Get it right!" My mother has many times berated me about mowing the lawn right. So, for the past four years, I have ever vigilant about getting it lower and lower. My have I gotten good at it.

However, my best friend, during her last visit, very gently told me that I was mowing my lawn too low! What? I was ever so sure that she was completely wrong. Alas, come to find that a person's lawn should be much, much higher than a quarter of an inch.

http://www.turfgrasssod.org/lawninstitute/homelawn_programs.htm

Having studied the above, I realized why the new lawn I grew from seed last year died. I killed it. When I think of all those weeks of watering every morning and every evening as I did three cycles of seeding, I could cry since it was all for naught. ARGH!

So, I have not mowed for two weeks to see if I could let my new grass recover enough to save it from permanent harm. I may be succeeding. I think that now I know why the front yard died off so quickly, I might try again.

What do you think? Can I get it right?

This time...Kashi did not get my cookie. But then again...neither did I.

Kashi has been stalking my bag for a few days. I could not figure out why since I couldn't remember leaving any food in it. Couldn't remember? I should have known to look.

This evening, I emptied out the entire bag since I nearly lost a finger getting near it. I pulled out all the things I am working on and my bible verse memory cards and my inhalers and my pens and my emergency injector...and...a very hard cookie.

Will I ever get it right?

I had the best golf day of my life.
I had the worst golf day of my life.

I putted with confidence and accuracy.
I wore golf shoes for the first time.
In a best ball format, my ball was best part of the time.
I had several clutch shots.
It was cool and breezy.
On the green, my foursome looked to my stroke.
I laughed with joy.
I was part of an 80.

I killed a goose.
Standing over a drive, I hit with sureness of my stroke.
I heard it before my head rose up from the swing.
I killed a goose.
I stood there, tears streaming down my face.
I watched it suffer.
I watched the other geese gather round in confusion.
I wanted in horror as it bled and died.
I killed.

That is not the way golf is supposed to be.
Fancy and Madison carry my heart.
I find joy in my avian visitors who partake of my backyard offerings.
Even now, as I type, the tears are flowing once more.
I killed a goose.

This was my best day of golf.
This was my worst day of golf.

We are about to start movie number 10.

My dad stayed another day, bumming around and fully engaged in my movie marathon quest. The last time we did this was my birthday, last year or the year before. I cannot remember.

I took a movie at the breakfast dive where we eat together when he comes over. Having the small video feature on the phone makes me even more desirous of a camcorder for my birthday. I am working up the nerve to just ask those who consider gifts to just send a check. There is too much I do not remember. Too much my father is losing. I wanted to capture life for both of us.


I would NOT recommend MI 2. The darned thing was so long because at least half the movie is shot in slow motion. It got old. I introduced Dad to The Game. He was amazed by it and was glad we picked up a copy for him during our brief Walmart trip yesterday (yes...that should be added to the list of reasons why we only got 4 movies in...along with my boss' phone call, which prompted me needed to log onto the work server and take care of a few things). Spiderman 2 was sad and not the best choice when trying to just escape for a while. Terminator 3 was interesting, though that freaky female terminator's stare got a bit old as well. Batman Begins was just as satisfying the second time round as it was the first. Escape from Alcatraz was great...and led to a viewing of The Rock. Wanting to see a bit more of Clint, we popped in Absolute Power. Hackman is a great bad guy. Pleasantville is quite thought provoking, ...lots of 'what ifs' to flit around your mind...as is the next on the pile of movies... The Majestic.


NOTE: It is probably a sound recommendation to only order Eggs Benedict at upscale restaurants. Should you fail to abide by this recommendation and do so at a place, say, like a breakfast dive and have a plate set down before you on which your two breakfast muffins could not be seen for the lake of runny yellow sauce that passed as bernaise sauce, save yourself a bit of discomfort and DO NOT bite into soggy muffins from the stupid belief that you should at least eat some of it. Trust me...you will still be shuddering at the taste hours later.

We only managed to get in four movies today. I am not sure why...but perhaps I can blame Ruby Tuesdays. Dad wanted to eat there and we spent quite a bit of time waiting on our waitress. Perhaps even a whole movie's time.

And then there is the fact that all the movies we watched today were long ones.

It is good to be with someone who not only is content, but also enjoys watching movie after movie, talking during them to discuss characters and such, and does not tire of the couch/green chair.

Monday was my day off to rest before the big event, to write for me. I worked all day and didn't add but two words to my story.

I worked until 8:00 tonight because tomorrow I am trying again to take a day off. I sifted through all the things that have been lingering a bit and tossed a few productive emails and returned four calls and cleared my desk and...and...transfered to my flash drive the work I wanted to cover for the weekend.

The flash drive is sitting in my computer still.

Is that a sign? I could transfer the files via our remote connection (that would take practically half the weekend), but is leaving it behind a sign that I really shouldn't try to squeeze in a few things this long weekend?

I called my father. He is coming over at 11:00 in the morning armed with a dozen movies and an overnight bag. We are going to see how many we can watch in a twenty-four hour period. I plan to greet him at the door in my pajamas and the remote.

Dad has the list, but a few that I can remember are: Absolute Power, MI 2, Escape from Alcatraz, X-men 2, Fried Green Tomatoes, and Spiderman 2.

Can you see a theme there?

I am trying to think of this day, to remember how it went. I am trying to recall what I accomplished, what I managed to do. I cannot remember.


I keep thinking about yesterday and everything it was, everything it wasn't.

I keep thinking about my job, everything it is, everything it isn't, everything it could be.

I keep thinking about the words hurled at me last week, changing my life in but a moment.


I awoke last night (this morning) at 3:00 am and could not go back to sleep. I tried for hours. I cried for hours. I prayed. I read the bible. I logged onto the server and worked. But really...it was all for naught.

I know I stumbled my way through this day.

If I send you two, not once but twice, schedules outlining the sequence of an event, shouldn't that be enough? I think so. Yet, for this event, somehow once again I have some sort of communications failure because someone couldn't get by with one letter, one postcard, approximately one dozen emails (to the person's staff), and two schedules. Yep, I failed as a communicator.

I am weary.

Several residents took the wine bottle center pieces I made... I guess they liked them, at least...

One victory was that I hit the money right on with the food. Just some cheese was left over, nothing much. The residents chowed down in my cafe. I was glad for that. The honoree was satisfied.

Still, I am weary.

Do you know how long it takes to remove the labels from 11 wine bottles, stick on new labels, and then drip candle wax all over them? TOO LONG!

I have been at it since about 7:00 PM and am not nearly finished.

Will anyone appreciate the cafe ambiance that I am struggling so hard to create with my non-artsy nature? I have decorative menu boards, flowers, hanging baskets, and now these candle-drippy wine bottles.

For a vacation day, I have done more work than I usually do in a work day... Tomorrow is going to be a long, long, long day.

I gardened with my best friend today!

We puttered in the soil together, ripping out plants that had overtaken my side flowerbed and restored beauty to the area. She is a great worker, my friend, out planting me by a mile. Of course, I was working on the side with more of that lovely Virginia clay than she had. Still, she wields a mighty trowel.

They both helped me with a bit more pruning. I really, really did not want to do so, but she was right to push me to trim even more on one of my Rose of Sharon bushes-turned trees.

After a wonderful time of shared oneness with the soil, we had a really great meal, followed by ice cream cones (her husband had coffee) made sweeter by walking around Old Towne a bit.

I was saddened to see them go, but I was so very thankful for the visit. You see, I was quite grumpy and short tempered a bit yesterday whilst sneezing ten, fifteen times in a row. But neither of them criticized me for it or punished me for it. They just gave me a bit of space (and plenty of quickly-handed-to-me-Kleenex) and went on with our day.

To be accepted for who you are is a many splendored thing.

On an errand for work, my friends and I visited a Variety Store in search of drippy candles. [I am trying to create the ambiance of an outdoor cafe for a community center dedication ceremony on Tuesday.] Walking through the doors was like walking through time.

I, of course, noticed the candy isle right away and found myself delighted to greet two of my childhood friends: sugar babies and sugar daddies. Yum. I may just possibly have abandoned my strict no-spending-because-of-the-car-accident-and-HVAC-work policy to fill a bag of the sweets from yesteryears.

I found the candles...and much more. There were those plastic coin purses that you squeeze to open and Chinese finger traps. My best friend's husband enjoyed the match car filled toy isle. I found a miniature ceramic frog for one of my bonsai pots. I moaned and groaned over a lady bug mug, but managed to resist. My best friend found a small lady bug magnet and managed to sneak it past me to surprise as a gift. I bought her a miniature purple flashlight key chain and a purple Le Pen pen. [She likes all things purple].

We really sort of rushed through the store for it was late and we had had a long day. Such good friends they are...walking examples of Christ's love. In the morning, my friend had made the most sumptuous breakfast casserole. I then started on the worst allergy attack that I have had since moving here 8 years ago. We went off to Target to get some medicine (and a bathing suit for her daughter and Saran wrap for me). Even though we were all hungry, they let me dash into The Home Depot for some more of that miracle clog bust Zep since bathing Kashi was the last straw for my upstairs bathtub drain.

After all my errands were done and we had gotten a bite to eat, I dropped them off at Mount Vernon and took their sweet child home for a nap. I rested myself, read the bible, and then wrote some on my novel.

When I went to pick them up, tired as they were, they were willing to make the trek to the store so that I could get my candles.

A pizza, a game of Phase 10, and a movie topped off this day.

The sweet taste of childhood savored with the sweet taste of friendship.

My friend was a bit delayed by the bane of my existence: traffic.

Her delay gave me the opportunity to get the bird cage cleaned, the dog bathed, and the house vacuumed (I had to empty the container three times). Since she had yet to arrive, I went outside to work in the yard.

I mowed the dying weeds in the front yard (when I put out the weed killer to see what would happen, I failed to consider how much uglier brown weeds are than green ones) and the grass in the back yard. I also mowed the easement/alley (I usually do so every third mow or so). I also raked the leaves than had fallen since my last yard work session into the easement and mulched them with the mower so that I did not have to bag them. I planted the three begonias that were replacements in the front bed and the ivy that was a replacement for the one that sits on the table next to my couch (my heart is a bit more greener than my thumb). I also planted the rest of the begonia pack in four of the empty pots on my deck. I just love a bit of color out there! Finally, I hand watered the lawn, the new plants, the old plants, and for good measure the dying weeds.

I was spraying the bird droppings off my car when she finally arrived. I was most glad to see my friend and her daughter and husband and greet her baby-to-bed. I was a wee bit glad because she saved me from getting to work on polishing the silver (the next chore on my list).

Already my friend has found two things that were lost (yes, she found the Corticool practically the first moment she cast her eyes about the living room after sitting down on the couch). She is most that brilliant way.

I am blessed.

I have dusted all three levels, cleaned the basement bathroom, swept and mopped the laminate floor in the basement, cleaned the kitchen, and cleaned the microwave. Tomorrow my plan is to vacuum, clean the bird cage, and give Kashi a bath. Everything is getting a once over so that my best friend does not have to avert her eyes from the less-than-cleanly environment of my home. I am cleaning to let her know that I am thankful she is still visiting despite the change in plans and no longer needing her to sit with my babies. Lately, I have been too tired do much cleaning for myself.

I have much practice in averting my eyes...

Last night, I worked until 3 AM writing press pieces for work. One is something I believe is good, but my boss believes is good writing, but the wrong focus. Today, I made my argument for its use. She told me it was a good case. That she absolutely disagreed with me. That I could use it. That she was proud of me for arguing with her. I am confused.

I took courage and stood up for myself again this evening. Doing so was a disaster...I received back absolute vitriol. Does it count that I tried?

Have I lost or gained?

How can I lose something in my rather small abode?

Just this morning I was telling my best friend that I have four small poison ivy blisters that I have been coating in Corticool in the hopes that I can keep them from bursting and thus spreading into a full blown attack. If that happens, I will have to take prednisone and I really, really, really do not want to do so. Three are on the inside of my forearm and one in on my left knee. [Darn that yard work!]

I was telling her of my dilemma about how the clear covering rubs off half way through my day at work. If I took the tube of medicine to work, I would surely leave it there and most likely start scratching myself at night while I am sleeping. But not having it during the day is an equal risk. The tube cost $7, so I was loath to run out and purchase another for the office. "No," I told her, "I was better off keeping it right on my bathroom sink where I could always find it."

I came home today and discovered it is gone. Where could it be? I checked my bedroom, my study (near the computer), and next to the couch to no avail. It takes a while for the stuff to dry, but I usually just read until I can put clothing over the areas. Why would I move it from the place it should be given how faulty my MS riddled brain is? It just doesn't make sense. I spoke about it this morning and then I lose it!

ARGH!

I am itching just thinking about it.


NOTE: Putting scotch tape over poison ivy blisters as a protective covering is not advised as a replacement for Corticool.

In most books or stories, today, the reader or the audience is not oft addressed as was the case in years past. Recently, I listened to Jane Eyre on tape. I've read the book several times, yet I didn't seem to remember that Bronte addresses her reader directly, sometimes as “dear reader.”

I wonder. Did she ever envision, as she wrote those words, that I would be her reader in the next century while listening to her story on an audio-tape? Of course she would not have known about audio-tapes, and she most likely never dreamed about them, but did she dream about how long her story would last, how many it would touch?

How did she think about her audience? Did she write for one particular audience and find herself championed by others? Did she work at her literacy craft hoping someday it would become the subject in courses of higher learning? Or did she just think of another woman who might lose herself in the loves and losses of someone like Jane?

What did she really think of Jane? Did she understand her? Respect her? Wish she were stronger?

Despite being a published author, was Bronte writing for her audience or was she really just writing for herself? Was she just working, making an earning by wordsmithing, or did she find herself compelled to play with words, arranging and rearranging them to create the images and stories she envisioned, to make meaning for one person and another, always the same, always different?

Dear Reader, what do you think?