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While in college at the age of 21, I owned a gold Mustang. It eventually developed body damage caused so many Ohio winters with salt on the roads. A section by the rear door simply rusted through. So, not having anything better to do, I decided to fix it. "Linda's Body Work Inc." I just looked up directions, bought the fiberglass, paint and adherent, then went to work. I clearly recall working on it in the parking lot outside my apartment, feeling so proud of myself. When I later showed my Dad my now "scar-less" car, he just looked at me, speechless. I'm not sure he ever actually believed I did it myself. But I did.
A couple years later, my battery went dead. You know batteries, those complicated boxes that are buried amongst the masses of technical, well... "things" under a car hood. Now, back in the early 70's in pre-emissions days, batteries could still actually be seen under the hood, and owners could fix them. So once again I looked up instructions, and did it myself. I recall a roommate's boyfriend walked by and stopped while I worked, speechless that this female would even try it. Car worked great after that. And that guy started to be nicer to me too. Treated me with new respect.
I had a flat tire one day during a trip to Ohio. Stopped the car, got out my jack and began to change the tire. Moments later a man stopped to help me. "No thanks, I'm fine." But his maleness couldn't let it go, so I finally let him finish. He'd have been crushed otherwise. Men.
Today I went out to help Sam install new wiper blades and add wiper fluid to his empty tank. He opened the hood, found the tank, poured the fluid. I watched. And on the blades, well, they're still sitting on the hood. Have been for over an hour. I can't make out the instructions and neither can he.
Of all the listed repairs, the blades surely have to be the easiest fix. Criminy. I'm losing it. But to be honest, no way could I still do auto body repairs, install a battery, or change a tire. Some things just have to go by the wayside. That I can still cook noodles will have to be enough.
Man, I loved that Mustang.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oh Grow Up
The best thing to happen on mornings when I'm feeling lethargic is for me to read something that really pisses me off!
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Abnormal
Hey! What's going on? I feel normal. And that's not normal. I'm not in pain. I am a bit hungry. I'm not depressed, and I have stuff to do. Nothing about that list is normal, not lately anyway.
I met a friend in Bowie today, a 60 minute round-trip. Before I left, I thought, "Oh, it's so far, but I'll make it. I won't complain...(poor me).... Why couldn't she just come here...(poor me)?" But once I arrived, it seemed like nothing at all, and I didn't pass out from weariness. Hm.
I even stopped at a nearby shop before returning home - something I never do anymore, since shopping is oh, so hard! I bought a new cutting board to replace the one I ruined with a hot pan. I ran a real live errand. Hm.
Yesterday I mailed a standard form to a publisher in England. I'm trying to find one to take on my book about Sam, about Asperger's. Why an English publisher? Well, I had the name, so why not? And, they published some books about Asperger's already, so again, why not? I figured I'd hear back in a month or so. Well, wrong again. They replied within 12 hours. They want to read more of my draft. Hm.
I usually read about five books a year, tops. I'm now reading "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It's the sixth book I've read in the past six weeks, most being classics that I managed to never read while in school. Plus, some history books, including one by Sarah Vowell, a brilliant woman. I'm hoping my daughter, an English teacher, will be proud of me. Another Mark Twain classic is waiting nearby. Hm.
I saw my oncologist yesterday. I have stage 4 cancer, no drugs left to help me, and the tumor is growing. He says I look like I don't have cancer at all, and frankly, I feel okay (if you don't count "old".) What the heck? I was supposed to be in hospice by now. But I'm fixing dinner, cleaning the house (a miracle in and of itself),writing letters, talking to friends, and planning to have our carpets all redone. When does the "dying" part begin? Hm.
This life is sure not what I thought it would be. Anymore it seems so... abnormal. But my normals were getting so horrid. Abnormal is just fine. Thank God.
I met a friend in Bowie today, a 60 minute round-trip. Before I left, I thought, "Oh, it's so far, but I'll make it. I won't complain...(poor me).... Why couldn't she just come here...(poor me)?" But once I arrived, it seemed like nothing at all, and I didn't pass out from weariness. Hm.
I even stopped at a nearby shop before returning home - something I never do anymore, since shopping is oh, so hard! I bought a new cutting board to replace the one I ruined with a hot pan. I ran a real live errand. Hm.
Yesterday I mailed a standard form to a publisher in England. I'm trying to find one to take on my book about Sam, about Asperger's. Why an English publisher? Well, I had the name, so why not? And, they published some books about Asperger's already, so again, why not? I figured I'd hear back in a month or so. Well, wrong again. They replied within 12 hours. They want to read more of my draft. Hm.
I usually read about five books a year, tops. I'm now reading "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It's the sixth book I've read in the past six weeks, most being classics that I managed to never read while in school. Plus, some history books, including one by Sarah Vowell, a brilliant woman. I'm hoping my daughter, an English teacher, will be proud of me. Another Mark Twain classic is waiting nearby. Hm.
I saw my oncologist yesterday. I have stage 4 cancer, no drugs left to help me, and the tumor is growing. He says I look like I don't have cancer at all, and frankly, I feel okay (if you don't count "old".) What the heck? I was supposed to be in hospice by now. But I'm fixing dinner, cleaning the house (a miracle in and of itself),writing letters, talking to friends, and planning to have our carpets all redone. When does the "dying" part begin? Hm.
This life is sure not what I thought it would be. Anymore it seems so... abnormal. But my normals were getting so horrid. Abnormal is just fine. Thank God.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Weeds for My Dad
Weeds. Do you love them as much as I do? Probably not.
I hated weeds as a kid. Dad (a nurseryman) would have us kids go out to the fields and pull and hoe weeds from amidst all the nursery stock, probably to build character in us. Wait, he surely did it just to get the dang things out of his fields! And oh how I hated it. I'd take a break to lean on my hoe, exhausted, weary, dying of thirst, feeling so sorry for little ole me, so hot and tired and put upon. And that was after only five minutes outside in the sunshine, with three of them spent walking out to the field! I even knew I could go in for a lemonade after I completed just one row. I was such a pansy.
What I remember now is how soft the soil was back in Ohio. Just soft dark brown earth... no rocks, red soil and hard gray clay to stop my hoe from even entering the ground, like here in MD. Oh, I had it so easy back then. I can barely stomp a shovel into the resistant ground here now.
I didn't care about my character as a kid. I just wanted to go read my books up in a tree out in the woods. Dang old weeds! But I did it, and learned how to survive. And... I learned how to work the earth, despite it all. I'm pretty good at growing things today, despite this horrid MD soil. Dad would be proud of me.
Today Sam hates to empty the dishwasher, hates to take out the trash, and hates to make his own salads. But mark my words, when he is 40, he'll be doing all that with no thought of letting someone else do it for him. It'll be part of who he is, just like the weeds are of me.
Today when Sam asks me to throw a few hoops with him out in our driveway, I tend to irritate him by stopping every few minutes to lean over and pull the few weeds I see peeping up out of the garden nearby. I just can't stand to see them there. They call my name, it seems. Or maybe they call my Dad's name, reminding me of days gone by. Dad would be so pleased with my garden.
Well, maybe not at the moment, it's a dang mess - I've just been through four months of misery and pain with the cancer and all - but give me some time. When it gets warmer, I'll be out there with my hoe, doing what Dad taught me to do. The earth will be my salvation and healing. I'll wear my heavy, worn old garden gloves, the ones that say "Vic" on them. Thanks, Dad.
I hated weeds as a kid. Dad (a nurseryman) would have us kids go out to the fields and pull and hoe weeds from amidst all the nursery stock, probably to build character in us. Wait, he surely did it just to get the dang things out of his fields! And oh how I hated it. I'd take a break to lean on my hoe, exhausted, weary, dying of thirst, feeling so sorry for little ole me, so hot and tired and put upon. And that was after only five minutes outside in the sunshine, with three of them spent walking out to the field! I even knew I could go in for a lemonade after I completed just one row. I was such a pansy.
What I remember now is how soft the soil was back in Ohio. Just soft dark brown earth... no rocks, red soil and hard gray clay to stop my hoe from even entering the ground, like here in MD. Oh, I had it so easy back then. I can barely stomp a shovel into the resistant ground here now.
I didn't care about my character as a kid. I just wanted to go read my books up in a tree out in the woods. Dang old weeds! But I did it, and learned how to survive. And... I learned how to work the earth, despite it all. I'm pretty good at growing things today, despite this horrid MD soil. Dad would be proud of me.
Today Sam hates to empty the dishwasher, hates to take out the trash, and hates to make his own salads. But mark my words, when he is 40, he'll be doing all that with no thought of letting someone else do it for him. It'll be part of who he is, just like the weeds are of me.
Today when Sam asks me to throw a few hoops with him out in our driveway, I tend to irritate him by stopping every few minutes to lean over and pull the few weeds I see peeping up out of the garden nearby. I just can't stand to see them there. They call my name, it seems. Or maybe they call my Dad's name, reminding me of days gone by. Dad would be so pleased with my garden.
Well, maybe not at the moment, it's a dang mess - I've just been through four months of misery and pain with the cancer and all - but give me some time. When it gets warmer, I'll be out there with my hoe, doing what Dad taught me to do. The earth will be my salvation and healing. I'll wear my heavy, worn old garden gloves, the ones that say "Vic" on them. Thanks, Dad.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Details, details...
Well, I only turned this on to do a test. But now that I'm here...
Several people have mentioned having difficulty posting comments. I don't know why. Be sure to go down to the bottom and click on the "comments" link after completing your message. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Comment away, good or bad!
I know many people read this, but only 17 are posted. You don't have to be listed if you prefer to remain anonymous. Just "Bookmark" the link and you can return anytime. I have never figured out how to notify you of new postings, so it's up to you to look. The one person who is able to do that... doesn't know how she did it either! I usually do one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
This is short today. And if you just happened to tune in...please pray that the excruciating pain in my belly simply goes away. It's double-over, mind-numbing, unbearable pain but I cannot (WILL NOT) endure another surgery. Thanks.
P.S. It only stops hurting when I've stopped eating. For a whole day. My pants are getting baggy.
Several people have mentioned having difficulty posting comments. I don't know why. Be sure to go down to the bottom and click on the "comments" link after completing your message. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Comment away, good or bad!
I know many people read this, but only 17 are posted. You don't have to be listed if you prefer to remain anonymous. Just "Bookmark" the link and you can return anytime. I have never figured out how to notify you of new postings, so it's up to you to look. The one person who is able to do that... doesn't know how she did it either! I usually do one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
This is short today. And if you just happened to tune in...please pray that the excruciating pain in my belly simply goes away. It's double-over, mind-numbing, unbearable pain but I cannot (WILL NOT) endure another surgery. Thanks.
P.S. It only stops hurting when I've stopped eating. For a whole day. My pants are getting baggy.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Not Boring
My sister came to visit. My brother called and we talked for awhile. I hugged my husband, listened to my son, and laughed with my daughter. Family - covered.
Ran an errand with my best friend Nan, who drove since I was too wimpy and she likes to help. Visited with my best friend, Leslie, who lives up the street and came over. (Yes, one can have two best friends.)
Later this week I get to see my chemo nurses. No, no chemo, but the monthly testing resumes in a few days. Much as I hate that part, I'm looking forward to seeing gentlewomen who have been with me for so long. It's their job, but they do care.
I'm home every day alone, and it should be boring, but it's not. Finding dust bunnies is boring, but since I rarely clean, who cares? Finding a long lost pin is NOT boring. Coming across books that I didn't even know we had - not boring. Reading (for the 1st time!) "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" - so not boring. Now I'm reading all the other works of Sam Clemens/Mark Twain. I feel 16, full of adventure and curiosity. Exchanging e-mails with friends from the 60's and daughters of friends from the 80's - thrilling!
I keep thinking that my life should be so boring during this recovery, but it's not! I have no job. I rarely go anywhere due to pain. But, it's NOT boring. My mind is full at all times. Unless I'm sleeping, which does happen.
Now, must get a sonogram to find out why I'm in excruciating pain. Every night. Intestinal blockage? We'll soon know. Not eating is not the way I want to spend this coming Spring. That I never really learned how to be bored is good.
Ran an errand with my best friend Nan, who drove since I was too wimpy and she likes to help. Visited with my best friend, Leslie, who lives up the street and came over. (Yes, one can have two best friends.)
Later this week I get to see my chemo nurses. No, no chemo, but the monthly testing resumes in a few days. Much as I hate that part, I'm looking forward to seeing gentlewomen who have been with me for so long. It's their job, but they do care.
I'm home every day alone, and it should be boring, but it's not. Finding dust bunnies is boring, but since I rarely clean, who cares? Finding a long lost pin is NOT boring. Coming across books that I didn't even know we had - not boring. Reading (for the 1st time!) "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" - so not boring. Now I'm reading all the other works of Sam Clemens/Mark Twain. I feel 16, full of adventure and curiosity. Exchanging e-mails with friends from the 60's and daughters of friends from the 80's - thrilling!
I keep thinking that my life should be so boring during this recovery, but it's not! I have no job. I rarely go anywhere due to pain. But, it's NOT boring. My mind is full at all times. Unless I'm sleeping, which does happen.
Now, must get a sonogram to find out why I'm in excruciating pain. Every night. Intestinal blockage? We'll soon know. Not eating is not the way I want to spend this coming Spring. That I never really learned how to be bored is good.
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