Not Written In Stone

When I wrote this post I copied the pages of word lists the author had supplied, cut out each word, and put all 208 of them in a jar. Today I reached in an pulled one out. I've said for nearly 30 years that give me a topic and I can write on it. That might be the only remnant of my journalism training.

Our professor would give us something to write about and it didn't matter if we knew anything about it or not, the assignment still had to be handed in. He was not above giving it back either, and telling us to do the whole thing over again, if it didn't come up to snuff. One time I did an interview which involved taking a bus to the outer skirts of the city only to find the man who I needed to interview very uncooperative. That assignment was handed back to me to redo. The man refused when I showed up the second time.

At any rate my word phrase today is locked doors. When I unfolded the piece of paper and saw those words an image flashed through my mind. I was six years old and had broken my arm. I was wearing a short sleeved knit red shirt. Funny what we remember. I was sent to my room to change shirts before I went to the hospital. No one helped me. My arm was broken up near my shoulder and I felt a little sick to my stomach as I tried to figure out how to get my arm out of one shirt and into another. I felt so alone and confused to be alone. I didn't know I could ask for help and no one offered. It took me 40 more years to learn it's okay to ask for help. Childhood messages are not written in stone. They can be rewritten.

At the hospital a nurse with a kind face gave me a gown and put me in a change room. She had blonde hair and a beautiful smile. She was the first one who I felt some sympathy from. Somehow I got locked in that little cubicle. Somehow she got me out. She put me in a wheel chair and took me to the x ray room. If I shut my eyes I can see myself laying on that cold steel table with just a gown on. The room seemed so big and I felt so small.

They were unable to cast my arm because of where the break was so I came home with my arm in a sling. The next day one of my classmates couldn't stop laughing when I told him I'd fallen off a three foot fence and broken my arm. I was sure my grade one teacher would excuse me from penmanship that day. No such luck.

For the last 40+ years whenever I find myself in a little cubicle I momentarily panic that I'm going to get locked in with no way out. Then I remember that I have a voice and can ask for help if I need it.


Photo Credit

On The Cusp Of A Sorry State

Dearest one and I went for a drive last night.
to see the countryside that is on the cusp of spring.
We went in his pick up.
When we were newlweds everyone had a pickup.
It was a topic of conversation in his family
to see which couples in the community
sat close together in a pickup.
They'd say the honeymoon must be over
when they started sitting on their own side of the truck
instead of like two peas in a pod.
I thought about this as I got in the truck last night.
Every so often I still sit in the middle,
right next to dearest one
just to confuse people.
Actually, I'd sit there every time
but I have this fear of lap seat belts
and am convinced that if we're in an accident
I will surely be paralyzed for life.
So I choose safety over romance.
Which surely must mean I am no newlywed.
But I never tire of riding in a pickup with dearest one.
It always feels special.
Even when I sit way over on my side of the truck.
_______________________________________


The pugs were in fine shape this morning.
Raced outside to do their business.
Raced back in to sit in front of bedroom doors
in hopes that their masters would wake up.
I waited for them to race back up the hallway
and then proceeded to block it off
so dearest one and youngest son wouldn't
get woken up by pitiful whining
outside their doors.
The energizer bunny guessed what I was up to
while I was in the middle of blocking her path
and she tried every which way from Sunday
to get past me.
She didn't.
I thought to myself that it's a sorry state of affairs
to feel such triumph for outwitting a dog
who doesn't even reach halfway up to my knee.

Leaps and Bounds

I can smell roast beef cooking as I type. Roast beef was youngest son's birthday meal request. As of today I am no longer the parent of any teenagers. I survived umpteen years of them. Probably of more significance is that they survived me. :)

I'm enjoying some solitude. James Taylor is playing on the computer. Well, he's not playing on the computer exactly; I'm listening to him as I sit here. He has a very soothing voice.

This day was a turning point in my journey 20 years ago. I nearly died in childbirth. I had something akin to a near death experience. I don't talk about it much but it taught me that we can never know the state of another's soul. Three months later, while youngest son was still making his beautiful newborn cry, I sobered up and turned my heart towards God. It felt like the biggest leap of faith - like there would be a foot or two more air space than I could leap. What I couldn't have predicted was how far God's arms are capable of reaching.

And here I am 20 years later.
Still being held.