Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Did I mention?

I am not exhausted, for the first time in approximately 200 years.

Monday, May 24, 2010

well isn't that lovely

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

Jane Kenyon, “Let Evening Come” from Collected Poems. Copyright © 2005

Oxygen matters

Either the Advair is working, or I've suddenly recovered from chronic fatigue syndrome (not an official diagnosis, I was just tired All. The. Time). I have accomplished MORE THAN ONE THING today and do not feel like I need to rest for a week to get over it.

And I don't mind the idea of cleaning up the kitchen after the baking, either.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

two weeks, huh?

I've been a little sad. I don't blog when I'm sad. I also don't blog when I'm busy or tired or lazy, so really, it's a wonder there's anything here at all.

I don't actually remember now why I was sad, so there's that.

Spring is here. Yippee!!! Ish. Possibly I have spring-related asthma for the first time in my life. Wow is that fun. Even if it's not asthma, I have this to say to you: be careful what you wish for. If, for instance, you secretly wish you had more knitting time, the Universe in all its Puckish glory might hand you two eight hour stints in the ER. (see above re asthma.) The interesting thing is if your father dropped dead of a heart attack in precisely the same way his mother dropped dead of a heart attack, and say, ten years later, you go to your family doctor complaining of chest pain and the inability to take a deep breath, she will not say "there, there, it'll pass". She will say "Go to the ER. Also, do not drive yourself there. Go sit in my waiting room until someone shows up to drive you."

At the ER, they may say "Yes well let's do this here blood test and this other test that will show us if you have had or are having a heart attack or "unusual clotting activity" (is there usual clotting activity?) and while we're at it let's do an e-something-g." (the ER people know if it's EKG or ECG, I just don't. Fret not.) And then while you're sitting knitting they might come and say "Here have ten puffs of this inhaler and five puffs of this inhaler just in case it's asthma even if you're not wheezing and your oxygen levels look good." and so you might put your knitting down and do the shots of Inhaler and in about five minutes, it might feel exactly like someone took a pair of garden shears and snapped the broad rubber constraints that someone had banded around your chest when you weren't looking.

All day Friday I walked around in a state of shock at all the things that didn't hurt. Bending over! Talking in whole sentences! Walking through the grocery store! And none of these were things I knew had been hurting before - it was only when the pain was gone that I realized it had been there.

It's been up and down since then (now is good-ish but it's midnight and I should be sleeping so ...bad-ish) but now I know days like Friday are possible.

I find this cheering.

If you yourself personally know someone who was misdiagnosed as asthmatic when really, what they had was something little known hard to find impossible to cure without a heart, lung, liver and left arm transplant - keep it to yourself. I am not currently on speaking terms with Dr Google. I am taking one breath at a time, and sitting down when I have to. Sometimes even sleeping in broad daylight. Follow up with the GP is tomorrow.

I leave you with a B story.

B, reading out loud, as we drive past McDonald's: "Mint Orgy-Load."

Me: "Hey can you tell me how that's spelled?"

B complies.

Me: "That'd be OGRE-load, bud. Goes with Shrek. The Ogre."

B: "Hah. Should've known. ORGY? what would that even MEAN?"

Me: "....."

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

Wondering if I can phrase this properly

I think it would be lovely if we all just got better at everything as we got older. Better able to take roll with slights, real or imagined, better at housework, at sex, at loving people the way they need to be loved, at living unselfishly and passionately and productively. At putting other people first without feeling like we're losing ourselves.

At following Jesus, at believing that all things work together and amen and amen and amen.

Let's go back to unselfish.

I've been dreading Mother's Day. I've been feeling ignored and taken for granted and even while I'm feeling that way, I know that perspective is responsible for so very much of the way we feel. And I'd give myself a good talking to and wake up all wallowy the next day. And TechnoBoy is out of work and and and ...

and today I read a blog post written by a twenty-seven year old woman who has recently been diagnosed with premature ovarian failure and is staring into the future thinking What if it never happens? What if I'm never a mother? Can I learn to be happy that way? What is FAMILY, after all?

and here I had been thinking that Mother's Day was all about me.

It's not.

It's about a lean and lovely 14 year old girl who is just so much older than her chronological age and is bright and funny and kind and quirky and passionate and stubborn and stylish and introspective and I get to live here with her.

And it's about a rough and tumble 11 year old boy with thick black hair rioting around his head who cleans to relax and loves hockey and soccer with all his heart and gets straight A's even though he maintains that he hates school, a boy who sleeps with the dog every night unless I've been out of town, because then he'll give her to me at night because "you've probably been missing each other."

Mother's Day?

It's I GET TO BE A MOTHER Day, a day that takes all those years I was terrified it would never happen, and makes them completely immaterial.

I should be buying gifts for THEM, these two baffling beautiful personalities who filled the emptiest places.

I've typed it on this blog before - may I never forget to be grateful.

May I never forget. It was close there for a few days :)