He is All I Need

So, I’m having coffee on the back porch this morning, thinking.

I wish I had a new pair of shoes for every time someone told me I think too much. But that’s part of who I am. A thinker; just like my dad was.

Anyway, I’m sitting there, observing my dogs and thinking about life; the way it was, the way I wish it had been, and the way it is.

It’s Heartland’s fault, the TV series hubby and I have been watching on Netflix for the past few weeks. It’s happy, it’s sad, it’s funny, it’s everything I wish my family life had been growing up. The way I wish I’d had a grandfather like Jack, a crusty old man with a soft heart, who loves and encourages and fights tooth and nail for his family.

How different my life may have been had my dad opened his arms and his heart to me and if mom had talked to me instead of yelling at me. If they both had made me feel like I was the best thing that ever happened to them.

Maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time alone trying to figure things out. Maybe I would have made better grades in school, had more courage and self-confidence and married the right man the first time around. Maybe I wouldn’t have tried so hard being what I thought everyone wanted me to be and just learned to be me.

My brain keeps reminding me that I’m a free woman. But my longing heart tells me I’m still that scared little girl behind bars; locked up with the taunting ghosts of the past. I still get depressed. I still get angry. I still feel I have to perform perfectly. I still have those tear-jerking moments when I feel I just don’t belong.

Yet, I have come a long way from where I was decades ago. I realize that freedom is a painstakingly, on-going slow process. We don’t soar like an eagle out the cage door when it’s opened. Our wings are broken; crushed by the weight of the grimacing world, and it takes time to heal. It takes time to learn and rethink and trust even good things smiling in our faces.

I was reminded of that sitting there on the back porch, observing my four-legged babies. I realized that as dependent as they are on me to take care of them is how dependent God wants me to be on Him to take care of me. That, no matter how hard the struggle, no matter how tremendous the doubt and fear and emptiness I feel at times, He is all I need.

I just have to keep reminding myself of that, keep moving forward and stop flying back into that rusty old cage of sadness, loneliness, and regrets, because I don’t live there anymore.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heartland_(Canadian_TV_series)

 

Two Old People and a Hand Truck

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted an update concerning our home improvement (demolition). The truth is, we had to take a break from it.

We began taking up the carpet on Monday, May 27, 2019.  And it’s been quite an undertaking for two oldies who have never done this before.

EVER!

To top it all off, two days into our demolition, we had a car accident.  A woman ran the red light and hit us on the driver’s side. No one was hurt, thankfully. However, It was the week of Labor Day, so it was difficult getting her insurance to follow through, leaving us without a rental for five days. At least we had the truck, or so we thought. But, it wouldn’t start.

Six weeks, and two car rentals later (the first one broke down on us and our car is still in the shop) this is the progress we’ve made:

 

 

 

 

Overwhelmed

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I should be doing laundry. I should be cleaning all that junk off the front porch. I should be pulling weeds, hosing down the driveway, picking up limbs, and watering my plants.

I should be doing a lot of things.

But, I’m retired and I don’t have to do anything around the house today. I’ll do it tomorrow. And if tomorrow doesn’t come, then I won’t have to worry about all that stuff I should be doing today.

Besides, heaven is looking better to me all the time. I’m tired of my house falling apart and bossing me around. It’s gotten way too big for its britches!

That’s why I’m sitting here with my door closed drinking coffee and doing what makes me forget about all the stuff I should be doing today . . . creating happy stuff.

Lots and lots of happy stuff!

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy

Okay, daddy. Since we never went on a coffee date before or even shared an intimate moment anywhere together for that matter, I’m taking you out. Just in my mind of course; you’d never come any other way.

So where’s it going to be, Starbuck’s? I forgot. Instant Nescafe’. Hot water straight from the spigot with creamer and sugar in that coffee-stained cup you yelled at me for washing one day. Okay then, let’s just have coffee in the kitchen in the old house where we used to live a long time ago. Doesn’t matter to me, I just want to talk to you.

I’m sorry for rebelling against you in those troublesome, adolescent years. I was just a kid and didn’t understand your cryptic silence. And on those rare occasions when you arose from the tomb, I didn’t understand your dry wit. I thought you were laughing at me because I was stupid or because you didn’t love me.

That hurt me.

A lot.

And I wanted to hurt you back.

I just wish that one time you had held me in your arms and said you were sorry for making me cry; that you had poked your head into my shattered world and seen how much I needed your love and protection. Instead, you crawled into a tomb of apathy; dead to my fears and tender emotions.

There’s so many things you didn’t know about me, daddy. Like how I wanted to be your daddy’s girl; for you to hold me on your lap and tell me that I was beautiful and smart and funny; for you to meet my first date at the front door with a Smith and Wesson, and took a ball bat to my X-husband the first time he hit me. When my tiny baby was born too early and I thought he would die, I wanted you to hold me and tell me everything would be okay.

But, you never did.

But, that’s okay daddy, I didn’t invite you here to condemn you; I’ve done enough of that throughout my life. I just want you to know that in spite of your lack of concern, I learned to stand on my own two feet. I faced the demons of anger and rage. I’ve survived the tormenting feelings of rejection and worthlessness; the stabbing pain of loneliness and grief.

So thank you for meeting with me today and allowing me one fragmented moment of the rest of your time in eternity. And before you fade into the shadows of my mind, I want you to know that I’m glad you were my dad. Without realizing it you taught me to be a mother and to love my son the way I wanted you to love me. Now, I am reaping a bountiful harvest of love and joy and happiness through him and his growing, loving family.

So thanks, daddy,

Happy Father’s Day

Blood, Sweat, and Tears!

My writing has been on hold since hubby and I decided to wreck our house. Literally. Yep! Every square inch of it. We’re ripping up our old, nasty carpet and putting down new, vinyl plank flooring.

Piece of cake!

Well, for the pros who know what they’re doing with tons of experience and manpower to get the job done in just a few short days. Not so for two old timers with no experience no manpower and hardly a clue of what we’re doing or when we will ever get finished.

It was hardly our plan to wrestle this grizzly bear ourselves. But, due to people’s busy schedules and since we already had the planks piled in the den, we decided to give it our best shot. After all, we watched every how-to video for days. Even watched one showing a mom and her two small boys installing their floor.

We were pumped! We were empowered. We were ready to conquer the world!

We began on Monday, May 27, 2019. We’re not done. Not even close. But we’re not giving up in spite of the car wreck, the water damage, the many repairs, frustration, anger, and tears. We will see this through to the bloody end!

To see the beginning of our progress, check it out here: https://sandistatondigitaldesigns.com/2019/05/24/golden-years-where-are-you/

This is the progress we’ve made thus far:

Then the real fun began:

So, that’s what we’ve accomplished in four, long, frustrating, hair-raising, nail-biting, weeks. Not bad for two old people and a hand truck.

Stay tuned for more.

Lots more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Laugh at Yourself! It Takes the Sting out of Stupid

I needed air in my tire so I searched all over High Point looking for an air pump. You know, the one with a handle on it that gave the pounds and free air. There wasn’t one.

Frustrated, I parked beside a weird-looking air pump and crammed two quarters in the slot. The stupid thing didn’t have a “pound” selection. Now what?! Okay, so I guess it’ll cut off when it reaches 50 cents.

Feeling like a martian, I connected the air hose to the tire and waited for the machine to cut off.

My tire was getting really fat!  Hurriedly, I stooped down to removed the air hose, then, POW!

So much for 50 cents worth of air! And my hubcap? It’s still zooming and clanging somewhere in the next county!

Golden Years, Where are you?

Nope! I haven’t been writing. Haven’t been walking. Haven’t been sipping champagne and loving the golden years. To be honest, the golden years is a highly over-rated, over-used, big fat lie!

Take a giant step into my world and you’ll see what I mean . . .

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Hubby and I decided to take up our nasty, thirty-something carpet and install vinyl plank flooring. Just the two of us. Throughout the entire house. Piece of cake!

But first, we had to move furniture . . .

Then take up the carpet and the padding and staples and nails and carpet strips. Those carpet strips were almost as stubborn as me (I know it’s “I” but “me” sounds better).

Then we saw the horror Bella and Pepper caused. I still get angry thinking about it. Owning pets is not the easiest job in the world. Along with their cuteness comes a truckload of bad-mannered behavior and destruction. Rascal never behaved like these two wannabe queens of the house!

Thankfully, Kilz came to the rescue. Of course, it didn’t jump out of the can and spread itself all over the floor. And hubby got wore out watching me do it. Poor baby. I think he needs a nap.

We’re on day five. Am I frustrated? Have I cried a river of tears? Am I ready to leave the country? Oh, yeah! But, wait! There’s more . . .

Two days into this Mt. Everest project, hubby had an oncology appointment at the VA.  Things are looking good. So far, he is still cancer-free for the second time around.

But . . .

On the way to picking up hubby’s uncle and aunt for a day of fun, a woman ran the red light and plowed into us. No one was hurt, thankfully. The surveillance video and police report were on our side confirming that she ran the light in spite of what she told her insurance agent. Seeing is believing, except for those wearing blindfolds of denial.

So. How did you enjoy your little visit to my world? Would you like to come back and help us install the rest of the flooring?

No?

I don’t blame you!

 

 

My Four-legged Migraines

I love my dogs.

I really do.

But . . .

They dig holes in the yard, chew my pillows, pencils and pens and everything in between. They pee and poop on the floor. Run around the house like a couple of chimpanzees, and now this! A whole loaf of bread gone!

Just like that!

I’m going to the dog pound, lock myself in a cage, and pray some nice family will come along and adopt me!

We never owned two dogs at one time before. We never owned females before, either.

Double trouble!

Bella, our greyhound mix was finally potty trained after six months. We’ve had Pepper, our dachshund lab mix for nearly two years and she still squats whenever and wherever she pleases. Our carpet is a roadmap of pee stains throughout the entire house.

Pepper’s a little scavenger, too, jumping on the kitchen counters and dining room table looking for something to get into. I think Bella puts her up to it, though.

One day, Pepper dragged a jalapeno pepper under the dining room table. Needless to say, it was still intact.

Just yesterday, she snatched a slice of bread off the counter. Luckily there was one slice left to complete my grilled cheese sandwich.

Little brat!

Some days I want to ship the pair of them to another planet, but my nagging conscience won’t let me . . . Who would take care of them? Who would play with them? Who would whisper silly stuff in their floppy ears? Who would tuck them in every night and tell them a bedtime story? Who would love them? Feed them? Rush them to the doctor when they get sick?

Besides, I’d be jealous that someone else was getting all their slobbery kisses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If You Can’t Run . . . Walk

It was unusually quiet and peaceful during my walk this morning. No lawnmowers. No traffic. Not even a barking dog. Either my neighbors were still in bed, already at work, or the rapture took place and left me behind.

As I always do when I’m outdoors I looked for critters. They must have been raptured, too, except for two fuzzy caterpillars and birds chattering back and forth from the trees. Maybe they were having church or gossiping or both.

Shuffling along, I’m not even halfway into my walk and my body is already whimpering, especially my back. It’s been out of whack ever since Bella, our greyhound mix jerked me off the deck. Several weeks later I was in the emergency room begging to be put me out of my misery.

Not many years ago I jogged the city streets, rain or shine; pounding the pavement, dodging cars, yapping dogs and guys trying to pick me up. Twenty years, twenty miles every single week.

Walking was too easy. I had to run. It was in my blood. I swore I’d never stop.

Then, I did.

I got stupid. I got bored. I lost my drive. I dove into the sea of wimpy excuses and drowned there.

Ten years and thirty pounds later, I tried to pick up where I left off.

Ha!

I walk, now. At my pace, whatever that pace may be. I do what I can when I can without feeling the world depends on me to keep it spinning. No guilt. No shame . . . well, maybe just a little.

On the home stretch, I stopped and talked to the neighbor that lives across the road from us. She was walking her little Russel Terrier, the neighborhood-yapper.

She’s quiet-spoken with a shy little-girl personality and lots of southern charm. I admired her white hair peeking beneath her pink floppy hat and told her I was so happy that her cancer is in remission. We both said we’re ready to leave this earth but not right now because we don’t want to make our families sad. Cancer makes one think like that. Just getting old makes one think like that.

Though I enjoyed my thirty-minute walk I was relieved to get back home, pour a cup of coffee and plop into my favorite chair by the window.

That’s what old people do when they’re too tired to do anything else.