Becoming One with Nature

When I was four years old my mother sent me outside on a post-rainy day and made me play in the mud. When everyone else's mothers were chiding them about staying clean, mine was forcing me to get a little dirty.

She claims mud builds character.

It goes without saying that despite her best efforts, I've never become friends with dirt. I happen to think it is everything we say it is: dirty, nasty, grimy, filthy, disgusting, and mighty gross to have stuck underneath fingernails.

And up until this weekend I've managed to spend the eighteen years since I was four avoiding it.

You see, it all began a few weeks ago when I got the brilliant idea to expand our bird retreat, or sanctuary...I haven't decided on what to call it yet, into a rectangular backyard masterpiece.

Why yes, I have been watching a little too much HGTV lately.

But that's besides the point. The real story here is that I decided upon this retreat officially on Thursday night. By Friday morning I was spray painting the area to mark for digging. SPRAY PAINTING. There is like no turning back at that point.

Roughly an hour into digging the sod out of the ground I realized it might have been easier to own a garden tiller. Another half hour and one google search later and I figured out that was $200 I probably wasn't going to talk anyone into spending.

At some point in the day I ended up at a nursery and Meijers with my Mom spending that same $200 I couldn't talk anyone into for a garden tiller on various perennials, shrubs, trees, bird feeders and soil.

And by that night I was on my hands and knees in the mud digging up this rectangle in our yard.

The same mud I've spent most of my life despising.

I've never been so dirty in all of my 22 years. Nobody else has ever witnessed me so dirty. The neighbor kids were in awe. My father couldn't believe his eyes. And my mother?

My Mom was proud.

22 years of trying and her daughter finally got into the mud, willingly.

22 years and I'm thinking I need my head checked.

(The "project" is still not finished. I'll have more of my "Backyard Makeover" tomorrow. Maybe. If I can still move in the morning.)

(For the record: I still hate mud.)

Vulnerable

It is rare for me to wake up in the morning and actually remember a dream from the night before. This morning it happened. I dreamt last night that I was engaged, or at least fully committed to someone. All I remember was that I'd never known him before, he was strong, tall, with a sharp jawline, and probably a bit more country than I would have expected. (Probably from a conversation I had yesterday about George Strait being a beautiful man for his age! ;) )

At any rate I woke up this morning with a feeling of sadness over that short little dream about a mysterious figure in my life.

It reminded me, that for all of my outward happiness, for all of my confidence that I try to project, it is still very hard for me to go through life with this empty feeling. This sort of sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I'm going to have to forge through my entire life on this Earth...alone.

I know, at this point you are all thinking to yourselves, "No, you'll find someone."

So, I'll point out that most of my known readers are in committed relationships. And so it must be easy for you to all have the faith that someone is out there for all of us. After all, you managed to find it.

But let me preface this by saying, I don't have the same faith. Because in all of my life, for all of the times I've felt that soul shaking desire to have someone love me back....they never have.

I suppose I'm just feeling a little bit vulnerable today. And uneasy perhaps. Because I go through my day to day life, not thinking usually about what I don't have, and focusing instead on all of the good. But on a day like today when I'm reminded of how utterly alone in this world I am, I need just a little while to wallow in my own self pity.

And then I'll dust off my boots, shake off my system and forge ahead. Alone. But with confidence again. I just need some time to remind myself that I'm okay.

Kegs and Closets

I'm officially on spring break after today. Which for me just means an extra two days of sitting around doing nothing. Theorhetically speaking I'd love to take time to take Jon to Frankfort and My Old Kentucky Home, however it's highly unlikely since my parents are to be super busy next week getting their truck fixed and looking to perhaps buy a new vehicle.

Why a new vehicle you ask?

Oh well, because my mother is getting a freakin' promotion!!!

My mom is totally kick ass at her job and therefore she was picked to head a new division of their office. She'll be entirely in charge of durable medical equipment, in addition to the work comp drug program she already runs. I'm not too sure what it all means except she'll be leaving the clinical floor, will have her own sit down office and will have to visit patients in the hospitals to fit them for something.

And she gets a raise. Which is really the only important part!

I've come to realize I get my drive from my mother, and the desire to be in charge of things. I didn't know this all of the years she spent as a SAHM or working part time cleaning. But it's been pretty cool to figure out.

So mom's getting a promotion, Dad's looking to maybe buy a new car, and I'm just wanting to sleep.

Yeah, I'd say that's about it.

I found out this morning that I missed both the announcement and ticket sales of a Kenny Chesney show in Lexington this Friday. He's doing a "Keg and Closet Tour", this time playing bars in towns of Southeastern Conference Schools and tickets were 10 dollars for his show at The Dame on Friday: http://www.dameky.com/mainTest.php

Can you imagine how awesome that would have been?

I'm trying not to cry here.

A Worry a Day

Last night my Dad clutched his chest while laying on the couch with a sick stomach and an aching jaw for a good half hour. We waited and stressed until he decided it was probably nothing more than an Angina Attack, which he has long been prone to. But that doesn't mean those 30 minutes prior didn't manage to shave another 5 years off of my life.


That's what I deal with. Quite often. The first few times it happened it really freaked me out. Now we have it down to a science. I ask him if he needs to go to the hospital. Jon asks him if he'd like him to wake up Mom. I get him a huge glass of ice water while Jon gets her up. She takes his blood pressure, which has usually sky rocketed from the stress and worry of it all (130/100 last night). He pops a blood pressure pill, a few nitro and waits.

While he's suffered from Angina for quite some time, it became more frequent after his last heart cath because he has an artery that is going to have to stay 70% blocked because of the blockage's location. From what I hear, Angina is really a symptom of Coronary Artery Disease.

So while there is nothing he can do and his cardiologist maintains he's got a decently healthy heart right now, it still manages to scare me. Just in a calmer way I suppose. Last night's attack lasted longer than usual and I was fairly worried this one wasn't angina and we'd end up in the ER.

That dread is something I've come to live with everyday. Unlike someone who has just lost a parent, I face everyday with the fear it's the one and the uncertainty of not knowing. I've been to that brink, been pulled back, and now sometimes have trouble dealing with the reality that he is here, okay, and isn't leaving me yet.

This is where I admit I should probably be on some drugs for Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Or something.

Nevertheless, life goes on. Last night was scary. And today is a new day. (Albeit a cold one...dammit.) I wish I could say the birds were chirping and I had a new lease on life. But I don't. I sit and wait for the next time. Hoping it's all okay. And trying to maintain my chipperness that June awaits us and I'll get to sit on the beach with my Dad and laugh as he tells some stupid joke.

I'm really looking foward to it.