I'd intended to write another entry before the end of 2014, but reconsidered and thought I'd close with the high points of my Christmas post. I'd started to scribble a post called Christmas Hangover because that's what December 26th felt like. BTW, December 26th was a 96 hour day.

I was weepy for a couple of days. I don't like weepy days. If inclined, I could yak about the reasons I was weepy, but I won't except to assure you it had nothing to do with David or my prognosis. It had to do with my meds.

Unbeknownst to any passersby (well, except my face looked like it was wrapped in Saran Wrap - that's what happens when a person pushes tears and snot all over like it's Pond's Cold Cream), I was inconsolable that Christmas had been so gentle and kind and peaceful. There'd been no hustle and bustle and shoving and road rage. There'd been no cussing because all the handicap parking spaces were taken, and no shopping scooters because all the tubby people in the world use them leaving people like me to gasp in disgraceful judgment. My bad.

My Christmas had been totally sane. I missed the insanity.

What the hell is wrong with me!

Christmas just isn't Christmas unless there's some insanity. I bet Mary & Joseph would get what I'm talking about. Yeah, I bet they'd get it! Talk about insanity! Oy!

All I'm saying is that emotions can become hair-triggered especially when a scoop of meds are involved.

I've survived the weeps. I'm one lucky woman with a clean face.


*****


I wake up lazy. I have wake-up dreams. I let my thoughts do sloppy cartwheels in my head. I let ideas stretch a bit. This morning I enjoyed the smiley thought of a recent phone call with my daughter. We had a proper catching up with nary a glance at the clock.

This smiley thought took me to another smiley thought - thinking about the era when long distance calls were frightfully expensive. I believe it was between 5-7 on Sundays when rates dipped and a lot of us planned conversations with family.

I remember the twitchy anxiety that would build as I waited for my turn to talk to Grandma Blueberry. I'd structure sentences in my head, but in clipped Morse Code. As the receiver was handed to me, I'd take a deep gulp of air and start speed talking. All that ever came out was gibberish like a fast-forwarded tape. Ahhhhyesthosewerethedays.


*****


I feel a steady decline in my health, but the decline reverses the moment I remember to be forward thinking. You've read it here a million times - the brain rules. My brain determines the tenor of my health. I'm living and dying proof of that.

But some events and chores and choices are so tender. Harvesting words for a toast at David & Olivia's rehearsal dinner, and then handing them to Aunt Kim who has agreed to be my voice in the event I can't attend. Words have yet to be invented to describe the tenderness of such love a heart can feel. When one's sorrow walks on embers, the tenderness is searing. In either case, the heart throbs with love, and I'm forever glad my heart knows this pain.



*****


I've never been much of a chemist - you should see what I do to yeast, but in my personal Think Tank I've formulated some forward thinking plans. Over Presidents' Weekend I'm hosting a bridal shower for Olivia. This is tipping my body with insider information. *smiling* I'm so excited. I've ordered invitations, and though not my usual style for entertaining, I'm going to research local kitchens for catering an afternoon tea.

Yay for bridal showers! Yay for family and friends gathering to honor Olivia! Yay for forward thinking!




David and Olivia


*****


I continue to collect. Below are photos of a few new acquisitions.

Oh, and sorry to report, I never had a Grandma Blueberry.





The photo makes the carving look miserable - it's quite fabulous.






Highly collectible Charles Owens Blacks in Austin.






I couldn't resist these 1940s pipe cleaner dolls.






Jensen is an Outsider artist from Sweden