Time of Day

It's sorta scary when your favorite time of day is getting into bed at night. I thought of that last night after I took a bubble bath and scooted into bed, hugging the king sized pillow and putting the Egyptian cotton one under my head. Nellie was snoring on Roberts pillows next to me and Brymer was curled next to me (he had tooth surgery yesterday and felt puny). I've said it before, I'll say it again; There's just something about clean sheets after a bath.

My least favorite time of day is right around 3pm. I'm all sluggish, the B-12 has worn off and while I have all the evening stuff looming, all I want to do it take a nap. And it never fails, you give in to that impulse and the phone rings, kids shout outside while coming in from school, Brymer barks at a jogger. . . . you get the idea.

What's your favorite and least favorite time of day?

Birthdays

Funny how the mind works.

I remember thinking how hurt I was that mom didn't call me last year on my birthday. I wasn't devastated, but still, it bothered me to have just a little more proof that I was not important. I realize now that because of the increasing dementia, she probably forgot. I didn't know that then.

But I know that now. And that makes things easier. She won't be calling me again this year - with another good (no, great) reason. I can see now that she is as blameless now as she was then. I just got to see it from another angle.

Like God just put things in perspective that quick.

Well, this is depressing!

I always read that life was short . . .and to make the most of it when I was younger. I rolled my eyes and skipped the slop of all of that because to me life was this long, tedious congregation of minutes that had to be filled.

Time seemed to drag. The sun was hotter then and the winter was miserably cold. You are in a hurry to get places to do things that brought back some type of gain. The world was an unending wait to ride a bike, then drive a car, then go on a date, then get married, then have kids, then buy a house . . blah de blah de blah.

Now I see so clearly that life is a congregation of minutes that has to be filled. I feel like a rat, trying to catch up on important things. Things that bring in real gain. Like smiles and friends and Sunday mornings, and yappy little dogs or horse sweat, or grand babies hug . . .. you get the idea.

I finally am beginning to realize what those things are. And I haven't the energy to go for it. How rotten is that?

Ok . . . this is scary

Have 'finished the book . . am allowing Amy to read it so she can edit it for me. And I am SO scared I think I'm gonna be sick. Although I know it's not her kind of book, still, I hope she isn't bored to frustrated tears.

This putting yourself out there stinks. Wish this wasn't so important to me.

. . and then . .

And then I remember what Amy told me a while back - "Even if I end up with only one book to pass to my grand kids, it will be worth it."

She's a smart chick.

Ruby

My boy is 26 years old today.

Man! Rob's birthday has been buried all the lint of my life lately, but when I allow myself to remember back on that day I have to grin. I was 19 and scared to death. Robert was in Omaha Nebraska, fresh out of boot camp. God knows I can't handle pain, so the labor was only 4 hours start to finish.

He was supposed to be named Lauren (I hadn't realized then that 'Lauren Hutton' had been taken) because the doctors said that his heartbeat was that of a girls. (This was obviously before the sophisticated ultra sounds of today.) I thought if I had a boy, I'd call him Brandon, but when I saw him, it wasn't a Brandon that looked back at me. It was a Ruby. He was and has remained my priceless gem.

And Mom was there. I'd forgotten that. She was there for me when he came into the world and he was there for me when she went out of it.

Jaci, Jah and Julie left this morning at about 3 am. I've been busy getting the house ready for a showing, wiping fingerprints off the glass in the flordia room and watching the swing sway with the wind. Wadda bummer.

But, on the "Johnson" side, I think we've been adopted by this red heeler. Don't know if it's a boy or girl, just know it has a lopsided ear and a great face. And it's asleep on the front step.

Hey, it's not Jah or Julie, but at this point I'll take what I can get.

Writing Therepy

Things still going mach 8. Everyone tells me that to enjoy all the hub bub now because when it all settles, I'll have to face what's happened.

Right now I can look back on it all with this kind of dispassionate attitude. Like a book you read even through the really slow parts to reach an ending that is less than satisfying.

Interesting, but not worth reading again.

Is that what I have left of her?

8 days

Man. Has it been a week already? Over a week. The funeral for mom was three shakes past horrible and I had the flu during it all. Now, we're all sick sick sick with the flu, Jaci, Jah and Julie included. Robert was REALLY bad - about 104 degrees for like 3 days. But James was almost admitted with pneumonia.

And then the big freezer broke. There was blood everywhere in the garage.

. . . and then . . .

It rained. And it's supposed to keep up. And Robert had to change a 'blow up' diaper. His face when I walked in was great.

(Insert heavy happy sigh here.)

Home

Time heals all. Right. I understand.

Hopefully, as long as there is nothing more to wound it, it will work . . . I will be able to get past this.

Eventually.

Rest

Don't you just hate 'courting' sleep?

You lay there, forcing yourself to relax, thinking of quiet things, (I always like to do the 'thanksgiving prayer' thing) but like some guy who won't commit, you just seem to flirt with sleep, falling in and out, having those fuzzy half dreams. And you wake up tired.

Smell no evil

One of the biggest worries I have about showing the house is the smell. You know what it's all about. Every time you went to peoples houses when you were a kid their houses smelled weird. Sometimes bad - I'm reminded of once visiting my friend Deanna and I smelled this AWFUL smell. So after we went to bed, I decided (for some reason) to get up. I opened a door to the outside and almost ran smack into a skinned coyote that was hanging there in the breezeway right outside her bedroom. GAG!!! That stink mystery solved.

Don't you hate it when you clean and scrub and think it's ll good and then there comes a humid day that releases scents you thought best left in the sewage pool? So I'm walking into the kitchen for my coffee today and it hits me. I have to walk past the flordia room that now holds memories of the cat I've given away. What a thoughtful sap.

Hope I got a lot of fabuloso.

Hmmmmmmmm

Wadda trip! I have a million things involved with getting this book published and I'm shaking the entire time. I guess it's the 'putting yourself out there' that bugs the mess out of me. That and the fact that there's too much going on in my life right now.

Anyhow, the thing I'm wondering is why is it so hard to draw when you think about it? I usually just spit out cartoons left and right with these snappy sayings and now, sitting in front of a blank page to have illustrations for my book . . . it's weird, but I keep messing up the pictures.

ARRRRGGGGHHHH!

The Office of Motherhood

Robert has always told me to "Respect the office, not the man." We were, of course, talking about Clinton and the office of the presidency. I never understood that. In fact, I vehemently disagreed with it. It appeared to me that when one dishonors the office (as was so in his case) the office itself had become corrupted, unworthy of even common courtesy.

. . and then . .

Mom was aware of all that was around her. She couldn't verbalize it, but you could tell in her eyes that she knew - knew people, events, had a train of thought going that was connected. All weekend I was surrounded with "Darlin" and "Sweeties" and obnoxious baby talk and patronizing tones. I was encouraged to 'sleep in', 'go shopping' and 'take it easy'. It's like all this that had happened with mom was orchestrated so us sisters could all get together.

All I could think was: 'My mother is dying, and you're ushering her out with no dignity.' All of Roberts talk became instantly crystal. No matter what, she has earned your respect. No, it demands it. You must respect her position.

And all my problems with my mother were so secondary to that.

She dodged the 'death' bullet, I think. Time will tell. But she took the 'nursing home' shot full force in the chest. I have no idea what my feeling are.

?

I saw this storm approaching. About February 6th. I thought I was ready to face it.

But are you ever able to prepare yourself for a '5' tornado?

And do you ever get the feeling that God has overestimated you?

While I was at the Stables Feeding . . .

I have come to realize that consequences for actions only sleep when it appears they have been dodged.

Things happen and acts done for whatever reason give me a sigh of relief as the morning dawns and all is as it was. Birds sing. The grass still needs to be mowed, animals need to be cared for . . the wind still blows. How can anything be wrong on a day like this? The very world is ignorant of sin, and death, and pain. It's like you were duped into believing that all was well.

But God doesn't work that way. Wherever you are, there you are and God has been there the entire time. You really can't 'get away' with anything . . .

I rest in the peace of that.

See If You Can Follow Me On This One

What if what you're afraid of is exactly what you wanted but turns out to be what you only thought you wanted because hope is merciless?

What if you prayed for something and it didn't happen, and so you accepted that only to have it come back with a faint glimmer that what you prayed for IS possible?

So what happens to the new life that replaced the old? What about the acceptance you have come not only to live with but actually find peace within?

A new lanuage

At the stable, John and Alendro are trying to teach me Spanish. they take off on some wild tangent, and quiz me (in Spanish) and I fail every time. Although I can catch a word or two . . . that's all I catch. I just end up feeling stupid.

So many things coming to me at once. The more I see of life, the less I like it. And forget understanding most of it. I have come to realize that I am a true weirdo. I just don't see things the way most people do. And while that is a good thing, it also gives me an uneasy pause. I feel out of place - honestly a foreigner in a foreign land.

While learning Spanish is a good thing here in South Texas, I don't think I'm cut out to learn "Secular". Just wish I didn't walk around in this constant fog of puzzlement.

And I wish I could visting with Andy and Amy without spending all that time venting.

Brymer's Breath

Brymer has really bad breath. Ask anyone. He loves to lick and pant and it's like this rotting corpse spills out of his mouth as he does. His bark actually pushes you back, and if he licks you . . . gag! The stench adheres it'self with disgusting tenacity.

Both Brymer and Nellie sleep up on the bed with us. So I'm in bed this morning, laying on my stomach to keep the smell of Brymer from hitting me - it seems to be a little lighter than the surrounding area . . . . you can lift yourself up into the funk. So I'm laying there and I can smell him and he's close. Everywhere I turn my head, that wall of decaying poo poo is there. So I yell at him to get off the bed, and I hear his bark - outside.

It was me! It was my breath! As soon as I flopped onto my back, the stench headed up and away.

No wonder Robert won't kiss me good morning.

Heavy Sigh

I sit here, staring at my mothers hands that somehow got attached to mine, as I ponder what to write today. My hands are scarred with a thousand barbed wire cuts, and cat scratches and rips from sharp edges all on top of this 'rice-paper'-like skin that seems oddly fragile. My veins are all plump, my cuticle's ragged. The joints on my right thumb and left ring finger are stiff and refuse to bend.

It has occurred to me lately that there are fewer days ahead than behind and life has never been better. Sure, the bumps of life keep you awake, but that don't make'em a bad thing - see the blog entitled "Jackie Blows it Yet Again". Amy's home, Brymer hasn't stroked since Sunday, it's chilly outside, there's a new carrot cake in the oven . . .

Just wish I wasn't ending up with my mothers hands.

The guy who fell of the motorcycle was somehow okay. Unreal, because he hit and rolled HARD, but he was wearing all his gear.

So this is Why Jarred wants to Come Back

I told Robert that if I died in an accident, that to make sure Amy Brymer got my horse Tesster. Then, this guy in a car pushes a guy on a motorcycle in front of me, the guy flies off the motorcycle, I lock up the brakes and his motorcyle skids all the way from the old Golden Corral almost to the stop light. So I jump out of the car, into the traffic of 97 hollering at the man to just stay down while I'm dialing 911. My car is on the street, running, the guy who pushed the motorcycle is in the middle of the road, blocking traffic and the rubber neckers are going ballistic. I'm trying to make the guy chill out when I get a phone call. It's from Susie Pursch. Stoma got a call from someone who saw me and was worried about me. When I got home, there were calls from Alice Lester, The Norwoods and Curves. They all loved me enough to call.

Man. How cool is that?