Skip to main content

Monday Monday

I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I love Mondays.

Just got back from the gym and my workout, which has left me feeling great about the day. All except for one thing. It's going to hit 87 or higher here today. This will force me to put ice cubes down my shirt in order not to have a near death experience. I'm not one to enjoy sweltering heat waves unless I can carry ice packs in my clothing. It's also nice that our new baby has air conditioning. I'd live in it this summer, but gas prices prohibit that sort of fun.

I'm hoping that hubby can get the AC hooked up within the next week or so. It's that or risk me getting frostbite again.


  1. Dearest Vicus Scurra, I somehow deleted your comment. Here it is again:

    Darling, ice pack down you clothing sounds like a device (if somewhat eccentric) to keep yourself comfortable. Ice cubes sound like a perversion. (I do not mind if you are a pervert, you understand - I have few enough friends.)

    My response is....Moi?

  2. My word YOU ARE A REAL WRITER!!!
    Goodness I cannot fathom from whence you summon your strength to facilitate the humor via the stress.
    You're amazing!

    Between you and the barn door if I couldn't laugh at life I wouldn't be here today. My sense of the absurd is both my offense and defense due to the strict limitations that the Creator has placed on my cognitive powers.

    And now my frickin' memory is goin'..that's the worst..where was I..

  3. Shhhhh! Don't tell anyone, but I'm not really a writer. I just use that excuse to get some free therapy at the expense of my readers. :grin:

    You're a writer sir. From your blog I found that you are writing some biographies? Am I wrong?


Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…