Skip to main content

A bit of a fright

Late last night my cell phone rang. It was Seattle calling. Literally, Seattle. No, I'm not making this up. His name is Seattle and he's a neighbor two doors down. He's lively and fun. Plus he likes to walk our dogs and he's a great chef.

The fact that he was calling me at nearly 11pm was a bit unsettling. The first thing he said was, "Is everything ok over there???" Yes, there were at least three question marks after his interrogatory plus several exclamation marks.

I told him we were fine--as far as I knew. "BUT YOU HAVE A FIRE TRUCK IN FRONT OF YOUR HOUSE!"

News of that nature is guaranteed to make you put your pants on--if you're not already wearing them. I wasn't. Wearing them I mean. It was bedtime. I threw them on and dashed up the stairs.

Ok, 'dashing' is a bit optimistic for what I actually did. It was more like lumbering up the stairs at a speed not hitherto known by my injured knee in many months. I checked the living room and no Dad. Ugh. Did he collapse outside and someone found him? I dashed--er, lumbered, out the back door and down the wheelchair ramp, barefoot across the patio and into the driveway.

Whew. There was my father, completely upright. The handsome fireman and medics were in my neighbors house. That was frightening because she'd had a knee replacement a few days earlier and my first thought was that she'd had a blood clot. She hadn't. It was her heart. She has an arrhythmia that sometimes crops up and her heart races. She's fine now. It was scary though.

Seattle was standing in our driveway and apologized for frightening me and gave me a hug. I thanked him for the adrenaline rush and told him it was fine, I didn't need to sleep anyway.


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…