Three years later with this little blog and four years later with sticking to traction altogether and my neck is still attached to my head and my hands and arms still move! Truly time to celebrate……what do you get for a fourth anniversary for traction…..it seems like there’s a good joke there that is currently escaping me!
It’s just a brief stopping point to remember where I’ve been and where I’m going with this thing around my neck and my ten pounds of water. Who knew such a simple, silly contraption could save me from not being able to use my hands….I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. I’d wake up every morning with my arms completely numb, so heavy and hurting like crazy, gratefully I rarely wake up now with some tingling in the hands and immediately know it’s a sign to put in some more time in traction. I was told my neck was that of an 80-year-old person, only thing was, I wasn’t 80! I’ve listened to music, read, prayed and complained here but the time has passed and I’m still hanging. Happy Anniversary, here’s a toast to traction……100 year old neck here I come!
I’d like to post something clever or April foolish stating that I no longer had to do traction, but that seems a waste of your time. I’m here, showing up for traction and it’s still no joke.
Happy April 1st, stay sharp, everybody wants to be a comedian today.
When you’re a kid gum is a big deal, you think about when you’ll be allowed to have it, how much will you get, what flavor will it be. At some point an adult tells you to close your mouth as you chew your long-awaited treat and it’s your first hint that maybe gum is not as exciting for everyone as you thought. When it gets stuck to your school uniform and your Mom is taking an ice-cube to your hideous plaid skirt you start to get a new look at gum. When a giant bubble bursts all over your face and tangles in your hair you can’t believe that gum can hurt. On a dare when you reach under the cafeteria table at lunch you have your first realization of the sheer horror of dead gum left behind. Somewhere over time you too begin to develop rules about gum.
I don’t care deeply about a lot of things. I save my energy and passion for what I believe are the big issues, anything else just doesn’t garner much of a fight from me or for that matter, even a strong opinion. I am the kind of person that picks their battles carefully, I don’t go out on a limb or strongly commit unless it’s huge for me. So where does the earth shattering topic of gum fall in all of this…..I think there should be a couple basic rules, when finished with your chewing sensation properly dispose of said gum, if you don’t know what that means, you probably shouldn’t be chewing it. No chewing in church, and that includes all funerals and weddings, no matter their location. Recently after watching the news the other day I’m now willing to add another location to the list. I have to admit it’s one that I never thought about before I saw it. I don’t think you should chew gum if you are on trial for murder. Or I guess maybe on trial for anything, but definitely not murder. For me, it’s hard to take a person seriously when they are chewing gum. I mean why bother to have a nice hair cut or a new outfit to impress the jury if you are chomping on gum. I’m not saying you’re a killer but it just isn’t right. Same as my feelings for just as you are about to say ‘I do,” I’d prefer you not be chewing gum or blowing a bubble. So on further close consideration I now think it’s best to keep gum out of the court room. In fact I’m willing to say, chew away in the class room, you’re a kid, but when or if you are ever on trial, NO CHEWING. I know I’m going out on a limb here, but I just thought this was worthy of amending my rules.
Ok, just some more thoughts while in traction that I know you can’t live without, carry on.
You’ve heard of pet therapy, well as I sit here in traction I think it might be nice to have something fluffy to hold onto, perhaps a furry little kitten or a cuddly puppy. For me though I actually think that’s a dream or maybe a nightmare. When we moved out of my childhood home I found a dog collar in the garage, let’s just say, I don’t ever remember having a dog. The days of having a Rover around the house were part of an unspeakable pet past.
A friend once asked me to keep an eye on her cat while she was out-of-town, to stop in each day and put out some food. I asked her if I’d have to bathe the kitty and she responded with a sigh and then said, “you weren’t kidding when you said you knew NOTHING about pets!” Why would I lie about such a thing?
My pet stories are all tragic and true. I had a canary named Simon, after the 10th time my Mom had asked me to clean out his cage she placed him on the back porch and told me that’s where I’d find him until his home was clean. So hours later I stroll my 12-year-old self out there and pick up his cage to say hello and out he flies from the bottom of his living quarters that I suddenly realized was now missing its’ tray. As he flew to the woods behind our house I screamed and my Mom came running. She consoled me with the reassuring words that we lived close to an interstate and before I knew it he’d be far south and living in sunny Florida. (You gotta love the stuff that Mothers come up with on the fly) Although it was trickier for her to smooth over the next year when the wolf dog next door tried to make Simon II into the blue plate special, Simon the sequel headed to birdie heaven within 24 hours.
I had so many fish swim to aquatic heaven I lost count, even a stray cat we named Tigger gave up on us. But the story that lives forever in my SPCA hit list life is my little turtle. He was about ten days old, didn’t even have a name yet, we returned home and couldn’t find him in his terrarium. Wasn’t hard to immediately notice turtle was not in his glass home and nowhere to be found. When one of my brothers offered to help find him I desperately accepted. Within minutes the sound of the crunch shook the room…….yep, big bro accidentally squished turtle under his Chuck Taylors into a little pile of oozing turtle guts and simultaneously burned the desire for further pets forever from my heart.
My Mom quickly announced her term as pet grandmother was over. She was retiring the role and I believe still recovering from the dog incident from ten years earlier. Apparently an elderly neighbor had said our dog “snapped” at him and my brothers were told their doggie was going to a “beautiful farm to run free”…when my eldest brother figured it out sometime later he never let them forget Buck’s euthanasia.
It’s kind of like God sent our family a memo that said, “Look, but please don’t touch.” So as I sit here today I’m thinking about my first Simon who flew south, picturing his little yellow self flying in and out of his time share in Boca Rotan. Soaring high over an ocean filled with all my guppies and goldfish. Not being a “pet person” is one thing but to be a danger to them is an unsettling other matter. I think once you realize you aren’t good at pet care there’s no coming back. Don’t get me wrong I’m the first girl to appreciate nature, but it has to be from a safe distance for all involved. So instead of trying pet therapy I’ll just squeeze this fluffy pillow as my neck hangs in traction and know by doing so I’m actually saving a Spot or Sprinkles life.
I think I might have a sink hole in my back yard. If I put on my glasses I’d be able to give you details about that, let’s just say I need to put my glasses on more often. I’ve been blessed my entire life with excellent vision, but lately my eyes have been a little blurry and it’s amazing if you put those glasses on you can see so nicely. But I’m not going to wear my glasses in traction, that’s like wearing your glasses on a ride at an amusement park, it’s just asking for trouble. So I don’t put them on when I get up because I’m not accustomed to wearing them and then I do traction and the next thing I know I’m looking out the back window and I think I have a growing sink hole and I can’t find my glasses! This could be the most exciting thing to happen in my backyard EVER.
As for keeping up with my glasses I’m tempted to get one of those strings but I knew a person once who wore one around their neck and they were a combination of kind of mean and a little too pretentious for my taste and I’m concerned about cross contamination. Plus the thought of putting anything around my neck EXCEPT a scarf with a built-in heating pad really isn’t appealing. Visualize the Pillsbury Dough Boy wearing a scarf, something that would match his gentle doughy neck, that would work perfectly for me. When it comes to what I want to touch my neck I’m “light and fluffy” all the way. The oxygen it seems is officially being restricted since I’ve now compared part of my body to a crescent roll and it feels like a fairly accurate description.
Ok, this is where my head is today, as for my glasses, on second thought maybe they’re in the sink hole.
I’ll keep you posted.
So I was thinking, who the H E double L is snooki? Why do we care who she is or is it just people of a certain millenium that do. I’m officially drawing the line at snooki, (by the way, am I spelling that correctly, I hope not.) Ok, Paris, Lindsey, Brittany, we’ve put up with a lot and now, Snooki! Please, please, someone make it STOP!!
I mean I’m not solving world peace here with this get up strapped to my head but at least I think about it once in a while. Jeez……Snooki, really, is she the best we can do?
Please, please, please, someone make it stop. Make us know how to spell, be able to pick out countries on a map and name our state representatives BEFORE we know who the H E double hockey sticks Snooki is! Heck, I’d even settle for knowing how to properly open a bag of chips to prevent them from flying thru the room, anything, anything is better.
Ok, taking off this harness from around my head and jumping off the soap box, well, not really, I don’t jump anymore, maybe Snooki does though.
Now granted, in the name of full disclosure I’m currently wearing a fuchsia colored polo with “Barbados” embroidered in the left corner, khaki pants and blue Vans, hardly a fashion plate. Perfect combination of laziness, comfort and bad taste. So in the last couple of days I’ve noticed others too are struggling with what to wear on transitional weather days. I saw a middle-aged man wearing a backpack over his shirtless tattooed torso, saw a young woman in a sequined black tank top pushing a stroller, saw a 40 something woman in hot pink shorts with “BEACH BUM” across her behind. But my favorite look was what appeared to be five-year old twins, one still hanging onto the last glimpse of summer in a floral sun dress with matching flip-flops as her sister chose jeans and a XXL gray hooded sweatshirt falling fashionably over her eyes.
So the most I know about what might be fashionable this upcoming season comes from the Today Show, borrow dark lipstick from a vampire and dress like you’re in an episode of Mad Men and you should be all set. I was thinking about a child I saw in Port-au-Prince, he had a shirt on that said, “my grandparents went to Ontario and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” or some catchy phrase like that. I remember thinking that shirt was a long way from Ontario or anyplace folks read English. What one person thinks is cute another finds essential. What one finds chic another finds a waste of time and money. I wish I had a better fashion sense, I know folks that do, you know who you are, but it’s not me. I’ll never wear something that was last seen on the runway in Milan, more like the back corner of Target.
Well, enough rambles for today, this sling around my head seems to match everything!