from the porches

the crippled parade

 
 
Today I took Mom and Truett to High Springs to get hair cuts.  It felt like I was in a circus and we were the big finale.  First, I dropped  Mom off at Jodie's Beauty Shop, drove down the city block to find a handicapped parking space, pushed Truett in his wheelchair back up the city block and waited while he got his hair cut at Jerry's Barber Shop.

 
After Truett's hair was cut, I parked him on the corner of First and Main, walked back down the street to check on Mom, only to find out that she was not ready.  Her left toes needed to be manicured. 

 
We had decided to eat at The Great Outdoors Restaurant; so I walked back up the city block to pick up Truett, figuring he could wait in the restaurant in the cool while I waited for Mom to get finished with her  appointment.

 
I grabbed the wheelchair, pushed the button for the walk signal, and when we got the signal, I began pushing Truett across the street.

 
We were midway across the street when a super-sized pick-up truck came barreling toward Truett and me.  It's called aggressive driving.  It's called trying-to-beat-the-car-going straight by a second.  In BMX bicycle racing, it's called "getting the hole shot", or maybe "getting the whole shot".  What it means is I win, you lose.

 
Well, folks.  I froze right there on the spot and let out a scream that could be heard clear to Fort White, "NOOOOOOOOO!"  Fortunately, the driver slammed on her brakes in the nick of time, and even though her tinted windows were rolled up, I imagine she could hear my screams and Truett yelling,  "YOU STUPID PERSON!"  It's the closest to death I've ever experienced.  Obviously, the driver saw no pedestrians.  Obviously, she WAS STUPID!

Anyway, the driver slammed on her brakes and I managed to push Truett's wheelchair on across the street to The Great Outdoors and left him outside the restaurant.  Then I hobbled (bad knee, you know) back down the sidewalk and across the street to get my mother.  Visibly shaken, I told my story about nearly getting plowed down by a pick-up truck.

 
After that Mom (with her walker) and I crossed the street and reunited with Truett.  We did have lunch at The Great Outdoors, although I barely remember eating it. 

And afterward, as I pushed Truett in his wheelchair down the street toward the car with Mom scuttling behind us in her walker shouting, "Here comes the crippled parade!"  or "I'm coming!"; we finally made it to the car in the only handicapped parking space in downtown High Springs. 

End of story.  Just another day in our lives!

all logical

 
I know some of you may know this story about me being right-brained.  We right-brained people could care less about numbers and order and especially logic; therefore, when I post my sad, sad, SAD stories about having to pull a trailer, it's because I've probably been innundated by all those left-brainiacs and I don't understand their language! 

Heck, just dealing with how to hook up a trailer and figuring out whether to turn the steering wheel left or right to get it out of a parking lot, blows us right brainiacs out of the water.  I have no clue.  No, I had no clue.  I honestly looked in the rear view mirror and thought, "Turn the steering wheel left and the trailer will go right. . .no . . .maybe it will go left.  You see, that's the problem with right-brained people.  WE HAVE NO CLUE!  And . . .WE DON'T CARE!

 
When I was teaching I once asked a fifth grade teacher, "How do you know how to schedule all these grade levels?  I have to color code each grade level and draw boxes, and I still can't get it right.  How do you know how to do this?"

The teacher told me that it was all logical. 

HA! I didn't even know what that meant. 

I did know that I lived with my logical husband and logical daughter and my illogical son and myself.  So I asked, "How did you become so logical?"

My friend told me her father made her work a logic problem every morning at the breakfast table before she could go to school.

OMG!  I wanted to throw up just hearing this.  But then it struck me.  I grew up with a father that  doodled on drawing paper or napkins or tissues at every meal we ate.  Plus, he wrote poetry to go with the doodles.

There was no logic in my early learning years.  Only fun, frills and laughter.

 
So, even though I'm going through a lot of stress lately, I think a lot of the stress is because I am not logical.  Never wanted to be.  Never have been.  And . . . never want to be.

Therefore, I write my sad, sad, SAD songs about my life.

Poor me.

Keep the flowers coming, but draw a doodle on the card so I can understand what you mean to say!

Love you all.

Thanks for your prayers and support.

Merry!

new attitude

I have no photographs to show you tonight.  I am re-adjusting my attitude.  It's been a rough week for me:

*My knee is sprained and I am in constant dull pain all because I lift a wheelchair up into the back of my Acadia every single day, plus several times in a day.

*Truett continues to tell me how to drive; thus, I backed into a pole at the mall and now have a broken cover plate on the driver's side tail light, not to mention the paint that is scraped off my car. (But, I'm blaming him!)

*I have had NO patience with Truett's inability to walk or remember what we're doing on a daily basis.

*I am impatient that Truett's anti-naseau patch DID NOT WORK, but am hopeful about rehab tomorrow since he is now on the pill.

*I have to deal with EVERYTHING in our lives: towing trailers, getting Directv to show a picture and not just sound, the business, the cats and dogs, Mama, and cook!  (But you already know how I feel about cooking!)

I am afraid I let it all out over the past twenty-four hours.  Anger.  Resentment.  Disappointment.

But, the good news is:  I am remorseful and I have apologized for not being patient.  I am re-adjusting my attitude so I can live with myself!