Last week I developed laryngitis. In my world, laryngitis is a seasonal thing I know will show up at least a few times every year. Normally I don’t mind it terribly because I’m not a big fan of my voice, it being rather stupid sounding and all. So having a different sounding voice is always a bit like a nice change as far as I’m concerned.
But this was not that sort of laryngitis. This was the sort that instead of making me sound Lauren Bacall-esque, it made me sound silent. As in I lost my whole voice. And, of course, I was scheduled to be talking on Sunday. Continue reading
I’ve been fairly open here that I have PTSD. For those of you who don’t live with this particular beast, it is a fiery one. Most times it is just there, like scars from a bike ride gone wrong back in elementary school days. But then things trigger it and it sets off a maelstrom of emotions. For me, sometimes that looks like a leaf on the wind trying to float to the earth rather than plummet. And sometimes it looks very different.
On April 15th, we all know a terrible thing happened in Boston. And many of us know it because the images of the bombings were all over every media outlet. From the beginning, before I realized what was happening, I saw photos of the carnage.
And since blood is a major trigger for me, I immediately started a PTSD struggle.
This weekend something funny happened. And by funny I mean “ha ha ha” but also not so much. I’m sure you understand.
As a family we decided to have a spontaneous outing and drove to the Waffle Window for waffles. I’m not known for my spontaneity so my kiddos and husband were probably pleasantly surprised to hear me grab my keys and head out to the car without any cajoling from them. On the way back I was chatting with them and I said something to the extent of “I’m sorry for being such a basket case lately. This querying my novel thing is pretty stressful.” To which 2 of my kids basically said “Really, we hadn’t noticed a difference.”
And by not noticing a difference, they didn’t mean “you’ve been your normal sweet-natured self, Mom.” Nope, they meant that I’m always a bit of a basket case. And they probably weren’t too far from the truth. Continue reading
Tomorrow is garbage and recycling day around these parts which means I’ve been scurrying about, collecting all the recycling that arrives via the USPS and trips to varied shopping places. Every two weeks I trundle my big blue box on wheels out to my alley and hope. I hope that all those numbers encircled with an arrowed triangle get “reduced, reused, and recycled”. But I know that it is an inexact science, this hope of mine. It is better today than it once was, but it is still not perfect.
Because reducing, reusing and recycling is not enough to break chains.
As I scrubbed out the old peanut butter tub and thought about if I had another need for it in my house (buttons? maybe the Borax?) I automatically checked the bottom for the code. Of course it is a 1, after all, it is a “necked bottle”. Which led me to wonder why the heck isn’t everything made out of the magical stuff that 1s and 2s are? My guess is it comes down to money.
Recycling ain’t cheap folks.