Merry Christmas! Hello! Are you still out here......? I see I've gained a few followers since I've been gone. Now I know the secret of growth - profound silence.
Just wanted to pop in for a minute and tell you that you should be grateful for all the gory details I've spared you. It's my Christmas present to you. But don't expect it to last much longer. I have improved to the point that I may be able to sit here, at my computer, long enough to write revolting stories. I can't wait.
I miss every one of you and am looking forward to catching up and getting to visit blogs again, even if it's only one a day. Thank you for your notes in the meantime and the prayers! I'm still recovering but I'm SO much better than four, three, or even two months ago.
It's a strange Christmas here. No tree, no presents. We have been having to do some home improvement projects and are finishing so late, we all decided to have a Whoville Christmas without ribbons, boxes, or bags. Christmas will come just the same and maybe we'll truly focus on why! We have been invited to spend Christmas Day with dear friends while Grizzly works. We are happy for the work and sad for his absence. But EVERYthing is upside down this year so we are embracing the theme and letting life unfold. It'll be that weird Christmas our kids will always remember. Everybody has to have ONE of those.
What are you all doing? I'd love to hear! This week I'm painting and making fudge. It'll be great if I don't get the two combined. If anyone gets sage colored fudge from me, don't eat it.
Back soon. Merry, MERRY Christmas, my dear bloggy buds!
With Love,
Robynn
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
It Takes a Village to Care for An Idiot
I just have to pop in and say that I am the blessed recipient of the most amazing care. Everyone pities me, which is rich - you just don't GET that every day. And then they feed me.
We have had over three weeks worth of loving friends bringing meals, flowers, and even groceries. I've had friends, and an aunt, lay on the bed with me and just hold my hand and even sleep. You KNOW you're comfortable when you fall asleep with other people on your bed with you. I've had the loveliest cards and texts and phone calls. One friend even dropped off a pin that says, "I Love Pain Meds." And I DO.
(I've also seen more Dr. Feel than I ever care to again but I did glean a few tidbits to help me tidy up the emotional wreckage I like to call my personality.)
Something you probably don't know about me is that I really want to entertain. And I RARELY do. I used to. A lot. I know this because I was reading my son's baby book to him while on my back and it had a calendar with the dates we had people over for dinner and shopping trips for Christmas party supplies. I threw a whiz bang Christmas party every year for our friends. Then life moved on. Our friends changed as we all went in different directions. And our furniture got rattier and we ripped out the carpet and bought wood flooring to install. The only room done? My daughter's and she doesn't even live here anymore. The furniture finally got replaced but the flooring still isn't finished. But I want EVERYthing to be done before I entertain again. And you know what? Life is passing me by.
Being on my back in bed for three weeks made me throw the doors open wide and say, "Here it is! All our imperfection is open for inspection!" This has been an incredibly humbling experience. I have friends with E.X.Q.U.I.S.I.T.E. homes and I have friends who live very simply. I didn't pick ANY of them for their home and I know for CERTAIN they didn't pick me for mine. Why do I care? I can give a lot of reasons, and some of them valid, but the reality is we just don't get do-overs for a life.
My constant prayer has been, "Lord, let me entertain again before I can't." He answered me through this recovery time after surgery. Gee, thanks, Lord. I have entertained in the lamest way possible. Others have provided ALL the food and the decorations while I supplied nothing but feeble "thank yous." However, I've had all these different people into my home so at least the barrier has been broken and I'd like to think of that as entertaining. (I can convince myself of almost anything.) Other than the occasional kid friend, people are once again being admitted into "Imperfect Land." And they keep coming.
Why? I have no idea. It's not because I'm a wonderful person. It's because they are. So what was I so worried about?
Hoping to be back soon!
With Love,
Robynn
©Copyright 2010
We have had over three weeks worth of loving friends bringing meals, flowers, and even groceries. I've had friends, and an aunt, lay on the bed with me and just hold my hand and even sleep. You KNOW you're comfortable when you fall asleep with other people on your bed with you. I've had the loveliest cards and texts and phone calls. One friend even dropped off a pin that says, "I Love Pain Meds." And I DO.
(I've also seen more Dr. Feel than I ever care to again but I did glean a few tidbits to help me tidy up the emotional wreckage I like to call my personality.)
Something you probably don't know about me is that I really want to entertain. And I RARELY do. I used to. A lot. I know this because I was reading my son's baby book to him while on my back and it had a calendar with the dates we had people over for dinner and shopping trips for Christmas party supplies. I threw a whiz bang Christmas party every year for our friends. Then life moved on. Our friends changed as we all went in different directions. And our furniture got rattier and we ripped out the carpet and bought wood flooring to install. The only room done? My daughter's and she doesn't even live here anymore. The furniture finally got replaced but the flooring still isn't finished. But I want EVERYthing to be done before I entertain again. And you know what? Life is passing me by.
Being on my back in bed for three weeks made me throw the doors open wide and say, "Here it is! All our imperfection is open for inspection!" This has been an incredibly humbling experience. I have friends with E.X.Q.U.I.S.I.T.E. homes and I have friends who live very simply. I didn't pick ANY of them for their home and I know for CERTAIN they didn't pick me for mine. Why do I care? I can give a lot of reasons, and some of them valid, but the reality is we just don't get do-overs for a life.
My constant prayer has been, "Lord, let me entertain again before I can't." He answered me through this recovery time after surgery. Gee, thanks, Lord. I have entertained in the lamest way possible. Others have provided ALL the food and the decorations while I supplied nothing but feeble "thank yous." However, I've had all these different people into my home so at least the barrier has been broken and I'd like to think of that as entertaining. (I can convince myself of almost anything.) Other than the occasional kid friend, people are once again being admitted into "Imperfect Land." And they keep coming.
Why? I have no idea. It's not because I'm a wonderful person. It's because they are. So what was I so worried about?
Hoping to be back soon!
With Love,
Robynn
©Copyright 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Oh The Things That I Could Tell You.....
That you'd never want to hear. BUT.I.CAN'T.SIT. for more than five minutes, and I only get that if I'm lucky. I have an iPod which keeps me from feeling like I've been dropped in a nunnery in the Swiss Alps. At least I have contact with the outside world. But I can't write. I can't visit. I can't even check Gmail (which is my blog email account) because of the computer meltdown. When I've tried to visit blogs on my iPod it takes forEVER to write a comment and then, more often than not, I lose the whole thing so that idea is dead.
(OH.MY.GOOD.OLFACTORIES! If my dog, who is laying at my feet, does ONE MORE OF THOSE THINGS, I'm passing out right after throwing up!)
I had planned to at least visit you guys but THAT hasn't happened. I planned to horrify you with the details of my surgery. THAT hasn't happned. I planned to write more chapters in my book. Well, you get the idea. I'm a deadbeat. I have had pain that should have its own book and agent but who'd read it or buy it? I'd have to pay people to perform those chores and that's not a direction that feels really fruitful. I am NOT back to my life. I don't know WHEN I'll be back to my life. I'm grumpy. I'm WHINEY. I'm not unaware that others have far more difficulties. So I'm also GUILTY which makes me whinier and grumpier. I'm gangs of fun.
Wish you were here!
©Copyright 2010
(OH.MY.GOOD.OLFACTORIES! If my dog, who is laying at my feet, does ONE MORE OF THOSE THINGS, I'm passing out right after throwing up!)
I had planned to at least visit you guys but THAT hasn't happened. I planned to horrify you with the details of my surgery. THAT hasn't happned. I planned to write more chapters in my book. Well, you get the idea. I'm a deadbeat. I have had pain that should have its own book and agent but who'd read it or buy it? I'd have to pay people to perform those chores and that's not a direction that feels really fruitful. I am NOT back to my life. I don't know WHEN I'll be back to my life. I'm grumpy. I'm WHINEY. I'm not unaware that others have far more difficulties. So I'm also GUILTY which makes me whinier and grumpier. I'm gangs of fun.
Wish you were here!
©Copyright 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Robynn's in the Hospital
This is Hunter(TWM), Robynn's son. She asked me to let you know that she has had a few complications after her surgery and that they put her in the hospital yesterday. She will probably be out in a few days. I would very much appreciate it if you prayed for her. She thanks you very much for your love and support and hopes to back soon. Thank you, Hunter
Monday, August 23, 2010
Time Out for Surgery
Tomorrow is my big day. I have surgery to fix this, uh, certain problem that I've been dealing with for far too long. (I promise to blog about it even though it's embarrassing and no one wants to hear about it. You know things like that never stop me.)
The hospital takes me in and springs me the same day but the doctor is making me stay in a drug induced stupor for three weeks. I can't drive. I can't operate heavy machinery, like computers. That's to keep me from doing and saying stupid things I'll regret later. You know, like usual. So if I show up at your place gushing about how much I've always loved you and then changing the subject to leaf blowers and people who don't floss their teeth, I beg your forgiveness in advance.
And I've been on a cleaning jag because I have wonderful friends who are insisting on bringing meals. That means they will see my house. And I don't want them to know how behind I am. They never read my blog so I'm sure they have no idea. Usually, when my house is a mess and somebody just stops by I simply hide in the closet and try not to breathe out loud. Now I can't get away with that. They might even come into my bedroom. I suppose that means I'll have to move the two foot high pile of laundry I like to call my "step stool" that I use to get into my extra high bed.
I only go on this kind of a cleaning frenzy for two events: vacation and surgery.
I just discussed this with my dear, sweet friend, Christina, yesterday at church. (She was all sympathy and commiseraton but, in reality, her house is always LOVELY. Thank you, Christina for pretending it's not so I didn't feel like the intervention candidate that I actually am.) We decided women do this for a variety of reasons but not the least of which is the risk of death.
What if we died while vacationing? Others would come in to our disarray and find out how we really live. Our husbands try to counter with statements like, "You'll be dead! Who cares!" But, being women, of COURSE we care because we KNOW people will still talk and we don't want to be remembered as the ones who had to have HazMat come in before others could find our final directives paperwork.
Also, there's the issue of vacationing in lovely, clean places where there is daily maid service and no pets or pet hair. Or dust. Or accumlation. From children and husbands. (Wives don't count since we always have to clean up our own mess anyway. No one comes behind US.) If towels are thrown on the floor, they are magically replaced the next day with fresh, new ones. Unmade beds are suddenly perfect.
Now, leave that dream-like environment and go home. To the mess that was left? No thank you. That kind of shock could induce headline worthy behavior in the returning wife/mother. So you must leave your home spotless.
As far as surgery is concerned, you are forced to lay on the bed/couch/kitchen counter and look at all the work you know you should have done when you had the chance. And you know if you COULD do it right now you would. And I love that lie with all my heart. It's so very holy to be utterly willing and completely unable to do all the things you tell yourself you'd do if only you could. It's far better than any get-out-of-jail free card. But if you haven't worked ahead of time, you WILL be forced to survey your disgusting domain. And that's too much guilt for even a seasoned slob.
And so I clean. And when I clean I'm an insane perfectionist.
"Do you really need to use brass polish on those draw pulls?" my husband asks while he surveys the dust hanging from the ceiling fan, spanish moss style. I have no balance. But in a few short hours, I won't care. At least while I'm taking the drugs.
So I better go now. There's no time like the present to pretend you are a gifted Domestic Doyenne. Why can't they give you these drugs a week ahead of time so you don't notice all these things or care? Now THAT would be TRUE pain management.
©Copyright 2010
The hospital takes me in and springs me the same day but the doctor is making me stay in a drug induced stupor for three weeks. I can't drive. I can't operate heavy machinery, like computers. That's to keep me from doing and saying stupid things I'll regret later. You know, like usual. So if I show up at your place gushing about how much I've always loved you and then changing the subject to leaf blowers and people who don't floss their teeth, I beg your forgiveness in advance.
And I've been on a cleaning jag because I have wonderful friends who are insisting on bringing meals. That means they will see my house. And I don't want them to know how behind I am. They never read my blog so I'm sure they have no idea. Usually, when my house is a mess and somebody just stops by I simply hide in the closet and try not to breathe out loud. Now I can't get away with that. They might even come into my bedroom. I suppose that means I'll have to move the two foot high pile of laundry I like to call my "step stool" that I use to get into my extra high bed.
I only go on this kind of a cleaning frenzy for two events: vacation and surgery.
I just discussed this with my dear, sweet friend, Christina, yesterday at church. (She was all sympathy and commiseraton but, in reality, her house is always LOVELY. Thank you, Christina for pretending it's not so I didn't feel like the intervention candidate that I actually am.) We decided women do this for a variety of reasons but not the least of which is the risk of death.
What if we died while vacationing? Others would come in to our disarray and find out how we really live. Our husbands try to counter with statements like, "You'll be dead! Who cares!" But, being women, of COURSE we care because we KNOW people will still talk and we don't want to be remembered as the ones who had to have HazMat come in before others could find our final directives paperwork.
Also, there's the issue of vacationing in lovely, clean places where there is daily maid service and no pets or pet hair. Or dust. Or accumlation. From children and husbands. (Wives don't count since we always have to clean up our own mess anyway. No one comes behind US.) If towels are thrown on the floor, they are magically replaced the next day with fresh, new ones. Unmade beds are suddenly perfect.
Now, leave that dream-like environment and go home. To the mess that was left? No thank you. That kind of shock could induce headline worthy behavior in the returning wife/mother. So you must leave your home spotless.
As far as surgery is concerned, you are forced to lay on the bed/couch/kitchen counter and look at all the work you know you should have done when you had the chance. And you know if you COULD do it right now you would. And I love that lie with all my heart. It's so very holy to be utterly willing and completely unable to do all the things you tell yourself you'd do if only you could. It's far better than any get-out-of-jail free card. But if you haven't worked ahead of time, you WILL be forced to survey your disgusting domain. And that's too much guilt for even a seasoned slob.
And so I clean. And when I clean I'm an insane perfectionist.
"Do you really need to use brass polish on those draw pulls?" my husband asks while he surveys the dust hanging from the ceiling fan, spanish moss style. I have no balance. But in a few short hours, I won't care. At least while I'm taking the drugs.
So I better go now. There's no time like the present to pretend you are a gifted Domestic Doyenne. Why can't they give you these drugs a week ahead of time so you don't notice all these things or care? Now THAT would be TRUE pain management.
©Copyright 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Observational Twitter 25
Famous Old Ditty:
"Fatty and Skinny went to bed, Fatty rolled over and Skinny was dead." ~ Unknown
Obscure Observation:
Despite the dreaded scale, Body Mass Index charts, and dire predictions from her doctor, the important point here is Fatty woke up alive and well. It was Skinny who was dead. ~ Robynn
©Copyright 2010
"Fatty and Skinny went to bed, Fatty rolled over and Skinny was dead." ~ Unknown
Obscure Observation:
Despite the dreaded scale, Body Mass Index charts, and dire predictions from her doctor, the important point here is Fatty woke up alive and well. It was Skinny who was dead. ~ Robynn
©Copyright 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Don't Push That Button
I'm coming to you from the other side. My computer is still there but I am gone. It shows minimal vital signs and I'm hovering over its body. All I have is my IPod to stay in touch with the world and check on a few things. I'm borrowing a computer to type to you while I'm hovering. I am enjoying the weightlessness, however. I'm so thin you can see through me.
Uh, do yourself a favor and don't opt for the "dislike" button on Facebook. I thought it was real. Me. The QUEEN of paranoia. I offend people by never opening attachments of the latest funny joke or pictures of their pet gargoyle. I never look when an email says, "You've just GOTTA check this out!" even though it's from my mother. But I've been waiting for the "dislike" button on Facebook so I could use it when a friend said, "I'm so sick I'm throwing up food from next week." I figured that kind of status update deserved a dislike button. Don't you find it a little strange that you can only "like" something horrible? But this longing for common sense made me ripe for the pickin', as we say here in Farm Town, USA.
And just like that other fruit that shouldn't have been picked long ago, things began to go seriously wrong. Suddenly, my searches took me to places I'd never heard of and wasn't trying to go. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. My computer is so infected from allowing that ONE Facebook application that it will be hours and hours and days and days before Grizzly can undo the problem, if THAT even works. All of our sensitive information has been compromised and I'm changing every password I've EVER created. Because, really, what ELSE do I have to do with my life? Grizzly may have to wipe my hard drive but that's a last resort since my last two months worth of work hasn't been backed up. (Don't do that.)
I am informed by Grizzly and Hannah that this wasn't actually Facebook's application so I shouldn't be mad at them. Au contraire. Facebook KNOWS millions of people are waiting for a dislike button. It should have firewalls in place to alert them if a third party uses language that refers to anything with those words. An alert should then go out immediately to all users stating that this is NOT a sanctioned Facebook application and using it could be very risky (since the creator is obviously trying to SOUND like it is from Facebook). I may be just a country bumpkin but that seems like common sense to me. No wonder that firewall does not exist.
And, of course, I'm mad at my dummy self. I now have to shop at Big Idiots R Us. And I've lost ALL of my holier-than-thou credits. I counted on those to advise everyone around me. How will they go on with their lives now?
I've never been a good example. Allow me to be a terrible warning.
©Copyright 2010
Uh, do yourself a favor and don't opt for the "dislike" button on Facebook. I thought it was real. Me. The QUEEN of paranoia. I offend people by never opening attachments of the latest funny joke or pictures of their pet gargoyle. I never look when an email says, "You've just GOTTA check this out!" even though it's from my mother. But I've been waiting for the "dislike" button on Facebook so I could use it when a friend said, "I'm so sick I'm throwing up food from next week." I figured that kind of status update deserved a dislike button. Don't you find it a little strange that you can only "like" something horrible? But this longing for common sense made me ripe for the pickin', as we say here in Farm Town, USA.
And just like that other fruit that shouldn't have been picked long ago, things began to go seriously wrong. Suddenly, my searches took me to places I'd never heard of and wasn't trying to go. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. My computer is so infected from allowing that ONE Facebook application that it will be hours and hours and days and days before Grizzly can undo the problem, if THAT even works. All of our sensitive information has been compromised and I'm changing every password I've EVER created. Because, really, what ELSE do I have to do with my life? Grizzly may have to wipe my hard drive but that's a last resort since my last two months worth of work hasn't been backed up. (Don't do that.)
I am informed by Grizzly and Hannah that this wasn't actually Facebook's application so I shouldn't be mad at them. Au contraire. Facebook KNOWS millions of people are waiting for a dislike button. It should have firewalls in place to alert them if a third party uses language that refers to anything with those words. An alert should then go out immediately to all users stating that this is NOT a sanctioned Facebook application and using it could be very risky (since the creator is obviously trying to SOUND like it is from Facebook). I may be just a country bumpkin but that seems like common sense to me. No wonder that firewall does not exist.
And, of course, I'm mad at my dummy self. I now have to shop at Big Idiots R Us. And I've lost ALL of my holier-than-thou credits. I counted on those to advise everyone around me. How will they go on with their lives now?
I've never been a good example. Allow me to be a terrible warning.
©Copyright 2010
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