I am home, safe and sound. Katie is recovering well.
My blog has been silent for long periods lately, only because I've run out of steam. Between working too much, sewing for my granddaughter-to-be, and getting ready for the shower I'm throwing for her, every day is crammed from morning til night. Throw in a couple elderly parents, an aunt with Parkinson's, a friend fairly well immobilized by a knee injury, and it's time to stick a fork in me. I'm done.
I may not comment often, but I read your blogs and I miss you all. I'll be back some time soon.
Love.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
My Favorite Martian
Yesterday, Katie's fiance called at 5:30 am to say she was heading to emergency surgery to have her appendix removed. An hour later, I was on the road to Minneapolis.
She's fine. Sore, tired and cranky, but fine.
Katie worked Tuesday night. By the time she got home, she didn't feel great. By the middle of the night, she was in major pain. Craig googled her symptoms and decided she needed to go to the hospital. Katie was not in favor of the idea, but Craig insisted.
By the time the ER docs saw her, she was not in good shape. They prepped her and took her appendix before it burst, thank goodness.
Craig called me as soon as the docs made the decision. He checked in with me as I drove. He stayed with her until he absolutely had to leave for work, about 30 minutes before I arrived.
Men may be from Mars, but Craig now lives smack in the middle of my heart. He is so good to my daughter.
She's fine. Sore, tired and cranky, but fine.
Katie worked Tuesday night. By the time she got home, she didn't feel great. By the middle of the night, she was in major pain. Craig googled her symptoms and decided she needed to go to the hospital. Katie was not in favor of the idea, but Craig insisted.
By the time the ER docs saw her, she was not in good shape. They prepped her and took her appendix before it burst, thank goodness.
Craig called me as soon as the docs made the decision. He checked in with me as I drove. He stayed with her until he absolutely had to leave for work, about 30 minutes before I arrived.
Men may be from Mars, but Craig now lives smack in the middle of my heart. He is so good to my daughter.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
No Time, No Type
I'm baaaaack.
Everything's fine here, just exceptionally busy. I've been working like a wild woman and bouncing from helping one person to helping another. My dad's only sister is expecting a great-grandson in a few weeks. She wants handmade gifts for the baby but has Parkinson's and very limited vision. I spent all last weekend designing and sewing special outfits for him, and now I'm working on a quilt to wrap him in love when he arrives. That may sound crazy given everything else, but this woman has extreme health challenges and a husband with Alzheimer's. They lost their only child to a brain aneurysm about 14 years ago. It won't kill me to get up a little earlier and stay up a little later to make help her welcome her great-grandchild.
Besides, I'm sleeping better these days. Well...not exactly. But I expect to soon.
Remember the goose wars? The bottle rockets and air horns and slingshots? Well, the geese are trying to return and the goose haters are on full alert around the pond.
Funny thing is, one goose stayed through it all. For two years, no other geese dared land on the pond, but this one intrepid bird stuck it out. Unfortunately, it nests right under my windows and it has the loudest, most plaintive cry of any creature on God's green earth.
For two years, I have not slept through the night because IT has not slept through the night. Something rouses it and it screams for an hour. I wake, mentally shush the goose, and try to drift back to sleep despite the racket. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.
All Monday afternoon, I felt unsettled. Something was wrong, but I couldn't tell what. Finally, I stopped work to pace at the windows and realized the orange-billed goose was gone. Not under my windows. Not on the banks of the pond. Not in the water. Gone, along with its incredible voice.
The first two nights I woke several times, waiting for the goose to call. Last night I slept through most of the night but woke in the wee hours, listening for the goose.
I did not love this goose. Truthfully, I hated its noise and didn't understand why the same guys who shoot off bottle rockets at the Canada geese couldn't capture this little orange-footed beauty and relocate it. Many, many times I cursed that goose under my breath during the night.
But now it's gone, and I wonder if it's all right. A silent night sounds good, but not if it's purchased at the price of an innocent goose's life.
Think I could have Stockholm Syndrome?
Everything's fine here, just exceptionally busy. I've been working like a wild woman and bouncing from helping one person to helping another. My dad's only sister is expecting a great-grandson in a few weeks. She wants handmade gifts for the baby but has Parkinson's and very limited vision. I spent all last weekend designing and sewing special outfits for him, and now I'm working on a quilt to wrap him in love when he arrives. That may sound crazy given everything else, but this woman has extreme health challenges and a husband with Alzheimer's. They lost their only child to a brain aneurysm about 14 years ago. It won't kill me to get up a little earlier and stay up a little later to make help her welcome her great-grandchild.
Besides, I'm sleeping better these days. Well...not exactly. But I expect to soon.
Remember the goose wars? The bottle rockets and air horns and slingshots? Well, the geese are trying to return and the goose haters are on full alert around the pond.
Funny thing is, one goose stayed through it all. For two years, no other geese dared land on the pond, but this one intrepid bird stuck it out. Unfortunately, it nests right under my windows and it has the loudest, most plaintive cry of any creature on God's green earth.
For two years, I have not slept through the night because IT has not slept through the night. Something rouses it and it screams for an hour. I wake, mentally shush the goose, and try to drift back to sleep despite the racket. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.
All Monday afternoon, I felt unsettled. Something was wrong, but I couldn't tell what. Finally, I stopped work to pace at the windows and realized the orange-billed goose was gone. Not under my windows. Not on the banks of the pond. Not in the water. Gone, along with its incredible voice.
The first two nights I woke several times, waiting for the goose to call. Last night I slept through most of the night but woke in the wee hours, listening for the goose.
I did not love this goose. Truthfully, I hated its noise and didn't understand why the same guys who shoot off bottle rockets at the Canada geese couldn't capture this little orange-footed beauty and relocate it. Many, many times I cursed that goose under my breath during the night.
But now it's gone, and I wonder if it's all right. A silent night sounds good, but not if it's purchased at the price of an innocent goose's life.
Think I could have Stockholm Syndrome?
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