Category: life Page 13 of 16

Everybody needs a little shade sometimes

This is what happens when a heat wave hits and you want your lettuce to survive. You do everything in your power* to shade that plant. Everything, that is, that doesn’t require moving the container inside (too heavy and wet). Or moving it to a shadier spot. Or putting out any effort at all.**

Yup, a Die Hard Gardener. That’s me.

Alright, time to get back to writing . . .***

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*This should be said in the movie trailer guy’s voice: deep, resonant, and overly dramatic.

**To be fair, I had to find the umbrella. And that umbrella was one I bought in Tokyo a number of years ago (it has cherry blossoms!). So actually, if one were to include the time and effort it took to bring that umbrella back to the States, store it, then find it for this purpose, well . . .

***As for the title of this post, my husband saw what I had done and asked, “What, are they Parisian lettuce? They need a parasol?”

“Tea, Earl Grey. Hot.” As if.

After a few years of my doctor saying, “You know, you should probably get a mammogram, just to have a baseline,” now was apparently the time to have one*. So two days after going in for my annual exam, there I was in a spa-like changing room getting ready for my first mammogram.

I’d heard horror stories (just the description of squishing did not sound like the Most Fun Ever), so I expected the worst: a drawn-out embarrassing process** that would involve discomfort, pain, and another Awful Medical Experience***.

It was so very far from that. The technician was upbeat and pleasant, and more to the point ON TIME****., so not drawn out. No embarrassment, even with a little cotton gown-vest (I appreciate concerns about modesty, but by the point you have someone handling your body parts and positioning them ‘just so,’ embarrassment no longer exists). And no pain! Sure, it’s not the most comfortable of procedures*****, but it’s over quickly. Hurrah!

My only moment of “Arrrooo?”****** was seeing two aerosol cans of deodorant in the changing room. I hadn’t seen aerosol deodorant in a long time, and yet there they were. It took a few moments to realize, “Oh, that would be the most sanitary way to provide deodorant” since you’re not supposed to wear any for the scan. It also had me wonder if mammography in its own strange way is keeping one aspect of the deodorant industry afloat.

tldr: I got my first mammogram, and it didn’t kill me.

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*Funny, the same thing happened with the gum graft. Not sure what to make of this.

**I wasn’t sure it could top either of my EKGs, but hey, anything is possible.

***Admittedly, these experiences make great story fodder.

****I’m still unclear on why medical appointments (even at the earliest, first thing in the morning time slots) seem to still require the doctor to take twenty-plus minutes after the scheduled appointment time to show up. Is this just a standard modus operandi? Do they set physician’s clocks behind by twenty minutes? Or are the docs just trying to be kind, figuring that they don’t want to interrupt you while you’re reading that fabulous article from last month’s People magazine about Pippa Middleton’s wedding?

*****Take any solid object and try to squish it flat, then hold it there at 20 psi for 30 seconds. Good times!

******Picture a dog looking at something that looks familiar, but just knows that something is not right: head cocked to the side, ears at attention. Yeah, that was me.

Cedar plantar boxes built with power tools and glue. Woot!

Today’s chapter: In which our heroine learns how to use a chop saw and a nail gun.

I picked up a 3-pack of dish tubs from Costco and turned them into planters for seedlings*. While the industrial look of the tubs might work well for, oh, an industrial setting, they didn’t seem to look right on a wooden deck.

My husband said, “Why don’t you build some cedar boxes for them?”

This I interpreted as: “How about I build you some cedar boxes, honey?”

What he meant was: “Why don’t you build some cedar boxes for them?”

This difference in interpretation became evident when he asked me how I was planning to build the boxes.

Him: “So, how were you planning to build the boxes?”

Me: “Erm, what?”

Him: “The cedar boxes. The ones to hold the planters.”

Me: “[blank look on face]”

Him: “You didn’t expect me to build the boxes, did you?”

Me: “[still blank look on face]”

Him: “[heavy sigh] Alright. How about I show you how to do it, and then you can do it?”

Me: “[pause] Um, okay.”

Now, while I like to think of myself as Capable of Anything, for some reason, power tools scare me. Spiders, snakes, and creepy sounds in the middle of the night make me uncomfortable; they don’t scare me, but I don’t particularly care for them. Power tools make me very fearful. I think it has to do with the fact that they can hurt you AND YET you just might need to use them.

I have no need to handle spiders or snakes, and I don’t need creepy sounds in the middle of the night. However, I needed to cover up the grey plastic tubs.

So with a trepid hand, I learned to wield the Mighty Saw Blade of Death**. Then after a side tour with wood glue, I learned how to wield the Dastardly Nailer of Doom***. And with the help of a set of clamps and another set of hands to hold the frame steady, I was able to get the cedar box together.

Woo hoo!

By the time I finished the third box****, I was slapping on the wood glue, clamping the pieces together, KACHUNK KACHUNK KACHUNK with the nail gun, and boom—box done. No hesitation, no fretting. Just following the procedure step by step, getting shit done.

That felt AWESOME.

I think I’m finally starting to understand the allure of construction projects. And of power tools.*****

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*Lettuce, basil, nasturtiums, and green onions, in case you were wondering. And that bottle in the middle? That is an experiment in self-watering. Time will tell.

** Pro tip: get the blade fully spinning before trying to cut anything, and keep it spinning as you pull the blade out of the cut.

*** Pro tip: angle the nailer so the nails come out parallel with the wood grain, which will make it harder to see those unsightly nails in the finished product.

****I’ve got to be honest: I made the cuts for the corner support pieces and a couple of the cedar sides, but my husband did the majority of the cutting. In the time it took me to make three cuts, he had finished cutting eight pieces and had time for a nap.

*****Now I just have to get more comfortable with the chop saw. I can use it, but it still freaks me out.

Need I say anything more?

Well, actually it was yesterday.

Here is what The Daily Stoic had to say about May 22:

“I don’t complain about the lack of time . . . what little I have will go far enough. Today—this day—will achieve what no tomorrow will fail to speak about. I will lay siege to the gods and shake up the world.”

-Seneca*

That was the Stoic quote for the day, but it was the following expansion on the quote that is sticking in my head:

“Today, not tomorrow, is the day that we can start to be good.”

All of which is to say Carpe diem. No day but today**. Face the fear and do it anyway.

Yeah, I’ve been procrastinating. Why do you ask?

525,600 minutes. Nearly half of them are gone.***

What do you have to show for today? Did you move the ball forward?****

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*Seneca always comes off to me as Mr. Know-It-All, but sometimes I think he just might be right.

**What? No Rent love?

***Sometimes I need a kick in the butt to remind me about the Big Picture, and there is nothing like a deadline to do that for me.

****Again, talking to myself here. Lots of talking to myself. With a whole lot of mixed metaphors.

Wait. What?

I went in for my post-op follow-up and was told that everything looks good. Even better? I can eat real food again! So no more relying on soups, applesauce, and other soft foods. This means pizza and crusty bread and chips and all that good stuff. Woo hoo! I just still have to be careful with the roof of my mouth, which hasn’t quite finished healing yet (but so close).

Now, to start easing back into “normal” life and moving forward with my projects. I’ve got a book (or two) to publish!

Silence really is golden

I was not aware that a gum graft might require not talking. For a week.

For a full week, I didn’t talk at work* or at home. I attended meetings, but could only communicate by writing my comments down and having a co-worker read them. I visited friends and enjoyed their company, but couldn’t say anything. Why?

The location of the graft is such that when everything was swollen, I couldn’t talk without it a) causing pain, and b) pulling the stitches and causing bleeding. In my attempts to not talk, but to communicate, I thought facial expressions would work. Not so much. Certain contortions of my lower lip and jaw pulled on the stitches which caused more pain, and because it happened so fast, I couldn’t deduce exactly what expression or movement was the culprit. All of which meant trying to not talk AND keep a straight face when interacting with people. Not an easy thing! If anything, it convinced me that I really do need to work on my poker face.

The funny thing was the people who tried to talk with me, and then felt like they couldn’t speak either. Or the people who understood that I couldn’t talk but still asked me questions that involved more detailed answers than “Yes or No.” Although I did appreciate their attempts, since it made me feel like less of a social pariah.

Thankfully, the swelling has decreased, and I can talk again, although I still have some trouble with labial consonants** (so no F’s, V’s, B’s, or P’s). It was a relief to be able to talk, and at the same time, kind of a disappointment. I started to like and appreciate not being able to talk because there is a joy in silence. A number of them, actually.

So here they are: The Joys of Not Talking.

• It made me realize how much pointless chatter I do everyday.
• It quieted my mind some.
• It freed me from some socially obligatory conversations that don’t accomplish anything, and always feel awkward trying to end.
• It allowed me to do focused work because people knew I couldn’t talk, so they didn’t drop by to ask questions*** or chat.
• It meant that I had to condense my thoughts into short, simple sentences that I could jot down quickly.
• It felt restful.

I am glad to be able to talk again (really!), but I am also glad that I had the experience of not being able to talk. Very educational.

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*I had to make and wear a sticker that said, “Sorry, I can’t talk. Doctor’s orders.” because people seemed to think I was avoiding them or being rude by not returning their “Good morning!” greetings.

**One of my favorite classes in college was linguistics, and I could have sworn these sounds were “fricatives,” but alas, they are indeed labial consonants. But “fricative” just sounds better. Go ahead and say it. “Fricative.”

***Well, except for one supervisor. The good news was that normally the drop-by would have lasted 45 minutes, and not the 5 that this one did.

How I’m feeling

I guess I’m a more optimistic person than I realized. For some reason, I thought that I really could Do It All: write everyday for Writing Practice Month, have oral surgery, keep a clean house, continue making progress on the indie publishing. Sure, I figured I would probably move a little slower than my standard Mach 3, but it wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

Ha.

Ha ha ha.

Yeah, I’m pretty funny*. Instead, what happened was that my body (and I think my mind, and perhaps my soul) said, “You know what? We’ve been running so hard for so long now, doing everything you’ve demanded of us, and now you go and get yourself cut up? Well, fine. Then we are going on strike! We need a vacation, and it’s not like you have a choice in the matter. So there!”

Whatever motivation I had for my projects, and even just general Life Maintenance, went soaring out the window and landed with an audible thud on the pavement. There was even a large splat of good intentions smeared into the sidewalk cracks.

Everything inside of me just cries for rest. Apparently “rest” takes the form of naps, chick flick viewing, chick lit reading, and the occasional mosey in fresh air. Multi-tasking? Forget about it. The closest I get to that is eating** soup*** while watching TV.

So I’m getting the message from the universe: Take it slow and easy. One day at a time. And it’s okay to have ambitions, but just work on them in little bits. Think “marathon,” not “sprint”.

I don’t know how many times I have seen those written down, but it certainly feels like they are starting to wear into my bones.

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*If by “funny” I mean “grossly overambitious” or perhaps “deluded”.

**Does one “eat” soup? Isn’t it more like “drinking”? Or is it more a matter of the soup’s thickness? Say, with a thick potato soup or split pea soup, those I think take some effort, so you eat them. Thinner soups or consommes, where it’s easier to consume it by tipping the bowl into your mouth should be a matter of drinking. But what about chicken noodle soup, or ramen, where you’re half and half—you eat the noodles, but drink the liquid. See? This is just another example of my brain being on strike.

**Fun fact: Your body wants a variety of textures when dining. I will just say that eating soft mushy foods for a week gets incredibly boring. God, I miss pizza. And chips.