I was standing at the coffee counter at the back of the church one Sunday, chatting. Clay came up to get a cup of coffee and was asked which kind he preferred, dark roast or regular. Clay answered, “Either one. To me, they both taste the same.” But I started chuckling, because what I heard – with these amazing but fallible cochlear implants – was, “They both taste like shame.” I told him what I had heard and we shared a laugh.
He was still laughing about it while trying to deliver the welcome message to the congregation.
When they offered communion, as they do every week, I quietly walked up to get my bread and juice. When I sat back down to pray, all I could think about was, “this does not taste like shame.” And when I turned around and shared that snippet with Clay, he said “No! It tastes like mercy.”
Mercy, indeed. I love the constant reminders that I am offered this gift of hope and freedom that I 100% do not deserve. I mess up on the daily, and yet Christ is always in my corner. Through my faith in Him, my relationship with my Creator through prayer and studying the Bible, I have peace. So much peace. I didn’t for a very long time, y’all. I’ll admit that. Like any relationship, it’s had it’s ups and downs. But God never changes. He is steady when I am not. He does not taste like shame. He offers mercy. So much mercy.
I’m only friends with famous people in my dreams. Seriously. I had a dream a couple years ago that I was sitting on the lawn at a Detroit Tigers game, shooting the breeze with Queen Latifah and Mos Def. We were having the best time! I was sad when I woke up from that dream, because I feel like we didn’t get enough time together.
This morning I had a dream that I was riding in a car with Patrick Dempsey and Peter Dinklage. Dempsey was driving, and Dinklage was in the backseat. I was riding in the passenger seat, and I was terrified. We were driving through a lot of traffic, over a massive, grated metal bridge. I felt like we were going too fast, and Dempsey was weaving in and out of traffic, past lots of larger vehicles like semis and vans. I was sitting there, helpless, expressing my fears, while Dinklage was shouting words of encouragement to me from the backseat, to no avail. I finally covered my eyes, and then the dream was over. I was glad that dream ended, but I would have loved to see where it was we were headed. And I’d love to sit down and have a conversation with Patrick and Peter.
Dreams are fun sometimes. Except when they are scary, I suppose. When that happens I really have to take myself through some focused breathing before getting out of bed, to remind myself what’s real and what’s not. They feel so real sometimes, it’s crazy!
The other day I went for a run. Just before I left the house I was looking for my reading glasses in order to choose the music to stream from my phone. When I wear contacts it makes me far-sighted, so reading glasses are a necessity. When I run I often can’t read my Garmin watch well because I don’t have magic telescoping arms. I couldn’t find the glasses but I was able to manage without, so I left the house knowing I would surely find them later. I ran an easy 2.2 miles around the neighborhood. When I came back I grabbed my giant water bottle and went out on the deck with the dogs – our usual post-run routine. When I set my phone and water bottle down on the ledge of the deck I happened to glance down just enough to notice… my glasses were hanging from my collar. They had been there all along! I was surprised they hadn’t fallen off while I ran and chuckled to myself. Then obviously went back inside and snapped this selfie so I could show you how obvious and ridiculous it was that they were hiding in plain sight the whole time.
Running is going well. I’m taking it easy and focusing more on consistency and speed rather than piling on the miles. Only one race officially on the books, and that isn’t until March. It’s a 5k so my aim is to see if I can break my personal record (PR) from the 2019 Turkey Trot. That time was 34:03, which is ridiculous fast for me. I ran the whole thing terrified of tripping or getting knocked over, so I’m sure adrenaline played a huge role in my speed. That was before I had purchased the deaf/blind vest and to be honest, that was probably the reason I got the vest in the first place. I knew I would feel a lot safer with that information displayed for other runners. I’m currently in the process of getting trained to use a white cane for very similar reasons, but that’s a whole other post. I’m sure you’ll hear about that from me later.
I’ve got some other stuff rolling around in my head to write about so until then, shalom y’all…
This week, I’m pretty sure *I* was the sleeping bear. I’m gonna warn you right here, this is more than a running post. I’m gonna detour and touch on family matters and a little on perimenopause. If you can’t handle that, please move along. Thank you very much. If you’re game, please continue.
Sunday – I slept 8 hours, 43 minutes the night before. Not a lot of activity. I think I went to church. Yes, yes I did and I went to Planet Fitness afterwards to use the hydromassage beds. That was needed. I was still in a lot of pain from last week.
Me and the husband, hanging out in the parking garage like a couple of dorks in love. Scene behind us overlooks Detroit: Little Caesar’s Arena, Ford Field, etc.
Monday – Slept 9 hours, 36 minutes. I had planned to do strength training but according to my records, I did not. I did take a wicked nap in the afternoon in preparation for taking our daughter to her first concert. She was going with a friend to see Pierce the Veil and Blink 182, and hubs and I had a dinner date while we waited. I got a little teary eyed seeing her walk off towards the venue, knowing how much this meant to her. It was a good day. My babies are growing up so fast (more on that to come).
Cornfield behind me, this is one of the dead-ends in my neighborhood. This was just after I hit 4 miles and I so badly wanted to quit early and go straight home.
Tuesday – Slept 7 hours, 44 minutes. Ran 5 miles with hills. We’ve got a couple gnarly hills around our neighborhood and I was very pleased to see that my lungs and legs are handling them much better! This is growth, and great progress. It can only get better from here, if I stay consistent with the strength and hill training.
Wednesday – Slept 10 hours, 30 minutes. Took my daughter to the doctor for a well child visit. She’s doing well. Very healthy. Could use some improvements in her diet, which I’m sure is true of most teenagers (she’s 14). Right after getting a mom-requested lecture from the doctor about getting more fruits and veggies into her diet, she stood up and a package of Little Debbie Zebra Cakes fell out of her pocket. And, thank you for making my point, my dear! It was quite comical.
Thursday – Slept 9 hours, 40 minutes. I guess I didn’t do any training on this day. Probably more napping. I know I did have a lot of family management stuff I was working on so that’s probably what took all my time and energy. That and we took my daughter (Zebra Cake girl) shopping for some back to school clothes. I don’t remember what time we got home but I remember going straight to bed.
Friday – Slept 10 hours, 13 minutes. More family management stuff most of the day. Fitbod workout, 58 minutes. Triceps, shoulders, chest and lower back.
Saturday – Went to bed just before 8 pm the night before, which put my total sleep at 11 hours and 37 minutes. I was so tired. I did wake up around 4 am, read a book for about 10 minutes before going back to sleep. Because why not? This has been the pattern, and I believe it’s why I can “sleep” so many hours and still be tired the next day. It’s not great. I am blaming hormones and perimenopause, and have plans to see my ob/gyn doctor about it, eventually.
I say eventually, because I’ve been super preoccupied with managing my family’s schedules and clerical needs lately. I have one teenager just about to start driving and the other one entering his senior year of high school. And yes, the older is fully capable of doing many things on his own, but he is still living here and still in school and can always use some guidance. That and many things still require parental approval because he’s under 18. I don’t talk about my kids much here mostly because they have become their own people and they don’t need mom blabbing about their lives. They have social media, if they want to blab about their lives they can. But I will say that I am super proud of both of them.
My son is growing and maturing so fast I can’t keep up. Between his sports, friendships, and various jobs, he moves through this house like a hurricane and I barely get a chance to sit down and have chats with him. But when I do, I’m always blown away at who he is becoming and I’m excited to see where he goes in life.
My daughter is almost the polar opposite of her brother. She is an introverted homebody, and we always know where she is. I suspect that may change when she starts driving and working, but I’m enjoying having her around while I can. We have the best conversations, and I love hearing how her mind works. She is confident in who she is and I love that. I wish I had that at her age.
As we look to starting another school year, I’m reflecting on how far we’ve come as a family. We’ve been through so many challenges over the years. What I am proud of is the fact that we fought through all of our challenges as a unit. When one of us was falling, the other three were around to catch them. We work together to support each other, lend a hand, and let each other know we are not alone. Sure, we argue from time to time but overall we know we are loved no matter what. I hope we never lose that.
And that concludes my weekly training/life update. I imagine once the kids are back in school I’ll put more effort into writing more frequently. But still, I make no promises.
“There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human, are created, strengthened and maintained.” ― Winston S. Churchill
I had an odd experience this morning and used it for today’s writing practice. Enjoy!
The bedroom is dark. I’ve just removed my eye mask and stood up from my bed. I slowly creep my way to the bathroom, like a drunken sailor, and look at my watch. It’s 4:24. I turn on the closet light and sit on the toilet. I don’t turn on the bathroom light because it’s too much light and I don’t want to leave my sleepy state. I fear falling asleep on the toilet. I put my face in my hands as I relieve myself. I’m still so tired, but the bladder wins every time. Once I’m done, I wash my hands and slowly walk back to my side of the bed. I always love this part. You’re chilled when the air in the room hits your bare skin, until you climb back under the covers, still warm from when you left them minutes ago. Except when you reach to pull up the covers, instead of finding the fuzzy fleece, your hand touches a warm mass of fur. You are confused. You feel around the fur, it’s long, and it’s slowly moving up and down. It’s breathing. It’s your golden retriever, who in your brief absence from the bed has taken your place. You quickly shoo her out of the bed, where she knows she is not allowed. When you climb into bed you find your pillow is not laid horizontally as you left it, but vertically. Like a savage. And now you are just fuming with rage at the audacity someone had to alter your sacred sleeping space. Who knows? Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the dog. It doesn’t matter, I’m mad at the world and my heart is racing. I’m wrapped in this warm fleece blanket again, sans dog, and I need to find a way to get back to sleep, because the sun is still hours away from rising. And it’s Saturday, for Pete’s sake. Slow breathing, think of other things. It’s fine. Your body is comfortable again, in a relaxed state. Let your mind join in. Sleep will come.
That was fun to write, but I wasn’t sure how to end it. I’ve never been great at landing the plane. Practice, Mel. Practice. This is fun!
My visual impairment is unnoticeable to others, usually. And then there are times you are trying to box up your own leftovers and it becomes comically evident that something isn’t right. I was out for breakfast with a friend and had ordered a delicious breakfast burrito. I was only able to eat two-thirds of it because it was enormous. So naturally, I asked the server for a box to take my leftovers home. No problem, he said. Then he quickly came back and set a foil box on the table. Gone are the days where they box up your leftovers for you, which I am a-okay with. However, I struggle a bit with doing it myself. I shoveled my leftover burrito into the box and then felt around, searching for the lid. I asked my friend, where’s the lid? With an amused smile, no doubt holding back a hearty chuckle, she said, “It’s inside the foil. You put your burrito on it. May I?” She says this as she’s motioning toward the box to offer to fix it for me. The lid was a transparent plastic that sat inside the foil box, and I had just placed my food on top of it, believing I was setting it directly on the foil. Thankfully the lid was upside down, so all she had to do was flip it over with the burrito into the foil dish and all was well.
After that slight debacle, the server came back and patiently waited the 38 minutes it took me to read the receipt and pay using the handheld computer thing. Because I am now a slow reader. It takes time for me to locate and properly identify letters and numbers, especially on a white screen. I want to be sure I get it right, especially when I’m authorizing someone to remove money from my bank account.
My visual impairment is both a loss of field of vision and an atypical color blindness, so I can’t really decipher things unless they are bright and highly contrasting colors. I read an article earlier this week that the color blindness is actually a common symptom that comes along with optic neuritis, which is what I have. Optic neuritis is very common with M.S., but it usually resolves after a short time period. In my case, it never did. It showed up in September of 2013 and took up permanent residence in my life. An unwelcome guest that I continually work to make peace with. Being so visually impaired really tries my patience most days, but this morning I was able to laugh at myself. It’s exhausting and utterly ridiculous and sometimes laughing at myself is all I can do. It happens a lot, to be honest. So I’m going to try to remember and share more of the stories here when they happen and hopefully, we can laugh together.
Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a woman named Molly. Molly was a wife and a mother, and she took great pride in the work she did to keep her home and everything in it fresh and clean. A good portion of that task involves laundry. Thankfully, Molly had a machine that did all the washing for her, and another machine to dry everything. However, her washing machine was getting up in years and needed to be replaced. Molly and her husband, Marvin, drove over to the local hardware store and looked at all the fancy washing machines for sale. They read reviews of each machine and compared prices and features. After hemming and hawing, they settled on just the right machine for their home. They made their purchase, scheduled the delivery, and went home happy.
When the day of delivery came, Molly and Marvin were ecstatic. It’s new washer day! Hurray! Marvin left for work, and Molly stayed to wait for the delivery truck to arrive with her new washing machine. Soon, the truck arrived. Two lovely gentlemen stepped out of the truck and, after confirming this was indeed what Molly had purchased, they proceeded to remove the old washing machine and replace it with the new one. It was such a quick and easy process, Molly was overjoyed. She sent the delivery men on their merry way and got to working on her inaugural load in the new machine. Since this was a larger model than the previous one, she was very interested to see how it handled washing pillows. She threw a couple in the washer and let it do its work. She was so tired from the excitement of the morning she decided to take a nap. She shut the door to the laundry room and retreated to the living room to rest.
When Molly woke from her nap she remembered right away that she had a load of laundry in her new machine. It had been about an hour and a half, so she knew it would be done by now. She bounced up the stairs to the laundry room and grabbed hold of the doorknob and turned. She pushed and immediately felt a THUD. Her son was home, he must have heard her coming and hid in the laundry room to play a trick on her. “Leonard, that isn’t funny, let me in.” She pushed on the door again. THUD. There was no give at all when she pushed. Something solid was blocking this door.
Molly’s mind raced as she contemplated what could be causing her to be locked out of her own laundry room. Panic set in. What if? What if they were never able to access this room? All the towels, bedding, purses, and not to mention the water heater! As she panicked, it dawned on her that the only thing solid enough to block the door from opening was the new washer. The new washing machine must have walked its way forward as it spun dry the pillows, blocking the door from opening inward.
Molly immediately called Marvin, explaining the predicament and ensuring he would be coming home promptly. Marvin was very handy, he would surely be able to solve this problem. When Marvin arrived home, he wasted no time getting to work. After a complete inspection of what he was dealing with, he went to the garage to grab the necessary tools. Molly stood in the kitchen, washing dishes and fiddling around to keep herself distracted while Marvin worked. He was making a lot of noise! Lots of loud banging, sporadic curses, a few trips back to the garage for tools. It felt just like the scene in A Christmas Story when the father is fixing the furnace. Eventually, Marvin was able to get the machine moved far enough back to open the door, though he had to break the feet of the machine in the process.
Molly and Marvin stood outside, staring into their laundry room, collectively sighing in relief that it could have been worse. There could have been a flood! (Wink, wink) Seriously though, Molly’s propensity for home disasters is reaching epic proportions. She could benefit from some adult supervision.
The New Washer, still prone to walking when overloaded.
This folks, is a true story, though the names were changed to protect the innocent. Ha. Ha. We went that night to Lowe’s to order a replacement washer, and after a month of waiting, we finally have our new washer. The old one still washed fine with the broken feet, so it was not a hardship at all. However, even the new one has the tendency to walk if its unable to balance the load. The policy in our home is to never close the door when you are running a load in the washer. Maybe someday I’ll have a cute sign made to hang above it, I don’t know.
I hope you’ve enjoyed story time! Stay tuned, because this was fun to write and you may see more from me down the road. Shalom, my people.
I had originally started this post around the new year, and forgot about it. As we are coming up on the anniversary of the events, I thought it would be a good time to finish the story. Also, a disclaimer: the photos included here lack captions because 1) I couldn’t figure out how to add captions and 2) with my vision I’m not even entirely sure what’s in each photo. So I apologize to all the other visually impaired readers out there.
In April of 2021, my husband Mike and I were looking forward to celebrating our 22nd wedding anniversary with a weekend trip up north (Up North being a big deal in Michigan). We had planned to leave Friday afternoon, while the kids were still at school, and Grandma was to come and stay the weekend with them.
On this fateful Friday morning, I was frantically awoken by my husband. When I opened my eyes I could sense there was an emergency but could not tell what. I hurried to put on my cochlear implants, and when I did Mike handed me a stack of towels and said “You work up here, I’ll work downstairs.” A few short steps from my bed, and it did not take me long to realize that the floor was soaked. Our bathroom sink had been left running when I got up several hours earlier to use the toilet. I can’t tell you how many times in the past I had gotten up in the middle of the night to go the bathroom and left the water running. Only every other time it had happened, my husband was awake enough to hear it and made sure I got back up to turn the water off. This time that did not happen. The water had been running for several hours, and because it was a slow drain, the water quickly overflowed. The water had spread from our master bathroom, to the carpeted hallway, and through the floor to the main floor ceiling to the kitchen. And then through the kitchen floor to the basement ceiling.
I was devastated. Stunned. In disbelief. In a whirlwind of activity we managed to send the kids off to school and get everything cleaned up the best we could. It was still very early in the morning so while we waited to talk with an insurance agent, I sat on my husband’s lap and sobbed into his shoulder. Not only was our trip cancelled, but I couldn’t believe the mass destruction I had caused to our home. Mike had nothing but compassion for me. He had been angry all of 3 seconds when he discovered the damage, but from every moment thereafter he was in problem solver mode. He kept saying this could be a blessing in disguise. I had always hated the look of our kitchen, and now we would get to pick out our own cabinets, countertops, floors, etc. It could be fun!
I wouldn’t say the process was fun, however it was nice to discover I did have opinions when it came to the kitchen and bathroom designs. And there were a million little decisions we had to make together, so it gave us some good practice as a married couple. After 22 years of marriage it was nice to find we could work out our differences and make compromises without killing each other.
When the restoration crew came to assess the damage they brought very loud drying machines and put them on all 3 floors of the house. They had to cut holes in the kitchen and basement ceilings to get them dried. They ripped out our soaked kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and with them the countertops they were holding up. They put up plastic sheets as barriers because they had detected mold in the kitchen. It was a mess.
We got to work right away at choosing replacement materials, but there were supply chain issues so it did take longer than we had hoped for. We still had use of our fridge and stove, but no place to prepare food or wash dishes, so we lived on fast food for the next several months.
Oh, did I mention that I had already started training for my first marathon at this point? Yep. Marathon training on a fast food diet? Not ideal. But our family got really good at knowing how to get the best deals at all the fast food restaurants. Biggie Bags at Wendy’s, Five Dollar Boxes at Taco Bell, all the value menus. It was fun! (She said, facetiously.)
Anyway, all was restored by early September, just days before my marathon, and it was beautiful. I was so happy to have my kitchen back, I swore to never talk about hating to cook every again. I am grateful for the privilege of having a kitchen to prepare food in.
We put a motion sensor faucet in our bathroom, so that this would never happen again. It took a little getting used to, but it’s been effective; I’ve never left my bathroom faucet running because I’m not able to. I seem to remember one of our kids asking around this time, “why don’t we put one in the kids bathroom too?” And the reply being that there was no reason to because Mom never uses that bathroom. Well, never say never…
Fast forward to April of 2022, almost a year following the major flood. I was blasting my music through my cochlear implants, drowning out all other sounds, and doing a bunch of power cleaning. I noticed the dryer was quite dusty, so I grabbed a washcloth and ran to the nearest bathroom (the kids bathroom, which is the other full upstairs bathroom) to wet the cloth and wipe down the dryer. I continued my work, flittering around the house. My daughter had come home from school, used the small bathroom just off the kitchen, and when she walked out of the bathroom noticed a problem. She hurried upstairs to let me know, “Mom, the kitchen ceiling is leaking!”
I had NO idea what could be causing that but I zoomed into crisis mode. I handed her a bunch of towels and told her to grab a large bowl from the kitchen cabinets, put it under the leak, and start drying the floor (our practically brand new kitchen floor!). I was frantic, not knowing what to do, so I called my husband. He calmly walked me through turning the water off in the house and then gave suggestions for where to check for the source of the leak. I walked upstairs and opened the door to the kid’s bathroom (why was the door shut anyway?) and walked into a cloud of steam and water dripping off the countertop. It was then that I realized I had left the water running after wetting the cloth to clean the dryer. I could not believe it. I had done it again. Thankfully my daughter had caught it in time and the damage was not as severe, but the damage to my ego was just as devastating the second time around, if not more so. I had come to learn after the first flood that it was actually quite common, for people to leave faucets running and flood their homes. I never learned the statistics for two-time offenders but I was sure it was more rare.
The ironic thing is, we had planned a trip for our 23rd anniversary, since we didn’t get to take it the year before. And when I asked Grandma to come stay with the kids, I told her – jokingly – I wouldn’t flood the house this time. And then, of course, I did. Thankfully it happened a few weeks before the trip so we were still able to go. And boy, did we need that trip. It was just for the weekend, but it gave us time to process and reflect on all that had happened, and to be thankful that we were still crazy in love even after all the difficult things we’ve been through. Maybe even more so because of the difficult things we’ve endured. And when we look at those challenges we’ve had to face over the decades, dealing with a flood or two is no big deal.
Now I’m just praying that I make it through this year without causing another major disaster. And I’m extremely grateful that my family loves me despite my propensity for calamity and can laugh about it all now!
My daughter has been riding horses for years. She’s been obsessed with them since she was a little girl. She’s 13 now, and that obsession has blossomed into a true love for everything equine.
This past year she has been riding a beautiful black and white pinto named Trixie. I had only seen photos until last month, when I joined her for a riding lesson. Watching her interact with Trixie was really special to see. And then to see her riding with such ease? It was such a gift to be able to see her in her element, so full of life and confidence.
I joined her for a few more lessons, as sort of a Christmas gift to myself. I had secretly been wanting to for a long time and finally decided to just do it. I was given a horse named Millie to ride. Millie was slow, stubborn, and mildly obsessed with eating. So, basically my spirit animal.
My first two lessons with Millie were pretty tame. We mostly walked around the indoor arena while the other riders pranced around with their horses. Millie got really nervous when everyone changed direction and started trotting toward her. She was not a fan of oncoming traffic. I was told that they couldn’t leave Millie to hang with the other horses because they all made fun of her. So she spends her days hanging out with the goats instead. I have thankfully not dealt with too much teasing in my own life, but for some reason that information made me feel a connection to her, if only for the vague connection of emotional suffering and pain.
At our final lesson, I could tell right away that Millie was in a special mood. She seemed more eager this time to move around with the other horses. We were having a good ol’ time walking around the arena, trotting a little here and there. Until she caught sight of that big door out of the arena. That’s when she would ignore everything I was telling her and fight to walk straight for it. I would have to tell her to stop and just stand there until she learned she wasn’t heading that way. She was in Time Out until she learned to follow directions.
At one point during the lesson I was directing her to trot, but she had a different idea. I think she saw all the other horses loping and decided she wanted to join them. So she did! Loping (or cantering) isn’t full out galloping but when you are new at riding it might as well be. I was hanging on for dear life as I scrambled to pull on the reins and shout the key word for stop – “Woah!”. She finally stopped about 6 feet from the door; she was ready to make a run for it. I don’t know how she planned to open the door, but I guess she was just going to figure that out when she got there. Details, details. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
And that is why Lesson #1 is always: How to tell the horse to stop.
Overall it was a fun experience and I may try it again down the road but for now it was enough excitement to satisfy my curiosity for awhile. I’m happy to stick to running, where I get to decide where I’m going and how fast.
I’ve been mulling this story over in my head for awhile now, trying to figure out how to tell it in a way that conveys the hilarity that I felt when it happened. Here we go!
My friend Tara was coming to visit from out of state. She, her husband Scott and their two sons had moved out of Michigan years ago and it had been some time since I had seen them. They were in town for a few days and she wanted to stop by and catch up. I was so excited for this visit, and for them to meet our new dog, Punky. I was letting the dogs play outside while I waited for my friends’ arrival. I like to do this when company comes over because the dogs can be a bit much and the exercise helps to calm them down (or so I like to believe). Tara and her family arrived, and I was so excited to see them! Scott was dropping Tara off for a few hours while he took the boys to the zoo, but they wanted to come in and say hello first.
Scott and Tara are dog people, so I asked if they wanted to meet our new golden retriever Punky, and of course they did. I let the rambunctious dogs inside and they did their dog greeting thing, wagged their tails, barked obnoxiously, etc. And then this conversation happened…
Scott to me: “It’s a bird.”
I have to stop right here and remind you that I am still half blind and deaf. The cochlear implants are great, but I need to be paying attention in order to hear and understand when people are talking to me. Also, if there are other loud noises happening (e.g. dogs barking), they are pretty useless. In other words, I miss out on a LOT of input. My guess is that Scott had said some things that I did not hear, and those things would have given me the necessary context to understand this bird business. Instead, I was starting from scratch with his statement. Now let’s continue…
Me looking blankly at Scott: “Huh? What’s that?”
Scott: “It’s a bird.”
Me: “What’s a bird?”
Scott: “It’s a bird. It looks like she brought in a bird.”
As understanding crept in and my heart started racing, I frantically scanned the room, looking for the “she” that Scott was referring to and that’s when I saw it. A happy, proud as can be Punky, parading a dead bird around my living room.
That’s when I lost my ever-loving mind. I scooted Punky outside as quickly as possible, not wanting her to drop the dead thing in my house. Once she was outside Scott was able to get her to drop the bird, and I brought him an old grocery bag to put it in. Then we let Punky back inside and resumed our introductions.
“So, how have you been? The boys have grown so much! Are those muffins you brought?” Blah, blah, blah.
Then I noticed Scott and the two boys jerking their heads and arms oddly around, looking up and down and all around. What the hell is going on now? Then I hear someone say, “I think we let in a yellow jacket.”
?@#$@?#%#*&!
I couldn’t find the fly swatter, but the dang thing wouldn’t land anyway. It ended up flying inside one of the window blinds and Scott had to vacuum it out. I didn’t use that vacuum for a few weeks, just to be sure it was dead before I emptied the dust cup (yes, I had to look that term up).
I don’t even remember much after this point because it was just utterly ridiculous, all this happening at once. I had gone in a matter of minutes from the excitement of seeing my friends to full on freaking out that there were dead things and sting-y things in my house. All I could do was laugh at the timing and the absurdity. I’m still laughing now.
Scott and the boys left for the zoo and Tara and I settled in for coffee and muffins and talked for hours. It was so wonderful to catch up with her and if it hadn’t been memorable enough, we’ll always share that memory of how it started off with dead birds and dangerous bugs.
Deaf and half-blind runner with multiple sclerosis
Little M.S. Runner 