Is this national 'poor me' day? Or maybe it's 'self pity poor me' day.
It wasn't when i first got up. I felt ok.
But then........
this 'cold' hit me. Oh argh.
With COPD, having a cold is not just a plain ole 'sniff sniff' deal. It's a 'huff puff wheeze' deal. Which is basically my life everyday without the 'sniff sniff' part.
And there is a good chance that i may have to go to the doctor, again, and be put on antibiotics.
Again.
So, here i am, feeling put upon and picked on. Poor me.
In the last 4 months i've had this three times already, and now i'm going for #4.
I would really like to feel good for a day.
Instead of crying because i get out of breath just getting dressed.
I could just lay around in my jammies all day i suppose. But i really don't like doing that. It makes me feel lazy and worthless.
This morning i cried getting dressed. I cried putting Daisy out to pee. I cried pouring a cup of coffee.
It's a cry day.
BooHoo.
I get so mad at myself. I hate, detest, really get mad at self-pity. I am not a self-pity kind of gal. I learned at a very young age, self-pity is a weakness. Crying is a weakness. Don't cry.
But, sometimes i just can't seem to help it. Sometimes this crushing sorrow washes over me and leaks out my eyes.
I know that this horrible sickness i have is my own doing. I smoked for so long. I should have quit years ago, but i didn't.
My mother died with COPD, a sister died with it. And i kept smoking. And here i am. Paying the consequences of my choice.
But yet...i had plans and dreams, and none of them included having a hose coming out of my nose for the rest of my life. None of those dreams included sitting on the sidelines watching my family play and laugh, chasing and running and dancing. Nowhere in my dreams and plans did i see me having to lean on the counter so i could stand at the stove to cook.
And so i cry.
I cry because i want to laugh without coughing.
I cry because i want to dance and play. I want to walk the streets of our little town, looking in windows, talking with people i don't know.
I want to live. I want to be alive.
There. That's done.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Strange lanquage
Have you ever paid attention to the 'word verification' words that you have to put in to comment on some of the blogs?
Very strange.
I know they are not really words, just jumbles of letters, but if they were words, what would they mean?
I made a list of a few.
I'm kinda strange too.
How about 'OVEMIS' ? Something to do with ovaries? ovens? over the mississippi?
Then there's ' JOLLOUS'. Most jolly? jealously jolly? Jolly louse?
Let's go ' MSHME'. Mush me? Mash me? MightSheHaveMineEngine?
Oh, why keep to the easy ones? Let's get serious here.....' VANEADERS, SPHICTRI, GAMUNC, MITYPERS' for golly sakes.
'BOODSTI' has got to be one to describe me at this instant...why? no idea. Thats why.
Now that i have let out my secret, that i am a closet 'word verification' crazy person, it's time to go.
So, DIGHO all my blog friends. May your day be BOFACQ, and my you find all the MARDR you want.
giggle.
Very strange.
I know they are not really words, just jumbles of letters, but if they were words, what would they mean?
I made a list of a few.
I'm kinda strange too.
How about 'OVEMIS' ? Something to do with ovaries? ovens? over the mississippi?
Then there's ' JOLLOUS'. Most jolly? jealously jolly? Jolly louse?
Let's go ' MSHME'. Mush me? Mash me? MightSheHaveMineEngine?
Oh, why keep to the easy ones? Let's get serious here.....' VANEADERS, SPHICTRI, GAMUNC, MITYPERS' for golly sakes.
'BOODSTI' has got to be one to describe me at this instant...why? no idea. Thats why.
Now that i have let out my secret, that i am a closet 'word verification' crazy person, it's time to go.
So, DIGHO all my blog friends. May your day be BOFACQ, and my you find all the MARDR you want.
giggle.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Faux curls.
Head on over to Jenny's for
In one of my "i'm bored" days i got to goofing around with one of my editing programs. I thought we ladies needed some curls. Goofy, but fun.
This is my mosaic for today, me and my 4 girls in curls.
Going left to right.... me, Leslie, Joyce, Lisa and Blue.
Mosaic Monday
In one of my "i'm bored" days i got to goofing around with one of my editing programs. I thought we ladies needed some curls. Goofy, but fun.
This is my mosaic for today, me and my 4 girls in curls.
Going left to right.... me, Leslie, Joyce, Lisa and Blue.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
It's time for Sepia Saturday again.....come see.
Sepia Saturday 60 : 5 February 2011
I think i'll continue with Iva...
this is Iva, her mother, Mary, and her 6 sisters. She also had 7 brother's, but i have yet to find a photo of them.
The second photo is Iva in her later years. It is my favorite photo of her, standing there with her hand on her hip. She was a pistol.
Her hair hung to her knees, i remember sitting watching her brush it at night before bed. She would brush 100 strokes, then braid it.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
"Q" is for Quince.
Here we go, Alpha-Thursday again. Today it is "Q"....
Come on over to Jenny's and read more...............
The house we used to live in had a quince tree growing just outside the backyard fence. Every spring it would bloom, and grow big yellow fruit.
I didn't know anything about quinces.
One day, some of the 'city crew' were out cleaning ditches and such, and i noticed two men out by the quince tree. One of them was giving the tree the once over, he turned to the other, said something to him. The other man smiled and said something back, gesturing towards the quince tree. Then the first man reached up, picked a fruit, rubbed it against his pants and proceeded to take a big bite.
Next thing i knew, he was bent over, spitting and cursing up a storm. The other man was just standing there laughing like a loon.
That kind of gave me the idea that quinces were not good to eat. So, i forgot about the quinces tree.
Until one morning a knock came at the door. The man who knocked wanted to know if he could pick some of the quinces for his wife to prepare. I told him to go ahead and pick them all they weren't good for anything.
He did pick them all. Over the next week he came back again and again, until he had picked every fruit the tree had to offer.
A couple of days later there was a knock at the door. There stood that same man. He handed me a pitcher of some red liquid, it was still hot from the stove. He also handed me two jars of jelly. Said thank you for letting him pick the quinces and left.
Lesson learned. Not all is always as it seems. When i saw that man spitting and cursing i took it for granted that a quince was just worthless and didn't think of them again. But, let me tell you, since then, i have tasted some of the finest jelly's , punches, and pies imaginable. And i didn't have to cook a thing.
Every year that man came back. Sometimes he brought his wife and kids. They kept that quince tree busy.
That went on for about 9 years i guess. Until the city decided it was getting in the way of power lines and cut it down.
No more quince goodies for us. And i sure miss them.
Come on over to Jenny's and read more...............
Alphabe-Thursday's Letter Q
The house we used to live in had a quince tree growing just outside the backyard fence. Every spring it would bloom, and grow big yellow fruit.
I didn't know anything about quinces.
One day, some of the 'city crew' were out cleaning ditches and such, and i noticed two men out by the quince tree. One of them was giving the tree the once over, he turned to the other, said something to him. The other man smiled and said something back, gesturing towards the quince tree. Then the first man reached up, picked a fruit, rubbed it against his pants and proceeded to take a big bite.
Next thing i knew, he was bent over, spitting and cursing up a storm. The other man was just standing there laughing like a loon.
That kind of gave me the idea that quinces were not good to eat. So, i forgot about the quinces tree.
Until one morning a knock came at the door. The man who knocked wanted to know if he could pick some of the quinces for his wife to prepare. I told him to go ahead and pick them all they weren't good for anything.
He did pick them all. Over the next week he came back again and again, until he had picked every fruit the tree had to offer.
A couple of days later there was a knock at the door. There stood that same man. He handed me a pitcher of some red liquid, it was still hot from the stove. He also handed me two jars of jelly. Said thank you for letting him pick the quinces and left.
Lesson learned. Not all is always as it seems. When i saw that man spitting and cursing i took it for granted that a quince was just worthless and didn't think of them again. But, let me tell you, since then, i have tasted some of the finest jelly's , punches, and pies imaginable. And i didn't have to cook a thing.
Every year that man came back. Sometimes he brought his wife and kids. They kept that quince tree busy.
That went on for about 9 years i guess. Until the city decided it was getting in the way of power lines and cut it down.
No more quince goodies for us. And i sure miss them.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
My grandparents.
This is going to be linked to Sepia Saturday , along with other fine photos to enjoy and read about, come see at Sepia Saturday 60 : 5 February 2011
..I really don't know a lot about my family, but i do get tid bits now and then when my big sister gets to talking.
I am the youngest of 5, so by the time i was interested in hearing the stories, everyone else was tired of them. Now there is only me and two of my sisters left. I'm slowly learning all i can about the family past, so i can pass it down to my kids, they to theirs and so on.
I'll start with my maternal grandparents, Frank and Iva Green. She was 29 when they married. In those days that was OLD to still be single. My sister Judy believes she married him because of her age and the fear of forever being alone...but i believe she loved him. When you think about him being an full indian and her being white, and what that must have meant for them in those days. A white woman with a red man!
He was killed at the age of 35 when a brick wall fell on him. He left behind Iva and 4 kids, my mother being one of them.
There is one story that says he was a train robber once...which is really funny, as Iva's father was a U.S Marshal.
These two have been a mystery for a long time. Many in the family have tried to find more of their story, but too much time has gone by and taken their story with it.
..I really don't know a lot about my family, but i do get tid bits now and then when my big sister gets to talking.
I am the youngest of 5, so by the time i was interested in hearing the stories, everyone else was tired of them. Now there is only me and two of my sisters left. I'm slowly learning all i can about the family past, so i can pass it down to my kids, they to theirs and so on.
I'll start with my maternal grandparents, Frank and Iva Green. She was 29 when they married. In those days that was OLD to still be single. My sister Judy believes she married him because of her age and the fear of forever being alone...but i believe she loved him. When you think about him being an full indian and her being white, and what that must have meant for them in those days. A white woman with a red man!
He was killed at the age of 35 when a brick wall fell on him. He left behind Iva and 4 kids, my mother being one of them.
There is one story that says he was a train robber once...which is really funny, as Iva's father was a U.S Marshal.
These two have been a mystery for a long time. Many in the family have tried to find more of their story, but too much time has gone by and taken their story with it.
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