let's take a step back here . . .

Wow, six comments! The most I’ve ever had in my blogging life. I am thrilled. And so happy to welcome Miss ColleenQ whose blog I’ve been following for awhile and Susan. I need all the feedback I can get. David (I didn’t know responses were space limited either but I’m glad you kept going till you got it all in there); you are right—I have so few personal contacts that when one turns sour, it does indeed link together with every hurt from the past and become overwhelming to me.

My daughter and I are okay—she understands and babies me when she realizes I am on my last nerve. She and her husband know that the way to scare me silly is to hint jokingly that they might get divorced some day. They are both so busy with normal life—and she’s had to find time to be with my mother more since she got sick, so it has been a strain on them. But I guess what I meant by pressure was only her own desire to be in two different places at once.

Yesterday I did the chicken cooking thing. My daughter arrived at my mother’s house with my mother and her two best girlfriends for a girls’ weekend celebrating her birthday. One of the friends, in 15 minutes, attacked a part of the garden that was way overgrown, and cleaned it out—it looks fab. I was going to do that but when my mother sees it she always greets each plant and says things like “I know that’s a weed but it’s so cute . . .” that I figured well, she wants it there. And then my fear of snakes . . . I couldn’t find gloves long enough to make me feel safe digging around in there. Anyway, that’s DONE and it looks so good. More than once I have gone home from my mother’s house with my car trunk stuffed full of trashbags of weeds—I have yard waste pickup at my house—so this time, I did that again, but maybe for the last time.

I’ve been watching the cake guy on TV, and have been fascinated by how they do those fancy cakes, and meanwhile a great hunger has been building inside of me—a desire to dive into that frosting and filling in the middle, so I went to my regular grocery store and a rather small one (1/4 sheet cake—supposed to feed 20—if each person could be satisfied with a 2”x3” portion, but I don’t know anybody who would be satisfied with such a small piece). Anyway, we were so full of chicken and mashed potatoes/gravy, that we just took a picture of the cake and then split it between us to take home and eat later. I’m not going to reveal the measurements of the portion I brought home with me.

Oh my God!!! I just saw on my home page that Billy Mays was found dead—he was 50. I’m starting to feel like these reports are some horrible joke! I had to cry about Michael—because I felt he had so little happiness in his life. I remember in about 1990 I had a quote pasted to my typewriter (yes, typewriter) that said something like “talent does what it can; genius does what it must,” and it was Michael that I was thinking of when I cut it out. I picture him on Thursday hearing of Farrah’s death and feeling bad about that, popping another pill to combat that sadness and, ooops, that was the one that put him over the edge.

I’m going to mow the lawn. And think about everyone I love. And, if not pray, try to wish or channel some strength to those who are hurting. "We’re all in this together—keep your stick on the ice."