My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.
It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”
Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.
I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.
This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!
We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.
Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”
Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.
As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.
It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.
The days seem to be slipping through my fingers, dripping one by one like a faucet that can’t be turned off.
I can’t fix it, can’t stop it, can’t slow it down. MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursdayFriday, it’s all the same, it’s going nowhere, it’s going everywhere. I turn and turn the handle but there’s nothing I can do to slow the incessant leak.
(Maybe this was the real message about all those plumbing problems I had a couple months ago.)
First it was January; then I blinked and it’s almost the end of August.
Where has the time gone?
I can’t put all the hours back on the clock, I can’t halt the inexorable passage of time, I can’t stop the sand in the hourglass from running through my fingers.
I don’t know what happened to time. It’s out of my control.
Everyone has heard the version that of Who Knows Where The Time Goes by Judy Collins, but I just learned the original artist and songwriter was Britain’s Sandy Denny. She had the voice of an angel.
I hope everybody survived the powerful energies of the 8/8/8 Lion’s Gate Portal! It was intense, wasn’t it? And still is…
I always return to the simple things to realign myself on life’s journey; a little course correction of some vitamin sea at the beach with sand and seashells.
Art by Ida Rentoul Outhwaite Quote by Nicollete Sowder Text over art by Enchanted Seashells
I spent a frustrating couple of hours attempting to install new, adhesive shelf liners in the kitchen and bathroom. If you’ve ever done the same, frustrating doesn’t even describe the feeling of trying to smoothly stick the paper without bumps, lumps, or having it fold over and stick to itself. I did a HORRIBLE job, gave up, admitted defeat, and put all the items back under the bathroom and kitchen sinks to cover up the mistakes. I hate to fail at a task, but this was a fight I couldn’t win. That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back, that’s for sure.
After a much needed break with a mug of lovely ginger tea, I reviewed some of my favorite photos snapped in the last few days:
Another photo I sent to the original Angel Boy to make him miss SoCal surfing and come down for a visit!
While I was looking at the surf, a bunny behind bars came to visit.
I was enchanted by pretty cactus flowers all in a row.
My mulberry tree is going crazy this year. In the past, I’ve harvested and made jam and frozen quarts and quarts of them for cobblers and to sweeten smoothies, but I’m not taking on that burden this year. That leaves more for the birds and the RATS. Eww.
How was your Saturday evening? I hope it was better than mine, which you can probably surmise was spent in the emergency room.
Since I’m relegated to enforced rest at the present time, this might be a longish and rambling post…sorry in advance!
Here’s a little background to set the scene:
Lately, I’ve become obsessed with houseplants. It started gradually and before I knew it, I was fully engulfed in collecting, rescuing, propagating, and growing everything from Fiddle Leaf Figs to Calatheas to flowering cacti, and finally, MONSTERA. Yes, I’ve gone completely bonkers for Monstera.
I bought a giant specimen and had finally found the perfect feng shui location for it to thrive, but noticed that it could really benefit from some support.
I ordered a set of moss sticks from Amazon. They were due to arrive yesterday in the late afternoon and as I DO, I kept refreshing the tracking updates.
It was raining heavily when I finally heard the delivery truck.
I was so excited for those stupid moss poles that I FLEW down the flight of oak steps to the front door, wearing my favorite warm but very SLIPPERY socks; a gift from the original Angel Boy…
Without warning, because of course that’s how these things happen, I slipped and fell HARD. I mean really hard because I had been running, so my entire body weight slammed into the last few steps.
Since I’m no stranger to accidents, I sat there for a minute to triage the damage, upset with my stupidity and carelessness, When I ascertained that I hadn’t broken any major bones like a hip, I got up, went outside and picked up my package.
At that point, I had no idea what really happened.
The only part of me that had sustained the major hit was my left shin and I got an ice pack and lay down on the sofa. The pain was intensifying and when I lifted the ice pack, I saw a lot of blood seeping through my leggings.
WARNING: THE REST OF THE STORY IS KIND OF GROSS, not for the faint of heart.
You know how you have a feeling of impending doom? That’s what was going on with me.
I went to the bathroom, and before I looked at my leg, I brought out all my first aid stuff; gauze, tape, compression pads — just in case.
I washed my hands and gingerly and gently pulled up the bottom of my leggings and almost fainted (or threw up) at what I saw.
My leg looked like someone had slashed it with a hatchet and there was an open, gaping wound on my shin, all the way down to the tibia. I saw muscle and BONE. For real. Definitely not for the faint of heart, but I was trained by a wonderful nurse, and knew what to do.
I didn’t bother cleaning it at this point. I ripped open a large sterile gauze square with my teeth because I needed BOTH HANDS to close the two sides of the laceration. I did the same with the tape. After I placed a compression pad over the gauze and secured it with more tape, I knew this was no easy fix and I’d have to endure a visit to the emergency room.
I drove to the better of my two ER options, walked up to the desk and explained that I had a deep laceration that needed to be sutured.
They actually took me to a room immediately. I’m grateful that it was a slow evening and not very many people were there.
From the moment I arrived, everyone was helpful and lovely. Also since it was a slow night, many people came in the room to look at my leg. They praised my initial bandaging, and made jokes about why didn’t I sew it up myself, since it looked like I knew what I was doing.
At a time like this, humor is a great quality to possess, and I enjoy a good joke to lighten the atmosphere. I showed off pics of the grandkids, we discussed football playoffs, and they shared some of their more grisly ER injuries.
One person said she came in to see my leg because of how calm I was when I explained why I was there and she didn’t expect to see an eight-inch gash that must have hurt like hell, but I told her I’m always calm in the face of disaster and it didn’t hurt that much. (It does now, though. A lot.)
Because of the severity of the wound, I needed to have an x-ray to rule out any damage to my tibia before it got sutured. Luckily, my bone wasn’t compromised; no breaks or chips or blood vessel issues.
Other parts of my body are bruised from the impact, but my poor leg took the brunt of the fall from these beautiful but apparently now deadly oak stairs…no one has ever slipped before; I guess it was my lucky day, right?
More people came in to observe this AMAZING trauma surgeon repair the laceration. His wife was a doc too, an ophthalmologist, and we chatted about medical things while we waited for the suture cart and he determined how he was going to sew me up.
After the lidocaine injections, I couldn’t feel a thing, so I watched him work. It was kind of like an out-of-body experience. I probably bothered him with a million questions (like I always do) but he also taught medicine and he was patient and pleased to provide me with detailed answers.
A wound like that (think sharp hatchet splitting wood) needs layers of internal sutures as well as the exterior ones.
I had a total of twelve sutures and a few internal ones. After finishing the job, the doc told me how very lucky I was, because if the wound had been even a couple inches to the right, tendons and muscles would have had to be surgically repaired. Yup, I was lucky.
The tech came back in to dress my leg, adding about fifteen Steri-Strips between the sutures.
The nurse took a bunch of pics that are too graphic to post here and I know it’s going to leave an ugly scar, but I don’t mind because it’s a constant reminder to NEVER again wear slippery socks on those oak steps. EVER. NEVER. Lesson learned.
I bought some things that I subsequently needed to return which my son calls my “catch and release” program because I do it a lot.
This time, I was in a rush. I picked the wrong kind of noodles and the wrong kind of applesauce, and a pineapple I discovered was rotten and gross; also a first pair of jeans for Angel Girl 2.0 that were the wrong size.
I located the receipts and put them in safe place, or so I thought.
To backtrack, I never lose things and I also save EVERY receipt because I know that I MIGHT return whatever it is. I’m thrifty like that, so what happened next is significant.
I left early to shop cos it’s getting crowded for Thanksgiving. When I got in my car, I looked for the receipts and could only find one, but I KNOW I had saved both of them together.
I searched every inch of the car-nothing. I searched my purse-nothing. I looked in the outside trash (eww) -nothing. I went back in the house and couldn’t find it anywhere. I took a few deep breaths and decided to accept the reality that for once, I had somehow lost a receipt, but I’d still try to return the items and not be upset if that wasn’t possible.
In the grand scheme of life, this wasn’t anything to worry about. Mistakes happen.
I parked my car, walked around to the passenger side to collect my shopping bags and the items to be returned. There, on the seat, right next to the sad old pineapple, I spied the receipt.
WTF? Where did it come from? I had OCD thoroughly searched every single inch of my car, even taking everything out, and never saw it, because it wasn’t there. But there it appeared, ON THE SEAT. ON THE SEAT where it had NOT been before.
I shook my head, called out a silent thank you to the universe and its witchy ways, and laughed at my good fortune.
The rest of the day has been full of sunshine and joy, but I still can’t figure it out.
Is it the disappearing object phenomenon? How did it happen? WHY did it happen? And what’s the lesson?
According to my Google research, these are the areas to explore if you have experienced the return of a lost item:
Lessons on the 3D level: Must you always have a physical explanation for any occurrence? Why? Do you believe that there is only one answer for any occurrence? Who told you that? What happens if you can’t find an explanation for this occurrence?
Lessons on the 4D level: Can I concede that I can’t explain this occurrence just yet? Do Others have power over me? Do Others have powers that I don’t have? (St. Anthony, or Archangel Chamuel, for example?) Can they see more than I can see? Who are these Others? Are they mirrors of me?
Lessons on the 5D level: Is this an item you love? If not, why is it here? How long was this item gone before you missed it? Are you rightfully managing this energy (including time)? What is the disparity of frequency between the You that could see them and the You that couldn’t? What is the energy of the missing item? Sad? Nostalgic? Does it represent a period in your life needing release? Does it remind you of something you need to get done?
Here’s what I learned today. Since Angel Girl turned four years old, I needed a new car seat. When it arrived, I didn’t have too much trouble assembling it (although it took an HOUR) but I couldn’t figure out how to properly install it next to her brother’s. I didn’t pay much attention when Dad did it.
I read the cryptic instruction booklet and it was like reading hieroglyphics. I watched several YouTube videos and they didn’t help me, either. This isn’t unusual–I’m not very mechanically inclined.
I figured that our friendly police department would surely be able to assist me, so I drove to the local station. This is where the vortex of frustration began…
Guess what? Our police do NOT help to safely install carseats, but they said OTHER grandmas have come in asking for help, too.
The police department referred me to AAA.
AAA also does NOT help to install or make sure they’re installed properly.
AAA referred me to California Highway Patrol which DOES have a program to safely install car seats but they’re booked up through January 2024. That’s no help at all. AT. ALL.
CHP said the Sheriff does it, but they most likely are booked up too. I called to make an appointment, had to leave a message, and no one returned my call.
I even called a neighboring city’s police department and they don’t install car seats either.
After that, I called Children’s Hospital which does have a car seat installation program but it charges FIFTY DOLLARS per car seat!!!
Our local fire department doesn’t assist in installation or inspection to make sure car seats are properly installed.
The final call I made was to Safe Kids Worldwide’s Child Passenger Safety, a nonprofit organization, and there is no tech in my area. Also, no one responded to my email.
I’m exhausted from running around the dead end rabbit hole with my vain attempt to ensure the safety of the Angel Kids.
I eventually tried to install it but noticed there was no anchor with this particular booster-type seat with a back, and it seemed a bit unstable, so I took an anchor strap from the old seat and tried to attach it. I’m not sure if it’s OK but at least it’s not moving around and seems more secure.
And from the manufacturer, I read comments and questions from others who wanted information about no latch/anchor: “Thank you for your interest in the Turbo Booster 2.0 Highback Booster Seat! Unfortunately, a LATCH system is not offered for this product. We hope this helps! – The Graco Team” Well…it doesn’t really help at all, because why NOT??
Friends have said I should just leave it for Dad to do it again but I wanted to make life easier for all of them when I pick up at the airport. It’s much less stressful to jump in the car and head straight home than to have to sit at the curb and wait for him to hook it up.
This says volumes about lack of community service and safety from the entities that should absolutely care. My very final outreach was a call to the community relations department of our police department to suggest they recommence their former program of assisting/examining installation of car seats. Not surprisingly, I’ve received no return call.
Frustration level? OFF ALL THE CHARTS.
UPDATE: A neighboring city’s sheriff’s office returned my call, I made an appointment for this morning, and their in-house certified car seat tech examined both car seats and gave me a few tips to keep the kids extra secure. It took less than ten minutes–peace of mind = PRICELESS. I’m still concerned that it took so much effort to get it done. I don’t think most people are as tenacious as I am, and if they quit too soon, their children might not be secured properly in an accident.
I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.
There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.
Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.
For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.
I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.
I don’t know about you, but today has been a day full of frustrations, miscommunications, stress, anxiety, and a general sense of agitation and discord everywhere I turn.
People tell me they didn’t get my emails that I CLEARLY have a record of sending while one misunderstood word engendered disagreements and verbal sparring before the matter was cleared up.
I don’t like stress, not that anyone really does, I guess. but for me, stressful situations cause my poor little heart to pump too hard and raise my blood pressure.
This is when I need to practice breathing and meditation. It will all work out, I’m sure, but in the meantime, I won’t really be able to relax.
In addition to the annular “ring of fire” solar eclipse on the 14th, in SoCal we’re on the verge of a Santa Ana weather event; windy, very low humidity, and lots of swirling energy, so it’s probably a good idea to go outside and water my plants to redirect my mind.
BREATHE!
Oh, and stay hydrated, ‘cos when I get stressed, I shut down and don’t eat or drink, so I’m sitting here with a giant water bottle. There’s nothing worse than a dehydration headache.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 