Trips And Travels

Robert Frost wrote a poem about taking the road less taken. It’s always been a favorite of mine as it reminds me that my journey and the path I travel is not meant for anyone other than myself. It also reminds me that the going may be a little tougher on this path which has been less travelled. After all the ground won’t have been trampled on the same way.

Beloved is also a fine of the less travelled road. He is also a fan of tarrying along a road if the spirit should strike him to do so. He doesn’t necessarily believe that time needs to be felt as something rushing past him and he refuses to make it priority with everything in his life. It has allowed him more time to take in the views, and to be late and not offer apologies other than the views he has witnessed.

I, on the other hand, have a desire to chase and make up for lost time. As if there is always going to be something better just up ahead. Yes I know this won’t really be the case, but while he tarries along, I run headlong through the valleys ignoring the views in the name of time. I reason that this is better than being late and having no real explanation to offer up to people who are waiting on me.

Is one of us more right than the other? Some would say yes. Some would tell you that enjoying the view and working at your own pace, allowing yourself to not have to worry about what could have been because you make it so, would be the better way to do things. And for them, they’d be right. But for me, I have a need right now for speed. So I shall rush into each stumbling block on my less maintained path and enjoy the stumbles, trips and rolls all the same.


Sometimes Lupus Wins And I Bail

Beloved phoned me to say he was not going to be able to keep a commitment he had made weeks earlier. He wondered if I could phone his friend and let him know that the plans had changed and he was very sorry for having to bail on his friend.  He said there was no way he’d be able to meet up with this friend and be where his job insisted he be at the same time.

After finding out more about the change in his work schedule, I made the phone call he requested.  His friend was disappointed, but also understanding.  Beloved typically finds a way to accommodate everything and everyone.  The fact he couldn’t  was no doubt disappointing to Beloved as well as his friend.  His friend told me that he’d get in touch with Beloved later on and reschedule for a time that worked for both of them.  I knew Beloved would appreciate that.

Heaven knows I’ve been there myself, torn between needing to do something for someone else such as an employer, and wanting to touch with friends or family members.  Sometimes you can juggle these things and make it all work out, but other times you just don’t have a choice.  If you are fortunate, like in Beloved’s case, and have a friend who understands things, it all works out.  But sometimes you have done this repeatedly and/or it’s hard to mesh schedules and things don’t work out as planned.

The truth is, I admire Beloved for being able to make things work most of the time.  I wish I could do that. But lupus is a demanding boss and life partner.  Lupus doesn’t care what I may have planned or scheduled.  Lupus wants what lupus wants when it wants it.  And that’s kind of how the game goes.  Which means I cancel on people far more frequently than most folks will.  I bail when others wouldn’t and it makes some people think I’m flaky.  I bail frequently.  And not with a great deal of notice in advance.  (Beloved gave his friend over a week’s notice, sometimes I’m lucky to give someone a couple of hours notice.)  But the people who are dear friends, the people who love me, they get that sometimes lupus wins and I have to cancel plans.

Time For Hair And Makeup

I’ve a friend who spends an hour each morning just doing her hair and face.  I only know this because her husband was complaining that for two hours when she first gets up, he is banished from the ensuite.  If he needs a washroom, he needs to use the “public” one.

She said that she gets up, has a shower, dresses and spend an hour doing her face and hair.  Then she grabs a coffee and a nibble before heading back into the ensuite to brush her teeth and finish doing touch ups to her make up and hair.  She said it’s not like her husband needs to do an awful lot to get ready.  As if that it all that should be taken into consideration.

Now I can’t say I’ve ever actually timed myself, but if I spent an hour on hair and make up it better be for some amazing event.  I just have neither time nor the inkling to do all that stuff.  Presentable yes, but beyond that, not for day-to-day things.  And Beloved, well he rolls out of bed, has a five-minute shower, dries and dresses before throwing some gel in his hair and is good to go. If it takes him a total of fifteen minute that’s about it.

If we take an hour together on hair and makeup etc it would be surprising.  And ere is a part of me that sides with her husband on finding the amount of time she spends getting ready to be a bit much.  But to each their own, unless it’s creating issues or hurting someone.

Just A Mash

Mashed potatoes and I have a strange relationship.  okay to be fair, it may not be that the potatoes have a relationship with me.  I mean they’ve been cooked to death, squashed until they’re piles of mashed potato min do on a plate.  I really don’t think they are up for a relationship, certainly not with me.  I, on the other hand, do have a relationship with them.

I suppose I enjoyed them enough as a young child.  I mean who doesn’t love food you can play with and sculpt into whatever your heart desires?  But as I got older I lost the simple pleasures of this.  And somewhere along the line, in my life anyway, bad news began to be equated with mashed potatoes.

I know what you are thinking, no way that’s possible.  But for a stretch in my life, it seemed every time I was given bad news, like hey you have lupus, the meal I was having had mashed potatoes.  Frankly it got weird.  I mean I saw them being prepared or on my plate and I’d start to feel anxious.

This wouldn’t be an issue, except Beloved holds the potato sacred. He believes eating it in a variety of forms is a way of honouring the humble and powerful potato.  Yes this includes being mashed.  Especially mashed because evidently he is still into sculpting his meal.

While I can’t place my finger on things, I’ve had a feeling all day that something was going a bit wonky.  Naturally when I see potatoes, in the mashed variety, upon the plate Beloved is carrying, I assume the worst.  Such as his cancer is back.  Or he has heart problems.  Wait, maybe he’s leaving me, hey there is only so much one man can out up with.

So I waited.  And I watched he started to use his fork to make whimsical designs in the potato.  Still I waited as he started to eat.  Eat the mashed potato as if it was nothing.  How could he miss the omen on the plates, and in his mouth?  Finally, after giving me a strange look, he out his fork down, reached across the table and said “what’s got you thinking so hard”.

I pointed, unable to speak because surely this is where the bad news comes.  He sighed, smiled gently and said, “I had to use them up before they went off and I love a good mash now and then.  If you won’t be eating yours, I will have them.”  And that was it.  Extra mashed potatoes for him and a strange sense of what just happened for me.

Minor Detail

Not that long ago, a friend of Beloved’s started posting pictures of the rising water levels where he lives.  A massive storm had gone thought in a very short period of time leading to rising water levels.  He was documenting the changes by the minute and posting it all online.

Now at some point he lost track of what was really happening, he was so caught up in taking the pictures and showing how quickly the water level was changing that he didn’t actually recognize the water was creeping in under his door.  I should point out he lives on a hill and has never had flooding before.  It wasn’t until he realized his feet were in water that he stopped taking pictures.

By then it was too late.  His neighbor had placed sandbags around the door ways to his house and from an open window he let our friend know that his house was dry.  Bone dry he said once our friend had said he was up to his ankles in water.

Apparently everything is going to be okay, but this reminded me how easily we can get caught up in the minor details to the point of missing whats really happening around us until it’s too late to respond properly.  While I’ve never been in that exact situation, but I have been caught unawares in storms because I was too busy watching the clouds for and roll by to actually recognize the storm was building.  At which point I got a bit wet as I hastily sought shelter.  I’ve also been suddenly trapped by the sun making a brilliant appearance when it wasn’t supposed to.  Of course that time I didn’t have sunscreen with me to reapplying and it had been a few hour shift incentive. Ad bothered with th the updated forecast.  So I had to wait for the shade to grow so I could carry on my path home.

And that’s the problem with those minor details that you can become lost in.  You become lost in them to the point of not looking up and gathering in all of the information, until your feet are wet and it’s too late to sandbag the doorway.

Off Tomatoes

“It’s nothing really,” I said as the well-meaning nurse clucked over the injury.  It really wasn’t that big of a deal on the scale of big deals in my life.  It doesn’t mean it didn’t warrant stitches, but stitches are nothing in my world.  Not when you’ve had tubes, hoses and are now seeking new organs. Nope, stitches are really nothing.

But of course this lovely nurse didn’t know that.  She was thinking I was worried about the amount of blood that I was losing and perhaps even concerned about a scar or two.  I gathered that from the way she said that it probably wouldn’t amount to much of anything down the road for people to see.  I grinned and told her that scars were sexy. Scars said that you have lived a life, an interesting life.  Interesting enough to leave marks on your body.  She laughed and told me that someone would be in immediately to stitch it up.

I wondered what she thought after she closed the door.  Did she think I was crazy for saying it was nothing when clearly she, as a medical professional, thought that a knife wound requiring more than thirty stitches as not “nothing”.  Knives slip, especially when you aren’t paying attention and the item you are cutting is wet and slippery. And the dog is jumping at your back.  Stuff happens.  Fast.

The doctor came in, stitched it up, gave me directions to look after it and then said he didn’t want to see me in the room again.  You’d think I was a frequent flyer or something at this trauma room.  I’m not.  It just happens that last time I was here, Beloved had managed a lovely deep hand wound as well. And I was fascinated then, as I was now, with the stitches going in and such.  So I guess I left an impression.

Shame about the roasted veggie salad that won’t be made now because frankly there was too much blood on stuff to save it and right now I’m a bit off of tomatoes!

Just Routine Round Here

The four-footed one likes to start her day with a huge stretch, a yawn and a good walk.  She insist on following this up with a delicious breakfast, which is gobbled rather quickly I might add, and a good game of chase around the house.

Regardless of the day of the week, the four-footed one likes to stick to this routine.  She gets annoyed if I change things up.  But she does reserve the right to push back on an outdoor activity of the weather doesn’t meet her standards.  And by her standards that means if it’s raining too hard we stay in.  If the wind is a full force gale, she will opt to just get an extra play session in.

This is all finely and good, except on the days that I’m unable to meet her demands.  She has yet to comprehend lupus and how it affects me.  When I tell her I can’t walk or run around the house, she simply grabs my finger with her teeth.  If I fail to be roused by this approach, she will use pressure with those teeth.   And when I still don’t give in, she sulks and ignores me.  That is until she wants a cuddle, a scratch or something.  Because those are all routine too!