Category Archives: slice of life blog

Pain

I’m currently revising and updating my book for a new edition. This book will have a new title and possibly a new cover design. I have given this my full priority and so my blog has not had my attention. Don’t despair! I’m bringing blogs from the past. This one is from 2016.*

I’m pretty much over the fever, the headaches, and muscle aches. I still have the itchy, blotchy red rash on my back and side. The intermittent slashing, nerve pain has stayed with me.
I have shingles, a disease caused by the chicken pox virus, and I’ve lived in my pajamas for three weeks. read more

A Not-So Lazy Day

At the Costco entrance, I waited while Jerry grabbed one of the massive shopping carts stacked together in rows. The carts often stick together and Jerry has the extraordinary strength to yank them apart like Hercules. That’s why he has the job to get the cart.
Jerry whooshed up beside me with our shopping cart and I flopped my purse and sun hat (necessary item in Arizona) in the cart. As I continued to stroll inside, Jerry stopped with a jerk. Something wrong? Turning toward Jerry, I noticed something odd. The man pushing the cart didn’t look like Jerry. “Oh! I’m sorry,” I said while retrieving my purse and hat from the cart. “You’re not my husband,” I added, laughing at my faux pas. The man, a balding, silver-haired older guy, smiled warmly and said, “No, but I wish I was!”
What? He wishes he was married to me? How sweet is that? And he doesn’t even know about my low-blood sugar moods. Let’s just say if it gets too low, I can’t guarantee the happiness for anyone within my immediate range. read more

Giving Birth to a Piano–Sideways

The wind blew like crazy. Not Wizard-of-Oz crazy. Not evil Miss Gulch peddling a bicycle in a tornado crazy. Yet, crazy enough to put a damper on the plans my women’s writing group had for the day.
We had planned to take a short road trip to the Olive Mill, about an hour’s drive away in a town called Queen Creek. We planned to tour the mill, enjoy lunch, sample olive oil, and write in the olive orchard.
Due to the high winds, and after much back and forth texting, our group decided to meet at a local golf course. The property has a restaurant with quiet ambience where we could talk about writing, and perhaps even spend some time writing.
We have five in our group, but one had to work that day. That left four of us seated at the restaurant with windblown hair (well, mine anyway) and happy smiles. After ordering, we talked about what we wrote or didn’t write; how to find time for writing; elements of good writing, and classes we might attend on writing. Over salads we continued to discuss these topics. To digress for a moment, I would meet with these women even if we didn’t share a love and interest in writing. I’d meet with them if we shared a love and passion for dental hygiene or colored yarn. “Ooooh! Sparkly magenta glitter yarn! My fave. Now, everyone floss!” You understand, I’m only trying to make the point: we have an interesting and fun group. read more

Four things that happened, just yesterday.

“A little humor there,” she said, laughing at her joke. 

ONE.

At an outdoor restaurant called The Farm, Jerry and I waited for the hostess to seat us. As we waited, I admired the healthy-looking chard in the kitchen garden. It boasted lush greenery. An elderly lady strolled by and pointed to it. “What is that?” she asked, looking straight at me. I must look wise and knowledgeable. “Chard,” I said, adding, “It looks healthy. I wonder what they feed it?” The woman said, “Children.” She then laughed heartily. Ha, ha, ha, ha. “A little humor there,” she added, grinning at me with the most self-satisfied smile. I guess it’s good to be up there in years and still get a kick out of yourself. When I think about it, a little humor isn’t such a bad thing no matter how old you are.
As Jerry and I left the restaurant later, Jerry noticed the Swiss chard in the garden. “Why did the lady think it’s funny to feed the plant chili?” he asked. “What’s funny about that? I didn’t see the humor.” read more

The Day of Pain

When I entered the darkened room, a lady emerged from the dark shadows. She took my purse and jacket and directed me to a low-to-the-floor futon bed before leaving the room. Mandolin tunes drifted from the sound system.
“Take your shoes and socks off,” whispered another lady. The new lady told me to place my feet in a large tub as she poured hot—I mean very hawwwdt—water inside. The bottom of the tub had pointed daggers, making it difficult to relax with sharp pointed objects stabbing my feet.
I had never had a Thai and reflexology massage before and wanted to give the experience a try ever since two of my friends recommended it.
“It is wonderful,” one friend said.
I asked my sister if she also wanted to give it a try. Jodee has the adventurous spirit and agreed to meet me at the spa my friend recommended. Mama Deed, our 85-year-young mom, came along.
I knew the sharp spikes in the tub had something to do with reflexology and pressure points connecting certain parts of the feet to other parts of the body, thereby treating the whole body to better health. Daggers jabbed my feet while immersed in boiling water. Would I need a trip to ER before the night ended?
Jodee and Mama Deed had their feet inside tubs also. They sat on beds next to me. Each of us had a massage therapist for the hour. I hoped our time at the spa would be relaxing and “wonderful.” I would overlook the potential stitches and bandages I’d need for my injured feet.
My therapist, I’ll call her Alice because I never asked her name, had me lie down and brought over a hot towel for my neck. She placed it under my head. “Oww, ouch!”
“Too hot?” Alice asked. Uh, yes. Did she not understand my hair could have ignited into flames at any second? Alice placed a dry towel over the steaming hot towel. It helped a little, but my neck started itching in response to the fiery steam. Still, I didn’t want to complain further. I endured for the sake of the therapeutic benefits I hoped it would bring.
Alice pressed my skull with her fist. Press. Press-ssss. Squeeze. Alice must have sensed I couldn’t take it any longer and stopped. She actually did herself a favor. I had only moments before I morphed into a crazed woman screaming and swatting in a can’t-take-it frenzy.
If you aren’t familiar with a Thai massage, it is a massage with clothes on. Developed in Thailand 2,500 years ago, it’s an ancient form of stretching and applying pressure along the body’s energy lines to increase flexibility, relieve muscle and joint tension, and balance the body’s energy systems.
Using the sides of her hands, Alice beat on my body like a bongo drum. Then she kneaded me like bread dough. She crouched over me and drilled her fist into my back like a jackhammer. I jumped up from the discomfort.
When will the muscle tension leave me? I wondered. Muscle tension seemed to increase as the session progressed. read more