I really do suck at this whole journal writing thing. I’m trying to blame everybody and their brother for why I’m not doing it regularly, but I can’t. I just suck. That, and the fact that there is nothing going on here might have something to do with it.
I’m currently waiting to see if my insurance with authorize knee-replacement surgery. I have arthritis so bad in the one knee that it’s actually deformed. I look knock-kneed when I stand and when I walk there are times that it jams so hard that I gasp. Yeah. People like me don’t go around gasping in public. That’s not our family style. So I made an appointment, got a useless cortisone shot (one of many over the years) and now I have another appointment to go over everything for the surgery. The only thing left to do is pray that the insurance company authorizes the surgery without any bullshit. I predict a butt-ton of bullshit, but I’m hoping not. If everything goes according to plan, I’ll come home and have my surgery after vacation.
I’m not giving up on writing here, but my own brain is giving me grief. I worry about my husband’s job even more than I use to (which is why this journal will be Rick-lite). I worry about my kids because they’re adults now and have lives of their own. But then I remember that I’m also an adult and I have the right to write my truth. Then there is Shirley. God Bless Shirley. My mother, my rock. My huge pain in the ass. She’s going to be 75 in October and is still as stubborn as a mule. I don’t care what she says – I will write about her here because it will save my sanity to get things off of my chest. The good news? She’s in reasonably good health so I’m not worried about caregiving yet. The bad news? She does dumb shit and I’m absolutely positive that she’s going to break a hip and I’ll be stuck taking care of her. It’s not that I don’t want to do the work. It’s that I know my mother. She WILL make me want to blow my brains out.
The comment about blowing my brains out above is another thing that makes me paranoid about writing here. If one person knows someone that has really done that horrible deed, I am truly fucked for joking about it. We live in that kind of world now and I’m going to have to force my brain to stop with the vanilla nonsense when I write something. If I stick to vanilla, this journal will get pretty boring. And then I’ll quit because it has bored me. These are the things that have stopped me from getting on here and vomiting my life all over the place.
When I last wrote here it was about the wedding of my oldest son, Alex. He married Cheyenne in a simple wedding in our back yard. It could have been a disaster, but thanks to a few of my friends (Robyn & Regan) it was fine. Regan loves to be a problem solver so she was up there bossin’ and yappin’ at people while Robyn and I were doing other things. That’s the beauty of having two best friends that are totally different. My only bitch was that the day was too hot. The humidity was excessive. and everyone was hot and sweaty. My cousin’s husband is a minister so he performed the ceremony. He also baptized Alex in the backyard when he was 3 months old, also in July, and it was the hottest day of that year. Timing is everything in our family. We’re cool that way. Or not cool (technically).
We did the traditional Pittsburgh cookie table which means we were baking for a month before and we had to haul the cookies to my uncle’s house because we already had a freezer full of cookies. We had homemade pierogies there, stuffed cabbage, fried chicken, macaroni & cheese, rigatoni, various salads/vegetables (for the vegetarians), popcorn bar, nacho bar, and other things that I’m just not thinking of right now. I’ll just say that there was plenty of good food and nobody left hungry. Later in the day the adults (or more older adults) hid out in the air conditioning while the friends visited around a bonfire. Meanwhile, they’re nerds with nerd friends so nothing got out of hand. It was a pleasant and relaxed wedding.
Robyn took this picture after everyone went through the first time – it was a small, intimate wedding (only 36 were invited and 35 came) and, of course, I made enough food for 175 people. It’s required by some kind of family law around here. And everyone knows that your reputation is shot if you run out of food. What kind of woman are you? heh.