Painful Year

So I'm going through something extremely painful right now. I can't/won't go into details right now but I've got to write something about it or I'll continue to spiral down.

Life sucks. It tricks you into thinking everything is great and on track. And then it pops up out of nowhere and punches you square on the nose, knees you in the lady bits, and then kicks you while you are on the floor curled into a fetal position. All the while it laughs and mocks you to your face.

That's what I'm going through right now. I can't sleep. Tylenol PM lets me pass out for 4 hours max and then I'm wide awake wrapped in a blanket of anxiety and worry. I can't eat. I've lost at least 10 pounds in 2 weeks and it all left my ass. My beautiful round derriere is bony! My round, buxom grandmother would be aghast! I'm down to skinniest belt loop and I'm so weak, I have to walk slowly, trudging along like a half-decayed zombie. I'm usually walking fast and stomping around my office like a tiny, pale Tyra Banks. Not anymore.

So I'm going through a lot, obviously. And when I can open up more, I will. I know that I'm not alone in what I'm going through and hope that one day I can help someone going through a similar situation laugh and chuckle. Today and tomorrow, it's me that is depending on so many people. I've had to rely and open up to so many amazing people in my life and I feel so fortunate even when I just want everything to fade to black.

I'm going to continue to depend on the kindness of not strangers, but friends, family, and co-workers. I'm going to continue to fight for normalcy - even if it's just not in the cards. I'm going to fight to be free of this overwhelming amount of pain and sorrow. It will take time and endurance. It will take patience - which is SO not my strength. It will take all of me and hopefully leave me with a new Amber.

I'll be different on the other side of this, but I'll still be me.

Thanks!

Trip Down Tennessean Memory Lane

I hadn't been back home since June so a visit was way past overdue. So Sam and I took the time off, packed up the dogs, and off we went. We drove in on a Thursday night and at some point I looked up and saw the stars. When you can't see them very well in the city, you just get used to it and forget they even exist. But when I gazed up at them I just realize how much I've missed seeing them. The same can be said in a way about my Tennessee friends. I only see them maybe once a year. Unlike the stars, I don't forget they exist but I forget how much I miss them. Life goes on, I go to work, come home, watch tv, sleep.. My life is on repeat of the same routine and I just get sucked into the monotony and forget. So this weekend was a vivid reminder of all that I'm missing out on living away.

I miss the landscape. I miss the familiarity of the sights as I drive past them. There is this small pond on Stewarts Ferry that is always so full of water it doesn't even have a bank. And every time I drive by, I have to gaze at it and mentally note the water level. Across from it, there's the house that my parents rented when they first got married. Before that, we drive past the house my grandmother lived in and where my uncles live now. We zoom past this rustic round hog barn that my dad used to go to sell his pigs. It's not just my memories I drive past, its the memories that have been passed down to me that are only tangible on these familiar roads and paths. The farther I physically get away, the wispier they become until they fade completely away. It doesn't help that I struggle with memory issues to begin with, so I fight to hold on to what I can. When I'm in Atlanta, it is so hard to conjure up the past - it's pretty much a losing battle. (I'll have to write a separate blog post about my memory issues.) But the second we cross the state line, I feel like the memories gain weight and by the time we enter Wilson County, the memories are fully formed.

I'm surrounded by the familiar and the known.

I'm reminded that I need to come home. That I need to plant my severed roots back into familiar dirt - the Georgia clay is not where they need to be.

I had no idea chopping wood could be this sexy. Look at his arms!

My bedroom was the top right window. Now it's my mom's craft room. 

I Drink in the Morning

Okay, so several months ago I ran out of coffee creamer. I can't drink it black and all I had was Bailey's. So I used that and was giggling to myself that I was drinking alcohol in the morning. So I started to write a poem about it and the poem was supposed to be funny. However, sometimes my muse has a mind of her own and instead what came out was a very depressing poem. I'm still proud of it but it is vastly different than my original vision. Oh well.

I only drink in the morning
when the windows are barely alight
I care little if it's wrong
the liquor's warmth feels too right

I only drink in the morning
a splash one, two, three
blurs the lines of night and day
and pushes my mind free

Of the constant stream
of worries and fears
that numb my body
and stain my cheek with tears

I only drink in the morning
but worry for me not
I won't be here much longer
to drink more gut rot

I'll head for the west
and leave it all behind
I'll let the wind take me
and lead me about blind

To my last destination
To my resting place
I'll break into pieces
And leave no trace


See what I mean! Where the hell did that come from? I sound like a drunk, depressed old man. Maybe I'm turning into one...lately I have been referring to all my interns as young'uns and whipper-snappers. I've also been grumpier than usual and I'm craving prunes and re-runs of Matlock.

Oh God.

Domesticity

I don't know why I've entered this weird world of old-fashioned domesticity. I've started a quilt...nowhere near finished but I started it. I'm canning up a storm and making soups to freeze from our garden. And now... I'm making pie. Not just any pie, apple pie completely from scratch from my very own apple tree that we planted 5 years ago. Why am I doing this? Sam even asked me why we've all of sudden jumped into this world. I think I've figured it out, at least for me. My grandmother, Mama Joe, was an amazing woman. She, to me, was the epitome of a feminist whether she realized it or not. She worked, she gardened, she raised her family, she cooked from scratched, she canned, she played baseball, she hunted, she cradled her dying husband, she crocheted baby booties, she hugged you hard, she disciplined, she loved. She was everything. And she was unexpectedly taken from me before I turned 17 and my world crumbled.

And now as I get older, I'm losing my memories of her. I've always struggled to retain memories. I don't know if it was because I fractured my skull at a young age or because my brain doesn't have the capacity...I don't know. But I reach for fragments of her and come up with barely a wisp. I can barely remember the sound of her voice or feel of her arms or the sight of her nimble fingers creating something beautiful. So in a way, I'm trying to find her in these tasks. I talk to her in my head sometimes while I blanch tomatoes for canning. I imagine what she might think of her oldest granddaughter mixing ingredients for her first pie crust, praying she gets it right. I bet she would get a good chuckle at my frustration at the sewing machine. By throwing myself at these old fashioned, some would say out-dated activities, I'm reconnecting with her. I can feel her again. I know that she is proud of me even though I cuss up a storm while doing all of these things.

I'm finding my way back to her, one jar, one quilt square, one pie at a time.

Canning Tomatoes, A How-To and A How-Not-To

Our garden is producing extremely well. Which is great except it produces way more than two adults can eat. So Sam and I have wandered into the wonderful world of canning and freezing. Over the weekend, we had a lovely time cooking and freezing 12 quarts of summer squash and zucchini soup. As a couple, we were working well together and sneaking in kisses as we circled around each other in an intricate dance of multi-tasking in our kitchen. It was lovely. Sam suggested that the next day we can tomatoes. What a wonderful idea! I was to come in after work and wake him up and together in splendid harmony, we would can the tomatoes before he headed off to work. I could then, learning from my perfect Martha Stewart blessed experience, teach others the wonders of canning tomatoes.
Below, I have carefully detailed each step.

1. Come home after working a long day to your messy kitchen the Husband hadn't bothered to clean.
2. Angrily stomp into the bedroom where he lays sleeping. Yell in a annoyed voiced so he know what he has done, or rather, not done. "Honey! It's time to pick tomatoes. So we can can them. Like you told me to yesterday."
3. When Husband doesn't respond, loudly change clothes so he knows your pissed. Try not to let the logic of him being too blissed out to care creep into your head. Logic has no place tonight!
4. In the rain, get down on all fours and crawl through the jungle of tomato vines to grab the best red fruit. Remember that one day you'll have kids and you can make them do this task. Or figure out how to train the dogs...
5. Once again stomp through the house and then realize you are stomping in wet mud boots. Curse. Clean up the mess you made, loudly change clothes again, and continue to the next step.
6. Go to your laptop and type "how to can tomatoes" if your laptop decides to not work, threaten it with a hammer and then repeat step on your smart phone.
7. Wash tomatoes, use a paring knife to slit an "x" at the bottom of the tomato and then core the top. Set aside after pushing around a bunch of stuff to find an "aside."
8. Boil water and then carefully drop the tomatoes in. Boil for one minute and then use a slotted spoon or tongs to transfer the hot tomatoes to ice water. Make sure you give the dogs an ice cube or they'll look at you with a pleading look that will make you feel guilty.
9. Let them sit in their ice water bath for a bit. Take this time to glare at sleeping Husband and/or get the jars ready.
10. Realize that you don't have any jars. Yell, "Fucking asshat, now I have to go the ghetto ass wal-mart at night. I'm going to get stabbed and it's going to be all his damn fault. I hate fucking canning. I'm not domestic. I hate the stupid garden. I just want to watch tv and drink beer."
11. Calm the fuck down.
12. Drive to the ghetto Wal-Mart. Look so angry that everyone who sees you immediately gets out of your way. This bitch ain't going to get stabbed tonight. Pay for the stupid jars and then on your way home realize you now have no time to feed your husband. With the speed of a Nascar-trained driver, pull into a Wendy's and get the husband the usual and yourself the most calorie-filled, paper-wrapped piece of heaven.
13. Stuff your face while one dog rests her head on your lap pitifully and the other licks your foot.
14. Back to work, peel the tomatoes and then drop them into a rinsed-out jar. Technically you should boil the jars but who has time for that!
15. Pour two tablespoons of...where the crap are my measuring spoons!?!
16. Pour two estimated tablespoons of lemon juice in each jar, followed by boiling water. Then screw the tops on.
17. It's now 8pm, so wake the Husband up, throw his scrubs, underwear, and socks at his face. Hand him his food and then tell him the rest of the canning process is his freaking job. Which he will do beautifully and perfectly, incident-free the next day.
18. Drink a bottle of wine and watch The Office until your nerves settle down.

Canned with Frustration, Not with Love

Camping Misadventure

Sam and I always have very adventurous camping trips. We've gotten injured, our GPS has taken us on curvy back roads where banjos play in the distance, Sam has almost fallen off a waterfall, and I've almost stepped off a mountain. This time we took the dogs for their first camping trip and now we can add to the list of experiences and lessons learned, more injuries, weather reports are important, and getting a written warning is not fun. And, there was a LOT of pouting! 

Sam had been talking up this trip for a while. We were going to go back to Tellico Plains, TN with the goal being to find my favorite little waterfall and to dig at the bottom of it for gold. However, a few things caused issues. The day before we were to leave, Sam's Jeep broke down...first sign. The weather was horrible, cold and rainy for that time of year...second sign. The other couple that was going to camp with us canceled... third sign. Normally we leave on Friday to go camping but we had cancelled the trip, then rescheduled, then cancelled...again and again. I was at the point where I just point blanked told Sam to tell me what he wanted and I would just *bleeping* do it. So he stuck with the canceled. Until Saturday morning arrived and it was a beautiful day. Then the pouting started. Sam pouted all morning. He checked the weather report and pouted. He turned on the weather channel and pouted. Finally, I think I asked if he just wanted to go. The pouting abruptly ended and the packing began. So we arrived at Tellico late that afternoon and the rain started. Fortunately, it was dry at the campsite so we were able to get settled sans rain. The camp site was vacant and so we let the dogs off their leashes. Sam and I would call them as soon they set one paw off our camp area and they would dutifully come right back. This was working perfectly until the park ranger arrived to check in on us. Dogs have to remain leashed at all times, oops. We were written a warning and told if we were caught again, it would be a $75 fine. So the dogs stayed on their leash the remainder of the trip, which they hated. They are used to running around in our fenced in backyard and only go leashed during their Arabia hike.  So there was a lot of whining from them. After getting the camp set-up, we took the dogs down to the trail that leads up to our waterfall. Before we could get out of the Jeep, the rain drops (which had recently stopped) started up again in full earnest. So we ended up spending the entire day at camp. That night it was pretty chilly for late May so it was really nice to have two warm furry dogs to cuddle up to, I had  Willa on top of my feet and Sam had Bruce on his. Except, Sam woke up and realized Bruce was shivering so he ended up pulling him underneath the blankets and cuddled together. Willa took the temperature like a champ. The next day, our goal was to hike to the damn waterfall. So off we went. Bruce, normally, walks very slowly but for some reason, this time he chose to charge full speed ahead. The first time was when I was coming down a small hill. He pulled so hard that I got knocked onto my butt with the palm of my hand and wrist taking the brunt of my weight. It hurt...a lot. The easier trail is across the river from where you park, so you have to walk through the river. Last time we went, it was the same time of year but much warmer and the river was lower. Sam carried Willa across first, tied her to a tree and came back for Bruce. I would help, but I can't carry them...and I'm clumsy. Fortunately, I only almost tripped on my way over. The water was extremely cold and my legs went numb quickly. Once we all got to the other side and started hiking again, Bruce kept pulling really hard. I fell twice (once into the water), almost hit my head on a tree, and by the time we got to the waterfall, I was in pain, pissy, and my butt was wet. I sat down on a rock, held my hurt hand in my other hand, and pouted. I hate pouting. I hate it when other people pout. But I couldn't stop myself. I'm at the beautiful waterfall with a gorgeous man and I'm just mad. Sam went to go dive into the water and I didn't want him to, I felt like the water was too cold and he might get hurt. So I pouted more. And when he got into the water and away from the dogs, they started pouting. So the three of us pouted and watched Sam get into the frigid water. It was so cold, he decided not to put his head under and just tried to get to a shallow spot where he could use his shovel to grab sediment from the bottom. He did this for as long as he could stand it before coming back in. He sifted through his bucket full of dirt and to my not surprise...no gold. Finally, he was done and I whined, "Can we go home now?" We hiked back to camp, ate lunch, packed up, and left. I was so glad to be home! The dogs were ecstatic to be home too and in their own backyard, off their damn leashes. I took a long shower and some painkillers and went right to bed. Sam apologized for making us all go when clearly we should have stayed home and watch movies. Next camping trip is only a few weekends away...fingers crossed!

Here's some pictures, some of which were taken during our first trip to Tellico when the weather was much nicer and the water lower:

Bruce and Willa are both watching Sam very intensely. All 3 of us were worried! 

This was much deeper water than before and dips into a short waterfall, very pretty.

My very cold, yet really hot husband. 

The waterfall from last year.

Sam panning last year. No gold then either. 

Bruce's expression fully captures how much we both were pouting. 

Waterfall 2012, so pretty!

                                   

FurBaby Photos

No blog article, just photos of my children taken with my camera that Jake gave me. It's the first camera I've ever had that takes good action shots, which is necessary with 3, very active animals.

Look at that FACE! I kiss him all the time! He's probably, going "Mom, stop it" But I don't care, he's so kissable!

Kiss!

Bruce decided that Squeaky is a very comfy pillow. 

Will'a ears easily turn inside out. It makes me think of Princess Leia for some reason.