Be It Ever So Humble

Have I told you the story about how I tried to take a pork roast out of the crockpot and the roast was too heavy for me so I dropped it back into the crockpot and the hot liquid splashed all over my left wrist, burning the be-jeezus out of it?

Oh, well. That just happened.

Because, you know, there's never a dull moment here at Casa of the Stopped Clock.

Yesterday my mom and dad did a lot of yard work. They also unloaded and moved  the heavy five gallon buckets of stain for the deck. It was like watching the Old People Olympics. I've got to hand it to them... there's no way I could have done five minutes of what they were doing.

Of course, there are those pesky bulging discs keeping me grounded.

There are a thousand things I did with and to my back that I would have avoided had I just known what lie ahead. Being a base for stunts in cheerleading, for example. A couple dozen falls that I can think of... once while holding two babies... once walking down the steps at the trailer where my foot went through the skirting... there was that tumble out of the golf cart in a maxi dress holding a lovely KJ chardonnay. I saved the wine. That one time in Cracker Barrel. THAT was embarrassing! You know, the part where everyone in the room holds their collective breath until they determine that you're ok and then they give you a round of applause.

It's like my spine was destined to be compressed and arthritic.

I'm sorta bitter about it today because today is one of those days that started with percocet and never quite got better.

And of course, there are a few other issues related to my surgery two years ago that are a pain in the... um.. rear. Literally. Honestly, if you could die from hemorrhoids, I would say that somebody needs to call in a priest to deliver last rites. Except, of course, that I'm not Catholic. But I'm on my last... um...leg. I guess?

I want to form a Piriformis Syndrome support group but nobody would want to come and sit around and talk about it. Piriformis Syndrome, of course, being a compressed nerve, similar to sciatica, that presents itself with muscle spasms in your gluteus maximus. For some of us that's a bigger problem than others.

So just imagine, if you will... having pain THERE... and pain RIGHT THERE beside it... and it's a wonder that I can be relatively civil occasionally.

And it also explains why some days I don't want to get out of bed.

Enough about me.

I've mentioned my fabulous friend Beth who lives in London and goes all these fabulous places and even has a handbag line named after her - and not the kind you buy in Target, I mean a real, grown up lady handbag  - and meets famous people all the time. (I also mentioned that she has been given a script of how to tell Alfie Boe just HOW crazy in love with him I am when she meets him, and I'm sure it's just a matter of time.)

Anyways... I hope I'm not betraying a Facebook confidence by saying this but today Beth mentioned how homesick she is for here... Georgia... in the good ole U. S. of A. How she feels like she's missing so much here and how she misses the people who are here. And it really made me think about how no matter how fabulous your life is and how many incredible places you get to go (I mean, the girl has been to Moscow, Hong Kong... spin the globe, she's been there) no matter where you roam, there's no place like home.

I genuinely love living vicariously through Beth. She is ME... a girl from Riverdale, Georgia... whose life has taken her on some amazing adventures.  I know that when she's looking at the Eiffel Tower, at the least first couple of times, she's like, "OMG... the freakin' Eiffel Tower!" or like my reaction the first time I saw the famous painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware at the Met in NYC... without thinking about what I was saying I just blurted out, "It's so BIG" because the painting, it really is big... and my sophisticated Southern Lawyer friend Matt happened to call me on that exact day while I was in NYC and I told him about my reaction and he said that was his exact reaction too! Because it's big, y'all.

The point is that I know that she is not so sophisticated to have lost perspective on how awesome her life is and you know what? She thinks my life is awesome too. Not the pain part, of course, because everybody except my two ex-husbands and maybe a former employer think that the pain really stinks, but she thinks that my perspective on things is right where hers would be. She gets me. She knows that I *get* that it's awesome to be here in North Georgia when the air first starts turning from hot and humid to warm and comfortable... to watch college football all day long and to eat bbq and be with the people you love.

And in the same way that I'm watching her facebook feed and seeing her posing in places where the Queen is right over her shoulder (not kidding) and wishing I had a spare $13k to get my very own Beth Bag, she's watching mine and thinking, "boiled peanuts sound really good right now...". Or something along that line. We're all cut from the same cloth.

And the thing is ... that although I've not been where she's been and I can't imagine what it feels like to be looking up at the freakin' Eiffel Tower, I can imagine what it's like to be 45 and still be amazed at life. The good stuff and the bad stuff. .

Burning your arm while trying to take out a pork roast that you're in too much pain to even think about eating... that's the bad stuff. But I know that there are a dozen or so of y'all out there who will go, "yep... been there, done that"... or maybe have a story about the time that you really caused yourself pain by doing something equally clumsy. Like falling off the back of a golf cart and saving the wine but scraping the heck out of your knees.

What's more... I know what it's like to ache for people you can't be with and without whom the wonder of it all is less wonderful. I can't tell you how many times I've sat on the screened porch and thought... this is where me and Purple Michael would have a glass of wine... and laugh until he snorts and I nearly pee myself.

It's beautiful but sharing that beauty is what makes it a memory.

And my parents... out there each pushing a lawnmower, hot and sweaty and aching from getting the yard cleaned up... that comes from a place of being exactly where they want to be, with the right person.

Hope your weekend was lovely. Love and hugs.