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Memories...
Welcome to the Family Story Box! Here you can read and write stories told in your family, either through the years, or new ones you'll tell the grandkids. We're glad to have Eons adults, middle aged and up, here to read and share those tales! There are pages and pages of all kinds of good clean stories. Check 'em all out by clicking on past months/years from the group main page.
Please respect and respond to each other. We all like a little feedback when we write. You could let a picture be your story starter and post the picture with it if you can. Okay, time for you to get started...
Please respect and respond to each other. We all like a little feedback when we write. You could let a picture be your story starter and post the picture with it if you can. Okay, time for you to get started...
God's Gift
What do you say about a girl called Natasha? Thank you. Oh to see her in the nursery, what a beautiful baby. The other parents were gathered around cooing and saying what a beautiful baby. She was born with black hair, black colored eyes, and beautiful tan skin. I learned later that the tan skin was called jaundice and she would need a special light to help that condition.
Natasha eventually grew up and surprisingly has blond hair and brown eyes, with a stop you in your tracks smile. All children of course are gifts from God, but this child changed lives.
Natasha was born 10 days after her mother turned 18 years old. Her mother had not yet graduated from high school and was unwed. Her father was to turn 22 years old, 10 days after she was born. That is kind of a fun fact right there, daughter born exactly right in the middle of her parents' birthdates, making them all 3 Scorpios. Fun, but not life changing.
Back then, pregnant girls were not allowed to go to school with all of the other kids who were not pregnant. Her mother registered for 12th grade and went to pick up her high school schedule like any other unpregnant student. Upon reporting to school, Tasha's mother was quickly informed that she would have to register at the other school, for pregnant girls.
There was a loop hole. Her mother only had to make a slight stink about it, compromise a little, and take the one class left she needed for high school graduation. The compromise included attending a class at the school for teenage mothers and attending high school for the one English class still needed to graduate.
Half-way through the 1st semester of high school, the mother turned 18 years old and Natasha was born. The mother met graduation requirements after one semester and left to school to set up house with the baby's father. On graduation day, that mother had in attendance, her 6 month old baby and husband. Six months after that, the marriage disolved and the parents went thier separate ways.
So, you might say, this happens every day around the world. Young girls get pregnant. Young parents marry too early only to get divorced. No big deal.
What makes her actual birth somewhat unique is that the mother became seriously, even critically ill in the 5th month of pregnancy. The mother woke at 5 a.m. that morning vomiting. It was not bad enough to be 17 years old and pregnant, but she had to have the flu on top of that. The flu continued all day.
That night as the mother laid on the sofa, her own mother had just hung up the phone, at precisely 9:30 p.m. she sat straight up and knew that something was terribly wrong. The pain in her abdomen was unbearable. She thought she must be having a miscarriage. She walked to the bathroom to check for bleeding. There was none, but she could only crawl out of the bathroom letting her mother know something was really wrong.
Her own mother that night, very calmly and in charge placed her daughter in the back seat of the family car. The daughter could neither lay down or sit up and was left to rest her head against the back of the front seat, all the way to the hospital. Her own father had worked late that night, and it was meerly uncanny that the father saw her mother rushing to the hospital amongst all of the other traffic.
At the hospital, the girl's parents half dragged, half pulled her up to the emergency entrance. The girl could not sit up in the wheel chair and needed to be strapped in as she was also strapped onto the guerny later. After a quick check, it was determined that the girl was not miscarrying, was running a temperature, and exploratory surgery was needed.
Prior to the surgery, the girl felt the shame of an unplanned teenage pregnancy. She knew she was not ready for motherhood. She knew that a child would interfere with college plans. She definatley knew she did not want to marry the father, although he offered. The girl knew that the only option left for her was to allow the baby to be adopted.
What she found out after the surgery is that her appendix had actually burst. That is what the terrible pain that happened at precisely 9:30 p.m. was, a burst appendix. She was told that she was lucky that her mother didn't wait to drive to the hospital. She was told that she was lucky to be alive and even more miraclously the baby was as best as they could tell, unharmed.
The morning after surgery, the sun was shining, and it seemed like God had sent her a special message. The message was that if both were spared, God must have wanted the two of them together. And so it was.
The rest of the pregnancy was not easy. The labor and delivery caused pre-eclampysia and they had to be kept in the hospital for a week, but that only served as a back up message from God for those two to stay together, no matter what. That was November, 1983.
Now that is a nice story. All is well that ends well. But that is not what this story is about. All mothers face risks from pregnancy, there is always the risk of miscarriage.
The mother as a young girl had been molested. As a young woman she had been very brutally date raped. The mother was a practicing drug addict up until she found herself pregnant and then again after giving birth. She was a try-addict, everything she tried, she liked. Alcohol. Marijuana. Speed. Prescription drugs. Hallucingenics. Etc. Everything. These things seemed to cover the raw feelings that were just below the surface.
The father, who was very musically inclined was also a practicing addict. In fact, he showed up hours later outside the labor and delivery room and promptly passed out from too much pre-celebrating the birth of his child and left before his baby was actually born.
He lived the life of a beach boy during the summers and drummer during the winter. Drinking all the time and smoking marijuana. His parents were wealthy and coddled him all the way to skid row. His daughter's birth did not change that. Rumor is that he may have gotten sober in an unknown state last year.
The mother went to college, but did not earn a degree. She moved from place to place, city to city. She went from job to job. She went from one bad relationship to the next. Her drug use escalated to intravenious drug use. But she always kept that baby girl with her.
At one point, the two of them were living in a city 3 hours south of her parents. The mother worked a regular 8-5 kind of job plus another job waitressing at the local bowling alley at night and weekends in order to keep off of welfare. She eventually moved back to her home town.
Although the mother was a functioning addict, she was still an addict. Everybody knows what happens to alcoholics and addicts. Thier worlds eventually collapse. It is inevitable. When the young girl's world collapsed, she was suicidal, full of shame, and full of guilt for being less of the mother for that little girl than she had invisioned. She was less than what the little girl deserved.
The young mother had planned her own suicide and was in the processing of dropping her little girl off with her parents. They would take care of her. Fortunately for the young woman, her mother again made another fateful drive to the hospital. The very same hospital the girl had given birth only a few years before this trip.
Because the city the mother lived in was not yet accustomed to seeing i.v. drug users they were reluctant to admit someone who was not an alcoholic, pot head, or occasional cocaine user. It was a Friday. They sent the girl to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and told her to come back on Monday.
The girl went to a meeting. She went again on Saturday and Sunday too. The hospital finally allowed the girl to be admitted to thier 30 day treatment center on that Monday. The girl was worn out and beaten down. She did not want to be there.
What she did want though was to be a good mother. Although she was still suicidal and still wanted to use, she agreed to stay in the treatment center for 30 days in order to get her sweet little Natasha back from her parents. That was March, 1989.
Immediately after that she was sent to another long term treatment center just for women. Luckily for the woman and her daughter it was close enough to allow weekly visits with her daughter.
At that treatment center, the young woman worked through the sexual abuse and self-esteem issues that drove the addiction. She continued to go to meetings. Things were getting better. Natasha was back at home. But the young woman did not stay clean.
After one especially hard night of old habits, she ended up at her house. The drug use was worse than what it was before treatment. Her friends came to the house, placed a mattress in the middle of the floor and made sure she didn't die from that night's drug use or from the withdrawel for the next three days.
The young woman prayed. She prayed that if she made it through that first night and the withdrawel, she would be the mother that Natasha deserved. The young woman survived. That was September 22, 1989.
Natasha will turn 25 in less than a month. She went on to graduate from high school, enlisted in the Marines and is now a successful business owner. She has turned out to be a remarkable young woman. If she were to be asked she would tell you that although her early years were hard, she had a great childhoold. On her website, she lists her mother as her hero.
Her mother went on to graduate from college. She has worked the last 15 years in a field that directly helps children, a child support agency. She has since remarried and had another child, Devon sent from Heaven. He is 14 years younger than his sister. And thank God the young woman remained clean and sober all of this time because he is autistic and needs extra love and attention.
I just celebrated 19 years in recovery. I credit my Higher Power. I credit His gift. Although we are supposed to be here for our children, which I am definately now, we are all each changed when children enter our lives. I thank God for the love of a child. I thank him for Natasha everyday. And now I thank him for Devon too.
Natasha eventually grew up and surprisingly has blond hair and brown eyes, with a stop you in your tracks smile. All children of course are gifts from God, but this child changed lives.
Natasha was born 10 days after her mother turned 18 years old. Her mother had not yet graduated from high school and was unwed. Her father was to turn 22 years old, 10 days after she was born. That is kind of a fun fact right there, daughter born exactly right in the middle of her parents' birthdates, making them all 3 Scorpios. Fun, but not life changing.
Back then, pregnant girls were not allowed to go to school with all of the other kids who were not pregnant. Her mother registered for 12th grade and went to pick up her high school schedule like any other unpregnant student. Upon reporting to school, Tasha's mother was quickly informed that she would have to register at the other school, for pregnant girls.
There was a loop hole. Her mother only had to make a slight stink about it, compromise a little, and take the one class left she needed for high school graduation. The compromise included attending a class at the school for teenage mothers and attending high school for the one English class still needed to graduate.
Half-way through the 1st semester of high school, the mother turned 18 years old and Natasha was born. The mother met graduation requirements after one semester and left to school to set up house with the baby's father. On graduation day, that mother had in attendance, her 6 month old baby and husband. Six months after that, the marriage disolved and the parents went thier separate ways.
So, you might say, this happens every day around the world. Young girls get pregnant. Young parents marry too early only to get divorced. No big deal.
What makes her actual birth somewhat unique is that the mother became seriously, even critically ill in the 5th month of pregnancy. The mother woke at 5 a.m. that morning vomiting. It was not bad enough to be 17 years old and pregnant, but she had to have the flu on top of that. The flu continued all day.
That night as the mother laid on the sofa, her own mother had just hung up the phone, at precisely 9:30 p.m. she sat straight up and knew that something was terribly wrong. The pain in her abdomen was unbearable. She thought she must be having a miscarriage. She walked to the bathroom to check for bleeding. There was none, but she could only crawl out of the bathroom letting her mother know something was really wrong.
Her own mother that night, very calmly and in charge placed her daughter in the back seat of the family car. The daughter could neither lay down or sit up and was left to rest her head against the back of the front seat, all the way to the hospital. Her own father had worked late that night, and it was meerly uncanny that the father saw her mother rushing to the hospital amongst all of the other traffic.
At the hospital, the girl's parents half dragged, half pulled her up to the emergency entrance. The girl could not sit up in the wheel chair and needed to be strapped in as she was also strapped onto the guerny later. After a quick check, it was determined that the girl was not miscarrying, was running a temperature, and exploratory surgery was needed.
Prior to the surgery, the girl felt the shame of an unplanned teenage pregnancy. She knew she was not ready for motherhood. She knew that a child would interfere with college plans. She definatley knew she did not want to marry the father, although he offered. The girl knew that the only option left for her was to allow the baby to be adopted.
What she found out after the surgery is that her appendix had actually burst. That is what the terrible pain that happened at precisely 9:30 p.m. was, a burst appendix. She was told that she was lucky that her mother didn't wait to drive to the hospital. She was told that she was lucky to be alive and even more miraclously the baby was as best as they could tell, unharmed.
The morning after surgery, the sun was shining, and it seemed like God had sent her a special message. The message was that if both were spared, God must have wanted the two of them together. And so it was.
The rest of the pregnancy was not easy. The labor and delivery caused pre-eclampysia and they had to be kept in the hospital for a week, but that only served as a back up message from God for those two to stay together, no matter what. That was November, 1983.
Now that is a nice story. All is well that ends well. But that is not what this story is about. All mothers face risks from pregnancy, there is always the risk of miscarriage.
The mother as a young girl had been molested. As a young woman she had been very brutally date raped. The mother was a practicing drug addict up until she found herself pregnant and then again after giving birth. She was a try-addict, everything she tried, she liked. Alcohol. Marijuana. Speed. Prescription drugs. Hallucingenics. Etc. Everything. These things seemed to cover the raw feelings that were just below the surface.
The father, who was very musically inclined was also a practicing addict. In fact, he showed up hours later outside the labor and delivery room and promptly passed out from too much pre-celebrating the birth of his child and left before his baby was actually born.
He lived the life of a beach boy during the summers and drummer during the winter. Drinking all the time and smoking marijuana. His parents were wealthy and coddled him all the way to skid row. His daughter's birth did not change that. Rumor is that he may have gotten sober in an unknown state last year.
The mother went to college, but did not earn a degree. She moved from place to place, city to city. She went from job to job. She went from one bad relationship to the next. Her drug use escalated to intravenious drug use. But she always kept that baby girl with her.
At one point, the two of them were living in a city 3 hours south of her parents. The mother worked a regular 8-5 kind of job plus another job waitressing at the local bowling alley at night and weekends in order to keep off of welfare. She eventually moved back to her home town.
Although the mother was a functioning addict, she was still an addict. Everybody knows what happens to alcoholics and addicts. Thier worlds eventually collapse. It is inevitable. When the young girl's world collapsed, she was suicidal, full of shame, and full of guilt for being less of the mother for that little girl than she had invisioned. She was less than what the little girl deserved.
The young mother had planned her own suicide and was in the processing of dropping her little girl off with her parents. They would take care of her. Fortunately for the young woman, her mother again made another fateful drive to the hospital. The very same hospital the girl had given birth only a few years before this trip.
Because the city the mother lived in was not yet accustomed to seeing i.v. drug users they were reluctant to admit someone who was not an alcoholic, pot head, or occasional cocaine user. It was a Friday. They sent the girl to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting and told her to come back on Monday.
The girl went to a meeting. She went again on Saturday and Sunday too. The hospital finally allowed the girl to be admitted to thier 30 day treatment center on that Monday. The girl was worn out and beaten down. She did not want to be there.
What she did want though was to be a good mother. Although she was still suicidal and still wanted to use, she agreed to stay in the treatment center for 30 days in order to get her sweet little Natasha back from her parents. That was March, 1989.
Immediately after that she was sent to another long term treatment center just for women. Luckily for the woman and her daughter it was close enough to allow weekly visits with her daughter.
At that treatment center, the young woman worked through the sexual abuse and self-esteem issues that drove the addiction. She continued to go to meetings. Things were getting better. Natasha was back at home. But the young woman did not stay clean.
After one especially hard night of old habits, she ended up at her house. The drug use was worse than what it was before treatment. Her friends came to the house, placed a mattress in the middle of the floor and made sure she didn't die from that night's drug use or from the withdrawel for the next three days.
The young woman prayed. She prayed that if she made it through that first night and the withdrawel, she would be the mother that Natasha deserved. The young woman survived. That was September 22, 1989.
Natasha will turn 25 in less than a month. She went on to graduate from high school, enlisted in the Marines and is now a successful business owner. She has turned out to be a remarkable young woman. If she were to be asked she would tell you that although her early years were hard, she had a great childhoold. On her website, she lists her mother as her hero.
Her mother went on to graduate from college. She has worked the last 15 years in a field that directly helps children, a child support agency. She has since remarried and had another child, Devon sent from Heaven. He is 14 years younger than his sister. And thank God the young woman remained clean and sober all of this time because he is autistic and needs extra love and attention.
I just celebrated 19 years in recovery. I credit my Higher Power. I credit His gift. Although we are supposed to be here for our children, which I am definately now, we are all each changed when children enter our lives. I thank God for the love of a child. I thank him for Natasha everyday. And now I thank him for Devon too.
Another story for y'all to enjoy...
This was another episode in my dad's childhood, told as if by him. This takes place during his middle teens.
Trees
Hi Gang, my view from the computer desk is of our Gigantic Sweet Gum Tree. I am on the second floor .It's leaves change colors every season the same as Maples, and Birch and some Oaks and the like.
I want to post some pics, but am having a glitch with my computer. It's the one not cooperating. Fear not, I shall prevail and will get those shots on here. Valley's pics especially always come on looking really cool. I enjoy ALL posts and photos, pics and snaps. Ya'll have a great Sunday.
I want to post some pics, but am having a glitch with my computer. It's the one not cooperating. Fear not, I shall prevail and will get those shots on here. Valley's pics especially always come on looking really cool. I enjoy ALL posts and photos, pics and snaps. Ya'll have a great Sunday.
A Friendship Poem
Do you allow poetry here?
I met my "oldest and dearest" friend when I attended a new school in the 3rd grade (back in 1943). We were best friends all through grade school and jr. high but her family moved to D.C. the year we were sophomores in high school We kept up our friendship and visited back and forth all through the rest of high school and college. Then we each married and still kept in touch -- as we do today. I wrote the following poem to honor our friendship and our childhood together.
When We Were We
(Dedicated to Carson McCullers and Lee Pentecost)
When we were wee, and we were little girls,
We poked and prodded Fate, and fancied things,
And built our games from life as oysters build their pearls.
Desks and rules and disciplines joined duty to your flings,
Of rosepetal boats floating birdbath waves on windy, breath-borne wings;
When we were we, and we were little girls.
Warm afternoons we leafward sailed, standing on a swing,
And bounced a verse, a childish curse, defiance we would sling;
When mighty twist of seat and rope sent us ‘round in whirls.
How hard we played. We looped ourselves with clothesline string,
And pranced about with tossing manes, and voices whinnying,
When we were wee, and we were little girls.
Then had, and always thought we would, Forever Springs,
Where hopes came true, and never knew that fortune has its fling;
But built our games of life, as oysters build their pearls.
Grown lives face Fate; a chimera that takes a dream and hurls
It out beyond the bounds of human woe. But, Oh! we made Fate sing
When we were we, and we were little girls,
And built our games from life as oysters build their pearls.
I met my "oldest and dearest" friend when I attended a new school in the 3rd grade (back in 1943). We were best friends all through grade school and jr. high but her family moved to D.C. the year we were sophomores in high school We kept up our friendship and visited back and forth all through the rest of high school and college. Then we each married and still kept in touch -- as we do today. I wrote the following poem to honor our friendship and our childhood together.
When We Were We
(Dedicated to Carson McCullers and Lee Pentecost)
When we were wee, and we were little girls,
We poked and prodded Fate, and fancied things,
And built our games from life as oysters build their pearls.
Desks and rules and disciplines joined duty to your flings,
Of rosepetal boats floating birdbath waves on windy, breath-borne wings;
When we were we, and we were little girls.
Warm afternoons we leafward sailed, standing on a swing,
And bounced a verse, a childish curse, defiance we would sling;
When mighty twist of seat and rope sent us ‘round in whirls.
How hard we played. We looped ourselves with clothesline string,
And pranced about with tossing manes, and voices whinnying,
When we were wee, and we were little girls.
Then had, and always thought we would, Forever Springs,
Where hopes came true, and never knew that fortune has its fling;
But built our games of life, as oysters build their pearls.
Grown lives face Fate; a chimera that takes a dream and hurls
It out beyond the bounds of human woe. But, Oh! we made Fate sing
When we were we, and we were little girls,
And built our games from life as oysters build their pearls.
specially wrapped package
On March 15, 1997, a special bundle of joy arrived after 27 hours of labor and in the middle of a Wisconsin blizzard. Devon weighed in at 8 lbs and 9 ounces. He was a round "Buddha" looking baby even though he is of Irish descent. He was the picture of perfect health.
My last memory of this perfectly healthy, happy baby was at approximately 8 months old. It was a beautiful fall day. We were at the park and he was in the baby swing, squealing with laughter, each time he was pushed.
Shortly after that, Devon started having unexplained seizures. I took him to the doctors who had no anwers. He went to the emergency room, where the nurse told me there was no way he was having seizures. He was not lethargic enough. But the seizures continued.
Things quickly changed. At that time, Devon was starting to pull himself up to start walking around the furniture and was even babbling. Along with the seizures came regression. Devon did not walk until he was 17 months old and did not talk at all until his was 3 years old.
The doctor visits continued. Amazingly, one doctor told me that I was simply a lazy mother. The head pediatrician at the University Hospital told me that his only problem was ADHD. Finally, a doctor diagnosed my beautiful son with Pervasive Development Delay, or PDD, part of the autism spectrum at about 3 years old. The prognosis was that things would continue to be difficult.
Anyone with a child with disabilities knows that sometimes the word difficult is a true understatement. Devon had no interests and needed constant supervision. Even doing the dishes was an especially hard chore because it was hard to keep him occupied and safe while I washed and dried.
The one thing I decided to do was to treat him as much like a normal child as possible. At three years old that meant potty training. By this time, Devon had already been in physical and speech therapy for a couple of years and was now in the Birth to Three program.
I was a single, working mother. While I was at work, Devon attended half days in the Birth to Three program and the other half at a regular day care. Both the school and the daycare recommended that I not attempt potty training until he was older and his communication skills improved.
I forged ahead with potty training anyways. But Devon just did not seem like he was making the connection between urinating and the potty chair. I tried all of the normal techniques, including encouraging him to aim for the cheerios floating on top of the toilet water. Of course it all seemed like it was to no avail.
Now Devon was a child that did not need a whole lot of sleep. He would go to sleep around 10:00 p.m. and wake up in the middle of the night at 3:00 a.m. Devon would escape his crib and find things to do in the middle of the night. One time, I found him sitting on the kitchen table with a ham and large knife. I never knew what he might do next.
One morning upon waking, Devon was excited about something. He grabbed my hand and led to me to the refridgerator. I thought he was trying to tell me he was hungry for something. Devon opened the door and presented me with a rectangular package wrapped in a napkin, all nice neat and tidy.
Unexpecting, I opened the package, not knowing what he could have possibly wrapped. It was quickly apparent that he wanted to "perserve the moment". What I found was the result of a bowel movement. Ugghhhh. He was quite proud of his effort. To my surprise, Devon was completely potty trained from that moment and never needed another diaper.
Some people learn from instruction. Some learn from hands-on training. We all learn differently. Devon is a hands-on learner. I on the other hand, learn from experience. The refridgerator was bungee corded shut after that for about a year.
The surprises still continue. Thankfully, I never had the pleasure of that surprise again.
My last memory of this perfectly healthy, happy baby was at approximately 8 months old. It was a beautiful fall day. We were at the park and he was in the baby swing, squealing with laughter, each time he was pushed.
Shortly after that, Devon started having unexplained seizures. I took him to the doctors who had no anwers. He went to the emergency room, where the nurse told me there was no way he was having seizures. He was not lethargic enough. But the seizures continued.
Things quickly changed. At that time, Devon was starting to pull himself up to start walking around the furniture and was even babbling. Along with the seizures came regression. Devon did not walk until he was 17 months old and did not talk at all until his was 3 years old.
The doctor visits continued. Amazingly, one doctor told me that I was simply a lazy mother. The head pediatrician at the University Hospital told me that his only problem was ADHD. Finally, a doctor diagnosed my beautiful son with Pervasive Development Delay, or PDD, part of the autism spectrum at about 3 years old. The prognosis was that things would continue to be difficult.
Anyone with a child with disabilities knows that sometimes the word difficult is a true understatement. Devon had no interests and needed constant supervision. Even doing the dishes was an especially hard chore because it was hard to keep him occupied and safe while I washed and dried.
The one thing I decided to do was to treat him as much like a normal child as possible. At three years old that meant potty training. By this time, Devon had already been in physical and speech therapy for a couple of years and was now in the Birth to Three program.
I was a single, working mother. While I was at work, Devon attended half days in the Birth to Three program and the other half at a regular day care. Both the school and the daycare recommended that I not attempt potty training until he was older and his communication skills improved.
I forged ahead with potty training anyways. But Devon just did not seem like he was making the connection between urinating and the potty chair. I tried all of the normal techniques, including encouraging him to aim for the cheerios floating on top of the toilet water. Of course it all seemed like it was to no avail.
Now Devon was a child that did not need a whole lot of sleep. He would go to sleep around 10:00 p.m. and wake up in the middle of the night at 3:00 a.m. Devon would escape his crib and find things to do in the middle of the night. One time, I found him sitting on the kitchen table with a ham and large knife. I never knew what he might do next.
One morning upon waking, Devon was excited about something. He grabbed my hand and led to me to the refridgerator. I thought he was trying to tell me he was hungry for something. Devon opened the door and presented me with a rectangular package wrapped in a napkin, all nice neat and tidy.
Unexpecting, I opened the package, not knowing what he could have possibly wrapped. It was quickly apparent that he wanted to "perserve the moment". What I found was the result of a bowel movement. Ugghhhh. He was quite proud of his effort. To my surprise, Devon was completely potty trained from that moment and never needed another diaper.
Some people learn from instruction. Some learn from hands-on training. We all learn differently. Devon is a hands-on learner. I on the other hand, learn from experience. The refridgerator was bungee corded shut after that for about a year.
The surprises still continue. Thankfully, I never had the pleasure of that surprise again.
Good morning!
Cute dog!
And I will look forward to your story, datsunlvr!
Interesting weather here this morning--big winds and a hours-long power outage. I heard a transformer explode, which knocked out the power across the street. I'm skipping our scheduled Friday hike. I dont' care for being clobbered by falling limbs or for getting small objects blown into my eyes.
And I will look forward to your story, datsunlvr!
Interesting weather here this morning--big winds and a hours-long power outage. I heard a transformer explode, which knocked out the power across the street. I'm skipping our scheduled Friday hike. I dont' care for being clobbered by falling limbs or for getting small objects blown into my eyes.
Socializing on Exam Night
One night I returned home after a full day of classes at the local college. My fiance, Jeff was there, along with my sister, and another friend. I had exams the next day and was anxious to get dinner on the stove and get my housework for the night done so that I could study later.
Jeff said, come, sit and talk for a bit before starting dinner. I declined saying I had things to get done. The next thing I knew, he was down on all fours, barking at me. I laughed at his playfullness, but still declined. The barking became more insistent that I follow him. He had pretty much barked me into a corner.
Laughing, I decided to step over him. Just as I was stepping over him, he reared up and gave this huge "WOOF". I went flying and landed with a thud. Everyone was laughing. It was hard to figure out what was funnier, his "WOOF" or my graceless fall.
That is, we all laughed until Jeff offered me a hand to help me up off from the floor. When I tried to stand, I could not. I had sharp shooting pains in my hip. I sat on the sofa for awhile, hoping that giving my hip a rest, the pain would subside. It did not.
At the emergency room, waiting for results of the x-rays, doctors and nurses from the whole hospital kept coming down to visit me. They would start out with, "are you the one whose fiance was pretending to be a dog?" When I would reply yes, they would walk away crying from laughing so hard.
Thankfully, it was only a hair-line fracture in my hip. No surgery was required and when the swelling in my hip went down, I would be as good as new. And so it was, on exam night, when I had all the good intentions in the world to study hard for final exams, I was busy socializing with the doctors and nurses at the hospital.
There are only three things that make this story better. Only about two weeks earlier, I had been at the same local hospital. That time, Jeff had asked me what was for dinner. I told him chicken. He immediately picked me up and was shaking me upside down telling me playfully that he was not going to eat any "yard bird"...right before he dropped me on my head. My head was stuck in the same side-ways position for three days.
So here are the three things that make this story better.
1. Jeff now plays with me much more gently, remembering that I am a female and not one of the boys.
2. We are still together almost 20 years later.
3. I received all A's on my final exams the day after socializing at the hospital.
Jeff said, come, sit and talk for a bit before starting dinner. I declined saying I had things to get done. The next thing I knew, he was down on all fours, barking at me. I laughed at his playfullness, but still declined. The barking became more insistent that I follow him. He had pretty much barked me into a corner.
Laughing, I decided to step over him. Just as I was stepping over him, he reared up and gave this huge "WOOF". I went flying and landed with a thud. Everyone was laughing. It was hard to figure out what was funnier, his "WOOF" or my graceless fall.
That is, we all laughed until Jeff offered me a hand to help me up off from the floor. When I tried to stand, I could not. I had sharp shooting pains in my hip. I sat on the sofa for awhile, hoping that giving my hip a rest, the pain would subside. It did not.
At the emergency room, waiting for results of the x-rays, doctors and nurses from the whole hospital kept coming down to visit me. They would start out with, "are you the one whose fiance was pretending to be a dog?" When I would reply yes, they would walk away crying from laughing so hard.
Thankfully, it was only a hair-line fracture in my hip. No surgery was required and when the swelling in my hip went down, I would be as good as new. And so it was, on exam night, when I had all the good intentions in the world to study hard for final exams, I was busy socializing with the doctors and nurses at the hospital.
There are only three things that make this story better. Only about two weeks earlier, I had been at the same local hospital. That time, Jeff had asked me what was for dinner. I told him chicken. He immediately picked me up and was shaking me upside down telling me playfully that he was not going to eat any "yard bird"...right before he dropped me on my head. My head was stuck in the same side-ways position for three days.
So here are the three things that make this story better.
1. Jeff now plays with me much more gently, remembering that I am a female and not one of the boys.
2. We are still together almost 20 years later.
3. I received all A's on my final exams the day after socializing at the hospital.
