Tuesday, February 10, 2015

A letter to Emily Freeman because #itssimplytuesday

Dear Emily,
I wish I could say, "My dear friend, Emily" but alas, I'm just a lurker in your virtual world and couldn't really say that we are friends.  I read your blog and your books and am just over the moon about your Tuesday Instagram Tag #itssimplytuesday

Anyway, I'd like to tell you about my #itssimplytuesday.  So far, because its only 2:22 p.m. CST.
Quite frankly, there's lots of Tuesday left and I'd be foolish to think absolutely nothing else goofy will #simply happen before I lay my head on my pillow and close my eyes, blowing kisses to Tuesday till next week.

I woke up. Late. Because I didn't set my alarm.  Correction.  I set my alarm...I didn't turn it on. I've circled the sun almost 58 times and occasionally that turning-it-on-thing bites me in the behind. Gotta remember to do that!

Quite frankly, waking up {late} and scrambling for mirror time and the other necessary things that must be accomplished before I could walk out of the house sent my attitude a little south of grumpy. I had to hurry because I'd left my car at work last night and ridden home with my husband, so I had to be ready to leave when he was ready. And of course, the night I didn't turn my alarm on... he didn't even set his.  We're a matched pair, we two.

I stomped  walked out of the house and looked up to dreary grey skies and harrumphed  sighed the sort of deep sigh that one learns to sigh as an asthmatic child/young adult.  I walked stomped (who am I kidding?) toward the car and then I saw it.  This little beauty I sighed again, this time just to slow down and breathe deeply and exhale a prayer of gratitude.  I began to think my day might be salvageable.

Dropping me off at the door to the church where I work, my Rocket Man sent me off with some pretty serous smooching before I got out of the car {because he's sweet like that in the mornings, especially since he knows I like smooching}. I ran up the stairs, checked my email, finished putting on my makeup, returned a call and made my list of things that must be done today before dashing back out down the stairs.

You see, my Mother in Law is undergoing radiation therapy for breast cancer.  She takes her treatment at the hospital across the street from the church where I work.  I walk across and meet her there to sit with her while she waits and make sure she's okay.  To do that, I have to cross a busy street, which seems to cause all sorts of concern by lots of people although I'm perfectly capable of crossing the street.  Been doing it for about 50 years all.by.my.self. I am careful to look both ways and am quite willing to wait patiently until it is safe to cross. {I think squished on the road wouldn't be my best look}.  Besides all that, look what is between my work and the hospital.

Yep. Panera Bread. Worth crossing a busy street for, don't you think?  I checked my watch and felt I had plenty of time to get a cup of hot tea and a pecan cinnamon braid. Because...well, no breakfast.  I bought one for Mrs. Massey, too.  She needs the calories while she's doing radiation, you know.

So, I made it to the Center for Cancer Care, settled in and chatted up the peeps in the waiting room. There's Ms. Doris who has bladder cancer.  And BJ,  her caregiver. Then my Mother in Law and Jay the technician.  I made sure everyone saw the picture of the amazing little daffodil who so bravely fought her way up through cold earth and about a foot of pine straw.

While Mrs. Massey had her radiation, I sat an enjoyed my tea and this lovely spot.  It really is nice to sit there. {I pretend I'm waiting somewhere in Italy}  It is nice any day, but today especially, because #itssimplytuesday.

On my way back to the church, I saw some birds having a tiff and I'm pretty sure I heard some major bird cussing.  I saw looked up as I walked under this tree and caught the lovely pattern of branches against the sky.  Because #itssimplytuesday!

I crossed the busy street, patiently waiting because of the whole squished-Molli-on-the-pavement thing. Every day, when I safely make it across the street and am back into safe territory, I look for some trash to pick up and bring in.  Because there's always something on the grounds that isn't supposed to be there.  Here's what I found today!

What?  Ewwww! It was empty, capped and says insulin on the side.  I was wearing gloves.  I safely disposed of it, peeled off my gloves and put them in a ziplock bag and washed my hands {about 3 times}.  I'm by no means a clean freak, but I think I'll wash my little stretchy gloves.  In hot water. Twice. With bleach. Because, you know...#itssimplytuesday.

I settled back into my desk until a sweet little lady and her son came to plan her husband's funeral on Saturday. Planing funerals is one of the things I do here at the church house. What an honor to help them plan a service for this WWII vet. A man who was a low turret gunner on a B-24. And survived the war. Came home and got a degree in engineering from Vanderbilt with his GI Bill and eventually worked on the team that developed the Saturn Booster system...enabling us to send men to the moon. Married to a precious woman for 70 years.  A man who taught Sunday School and loved "Whispering Hope" best of all the songs he knew.

When they left, I called to check on my mother who has been ill.  I told her I'd like to come check on her during lunch. And about the time I was ready to walk out the door, my phone rang and it was the Rocket Man asking me to meet him.  So I ditched my mother {she understood} and drove to meet this precious man Because #itssimplytuesday and #becauseheasked.

{More smooching in a parking lot after lunch} After all, #itssimplytuesday!

I ran into TJMAxx because #itssimplytuesday and #itsonthewayback.

Got into the church house and really, really had to use the restroom. Sweet tea at lunch will do that to you.  I was in the ladies room and reached around to unzip the invisible zipper on my black pants and...

Remember the scene from "A Christmas Story" where the tongue is applied to the flag pole?  And Flick begins saying in panic and ends screaming in agony. "Stuck.  Stuck.  STUCK!"

Yep!  THAT would be the invisible zipper on my pants.  Stuck.  I ran down the hall to get help.  My work BFF, who is constantly getting me out of all sorts of jams, ended up cutting me out of my pants.  Because...well, ice tea.  And I had to go.

Thank goodness my pants have a button at the top of the {broken} zipper and my sweater is long enough to cover the gaping gap in my britches where my zipper ought to be holding them shut.

And with that.  Because I've lived about 3 lifetimes since the alarm didn't go off and because who knows what else could happen and because #itssimplytuesday...I'm going home.  After I check on my mother.

If you WERE my friend, rather than someone I lurk around on the internet, I'd call you and we'd probably laugh till we cried.  Especially if I went into detail about Dee Ann trying to get my out of my pants before I wet them.  That was sort of a Laurel and Hardy moment.  Really funny.

Since I can't, I'm going to let this little letter fill you in.


You {lurking} almost-friend,