The Last Day

The reminder of who I am, and what I am capable of, has grown stronger.

It's true.

When I was little, it was the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes that was gonna save us.  Then it was the distant relative we didn't know existed who was gonna save us.  Or the DNA proof I was not my parents daughter.  Or that boy who would rescue me.

Don't get me wrong; all along I continually found ways out.  I always have; granted I'm the one who usually got myself into the mess in the first place.  The King was right the summer before our divorce, I did need to change.  I had lost the sense of who I was, and I was desperate for him to save me.  I wanted him to be my knight in shining armor who rescued me from the pit in which I had fallen.

In AZ, 2008.  Before the Dark Times.  Before the Empire.

In 2008, my sister committed suicide in late May.  By June, the amazing business I had built was unraveling.

I was desperate for rescue.

My best friend became my worst enemy, and the King blamed me.  The church which we both belonged to became a place of quiet stares.  When I needed comfort the most after the loss of my sister, the rumors of my misdeeds instead became fodder.

Through it all, I clung to this:

"This is not of me."

 

 

God, my Jehovah Rapha, who walked with me as a Husband when my Knight had died and healed my broken heart, never left during those dark days.  Soooo many dark days.  While glimpses of joy and moments of happiness blossomed, the deep sadness of loss was my bathing pool.  There was no break from the trauma of her death and the resulting aftermath on my business.  No matter how I was proven innocent, malicious lies prevailed.

I was desperate for rescue.

The economy tanked, and the industry I loved failed.  The parent company closed, and my 12 year career ended.

I felt as if I need to do penance for my crimes...the crime of not preventing her death or preventing the downfall of my group.  I took off my diamond link Tag and wore my old Bulova.  I took a low paying job as a coordinator, and was quickly bored as there wasn't enough to do.  I accepted it all as punishment.  I was to blame for the fall.  I was to blame for not saving.  I was to blame for the anguish.

 And yet...

 This photo still scares me.  One eye is fully dilated, the other a mere pinhole.  The concussion had been a few hours before.

The head injury was a wake-up call; I knew punishing myself with the job I had taken was not the way to go. I decided to become an entrepreneur, but immediately floundered.

I asked for help.

Not rescue, just help.

There was none.

 

Weariness is brittle to the bones.  I know.  I had one for almost six months.

Thus the spiral began, and the King and I parted.  He wanted change, I became desperate for rescue.  Neither of us could reconcile the past with a future, and the end came a year ago.

So I sought rescue of another kind.

This rescue was two-fold:  a job I could just show up and work, and love.  The deep friendship I still have with the King (and an abject fear of dating and rejection) was what had kept my marriage together well beyond what was healthy.  Now I longed for stability in my finances and a love that cherished me for the outlier that I am.

 And somehow I thought, as an outlier, I'd be happy in a 40hr work with limited income potential. 😂😂😂

Yeah.

Today is my last day working for someone else-ever.  It took me three years, and three jobs I was bored out of my mind with, to know what I've always known:  I'm an entrepreneur.  My tribe is rural entrepreneurship; my heartbeat is teaching others how to start.  Ride lets me indulge in that; while still supporting my family. 

Did I mention I'm never retiring?

 Me at The Villages.

My recent trip to see Mom, who lives at The Villages in Florida, convinced me I shall never retire.

I'm gonna be a philanthropist instead.

With that goal, I'm super geeked.  The next 20 years should be amazing as I work 50-70hrs a week towards it.

I cannot wait.

 I know what I've achieved.  Time to start on my third million.

As for the other?

 On top of Old Rag Mountain, fall of '92.  Newly engaged to my Knight.  A true romantic.

Now?

 

Whatever😜😎

I'm not giving up...but I have a lot to do.  I'm holding hostage some cool collateral, and there's always this:

 No fewer than three guys in Public Works have given me their number today at work(or asked for mine!!!😜🤔😬)

God, my Jehovah Rapha, has healed me.  He came to my rescue; reminding me what abilities I have and assuring me my path was sound.  As I trust in Jehovah Jireh to provide, I experience the deep, deep peace of Jehovah Shalom.  I have a suspicion that El Gmulot is about to make an appearance...as I type that my heart beats hard in my chest.

My God of recompense.

This season of deep trial has come to a close.  8 years and 8 months later.  

 

8 years, 8 months.  8-8.  Really?!? ❤

Seasons typically take ten years, but we outliers do things differently.  Cut corners and make things happen faster.

Are you read to rumble?  I am.

Let's have some fun:). As for love?  

Let's see if it can catch me.

 

The Right Partner

Life seems to be moving very quickly...and I'm not complaining.

Last moments in Florida:)

Things keep changing, and new paths keep presenting themselves.  Once again I find myself plunging in....but this time it's very different.

Caspersen Beach 

Florida was not relaxing (too much work to be accomplished) but it was definitely fun.  My shark tooth hunting venture resulted in few shark's teeth but the promise of a return soon to the area...for reasons I can't quite disclose.

Of course I have a ridiculous smile.  I love the beach!

So I never exercised in Florida, unless you count fighting the surf as exercise.  When I got home, I had to immediately go for a run.

Because I was mad.

Quite mad.

I believe I threw some rocks....

 Those storm clouds had nothing on me....I was much stormier.

I had returned home, full of hope.  Within seconds of landing, most of it vanished.  The realities of home hit quick, and while I had great meetings on Monday, I was very upset.

Again.

 See?!

I did two miles.  Running.

And then I felt better.

Ugggggghhhh.

Why?!?  Why did it work this time?!?

 

We're both confused...

Things got even better after my run...later that day I had two great meetings, and the joy in my heart built as the weekend approached.  More great meetings, and then I decided to hike Tom's Thumb.

As you can see, it didn't go so well.

Three.

Three asthma attacks.

Ugh.

Granted, it's steep.

 

 This was the mild part; 2.2 miles to the top, elevation gain of 1300ft.  

Eek.

It was cold, 41°.  I think the cold is what my poor lungs struggled with...that and this was a tough climb.  My hiking partner stayed well ahead of me, rarely waiting as I coughed and tried to catch my breath.  By the end of the hike, they had given up with my lagging behind.

It was my first hike with a partner since October...and I didn't like it at all.

First, in trying to keep up I didn't listen to my body's signals that the pace was too fast for the cooler conditions (exercise-induced asthma is trigger most often by cool air.). Second, it wasn't relaxing.  I missed my music; I think music allows me to keep a better pace.  Third, it was maddening.  I had to deal with someone else's agenda.

 But I did have someone to take my picture at the top...:)

Hiking down, I slipped on lose gravel and pulled a flexor muscle.  Partner did not notice or care.  It reminded me of the many irritants a bad hiking partner can bring...and it made me reflect.

I don't think I necessarily need a partner.

 I certainly enjoy having the right one:)

Last week, the Knight's mom and I partnered up and had a blast.  What I had originally planned to be a solo venture became a grand adventure with the woman I still call mom.

  

Exercise with a partner whose agenda was different than mine?

 Let's just say I tried to remain pleasant.

The pulled flexor ended up causing me a great deal of pain that night; luckily it seems to be healing quickly.  It did mean no run on Sunday, and more meetings.

 With the right partners.

Since posting this picture on Facebook, several have commented on how pretty and happy I looked.

We were strategizing, and I knew the right people were with me.  The joy that has been bubbling in my heart is clearly seen on my face.

I don't need a partner.  I definitely don't want the wrong partner.  Sometimes you think someone is right, just by their qualifications and enthusiasm, only to find out later there's not much there.

 But when there is?! 😍

Partnership.

The right ones are worth waiting for.

Amen. 

Scrubbed

There's a blog I started, and never finished.  I tried just now, but my heart is elsewhere.

 Patriotic individual cheesecakes, made from scratch by the Knight's mother.

I'm in Florida, brought here by the invitation of a company who wants to recruit me.  I agreed to listen only if my return ticket was the following weekend, knowing some time by the ocean was a sure-fire antidote to my stressed out body.

Shall we back up?

When I last left you, my fat jeans didn't fit.

😂

There's no way in the WORLD they fit now, but....

Anyhow, it was a moment I chose to reflect on the days before motherhood and widowhood; too quickly those roles were conjoined.  In life I've always tried to find the good, the joy....and its been difficult as of late to do that.  I'm tired.  Tired of bad luck, and things out of my control.

So four allergic reactions at once?

Par for the course.

 Tacos help deal with things😂🤔😳

My oldest turned 21 on the 10th, and I found myself in my doctor's office at noon.  I was miserable, in pain and exhausted from it.  She listened to my chaos, and to my abject horror, pulled out a shot.

It was not one of my beloved rye whiskey's, either.

Within hours, I felt better.  As the steroids brought my over active immune system under control, the pain subsided.  A wee bit of concentration returned.  I gathered my two youngest and we drove three hours to be with my oldest; her only birthday wish was a dinner as a family.

 So thankful the King and I are friends, and this was a wonderful evening with our children.

Please note how ridiculously big my hips are.

The week flew by, and Saturday I departed for Scottsdale.  Sunday I found I had an unexpected free afternoon, as earlier plans were postponed.  I decided I'd climb Camelback, on two conditions:  first, I had to find the trailhead, and second, I had to find a parking place.  Those in the know are shaking their heads; to my surprise I managed both.

 Beautiful Echo Canyon trail.

I started up, and immediately could not breath.  Dang it.  Fished out my inhaler, drank some water, and waited a minute or two.  Took photos.  

Oh, what I was in for.

 This is the "trail."

Huh?

This.  This is what 75% of the "trail" was.

I ran out of gas, right here.

I was tired, I no longer cared about getting to the top, and I was thoroughly annoyed by the rock scrambling. That, and I knew going down on this was not going to be easy.

Oh, I went to the summit.

And felt no joy.

 Don't get me wrong-it was breathtaking.

 Heading down...

When I ran out of gas, I could have scrubbed the hike. I chose to go on.  Finish what I started.

"Scrubbed" for those who are not fans of rockets, means a no go.  Last night, the Knight's mom and I headed to the Cape to watch a rocket launch.  The countdown was halted at t-minus 4 minutes, and restarted after a delay.  At t-minus 3 minutes, 23 seconds there was a hold as an aircraft had strayed downrange...likely a fluke...but guess what?  The launch window closed in the meantime.  The launch was scrubbed.

 Mom and I pre-scrub:)

It seems there's been an overflow of scrubs in my life for a very long time.

From my career being halted, my marriage failing and many simple cases of bad luck, scrubbed is actually too kind of a term.  Life has just been tough.

I went to Florida to check out a company as their guest.  I had thought I'd spend a week at the beach, working on Ride.  

I scrubbed that plan.

On purpose.

It's been a very long time since I have been unconditionally loved.

 

 Ohhhhh we've had fun.

I like to say she's bribing me to stay by making everything from scratch.  In truth, I'm staying because this is where I'm supposed to be.

I'm getting serious work done on Ride, and I'm eating three meals a day (of five courses each, with two desserts.  Seriously.) I'm sleeping well, and I've got a partner in fun.  Mostly, I have someone who simply loves me, as we both loved more than anyone her son.

My Knight.

He would have been 50 yesterday, and the coincidence of our daughter's 21st and his 50th was not lost on me. He so wanted her birthday near his.

 Today we watched the inauguration...I took pictures of her taking pictures.

Scrubbed.

All those shut doors, all those halted countdowns.

All good.

Last night, I was about to cross off a bucket list item-to see a rocket launch.  It was scrubbed.

That means I get to come back😊

It's amazing how the last vestiges of a broken heart can be healed by a mother's love.

A few days ago, I was weary.  Today, stuffed with cheesecake and sourdough bread, I'm fat and recovering.

It's all good.

When I get home, we have spectacular plans for Ride. This break allowed me to plan for them, and my new partners make their inactment possible.  I'll be able to exercise more as life continues develop a healthy rhythm.

Things are getting so much better.

 So, so, so much better.

I ran out of gas...and He came to my rescue.  It's a lyric in my favorite worship song-all week it's been running through my mind.  Whether I join this new company or not, it was a reminder I have high value in business.  Being with the Knight's mother reminds me I have high value as a daughter-in-law (whose husband has been gone twenty years).  Tomorrow I get to go to one of my favorite cathedrals, my favorite Beach.  Indeed, He came to my rescue.  

All I had to do was scrub.

Give up my plan for His.

The joy that is bubbling in my soul is a deep knowing I will be ok.  That I am on the right path.

 Nope, I didn't fit:)

I am loved, and I have value.  Weariness masks that. So thankful my plans were scrubbed, and I was reminded of the things that matter most.

Happy 50th birthday (in heaven) to my Knight.  Years ago, you wished for this (and you know to which I refer;)  So very happy to have done my part in it.

So very happy to heal.

Fat Jeans

Well, this morning was a rude awakening.

 At least I'm having a great hair day...

Only one pair of jeans fit this morning...and they weren't even my "fat jeans."  They are the same pair I wore to work everyday for the last two-three weeks.

The same pair that allows for a muffin top.

The same pair I wash every Friday and pull on every Monday, after spending the weekend in running clothes or skirts.

Yeah.

So only running once a week is NOT cutting it.

Apparently...

So we can add in two weeks of struggle with a horrendously bad cold, and at this point, 10 days of multiple allergic reactions my body is dealing with (starting round two of steroids...and finally seeing some results just this morning!  The pain is finally gone!)

But it boils down to this:  I'm sedentary four straight days a week for ten hours each of those days.  When I get home, I sit on my laptop for another few hours, working my second job, Ride.  I eat whatever, never really a huge amount, but lately those sneaky "fatty chips" always seem to be in the cupboard...

 The mud on the Williamson Valley trail was much like this....hence I didn't run on Saturday.  I just fumed.

This week--this week is busy.  Time for exercise will be difficult.  My oldest turns 21 tomorrow.

 Abbie-Dabbie-Do.  That's what her father planned on calling her.

Her birthday always brings a mix of emotions; the last thing the Knight did that I knew was him was check me into the hospital when I was in labor on 1/9/96.  21 years ago today was the very last day the man I loved had his wits about him; the dreadful brain tumor not yet taken over.  We had been told to call in hospice just the day before...I was two days overdue with our daughter.  To be told your husband will surely die as you sit heavily pregnant with his child...

To this day, I see him in the ER, struggling to fill out the form as they settled me in the wheelchair to take me to labor and delivery.  The relief and pain both etched on his face; his struggle to sign his name.  I didnt know that was the last moment we'd share in which he knew what was going on...I was in labor.

I was having a baby.

He never could remember she'd been born.

The abject horror of having a baby as your husband's life faded in front of you is immeasurable.

Add in over fifty visitors that first day, all who "came to see the baby" but in reality came to say goodbye to your dying husband, who lay on the sofa bed in your hospital room.

 Happier times...on our honeymoon in Toronto.

And I'm worried about not having jeans that fit.

21 years ago today I was in labor...and when we got to the hospital, the baby was in distress.  My OB showed up an hour after my arrival, not when I was ready to push...and I ended up with an emergency c-section instead.

Abbie screamed the first two hours of her life, having injested poo into her lungs and having to have all kinds of pokes and prods.  It wasn't until I was in recovery and was able to feed her she stopped...I wouldn't know how she cried until after I saw the video.  It broke my heart...her daddy had not been able to be with her.  He was dying.

The pattern kept repeating: a visitor, coos over the baby, the glance at my husband, the sad faces, the anguish.  The looks of guilt as I realize they came to say goodbye.  My forced smile.  My beautiful new daughter, who was satiated on milk and sleeping away the day.  Evening fell on that perfect winter day, and the Knight was taken back to our house.  I was left alone to tend to my baby; a task I had no idea was to solely be mine for years to come.

He came back once for a visit, and pictures were taken.  His eyes are half closed.  He needed help holding a child he did not know was his.  He was pushed in a chair, unable to walk more than a few steps unaided.

My OB kept me an extra day, somehow knowing what I'd go home to.  My sisters and my mother came to collect us; I put my very own going home outfit on my little girl, tying two bonnets on her-my summer one and a warm winter one over it.  As they pushed my wheelchair down the hall I looked at the portraits of the many physicians who had served, noting the approving look of Dr. Miller, who had delivered my father.  I was desperately searching for things to smile at...desperate to hold on to the joy of bringing home a new baby.

It took me years to remember her birth without weeping.  

So her birthday...and the day before, the days after...I've learned to no longer cry.

I remember my sisters, giggling as I tied on two bonnets.  Of complaining about not wearing makeup.  Of the allergic reaction I had to another major medication. Of the feeling that my guts might just spill out on my lap after the c-section.  Of the silliness of sitting up in bed every time I breastfed (hahahahahaha) and the joy of putting a baby to the breast (I loved breastfeeding from the very first moment!) Of the fact she looked like me at birth-dark wild hair and blue eyes.  Of the moment my grandmother held her great-grandchild.  

I try not to remember him.

If I had known, 21 years ago today, that those were his last lucid moments...perhaps I would remember more than just my early labor.  But I don't.  On the last true day of our life together, I remember only his last moments of protection.  Of getting me to the hospital, and checking me in.  I was safe, in good hands.

That's not a bad last memory to have.

My worries today?  Jeans that don't fit.

21 years ago?  My husband was dying.

I think of him more now, that I'm divorced.  He'd be turning 50 next week...and I wonder what type of joint celebration we might have had, the weekend inbetween his and Abbie's birthday, she 21, him the big 5-0.  If Abbie's personality would be different with a different father, and what other children I might have had.  I'm indulging in the very wrong "what if's" knowing the only "what if" I can change is the one in front of me, right now.

Like fitting into my clothes.

Fat jeans that don't fit.  So trivial in comparison to the life I once had to live.

So very, very thankful my health can be a priority.  That my children are all healthy.  Yeah, my jeans don't fit too well right now.

I'm so very, very thankful that's as bad as it is.

Do you wanna build a snowman?

It came up on my Facebook "on this day."

 The snowman.

At the time, I told everyone it was a random snowman I had encountered.

It wasn't.

I had helped build it, earlier that day.

Can you tell by my smile how happy I was?

That morning we had a snowfall that I could not resist; I had taken an extra twenty minutes after arriving at work to run down the Constellation, enchanted by the sparkling snow and fairy world it created.

 Soooo enchanting.  

Once at my desk I found I could not stand to be inside, and begged a day to drum up support for a fundraiser.  I spent the morning visiting businesses, and at lunch thought of a friend who had the day off.  

I decided to ask if they wanted to build a snowman.

The answer was a resounding yes.

I ended up taking off the afternoon, and we completed our masterpiece just before dark.

 Yes, he has arms.  Yes, that is what you think it is.

I hadn't played like this in years.

In the months to come I had many more days of play, work and adventure with this friend...but this was the day things changed.  The day we built a snowman.

One of my favorite songs is Bob Hope lustfully singing "Thanks for the Memories."  It reminds me to think of the good with the bad, and recall days when hope flourished.

This was the day that hope first sprung anew after a long struggle to keep a marriage afloat.  While that friendship remained nothing but that-just a friendship-it was the first time I saw a possibility of happiness.

I was sooooo naive.

Today I sit at the same Constellation trailhead, waiting for the motivation to get out of the car and start exercising, again.

Yes, again.

I already went out once.

 Um, yeah.  Williamson Valley trail.

 

This was mild.

The mud was so thick I had to call it.  I know it only gets worse-this is my trail, afterall.  I decided to head over to the Constellation...maybe it would be better.

Instead I'm sitting in my car.

Thinking of the enchanting walk I took in these woods one year ago today...of sitting in this very spot at 4:30am waiting to hike on summer mornings, of meeting a friend and climbing in one car to hike elsewhere.  

It's easier to sit here...because I'm already tired.

Because my chin may be permanently scarred and still hurts.  Because my body is very angry about the steroids and antibiotics I took this week and has made it clear to me I upset its delicate flora.  Because I'm not inspired, and I don't want to move (I already did, it took 45 minutes to extract myself from the mud!) and in actuality I did just exercise - my sweat proves it.

The last time I hiked Williamson valley trail in the mud I was with the King, about three years ago.  I had on boots, but the mud was insane.  It caked on like crazy, and we laughed despite the irritation.  This time, my body already irritated, I haven't been able to laugh it off.

This is why people quit.  Emotionally, they get set off. Things don't go as plan, circumstances change.  I left the house geeked to run; instead I had a mud hike that was miserable.  

I decided not to do Constellation...I am a sweaty mess, so yes. I did exercise.  I don't need something to "make me feel better" or feel guilty I didn't get in my run.  A benefit of solo exercise I am learning is I answer to no one.  

 Who knew this applied to exercise?

It's ok....and I'll find another trail.  

Now to just find the inspiration to find it😜😎