Sunday -

I did a lot of reading about lithotrypsy recovery last night and mine appears to be completely w/in the norm. Given that, I can relax, take my pain meeds, and snuggle up w/ my hot water bottle.

It's good to be encouraged ... to recognize that I easily slip to the dark side, and need to work on learning facts such that I can encourage myself w/them.

Vito stayed most of the weekend, cooking, cleaning, and general molly coddling. It was a lovely thing. Plus, gelatto with home made lemoncello is nothing to turn one's nose up at!

I feel very behind in where I meant to "be" by now and am having to let it go ... to recognize not all deadlines are GOOD deadlines and that sometimes they need to be a sliding deadline or overall goal. A SOMETIME goal.

Thanks to zebragirl I downloaded an app that will help me make better use of the clothing I own. I loves me clothes, don't get my wrong, but I like owning IT not having it own me.

I watched the Oscars and am sooo, sooo happy both Colin Firth and "The King's Speech" won. What a testament to the strength of human nature. May I be that strong as I face what lies ahead. I am thankful God make me a 4/3 and not one to shrink into the background. Yes, it has made me enemies in the medical field, but it has also gotten me where I need to go at time.

So good night all. May tomorrow be a stronger day!

NOT the clothing post -

I know I said I'd write about living as a T4 (bold and stunning) but after a nightmare of shockwave lithotripsy on Wednesday I can only say I'm sporting the same LL Bean nightshirt I've been wearing variations of for years.

Really. Men's nightshirt ... good for nursing, snuggling a child, and just plain old cozy. I bet I'm on my fifth one. So that's my clothing bit for the day. I tend to find what works for me and stick with it. Very T4. (Note how I worked that in!)

On to the main event. Surgery. No big deal. I like my doctor well enough but I don't think he's REALLY going after the right course of action for my overall condition. Surgery went well enough and on Wednesday I was happily peeing silt ... sure that the badness was COMING OUT.

Until Thursday. A dear friend brought me lunch and w/in 20 minutes the pain and projectile vomiting began. Thus began the round of phone calls (also known as *I* don't want to deal w/her YOU do it!) The hospital said to call the doctor. The doctor said to go to the hospital. Between the pain, anger, and projectile vomiting I was NOT a happy camper. I get to the ER where they promptly attempt to load me up with a medication I am ALLERGIC to despite wearing THEIR bright orange wrist band as an alert. Really? Really? Does ANYONE pay attention to all their self devised safety measures? Is it REALLY up to the patient writhing in pain soaked with vomit? Apparently so. This is where being a T4 comes in handy. We don't get showy angry. We deep freeze. NO, you may not give me that. NO, I don't care if I'm not following medical advice. NO. NO. NO. You do it and you do it RIGHT. I don't care if it takes longer. I don't care if you label me as difficult.

Dr. Jerk, who I've seen before in the ER sends me for an X-ray. There are three stones in my urethra. Great. How big are they? He doesn't know. How can he not know? Did he go to medical school? Does he have its image on the screen and a handy cm measuring device? One would hope so. Will I be able to PASS THEM? He's not sure. Wait. WHY am I here? Maybe it would have been better to vomit at HOME. It certainly is a lot cheaper.

Today I am peeing merlot. That's apparently normal. Yeah, whatever. I am so sick of pain meds I could scream ... but if I don't take them I scream anyway.

Ugh. Larry James (lovely cat) is just so thankful mommy is in bed for days. I guess I'll be forgiven for a lot of Kitty Boy transgressions.

The Clothes Part -

So as a Bold and Striking Type 4, I'm supposed to dress just that way. In fully saturated hues plus large doses of black and white. This sounds good to me as "fussy" is something I just don't do. I have protested too many times not to know I'm already a minimalist yet I have the HARDEST time giving up some of my favs.

1. Chambray. Really. Work shirts, anyone?

2. Denim dresses. Again.

3. Overalls.

Granted they're all play clothes, but what's a T4 supposed to wear out to play in the yard, or with the kids/grandkids/dog?

DYT (aka: Dressing Your Truth)

It all began on a particularly HORRID day as I lay on the couch contemplating how many more days I'd live this way. To help myself get my mind off my, oh ... PAIN, I surfed. Fab Over 50. That's cool. I've always thought I was fabulous much to the chagrin of those who'd rather I didn't. I still think I am ... disabled or not. Seemed like a good enough page. Nice layout. Funky clothes. Healthy food. OVER 50 (KEY!) I surfed on.

Pretty soon I came to an online contest link, "Which one of these beauty products would you like to win and why?" In front of me was an array of stuff from lipstick to books, to "bundles." I read all the descriptions carefully and decided, what the heck, I want the works. So I typed in, "I'd like the beauty bundle where I learn my type of beauty. Before I was disabled I knew who I was and how to dress, but as one who now lounges around most of the day, I've lost all sense of self." A few days later I received an email saying I'd won. I promptly emailed back saying they must have written the wrong person. Thus began the "yes, you won, " "no, I never win anything" email tag.

Well, they were right. I DID win. Being the good little researcher I am, I looked up this "Carol Tuttle" expecting to find clothing that costs like oh ... $150 for a t-shirt. Nope. There was this very "real" looking woman talking about how ALL women are beautiful (I'm up for that) and how we tend to judge ourselves by societal standards. BINGO. Did I really win? Did I hit the jackpot? I read that some of her vita and realized this chick didn't just show up on the scene and announce herself "Queen of the Wardrobe." Nope, she did HER research and had much more experience in energy profiling than she did with dressing. I was liking this. REALLY liking this and could HARDLY wait for the books to arrive. Arrive they did and the soul searching began.

Basically Carol has divided people into four groups:

T1. The Bright and Animated. (certainly not me.)

T2. The Soft and Subtle (see also certainly not me.)

T3. The Rich and Dynamic (now we're talking my language)

T4. The Bold and Striking (again w/the certainly not me.)

I read on and realized each personality had been WELL described.

T1: Bright and Animated. I can tell a good story w/the best of them, but have no T1's in my family and I think that's a good thing. I'd have clobbered them (bodes well with Rich and Dynamic (also pushy when operating in their dysfunction.) However, I see my best friend in this type. Random brilliant thoughts like pop corn. Cute as all get out. I find I can only do "these people" in small doses. They're delightful, but they exhaust me.

T2: Soft and subtle? ME? No. I've been compared to an atom bomb ... yet also described as one who comes and just stays quietly. My father used to call me the iron fist in the velvet glove. His pint sized tiger. I recognized 2/4 if not 3/4 of the sons have some T2 in them. Mr. Sensitive for SURE is a dominant 2. The Lawyer and the Musician definitely have very tender aspects of their nature. Even The Baby (although he's loathe to admit to this.)

T3: Rich and Dynamic. NOW we're talking my language. Moves through life with a swift "push" and gets things DONE. Yeah, baby. Except ... was this really me? Did I act the way I did because I NEEDED to? Raising four sons alone while getting an M.Ed and teaching full time is no small process. Neither is moving halfway across the country to escape some issues I didn't care to deal with. Caveat: the issues came w/me.

T4: Bold and Striking: These are the model types. Yeah, I did a stint as an adolescent doing some runway stuff for a local department store, and yeah, I did pose for some painters and photographers. It was my face ... I though it was the Ukrainian Jew thing in a sea of white bread faces. But maybe not. Maybe it WAS the high cheekbones, deep set eyes, fairly chiseled jaw. I read on. WAIT. They were describing ME. A loner but a lover of people. Quiet. Loyal to those they respect, otherwise their own authority. Blunt. A perfectionist. Detail oriented. Etc. etc. Huh. I ran to the mirror looking for this bold, striking woman but just saw a nigh unto 56 year old with a big nose. Later, I looked again with my hair pulled back. Yep. There it was or rather ... there *I* was: high cheekbones, symmetrical face, not very large pores, widow's peak. WHAT????

Because I was sure I was really a T3, I mean, COME ON, I sent my photo in. I still have the one Anne Brown returned to me and can hear her gentle voice beginning, "I looked at your photo before I read your comments and when I pulled up your picture I saw stillness." (By now I was in tears.) "To your T4 perfectionist eye you see your flaws where others see your beauty." BRING ON THE TEARS!

So only then did I go through the T4 course where I sobbed my way through hearing about myself. I'm NOT the only one who feels misunderstood. ALL people do. If ONLY we all could see the beauty and POSITIVES (not just the negatives) in other energy types. I recalled moments when my children were young.

When at age 4 I realized Mr. Lawyer was going to be a Lawyer. (Type 4)

When at age 2 The Musician began calling out the instruments he heard played over the grocery store Muzak. (Type 4)

When at age 5 Mr. Sensitive told me someone hurt him on the inside. (Type 2)

When at age 3 The Baby "stomped" my beloved Hyperion Lilies because "he didn't like their shape." BTW, he said this astride a tricycle. (DEFINITELY a Type 4.)

HUH. If ONLY I had known this pre-divorce. If ONLY I had known this when my kids were little. I will say my adoption story was a blessing in that I devoted myself to parenting (and later teaching.) I have always only wanted my sons and students to know and value THEMSELVES before moving on into making life choices.

I'll save the clothes part for later.

Right now I'm going to go bake some gluten free brownies for Vito.

How did it turn into February?

It's been six months since I've "blogged" and although I'm still not a fan, I am determined not to let my life go unnoticed. I've changed the name of my blog from "Slipping Through the Cracks" to "Chronically Living." WHY? Because I'm living and have every intention of squeezing every drop out of life that I can get.

MAJOR changes since October.

1. Dumped by the man I THOUGHT was the love of my life. Yeah. Really. Bad news? It hurt like hell. Good news? I now know what love ISN'T! The even better news is that I think I know what love IS. Just like Mr. All Wrong said ... it's about consideration and consistency. (Sometimes Mr. All Wrong said Right Things.)

2. The house has SOLD. Yes, after 13 years of divorce the "family home" now houses another family. I prayed for years for the RIGHT family to purchase my lovely 1911 Craftsman bungalow ... and they were busy growing up, getting graduate degrees, and making babies. They are now happily snuggled in and the place looks wonderful. Full of life, laughter, and love. Really. It sounds so cliche' but every time I have to pick up mail I leave w/a smile on my face.

3. I am living in an APARTMENT. As in an apartment COMPLEX. This has turned out to be a much greater experience than I had imagined. I thought my cat, Larry, and I would move in, paint a few walls, and call it a year. Nope. We learned apartment etiquette (which involved NOT saying "hi" to your neighbors every time you see them ... too invasive.) We've learned the difference between a vole and a mole and find voles to be more adventurous as well as more amusing.

4. This spring I am BUILDING a house on a lovely 2.5 acres in the country. I just drove out there this morning to see it in all its muddy glory. I drove in (no driveway) and promptly got stuck in the mud. Spun my tires like a mad woman and finally finagled my way out of there. I admired my "off road" Honda Accord in the grocery store parking lot but am too tired to do anything about it.

Tomorrow? Dressing Your Truth. Or rather ... one of the tools God has used to help me learn who I REALLY am. Watch out, world.