I’m slow to this party. This video already has over 20M hits and I can see why. When did “like a girl” become an insult? I think this is totally worth watching…
I want to show it to the Tulsa Diva’s and every woman I know. WOW
There is a saying in my circles that drives me absolutely crazy some times.
“This Too Shall Pass.”
Honestly, when I’m in the middle of THIS, whatever it is, I’m not all that keen on seeing the temporary of my situation. All I can see is the now and the now stinketh much sometimes.
Take my right now for instance. I am 30 weeks into what started as a simple ankle replacement. I am still in part one of that. My tibia is still broken and we haven’t even gotten to the ankle part. People have commented about my positive attitude and I want to tell you, there are days where my prayers sound like King David’s “How long Oh Lord?”
Now I do know that my leg is going to heal and that life will pick up again and that like the saying goes this will pass. I know this because 10 years ago, it was my heart that was broken instead of my leg.
10-years ago, I didn’t believe this would pass. I felt stuck in a never-ending cycle of hurt and disappointment.
While I was still depressed over my circumstances, I chose to trust God with a single step. Nothing major, just make my bed. Then it was get dressed. Then take a walk. Quit my job. And then the scariest of all – make a new friend. And another. And another.
Over time things changed. I started doing things that scared me to death for a moment and produced wonderful results. (I failed at a lot of things as well, but you know… I kept going anyway)
So beloved – where ever you are, whatever season you are in, know that things do pass, life does change, and if you take one small step of faith and courage great things will happen.
Dare to Live
“There is music you never hear unless you play it yourself.”
― Marty Rubin
People usually make fun of banjo. My thoughts are if Neil Young plays, it must be cool.
Having a broken leg has it’s advantages. I was so busy last year that practicing my banjo was usually an after thought. My teacher can probably attest to that. I’m pretty sure I annoyed the snot out of him many times by showing up without the songs memorized.
I’m presently on week 30 of my “12 week vacation” and I’ve found a lot of time to practice.
Today, I spend a whole lot of my day sitting and picking and learning and I love it.
I especially love the fact that I can pick up my banjo and create something that didn’t exist five minutes ago.
That is too cool.
“Born an American, Saved by God’s Grace, Rebuilt by IKEA” – Mark Cosgrove
It’s officially two weeks post op and I’m off pain meds, which means I get to write again. Yay! Some people have asked me what exactly they did and why I’m out for the cycling season. This X-Ray shows it all pretty well.
What has really surprised me his how relatively pain-free I am in comparison to last time. I really think a lot of that is due to the fact that doc stabilized my tibia. I have two plates now instead of one. I have one in front and one on the side. There are 7 or 8 screws holding them in place. The fuzzy part in the middle is my hip bone. This part needs to stop being fuzzy and make nice with the rest of my leg before I can walk.
If all goes well, I won’t need the ankle replacement. That is my goal.
I just had a really crooked tibia that rubbed on my talus and made my ankle hurt. Our docs down here are awesome and some of the most creative orthopedic surgeons I know.
I’m still out for the season no matter how you slice and dice this. In the mean time, I’m rockin the banjo and making the most of my down time.
I’m not going to lie. I’m kind of digging this slower life-style that I’ve had to become accustomed to while I get my leg fixed. No more crazy deadlines, being out half the night at the club, driving people places, rushing to the store or lessons. Just being me.
Last Fall I got the chance to watch the season come and go as winter arrived and this time, I get to watch Spring arrive in all of her glory and might. I miss working in the dirt. I haven’t figured out how to do that and not put weight on my leg and that’s okay. If I don’t have my garden this year, there is always the Farmer’s Market.
For now, I get to read, play my banjo, write to my heart’s content, spend time with friends, talk on the phone, love my family, and when opportunity strikes – take pictures.
All in all. It’s really not a bad life.
This slowing down thing.
You can click on the photos if you want to see them better. If you choose to share them that is fine, so long as you link back here. Thanks for reading.
Nothing quite says “good morning” like walking outside and realizing your car has been stolen and nothing quite makes finding the car bittersweet like discovering that the thief kept all of your electronics.
Granted the whole issue is 90% my fault. If I hadn’t decided to unpack my car in the morning because I was “tired” from a road trip, I’d still have my camera, IPad, and laptop. Lesson learned.
And I’d still have my video footage of my comedy as well as the boys high school graduations if I’d backed my camera up to more than just my laptop. But I didn’t.
Coulda woulda shoulda does nothing for how I feel about the whole situation though. Truth is, I feel violated.
Feeling violated is a perfectly normal response. Staying stuck in that feeling however, is not.
Even though I wrote a rather funny comedy bit about how the police officer didn’t believe my car was actually stolen and even though I got to tell my bit on a nationally syndicated radio show (Thank you Daren Streblow for that wonderful chance), it was months before I could tell that bit without my voice shaking.
I kept telling myself “It’s just stuff, no big deal. At least we got my car back” but I didn’t really believe it.
My “stuff” – my tapes, my stories, my photos, were stolen in July 2013. It is now March 2014 and only now have I saved up enough money to replace my lap top and my camera. I even took that as forgive me for this “a sign from God” that maybe I shouldn’t do comedy ever again.
I mean let’s face it, all proof that I’d ever done comedy was now gone.
We let fear get the best of us during the in between stage of theft and recovery. I live in Fort Knox. I no longer keep my front door unlocked. I keep lights on in my house, I leave nothing in my car and I don’t go anywhere alone.
I really needed to take back my peace of mind. I made the decision to replace what was stolen once and for all.
This is my first post on my new laptop. This is me telling whomever stole my stuff that you can’t steal my heart.
Honestly, I could have probably found a way to replace it sooner, but I think I was punishing myself for allowing it to be stolen in the first place and put it off.
I convinced myself that my $299 Samsung tablet was good enough. It wasn’t. Not for what I do anyway.
I do stand up comedy.
I take amazing photographs.
I love sitting on my back porch, writing in the sunshine.
I’m doing that today.
Question for you dear readers. Have you ever had anything stolen? How did you deal with it?
Well, except for that one time and that was a fluke. I swear.
The airport staff at DFW forgot about me and left me sitting at the terminal in a wheelchair with a broken ankle. Not that I knew yet that it was broken, but still. I am certain that if a stranger had not taken pity on me, I’d still be waiting at gate 32 C.
All I want at this point is to find my seat, order an adult beverage and pretend I am still on my cruise with my girlfriends.
The window seat is open, I take it and the cabin steward takes my crutches.
So what if I’m supposed to be in the middle, I want the window. Surely whomever has the window seat will see my plight, take pity on me and not make me move.
Turns out he too is tired, wants to find his seat, and order his own adult beverage and we recognize each other immediately.
I, the stubborn redhead sitting in his seat and he, the tall stranger standing in the aisle announcing confidently, “I know you are going to move over, right?”
He is right. I move. Broken ankle and all. Granted not without a sassy “Oh sure, make the cripple move.” We like each other instantly right up until 22C arrives.
He spends most of the flight talking to her. Over me I might add leaving me to feel like odd woman out. Yes that bugged me. Don’t judge. I was tired, and feeling well… middle aged.
I don’t blame him. She is young, cute, probably single and in town for a short business trip. Watching him work is very entertaining to say the least.
I’ll be honest, it takes everything I have not to pop off with a “Shoulda let me keep the window seat.” but my drink arrives and I have bigger things to figure out like explaining my broken ankle to my husband.
As we get ready to make our descent to Tulsa, Mr. window-seat remembers that I am in the row and says to me, “So let me guess, you’re a housewife.”
He strikes out with 22C and that’s the best he’s got for me?
I know, I know. I’m married. I shouldn’t care but crimony the dude could at least TRY!
I already know – because it’s hard not to eaves drop when you are stuck in the middle – that Mr. window-seat’s name is Tim*, he is a physician’s assistant / surgeon who is just returning from taking care of his old sick mother in Atlanta and he had two brother’s who have died leaving her alone with just him to care for her…
blah blah blah gag me.
I mean she got the “I’m a rich doctor who loves his mother.” pickup, and I get “housewife.” like I’m some kind of consolation prize or something.
At 40 something years old, this cuts me to the quick. He’s not exactly a Spring chicken himself mind you. I have zero interest in this man and yet there is no way I’m letting housewife go unchallenged. Even if it is true.
“As a matter of fact, I’m a stand up comic.”
So there Mr Bigshot!
What happens next is a blur.
three minutes okay maybe 60 seconds, he is wanting to know where I do comedy in Tulsa and asks for my phone number so that I can let him know when my next gig is.
I give him my number.
He even sends me a text when we land so that he doesn’t lose it. Oh boy. I am so in trouble.
It has been at least 20 years since a man has asked for my phone number. I can’t remember how to make one up. This is going to take some serious “splaining” as Ricky Ricardo would say.
I’ve taken two vacations ever in my entire life with my girlfriends and I come home from the second one with a broken ankle and now some guy I just met on the plane has my phone number.
This should be interesting.
I do quick introductions in luggage. Mr window-seat waits with my wheelchair while my husband gets the car and we never see each other again.
Who says life after kids is boring?
*Name changed to protect his identity, not that I believe he gave me his real name in the first place. I’m not even sure that he’s a surgeon. I did get the text he sent me on the plane asking for my next gig and I sent him the link to the Comedy Parlor where I hope to be performing soon and left it at that. I had surgery shortly after my trip and I’m still in a boot. It’s going to be a long time before I get to do comedy again.
I am also fairly certain that it is going to be a LOOONG time before I get a weekend pass to go on a vacay with my girlfriends again as well.
I am frequently at a loss for words that describe what it is I’m really aspiring to do with my banjo. Blue grass, folk, corny fun, Gospel, what? Bela Fleck is a magnificent composer. While I love all things banjo, the way this man brings out the depth and beauty of this instrument strikes me with pure awe. There is no style of music he cannot play be it bluegrass, new grass, jazz, Bach, or Celtic. If I achieve half his skill before I die, I shall die a fulfilled woman. I’ve never heard banjo played better than this.