Friday, March 30, 2012
For some reason, I look in the mirror lately--usually out of necessity--and
THIS
is what I see. Ugh. Now, at my age, it shouldn't matter so much, right? I mean, I've got my man, he seldom notices my hair unless it's tickling his nose when we're cuddling, and he seems happy with me. I've even asked him, just to make sure.
The very fact that I cut my own hair without waiting for my next stylist appointment meant I was so frazzled I needed to do something outrageous. My hair had grown past my shoulders--Have I told you this one before? I think I have--and Mel kept telling me it looked good, not to cut it. Even my stylist told me to keep it long. But neither my husband nor my stylist was walking around the house half the day with sweat-drenched hair and shoulders because of the stress of taking care of Mom, putting her in her wheelchair, then lifting her out, then trying to cook something she would eat, and worrying if we were going to be dealing with sundowner's that afternoon.
One day I opened the front door and saw yet another long, familiar package delivered by UPS. I didn't need to open it, because I knew it was a model airplane. Now, you know how Mel told me he liked my hair long? Well, I had also told him I liked having only one basement room filled with model airplanes. I closed the door, walked into the bathroom, picked up the scissors and started hacking, and I hacked until no hair touched my neck. Suddenly, all the stress disappeared.
I felt good again, and besides, I had an appointment the next week to see my stylist. Anything I had missed, she could fix. She's accustomed to my quirks and knows how to recover my style once I've destroyed it. Okay, it takes a couple of trips, but I can live with that.
When you are stressed past the breaking point, what creative ways have you discovered that will help you come back down to earth? What makes you calm down when all else fails? I might need some different ideas for the next time I lose control.
Labels: Dealing with bad stress, giving up stress, photos by Eugene Arthur Patterson
Hannah Alexander
posted at
2:31 PM
Comments (11)
Friday, January 20, 2012
I'll tell you right now, I hate competing, especially if the competition is against a friend I wouldn't want to hurt. And that's not to say I'd win any competition. Some, of course, are a no-brainer. I could eat my weight in maraschino cherries, and Mel can't stand them, so I'd win that contest without even a showdown.
My mother has a caretaker, Bonnie, who comes to our home every day to help us with Mom. I discovered a sad part of her character the other day--she loves sour balls, sour suckers, sour teas. That's not so bad, I don't suppose. We all have our weaknesses. I'm champion maraschino cherry eater (and cherry seed spitter, but that's a more romantic story about how I won Mel over during our courtship.) But when my husband AND Mom's caretaker compete against one another to see who can suck on a sour sucker the longest without making a face, I can't help wondering what this world has come to.
My favorite source of food competition is hot stuff. Not only hot Mexican sauces of some kind, but horseradish or wasabi sauce that can take the skull right off the top of your head and set it back in place backward.
You can take your ball games and your races and your speed writing. Give me a good ol' eating contest any day until the smoke is catching your hair on fire or your jaw is splitting from the tartness of a cherry sucker.
What's your pleasure when it comes to food competition?
Labels: Competition, men or women?, photos by Eugene Arthur Patterson, Who's better
Hannah Alexander
posted at
1:12 AM
Comments (17)
Friday, December 30, 2011
Look more closely. This little cutie isn't a bear. At least, I don't think it is. I think this is a sloth, and that's what I've been this month.
Typically, I rush around buying presents, buying the bags to shove them into--I haven't wrapped packages in twenty years--and even sent cards to those who sent cards to me. Due to social expectations, I made dinner, set the table, had Mel put up the tree, starting late so our company could help him finish it. So he's a sloth, too. Sue him.
Then one year we had deep snow on Christmas day. Christmas, of course, wasn't called off. In fact, the silence and peace of that day, when everyone stayed home to ponder Christ's birth in a new way, was a huge blessing to me. No one to complain because I didn't get all the meat off the turkey bone, didn't make the dressing moist enough, forgot to take the giblets out of the turkey before I placed it all, totally frozen, into the oven to bake. No one snooping through drawers in the kitchen and finding private-very private-notes I sent with Mel's lunches. Ahhh...it was pure peace.
I realize it may have been considered an insult for the innkeeper to send Joseph and Mary out to the barn, but I can imagine having the warm body of my own donkey and no noise besides a sheep bleating every so often must have been more relaxing than an inn full of people complaining about their taxes. But who am I to say? I wasn't there. I do believe it started a precedent, though, because Jesus often retreated to the wilderness when the crowds pressed too closely, wise Savior that He was. I've followed His example as often as I could. It's my favorite.
The Mexicans have a special day, January 6, when they believe the wise men visited Jesus with gifts. Since my stepson's wife, a beautiful and intelligent Mexican woman, is due to have her baby any time, they are hoping the little boy will be born on January 6 to receive a special blessing. I do know seeing that little darling--as well as my stepson, Jason, his wife Kenia, and Jason's mother, Linda--will be a special blessing for me this year.
Until I can get out there, however, I will be hiding out here at home, not attending parties or dinners or exchanging gifts, just spending special time with Mel and my mother and writing and being thankful for the special peace God has given us this Christmas.
If you had your druthers, what would your perfect Christmas be next year--what is peace to you?
Labels: next year's Christmas peace, peaceful barn. Being slothful., Perfect peace, photos by Eugene Arthur Patterson
Hannah Alexander
posted at
12:29 AM
Comments (13)
Friday, August 12, 2011
Aren't these birds beautiful? They look as if they're having fun, and just looking at them can make one smile.
Okay, I haven't smiled much the past month. You girls were so supportive when my mother had her surgery. Her dementia is still bad on some days, but other days she's pretty good. At least her doctor at the hospital thinks she's good enough to be released. They want her to go to a nursing home to recover.
My mother spent a couple of months in a nursing home when she had knee surgery, and it was not a pretty sight. I decided she needs to stay here with us until she recovers. I'm not sure how well she'll recover. All I know is that multiple nurses, techs and therapists, even doctors, have remarked about how much better Mom responds to treatment when I walk in the door. She might be refusing to eat, and I'll walk in and she'll pick up her fork. She may be refusing to exercise (she hates physical therapy) but then I'll walk in and she'll suddenly grab the walker to show me how much she can do. And if that's not enough, when Mel walks in he can actually make her laugh. He's the first one to say "I love you" and that heals something inside her.
So what does that have to do with flamingoes? The other day I was sitting in Mom's hospital room, which has a window that overlooks the roof of the rest of the hospital building. Not far from her window there was a poor ol' pigeon hunkering down under the sun, head drooped, wings drooped, tuckered out. Suddenly it began to rain hard. What a beautiful sight after the drought we've had! I looked back out at that bird and showed Mom. He was dancing! He wasn't skittering for cover from the rain, he was jittering his wings and dancing in the rain. I think that bird suddenly felt the love of God touch him with what he needed worst--water.
I think that's what keeps us going when we're sick or depressed or struggling under a great load--love. Just the way Mom perks up when someone who loves her walks in to see her, just the way we perk up when someone reminds us we're special to them.
Gotta tell you, girls, you're special to me. Please pray, and if you have any advice, send it on. I want to care for my mother well and get her back on her feet. You're a praying group, and so filled with goodness from God. Please keep praying for our beloved Diann. Pray hard. Please don't stop. We need the strength of your love right now. Bless you all.
Labels: Dancing in the Rain, Flamingoes, photos by Eugene Arthur Patterson, Refreshed, reminder of grace
Hannah Alexander
posted at
1:03 AM
Comments (4)
For some reason, I look in the mirror lately--usually out of necessity--and 
Delicious
I'll tell you right now, I hate competing, especially if the competition is against a friend I wouldn't want to hurt. And that's not to say I'd win any competition. Some, of course, are a no-brainer. I could eat my weight in maraschino cherries, and Mel can't stand them, so I'd win that contest without even a showdown.
Look more closely. This little cutie isn't a bear. At least, I don't think it is. I think this is a sloth, and that's what I've been this month.
Aren't these birds beautiful? They look as if they're having fun, and just looking at them can make one smile.
