Why I'm Sporting a Shiner...And Alla answers

The Porch...before the glider!

This is a story about clumsy. Clumsy is as clumsy does. And it's also a story about Good Sister. You all remember my wonderful Good Sister, my sister of the heart, not sister of the blood? She of Quincey fame (a lady Medical Examiner) and morgue intrigue? Well, I am happy to say that she is back on the dating scene and seems completely over the lying miserable cad who captured her heart then stomped all over it with his big hobnail boots...no wait, he wore Harris Tweed jackets and blue jeans, so perhaps they were just boots, no hobnails...the lying dog (sorry to dogdom) who claimed to be single but was NOT. Makes me grit my teeth and ball my fists just to think of it. (And go in search of my gun for crying out loud!) Cad was not my word of choice, but my granddaughter reads this blog...have to use some decorum.

So anyway, once I convinced Good Sister to stand on her back porch and scream "NEXT" and many nights on the phone listening while she cried, suddenly one day she didn't cry. She talked about going out. And gave me the gentleman's name and car description and tag number. Okay, you gotta know that women who have anything to do with law enforcement know what type of world we live in and that we trust few...so if I don't hear from her I know whose car she left in complete with tag and color and car body condition...and we have a picture of said date in my data base...it's the way we roll. So anyway, just as I keep up with Good Sister's social life, she keeps up with my physical one.

So she calls me on Thursday night to tell me that she is going out, who with, and where...I ask about the two kittens she got from me (named Tweedledee and Tweedledum) and she says they are doing fine and she is making introductions to Shadow and Butch (her two dogs). She asks me what I have been up to. Since I am a mass of bruises and pain, I hesitate. She hears the hesitation in my voice.

"What have you done?" she asks. "I don't want to tell you, you'll fuss, " say I. I can see her eyes narrowing, through the phone. "Don't make me come over there, because I will, you know!" Yes, I know. I laugh nervously. "Well, I sort of...okay okay...I fell. I fell really hard."
"You FELL? Where? Did you go to the hospital?" So I began to explain...

I can't leave anything alone. I am never happy with the arrangement of a room or a porch or even a yard. I rearrange furniture and plants and decorations. Mac says it's a good thing he's not blind, he'd never know where to find his chair. He pities Mindy Lou (the blind dog) although she adapts quite well to my madness. The glider that was under the big Sweet Gum tree with several chairs had caught my eye. Mac was cutting grass and I took it in my head to move the glider onto the front porch. It would be much more convenient for sitting. So I went down and took the big thing apart and moved it piece by heavy piece to the front porch. I took the small table and two yard chairs down to replace the glider. Mac wasn't amazed that I had managed to do this while he was cutting grass. He wasn't even surprised. He just wondered what had taken me so long to get a wild *ss idea about the accoutrement's of the front porch.

So Wednesday morning he tells me that he wants to go to Bethune (a small town in Kershaw County near us) to get a replacement bowl for the birdbath. I'm chattering away, grabbing my purse and happy to be going to the huge concrete yard where I can browse and buy, walk out the front door when suddenly I feel myself falling and sliding and head bouncing off wood. Mac is suddenly next to me, helping me to turn over and I see his face and it is white. He is looking at my head. "Oh my GOD," he says, " are you alright? Your head has a goose egg the size of Cleveland on it!" I begin to tick off the signs of concussion as he helps me to my feet...I didn't lose consciousness, I am not nauseous...I rush into the guest bath and look into the mirror...pupils are normal...but MY GOD! The bulge on my head gives me pause. And terror. I quick like a bunny (been waiting a long time to use that term) hurry to the kitchen and grab my ankle wrap from the freezer...and apply it to my head! Mac is behind me as though he is going to catch me in case I fall. Where was he ten minutes ago I want to ask...testily! But I don't. He's worried enough as it is.

"So, " I am telling GS, "I tripped on the footing of the glider...I had just earlier decided I needed to move it down further away from the front door but hadn't done it yet. I caught my foot and the only thing that saved me from sliding on down the steps was the gate at the end of the porch. My head broke the slide." I laughed. She didn't. "Did you go to the hospital?" I heard her demanding to hear a yes to her answer, but she didn't get it. "The darnedest thing, " I began and she interrupted..."DID YOU GO TO THE HOSPITAL?"

"Ummm...well, no...not really. You see when I kept peeping under the ice wrap I could see the bulge going down and then Marty Horton showed up out of the blue!" (Marty is a Paramedic I had once worked with , one I hadn't seen in two years...now go figure that one out!) "So I say to Marty, boy am I glad to see you! I told Marty what had happened and he looked at the knot on my head, the bruises on my shoulder, the scrape on my knee shined a light in my eyes and pronounced me capable of going and sitting down without fear of dying right away. But he told me if anything changed, head ache or nausea , loss of consciousness...get to the ER immediately...okay?"

She allowed as to how since it had happened the day before and I was still as sassy as ever, she supposed it was okay. "But, there is this...today I have a black eye, " I told her.
You know, I could hear her pulling keys out of her purse, walking down steps, car door opening...and I knew she had to see this one for herself! God may have sent me Marty, but nothing takes the place of a sister.

Me...sporting my shiner...sans makeup!














And an addendum to this post, from my new dear friend Alla, I just wanted to share it with you all!

Dear Sandi,when I saw "Hello, Alla" in your blog, I was amazed ,and this page appeared the whole week ago,the time flies, I`ve just listened to the music in your blog. And I was reading this story in tears, I remember your mother and her kindness to me, I was so sorry when she fell ill and when Toni informed me of her death on 28.06.01.I can`t stop crying even now.

Yes, I am reading your book every evening, I am finding a lot of interesting and wise thoughts and ideas about life in them.Oh, I am saying Thank you very much for the dedication of this page to me!

And the story about school room desks seems unreal but the idea is great, and the teacher is a genius .The WW2 in my country is called The Great Patriotic War, 20 million people were killed, and children must know who paid their young lives for the possibility for the children of future generations to take their seats at the school desks.You did the right thing of passing this story on.

Yes, blog is a good idea when you have what to say to other people.I`ll think about it.

I am still very awkward at the computer. I hope I`ll learn soon.

By the way, it was Tony who we began to communicate with, then she shared my letters she found funny with your mother, I called her Grace. She had such an ideal, beautiful handwriting.

I`ll tell you why the title "the crazy cat lady" appeals to me so much, that`s because I had a cat, his name was Kuzma( the stress on the last letter) and he lived 19 years with us then he died in my hands, it was a real grief. I said I would never ever keep any animals in my home, but my son brought two rats ,bought them in a pet-shop. Now feeding them.They would be absolutely nice if not their ugly tails.

Love

Alla

Good Sister's Journey into Light

Last week has worn me out. I haven't posted as often as I should but you'll forgive me when you know that I've been being the supportive shoulder for Good Sister. It's been a long week, and though she can't see how much better she is, I can. I've been on the phone with her mostly and these days there is more talking going on than crying. Mac and I spent Friday evening with her, Mac setting up her computer, me consoling and soothing. She allowed me to disparage the man who broke her heart without one interruption. "He's a dog, " I told her...then looking at her lovely pair of dogs, I apologized to them. "So sorry, guys...no, he's not a dog...a dog is too Godlike to hurt you this way...he's a heel. He's a lowdown sorry heel and remember this! TIME WOUNDS ALL HEELS!" I got a tiny smile out of her, and Butch licked my hand.

So now here she is, ready to admit that maybe he was less than he seemed, a good actor nothing more, nothing less. But she's still not sleeping well, her mind is still drawn to who she thought he was, not who he really is. I'm hoping that since she has made the leap from man to heel that the next step will be Prince to frog. When she can stop seeing him as her Prince Charming, the warts will show and I believe that will be the beginning of the end for her attachment to him. When she first started dating again after her divorce, she would supply me with name, description (sometimes phone photo) and tag number so that should anything happen, I'd have all I needed to help find her. You may think that is a bit extreme, but in today's world, it's not as much as I'd want for when my Granddaughter is old enough to date. Full background checks will be more my speed. With this one, all I had was the cell phone photo he wasn't aware she took. Well, that and his name and the hotel he was staying in while in town. All that information and still she wasn't safe. What's a friend to do?

You know, heartbreak hurts worse when you're a woman of a certain age. An empty home is lonelier than a cell. You work hard all day then go home to no one to talk to, no one to share your day with. It can get to be a cold existence. I was so happy for her that she had found Mr Right. How could he (and we) have been so wrong? But I'm an optimist. Knowing what a beautiful woman she is, inside and out, I have no doubt that if she wants him, the right man is out there, just waiting to find her. I can't wait till the day comes, that she can go out on her porch and yell at the top of her lungs, "NEXT!" Because the next man is out there...and you've got to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince.

How Do you heal a Broken Heart?

I've had a very unsettling few days. You've heard me talk (frequently) about Evil Sister and her comical yet enlightening ways. I've spoken less often of my other dear friend, Good Sister. She is fifteen years younger than I am, is a professional woman with some pretty heavy responsibilities. I don't know that I could do all that she does and keep a sane thought in my head. I have known her since we moved to this county in 1988. Twenty one years and she doesn't seem to have changed much, if at all. She managed to work full time, rear a child, remarry and put herself through college. See, she is amazing. But that is not why I love her so. I love her for her kind and generous heart. She would drop what she's doing to help anyone. Not just those she knows and loves, but anyone. If she hears of a person in distress or need, she takes it upon herself to find the answer to their problem.

We met through our work. My family and hers were well known to each other. She had formerly been married to kin of ours, and I laughingly called her my "cousin-in-law" before we called each other "sister". We have stood by each other through tragedy and triumph, through life and death situations, through laughter and tears. When Mac had his heart attack, she got up from a warm bed and joined us at the hospital. So, you can see how I can't possibly turn my back on her, can't you?

She went through a particularly bad divorce five years ago. The break down of the marriage had begun long before that, but she held on, hoping against hope that the man she had loved would somehow see that he had changed, that he was no longer the stalwart slayer of dragons that he had always seemed to be. He refused to see that his damsel was in distress until it was to late to save the remnants of a marriage gone wrong. So it was all gone, up in dragons breath, burned to ashes, bitter as gall.

Early in November she met a man. She has been out on a couple of dates, always protesting that she is to old to be "dating" these days. I have encouraged her to have more in her life than her work. She needed fun in her life so much, and she's not a person who is ashamed to say she needs the company of a man, but it has to be a special man. This man she met while at a high level meeting, seemed to be the man. Although they only saw each other several times a month, (his business taking him far away, as far as Asia, as close as Spain...before getting back into the Charlotte area) she fell in love so quickly, so passionately you would have thought she was in her teens. She smiled and laughed all the time, looked forward to his return to the States each time. They stayed in constant touch via e-mail and cell phone. He was to return to the Charlotte area (which isn't where he actually lives) today. We went out to dinner with her on Friday and she was so excited that there seemed to be a light shining beneath her skin.

I've been on the phone with her for three days. Saturday she was a bit upset because she hadn't heard from him, but I calmed her down, talked to her...then Sunday she received a phone call from him. She called me, and she was crying so hard that I could barely make out what she was saying. I was pulling on coat and shoes, telling Mac I had to get to her. He could hear the panic in my voice and asked who it was he needed to kill. I burst into tears at that, so thankful that my dragon slayer was alive and well. I was telling her I was on the way and she begged me to just stay on the phone with her, that she'd be okay. We stayed on the phone for two hours. She cried. I listened. Then of course, I had to go to her.

How do you heal a broken heart? I know that somewhere someone has the answer, I wish you'd tell me what to do. I can't stand seeing her like this, and I can't desert her. I need the words that will make everything, if not okay, then marginally better. I'll be calling her in awhile, checking on her, making sure she is eating, giving her an emotional hug since we're now snowed in and I can't get to her to give her a real one. At least not today. In the mean time, my heart aches for her. I feel powerless to help. All I can do is be here for her as she has so often been there for me. It seems like so little.