Oh gosh where to begin. First of all, I'm in bed, where I have been most of the day--this is because of a recent flare up of...argh.. I hate to even write the words..multiple sclerosis...that has kept me off balance and dizzy for almost two weeks.
People who don't have MS and haven't experienced extended periods of vertigo--just can't know how amazingly disruptive this is. Especally if you have kids--or in my case a kid, who is six years old and the LAST thing he wants me to do is lie in bed all day. So what's a mom--separated from her spouse--to do? Movies, skittles, the chocolate advent calandar and finally a dear friend who takes my son from me and keeps him for the rest of the day. Yeah for dear friends who take your kid when you can't be vertical for more than 15 minutes. Yeah for scoobydoo movies, yeah for skittles.
So we made it through a Saturday and this morning my son left with his dad and I'm able to rest uninterrupted. But what about this CCSVI? Is it coming to North Carolina? Is it the real deal? Could I have a future free from Days Down Dizzy? Will Duke University or The University of North Carolina Chapel Hill with all their resource and facilities get on the band wagon? Hmm... it all remains to be seen. I need to go check the CCSVI websites and see if anything has changed in the past 30 minutes. Ahh give me a break--I need something to keep my spirits going during this flare of multiple sclerosis. Arghh... I wrote it again. Judi
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Friday, September 21, 2007
Back Again
First off--the things I am grateful for today. The beautiful cool weather, my home, my yard, my son Jonah, PBS Kids. It's 11:32 on this wonderfully cool Friday. Jonah and I have been up since 8:30 late for us (he had a late put down). We've done a lot in the past 3 hours, breakfast (he had dad's leftover pizza, I had toast with cherry preserves), we danced around to Lucinda Williams song Joy--which I change the words to. I have a sister Joy and I sing with a sinister look "You took Aunt Joy and I want her back, You took Aunt Joy and I want her back. I'm going to go to West Memphis to look for Aunt Joy..." I lumber after Jonah while singing this and he runs for cover. He loves it and hates it. I think I was particularly scary this morning as he said "Mom, let's not play this game anymore." The next couple of hours we spent building our Native American lodge out back and collecting food for the coming winter; mushrooms, bamboo, honeysuckle, grape and poke weed. He got excited about the notion of making a dye out of poke weed berries, and became insistent about us making a long trek to find some more weeds with berries on them. My homesteading enthusiasm had waned and a battle was about to ensue until...until I mentioned PBS Kids. Jonah's t.v. priveleges have been revoked for the last two weeks, but a mom needs to disengage, do some writing, fold some clothes, organize a closet or two. PBS kids, it's a double edged sword, but today, today I am grateful.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Trying Again
"The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs" is playing on my pandora music site. I turn off the sound or all I'll be doing is listening to the music while I try to write. Hello, hello, I'm back. I know nobody reads my blog, but I pretend to have an audience because it gives me impetous to write. And that's what I'm trying to do right? Write. Why write? Oh I don't want to get into that, such a cliched topic, rather I'll tell you where I've been since my last blog. When was that? A year ago? Maybe more? Well I've been parenting, attending my once a week prompt writing class, trying to keep my house in relative order (which does not come natural folks), working at a marriage, dealing with a chronic illness, taking a glorious summer trip to Rhode Island to escape the brutal and depressing heat. So there, nothing exciting or glamourous jut the day-to-day that keeps us humans busy. My son Jonah is going to be 4 in two days (no party plans made as of yet). As he gets older I can feel the space for my own life opening. Also, the change in weather (high of 76) is doing wonders for my spirit. Without any promises, I'm going to try to blog in the mornings (I didn't say every morning) before I start on decluttering my desk, looking through mail, paying bills. Before the things of the day consume me. I'll just try to write a little something here for you: large, glorious, supportive, audience, to read and enjoy.
Judi
Friday, March 03, 2006
And Finally
My dad turned to me again. "Dad, POND, not pom." Okay Pom, that's what I said." I was exasperated. Why didn't my dad understand me? "No dad, pond, you know the place with water, where the ducks swim. Like the Beautiful Place."
The Beautiful Place was the name we had given to an abandoned pool on the corner of a neighboring property. It was a treat when my older brother and sister let Rebecca and I tag along on a journey to the Beautiful Place. The pool, long filled in with rain water and waterlilies, was surrounded by a wilderness of tall grasses and cattails. Jewel-like dragonflies and feathery butterflies drifted from stalk to stalk, otherworldly beetles and waterbugs skated over the pond's wet surface, and fat leopard frogs would leap from the pools edge as we made our way around. It was a magical place, and one that inspired my new nickname "Pond".
There was only one thing to do. I would show my dad my new nickname; I would draw it for him. I went to the buffet in the dining room where we kept paper and crayons. "What are you doing?" my mom asked from the kitchen where she was doing dishes, clearly not wanting anything else to clean up.
"I need to draw dad a picture. I need to show him something important."
"Okay, put those crayons back when your done."
I did a good job with my drawing. The pond was easy. A circle colored in with blue, green streaks around the circle to show grass. The duck was harder. I couldn't figure out how to draw the duck on the pond, so I drew it next to the pond. I put the crayons away.
"Dad, dad, this is what I want my nickname to be. Dad.." and I ran back to his side.
"Oh hello Pom."
"No dad, here is a picture of what I want my name to be. Pond. See here is the duck and here is the water."
"I think Pom is a better name."
"But dad.."
"Pom, Pom, hi Pom. Judi's name is Pom." Oh no, my brothers and sisters had joined in. Now they were calling me Pom. As the fourth child of a crew of six (soon to be seven, then eight,and finally nine) I knew that once my older brother and sisters got hold of the name it was a done deal. Parents you could convince, siblings never.
"Don't call me Pom." I yelled, and stormed back to my place on the steps, my picture in my hands.
"Pom, pom, pom." they chanted. I buried my head in my arms and started to cry.
"Okay, that's enough." my dad said. "Stop teasing."
But I knew it was over, I would never be Pond, never get to be named after the Beautiful Place. I was right, my name became Pom and the word pond was never again mentioned in reference to my name.
And that dear reader, is how Pom came to be. Please don't feel too sad for the little girl who wanted to be named Pond. In many ways she lucked out. Pom is a far kinder name than Cactus Toes, Boy Toy, or Dog Meat (DM) (all family nicknames I'm afraid to say). As with all these names Pom started out as a a tease that guaranteed a reaction, then it became a name that, while I still didn't like it, I would respond to, by a year it was second nature, and finally Pom became a pet name, a sign of affection and a secret code that only a select group, my family, knew and used.
When I was in college I brought my friend Dave home with me to go fishing from my dad's boat. My dad started up the engine and I was at the bow listening to him give directions to push off the dock, pull in lines and put out bumpers. My friend Dave walked up to me and said in a low voice "Judi, why does your dad keep calling you Tom?"
"Oh, I hadn't noticed. He's calling me Pom. It's my nickname."
The Beautiful Place was the name we had given to an abandoned pool on the corner of a neighboring property. It was a treat when my older brother and sister let Rebecca and I tag along on a journey to the Beautiful Place. The pool, long filled in with rain water and waterlilies, was surrounded by a wilderness of tall grasses and cattails. Jewel-like dragonflies and feathery butterflies drifted from stalk to stalk, otherworldly beetles and waterbugs skated over the pond's wet surface, and fat leopard frogs would leap from the pools edge as we made our way around. It was a magical place, and one that inspired my new nickname "Pond".
There was only one thing to do. I would show my dad my new nickname; I would draw it for him. I went to the buffet in the dining room where we kept paper and crayons. "What are you doing?" my mom asked from the kitchen where she was doing dishes, clearly not wanting anything else to clean up.
"I need to draw dad a picture. I need to show him something important."
"Okay, put those crayons back when your done."
I did a good job with my drawing. The pond was easy. A circle colored in with blue, green streaks around the circle to show grass. The duck was harder. I couldn't figure out how to draw the duck on the pond, so I drew it next to the pond. I put the crayons away.
"Dad, dad, this is what I want my nickname to be. Dad.." and I ran back to his side.
"Oh hello Pom."
"No dad, here is a picture of what I want my name to be. Pond. See here is the duck and here is the water."
"I think Pom is a better name."
"But dad.."
"Pom, Pom, hi Pom. Judi's name is Pom." Oh no, my brothers and sisters had joined in. Now they were calling me Pom. As the fourth child of a crew of six (soon to be seven, then eight,and finally nine) I knew that once my older brother and sisters got hold of the name it was a done deal. Parents you could convince, siblings never.
"Don't call me Pom." I yelled, and stormed back to my place on the steps, my picture in my hands.
"Pom, pom, pom." they chanted. I buried my head in my arms and started to cry.
"Okay, that's enough." my dad said. "Stop teasing."
But I knew it was over, I would never be Pond, never get to be named after the Beautiful Place. I was right, my name became Pom and the word pond was never again mentioned in reference to my name.
And that dear reader, is how Pom came to be. Please don't feel too sad for the little girl who wanted to be named Pond. In many ways she lucked out. Pom is a far kinder name than Cactus Toes, Boy Toy, or Dog Meat (DM) (all family nicknames I'm afraid to say). As with all these names Pom started out as a a tease that guaranteed a reaction, then it became a name that, while I still didn't like it, I would respond to, by a year it was second nature, and finally Pom became a pet name, a sign of affection and a secret code that only a select group, my family, knew and used.
When I was in college I brought my friend Dave home with me to go fishing from my dad's boat. My dad started up the engine and I was at the bow listening to him give directions to push off the dock, pull in lines and put out bumpers. My friend Dave walked up to me and said in a low voice "Judi, why does your dad keep calling you Tom?"
"Oh, I hadn't noticed. He's calling me Pom. It's my nickname."
Monday, February 27, 2006
And the story continues...
As my dad was explaining about nicknames I realized that I wanted a nickname. And I knew immediately what I wanted it to be. "Dad, dad, I know what my nickname should be. Dad, dad I want a nickname." The other kids were talking and had my dad's attention. So I got down off the steps where I was sitting in my nightgown and stood patiently next to my father. It seemed like a long time before he finally put his arm around my waist and bent his head down to me to let me know he could hear me now. "Dad,I know what my nickname should be." "Oh, okay, what should it be?"
"Pond" I replied with the conviction of the wonderfulness of my new nickname. What name could be more marvelous than "pond?" That magical place where frogs leaped and ducks played and all sorts of beautifula and fantastic bugs and plants lived. I smiled proudly at my dad and siblings. "Pom, yes pom, that is a good nickname. We will call you pom."
My face dropped. Oh no my dad had not heard me correctly and he had already turned his attention to someone else. I grabbed his sleeve. "No dad, no. Not pom, pond. Dad not pom." This time I didn't wait , it was far too urgent that I clear up this mistake right away. I tugged harder. "Dad, not pom, pond."
Dear reader, please be patient as I have been. There is more of this story to come.
"Pond" I replied with the conviction of the wonderfulness of my new nickname. What name could be more marvelous than "pond?" That magical place where frogs leaped and ducks played and all sorts of beautifula and fantastic bugs and plants lived. I smiled proudly at my dad and siblings. "Pom, yes pom, that is a good nickname. We will call you pom."
My face dropped. Oh no my dad had not heard me correctly and he had already turned his attention to someone else. I grabbed his sleeve. "No dad, no. Not pom, pond. Dad not pom." This time I didn't wait , it was far too urgent that I clear up this mistake right away. I tugged harder. "Dad, not pom, pond."
Dear reader, please be patient as I have been. There is more of this story to come.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Judi Pom?
Where'd you get the name Judi Pom? Hmm... that happened a long time ago, when I was just four years old. It was an accident really, well an intentional accident. My six siblings and I were sitting in the living room getting some after dinner time with dad. Someone asked dad if Uncle Dicky's real name was Uncle Dicky. My dad said "No, Uncle Dicky's real name is Richard. Dicky is a nickname." "Dad, What's a nickname?" "A nickname", explained my father, "is a name that you can use instead of your real name. Like Dicky for Richard, or Joe for Joseph. It can be a shorter version of the real name, or it can be a totally different name. Like Howie Timwabin (dad's pet name for my younger sister Joy) or Mary O'Rielly (ditto for my older sister Mary)."
(And I will stop here because I've run out of time at the moment and I want to keep my hoards of readers in deep suspense.)
(And I will stop here because I've run out of time at the moment and I want to keep my hoards of readers in deep suspense.)
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