My mom (given at her memorial service)

In my entire wannabe-of-a-writing career, my mother has been my biggest cheerleader. She has read, edited, and critiqued, and it was very hard not to pick up the phone after jotting down her memorial tribute so she could do just that--one of many things I will miss.

My mother worried people would only remember her as she'd been in the latter part of her life--after the ailments destroyed her body, rendering her wheelchair-bound and suffering agonizing pain that made just getting up in the morning a fight. But I promised her friends and family would want to remember Connie before that time, so that is the woman I will talk about today.

My mother was a listener. I talked to her daily, and as most of you know, I like to talk--and talk, and talk. She never complained. It wasn't just me. She listened to family members, to friends, to neighbors, to her doctors, to the checkout girls at the grocery, and to anyone who needed someone to hear what he/she had to say. She listened to every story, every tidbit of information people needed to get out of their systems, and she acted like everything everyone told her was the most exciting tale she 'd ever heard.

My mother was always right--and she made sure you knew it. Funny thing is--she was right ninety percent of the time, which is why people came to her for answers.

She was a problem solver. That went along with the listening--inevitably in the course of talking, an issue crept into the conversation.  My mother offered her opinion or her knowledge on the subject or on the problem, and if she didn't know the answer, she would find it. She had a library in our house with books on every subject, and she'd spend hours pouring over them to help someone. When my friend Kim called to tell us she had a brain tumor and needed surgery, my mother gathered everything she could on acoustic neuroma tumors, studied it, sat us down and educated us, and then made sure our family drove to Pennsylvania to be there for Kim and her family.

My mother was a sports lover. She played volleyball, tennis, bowling, and golf. When she wasn't playing, she was watching sports--all of them--but being a Hoosier, she loved basketball. Connie was an IU fan, and she never missed a game--especially the Indiana/Kentucky match-up. In our part of the world, everything shuts down for that game. It's more important than attending church! My brother was about nine and me twelve during one of those games. My mother was in the living room, watching it when the phone rang. She ignored it. We all did.

It kept ringing. "Who would call at this time?" my mother shouted, and we knew better than to answer it. You just didn't answer the phone during an Indiana game. But it kept ringing and ringing, and finally, she stomped into the kitchen and answered it. "This had better be an emergency because Indiana is playing Kentucky in basketball."

The sheriff's department called to say my brother had been picked up for shooting a squirrel with a BB gun in the neighbor's yard. He was down at the station. My parents waited until the end of the game to get him. 

My mother was generous. She gave her time, money, and heart to people. She was a cheerleader and her children's and grandchildren's biggest supporter, attending every school function, golf tournament, swim meet, play, and awards banquet.

My mother was a golfer--a champion, of not one but of many clubs. On the golf course, she found a spirituality she couldn't find elsewhere. She loved the competitiveness, the serenity, the companionship with her fellow golfers, and the money she won beating them.

My mother was a reader. She read everything and anything, quoting from the Bible, poetry, classics, and a newspaper article in the sixties. She installed my love for the written word, and she built us libraries, first in our bedrooms and then in our homes. 

My mother was an educator. She taught physical education and English in the school system, and then she designed and built a teaching pool, where she developed, created, and taught in her own swim school. She was a brownie leader, a camp counselor, a coach, and a cave guide. It was in her blood, and everywhere was a classroom. Whether it be a pool, the golf course, the kitchen table, or in the newspaper, my mother heard incorrect grammar and took that opportunity to correct it. If those in this room have not learned the difference between "lie" and "lay", shame on you. She taught you, and by golly, she expects you to use it correctly. 

My mother was a traveler. If she wasn't traipsing with her friend Jill in exotic places like Africa and Morocco, she drove our family through the  United States, educating us on its history and pulling us through its landmarks. If I had a dollar for the times she told us to put away our games and Barbie dolls and look out the window, I'd be rich.--as would my children.

My mother was strong--in so many ways, but no more than in the last four years. Terrible pain robbed her of her sanity, dignity, and the use of her legs, yet she fought, with a remarkable inner strength that would've felled most men. 

My mother was a lover-- of so many things. She loved the Tampa Bay Rays, poetry, golf, Larry Bird, Indiana tomatoes, persimmon pudding, and mushroom hunting. But most of all, my mother loved her children and her grandchildren. I will miss her hugs, her smile, her voice, her laugh, and her friendship. 

My mother was an incredible woman, and she will be missed. 

My mother

When my father died, it was sudden and unexpected--a heart attack. A phone call to alert me. A lot of running around the house screaming, "NO" and trying to rewind the day, to change the outcome so that I could have time to think it over, find a better result for his unhealthy heart. There was no time for good-byes or expressions of love. If we hadn't done it before, too damn bad.

This time with my mother dying in hospice hooked to a pain pump that dispenses the nectar that keeps her calm and pain-free, I've had time--to forgive and ask for forgiveness, express love and say good-bye, to admit relief. It's healing in a way, although exhausting, and at times gut-wrenching. It's more therapeutic than the startling, harsh, suddenness of my father's death.

My brother, my aunt, and I have sat vigil with my mother in hospice for five days. She made the decision to stop treatment after another ambulance ride to the hospital from the rehab center where she'd lived for weeks. She said no more--to treating the multiple infections and ailments that have turned her once athletic body unrecognizable. For four years, my mother fought to stay alive, be with family, and manage her health. Despite being dependent on others, she continued living as best as possible, but she's had enough. She's done.

Even now, her body fights. She's lasted longer than anyone in hospice expected, although it doesn't surprise us. Connie isn't one to go quietly into the night--choice or no choice. She has never been a quitter, so this is most definitely hard for her. Despite the issues we've had in the last several years, she has always been the most extraordinary human I have ever known, and I am thankful to call her my mother.

Out of the mouths of my babes, whew!

While cleaning my desk this weekend, I noticed the bottle of water I purchased from the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine, FL. I keep it on my desk, and while I've never sipped from this bottle, I did partake from the fountain during the tour. Then I purchased this bottle--just in case.

Turning it, I discovered the water level has gone down considerably. YIKES!

I first thought someone had been nipping to preserve his/her youth, but then I wondered if the bottle was trying to tell me something. It stunned me. What was the meaning? 

Madison: "Technically, the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine is just a myth. Ponce de Leon didn't really discover it, some lady invented all of that."

I fact-checked her--because, hello! There is no historical or archaeological evidence that Ponce de Leon bathed or drank from the springs in St. Augustine. A physician from Chicago, Luella Day McConnell, purchased the land in 1904 and opened the attraction. 

Oh. Whew!

I threw the bottle in the trash. 

5 things to start the week

1. Outside my window this weekend were two lizards hanging out on my neighbor's fence. It rained most of the day and usually the little creatures are no where to be seen, but sometime during a lull in the wet weather the little buggers crept out from wherever it is they reside to sit on the fence. They sat apart at firs,t and then little by little moved right next to each other for companionship or warmth I wasn't sure of either.  Watching them just sitting there made me feel happy, like friendship or love exists everywhere we look. Every time I looked up from my computer they were there just sitting, together. Then, as I tried of course to get their photograph, they stood up and moved away, their tails to one another as they slowly wandered off, each in a different direction.
2. Darcy started rehab this past week on her multi-directional instability shoulder. She left me filling out paperwork in the waiting area so I wasn't a part of what was happening, but when it was all over I was $35 poorer. To rehabilitate means she needs to work on these exercises at home and to do that she needs the proper equipment which thus far includes a therapy ball, a resistance band, a bar, and 2 pound weights.
3. We had our last day I suspect of cool weather this past week. I went to bed to almost 80 degree weather and woke up to 47 degrees. I got to wear my Steelers sweatpants one more day and managed to keep them on all day, despite it warming up to around 70 degrees. We have had such a beautiful spring here this year that I hope it doesn't mean we will die of heat this summer.
4. The television season is coming to a close, but I have to say the new trend of introducing new shows for the summer is a welcome. Use to be that we turned to Redbox and Netflix for our summer viewing, but now we are still helping the networks pay their bills. I've got the return of Devious Maids, Mistresses, Rizzoli & Isles, and Motive, and I'm looking forward to Black Box, Riot, and Night Shift to name a few. I just wish I could catch up on some of the network shows that I opted out of watching this year, but the networks have gotten smart on their online viewing and shows are only on for a short time so unless my Netflix streaming picks them up I guess I'm out of luck.
5. For the past few days I have had no sound on my computer. I have spent hours crawling under my mess of a desk (which caused me to vacuum and clean dust, not to mention organize crap) following electric cords from one end of the monitors and computers to the other end. I told my husband I had no sound, but did he respond to that with the reason for this problem? No. Instead he made remarks such as, "You have no sound? What does that mean?" or "Why would you have lost sound?" I gave up on having him help me. Yesterday when I remarked aloud to Darcy, who was at her desk, that I had no sound, WTH, she told me it was because her father had removed my power strip and unplugged my speakers. Really? So much for my deduction skills. And so much for a truthful, loyal husband. Guess who spent some time yesterday running around trying to fix my problem? Uh huh.

Easter 2014

When my brother and I were children we celebrated Easter in various ways. We were dressed in new Easter clothes and taken to church, something that was quite rare in our house. I always had an Easter bonnet and I always got to carry a purse. I vaguely remember the purse because I would sit in church and open and close it for entertainment, but I remember vividly the bonnet.  I wore the same bonnet (and by the pictures carried the same purse) each year and kept it, giving it to Madison to wear for Easter when she was little.

We always decorated Easter eggs with the little colored kits, trying to outdo one another in egg beautification.

And the Easter Bunny always brought us Easter baskets and hid plastic eggs inside or outside, depending on the weather, for us to hunt. We always had one egg that couldn't be found each year and we always would find it several months or maybe even a year later at the oddest time. And finding that one egg after all that time would be the most joyous event ever. "I found the Easter egg! I found the missing Easter egg!" It was like a tradition in our house.

As we got older we stopped decorating and searching for eggs, but my dad always made sure we had Easter chocolates and something decorated from the local grocery's bakery. It is one of those traditions that I have fond memories of and am grateful to my parents for helping to make.

When I had my own children I tried to do the same for them. Tom and I colored eggs with them as did their grandmother Mary Anne. We took them to various Easter Egg Hunts all over town, including ones in a pool where they had to dive to the bottom for the eggs.

We took them to breakfast with the Easter Bunny. Or to tea with the Easter Bunny.

And each year the Easter Bunny came and hid eggs in our playroom, branching into other areas in the house as they got older. Each plastic egg had an "M" or a "D" so that each girl got the same amount of eggs to hunt and each egg contained a goodie inside. And, just like when I was little, each year we had one egg that never got found until months later.

This year Easter came late among the stresses of life, and I wondered aloud if the Easter Bunny still came to a house with teenagers. Those teenagers were horrified at the thought that he didn't, and so Saturday morning the Easter Bunny was at Target collecting all the goodies that would go inside the "M" and the "D" eggs. And as the bunny drove back to her warren, she thought about how she would miss these traditions when the teenagers were grown and gone, and suddenly the bunny was happy to hide eggs and celebrate the day.

The Easter Bunny also included the dog, something that has gone on since the dog arrived at our house, but this year he got his own "E" eggs and his own hiding spots.  He was thrilled. He followed the girls around the entire house (the bunny branched out this year) searching for his eggs. He was quite the little seeker.

He would wander past an area and then stop and sniff. He would back up and look around and look around and sniff and sniff and then pounce he would have his egg. Which he would take in his mouth and work it until it popped open to reveal the dog treat inside. Delicious!

So the thrill of Easter and the eggs, which started for me as a youngster and was renewed as a mother, has once again gained ground as a dog owner. I can now alert the Easter Bunny to the fact that my dog enjoys the hunt and perhaps next year I can find him a bonnet. Or, since he is a male, perhaps a tie or an Easter like collar?

Happy Easter everyone!

Photos from the spring break that wasn't ours

Susan and friend at our favorite beach pizza place

Our view from our spot in the parking garage at Clearwater Beach

Darcy and Kelly ready for the beach

Susan soaking up the rays

Madison wishing it was overcast

Gabby and Darcy and friends playing tourists

Kelly getting a henna tattoo

One of the sand sculptures we did  on the beach

5 things to start the week

1.  My mother is back in the hospital. The nursing/rehab facility called me Saturday night as I was standing in the aisle of a beach shop surrounding by sunscreened tourists and overpriced merchandise waiting for the rest of our group to catch up to me. It was not a call I was suspecting and so I got a bit panicked at the thought of having to make a decision on amputation because what else could send her to the hospital? Turned out her PICC line site was infected. She had a temperature over 103 degrees, was fatigued, and a bit loopy. It took three days to grow out the culture to figure out the infection and it's source, but now that she has been diagnosed and treated she is feeling more normal. The PICC line was removed and will be out for 48 hours. If her blood work comes back clean after that a new one will be put in and she will head back to the facility where they eagerly await her return.

2.  Our family left this afternoon and as always our house is very quiet. The dog is forlorn at the loss of his playmate, my niece who kept him entertained. He keeps peeking out the door in hopes that she is sunbathing out back with her mother, but alas, they are heading back to snow and will need their boots and coats instead of flip flips and bikinis. 

3.  My recipe idea and my first recipe choice has hit a snag. The ingredient that I was clueless about, lemon curd, turned out to be simple after I searched it online.  It can easily be made the night before or it can be purchased at the grocery in the jelly aisle. Frozen bread dough, on the other hand, has stumped me and two different grocers. I have everything I need but the main ingredient. Madison tells me it is quite easy to make by scratch, but jeez doesn't that mean another recipe?

4.  A few months ago I wrote about my oil changing experience with Jiffy Lube and the employee who tried to sell me $90 oil. Turns out my new van takes synthetic oil which does cost more. Our regular oil changing place charged us $52 and explained that all the new cars were going to synthetic oil. However,  you change it every five to six months. So I suppose I owe Jiffy Lube and the employee sort of a pass, but no apology as he never explained everything and his customer service and attitude sucked. 

5.  I've started working with an app that my daughters' principal told me about called Lose It. It is free and I log in all my daily foods and exercise. I have a set amount of daily calories I'm allowed to eat to reach my goal of losing two pounds a week. The app keeps track of how many steps I take in a day which I find fascinating, and it charts out my intake of fats, carbs, and protein. That in itself is eye opening when viewed in a pie chart. It also makes me wish I could eat pie, but....sigh. 

Postcard Inn Experience

My SIL and her daughter came our way for their spring break which is way past our spring break.  Which meant that my children were in school the entire week.  Because of that, and because she deserved it after the winter she has had in Indiana, my SIL decided to spend part of the week on the beach.  Not really understanding the many cities within minutes of each other, she booked a place in St. Pete Beach about forty minutes from my house.  I made sure to complain about that every chance I got.

They came in at night so we didn't hang around the hotel after they checked in, but I found my brief view of the facility to be spectacular. The lobby was very spacious with the front desk area, a large sitting area with comfy couches arranged in a circle for easy conversation, an area to play games or cards, and another sitting with couches and funky chairs. The walls were very beach themed and the smell of coconuts wafted through the entire lobby. The front desk clerk informed me that the scent was piped in through the ceiling to create the beachy smell.

To get to their room we left through the back of the lobby and out into a beautiful courtyard surrounding the pool with plenty of palm trees and flowering plants. It made for a lovely walk, especially in the evening with soft light and music playing from speakers placed in the foilage.  The room was a good size for two people, although the bathroom was quite tiny. There were two beds covered in pristine, white bedding under a hodge podge of framed photographs on the wall. There was a couch decorated in fifties stripes and bright, neon colors in a little alcove next to the bathroom, and a combination dresser and desk that housed a television. The floors were wood and the walls an off white. I thought it charming and very surf style. I left before the discovery was made of crackers and food on the floor, a lack of towels, and only one half used roll of toilet paper. The phone to connect with the front desk only offered a busy signal and so they had to hike back and forth through the courtyard to communicate with the hotel.

I met them for breakfast the next morning at the hotel. It was pouring down rain and that forecast was scheduled for the entire day, a rare thing in these parts. The waiter in the hotel restaurant was attentive and entertaining as we were the only guests there for quite some time. The food was good and the prices quite unexpectedly inexpensive. We drank coffee in the lobby in the sitting area and caught up on our lives. Gabby took selfies in the photo booth and investigated some of the hung photographs. We got brave and hiked down to the private beach after breakfast just to see it, but our shoes got soaked and we gave up. I drove them back to my part of town and we visited Grandma in rehab and hung with the girls after school.

They had better weather the next two days on the beach, but did not fare so well with their hotel. The second night the air conditioning broke and the thermostat stuck on 60 degrees and they froze in their room. The next day repair took up several prime tanning hours and in the end wasn't fixed and the air conditioning turned off.  That night they were too hot. Despite being mostly unoccupied, the hotel staff never discussed moving them into a better functioning room and seemed quite indifferent when alerted to the fact the room and conditions were less than satisfactory. They did take $50 off of the final bill, but after our experience with Hampton Inn's refund policy that was almost a slap in the face.

I know that my family will not stay at the Postcard Inn again. Had it been more then what they got we might all have spent some time there this summer, despite the distance from my house. Instead my SIL spent time searching closer beaches for her next spring break trip hotel. Of course, the next set of accommodations on this trip were more then adequate and came complete with in house and outside animals and a chef which more then made up for the disappointment of the Postcard Inn.  But that is for the next post.

5 things to start the week

1. My family is coming into town tonight for a week of sun and fun.  My niece and my SIL are escaping the cooler spring Indiana weather to venture south for their spring break week.  The first few days they will spend residing on the beach because they wanted to experience Florida beach living they didn't want to interrupt our school schedule. The rest of the week will be spent at our house where I think I will get them up at 5:30 a.m. with me so that they will be ready to drive to the beach.  Either way we are excited to see them.
2. Today I heard on the radio that getting up an hour earlier each morning and spending it outside in the sun will help you lose weight. At first I was all over that. I mean, I live in Florida so we have sun pretty much 24/7 and sitting outside for an hour to lose weight is way easier then lifting weights at the gym. But then I got to thinking exactly what does an hour earlier mean? I get up now at 5:30 and trust me the sun isn't even awake at that hour so getting up at 4:30 surely isn't what the research meant. So then, what constitutes an hour earlier? If I had my way I would get up at 10:00 every morning so does that mean getting up at 9:00 will help me lose weight? I hate when the radio announcers throw this sort of stuff around without clarifying. No wonder I can't lose weight.
3. My mother is progressing in the strength department in rehab while she receives daily antibiotics through a PICC line. She is slowly shaping up all the employees and has even joined in some of the activities, reading poetry and trying to win at bingo. The foot wound closes a teeny tiny bit each week, but still drains quite a bit. She is in the last week of her 6 weeks of IV antibiotics, and then I suppose she goes home to see if she can continue to fight off the infection. There is no cure, only keeping it at bay.
4. School is fast coming to a close and I know that summer will race by in a blur. I'm trying to nudge my soon to be college bound daughter into getting together a list of schools to visit, but she is too busy with high school, sleeping, and ignoring the fact that the college application entry date is fast approaching. Those who have gone through the experience tell me to relax and that it will all work out in the end. My youngest just wants to have a summer vacation that doesn't include college visits, but does include spending time with the "boyfriend". I've decided they need to get jobs so they don't spend the whole summer sleeping until noon because by golly, that's what I had to do back in the day. (Insert both girls rolling their eyes)
5. I have watched both Final Four tournaments this year and so far only one team that I cheered on made it.  Go Notre Dame Women! I've never been a fan of the Connecticut women's team because for some reason I don't care for their coach, Geno Auriemma. I think it has to do with something I heard him say about my favorite coach, retired Tennessee coach Pat Summitt, but seriously I've just forgotten why. But I haven't changed my mind. I root for the women coaches because getting respect for female athletes and coaches is hard enough. Call me sexist. As for the men's tournament, it should be a good game as both teams have big, dominating guys, but I can't cheer for Kentucky players who really aren't interested in college. But how fun will campus be on Wednesday if both UConn teams bring home the wins?

Trying something new for the blog

I have written before about my inability to cook well. I blame some of it on my mother who had no patience with my wanting to measure and follow recipes to a tee method, and some of it on my Home Economics teacher who taught me that very method. Through the years I have learned some skills and I have recipes that I'm famous for, like my caesar salad. But for the most part I am not a chef. If I ever had the chance to do over some of my life I shall work harder at having a more lucrative career so that I can afford a personal chef.

In the meantime I limp along with the tried and true recipes I have and frantically peruse the Internet for new ideas. Every Thursday in our local paper we have a Taste section that has different articles on different recipes, foods, wines, etc. There is a section that tells me what produce is in abundance at this time of the year and a section that lists a weeks worth of meal ideas. There is usually a main article with follow up recipes on that topic and now there is a new section called the Cook Club that gives a weekly recipe that you can follow and then Tweet or Instagram about. I actually made one of those recipes and put it on both social media outlets getting several re-tweets and a shout out from the paper for doing so.

My problem, however, is finding recipes that don't have some strange ingredient in it. I hate getting excited about a recipe only to find it needs something in it that I have never heard of before. Immediately, along with recipes that include items I hate, I chuck the recipe out the window and move on.  This week in our Taste section I found several items that I thought tasty.  Two were from a local woman who eats healthy and is a runner, two things I do neither of but was willing to overlook. For lunch she likes to make a kale salad with a pumpkin smoothie. The picture of it looked delicious and so I moved to read the recipes. The kale salad called for odd ingredients like "hemp, flax or avocado" oil but also said I could use extra-virgin olive oil which I do use so I ignored the weird oils. Next came pure maple syrup which I considered a waste of a purchase because my kids would not eat that and whatever I didn't use would go to waste and pure maple syrup isn't cheap. But I figured I could eat at Cracker Barrel and bring home the little bottle of pure syrup I get with my order of blackberry pancakes. Next came an English cucumber. What the hell is that? No biggie, I would use the kind of cucumber I'm familiar with, and I would ignore the next ingredient of hemp seeds which was optional. Sounded okay and somewhat doable despite the handful of pomegranate seeds. The Creamy Pumpkin Smoothie, on the other hand, had ingredients like rolled oats, chia seeds, blackstrap molasses and coconut whipped cream, which turned out to be another recipe I would have to make that called for scraped vanilla bean.  Huh? Who has that crap in their kitchen? Not me.

I chucked those recipes out the window and moved down the page to a beautiful picture of a lemon breakfast bun, an Easter twist to the cinnamon roll.  Hmmm...this was right up my non healthy, no running lifestyle. I checked out the recipe which included sugar, check, zest of lemon, check, loaves of bread dough, check, lemon juice, check, and lemon curd.  What?  Lemon curd? Immediately, I chucked the recipe out the window. Where would I even find that in the grocery store?

But then I got to thinking that maybe I should at least attempt to try something new each week from this section of the paper and blog about it. Step out of my comfort zone. Get to know my grocer better. So I kept the recipe and looked up lemon curd on the Internet. Apparently it is something you make, of course, and it can be made ahead of time. The recipe in the paper, however, called for ready made lemon curd so I have added that to my shopping list and will attempt to find it in the grocery.  Because Easter is coming and because lemons are available right now and because why not start out with a hard recipe that calls for rolling bread dough into a shape?  Stay tuned!

Sticky Lemony Breakfast Buns

April Fools Day Prank

April Fools Day falls right next to St. Patrick's Day in my book; far down the list of holidays. I looked up the history of the day, but learning it did not move it up the list. The history is goobley gook just like the day, and next year I refuse to celebrate it, participate in it, and shall hide out all day in my house away from phones or the door. Why? Because I seem to fall for tricks played on this day.

Back in the ancient days of my childhood, this holiday was simple. We did silly things to one another with the old staple, "Your shoe is untied", which I admit I did yesterday to the eldest daughter who fell for it and then rolled her eyes when I shouted, "April Fools!"  April Fools Day was a fun, trickery day that kept us on our toes just like wearing green or getting pinched on St. Patrick's Day. No one did mean or cruel things that I can remember.

Several years ago my friend Cheryl's husband, Michael, who owns a car repair business called me at home and left this message: "Cara, it's Michael.  Listen, where are you? Toby Keith is here at the shop getting his car worked on. He and his tour guys are sitting around playing guitar. You've got to hurry and get down here." When I got home and heard the message I immediately called him and he told me he couldn't stall much longer and for me to hurry. I thought it a true possibility because he was touring through Florida at the time. I hung up the phone, shaking and panting, and ran frantically around my house gathering up keys and my purse and changing my shirt as a way to freshen up. It wasn't until I was actually in my car ready to back out of my driveway that I stopped to think.  "Wait. Toby Keith is a Ford man. He touts Ford. Why would he be at Michael's import car shop?" I sat and thought some more and I got out of the car, called him back up, and asked that very question. He said, "April Fools!" and I proceeded to curse him out. He thought it the most hilarious thing ever and pretty much calls me each year to mention Toby Keith so that he can laugh some more. He did not call me yesterday which is probably why I fell for the next trick.

Darcy's new beau (I hate using the word boyfriend) and family know my Steelers buddy who I watch the games with each week. That came out in some conversation regarding soccer, and so after meeting the beau's parents and discussing our mutual friends, I texted my buddy and his wife and gave them the scoop.They in turn assured me the kid was a good one and the family good people. Yesterday my buddy sent me a text that said, "I just spoke with Darcy's mother-in-law at the soccer field." He went on to tell me that spring soccer had started and his youngest was going to give it a try. We snickered over the young "lovers" via text and then he told me something shocking. He said he was checking out the hot soccer moms because he and his wife were on the outs.

I thought at first he meant they had a fight, but then he said it was amicable and it would be a quick ending without any fighting. I was shocked and didn't believe him. He assured me it was true. I joked that I hoped he kept the satellite dish and the football package, sort of just playing along with his nonsense. I had forgotten completely about what day it was, but didn't believe for an instant that he and his wife were calling it quit. Then he said no go on the dish as he was moving out and into a one bedroom apartment. I said I didn't believe him. He told me they hadn't told many people. I was shocked and told my daughter who was shocked. We got all depressed thinking about his two daughters. We had all met in Lamaze class with our first girls so I wasn't taking the news so well. I sat, unsure of what he was texting. Then I remembered it was April 1st and I told him so and called him a not-so-nice name. He texted back he wasn't joking. He was serious. I said his anniversary was coming up and he said 21 years with the same person was just hard for anyone. He told me to call his wife. I said I was calling his mother. He told me to go ahead. He seemed so sincere, or at least, I read it as he was so sincere. I told him I was sad, sorry, and sent him hugs.

For two hours I grieved. I went back over all the Sundays at their house during football season wondering if I had missed the signs. Madison kept talking about their children and how sad it was. When Tom got home I told him and he too felt sad, although he will never admit that now. I had been having a decent night and was enjoying the General Hospital Anniversary show when he texted, but I couldn't even finish it. I wandered around my house in a daze, wondering if I should call his wife, worried about his children. I thought about convincing them to see a therapist.

Then something else happened to take my mind off of their problems, and while I was dealing with that crazy issue, my buddy texted me that his wife was home and that he was out getting gas.  "Call her," he texted. "Talk to her". I told my husband, "Does he want me to try to talk her out of it? I'm not sure what even happened. What should I do?" I texted back to my buddy that maybe she wouldn't be happy that he told me. He told me to call her. I texted her instead. She waited some time and then texted back, "You know my husband. He is stuck with you for the long haul. Or at least until the kids are out of the house. LOL" Huh? I sat wondering what the hell that meant. Was she blaming me? Then she texted that she meant with her, not me, and through several more texts I found out he was April Fooling me.  "For the record", she texted," I didn't think it was funny when he told me what he had done, but you know my husband."

The rest of the night was me calling him naughty, nasty, things via text to his phone. His wife texted me that he was "over here laughing his ass off".  Who does that sort of a prank? By the time the texting was done for the night I was snickering, but deep down I was relieved and a tad giddy that it was not true.  But I was also pissed.  Who does that? Who finds that funny? "Well, why would you fall for that on this day," my husband kept saying to me when I asked that question out loud, like he hadn't sat around speculating with me on their failed marriage.

I always swore that some day I would get back Michael for the trick he played on me, and now I have to add Scott to the list. Last night I had some ideas, but they all involved darts and knives and his picture and since he works in law enforcement with my husband that would have just gotten me into trouble. No, no, I have to retaliate in some other way...some nice, respectful, non violent way. But also on a day that isn't April Fools. Because next year I will be holed up in my house with the windows and doors shut!

The best of the best

During swim season this fall, my youngest complained of her shoulder hurting. She said it kept popping out of place and she made us feel her shoulder at least once a day. I didn't take it too seriously because she always has some type of injury while playing sports. During football season it was allergies. During soccer it was her foot. During basketball it was her leg. Now the shoulder. Sometimes it would hurt her. Sometimes it was fine because it "popped back in". I made some noise about getting it checked, but never did anything.  

One day during her telling me of her day she mentioned the school trainer. I asked her how she knew the trainer. She told me she had gone with another swimmer to see the woman about her shoulder. The trainer took a look at it and gave her some exercises to do. Darcy did them, returned to the trainer, who told her that after the swim season she should get her shoulder looked at by a doctor. Feeling a bit chagrined, I promised to do just that. But then I didn't because after swimming the pain went away.

Then one day she got up wrong and the shoulder popped again so I called our pediatrician. The office, which is open 365 days a year, had recently started offering night time hours for sick patients and the office manager scheduled me for that. I was unaware that those visits were seen by a nurse practitioner, someone I had never met. While I have nothing against nurse practitioners, I didn't feel that this type of appointment fell within her category, and I was right. She examined the shoulder, agreed it needed further evaluation, and gave me a list of orthopedists. She could only recommend one from the list since she wasn't familiar with any of the others having not lived in this area. The one she recommended was with the children's hospital. I left that appointment none too happy as I was hoping for at least an x-ray.

The next morning I researched my insurance providers and picked two doctors that fell on both lists. I wanted someone who dealt with sports injuries, but apparently that doesn't make the list of information on my insurance website. The first doctor was from a local practice that Connie and I have both used previously and one that didn't exactly impress me. The second name I liked because he was affiliated with the children's hospital as well as another hospital so I got the feeling he worked with children as well as adults. I called and asked for some recommendations from the woman in charge of referrals. I asked for an orthopedist specializing in sports, but the woman acted like I was asking for a million dollars. She gave me the name of the first group and then agreed with my second name when I mentioned him. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but welcome to healthcare in 2014.

I called the second guy, set up an appointment, and filled out paperwork downloaded from his website. I obviously did not read his website, but just followed his assistant's directions to the paperwork and printed it. I vaguely remember thinking I would come back to the website, but then Connie ended up in the hospital and time got away from me. Next thing I knew we were in his waiting room for the appointment.

When we walked in the place there were ten patients sitting in chairs lined up around the walls of the room. The center of the room was empty save for a tiled floor of a baseball diamond. The walls, and I mean every wall, were covered with framed photos, newspaper articles, movie posters, autographs, and letters.  A huge flat screen television dominated the room tuned to ESPN. As I stood in line at the check-in desk, I began reading those frames closet to me, the first one an autographed picture of Dick Vitale thanking the doctor for fixing him up. That led me to read the next frame, a picture of  a professional baseball player thanking the surgeon for getting them back on the field.  By the time we were called into the back office, two and a half hours later, the waiting room was standing room only and filled with high school sports players, and I had researched the guy to discover he was the team physician for the Tampa Bay Rays and considered one of the top ten surgeons in the world of professional baseball.

My eye doctor's office has framed autographed photos of famous athletes the surgeon have worked on, but those hardly compared to the walls of this doctor. Every room was covered with frames. He has repaired the bodies of baseball players, wrestlers, basketball players, tennis players, golfers, body builders, swimmers, triathletes, football players, runners, and pretty much all of our county's world class high school athletes. I didn't see a sport that he hadn't done some work on somebody. I read all of the newspaper articles in every room I was seated in, and by the time the man himself entered the room I was primed to ask for his autograph myself. Plus, I was patting myself on the back for finding the guy...by accident and luck.

The first guy who entered the room was young and tiny. Having seen pictures of the famous surgeon I knew this guy was not him. I have no idea who this guy was as he did not introduce himself. He did apologize for our long wait, but since the good doctor only holds office visits on Tuesdays and follow up surgical visits on Thursday it is normal. Darcy sat on a table facing the only wall without frames. It held instead a huge mirror that covered the entire wall in length. This guy, in a doctor's coat, stood behind her and examined her shoulder after listening to her explanation of the problem. He immediately agreed with her "popping" explanation and said she would need surgery.  "But we will let the doctor take a look at her and see what he has to say, but it is definitely posterior." He smiled and left the room. Immediately, I felt guilt at having ignored the problem for so long. Then came annoyance at whoever that guy was marching in here and declaring surgery. Then came relief at finding the best sports surgeon in our area if it came to surgery. Then came panic at what my husband, he of the belief that all doctors are quacks (yes, his own brother is a doctor), was going to say. Then came annoyance again at how quickly surgery was diagnosed especially without an MRI. Then came the guilt again. By the time the real doctor arrived in our room I was a mess of emotions.

He entered the room and immediately filled it with his presence. He is a big guy, well over six feet and he reminded me of Penn Jillette from Penn and Teller. He came into the room all smiles, his handshake strong, and he immediately read Darcy.  "She's an athlete," he said. "I can tell by the body.  Long arms. Swimmer? What stroke? My guess is butterfly." He listened to Darcy tell her tale regarding her arm. He stood behind her and rotated both shoulders. He asked her tons of questions regarding her workouts, her dry land training, and her sports history. He told her she had the shoulders and the arm to be a pitcher. He had her lie down and messed around with both arms and shoulders. "Well," he said, "it's good news. No surgery. Rehab. Tons of rehab. Although I do want an MRI just to make sure the labrum isn't torn. I don't think it will show anything, but we should make sure." I admit I stuck my tongue out at the other guy who had accompanied the great surgeon into the room.

Darcy before the MRI

I liked him. He spent time explaining his diagnosis; multi-directional instability. He talked directly to Darcy, but also included me. He had a sense of humor.  When we returned two weeks after the MRI he went over the films which showed inflammation, but nothing that needed surgery. He gave us a sheet of recommended rehab centers and lectured Darcy on doing her exercises.  He wished her well and sent us on our way. Hopefully he wouldn't have to see us again.

Whew!  Now I just have to put my magic fingers on researching rehab facilities.