It had been at least 42 days since it had rained. I don’t know if that was a record, because I’m kind of a take-the-weather-as-it-comes kind of girl. But I can tell you that in the past six-week draught, my yard not only yielded its green, but took on the smell of stale straw–a marked absence of sweetness and softness. And while I don’t really think much about the weather, my soul and body are another matter completely.

It had been overcast all day. Driving home, my husband complained that every place north, south, east, and west has had rain, but not us. Today would be no different, he said. His pessimism annoyed me. The clouds were soupy and nothing was casting shadows. I had only just begun to hope.  I gently suggested that we should be thankful that our livlihoods are not directly dependent upon the rain.

And so, a few hours later, when I glanced out our front door to see a few spots dotting the front porch, it seemed reasonable to feel just a little bit delighted. Finally. The rain made it to us. Of course, I knew it eventually would, but the wait was long. And my body and my soul and my yard are just so thirsty. And hot. And I’ve been waiting without realizing I was waiting. And maybe, just maybe, the waiting is worse than the thirst and the heat.


There is suspended emotion for which there is a weight in my heart, but no person, place, time, or memory upon which to attach it. In the rain, that suspended emotion is no longer homeless. In the rain, the ambiguity makes sense. Everyday, we pour our lives into the universe. Our life forces evaporate into the atmosphere, but we never disappear. They collect in the streams of our lifetimes, which are but tributaries to the rivers of family histories, and eventually lead to oceans of human experience.

But sometimes we return to ourselves. Sometimes as condensation on a glass, when an old memory captures the light and changes how we see the here and now.  Sometimes as a deluge, when past decisions and circumstances force us from our comfortable places. And sometimes, as rain. Rain returns to us that which is least explainable yet most fundamental in ourselves. Neither an incidental residue nor a major reckoning of the past, rain is what we give to the universe that returns and beckons us to consider what is mysterious and eternal within us. Yet so often, we try to shelter ourselves from it.

I had been waiting upon this rain without realizing how much I had been yearning for it. And so, when it arrived with its perfume and song, something in my primal soul rejoiced, and rejoices still. I stepped into it, letting it soak me utterly as my skin tingled, and my muscles relaxed, and my hair soaked, and my eyes closed, and my lungs breathed, and my heart beat, and my lips smiled. The sweetness and softness of my little world returned.

In the rain, our misty vapors rise again. Ever ambiguous. Ever etheral. Always returning. Always rejoicing.


Poison Ivy & Monty Python and the Holy Grail: an allegory


This is what I presented to my doctor this afternoon. This is after the standard six-day course of prednisone. Yeah, that rash basically looked that steriod directly in the face, said insulting things about its mother, and then farted in its general direction. And the medication basically retreated all King Arthur ala Monty Python-like, leaving the rash the battlefield to do as it pleased to my body.


Miserable coward.

So, I went to the doctor and she gave me something a bit more formidable. Something bigger and a lot less wussy, something more along the lines of Tim the Enchanter.


Hells, YEAH! Now we’re talkin!

So, instead of a measly 84 mg of prednisone over six days, now I get 510 mg over 14 days. And a side of hydroxyzine to help with the itching. I like to think of it as the Killer Rabbit at the Cave of Caerbannog, keeping the rash huddled in fear lest it think about advancing any further across my body.


This bunny will straight-up rip out your jugular.

As if Tim and the Killer Rabbit weren’t enough, my doctor complimented my sandals. She’s a good doctor.

I can see that my association with Tim and the Rabbit over the next two weeks is going to be interesting. Tim can cause insomnia while the Rabbit may induce drowsiness. So far I feel completely wired. Honestly, if I could go out and run a 5k, then fight the Black Knight, then organize all my closets tonight, I would.


I noticed even with the wimpy King Aurthur dose, that I wanted to eat everything. Or maybe it was just something. Something that I couldn’t exactly put my finger on, dammit. Well, the craving is back with a vengeance, and we are talking a powerful ambiguous craving that not even Taco Bell could satisfy. Tonight I am dying for a chocolate chip cookie, which I don’t have in the house right now. So I satisfied my sweet tooth by drinking two cups of sweet, warm tea and eating cool whip straight from the bowl. I may need some kind of intervention by the end of the week if I don’t find a way to satisfy this craving.

Tim can make people puffy, and I feel it in my elbows and knees. He can also cause acne. As if my skin needed any more attacks. Why don’t you just catapult a cow at me while you’re at it.


Whose side are you on anyway, Tim?

After just the first day with the higher dosage and anti-itch medication, I’m feeling better. At least, I’m not itching as much. Tomorrow morning will be interesting, since I usually have several patches of “new” rash when I wake up.


The doctor says it may take a month before it all clears up. I guess I can wait.

Until then, gang, stay cool and watch funny movies!

Stuff I Could Do Without: June 2012 edition

It has been a long time since I compiled a pet-peeve list, but I’d like to purge my aggravations and start July off with a clean slate. I promise to keep it to June 2012 incidents:

1. Last week I metaphorically gave Fate and superstition the finger and boldly pointed out to John that our washer and dryer are approaching 14 years old and we have never had one single, solitary issue with either one of them. Then my dryer abruptly stopped working. The repair was about $120, and the repairman told us that further repairs would be necessary soon. S’yeeeah… I guess we’re in the market for a new dryer. I just hope that Fate doesn’t double-down and decide to mess with our washer too.

2. I feel like a jerk for writing this because at this moment they are cuddled up sweetly together, but the girls’ bickering back and forth–GAH! They did so well together while we were in Florida, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. They argue about all the stupid crap sisters usually argue about, but the way they argue has this tween-age girl drama in which everything is Such A Big Deal, and they have both been So Wronged, and How Dare She Do That To Me. Considering Little Miss G is nine, and Super L is only six years old, I know that this is Just The Beginning. I’ve been telling John for years that when Super L is 12 and Little Miss G is  15, we are soooo incredibly In For It. I think he sees that now.

3. Summer has come blasting in like some kind of demon-possessed wench with a vengeance. We are on the third consecutive day of temps over 100, with a forecast of at least three more. It’s currently 9 p.m. and 91 face-melting degrees. On Tuesday a cool front is supposed to come through and it will only reach 95. Oh yipee.

Last and definitely not least….

4. I have poison ivy. Badly. I’ve been trying not to complain about it because I got it doing a good deed for somebody I love, and I don’t want to taint something that I feel good about with negativity. In fact, I kind of scoffed earlier this week about the poison ivy and the dryer breaking because both those incidents happened, coincidentally, as I was doing something for someone else. I made the remark that if the devil was trying to deter me from staying the course, it wasn’t going to work and that I actually found it funny. Well, I’m staying the course — I’m still trying to put love into action,  but I’m not laughing any more. Every morning I wake up to find a new section of my arms, legs or torso infiltrated by whelps and rash. This is even with a six-day course of prednisone.  I told John that I’d be curious to know what my blood pressure is right now, because I am sure it’s elevated. I can feel the stress in my sometimes trembling hands, low-grade headache, shallow breathing and slightly tight feeling in my chest. All from higher blood pressure induced by the constant resistance to scratch.

5. [Related to 4]. All the conflicting advice on how to treat poison ivy. Calomine lotion or not? Hydrocortizone cream or not? Aveeno bath or not? Oral steroids or not? I’ve tried it all. Some relieve the itch, but clearly nothing has stopped the spreading. The internet, as usual, is full of home remedies. The most infuriating to me are those nitwits who post answers like “Don’t scratch it!” Really? As if that needed to be made loud and clear. I have succeeded about 98% of the time this past week to not scratch, and when I do relent, I keep it light and local (so as not to aggravate the itchy patch more or spread the rash to unaffected areas). Despite my self control, this rash has spread from exactly 3 tell-tale, small marks on Monday to full-on rashy ickiness covering about half of the area all of my extremeties.

So what about you? Is there anything you’d like to do away with before July arrives? Feel free to vent those frustrations here. It’s a safe place.


A public service announcement regarding responsible shirt wearing.

Men, the occasions in which you can politely subject strangers to your shirtless selves are clear and finite. And they follow:

at a water park or public pool

while doing your own yardwork, in the relative privacy of being on your own property

if you are Lenny Kravitz — then, honey, you don’t need to wear a shirt, EVER.

(I rest my case on this point)

Please note that the following times are not appropriate for going shirtless:

at concerts

at carnivals or county fairs

especially not while walking down Main Street in your shorts and sandals with socks

Please plan and dress accordingly.

When the ship becomes the anchor.

Last weekend I read through some of these archives, particularly posts from the winter months, and after doing so it seems this conclusion has been an inevitability for so very long.

I do not know what is around the bend. I cannot tell if the clouds are scattering or if they’re gathering. But now that I’ve let go, I can see the blue skies so much more clearly despite the hazy horizon. Every morning I rise feeling a little lighter than the day before.

My heart has always floated on the wind. My spirit yearns to follow the river, to see what’s around that next bend. When I walk in the woods, I’m never ready to turn back and go home. So I guess I shouldn’t be suprised that the more I drift, the more centered I am in my spirit…the closer I am to God.

Maybe anywhere the wind blows is all worth waiting for.

Still green.

I’m never ready for a new year. I always have unfinished business from the year before, and while I’ll put on my happy face for the sake of New Years celebrations, the truth is I always carry a nagging sense of failure as the year draws to a close. Another year that I didn’t accomplish or do one thing or another.

Cheerful and uplifting, huh?

I have to break the 2012 ice somehow, so I’ll do it with honesty.

Yesterday, John suggested we take a walk, and I took my camera along. I got some nice shots, and this one is my favorite. It’s not technically great, but I love the way the light hits the moss and illuminates the water.

Even though winter has just settled in, there’s still light. And there is still green. And I am still here.

Ahem. [taps microphone]

Anybody out there?

Well, where do I begin?

Maybe with an, “I’m BAAAACK!”

Or maybe with just a whisper, “I am here. I am here. I am here.”

Or maybe I just start writing as though I never really stopped.

Truth is nothing much more in my life is any more settled, completed, worked out, or put into order than it was when I took this hiatus in August.

Truth is life is just as busy and complicated as ever.

Truth is that it was nice to have one less thing to fuss/tinker with and distract me from the things I should be doing.

Truth is sometimes I’m uncomfortable with the title of this blog because I know I’m not “Lucky.” I know that I am Blessed–and abundantly. But I hope that my friends know that I know that. But who am I writing for, anyway?

Truth is there isn’t much to tell. And what there is to tell, I haven’t really delved into very deeply myself.

Truth is that I’m not sure how frequently I’ll be writing here, but I am officially opening the door.

I am here. I am here. I am here.


Hello, my poor little neglected blog. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I am at a crossroads in which there are things that I absolutely have to do that simply don’t allow time for…you. And me. In this way. As in, the trajectory of my career will be significantly impacted if I don’t put things in the proper order and act accordingly.

Don’t worry, I’m not about to lose my job. But, the path within my career is dependant upon my developing resources and spending my intellectual efforts elsewhere. Also, my spiritual health depends on keeping things in the proper order and perspective. You, little blog, have been instrumental to that health, but now it’s time to make room for some other things. Anyway, you’ve probably noticed in the last month what I’ve had to do.

I promise you, if you will allow me to demote you from the back-burner to being taken completely OFF the stove for a few months,  I promise that we, you and I, we will both come back better than ever. I just know it.

Don’t worry about our reader(s), little blog. Most of them know where to find me even when I’m flying pretty low under the radar. And if they don’t, well, we’ll get them back. Somehow I know we’ll get them back.

See you around Christmas 2011!

With much love and thankfulness to anyone who has ever perused these pages,  xoxo, One Lucky Girl