Warning: I usually correct spelling/grammar mistakes on this blog but with my current limited motion, no way Ray. So, hum along with me and try your best to figure out my mistakes, ok?
Yesterday, I was slowly, painfully preparing for work. When you have lmtd use of ones hands, this can suck. Brushing teeth was a feat. Flossing? Forget it. And i fucking refuse to let Bing floss my teeth.
Bing, who is busy preparing for a long summer of being away working at a think tank for teachers to help solve cyber bullying and then on to a beloved Apple seminar, came in to talk and help.
Liv will be leaving with her Father on July 7 to go to his dig in the Appalachians. They won't return until the week before school starts up again. Bing is scheduled to leave for New Orleans on the 7th as well. The plan was that she would go to the ten day session on cyber bullying and then I would meet her there for some R & R the following week and then I'd head back home and she would go on to San Diego to her Apple seminar.
Well, my doctor doesn't want me traveling. My blood work isn't good, RA is flaring like a motherfucker and anemia is not responding well to treatment. Same old same old. So, unless some big miracle occurs, it will be just me and Socks the wonderdog holding down the homestead from July 7 til Liv gets back on August 7th and Bing, August 10th. Bing was thinking she should come home and take care of me instead of visiting her relatives in New Orleans. I nixed that. I am a functioning adult, well...pretty much. I WILL NOT be babysat. I have a sister and bff within driving distance. I will be fine. We batted it around as we navigated my now complicated dressing process.
Forget makeup. I can't hold a lipstick well enough to navigate my lips and Bing will make me look like a Joan Rivers drag queen.
Suit. Ugh. Shoes. Ugh. Hair. Double ugh. I told Bing that she can just forget about her second career as a hair stylist. She couldn't even navigate a barrette.
I was sitting on the bed wincing as she tried to help me put sandals on my feet. She accidentally knocked into one of my ugly sausage sized purply fingers. I screamed. She apologized profusely. She bent in front of me to continue navigating my foot into said shoe. Wait, she wanted to stop. She thought that my hammer toe looked off color.
"It's just a shadow, Bing," I sighed.
There are just no words to say how much I hate it that my wife has to help me dress. I can do it by myself if I have to, but it takes longer. Besides this way she gets to see all those lovely flaws of mine, That gorgeous hammer toe! Swollen up fingers. My breasts, although never large, were once perky and attentive. Now, they feel like dried up prunes to me.
I sort of laughed and said that I hoped she didn't want some quickie morning sex because I knew that hammer toe was a piece of sexy that just can't be ignored.
Bing smiled and leaned gently against my bed, sitting on the floor at my feet.
"You're plenty sexy to me, Maria," she said. "You know it's hard for me to watch you so helpless too. I KNOW you. I see how it just kills you, this dependence. But, seriously? Under this roof in this house? Every single thing I love and need."
I reached down and stroked her hair with my good fingers. I thought to myself that, at that moment, I loved this woman with every single strand of my soul. Every. Single. Strand.
"Please don't try and give me a pep talk and tell me that at least I'm not stuck in a wheelchair," I said.
She smiled, pointed at the window.
I looked and....wow...there it was....that poor orchid that I had rescued from Betsy's office at work. She is not a plant person and it was in sorry shape. I offered to take it home and give it some TLC. She practically threw it into my hands, so deep was her relief. i took it home but in spite of lots of coffee grounds, a few eggs shells, watering with ice instead of water, and finally repotting it in a bigger, lovely blue pot, it was not faring much better. The leaves were healthy and green but I doubted that it would ever produce a bloom again.
And there it was. A small shoot of purple peeking out of that orchid.
That orchid was blooming. In our bedroom.
It had made it.
As Emily says, "hope is the thing with feathers...'