Perhaps it was a conspiracy, but that Saturday morning when I woke up and went through my routine, three light bulbs had burned out. Three? Really? Was it something I said? No problem. I can handle that. Downstairs I went to the bin in which I invested heavily in the “old” kinds of light bulbs before they are taken off the market (My personal favorite).
I then had a hankering for oatmeal—it’s been a long time. So I went to the cupboards to snag some quick oats. Somebody must have thought that leaving the remaining teaspoon in there would be meaningful someday. Down I go to the extended pantry. Ah…oatmeal.
Brown sugar, fruit, and milk would be great with breakfast. Naturally, Hubby ate the last of the grapes, and there’s no brown sugar in the bin. *sigh* Down I go, back to the pantry. Freeze-dried blueberries and brown sugar. Perfect. Thank goodness he left me enough raw milk. Fortunately I made bread last night—trying my hand at rye bread, actually—and there’s plenty of toast.
There’s a knock on the door. It was a timid knock. I open the door to see the little girl from across the street crying because she scraped her knee riding a neighbor’s toy bike. Apparently her mom was in the shower and couldn’t help her. While I have to admit I don’t think that I would have used a bandage on her knee, I knew that I did have the Disney Princess bandages downstairs. Nothing like Cinderella on your knee to brighten the day, eh? It seemed to stop the tears at least.
Independent at Home:
As I shut the door, I didn’t think I slammed it, yet one of my favorite pictures in the front room decided to leap off of the wall, scaring the bejeebies out of me as it did so. Instinctively I reached for my right hip, ready to take action against a home invader. Sheepishly I see that it was just a large picture, but I was glad to know that my instincts were still intact, even if I was still wearing my nightgown and was otherwise helpless against that big, bad picture frame. However, having my picture hit the floor for no apparent reason, breaking the bottom frame at the seams called for another “fix” (no wonder I was still in my PJ's). So I went to the “fix it” closet—because I’ve got too much stuff just for a drawer—and retrieved the heavy duty glue that I got free with a coupon because I thought “it might be useful some day.” I also snagged some hanging cable to strengthen the picture’s position on the wall, rather than relying on the tiny hooks that came with it any longer. Fifteen minutes later my tranquil Oceanside scene was returned to its place on the wall, hopefully to stay until an earthquake decides to invade my home.
Changing into my workout clothes I think of a hundred and one reasons why I simply do not have time for “this” today. After all, didn’t I get enough exercise running up and down the stairs? But I remember my goal of becoming more physically independent and reliable so that if something serious were to ever happen I wouldn’t be a liability to my husband, whose talents lie in protecting and caring for others in tough times. I didn’t want to feel guilty anymore that I might distract him when his sharp senses were needed most. As I pump away at the heavy steps on the elliptical, I listen to a lecture about the alternative health care still practiced by the Native American Indians today. Did I just write that? Who knew I'd turn out so "peculiar" as an adult? I hated it when I had to watch those Disney Nature shows on "The Wonderful World of Disney" as a kid. And now here I was volunteering during a physical torture session to listen to the same kind of stuff.
Finished with the workout and satisfied that I pushed the duration a few minutes longer, I looked forward to a hot shower where I can mull over the implementation of alternative health I had learned. I couldn’t help but take a little pride in the homemade exofoliant sitting on the shelf which I had just made recently for my face and skin, completely void of the typical toxins and chemicals which sell for $100 a pint. I also felt an unexplainable relief in noticing that I had finally rid the bathtub tiles of their rusted outlines thanks to another homemade concoction. As I stepped into the shower, entreated by a warm, pulsating water presser, my enthusiasm was abruptly cut short as I was greeted by a cold stream of water. Oh how I hate cold showers. It seems that my Hubby decided to try and help me out by running a load of laundry this fine morning. So I had a choice, suck it up, or be grateful for running water and simply take a faster shower. I chose the latter and just like the Philippines for a year and a half, I finally got used to the water temperature by the end of the shower.
As I got ready for the day I couldn’t help but let my mind wander over the events that played out thus far. I mentally check off each one with just a little bit of gratitude that I didn’t have to go shop for supplies at the last minute, interrupt my husband for help, or be swayed from worthwhile goals. While I anticipated that this particular morning would be a cake walk compared to one of a much more serious desperate environment, I found myself saying “Wow. I guess this was a good day to be prepared and more independent.” Fortunately I didn’t have cause to prove myself wrong as the day continued to play itself out.
A last minute request for a dinner to be provided for a family of 5, a torn hem on the bottom of my skirt, and a Yorkie who’s ready to deliver her litter of puppies any day now, I still felt in charge, calm, and independent as I made my way to my bed that night.
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