"aeh"

Mama, me and the 57 Chevy.

You see my mama's hand on my leg?

That touch meant more than just, "hey, I think I'll put my hand here."

"Slow down."
"You'll see I'm right."
"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right."
"Stop pulling the dog's ears."
"I told you not to go down to Ricky's house."
"Be quiet."
"Go get that hickory."

And most of the time, a guttural "aeh" accompanied the words she chose. That short, quick grumble delivered how she really felt. And then she would grab my leg, or specifically, the section just above my knee-cap, she'd squeeze in rhythm with the "aeh". I knew it was over, and I had lost the fight.

Even at 96 and her movements had dwindled, she still managed a "squeeze" and an "aeh". Her body wasn't as strong as it once was, but heavens, her hands could still grip. Whichever leg was closest, she'd grab, squeeze and grunt. She squeezed me. She squeezed her grand-daughter and her body-builder grandsons. We crumbled every time.

I miss that "aeh". There are days when life scurries on, and I hear that grunt escape from me.  I can't help but snicker because I realize that there's something important about to happen. It's a signal of sorts. How can I be so much like mama? I swore I would never be.

Actually, it wasn't me.  It was mama, looking down from heaven, sneaking up on me and having the last say.

writing is so hard

It's deadline week. I'm reading. I'm editing. I'm questioning. I'm rewriting.

It's hard work and exhaustive. For those of you who have hated writing since 6th grade, today is the day I totally agree with you.

Back to writing.

it's time

My thought for this morning: I'm hungry.

And, when did this become the year of 'get healthy' - in whatever way possible. Thus far, the exhaustive workouts, the Achilles Tendon repair and now, the colonoscopy, have pushed me to the limits, and I swear, I'm tired.

Another thought: I'm nervous. There's always a twinge of doubt as you look into the face that that well-meaning nurse who showers you with "It's going to be okay, sweetie" and then you inhale and pray she's right. So far, so good. Then your eyes flutter as her voice breaks your subconscious, and it's over. I've got this surgery (anesthesia) thing down-pat. At least the time-lapse segment. One, you're on the table; two, you're in the recovery. I don't care to know what happens in between one and two.

Back to I'm hungry. This is an excellent way to jump start losing weight - this colonscopy creature. Not that I recommend this to anyone (unless you're doing your fifth decade duty), but you always have to look on the bright side. You have to find the silver lining, and so this is my silver lining.

So, as Craig Ferguson said before me: "It's my birthday present to myself." (I'm early, but that's okay.) Hopefully, good news and this will be in the can (yeah, sort of a pun) for the next 10 years. You must do what you must do to see your children tomorrow, wake up next to your husband for the next million years, and completely fill that bucket list you spent so long in creating. 

But as my luck would have it, there will be another something, something that will rear its ugly head, and say, "Hey, Judy, It's time."And like a good girl, I'll answer the call.

Post-mortem: The Day After
Fear is worse than the actual experience. Old people will tell you that. Don't fret. You're not the first to do this and you won't be the last. It was okay. The worse part? Drinking that chalky-metal clear crap the day before (chasing with apple juice was the life-saver) and the IV. For some of you, bad taste is no biggie, and for most of the world, an IV is just an arm-poke away. I'm one of the lucky ones that has a difficult time with both issues. But in the end, the procedure was painless because propofol is the best thing since sliced bread. A few issues found but nothing that being medically proactive can't fix.

So do it. Listen to your doctor and when she says, "Colonscopy?" You say, "When?"

changing directions

I'm letting go. Changing directions. Starting over at 52 doesn't have to be so bad. Hey, I started over at 48 - and I did quite well. Amazing, come to think of it. So let's do it again.

I guess the biggest challenge is starting something new, realizing that failure is an option, a gruesome thought this late in the game.The longer I live the more I come to understand that if I hold onto my fear, my warped assumptions, my 'what ifs', there's a good chance I'll be sitting in this very seat, ten years - twenty years - from now. Don't get me wrong - I like this spot. But I want more spots. More spots with a view. More successes to delete from my bucket list.

I will begin with education - isn't that ironic - the More You Know. Thanks, NBC. Then a plan. Then an execution. Throw in some patience and Voila! No more vanilla, regular, or standard for me! I'll be a over-flowing BIG GULP, a Venti with mile-high whipped topping, and a neon 'mind-blowing' Green.

Have you changed directions? What propelled you?

jumping off

Jumping off anything is problematic. Plus, it doesn't help when little people stand behind you and whine, "Just go already." It's hard enough to climb the mountain much less leap from the edge without hesitation, or at the very least, sweat. "Of course I'll go," I squeal, "just give me a sec."

And then I jump.

Alright, yes, that's my husband and not me, but I'm still plummeting right along with him - sort of! I don't breathe until I see his cute little head bobbing up and down in the water below. 

But he did it. Successfully. Without reservation. The tinge of doubt he had vanished as he took a chance, hit the water and lived to tell the tale. Lesson learned.

With that in mind, I'm jumping off. I'm taking the plunge, going head first and following my passion. I like to think it's been forming all my life, but it is only at this very moment, that passion and craft and need have collided. I'll tell you all about - that is - when I nail down the specifics. It's a picture-perfect brainchild!

Have you ever "jumped off" and wondered, "what took me so long?"