Well...it's been two weeks since my accident and when I woke up today and looked at my foot, I could actually see space between my usually swollen toes. They are still purple (and green), but they are thinner. I'm still taking it easy today and will tomorrow, too. I found someone to take my Primary class again.
I even hobbled outside briefly and saw the state of all my flower gardens. *sigh* Oh well... I won't be able to get in and weed them or prune the roses or cut some of my beautiful zinnias for a bouquet right now, but I forgot how beautiful and profuse flowers are in September. So I took a book outside, sat in my anti-gravity chair and finished it while steeling glances at the back garden and feeling the sun and a cool wind on my body.
I read in Organic Gardening to plant Morning Glories with Sunflowers so they will grow up the lanky stalks. I think that was a mistake. It looks like my sunflowers are choking as they droop over with masses of Morning Glory vines encompassing them. haha. It's from lack of supervision these last two weeks. I went out almost every day to arrange the vines on the side fence, so they are definitely rebelling from lack of discipline.
It's really amazing what a difference a split second can make in your life.
I have decided to be positive and when people ask how I'm doing, I am saying, "Better, thanks," and then believing it. It has made a world of difference since I was feeling sorry for myself because I can't do anything.
But I know that my Heavenly Father is watching out for me and my angels were working overtime. When I think what could have happened and what did happen...it makes me oh, so grateful for His love.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
It was one week yesterday that I made an unplanned stop at the emergency room.
I worked outside in the gardens in the morning, then, as the day--and heat--wore on, I decided to finish up when it cooled off in the evening.
I went inside and did my quarterly ironing (it took me 2 hours...).
Then, I sat down in front of the TV, and noticed a commercial for some paint company.
"That's what I can do!"
I looked at the cut out wall above my mantle and decided Saturday was the day I would paint it. It would probably only take about 2 hours at the most. I had bought the paint, and a new A-frame ladder months ago. If I didn't finish on Saturday, I could finish it up on Monday, Labor Day.
I was all set. I started to cut in the corners with the blue paint. Since my ceiling is vaulted, it is taller on one side. I looked at the ladder. I would need to go up one more rung. I read the directions on the ladder that said I shouldn't stand on the top step, but the next to the top step was fine. That's where I needed to go.
The next thing I knew, I was face down on the carpet and a horrible pain shot through my right ankle.
The other scrapes and bruises didn't kick in until the next day.
Suffice it to say, a young couple from church carried me to their car and drove me to the ER. Sandy came a little later and stayed with me until I was discharged, with a boot that wouldn't fit yet until the swelling went down.
*sigh*
No more ladders for me.
I hate ladders to begin with ever since I saw my dad on the ground with a compound (or was it complex) fracture of the arm when I was 12. He had fallen off a ladder while painting the house. His elbow bone was sticking out of his arm. He was in shock. So was I.
That's why I read the directions and followd them when I was on this ladder, which is now bent out of shape. I believe the ladder collapsed right under me. I don't know why.
Luckily it was Labor Day so I only missed Tuesday and Wednesday. I went back to work on Thursday and a half-day Friday.
I worked outside in the gardens in the morning, then, as the day--and heat--wore on, I decided to finish up when it cooled off in the evening.
I went inside and did my quarterly ironing (it took me 2 hours...).
Then, I sat down in front of the TV, and noticed a commercial for some paint company.
"That's what I can do!"
I looked at the cut out wall above my mantle and decided Saturday was the day I would paint it. It would probably only take about 2 hours at the most. I had bought the paint, and a new A-frame ladder months ago. If I didn't finish on Saturday, I could finish it up on Monday, Labor Day.
I was all set. I started to cut in the corners with the blue paint. Since my ceiling is vaulted, it is taller on one side. I looked at the ladder. I would need to go up one more rung. I read the directions on the ladder that said I shouldn't stand on the top step, but the next to the top step was fine. That's where I needed to go.
The next thing I knew, I was face down on the carpet and a horrible pain shot through my right ankle.
The other scrapes and bruises didn't kick in until the next day.
Suffice it to say, a young couple from church carried me to their car and drove me to the ER. Sandy came a little later and stayed with me until I was discharged, with a boot that wouldn't fit yet until the swelling went down.
*sigh*
No more ladders for me.
I hate ladders to begin with ever since I saw my dad on the ground with a compound (or was it complex) fracture of the arm when I was 12. He had fallen off a ladder while painting the house. His elbow bone was sticking out of his arm. He was in shock. So was I.
That's why I read the directions and followd them when I was on this ladder, which is now bent out of shape. I believe the ladder collapsed right under me. I don't know why.
Luckily it was Labor Day so I only missed Tuesday and Wednesday. I went back to work on Thursday and a half-day Friday.
Where were you September 11, 2001?
Since I am home nursing a sprained ankled, I have been watching all the special shows about 9/11. Some of them I have not seen before. All have been very inspirational--but sad.
I remember I was getting ready for work that morning. I never watched the "Today" show, but Matt Lauer was interviewing someone and I thought he was being very curt or rude to his guest (I don't recall who it was). It was about 8:50 a.m. and I had my toothbrush in my mouth as I was watching.
All of a sudden he said he just got word that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. I thought it was a little plane, like a Piper Cub type, some sort of joy riding pilot who was maybe drunk or had a heart attack...my mind raced on making excuses as to why that might happen.
I watched for a few minutes, then turned the TV off and got myself out the door. As I was driving to the newspaper, I heard that another pilot drove into the other Twin Tower. I thought, "What is this? Some drunken pilot convention?"
When I hit the office, my colleagues were looking for an place of business nearby with a TV set. The chiropractor, two doors down, had one. Some of the other reporters raced over to see what was going on. I stayed at my desk and listened to my headphones. I was tuned into one of the local talk shows that was preempted by what was now being called an attack. There were many theories being tossed around. I kept wondering, what happened on September 11th in the past? Was this an anniversary of some kind?
I decided I didn't want to see any of the footage, being the empath that I am. I figured I wouldn't be able to do my job if I was picturing the whole escapade in my mind. The radio was doing a fabulous job already of filling my mind with images I didn't want to see.
By the time I got home for the day I told the kids nobody was to turn on the TV. So we didn't see any of the images.
That didn't stop Timmy from imagining the worse.
The next day he refused to go to school and threw the biggest temper tantrum I'd ever seen. He finally said, through angry grunts and grimaces, body throwing and pounding arms and legs on the floor, that he was afraid to go to school; that it might be bombed.
I tried to console him by telling him that Perkasie was a very safe place and would be the last place a bomb would come, and Guth Elementary School was not a target either. We were very safe.
Nevertheless, he refused to budge and would not go to school.
So, I let him stay home--a mental health day. He certainly needed it. I spent most of the day checking up on him. He was very quiet and contemplative.
He kept refusing to go to school and it got so bad the school recommended I take him to Penn Foundation, so I called them and made an appointment with a social worker who was very good for him. She had him draw a picture of his fear. He drew a high tower (only one) that was on fire and there was a fire engine at the bottom trying to put out the fire.
The social worker told me he was very concerned about the little children who lost their parents. She said she had never seen that much compassion in a 10-year-old before, that he was worried about other people, other children.
So she advised me that we should immerse ourselves into some 9/11 service. Many had popped up in a short period of time. As it happens, when we got back to school that day, a service project was taking place. If you donated $1, you could write your name on, something, a flag maybe, and it would go on the wall until the whole cafeteria was covered. The money would be sent to some 9/11 service foundation for children in NYC.
I believe that helped tremendously. The social worker had him draw pictures to send to children in Manhattan, where she was going to be of some help to children working through the trauma. He liked that idea, too.
It's funny that he never saw an image in our home. We didn't watch any of the many films, news coverage, documentaries--I was afraid it would be too graphic for the children. I guess imagination plays a big part in how you deal with tragedy.
Believe it or not, there was a family in Souderton who lost a son. He was a chef at the Top of the World cafe, or whatever it was called, on the top floor of one of the towers. I was given the daunting task of interviewing the man's parents. I was flustered. I didn't know what to do or how to act. I could only let them speak. Everyone was hurting. Later, it seemed, everyone knew someone who knew someone, like six degrees of separation.
And I knew several who had birthdays on September 11th. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have that as a birthday, until on March 11th, my birthday, the tragedy was dredged up again on the six month anniversary. I felt horrible inside. And my horror would only be half as horrid as someone born on September 11th who would have to live through this every year. I was sure they wouldn't single out March 11th again--and they never did.
And so, here we are, 10 years later. What have we learned? What has been accomplished?
I have learned that terrorism is of the adversary. Those who would blame God for what happened are past the mark. I remember reading about all the people who missed being at the towers because their alarms didn't go off, they missed the train or subway, they had a dentist appointment, and so on. That was Providence. He saved many lives. And all the heroes, living angels who sacrificed their own lives so others could make it out alive, were Providential, too. No greater is one who gives his/her life for a fellow being. There were many of them and they are in the spirit world now and we don't even know what they did. Their glory is complete.
I pray--really hard--we don't ever have to go through that again. I pray that Providence will again work overtime to quell those who wish harm on their fellow humans, their brothers and sisters--all of us children of a divine Father.
Please, Father, comfort those who lost loved ones during that tragic attack. Protect those who are fighting to combat the adversary in other lands right now, that love, kindness and Your Way will win out.
Please, Father, let us all live as we did on 9/12, in a scenario of loving brotherhood and God Bless America.
I remember I was getting ready for work that morning. I never watched the "Today" show, but Matt Lauer was interviewing someone and I thought he was being very curt or rude to his guest (I don't recall who it was). It was about 8:50 a.m. and I had my toothbrush in my mouth as I was watching.
All of a sudden he said he just got word that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers. I thought it was a little plane, like a Piper Cub type, some sort of joy riding pilot who was maybe drunk or had a heart attack...my mind raced on making excuses as to why that might happen.
I watched for a few minutes, then turned the TV off and got myself out the door. As I was driving to the newspaper, I heard that another pilot drove into the other Twin Tower. I thought, "What is this? Some drunken pilot convention?"
When I hit the office, my colleagues were looking for an place of business nearby with a TV set. The chiropractor, two doors down, had one. Some of the other reporters raced over to see what was going on. I stayed at my desk and listened to my headphones. I was tuned into one of the local talk shows that was preempted by what was now being called an attack. There were many theories being tossed around. I kept wondering, what happened on September 11th in the past? Was this an anniversary of some kind?
I decided I didn't want to see any of the footage, being the empath that I am. I figured I wouldn't be able to do my job if I was picturing the whole escapade in my mind. The radio was doing a fabulous job already of filling my mind with images I didn't want to see.
By the time I got home for the day I told the kids nobody was to turn on the TV. So we didn't see any of the images.
That didn't stop Timmy from imagining the worse.
The next day he refused to go to school and threw the biggest temper tantrum I'd ever seen. He finally said, through angry grunts and grimaces, body throwing and pounding arms and legs on the floor, that he was afraid to go to school; that it might be bombed.
I tried to console him by telling him that Perkasie was a very safe place and would be the last place a bomb would come, and Guth Elementary School was not a target either. We were very safe.
Nevertheless, he refused to budge and would not go to school.
So, I let him stay home--a mental health day. He certainly needed it. I spent most of the day checking up on him. He was very quiet and contemplative.
He kept refusing to go to school and it got so bad the school recommended I take him to Penn Foundation, so I called them and made an appointment with a social worker who was very good for him. She had him draw a picture of his fear. He drew a high tower (only one) that was on fire and there was a fire engine at the bottom trying to put out the fire.
The social worker told me he was very concerned about the little children who lost their parents. She said she had never seen that much compassion in a 10-year-old before, that he was worried about other people, other children.
So she advised me that we should immerse ourselves into some 9/11 service. Many had popped up in a short period of time. As it happens, when we got back to school that day, a service project was taking place. If you donated $1, you could write your name on, something, a flag maybe, and it would go on the wall until the whole cafeteria was covered. The money would be sent to some 9/11 service foundation for children in NYC.
I believe that helped tremendously. The social worker had him draw pictures to send to children in Manhattan, where she was going to be of some help to children working through the trauma. He liked that idea, too.
It's funny that he never saw an image in our home. We didn't watch any of the many films, news coverage, documentaries--I was afraid it would be too graphic for the children. I guess imagination plays a big part in how you deal with tragedy.
Believe it or not, there was a family in Souderton who lost a son. He was a chef at the Top of the World cafe, or whatever it was called, on the top floor of one of the towers. I was given the daunting task of interviewing the man's parents. I was flustered. I didn't know what to do or how to act. I could only let them speak. Everyone was hurting. Later, it seemed, everyone knew someone who knew someone, like six degrees of separation.
And I knew several who had birthdays on September 11th. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to have that as a birthday, until on March 11th, my birthday, the tragedy was dredged up again on the six month anniversary. I felt horrible inside. And my horror would only be half as horrid as someone born on September 11th who would have to live through this every year. I was sure they wouldn't single out March 11th again--and they never did.
And so, here we are, 10 years later. What have we learned? What has been accomplished?
I have learned that terrorism is of the adversary. Those who would blame God for what happened are past the mark. I remember reading about all the people who missed being at the towers because their alarms didn't go off, they missed the train or subway, they had a dentist appointment, and so on. That was Providence. He saved many lives. And all the heroes, living angels who sacrificed their own lives so others could make it out alive, were Providential, too. No greater is one who gives his/her life for a fellow being. There were many of them and they are in the spirit world now and we don't even know what they did. Their glory is complete.
I pray--really hard--we don't ever have to go through that again. I pray that Providence will again work overtime to quell those who wish harm on their fellow humans, their brothers and sisters--all of us children of a divine Father.
Please, Father, comfort those who lost loved ones during that tragic attack. Protect those who are fighting to combat the adversary in other lands right now, that love, kindness and Your Way will win out.
Please, Father, let us all live as we did on 9/12, in a scenario of loving brotherhood and God Bless America.
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