MY UNEXPECTED VISIT

I came home from work last night & climbed straight into bed. So weak with fever that I never bothered getting out of my dress clothes.

I just plopped my snotty self under the covers in an effort to achieve a level of complete relaxation that would ultimately lead to the comatose state I’d been craving all day. Those two hours of deep sleep were heavenly.

When I finally woke up, I managed to haul my ass out of bed long enough to get my jammies on, yet by 8pm I had called it a night. When my alarm went off at 5am, I text my boss and went back to sleep for another four hours. It was in those four hours that something extraordinary happened: I dreamt of my Dad.

Words can't accurately describe how glowing & vivid my dream was. I could actually hear his voice. I recognized the clothing he was wearing and navigated his surroundings like I was actually there. The scenario was as if he'd never spent is last months in hospice with me, rather been placed in a home for palliative care.

Though it was a sunny spring day outside, I was anxious when I was dreaming because his level of care was not what I thought he was entitled to. When I awoke (after what felt like spending the day with him) I was in the midst of dreaming that I was trying to locate my cellphone in his room; which was actually my cellphone signalling me notifications that my boss needed my assistance with something at the office. Just like that, our visit was over.

As I greeted my day still groggy, I realized it was just my fever breaking. Yet, because we had such a vivid visit today, as I sat at the computer sneezing like a poltergeist throughout the day, it felt like he was there with me. 

You see, once I'd get my snot & sneezing outbreaks under control, I'd sit quietly and listen for my Dad to acknowledge me with a kleenex box and his standard… ‘Gesundheit!

Fever breaking or just a silly dream, I love that my mind had us enjoy today together. 

As always, I'm forever grateful for him stopping by.

There is NEVER a bad time to get a visit from my Best Friend...
TAKEN: MAY 1985

BIRTHDAY PARTY HINDSIGHT

Remember when we were kids and the best part of a birthday party, aside from the cake, was the loot bags we were given on our way home? Ah, loot bags. If my memory serves me correctly, there was always a direct correlation about the success of the party you’d just attended based on the loot you headed home with.

Well, after celebrating three July birthdays last Saturday night, I woke up Sunday morning to the sound of rain on our tent roof and an unusual throbbing of pain that led me to believe that I’d be heading home one hell of a "loot bag”.  The only difference being that I was blessed to receive it before I was ready to leave for home and it contained only a single piece of loot; a broken baby toe.

After my husband became mobile Sunday morning, I stayed in the tent and listened to the rain pour. In some serious pain, I couldn't help but reflect that there's so much truth to that saying, “it seemed like a really good idea at the time.” More often than not, when it comes to me being with a great bunch of people, amazing music, and jell-o shots circulating, I always tend to strike out in the foresight department. However, when it comes to hindsight, I always seem to score perfectly: 20/20.

The glow of orange jello-shots by the fire.
(...In the wee hours of the morn.)
TAKEN: JULY 15th or 16th, 2017

As a matter a fact, I would be lying if I didn't admit that I was generally confident that foresight wasn't going to show up when trays of colourful jell-o treats began being served and it was unanimously decided we all needed to go swimming.

So, with that decision being made, in the heat of that campfire moment, I felt the urge to take the picture I'm sharing. Primarily because it’s been at least a decade since I’d enjoyed these and secondly because I knew that things we’re going to graduate to the next level in a nano-second.

Though it seemed like harmless fun (getting into our swimming gear in the wee hours of the morning) it somehow escaped me that I was about to jump full force into a pool with no deep end. My poor baby toe didn't have a fighting chance in the breakage department. Hell, I think my ankle narrowly escaped!

As I went back and forth via text with an electronic friend today, they asked how my toe was. I was telling them that it’s been over a year since I have participated any type of these shenanigans. I also replied that I won’t be looking to jump on any type of a similar bandwagon for a very long time.

Anyway, I did admit that whenever I get myself into a situation like the one I did in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I always try to learn from the experience to avoid it in the future. So, in true Rhondi fashion, I replayed the accident over in my head and I have concluded that by changing one minor detail my poor toe could have been spared.

The minor detail wasn't enjoying the shots with my crew, nor by not getting into my bathing suit. My solution's much simpler than that. Midnight pool etiquette 101: This bitch should have simply done a kickass cannonball. 

See? Right there you have changed everything. Should I have had the gift of foresight in that moment, this crisis would have been completely averted!

Just sayin'.

ALL WAS DEFINITELY NOT LOST

Like most people I am a creature of habit.  When it comes to any defense and/or coping mechanisms, should something work I stick with it until it doesn’t, then I reassess. Like any stellar mechanic, I have a really cool toolbox filled with exercises I use to help keep my personality sharp and my mind out of any unnecessary darkness. 

I don’t talk here much about how big a pessimist I am but if I were to gauge it, I'd go with T-Rex large and twice as fierce. Anyway, after a bout of postpartum depression in the mid 1990’s, I decided a change in overall outlook (combined with an understanding of my limitations) the only way to go. As a result, I ended up to seeking help outside my family physician to avoid being medicated on anti-depressants. 

Forever an all important work in progress, I'm generally very open about the fact that I lean on a psychologist if need be; with my core philosophy being you take your car in for a check-up why wouldn’t you do the same for your mindset.

Short story long, I didn’t go to work today. Specifics as to why are moot points so when the alarm rang at 5am I immediately decided I needed to completely regroup and dig deep with a solid effort to go from funk to fab. Well rested, I finally rolled out of bed around noon.

Rested, yet restless, I needed to focus and find an unrelated task. I decided to remove and attack my hard drive that'd crashed from my office desktop unit last April and see if I could salvage anything from it. I got the necessary tools from the garage and began my dissection. 

Staccs n' me  rocking the white sand beach in Cayo Coco, Cuba
TAKEN: FEBRUARY 10th, 2017

I am pleased to report that I was able to successfully remove the hard drive without further damage and retrieve all of my precious data. Thousands of pictures but more importantly all of my taxation backup. Because as we all know...the taxman is a complete and total asshole!

As my data transferred I couldn’t help but reflect on the year I’ve had. If I wasn't what the doctors label clinically depressed last winter I’ll eat my fuzzy socks and lend you all the blankets I wanted to cover my head with. 

That said, my saving grace through all of that drama was the weekend jaunt I took to Cuba with my daughter. I salvaged this picture today. Isn’t she absolutely beautiful?

She will be excited to read that I got all of our travel pictures back. Along will all of our others from 2007 on. Hence the reason for my title that all was definitely not lost.

Who says being in a mental health daze can’t be rewarding, productive and amazing?!

I NEED A SPECIAL KINDA HUG

Well, my lack of sleep, and plethora of outside stresses, have finally caught up with me. I’m officially ill. I’m walking around the house with a box of Kleenex stuffed up my sleeve, my head is so stuffy I feel like H.R Puff ‘n Stuff, and I have aches where I haven’t ached since… well, never mind on that one. Let's just say, I have aches. 

To make things worse, everything I touched today turned into a gigantic hunk of poo!!!

Special kinda hug? Pfft... Can't even get the old fashioned kind!

I’m bat shit bitchy, I'm wallowing in complete and total self-pity, and I need a hug.

A special kinda hug.

The kind of hug that leads straight into sex!

Problem is my husband got home from work, took one look at me and immediately announced he was sleeping on the couch. What the hell? DUDE…Suit it up and take it for the TEAM!

As a chronic hand washer I rarely feel under the weather. The last time I was ill was when I returned from Jamaica last February. I’m sure I had something incubating whilst I was there but was certainly glad I didn't spend big bucks to stay in water closet for almost a week. In this instance, I really do believe it's stress. Unexpected emotional stress. The kind of emotional stress that gets relieved by that special kinda hug I was telling you about.

This too shall pass. When it does, the first thing I'm doing is digging out my husbands very favourite piece of lingerie. I'm going to prepare his favourite dinner wearing only that. I'm going to pour some wine, run a bubble bath and light some candles. Only then, will I whisper into his ear, asking if he'd like the special kinda hug I'm telling you about. Once he whispers his answer back, I'll... 

IMMEDIATELY CHANGE INTO MY FLANNEL JAMMIES... & SLEEP ON THE COUCH.

What can I say? Turn about is fair play BABY... Turn about's fair play!

♫♪♫ Mr.Sandman Bring Me a Dream♪♫♪

Mr. Sandman is calling me to bed early tonight and my exhaustion has his song (and of course those amazing harmonies) playing over and over in my head. So why so tired?

For all of you that don’t receive my personal ESP mind link, I have NOT been feeling 100% since returning from the Spring Cottage Life Show (damn you International Centre and your re-circulated air). I've been sick for the last week. I didn’t sleep well last night, and before dawn, I knew I wasn’t heading into work this morning.

How ill you ask? 

I really enjoy one cup of coffee a day. After only half a cup this morning, I headed back upstairs to bed. (I am pleased to report that I did come downstairs a couple of times; once for water and once for some fresh fruit but even that was a chore.)

Seriously, one can only stay in bed for so long.  Hunger ensues, major leg cramping sets in, not to mention that my back tends to ache into next week. Upside? I had a bath around dinner time with lots of bubbles and I feel I am on the mend.

I am far to busy to stay in bed all day but I wasn't calling the shots. Today proved that ya gotta do what your body says ya gotta do...

As my eyes get heavier and I log off this eve, I have to ask Mr. Sandman do his thing. I can't believe I am climbing into bed again!

A VERY Belated YOU KNOW WHAT!

Both personally and professionally December is always hectic. Christmas has always signified that everything is about to roll over and we start all over again in January. 

Before I begin hammering on my keyboard, I want to go on the record saying that I'd been counting down to this festive break since Labour Day and with a skip in my step, I left the office midday the 22^nd . Who knew the proverbial bus (unexpectedly filled with a ton of bricks) was driving around town looking to hit me?

BOOM! I awoke with a sore throat the morning of the 23rd  with the oh so “slight cough” creeping in by mid day Christmas Eve. By suppertime Christmas Day the high fever had arrived in dah house & I was down and out for the count. I was so terribly ill there was no Facebook, no Twitter, no “YaGottaLaughAboutit” nada, nothing, zero, zip, squat. 

Not only was I too ill to spread sarcasm and wit to all my social media kin, by the night of the 27^th I was ready to call 911! Who knew you could overdose on Lofthouse’s Fisherman’s Friends? Crikey those boys are powerful! Should have known when I slept with the packet under my pillow for the second night in a row there could be trouble.

Most people would reflect and say “I can’t remember the last time I was that sick” but it seems I do. Yep, it was Christmas of 1989 just six weeks before my eldest son was born.  Ah, the dastardly flu of ’89. It now ranks up there with the plague that hovered over me the Christmas of 2011.

Still on the mend I would like to take a minute and wish each and every one of you a Very Merry Belated Christmas. Better late than never and while I'm at it Happy 2012 all... CHEERS!