Gummibunny

Today’s weather in Savannah: cold and rainy.
Today’s weather where my brother lives: snowy
Today’s weather where my mom and dad live: snowy
I’m so jealous. I love snow. I love looking at a yard blanketed in snow with no footprints, then running through it. Snowmen. Snowballs. Snow angels. All the silly stuff – I love it.
Tomorrow, I might get to see some. We’re driving up to Tennessee to spend the weekend with my family and I plan to throw a snowball. I just hope the snow isn’t so bad that the trip up there is hard. I’m wishing for plenty of snow on the ground – not on the roads. Fingers crossed.

My body was steering the car along the road en route to the doctor’s appointment. But my mind was screaming, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU FOOL! TURN THE CAR AROUND! GO HOME!”
It was a trip to the dermatologist for a procedure I knew would be painful. The adult in me said it was the right thing to do, but the child in me wanted to hide in the trunk.
I’ve decided it was easier when I was younger. Mom or dad would take me to a doctor’s or dentist’s appointment (and I’ve always had phobias of both because I’m terrified of needles), and I’d sit angry and scared in the car – mad at the world, even mad at my parents for making me go even though some small part of me knew it was for my own good. But I didn’t have a choice. These adults were forcing me.
Now that I’m older, I do have a choice. Since November, I’ve had 2 doctor’s appointments and 7 dentist appointments. SEVEN, thanks to a root canal and two crowns. I could have ignored the dull pain in my jaw and the dentist wouldn’t have known about the root problems. I didn’t have to get the crowns. The dentist suggested it, but he couldn’t make me. My doctor’s visits – completely voluntary.
But I went anyway. I guess that means I’m an adult – at least on the outside. But I still kick and scream on the inside, and I probably always will.

For an hour and a half already, the rain had pelted our windshield furiously. On the little highways between Savannah and Fitzgerald, I watched in amazement out my window as the ditches became creeks of running water and the creeks became overflowing rivers and the water levels edged closer to the road. A very nasty day for a road trip.
Just past “Jeff-Ro’s” convenience store, we turned on a road that has no name. I’m sure it has a name, but not a road sign, so it remains nameless to me. Many pick-ups traveling this old road had worn ruts in the asphalt, and the rainwater was pooling there. The road made me nervous but Lee was doing a good job of driving close to the middle to stay out of the ruts. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic.
Suddenly, we hit a puddle of water and the car lurched hard to the left. We crossed well over the center line into the next lane and almost onto the shoulder, then it lurched hard to the right. Another lurch left as the back of the SUV fishtailed. Some voice in my head that I’d heard in some safe driving story came out of my mouth as I yelled, “DON’T OVERCORRECT!” I’m not really sure what it means or what to do when you’re hydroplaning, but it was all I could think to say. Kind of funny now that I look back.
Lee got the car under control and in its proper lane. We drove slower, breathing heavier, both saying over and over again how thankful we were not to have wrecked. What if the SUV had flipped? What if a car had been coming in the other lane? What if?
A good imagination is a blessing and a curse. For the next several miles, all I could do was imagine the what ifs. All the scenarios played out in my head – the wreck, the small town policemen and volunteer firefighters and volunteer medics. How could I even have called for medics if I didn’t know the road’s name?
But through it all, what scared me most wasn’t dying. It was surviving alone. This wasn’t the first time I’d imagined what would happen if someone I loved died. If my life ended, I would have no pain. But the thought of losing someone else is terrifying.
It was like a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake. Finally, I had to convince myself that it is stupid to grieve for someone who is living and breathing, sitting perfectly healthy next to you. I’d rather enjoy life together than spend life fearing the loss of it.
Today on the return trip, the sun was shining and the roads were blissfully dry. I still shuddered as we drove along the road with no name, but our trip was easy and scare-free. I don’t always have control over what the car’s tires do, but I can try to control my thoughts. Today I’m thinking of our happy life together, my happy family, my happy friends, and thankful for every day we can enjoy it together.

The last several weekends, Lee and I have finally tackled some of the small things around the house that have been lingering on our “to do” list – like the aforementioned steps. We’ve planted candytufts in our flower boxes, replaced our old, dirty doormat with a new, clean one. We finally got rid of our dangerous back steps, and cleaned out the bathroom. Today, Lee took almost all of our magnets and pictures off the refrigerator and I cleaned it. What a difference. Getting rid of the clutter makes the refrigerator look much nicer, and actually makes the room feel bigger and brighter. Why didn’t we do this before?
Another little step that made a big difference was replacing our backdoor light. It was another of those items I saw when we moved in and planned to quickly replace. Then, it faded into the background and I didn’t notice it until we were putting in our new steps. The bare blub rests against the house, and the paint on the house is beginning to crack. I guess it’s from the heat of the light which we often leave on all evening. At worst it is a fire hazard; at best it is unsightly.
So for 20 bucks (and a little of Lee’s time and labor), we have a new fixture. The old one will hardly be missed in “light” of the new one. Unfortunately you can still see the cracking paint, but perhaps no new damage will occur. Next: repainting the ceilings. Damn leaky roof.

…she ain’t what she used to be.
Tonight as I was backing out of the parking lot at work, something in my rear-view mirror caught my eye. Inside my car, where the roof meets the rear window, I was horrified to see that the cloth had come unglued.
I have often laughed inwardly at people with thumbtacks holding up the cloth in their cars. Easy to do until your roof comes unglued.
I am still driving my high school graduation gift. I remember picking out my black Grand Am as a senior in high school, and being so excited to take it home. Since then I have used and abused it. There were spans of time when I drove many miles and months without even considering an oil change or tire rotation. It’s a miracle my car still runs.
But the beauty of it – is that it not only runs but runs fairly well. My car, now lovingly referred to as “Grand-ammit,” turned ten years old this year. Her age is starting to show. Last year, I had to buy a steering wheel cover because the original vinyl was beginning to shred. The threads are showing in the seats, the carpets bear old stains from old road trips, and the power locks don’t work on the passenger front door. It doesn’t have power windows – a fact I curse every time I have to roll the window down to punch in my code to get into the work parking lot. The windows don’t roll down easily anymore.
Things have been worse. There was that time my car became a haven for roaches. They seem to have found another place to live, thank goodness. There was the time the trunk leaked and everything was constantly wet and smelled like gym socks.
New weather stripping fixed many of my problems, and I really don’t have reason to complain. Yeah, the Grand-ammit rattles a bit as she rolls down the street, but she still gets me to work in one piece. I hope she can hang on for another year and four months – when Lee’s car will be paid off and I can get a new one. But it will be a little sad to see her go. She’s seen me through a lot, and has really been a good car for ten whole years.
Bless you Grand-ammit.

I remember when Lee and I first saw our house, as we stepped out the back door to check out the yard, I glanced at the steps and thought, “We’ll have to replace these.” They were old, rickety, and unattractive.
Nearly three years later, they were still here. It’s actually difficult to find steps for sale pre-made. For months, a magazine article ripped from Handyman hung on our kitchen bulletin board with a photo of a man and some new steps under the title, “Build Deck Steps!” Despite the article’s suggestion, it did not look easy.
Therefore, we procrastinated. Until a week or so ago. The yard was wet from watering earlier in the day. Millie wanted to go out, so I had her leash in my hand as we went down the back steps. Then suddenly, I slipped on the slick steps and started to fall. I thought I could catch myself when aprubtly the end of a step broke off and I slid on my butt all the way down. I had a nice bruise to show for it.
We decided it was time for steps. The only place we found locally to buy them was a mobile home parts shop. This morning, we got up early and headed over.
We scoped out the sparse selection, but fortunately found some that were the right size. We went in to inquire about the price.
“How much for the steps?” I asked.
“$139. Do you need a rail?”
Heavens no. I had seen the rails. They were these awful, cheap metal handrails with supports shaped like hearts.
“No thanks,” I said.
“Do you live in a park?”
A shudder. “No.”
“Cause by law, if it’s four steps high, you need a rail.”
Again, an adamant, “No.”
Finally with the aid of some rope, we got the steps in the car and headed home. They fit perfectly, and are a big improvement. Good-bye old steps, hello new steps.
I was so excited about FINALLY getting some new steps, that I felt motivated enough to clean the entire house (with Lee’s help, of course). It didn’t stop with just dusting and mopping. While Lee alphabetized his CD collection – and he has about 2 million CDs – I decided to clean out the bathroom. I managed to overfill a tall kitchen trash bag and a box full of stuff to either throw away or put in our yard sale. What’s so crazy about it, is that all that junk had been stored in our relatively few cabinets in the bathroom. I felt like Mary Poppins pulling expired medicine bottle after expired medicine bottle out of a small purse. I found one item that expired in 1998. I mean – really. I probably saved us from certain death by cleaning out the bathroom.
Now it’s not that late for a Saturday night, but I’m pretty tired. At least when I wake up tomorrow morning, I can feel good that I don’t have to clean the house. Laundry, now that’s another story.

When I opened our Christmas gift from Nikki and Andrew in December, I literally gasped I was so excited. It was a gift certificate for a “couple’s massage” at one of our local spas. I’ve only had a massage once before, and thought it was such a delicious treat.
Lee and I finally redeemed our gift certificate this weekend, and it was wonderful. Amusing, too. All the way there, I kept trying to convince Lee that although we were getting a “couple’s massage,” we were not going to the Happy Spa and it wasn’t anything kinky. I figured we’d just both get a massage in the same room. Lee was afraid that instead of getting a professional massage, a “couple’s massage” meant they taught you how to massage each other.
Shortly after we arrived, a man and a woman called us back for our massages, and we walked down the hallway when abruptly the man motioned for me to go into one room and Lee the other. We were separated! I was fine, but I knew Lee was a little unsure about the experience. And why did they give me the guy and him the girl?
I got settled on the table under the sheet, and the guy came in to begin. At first, it was hard to relax with the male masseuse because everytime he touched my thigh my brain yelled, “Bad touch! Bad touch!” I was quite surprised when he massaged my butt, too. But then I reminded myself that this was his job, and I was in a clinical environment.
Once I got that straight in my head, the massage was very enjoyable. The foot massage and neck massage were the BEST. I felt great when it was over.
When we got in the car, I asked Lee how he liked it. He said he enjoyed it a lot. I think it was good for his back, which often aches. But he felt cheated when I asked him if he thought it was weird when they massaged your butt, because he didn’t get a butt massage.
Great experience. We’ll have to do it again.

I think my life is cloudy right now. I’m very lucky that most of the time, I have a sunny life. But sometimes there are things that weigh on you in a way that seems heavy and gray. Like a nasty cloud.
It’s not all bad. There are still plenty of times when the winds shift and clouds move and the sunshine peeks through. When I open a door to see Lee smiling at me from the other side. When I pick up a phone and hear a loved one’s voice on the other end. A hockey game. A dinner and drinks.
It may sound morbid, but really it’s not. I know there are so many good things in my life they far outweigh the bad. It’s not so cloudy that I’ve forgotten that the glorious sun is still shining up there. But I’m ready for the gray to be blown away and to have my sunny skies back. I just wish someone could give me a forecast and tell me how long the clouds will last.