Somehow, I slipped through October...and it is November.  I don’t know how this year went so fast when I didn’t accomplish anything important.  I did go to Pryor, drove it myself and did fine.  I was tired, but drove home, slept and started full speed the next day.

If you are like me, you are glad the election is over.  I am tired of turning the TV on and having to listen to constant babble.

I am still walking around the block every day.  I figure that maybe it will make me stronger--even though I haven’t seen much result.  But I am a rule follower.  Once I decide to do something good for me, I don’t seem to be able to quit.

If I blink, it will be Thanksgiving.  And Christmas.  And another year.  Maybe it won’t go as quickly as this one has.

Well, I thought I was over that eating and digesting problem that had been going on since a year ago September.  I had five normal feel-good days in a row last week.  So I know it can be done.  In June this year, I started a daily diary of everything I put in my mouth to see if I could figure out what was upsetting me.  No luck.  I’ve been super faithful to record everything--every day.  No clues.  Oh well--it is such a habit now to record everything that I am going to keep it up.

You really don’t praise God for the things you take for granted.  It’s when you lose something that you are reminded to thank Him for your blessings.  I’m not blind.  I have perfect hearing.  I haven’t had a hip or knee replaced like most of my friends.  I can walk around the block.  I don’t have arthritis in my hands so I can type.  And on and on.....thank you Lord.  My children all seem to like me and call.  And I have friends.  Friends are critical.  Going to Pryor made me lonesome for the friends I left there.  I don’t have very many here---but the ones I have are awesome.

Frustration.  I can’t seem to get this next book out.  Dates with the publisher keep changing.  Editing keeps changing.  Old people do not like change--and I am one of those.

When I go to bed at night, I think about a dozen or so things to blog about.  But when I sit down to blog, I can’t think of any of them.  Frustration.

I’ve been thinking about why I don’t get attached to houses.  It’s because I’ve lived in so many of them that none of them are “home.”  Home is Pryor.  It’s not a house--it’s a place--I lived in 7 different houses in Pryor during my life, and twenty other houses.   I’ve been so lonesome since I got back here from going “home” last week.  I have friends here in Edmond, but only two like in Pryor.  I went to “Card” with Carolyn last week and People there knew me.  It is a wonderful think to be “known” and not have to introduce yourself.

 

I stopped to see my brother and Janet but they are in residential care at St. John’s hospital for a week.  Then they are going to try and go home and get someone to help them every day until they are on their feet.  It has been a long journey for both of them.  I am just praying they both can get on their feet.

I had forgotten how much stuff you have to pack to go on a trip.  It is unbelievable the number of items you have to pack.  How I ever managed that with three children back in the military days I don’t know.  And add to that the medications.  It is a mess.  It took me an hour to get it back in place when I got home.  But I slept.  Soundly.  Which was wonderful.

Scott put me in their guest room and came in a little later with a goose down pillow.  Heaven.  It takes me four pillows to sleep--I lie on my right side all night.  One between my feet, one between my knees, one to lay my left arm on, and one under my head.  I have to have four.  That’s the way it is.  Period. I’ve lost so much weight that I can’t stand for my skin to touch my skin.  I am high maintenance I know, but Scott understood.

I am home again. If I ever...ever...say I am going somewhere again would someone hit me over the head!.  The traffic on the Turner Turnpike was awful.  Simi trucks nose to nose for miles and miles.  And then...I got lost after I got to Tulsa.  I’ve driven it a zillion times, but I got lost.

So I stopped at a building in the middle of nowhere, with a locked glass door, and the man inside couldn’t understand me.  He was mideastern, and his English was so bad he couldn’t understand the difference between Choteau and Choctaw.  And then I realized I was in a building in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know where I was, and nobody else knew where I was.  And all around me were glass jars full of white powder lined up shelf after shelf--and it wasn’t flour.

Long story short.  The man was very gracious, finally let me out of the locked door and got me on my way, and instead of sending me to Choctaw I got to Choteau.  Yes.  I did something stupid.  I won’t do that again.  I understand now why all the doors were locked and it took identification to get in.  And no, I didn’t buy any of the “white powder.”

I keep promising Becky Bacon that I will come help her pick out flooring for her living room.  So this week I am going to do that.  I hope to see my brother while I’m in Pryor.  The hospital released him and Janet and they are home for a couple of days and then going to assisted living until they get on their feet.

I hope I can do a two and a half hour drive by myself.  I’m leaving the house here to Josh.  He will take care of everything.

I’m taking my Mac so Joe can edit all the plane numbers.  My publisher wants him to do that.  So do I!  I think I remember them all, but Joe will.  The A-4’s, F-9s and so on--that Ken flew.  I keep thinking I will get this book out, and then one thing after another happens.

Becky bought me an exercise outfit to wear.  It is so soft and doesn’t rub my knees when I walk.  I’ve lost so much weight that I have skin on bone and everything hurts my knees when I walk.  Getting old is not for sissies they say.  I agree.  I’ve gained three pounds!!!  I took my neighbor that does my grocery shopping to Texas Roadhouse yesterday and ate ribeye--I need to do that more often.  

Every time I go out the front door to get the mail, I go by my piano--which has the lid down over the keys.  I rarely open it to play.  It is amazing all of the things we spent hours and hours learning how to do, we have left behind us. 

Occasionally I play.  When I married Ken, the next Sunday when we went to church for the first time, the director learned that I could play, and I was immediately put to work as the church pianist in Pensacola (Warrington) Fla.  And many other times as we moved--other places in America didn’t make their children learn to play the piano like Okies did.  I didn’t have as many opportunities as we moved, but played when they needed me.  And then a few years ago, Roy Jackson asked me to take over the services in Pryor and play.  I did, and renewed my ability because I was playing every Sunday.  When I moved here, one of the older departments needed a pianist.  I played for them.  But now, my piano sits there gathering dust.  It seems a shame.  For a while, I played my marimba for the church’s ministry group.  Now, the marimba is in the trunk of my car.  Seven pieces.  Waiting to be put together and used.  I just need someone to need a pianist or a marimbist.