Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Right Before My Head Explodes

Things have been a bit...nuts...around here lately. Too much life. Not enough time to write about it.

Well, I guess that isn't entirely true. Neal owns a handful of leadership books that all argue there is enough time for everything, it's just how you prioritize it. I'm not all that proud to say that blogging hasn't been a priority lately. Writing posts in my head while sitting at the stoplight on Dixie Highway has been occurring since March, but they somehow never made it from brain to screen. It has been a busy spring. Pair all that with an elevated threat level on post and the rumor of several Milspouse bloggers being targeted, and I've grown a little quiet.

The weekend after Valentine's Day, I was making cabbage rolls and slipped in sock feet on a freshly waxed floor. My out-stretched left wrist broke my fall. And then it broke, or fractured, rather. In 2 places, in opposite directions. The scream must have been terrifying because both Blue and Neal bolted to my side. Wisely, like someone who is trained in first aid every year, he immediately slid my wedding bands off  and then grabbed the ice. But by the next morning, a very large (and extremely unnatural) bump sat atop my wrist. It may as well have been illuminated with flashing red arrows. Something was definitely wrong. By the evening, I was in a beautiful UK blue cast. GO CATS. I cheer with one hand now.

Five weeks later, the cast came off. Although I wasn't 100% healed, I had no choice because 24 hours later, I would be undergoing the first of 2 bunion surgeries at the University of Louisville. I had switched my insurance. I had found the doctor. I had exactly 14 weeks before we moved. It was time. It was actually time when we first moved here, 2 years ago, but I wear my Queen of Procrastination crown proudly, without apology or regret. I feel that my bunion surgeries require their own post because I have had people coming out of the woodwork to ask me about them. So many necessary bunion surgeries, postponed indefinitely due to fear of pain, recovery, the unknown. I did 2 it in 12 weeks. I wouldn't exactly propose my timeline as the best solution for everyone, but the short answer is: get the surgery and call Dr. Ford. He'll take great care of you.

So, that takes us to now. In 12 days, the packers will arrive with their commercial-grade moving boxes and endless supply of packing tape. They will wrap and box everything in this house (minus the items that I refuse to let them move...the 3D cube of me and Neal in London during our first meeting, the shadow box from Blue's birth, the shadow box with Shep's angel gown, a print of an American flag painted by an elephant at the Nashville Zoo, my wedding scrapbook...among about 30 other sentimental and priceless treasures). And we will meet up with it again in Kansas in 3 weeks. We will unwrap the silverware and the china and Blue's burgeoning stack of books. We will spend exhausting hours finding a place for everything and putting everything in its place. And then we will begin our new life in the fly-over country...further west than we've ever lived. We will find new routines and new friends and new adventures. We will miss Kentucky deeply. We will long for a burger from the Mussel and Burger Bar. We will wax nostalgic about the mouth-watering schnitzel at the mom-and-pop German joint right outside the Wilson gate. And heaven help us when Derby rolls around. We will become Kentucky Proud...probably physically morphing into the shape of the state by sundown on that first Saturday in May. But, as always happens, by the time our packers arrive again, we will wear the badge of Kansas with honor and distinction. We will be able to converse easily about her festivals and restaurants and farms and shops. We will know the roads and some of the people. We will be sad to leave.

But today we are cleaning out closets. We are making piles and donating everything that no longer fits in our lives. We are making space for a fresh start, something that is afforded us every 12-24 months. We are gypsies-for-hire and the wagon will load up in less than 2 weeks. It will be busy, but I can't keep these thoughts in my head, coming together in the quiet moments and then rolling around until they fall apart again. This life we are living is extraordinary and it should be told...not in 140 characters or with a quip on Facebook. Really shared. We can't fear the enemy. We can't be bullied into silence. We are Army Strong. It's time to start acting like it.