a beautiful surprise

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These arrived yesterday afternoon.   They were sent by my niece Sili and her family in California.  And they were very, very much appreciated.

Little did Sili know that an hour before these arrived, I was sobbing my heart out in my car in the parking lot of a medical building.  Nothing was wrong with me–I’d just had a little skin cancer scraped from my back–but it was one of those days where everything was closing in and my anger and worry and frustration and sadness had bubbled over into a major “come apart” (as my friend Ann would call it).

And when I came home, still a weepy mess, the roses and the love and thoughtfulness they represented greeted me at the door.

Of course I cried because they were so beautiful and I was so touched, but that was certainly better than sobbing with self-pity in the car.

Today I went to my GP for the cortisone shot recommended by my physical therapist.  My only social contacts this month have been medical ones.  My doctor was only too happy to comply with the shot for the bursitis in my hip that’s plagued me for months.  And it didn’t hurt a bit (though I’d worked myself into a state of dread thinking that he’d use one of those elephant-sized needles I’d seen them give the large animals on “Secrets of the Zoo”).

Afterwards Banjo Man (who had stayed in the car and taken a morning nap) drove me to Subway and I picked up a Spicy Italian sub for my lunch.

My first Subway in at least three months.  And oh, was it delicious!

I’m not sure when I’ll stop weeping, but I suspect in a few weeks when the mountains and the lake work their magic I’ll feel a whole lot better and more at peace.

That’s the plan.

In the meantime, I keep making quilts–big and small–to keep busy.  Here’s the baby quilt top that was finished this afternoon:

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Started in 2019, finished in 2020.

And here’s what is on the kitchen island being basted:

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Uh-oh.  Another wild quilt.

This baby quilt will finally get its binding stitched down tonight.

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Started in 2018, finished in 2020.

So…proof that you can be one hot mess and still accomplish something.  Please pass me a tissue and that bottle of Ibuprofen.

 

 

 

This entry was posted in family, personal female whining, quilting, rhode island. Bookmark the permalink.

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