A Tale from the Burg of Rex

"Doctor, my shoulder hurts when I do stuff."

"Well, then, don't do stuff!"

"But...but..."

A very, very long time ago (not) in a land called the Burg of Rex, a young-at-heart and young-in-age woman woke up on the wrong side of her bed. Or was it...just sleeping on her wrong side on the right side of the bed? As in her own side? On the proper side of the bed?

She waited for many years (or weeks--alright, about a month or two) for her shoulder to get better. Unfortunately, she couldn't just sit still while she waited. So her shoulder got worse.

She still had to lift the little mancub, who weighed something less than 30 lbs. She still had to practice her 88 lb. harp, balanced between her knees and right shoulder. She still had to haul baskets of laundry up a winding staircase all the way to the tippy tower of the castle (wait, she's not a princess, oops! Let's call it a chateau). And yes, even folding the laundry and brushing her hair and doing something as simple waving hurt. Pretty soon the pain spread from one shoulder to the next, slipping down her spine and firing up her neck.

What was she to do?

She tried stretches with Sir Joseph Pilates who was not of the Burg of Rex. She tried sleeping on her back. That was torturous, by the way. Her brain would not shut off in that position. She felt cold lying there, "unable" to curl into a rolly-polly ball for warmth. So she used a heating pad and eventually fell into deep sleep. When she awoke, she found that the sleep must have been the wrong kind because it did nothing for beauty. And she couldn't get up! To the left side, to the right side, straight up--she hardly budged off her back! Oh, it was an annoyance. (Obviously, she eventually did get up--but with excruciating pain in the effort). What a pity.

What else could she do?

Two answers hid in the back of her mind. They seemed too much to ask.

Masseuse? Chiropractor? The former would be $30 for half an hour. The latter $25 for the first visit (and the oh-so-young yet not-so-young-in-the-shoulder woman could only hope the first visit would take care of everything). What a bad thing to beg... but what else was she to do?

Oh, I'm just kidding. I wanted to talk about how my shoulder hurts, but I wanted to do it without complaining. ;)

Harp the Hurling Angel Plays! Woops...

I asked for it! I love to play the harp for an audience... and now I will get to four times so far this season! A ChoirFest, Rexburg Women's Choir, Young Women program and best of all: I get to premier Michael's Lovescape for the Student Composers Concert.

Most of this is happening in a week. :| And I've been sick, yikes! Yes, I do feel the stress. A little more openly than I mean to. But I'm grateful, too. That's why I couldn't say no to any offers. It's such a gift to everyone, and not just because I'm some awesome harpist or something.

The gift of time is considerable, but my favorite is when you combine that with music. Really practiced, learned and lovingly performed music. And it's true, everyone loves it.

I know there are a few people out there (I've met the sister of one, but that's as close as I've gotten) who do not like the harp. For whatever reason. But most people love it! They will even sigh when you play your scales and arpeggios. It's almost embarrassing to me--worries me that I'll look like I'm showing off. Which is easy to do with all those heightened reactions. Maybe harpists are lucky that way. They can take the easy track and strum some glissandos (I promise they're EASY) for the finale and take a nice fat check in return.

If that has ever happened to me, it was an accident. I like to put a lot of work into my pieces. TRANSLATED: I will take 6 months to 6 years to learn a piece if that's what it takes. It's somehow worth it. It is possible to reach perfection--in this one instance--so I seek it.

It's exciting to me that I've reached that perfection many times, too. By the way, that's NOT a bragging point; remember how hard I work?

Eg. I love math. Math doesn't love me. I work really, really, really, really, really, really hard on it. Then sometimes I get a 90 for a grade. Brag? No way! If I didn't try too hard and get a 100, yeah, I'd better look out that I don't brag because I'd totally have the rights.

What this all comes down to, though, is that I have a week or two to put these pieces together as close to perfect as I can. *heehhhhh....* Stress! Eep!

But then! Heroically, in steps a favorite mantra: I DON'T DO STRESS. Because I simply choose not to. I don't avoid the situation, but I control my feelings and reactions in it. Remember that one? I forgot it, apparently. Well, it's a timely reminder. For my sake and the family's (as beloved as the harp is, I don't imagine anyone likes to hear the strings get virtually ripped off while I yank out some poor excuse of a song, barely disguising my dissipated patience for clumsy fingers).

Sometimes at concerts I imagine weird things while I wait out the tacet measures.

"What if I barfed into these little holes on the back of my harp? Ew."

"What if I suddenly sent a gliss into this very quiet moment? Yes, Qait, that would be dumb."

"What if I got up and danced? Oh, don't smile. Quick, think of something less ridiculous."

Back to the harp bench. Again. breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out

Ingenius Costumery

McKayla used my costume this week for her school's Spirit Week thing, and she was Sally Ride (first female American astronaut in space). Maybe that's what I was??? It was just too funny. Found it at D.I.

Michael was... Mozart? George Washington? The Scarlet Pimpernel?

Ender was a very quiet, serious kitty. And a giraffe when we got home. But we forgot to take pictures, so maybe we'll just cheat and recreate the whole thing...

My Haircut

Even though you wouldn't know it from the photo of me holding the scraps, it was about 8 inches off. Now it's got lots of body, too! Like: fooooof, really.

Trippiness!

I fell down the stairs today.

The bruise is more like a goose egg (is that meant only for injuries to the head? It's just as bad, anyhow).

I was trying to save the laundry--so neatly folded--instead of myself. Oops!

And of course, the funniest part to me is my reaction. Following all those thumps and bangs, the family called out "Are you okay??"

I calmly answered "Oh yeah, I'm fine." I had to save my pride...I guess...
Just got up and kept going...but that's what we do when we trip, right? It would just be so embarrassing to sit there (even laughing).

Anyway, I've been really clumsy the last few days! Yesterday I was putting away a tupperware of sweet'n'sour sauce. I swear the lid was made wrong, it just wouldn't go on. While I fumbled with it, suddenly the container leapt from my hands and the freshly boiled sauce splattered down my hip and onto my toes. My toes screamed for a second until the boiliness kind of numbed them. It was a hot, STICKY, gross mess. All over the floor, the counter and myself. Ew.

Oh yeah, and I also hit my hip on the counter (???) and dropped several dishes. Pff. Dumb. And I have a question---has anyone ever hit their hip with their elbow?! Please tell me yes... Usually it's when I'm lying on my side. My elbow just swings back and meets the hip bone *schmakk* in the point. It's painful and very annoying. Cause who does that?

The same evening, Natalie and I were doing the dishes. I noticed the dishwasher was leaking some suds, and when we opened it, we were treated to a movie moment! HUGE SUDS flowed over the bottom rack and onto the floor! We've got a picture, too. I'll have to update this with it. It's taken after we'd cleaned some, though. We just thought it was funny...Nat had put regular dishwashing soap in there instead of dishwasher stuff. :)

The floor was very clean by the end of the day!

Oh, suds reminds me! When we lived in Hinesville, Georgia, my sisters and I snuck some Bubble Bath into the hot tub. Against my papa's advise, I totally recommend it! It was so awesome! The suds got...I'll try to be accurate here...two or three feet above the water! We fluffed up handfuls in our arms and threw them everywhere (including all over the neighbor's lawn).

Oh, the Memories!

I want to tell a story. Because otherwise I'll drivel about how bored of sickness I've become after running a fever for nearly a week. Ugh, I'm so useless when I'm sick.

Long ago in a place called Colorado Springs, Colorado...

Rae and I were in the basement. Ah, that basement was everything a basement should be. Stuck in the 70s with its barf-orange carpet, creaky bathroom and overflow of earwigs (EW, maybe nevermind that being a "should" with basements). Even the dinosaur computer belonged.

We were playing a game, a REALLY fun game. One of those kid games that just make you laugh so hard. I can't even explain why it appealed or why it was fun, but that's how a lot of childhood games are (and I love them like that).

I would run up to the couch with all the speed I could muster, and Rae would stick up her feet like a battering ram at the last minute and thrust them at my stomach. It felt like flying backwards! And a bit like being chopped in half, but not enough to make us stop. It was just too much fun...

About, oh I don't know, a hundred kicks later...

Something churned in my stomach. Ooooh, it wasn't good. I had to tell Rae the sad news: we should be done now. But for some reason I couldn't tell her from across the room in my safe landing zone. I had to go up to her, there at the couch, at the launching station.

I believe she didn't see the wooziness in my face. I am ...mostly... sure that she was focused only on my belly, aiming her uncannily strong legs with great precision.

I got out "Rae, I don't feel so--"

And then the feet met the stomach!

And the stomach gave in to the feet!

As the poo heated my pants, I thought: "What a day to wear overalls."

And Rae laughed. She cackled. She howled!

Once I was cleaned up I think I laughed a little, too. After all, poop is just so funny to kids. For whatever reason. I couldn't imagine why...