First of all, let me repeat what I said in response to those of you who offered prayers and best wishes for my parents yesteday: What a blessing you guys are. What a blessing to come home and see such supportive, loving messages. When you go to sleep tonight, know that God used you today to express his love. Thank you.
Secondly, Susanne and Tammy have both given me a Thinking Blogger award, which I am totally humbled by. Honestly, I think they must have read the title as "Weird Thinking Award," because that fits me better. Most of the time I'm not a deep delver, if you know what I mean. Unless you count my verbiage about Sanjaya (like this one, this one or this one), which, of course, is like therapeutic esoteric poetry written by a junkie coming down from a trip on SLP (Sanjaya's Latest Performance). Nevertheless, I thank you and shall pass this award on to those more worthy than I. (Those who poke fun at high-brow PBS programmes.)
By the way, in that last paragraph I had inadvertantly used the word "verbage" instead of "verbiage," which, I discovered in dictionary.com, is a slang way of saying "words of garbage." See also: "content-free," and "pejorative for verbiage." Now that's an award I'm worthy of: "Verbage."
Now as to yesterday ...
How can I nail this down, shrink it, condense it?
Took parents to hospital at 7:00 a.m. for a minimum 4-hour procedure, with a required eating break between procedures. Brought along: novel, Bible, Bible Study Fellowship notes, Mere Christianity, MP3 player, Read the Bible Through in a Year notes, because both were to have stress tests done. However, Mother did not feel up to having hers done. Put away the Bible, Notes, MP3, novel, etc. Talked. A lot. Mainly about bowel happenings.
At one point, she followed me into the bathroom and continued the bowel discussion while I was in the stall. I just shut my eyes and prayed, "Please don't let her comment on what is happening right now." She did. I am not 4; I'm 44. Makes no difference; she is the mom, I am the kid--all social niceties are out the window.
Here is another snippet representing the day: Dad went to get drink of water during the procedure (in and out of test room, at their direction). Mom watches him. She says, "Look at him. He's flirting."
I look up, and Dad is allowing a female to get a drink before him. Dad is 86. EIGHTY- SIX. While you and I might seriously doubt that he is flirting, this is not an irrational accusation to Mother because in their minds, they are both still 25. Dad probably said, "Go ahead, please," to that lady, but I am watching and wondering what in the world he could've said to flirt, had he actually wanted to:
Well hello, Miss. What's a fine young thing like you doing up here on
this floor? You don't look a day over 70!
OR Well, my ticker was just fine unti I laid eyes on you, and now I'm
in cardiac arrest!
Anyhow, he came through the test a little disoriented and shaky, but he's OK. Mom has hers next week. Did I mention I have three brothers?
I came home with one hour to spare before picking up my daughter from school, so I tried to walk/run to "train" for the Indy Mini. It was the most difficult run I've ever had. I've been battling something like shin splints (anterior tibialis) and today my legs felt like lead, the wind was blasting me in the face, and I was wiped out from all the allergy meds I'm on. If I listed what all I take, seriously, you would call poison control. Or you could just call my mom, and she would probably try to give me an enema.
And that's how my day went. Now if you have pity on me, you will click right over to Internet Cafe and read my post for day. It contains no bowel verbage.