While reading the label on my new ginormous bottle of hand soap, I saw the tag “mel[honey]”. Which got me to thinking. Is that the same root as mellifluous? Yes. Is that the essence of why Mel Gibson = eye candy? Maybe.
In knitting news, I am binding off Adamas. And likely to be doing so for the next several years. Definitely a case of “pioneer children sang as they walked and walked and walked and walked and [knit].”
I received a warm response from the author of Widows Wear Stilettos, and a gracious correction.
We could have called ourselves, “Widows Aren't All Retired With Grandchildren” or “Not All Widows Get to be Married for 50 Years”...but Widows Wear Stilettos is far more uplifting. Moreover, one of our primary missions is to break the “stereotype” that the world has of widows and I'm pleased to be a part of that mission...
As to the “appropriateness” of the book and CD for sale, the book is not sold through the website at all. It is being sold at all major bookstores (in store and online). These are the exact same stores and sites that carry hundreds of other self-help tools; including other books for widows. The CD was produced a year ago in response to an overwhelming demand for immediate help (since the world of publishing does not move very quickly)...If you are issuing a “caveat emptor” concerning the “appropriateness” of our products; the same must hold for every other self-help book, CD and healing tool on the market.
Amen, sister, amen!
The website has bulletin boards, and all are welcome, even old widows. And menfolk. And me, the grass widow with my clogs and my Wal-Mart jeans. What a nice, nice lady!
I’d like to clarify that I was passing on wearing stilettos, not on her book or the website. [That was perhaps not entirely clear; it’s been a grueling weekend, and my internal editor needs chocolate.] Over the years I’ve had multiple surgeries on both feet, and the idea of lifting my heels up into the stratosphere, no matter how red and shiny the shoes, just gives me the willies. And possibly a nosebleed from the altitude.
Kicking up my heels, however, is another story, just so long as I kick within the bounds that the commandments establish. For me, the answer to the musical question “when is it appropriate to have a sleepover date?” is “after you say I do”. I have no idea what counsel she gives in her book, or on her CD, or on the website, or if she even addresses that topic. But that is where the idea of appropriateness came in.
I think I remember reading on the intranet at work that there is a chapter on all the stupid things people tell young widows. Maybe it’s on the CD; that alone would probably be worth the purchase price.
My friend Kristen had a great post yesterday. Go read it; I’ll wait right here for you. Our lessons in church were about unity, and our recent adventures in the family have had me thinking about what is to me a worrisome lack thereof. So, what I read on her blog ties in with themes I have been pondering for quite awhile.
But I will have to save the pontification for later, for there is news [sortof] on the children’s father. Not a TIA. Not a small stroke as we had thought. Big stroke. Very big stroke, affecting both sides of his brain, and not the first stroke; “one of a handful” is what Firstborn passed on to me. The maintenance man’s CPR while waiting for the EMT’s to arrive, almost certainly saved his life. That, and LittleBit’s quick thinking.
He is in the hospital indefinitely, while they try to figure out where the clots are coming from. And they have told the kids not to worry, that he is in excellent hands, and that when it is time to find an assisted living facility [or whatever situation is appropriate], the social network at the hospital is better than anything we could come up with as a family, and the hospital can pull strings and get him into one.
I am very sad for him but also breathing a sigh of relief that somebody with more expertise than we have, is watching over him. Firstborn says she thinks she finally convinced him that he will not be getting behind the wheel, ever again. It is a miracle that he didn’t kill himself, or anybody else, when he had the blood-sugar episode a few weeks back, because he was driving when it happened.
He was very surprised to see me in the hospital on Friday night with all of our children who are local. And I suspect that more than one of our children was surprised to see me there. [I was a little surprised to see me there, too, but that’s a whole nuther story.] Firstborn read to him from her science text when she visited on Sunday morning. He liked that. She has found his copy of a doctrinal book that he loves, and I’m planning to read him a few pages from that before Knit Night on Tuesday [and give him a booster shot of religion, as it were].
No, I’m not bucking for sainthood. Maybe if I am kind to him in fifteen or twenty minute increments, it will override the crankiness I feel when I think about Middlest’s STBX. That, and he was my honey for twenty years.
His sister is flying in tomorrow afternoon. The airport is very close to my office. It would make sense for me to take the afternoon off and pick her up. We shall see if anybody else thinks that’s a good idea.
I’m going to hop in the tub, and then I’m going to figure out what to throw into my knitting bag in case I finish binding off Adamas sometime today. I don’t think I have sufficient RAM to take another stab at reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!