I'm Working On It

Given the last post, I know I owe you a post on the wedding. It was WONDERFUL. Lori is breathtaking. I will write on it. But the pictures haven't gone from my phone to my computer yet. She hasn't even seen them yet. Plus, I want to write about it. Not just sketch it out. Which takes time and thought and energy. So I'm working on it.

Instead, we'll break the seal and get back to blogging with some blathering.

It's Christmas list time here at Casa de Pobble. Also, my birthday is Friday, so Lithus has asked for suggestions from me. Here's the thing ~ I have a thing about linens. I adore linens. Bed sheets. Bath sheets. Table cloths. Napkins. Kitchen towels. Bed sheets.

And! Both of my kids and their respective partners, have moved into new homes. My Heart and the Listener have gotten engaged, so they have made a serious commitment to building a home together. The Grasshopper is becoming a teenager, and his tastes are changing. The Hatchling is becoming a tween and her tastes are changing.

WE SHOULD GET EVERYONE LINENS FOR CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!

Luckily, Lithus keeps me reigned in. Apparently, not everyone goes apoplectic over new linens under their tree or as a birthday present. I don't get it, but, yeah...linens are frequently considered mundane. Who knew?

Those are 800 thread count Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. 

She's Getting MARRIED!!!!

Guess where I am off to today? Nope, not a trip for Lithus' work. Not travel to see my family out west, or his family in Canada. Not even over to New England.

I am going to see Lori get married. Lori. My friend. Is getting married.

Here's the other part ~ we have never met. Not once. So, okay, lots of bloggers don't meet for a long time. It's part of the thing we do. Well....no. Or yes, that's how it happens, but it's more than that.

Somewhere along the line, this woman became one of the dearest friends I have. I tell her everything, from the sublime to the ridiculous. The inappropriate and obscene and the erudite and wise. We've seen each other through more than I can list here, and some of it's not mine to list, anyway.

But by this afternoon, I will be at her house. With my friend. Because she's getting married. And I'm luckily enough to be invited. Words can't do it justice. Not really.



Those are can't stop squeeing Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Lovely Words

As a writer, I love words. It's helpful in my chosen profession. And I love the subtle differences a simple word choice can make.

Did you fall...or were you pushed?
Did you crash...or did you stumble?
Are you broken...or are you bent?

I've got some friends who are going through some stuff right now. Maybe you do, too, because it seems we are all always going through stuff, or know someone who is. Regardless, we should all make sure we are choosing our words, and picking the ones that actually define the situation. 

Because bent may feel broken, but it's not the same.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you a Starbucks mocha latte.

Heart Update

So, a few posts back, I slipped in there the fact that my heart wasn't working as well as we'd thought. Premature Ventricular Contractions. Normal in a normal heart ~ but mine's not normal. Blah blah blah. And my doctor's PA ordered a stress test and said we'd probably be looking at beta blockers.

For the rest of my life. 

Lithus and I immediately said sure, if that's what it takes. Anything. But the more we researched it and thought about it and talked about, the less I liked beta blockers. If I had to take them, fine. But I decided I was walking into yesterday's appointment saying "how do we keep me off meds?"

He looked at everything, read everything and proceeded to give me the prognosis: "There is absolutely nothing here that concerns me in the least. You may have a few more PVCs than I do, but not enough to care about. We keep you off meds by not giving them to you."

Then he said two things that very well may prove to be life changing.

Thing the first ~ I said "well, you know I've always been quirky." To which he replied, "actually, no, you're perfectly normal." Said no doctor to the Pobble EVER before. I am perfectly normal.

Thing the second ~ "You are attuned and sensitive to your heart because you had a really serious heart condition all this time, so you feel these things. But you don't have a heart condition any longer. You can stop paying so close attention. You're okay now."

Holy. Shit.

Perfectly normal. Okay now.

I hugged him

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Validation!

Because I like to keep an eye on what's happening in human services, just in case, I still get my idealist.org job postings. The other day, this showed up in my inbox ~ 

Seeking an Outreach Specialist to plan, conduct, and manage various outreach, education, marketing and public relations activities on behalf of the organization. Duties include: assist in the planning and production of fair housing events; coordinate external communication on behalf of the organization through mediums including the Center's blog, mass emails, and social media platforms; produce and distribute accessible educational materials; assist in providing educational trainings; and represent the organization at various events.

There's more that, but I won't bore you with a full job description. It's a full-time job. 40 hours per week. Knowing human services, more than 40. Let me tell you ~ I would have gotten this job. I would have kicked ass at this job. 

So, what's the big deal? I am now, officially and formally ~ not because I think it's true, but because it has been proven ~ making more as a part-time writer than I would be going back to full-time human services. 

Those are tickled pink Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Love or Hate

I have never been a terribly competitive person. You hear people say that the best way to motivate them is to tell them they can't do something. That's not me. If I'm told I can't do something by someone who doesn't matter ~ in other words, the vast majority of people I interact with ~ it has no impact on me whatsoever. If I'm told I can't do something by someone who does matter, my response is, more often than not, to try it one more time, just to make sure, then shrug and go find something I can do.

It is far more motivating to me to know in my own soul that I can do something, even if it's going to take a lot of hard work and effort. Or to have one of those handful of people who matter believe in me. The whole reverse psychology thing has never been a big motivator for me. 

A while ago, I heard a couple sportscasters talking about a team's co-captains and the announcers said what a great balance the two women made because co-captain #1 hated to lose and co-captain #2 loved to win, and how a really great team needed both of those influences.

That's when the light went on for me. I'm a love to win kind of person. Do I like losing? Of course not. But the truth is ~ it doesn't matter all that much to me. There is nothing out there that one could win or lose that I stake my sense of self, and self-worth, on. So, okay, I lost. It sucked, but I'm moving on. No need to go back a prove anything. No need to avenge anything.

Winning, on the other hand....oooooo! I love winning.

Are there exceptions to everything? Of course. There used to be certain people that, oh hell no, I don't lose to them. But they aren't in my life any longer, for what I consider to be obvious reasons. Are there times when winning doesn't make me feel good? Yep. And I have taken one for that particular team on more than one occasion.

But generally speaking, at my core, it's not that I hate to lose, but I really do love to win.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Shopping

Earlier this summer, I realized that my summer clothes were in pretty desperate need of replacing. So, while we were in Spokane, Lithus and I went shopping. Oooo, I just love city shopping. And since it was the end of the summer, and the stores had already transitioned into fall styles, everything was on sale and I could do even more shopping.

I bought size 12, 14, 16, 16W, and 18 that all fit beautifully. I didn't buy a 12, 14, 16, or 18 because they were too small. Nor did I buy a 14, 16, or 18 because they were too big.

Is it too much to ask for me to know how many inches around my waist is and how many inches long my inseam is and be able to buy clothes sized logically?

On the flip side, now I have some really cute new summer clothes to get me through NOLA fall and how ever many more summers I wear them. So, really, as much as I would appreciate logical sizes, keep making cute clothes and let me shop for them in wonderful cities and I'll be happy.

Those are well-dressed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.