A moment that changed everything

Yellowed pages stained by cigarette smoke, broken spine from laying open face down, curled corners and smudged fingerprints throughout, the book settled into my hand for reading just as I settled in most nights; alone, in bed, curled up to wait for sleep to come.

Reading along, the book made no sense.  It wasn't poetry, it wasn't a story; just a few paragraphs per thought, I suppose, and none seemed connected. I supposed that this, what I was reading, was what was called "prose," though I couldn't be sure. Seventeen or 18 pages in, I turned the page:

"Fuck it."

The opposing page was blank. I turned the page to find another blank page, and on the opposing page was:

"Fuck it."

In that moment, reading those few pages, everything changed.  Everything.  The world changed, life changed, I changed.  I wasn't confused, frightened, afraid, happy or sad; I was just changed. The veil was dropped, my eyes opened, and from that moment, that profoundly blank moment, I began. I began to live.

It was a moment of waking up, of discovery, of discovering that there was truth and discovering that truth had to be discovered. And that was beautiful.  And beauty was everywhere.  Beauty was everything. All you needed to do was blow the dust off, dig it out and open your eyes to see it.  Beauty was everywhere and everything.  Without beauty, there is only

Fuck it.


From Terror to Life

It is amazing the hoops your mind can put you through. I was terrified of the July surgery, scared shitless to be in such a dependent position again. And, that is the key to the whole thing.  Last year's in-patient hospital experience was horrible, and I wasn't able to get beyond that.  But, this time, there were a lot of people that stepped up to the plate and showed me just how wonderful people actually are.


As I wait, terror sets in

Countdown: 6 days until surgery, and I am scared shitless.

What's behind this feeling of terror is one of those things I can't really do anything about; or at least not more than I've already done.  What "thing" is that?  The time-worn, good-'ol worry about money.  God, I hate money.  Obviously, it hates me too.

I'm concerned about Tim and what he'll have to carry while I am completely down and out again.  Me, I'll be in La La Land for most of it, so that's no big deal.   But, he'll have to drive back and forth to Little Rock from Searcy, he'll have to grab food on the go, sleep when he can and basically dive into a not-so-healthy way of life for awhile. I worry that after taking care of so much for over a year now that this will be the straw that breaks the camel's back.  If he runs out of money, he just might break.

I've planned as much as I can, put things in place to help as much as I can, like tkomorphoto.  I was thrilled, amazed, honored and flummoxed when it seemed to take off right out of the chute.  But then, it came to a screeching halt.  I have to learn and hone some marketing skills, get the word out somehow.  I am so afraid Tim won't have enough money to make it through my hospitalization that this has to happen.  Somehow.

But, what good can I be if I can't even bat down the anxiety over what to pack to bring to the hospital? Sad, but true. The more I can't figure out the simple things, the more I feel like that river is going to start spinning a vortex to suck me right down.  It's a terrifying feeling.

So, 6 days left to wait... and worry. 


An end and a beginning: Announcing tkomorphoto

Hiccup, belch, hiccup.

Time to eat. But, I don't want to.  To eat means to bring on, within minutes, the stabbing, debilitating pain in my guts that comes from attempting to nourish this ol' body.  I time eating with taking a pain pill in hopes to minimize the discomfort; but it takes an hour for the pain pills to kick in.

The beginning of an end?  I hope so.

After my last post about my gut issues, I felt that things had maybe stabilized a bit and I was feeling better. I regained some strength and was able to get up and about and start living again.  I had to be careful of some things, like being sure I was within a close vicinity of a bathroom at all times and I had to eat when my body demanded it, but things were looking up.  Almost.  I kept losing weight, and a lot of it.


Teaching an old dog new tricks and all that

Patience is man's best virtue.  Yeah? Well, thank God I'm a woman. I'm not a very patient woman either. It irks me that things just aren't coming to me as quickly as I want them to.

What am I talking about?  This new camera, of course. I've taken a few really nice photos with it, by my average of good photos to bad photos is ...not so good.  It's an uphill battle on a bumpy path. 


It's the little things...

I'm not a giggly, girly, flowery type person. Not by any means.  I'm more comfortable in the barn, getting dirty from head to toe.  But, give me a good camera and my eye sees things I never knew existed before. The camera freezes and captures a moment that later gives the eye something far more beautiful and existential than can be noticed walking by.  See more wondrous shots at Out in the Back Yard



The music of life

Music is the universal language, they say; the language of the soul. The notes carry with them the soul of the music maker, offering up and out a moment of release, of peace to those who choose to accept the cosmic gift.  Once accepted, the circle is complete, and the opened pathway generates even more release, more peace; spreading far and wide, growing exponentially. Joy. 

Music is everywhere, blanketing life without the need of mundane senses to offer its gift of joy. A quiet soul, an open heart in a moment is the gate of choosing to accept life with all its joy. From the earth underfoot to the edge of infinity drawn in a sunset to the accepted moment of the gift lies the healing flow of music, of release, of peace, of joy. 

This is life; our true life. Quiet the soul, open the heart and live the true life. 


Things you don't hear but read about getting fat then skinny

I've got to say out loud the things you probably already know but can easily ignore since nobody really talks about it. If you're genetically predisposed to getting fat, you're going to get fat.  If all you eat is junk food, you're going to get fat.  If all you do is sit, you're going to get fat.  If you do all of the above, you're going to get really fat.  Trust me, I know first-hand.  I got really fat, fast.  It's really easy to pile on the pounds.

Macaroni and cheese was my 'comfort' food.  I'd tuck into a bowl when feeling down, pig out until my gut hurt, then eat more.  Then, I'd dig into that luscious richness when I was feeling fine, and the bowls got bigger and bigger.  Needless to say, so did I.  "Oh, I'll make up for it tomorrow by not eating," I'd think to myself as I slobbered all over my chin.  I'd forget by the next day and slobber that chin up yet again.


Time to tell the story


I’ve been putting off telling this story in hopes that it would fade into the past like a good, well-behaved memory. I’d rather forget it, truth be told. But, it seems like my mind has a mind of its own and the horror of the experience is with me every day, loud and intrusive, keeping me from moving forward. About the only trick I have left in the bag is writing about it in hopes that it, too, fades away like everything else I write about and then promptly forget.

To recap, back in March of 2012, I was jaundiced and finally managed to get an ERCP scheduled. That should’ve been good news. I arrived at the hospital, had the procedure done and since it was outpatient, I headed home. Within a few hours, I was in agony, had Tim call an ambulance and was taken to the ER of the local hospital. What I remember is that the EMTs wheeled me into the ER and was waved away, told to go to the hospital in Little Rock instead. Tim told me later that they had wheeled me into the trauma room, doped me up good, and we were there 7 hours before I was loaded back onto an ambulance and taken to Little Rock.