Odd correlations

So, I took a little tumble Saturday night, while enjoying an evening walk with my little boy... Had the stitches removed earlier today, and I'm looking forward to some dental work on Monday and Tuesday...

Yeah. Stinks. More details to come at a later date, after I've emerged on the other side of the horror.

Anyway. It reminds me of our car. Let me explain.

Our last automobile purchase was a big, old, green station wagon. We found the machine on craigslist, took it for a spin, and bought it on the spot. It's not perfect, but it's reliable, American-made (hence, less expensive repairs), and we can haul reasonable amounts of stuff in it.

But it was an older woman's car, a widow. She'd bought it when her husband was still alive. They shared it, drove it to nearby locations, did the grocery shopping with it, etc. Then he died, and she kept the car and continued to use it to get around... But it's a big car. Long. Ungainly. She had an incident with the side of the garage. And then, she had another incident. Her kids repaired the first one, but after that, the marks didn't seem to be such a big deal.

When the car came to us, it still sported the dents and dings from the last Missus. We planned to fix them, but we'd bought it right before a trip to the beach; we drove it with dings intact, and began to wonder en route if perhaps our less-than-perfect appearance made other drivers steer clear of us. Did we seem to be reckless? Unconcerned? Because this forest green beast showed such evidence of past run-ins, did people give us a slightly wider berth as they passed?

It seemed that they did. And I know that I am a much more bold driver with a "beater" than I am when my car is flawless.

So we left the dings and dents alone. And then, since we already had the old attempted bumper repair with slightly un-matching paint, had the scratches on the doors, it seemed pointless and unnecessary to keep the wagon washed. I mean, what was the point, really? You could barely tell it was clean anyway. Polished? Pshaw. It just didn't happen. It's not going to. I suppose we've grown fond of the freedom that imperfect (dare I say unattractive?) provides.

Oddly, having a singularly messed up, hideous countenance has had a freeing effect on my efforts to make myself look my best. My ragged, until-recently stitched together face? My bruised skin? The jagged tooth issues? They're sort of like the points of impact on the green car: No makeup is required for now. What's the point? No one will notice because they'll be looking at me surreptitiously, wondering if my husband beats me or whether I stumbled drunkenly into a pole or something. They won't even notice if I skip eye shadow or lip color.

In truth, no one was really looking before. Now, if they're looking, it's only because they can't help themselves and they're morbidly curious. Either way, I'm definitely off the hook.

All the same, I'll hold onto my war paint. This, too, shall pass—and I do still have a husband and son to consider.

Prayers are welcome. Lots of healing prayers. Thanks.

The kid, and the kids, have got game

You'll hopefully be relieved to know that our boy had his stitches removed earlier this week, and his behemoth gash is healing nicely and now looks like any old pink, new-skinned scratch. You'd never know that his muscle tissue and grey matter were hanging out of that fissure just over a week ago. Isn't skin amazing? Especially young, healthy skin. Yeah, I'm sure we just got that cool, self-rebuilding skin cell setup by accident. Millions of years of lifeless goo somehow gave way to, oh I don't know, living flesh and bone? That makes itself, then heals itself? Yeah. Sure.

Anyway, he's on the mend. He's over it. (I'm almost over it. Can you pass me those aspirin?)

This will have to be quick, because I ended up with a temp assignment that began today, continues tomorrow, and will likely spill into most of next week—which means I don't have time to blog or paint or think of creative, healthy meals or get up off my fat can instead of sitting in front of a computer monitor for hours on end. It's money, yes...but I'd forgotten how much happier I am when I can move around freely. Sitting still makes Mel a dull girl.

The big decision at this point is this: do we dare to get up at the crack of dawn and venture into the Strip District on Saturday morning? I know I'll be glad if I make myself do it, because Penn Avenue the day before a Steelers playoff game is an experience that simply cannot be duplicated anywhere else. That said, however, it will involve early hours, biting cold, parking difficulties, crowds (which make me uneasy anymore), and the dragging along of a squirmy little kid with a huge scar on his face.

Of COURSE we'll be there. Silly. I was just teasing you. The real decision is whether to go this Saturday, or to just wait until the day preceding the Super Bowl. Because you know we're headed there, don't you. You can feel it in the air. You can smell it, like something burning.

I've got a feeling
Pittsburgh's going to the SU-PER BOWL!

Thanks for checking in!