Don't be afraid of the salt truck

There is nothing that irks me more than people who don't know how to drive!
I was heading home from Lancaster this afternoon, not long after the sleet began.  The roads weren't really slick yet, but the salt trucks were already out, spreading salt.

I grew up in western PA, so I'm familiar with driving in the snow.  So as I'm driving along, some jack wagon decides he's just going to floor it, then cut in front of me.  Oh wait!  He didn't really want that lane.  So he  floors in and cuts someone off in the other lane.  By this time traffic is slowing down, but no one can see why.  In this guy's hurry he nearly slammed into the slow moving vehicles in front of him.  When he finally clears all those cars, he speeds up again only to see a salt truck in the middle lane. Moving slowly. Spreading salt.

Apparently he had some fear about passing a salt truck.  So he slammed on his brakes and swerved into the lane behind the salt truck, nearly colliding with two cars.  Jack wagon.  He then proceeded to do a three lane sweep to get off at the same exit as me, cutting me right off.  We headed up the highway and, guess what?  Another salt truck!  And what did he do?  Repeat the aforementioned behavior.  My blood began to simmer.

Now I've heard it said that when you experience road rage it's not about the other driver, but about you.  I don't think agree.  Not all the time, anyway.  Sometimes, I do get mad because I'm in a hurry and the person is driving 15 mph under the speed limit.  That's my bad.  But this guy?  He was putting all kinds of people in danger, and being stupid. 

Maybe I should start a winter weather driving school.  It will have classes on how not to drive like a jack wagon, and the salt truck is your friend.  Anyone want to sign up?

It's all connected

I have widespread arthritis, and it's really done a job on my neck.  The vertebrae have growths on them, and there is no longer any cushioning between them, so my nerves are flattened in two places.  While meeting with the pain management doctor this week, we were discussing possible causes.  In turns out that while being a hairdresser for 15+ years is a definite contributing factor, it actually started long ago.

Due to immense trauma in my early childhood, I was a very shy child.  I walked around looking at the ground, bent at the neck, never looking anyone in the eye.  My shoulders were slumped and rounded, as id bearing the weight of the world.  My mom often told me to pull my shoulders back, to sit up straight, but when you think you're worthless it's a losing battle.  Being young, I didn't realize I was making a choice that would impact me later in life.

Driving home form that appointment I began thinking how something I did so long ago, something seemingly so innocent, would have such a drastic impact on my life today.  It made me wonder what other choices I made, things that seemed inconsequential, are playing out in my life today.  I'm sure I can never know their extent.  I can't go back and undo all the stupid things I did, and definitely not the choices others made for me.  But I can be more present in the choices I make from here on, realizing their impact will live on well beyond me like ripples on a pond or waves in the ocean.

45 eve

Tomorrow I turn 45.  When the massage therapist wished me a happy birthday, I told her I had reached middle age.  She said she would have punched someone if they told her she was middle-aged.  She's older than me.  The fact is that age hasn't really mattered to me since I turned 16.  Once I hit that magical age and could drive, subsequent birthdays were just numbers.

Honestly, I've never understood why people are so age phobic.  Another birthday simply means another year you have lived.  People get so wrapped up in wrinkles and thinning hair, like those are the keys to their happiness.  The fact is, we rarely look in reality like we think we look in our mind.  Good or bad.  I can look in the mirror and think I look pretty put together when, in reality, I am walking around with my skirt tucked into my underwear.  (Sorry for that mental image.)  That might seem like an over-simplistic example, but it's something we all understand.

For most of my life, I have looked younger than I am, and it had always amazed me.  However, over the last few years, my age is beginning to show.  Blame it on stress, illness and weight loss.  Whatever.  The lines are showing on my face.  There's a sallowness to my skin.   But I am alive.

It's apparent that I'm not going to grow old gracefully, and that's ok with me.  I'm not politically correct, and I've been known to laugh at inapporpriate places and times.  After all, life is about living, not being stuffy and squeezed into someone's box.  I've lived A LOT in my 45 years.  More than some people ever experience in their whole lives.  And I have never fit into anyone's box.  That gives me something to laugh about.

Paging Dr. House

Sometimes even Dr. House is wrong.  Sometimes it is lupus.
The neurologist called today with my test results.  He was very matter-of-fact, which is fine because that's how I handle things, too.  He'll be consulting with my rheumatologist and we'll proceed from there.

I'm not sure what I feel about it all right now.  I am in full-blown compartmentalization mode right now.  On one hand, I am glad to finally have an answer.  On the other hand, it's scary what the future might hold.  But isn't that always the case?  No one can be certain of their future.  Ever.

Will I drastically alter the way I live?  Probably not.  Aspects of my life will be changed, I'm sure.  But I don't plan to let a diagnosis dictate my life or who I am, but this does go to strengthen the resolve of my anti- resolutions of juicing more and being more proactive in my loving and cherishing of the ones I hold most dear.  It makes me glad I decided that prior to today.

Better than me

Parents hope their children have it better than they did, and that they surpass them in their accomplishments and achievements.

It's no secret that I am a baker and cook.  I started long ago, in early childhood, and have loved it ever since.  It became a refuge.  My happy place, if you will.  When I go there, there is no more thinking or worry.  A sense of automation takes over.

I've had my children involved in the kitchen since they were young, though my son seemed more interested than my daughter.  When he was 3 years old, he cracked an egg with one hand and I knew he'd be a great cook.  He began pastry school this past fall.  Several people have asked me "what are you going to do when he is better than you?"  My response is always the same: "be happy.  I hope he does." 

Over the weekend he participated in The Junior Nationals Pastry Competition.  I never would have dreamed of being in something like that at his age!  Though under great pressure, he was composed and confident when he presented his plates to world-renown chefs for judgment.  He was poised as they critiqued his showpiece and offered suggestions for future competitions.

He has already done greater things than me and he's just begun.