One Word

One word, one foot, one worry. Get those behind me. Then, do it again and again until I get through. A little step, sometimes a tiny step, no one else can even see. But do that enough times and the next thing I realize is I’ve finished the story, poem, task, that next medical test. I’ve spent my whole life learning that’s how you get things done. Not by big flashy steps, but tiny miniscule ones. That’s how battles are won, books are written, setbacks are conquered.

So, I got the CAT scan out of the way. Everything looks good. Then, I went into the Urologist, thinking I’d get the scope yesterday, but we had mostly a consultation. He agreed with my kidney doctor that all that was wrong was to do with the MPGN. Still, I have to have a scope to make sure, so it was set up for after Christmas.

I put off putting up the Christmas tree, waiting until I could celebrate being clear of everything but the MPGN. (Perspective, again. Once, I would have celebrated a complete clean bill of health, now…I just want nothing more to be wrong.) We didn’t have a tree last year. I was just too weary of dealing with my illness (That’s not true, it wasn’t the illness by then, but the medicine and…I was still sad about Irene.) and we had a new little frisky kitten to deal with. She’s older now, a real terror, but I decided she has to learn her boundaries.

And, I need the tree.

Funny how just bringing the decorations up from the basement helped. Kind of sad, though. We had to get rid of the old military green footlocker we had our decorations in because of a flooded basement last January. The new, clean plastic containers just aren’t the same.

You see, I’m terribly old-fashioned. My tree isn’t designed or matched. The decorations have been on the tree, year after year, added as we could afford. Many have been on the tree since the beginning. I like it like that. Years ago, we made only one concession-an artificial tree and then, only because the real trees we were getting weren’t lasting through to Christman. The last one we bought dried out terribly and barely made it to Christmas. I miss the wonderful smell, so I’ll try to buy some boughs, etc.

Because Christmas is definitely about smells. Bayberry (you never find this anymore), cinnamon and pine. For me, the smell of a new doll also brings a ton of memories. Betsy McCall, Madame Alexander baby doll my father bought in Denver and hid downstairs in the rafters because they’d sold out here, ( and first suspicion about the big guy) Betsy Wetsy, Terry Lee. I never was one to play with dolls much, but, oh, that smell. It still gives me butterflies in my stomach and a smile in my heart. It’s as full of memories and smiles as puppy breath. Whenever I see either, (doll or puppy) I beg for a sniff. With all those wonderful smells, and glitter-covered ornaments and the memories they evoke, I’ll bet I find something to write about. What about you?