Musings of a Musician’s Wife: encouragement

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This morning was marked with repeated alarm snoozing and peering at Sam’s excited dog eyes waiting only inches from my face.  I was stuck in one of those unbreakable sleepy stupors, the kind that is unbreakable because you mind is yet unwilling and not wanting to greet the day.  On those mornings I can often will myself enough to roll over and open my email and Facebook on my phone.  I’ve found that the sudden use of mental faculties wakes me up and awakens excitement.  In my inbox this morning I read over a comment on one of my earlier blogs that was not just unexpected, but extremely encouraging.

As I mentioned at the beginning, I started this blog as a way to process this new life.  What I’ve already found is so much more!  So many encouraging words have shot my way and I am so grateful.  Friends, you give me hope and have delivered beaming smiles to my face even earlier than my face was prepared to receive them. Today it comes on an especially needed day as I am getting some important test results from my doctor.

A couple weeks ago I was conducting the exhilarating task of shelving paint at Sherwin-Williams when I noticed a moderately sharp pain somewhere under my right arm pit.  The next morning it was still there so I hunted around for the source of the pain, which I assumed to be a knot.  Instead I found this yucky feeling mass on top of my breast. That same day I awoke with the most terrible allergies that I haven’t had before and I haven’t had since.  I went hunting for any medication to tame them so I could work in peace and I found Benedril.  That fast acting drug swept over me like a snuggly, fuzzy baby blanket and knocked me right out for a couple hours, fortunately not before my manager told me to take the day off to rest up.  I definitely don’t consider the pain in my breast and the debilitating allergies to be a coincidence because that day I was able to get into the doctor.  He told me to see a specialist.  I saw the specialist on Tuesday.  She did the general feel up then concentrated her fingers where both Dr. Fojtik and I had.  One unrevealing ultrasound later she said “partial biopsy” and the next think I know she’s poking me with an unremarkable needle saying “local anesthesia.” My mind screams and then my body starts quivering and my eyes shoot wide open at the site of her next object for operation.  It’s a massive needle, several inches long and the widest I’ve ever seen, and there is some sort of plunging device on the other end.  She says, “you shouldn’t feel a think, maybe just some slight pressure.”  She inserts the sadistic device into my unfeeling boob and starts plunging the device around inside.  Then another time.  By the end she’s saying I can change into my clothes and head to the front and that I should get a call with results on Friday.  I shakily sit up and head for my bra and shirt but have to grip the bed to maintain sure footing.  I reach my belongings and look down the once sexy piece of anatomy and verbally apologize to my inanimate and numb pice of fatty flesh, “I’m sorry little boob.”

I have bungee jumped over the NIle in Africa and been mugged but that was the scariest thing I have ever been through.  Not to mention, the word sexy will never escape my lips on behalf of my right breast ever again.

Musings of a Musician’s Wife: Musician’s Wife Lesson Number One

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Musician’s Wife Lesson Number One:  Welcome your husband home.

It was my understanding that the best way to welcome Josh home was to clean sweep the whole house, make sure all the dishes are done, have a huge hug at the ready and probably a good ear for listening and maybe have homemade cookies at the ready and perhaps even some beer in the fridge.  Whole new ball game in the realm of long absences.

This time around he was practically gone for two straight weeks and apparently I got into the rhythm of a workaholic hermit and didn’t know how to break out of it.  Josh was suddenly at the ready making coffee and taking the dogs out, two things I’d grown used to doing myself before work, and because of it I was thrown all out of wack.  As a result, I mostly wandered aimlessly from room to room before heading out the door without my lunch.  His hands were also all over other things and I suddenly was no longer fully aware of how much of each item of food we had, where the handheld mixer went, or where my work shirt disappeared off to.

I thought the biggest struggle of a musician’s wife was to be the missing of the husband, but I guess I adapted to that quicker than I thought and didn’t even begin to realize the repercussions of his return or any sort of disturbance of ritual forming done in his absence.  This is my next mission, welcome Josh back into our life, not just our home.

Musings of a Musician’s Wife: where things are broken

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In a land where things are broken I cannot help but want a future where things are not.  The pull switch for the pantry gets jammed just about every time I try to use it now.  So I stand there pulling until it gives or just walk away hoping it will solve itself.  The refrigerator makes an epic grinding sound every time it’s relaunching the process of refrigeration and bow out with an almost musical succession of clanks and thunks.  The internet, although actually new, phases in and out consciousness as though its trying to keep up with the general mode of dysfunction in this home.  There is no airconditioning and only three of our seventeen windows open.

I just finished taking the dogs for a walk.  They managed to poop three times each, that is a lot of doggie bags.   I like to walk in the mornings between 7 and 10 because I only see a couple people.  If I go in the afternoon or evening there are a whole slew of eyes saying lustful things about me.  I do not even go at night for fear I will not come home the same, or at all.

Despite this though, I do admire the charming older houses I pass.  My favorites are a quaint, yellow box one and a brick cottage on the corner.

This brings me back to wanting unbroken things.  I dream of a house of my own where if things are broken I can fix them and reap the benefits of that.  I dream of a house where I can have a vegetable garden in the summer and a greenhouse and chickens and fruit trees.  I want to live sustainably.  I dream of a house that I can have my design on every inch.  And I dream of a house with an acre sized plot that is fenced or in a quiet enough place for the dogs to run free without my envisioning them being plastered to the pavement out the front window.

But I have to wonder, are such dream only worldly desires?  Are they desires of my heart that are worthy of being granted or am I being selfish.  After all, I am a musician’s wife and a photographer.  Perhaps our finances will never spell out “house.”  But after getting all of this our into the cool, fresh air after the rain I feel I am most thankful that my life has managed to spell out “dogs” and “husband” and “employment.”

The beginning of… Musings of a Musicians Wife

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Perhaps writing, or blogging, is a way of processing the sharp turns in life.  Perhaps it is a way to unleash the darkest depths of the soul.  Perhaps it is a way to make yourself known, to shout to the world that you exist.  In my case, I think this is a way for me to get my daily musings out of my head.

Lets say this starts because I felt prompted.

Today lets talk about words.  Right now I feel I have so many boiling over and no one to hand them off to.  I am a mommy to two crazy smart and ridiculously adorable dogs, but lets face it… not much for conversation.  I am a photographer and I work until I drop.  Currently I own a business, a Sunshine Moment, where I get to share my joy of photography and people with anyone who cares.  I also work for Hindsdale Living Magazine, Bella Baby Photography, Sherwin Williams Paint Store, Cornerstone Photography, and Houzz.com.

I have words about my ordinary life and in a marriage with an up-and-coming rock star as my counter part I’m afraid my words are pretty lack luster.  I suppose even when I am asked a question the exciting thing that jumps to mind is that my musician husband is on a crazy awesome adventure elsewhere.  And what I mostly want to talk about lately is my new dog Sam.

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Sam makes so many noises that he lost his voice for yesterday and today.  He makes yips ring shrill and painful.  I am most definitely working on getting rid of that noise completely. He also makes the whole assortment of monkey noises.  Today, when I got home, I was greeted with his entire catalogue of noises, almost as if he was listing them off my making them.  I leashed him up in a frenzy of fur and paws to my face and thrusted us out the door.

Tommy is the neighbor dog. The day after we got Sam he ended up at Tommy’s mercy with me shreiking along trying to catch the ravenous killing machine of a dog or my tiny teddy bear Sam before he got eaten.  Haley even joined in the battle, apparently she forgot she too is terrified of the monster or was too overcome with the desire to protect me or the new little fur ball that she forgot her fear.  The whole war between Sam’s life and death probably lasted only a minute or two but Sam will not ever forget it.

Today Tommy was out when we went for our potty excursion.  As soon as we rounded the corner Sam spotted him and desperately tried to climb up me as he ferociously growled his raspy puppy gurgle.  I obliged and picked him up to prance him past Tommy, a long way from the end of his rope, and put Sam down in hopes of seeing a pee stream.  No such luck.  He was more concerned with getting away from the sight of Tommy as quick as possible.

We did.  Then he whizzed.

The end.