Losing things (besides my mind.)

This is a bride.

The reason I am using this picture? A photo of my wedding ring with A DIAMOND MISSING would not be attractive. In fact, it bears a striking resemblance to a person missing a front tooth.

I was shopping when I noticed it was gone, leaving only a gummy smile in its place. Fortunately Adina was willing to search the dressing room floor on her hands and knees, (I wasn't) but no success. I left a hopeful little note with the manager in the store in case someone happened to pick up a diamond and think, "I should turn this in rather than put it in my pocket!" I reminded myself "it is just 'stuff."

My dear hubby assures me we will replace it. I suggested cubic zirconium might be a better option for me.

But here's the burning question: since this ring is the only piece I own of any significant monetary value, why couldn't I lose a part from jewelry I'd picked up on the Kohl's clearance rack?


Skimmer's Recap: A diamond is after all but a worldly possession that will not follow me to the afterlife. But still, DANG. * sigh*

My love/hate relationship with Sudoku.

"They" say Sudoku will be good for my brain. Nobody mentioned what it would do to my self-esteem.

"They" say "just look for the patterns." But when I ask "WHAT patterns?" "They" repeat, "the patterns," stressing the last word as if it will mean more to me when emphasized. Apparently "They" See Patterns. Probably like the guy in the movie A Beautiful Mind, not saying that all people who can see these alleged "Patterns" suffer from a mental illness, but just puttin' the idea out there...

So I watched a tutorial. How simple "They" made it look! Well, heck, I can do this now! At least THIS "They" could tell me what patterns I might be looking for, instead of just thinking "hmm, i could eat a waffle right about now" every time I look at a Sudoku puzzle.

So I look for patterns. To be honest, "They" say the patterns are there, but mostly I see the potential for warm, melting butter, and maple syrup.

Waffle.

Sudoku. Similar, but oh so different.

When I find the occasional pattern I rejoice. I high-five myself, which always scares the dogs. Then I end up back in the pencil-marking land of "Okay--it could be a 1, not a 2, not a 3, could be a 4, not a 5..." and so on. I repeat this for square after square after square. Then I have to go through the "Is this the only 1 in this row? In this square?" process of elimination, row after row after row.

Sometimes the puzzles are easy enough (some of those easy ones are really hard!) and I finish one. ("Yay! I pulled that off in less than my former time of 2 hours and 55 minutes!") But when I realize I have messed up and will have to find my mistake, I give up. Yes, you heard me, Give Up. It's fine to stretch my brain, it's not fine to test my patience or make me mutter "idiot" to myself under my breath.

I want to see the walls of all you people who "See Patterns." I bet I'd find them plastered with Sudoku puzzles with lines connecting the numbers to find conspiracies, right? RIGHT??


Skimmer's Recap: Loved the movie. But let's face it, not all of us "See Patterns." Or dead people, for that matter. Huh! Two movie references in one post--I must be hip. Ow--fact is, I'm getting a cramp in my hip... Maybe if I walk to the kitchen that will loosen it up. Wonder if we have any waffles...

3 Random things I like.

Genealogy. Even though I spell it wrong every single time and have to fix it, I love genealogy. I use Ancestry.com because they make it so easy, and my sister gave me some great photos and information on our family so I could get the family tree started online. Why is it so fascinating to me to find who was the father of great-great-aunt Gwendolyn? (Not her real name, the names have been changed to protect the not-so innocent.) I think it's part thrill of the chase, part the names, and part hoping to see a picture of them. I love the old pictures!! And I just bet those who have gone before were just as crazy as the current group.

Hobbies. I know. Not a huge surprise. But there are so many things I like to try that I end up with an excessive amount of stuff related to all those hobbies that threatens to take away the usable closet/cupboard/drawer space anywhere I can fit it in. Knitting, crocheting, writing, reading, sewing, etc, all accompanied by the magazines and idea notebooks and books I also collect on the subject. Oh--and finding old furniture I love to clean up and use, or my fascination with collecting things like tea cups or pitchers or creamers or other things with spouts (and no, I don't know why!)

Talking to strangers.  Not news to most of my friends, and disturbing to some of my family members, I love chatting with people in line, or people I run into at craft fairs, wherever. I'm a salesperson's dream (plus, they're forced to laugh at my jokes since they're hoping to sell me something.) If I didn't like to talk to strangers there are some great stories I'd never heard, like the lady I spoke to while we were sorting through hobby books, who told me of their family's christening gown that had been passed down and passed down, and each person who had it would add some sort of embellishment to the gown. I love that stuff. Sorry there are no visuals for this one, but I rarely pose for pictures with strangers. Talk to them yes, get photos, no.

What random things do you like?


Skimmer's Recap: Just read the bold and you're good as gold.

Bad Fibromyalgia day Julie is not as much fun as good Fibromyalgia day Julie.

Now, I recognize that fibromyalgia is not what defines me--that, in fact, I am much more. I'm a wife, mom, grandma, knitter, crocheter, scrapbooker, and encourager and friend. But on some days, those bad-fibromyalgia-days, it is what defines my activities.

Good-(and more fun) fibromyalgia-day Julie likes to shop and eat out and go places. She likes to organize things. She likes to plan projects, and sometimes even do them. She likes to work in the garden, relax in the hot tub, craft. (But she never likes to cook.)

Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie tries to stay positive initially, but once that first 15 minutes of the day has passed, she feels whiny. The corners of her mouth turn down most unattractively. She no longer tries to keep from making unpleasant grunting noises when moving hurts.

Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie feels like staying cuddled up in a warm bed, because warmth feels good when everything hurts. Bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie wants to have someone bring her soothing, fruity tea and little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, because even bad-fibromyalgia-day Julie can dream. She feels sorry for herself and tells God she Does Not Deserve It, but then, who does?

The trouble is, the bad DAY is usually the bad WEEK or two. There are signs, oh yes, which Julie tries to ignore because she is not such a fan of the bad days to come--the "flare" as it is called. She realizes that suddenly she cannot get up easily from squatting down to find something in the lower cupboard, that she feels more weak this week than last. She ignores it, enjoying the friends she can go see and the shopping she can go do until the flare hits her square in the fanny and she goes down in flames.

The flames affect her ability to think, to move, to plan, to enjoy. And bad-day-fibromyalgia Julie comes to visit for a time, and even good-day-fibromyalgia Julie doesn't like her so much. But if she just hangs on, she knows she'll be back out in the garden or the local yarn shop soon.

Painful flare.

Soon to be painful funny flare.

Skimmer's Recap: Aww, never mind. i'm just whining anyway.