My husband has a chronic calf injury that reared its ugly head at the gym tonight. When we got home, he pulled out his home therapy tools; two ice packs and a heating pad which he alternates for 10 minutes at a time.
When our son went up to take his shower his dad had his leg resting on ice.
And, when our boy came downstairs 10 minutes later he said, “Ha, Dad! I knew when I came back that you’d be in heat!”
Shortly after my husband and I got our first computer, I would sit in our den surrounded by its dark-paneled walls and single, overhead light, typing away at my keyboard. Inside my monitor, on the other side of clicking keys, a friendship was ignited thanks to the World Wide Web.
Though I had known her for a few years, I didn’t really become close to my friend Bean until she and I began emailing each other every day. EVERY. DAY. My screen, that room – the whole afternoon – could be brightened by my inbox. She’s the one who, upon seeing my user name “momofali” asked, “Who’s Momo Fali?” and, therefore, the reason the Internet calls me Momo.
She’s also the reason I write. Had it not been for those emails, for me telling stories, and for her saying that I could tell them well, I don’t think I would have ever started blogging. She laughed at my jokes, she cried with me when I was in pain and I shared so much of my life with her. She was my first blog reader – before I even had a blog.
She has always been my cheerleader as she is for everyone she loves. Even while her playing field has dealt her blows again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Injuries that would end anyone else’s career don’t stop her from crawling to the sideline and picking up her pom-poms for the rest of us.
Thank you, Bean, for backing me up when all I wanted to do was write. Thank you for, unwittingly, changing my life.
I’m shaking my pom-poms in your direction.
She’s once. Twice. Three times a failure. But, you la-uh-uhhhhhve her. Right?
What can I say? I simply forgot to post yesterday. But, look how much my poetry has improved in 48 hours! Note: Whoever said that something becomes a habit once you’ve done it for a few weeks is a big, fat liar.
Between two early weekend mornings in a row, helping a friend move, a funeral and a Benadryl, I still don’t really have the energy to write even though I have a lot to say. I think that’s the point of posting every day for a month anyway, to prove to yourself that you CAN find something to write. And, I could have. So I’m still winning. Except not at the Wii Fit soccer game where they pelt you with cleats and panda heads. I always lose at that.
As I was sitting quietly, waiting for the funeral to start today, I thought I’d better go ahead and write my own eulogy. I’m kind of a control-freak and what if something important is left out of my remembrance; like my deep love for my family or that my favorite Looney Tune character is Foghorn Leghorn?
But, then the son of the deceased stepped up and read what he had written. It was simple, funny and heartbreakingly beautiful. Until there is a work project, a letter to the editor, or a eulogy to write, very few people will jot down the things they have to say. I think we all have the ability to write every day and touch people on some level; we just don’t know we have it in us.
Can YOU find something to write?