Whammy One:

The 17th anniversary of my own mother's entry into the poverty end of the geriatric care jungle was not too hard on me. Lots of reminders, but no over-whelming flashbacks. 17 years is ALLOT of processing time. I am feeling fairly confident of the therapy work I have done there.

Whammy Two:

Still navigating the medical halls of the silver platter jungle with hubs and the in-laws. Five star care-givers sure can hover. . . The grammatical corrections are intense. I am well reminded that Grammar is the Art of using the words to discredit the message. Feel like I am ready for the simple clarity of an organic jungle mosquito swarm. Those I can swat and squash while I high-tail it to safe haven.

The good news is that hubs and I seem to be making some wonderful progress in building bridges between my feral conditioning and his silver platter conditioning. So far. Maybe. Still feel like I am navigating emotional minefield and struggling to keep my hyper-vigilant flight pattern in check. Surely don't want to be trapped in a high-rise building disaster.

There is talk about moving the FIL to a short term residental facility for physical therapy today. Onward through the egg-shell maze. . . Letting God, by whatever name, lead the dance.

Prayers by whatever name still needed. . .