bekka

hey nineteen or, the quickening

Couldn't resist another Steely Dan reference on this blog. Sorry. Suddenly I'm 19 weeks along in my gestation. And Wednesday afternoon, after coming home an hour early from work because I felt poorly all day long, as I lay resting on our bed, I'm 90% sure I felt the baby move. Sort of felt like gas, but there was no expulsion. It felt sort of schroomy or flutey or some such. Whooshy, maybe.  Sweet Chaletgirl told me to be patient, that she didn't feel anything until week 20.

Came at a good time, actually, because between feeling poorly, wanting to sideswipe the asshole in the mustang who didn't understand the concept or practical aspects of the Yield sign directed at him, and experiencing chronic frustration with rescheduling my level 2 ultrasound, I needed comforting on some level. And just the day prior I confided to Ian that I thought something was wrong because I had not felt the baby move.  Who said that pregnancy was fun? I'm not having a fabulous time. But it's not the worst thing in the world, either. I'm just pregnant. That's all. Taking it one new symptom at a time.

Was reading an article about labor induction at mothering.com mostly because I fear it and want to take the necessary steps to avoid it at all costs, when I came across the word quickening. Seems I'd known it at one point, but had forgotten it's real meaning, and that it could some day apply to me.

I haven't read any of the pregnancy, labor & delivery books that I bought. I mostly use them as reference guides for when/if I have a question about something specific. Frankly, I feel like I've absorbed a lot of information about the process  over the years and don't need to steep myself in it. Plus, Ian finds it healthier for my mental state if I avoid most writings about my condition because then I grow obsessed and frantic, and that's not healthy for any of us. Otherwise, I probably would have been all up on quickening and encouraging myself with "Quick, quick, quick" every other step.

Complained to LLA yesterday about how my bump doesn't look like a Hollywood bump. I STILL have a waistline. Eventually things should come together in the middle. But I'm still not wearing any tight shirts that showcase what I'm carrying. Still just appear frumpy and lumpy, not cute and obviously pregnant. I took the photo above last week thinking that I'd submit something for Self Portrait Challenge, it being nude/naked month. But then that urge passed. JC told me there were two other preggy pictures, so at least there was someone there to represent, if it wasn't me. About the photo: I had to puff out my tummy to make it look like that. Seems like I could do that naturally in a non-pregnant state anyway; I'm just that talented. But holding it to take a photo was something else. Whew. Anyway, there are tons more interesting nude pregnancy photos online than mine.

When folks ask me how I feel, I usually tell them: Tired, suffering from heartburn, backache, a little sciatic pain down my left leg. I've always been pretty literal when answering those kinds of questions.

Sort of depressing last night to go through my clothing. Stupidly imagined I'd be able to squeeze into most of my normally generously-cut dresses and tops. But no. Am winnowing them out. Would love to completely empty my closet and drawers of all things that won't fit, but that seem like a large chore that I'm not up to. And the thought of buying more maternity clothing just bothers me. It's too expensive, and mostly ugly, or geared toward pregnant teenagers whose personal style flirts too much with hoochieness. Most of my thoughts turn to sewing a few dresses, skirts, and tops that might see me through the next four months.

Luckily found enough things that will fit to take to Florida in Two days, possibly One. Ian should get home from work this evening, but I have to work at least half a day tomorrow, and then we can leave, drive halfway, and then arrive at Daytona on Saturday afternoon rather than late that evening.

Already thinking how much I'll miss my dogs. Feel out of sorts without them. But honestly, I'm looking forward to having a break.  Roxy is still such a mess. She's so wild and energetic and gets cranked up at the oddest times. I've called her down repeatedly the past few days to no avail. She's the strangest dog I've ever known. Half the time she'll stay close to me, but then she takes spells where she retreats to the den to snuggle on the couch alone while the other two are very near my side.

Ironically, she's so possessive, especially when she and I are on the den couch, or when I'm eating. I wonder whether I'll ever understand her. She's not cuddly like either of my spaniels. But when she wants attention or needs fresh water or to go outside, you can't push her away. She climbs up my chest, sticks her nose in my face, and commences to licking and being all sorts of annoying.

bandwagon, snotwagon, sinwagon?

So chaletgirl, Keetha, and Katie did this, and I know I've seen it on at least 2 or 3 other blogs whose name I've forgotten, bad Bekka! It seemed like a fun Wednesday thing to do, especially since I don't have anything special or exciting to blog about from the past four days except for my very bad sinus infection with violent hacking that made me think I'd surely need Emergency Room attention, Stat! But, the appointment I made in March with my allergist just so happened to be today, so I got good meds and can't wait to truly enjoy a snot-free pregnancy.

1. Not available, 2. Macaroni & cheese, 3. Not available, 4. Green Womble House, 5. Not available, 6. iced tea, 7. Not available, 8. #2 POTTAWATOMIE: Coconut Cream Pie at the Friendly Cooker, Wamego, KS, 9. The Writer, 10. Not available, 11. Not available, 12. Armadillo in the road

Bah! Six of the photos I chose didn't appear because they aren't available.

If you want to play:

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker).

The Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush? (I don’t have any crushes. But I do like Colbert for his humor.)
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name. (kid version: favorite animal?)

horse days

cutie pie with bunnies

I got way too much sun Saturday. I went to Horse Days, a biennial event that Jim, owner of the farm where I hang with horses, puts on at the locally owned feed and seed, Mize. There are two Mize locations, one in downtown Johnson City, close to home, and the other out in Gray, not too far from the Fossil Site, and that is where Horse Days was. Supposed to be overcast most of the day, so I didn't bring a hat.  Jim invited me to previous Horse Days to help out, but I've always declined, looked at those Saturdays off as another day to sleep in late. But this time, I came to help out.

And sleeping late? I have memories of that. Roxy wakes me up around 6:30 every morning. I put her off until, oh, maybe 7:10 and then let her outside. She's getting me into that early-morning mode which surely will be helpful when baby arrives.

Jessie bobs for apples

Horse Days has a clown, horseback rides, face painting, bobbing for apples, and a petting zoo with Wilbur the calf, Chiquita the lamb, and a goat with no name. There were bunnies, too. Almost forgot that Trap, father of my Roxy, displayed his frisbee catching skills as well. My job, for much of the day, was being Trap's keeper. Not such a bad job, though there were dicey moments when we thought he might break pottery or get aggressive with other dogs.

Jessie and Joelle ahorseback

Mostly to socialized with Laura and all the other equestrian types. Also answered a few questions about the summer program that their non-profit org is having beginning in June. Little Dudes Ranch Project meets on Thursdays from 12-5 throughout the summer and is free. Kids of all ages learn horsemanship, gardening, animal husbandry, and farm chores. I just wish I could help out during the summer, but I have work. Wah. So maybe I'll take a few days of annual leave just to be involved with that.

another cutie pie, Jim, & Jewells

Whew, never enough horsey activities for me. Horses, horses, horses. One of the highlights was seeing all the children's faces light up at the sight of the horses.  From toddlers to teenagers, they lined up and waited in the sun for twenty or thirty minutes at a time to have their chance to go around the parking lot on Biscuit or Jewells.

spring sprouts

Fecundity abounds around my home. I forced a bunch of paperwhites recently. Their aroma wasn't as strong, as cloying as I thought. When my mom forced them in the past, I could not be in the same room with them because the smell overwhelmed my senses and caused a great deal of  sneezing. Instead of buying a fancy-schmancy paperwhite forcing kit from a catalog I bought dozens of paperwhite bulbs from my local nursery at Christmas and then gave bulbs in containers to at least 6 or 8 people and then had enough left over for myself. That's the way I like to shop. Something for you, and something for me, too!

Oh the other thing I forced was two amaryllises near Christmas, but they mostly disappointed. So disappointed that I didn't take the first picture of them, at all. One of the gifts I received at Christmas this year was a metal window planter with seeds for chives, parsley, and one other thing that I've since forgotten.

Finally they're sprouting. The dates on the tiny seed envelopes said they expired last year. Serves someone right for buying my gift at Tuesday Morning or TJ Maxx. Out of date seeds. Meh. I doubted they do a thing. I check them once a week or so, and two days ago Ian brought the container down from the window and let me peek inside.

wild violets on the sprout

We have sprouts. And those darling grape hyacinths in our yard.  They're all naturalized. I've never planted them or the crocus that peeked from between the tufts of grass beginning in February. I saw some other lovely purple thing, some kind of bulb, for sure, blooming on campus near where I parked the other day and I'm terribly tempted to cut them and bring them home, or at least into my office to brighten up the otherwise dreary space.

Ian opened our bedroom windows a few nights ago. I left the bedroom that night because it was so warm that I could not sleep. Neither our heat or air conditioning is on. And I absolutely love this time of year when we can keep the windows open. Fresh air is a wonderful thing. We may keep them open another month, but soon, the dread air conditioning will have to come on and the windows will close and our home will be stuffy once again.

candy tuft asserts itself

With all the fresh air coursing through my home, I have a yearning to spring clean. To gut the innards of my home and rid ourselves of clutter and detritus, dust and dander.  I've done fairly well in ridding our home of magazines of late. I'm not renewing any of my subscriptions, other than Vogue. And our outreach librarians take magazines over to the gym on campus and they fly off the racks, the magazines, NOT the librarians, though surely THAT would be something for the evening news, like hotcakes, so I can donate my old issues there and not feel guilty for simply throwing them in the trash.

cannot wait until lavender blooms

Organizing my craft room has been on my mind for some time. And that's the next big project. Mostly I want to remove everything from the room, possibly store it elsewhere, and get rid of the furniture to make it more spacious. I'd also love to re-paint the room. It's brilliant purple now, but I'd like to go with a robin's egg blue or turquoise, maybe. But who wants to paint?

Blogless Amy promised me bulbs that she dug from her grandmother's yard. The home and property are to be sold soon, and surely it's a waste to let those bulbs and flowers live outside the family. She has a bucket filled with daffodils and irises that she is bringing me tomorrow.

chickenhead

Every Saturday I wear spurs. It's sort of unusual for a beginning rider to wear them. Maybe I'm intermediate at this point. I just can't tell. It's probably unusual for an intermediate rider to don spurs, too. Once you start talking horses with folks you find out all sorts of things.

Like: My hairdresser used to train and ride horses, in her youth. And when I told her about my spur wearing, she was kindly shocked that I wore them. Not everybody at my stable wears spurs. If you don't own a pair you'll be offered a pair to borrow.

I bought my own though. Deciding on which pair was tough. I go for classic, not overly ornate, but there was a pair that looked like US Cavalry issue that I forewent in favor of these simple chickenheads. That's what I call 'em, but Wikipedia calls them swanheads. Then I had to decide on which kind of spur straps to get. Mine are basic leather. Plain, no fancy tooling at all. They're a bit broke in, but still look too new for my taste.

Something about owning your own set of spurs. Blogless Amy swears I'm the only person she knows who owns spurs. I told her she's not running with the right crowd.

This concludes this month's Self Portrait Challenge 'What I Wear'. Surely those other participants are wearing way more fun things than I. Go. See for yourself.

so very capricious

Despite feeling like a huge mound of mucous for the past six days, I bucked up enough to take a photo this morning for this round of Self Portrait Challenge. Everyday, no matter what, I wear something on my mouth, whether it be balm or gloss or stain or stick. It's there. I re-apply often. Dry lips I cannot take. If they're not kept moist, then they crack and dry out and I truly feel miserable. It's all preventative, you see?

While merely an extension of the great mucus plug, I may not feel the slightest bit capricious, yet my lips do. Take that mucous plug!

So go on, see what all the other folks are wearing this week.

and godson said mabekka

me, Scout, & Zach

Sunday I went to Knoxville to visit a my godson and his parents. They invited me there to celebrate Bahá’u’lláh's birthday. They're new Bahá’í. And I love that so many of my friends find spiritual expression outside the mainstream religions, because then I get to come to services and experience it all. I don't get to see Zach too often, but we had a great time playing together. He couldn't pronounce Rebecca, so he called me mabekka. It's lovely. I almost wish is was my real name.

Zach's first self-portrait

He's almost three and loves trains. He also loves taking photos. He carries his disposable camera around and snapped shots of everyone. Naturally, he loved my camera. His hands traveled across the buttons, lens, flash. And, he took a photo of himself. His first self-portrait. Needs a bit of work to get his whole face in the photo. But, I think he's got time to develop his skills.

Speaking of skills: my skills of memory were off. I have a remote for my camera and its battery died because I left it turned on. So we did this the old-fashioned way, with the timer blinking and all. But, at least it worked out in the end. And I've really got to be better about traveling with a tripod. The gorilliapod won't cut it.

these boots

my Ariats and Jewells

Besides wedding and engagement rings, the only other thing I wear with any kind of regularity are my cowboy boots. At least four days a week, I slip them on over long socks, pull my jeans over top, and go to the stable/farm to work with horses. If it's wet out, which isn't an issue so much, or if my boot cut jeans are slightly longer than my legs, I tuck them inside the boots.

My cowboy boots are in my top three of comfortable footwear. I could wear them everyday. I  could walk miles and miles in them. They're dusty from our very dry summer. They're slighty stinky, too. I don't clean them up but maybe once a month. Hasn't been any mud to knock off of them, so mostly it's manure. They're perfect workboots. Great for getting down in the soil. And, the best at protecting my feet from when Dually steps on them. If you didn't know, the front part of a horse's hoof doesn't hurt when it lands on your foot. It's the back part of the hoof where all the weight is. Keep away from that part.

burred-out Trap begs for biscuits beside my boots

Pull on your boots and see what other photographers' favorite walking shoes are at week two of Self Portrait Challenge's What You Wear.

thrilled to be greensleeves

Since the weather is in-between, I wear my favorite green linen jacket almost everyday. Besides the typical "100% linen" and "made in Lithuania" there are inspirational tags, inside my jacket. This jacket's extra tag reads "I am thrilled to be me."

This post is inspired by the November Self-Portrait Challenge: What You Wear. Like, I should share my everyday outfit, or a certain article of clothing, or accessory that I wear everyday. Yeah, the only thing I absolutely wear everyday are two rings on my left hand: Wedding ring and engagement ring. The rest is always temporal.

But green. That's my favorite color. The walls of the spare room are green. Ironically, it's called Carolina (Glidden, I think). The dashes of blue and orange to the side are from a tapestry I wove years ago. Its background, serendipitously enough, is almost exactly the same color as the wall. It blends well. Oh, and you can't tell--and this has nothing to do with green--but the lamp in the background used to be a bright lemon circa 1970-something; was relic from my Mom's freestylin' apartment dwelling days. Ian and I slathered glue all over it's base and adhered a thick hemp rope around it. It's likely the idea came from Martha.

Last week I moved summer clothing from my closet to a spare closet and I took the opportunity to color coordinate/stack my sweaters in the top of my closet. Too many green sweaters. There were at least 6 or 8. The other contenders are blue, grey, and black. One yellow sweater. No pink or purple sweaters. Staring at my rainbow-displayed sweaters is a treat, for now, until I retreat back to my slovenly sweaters-piled-everywhere ways.

coffee, tea, or me?

Years ago I came across a book called Coffee, Tea, or Me (1968)? And I think it's a trashy stewardess story set in the wild seventies. It's likely that I found it at the flea market. I was such an avid reader, that I read any and everything. But somehow I skipped this.

So really, the book has nothing to do with my self-portrait challenge submission this week, except that there's tea in that title and that's what I'm sipping on in my portrait. Iced tea is my favorite drink, besides plain old water. I prefer it to water when dining out. Have those paranoid attacks that someone in the kitchen has messed with my water.

I used to hate iced tea and the only hot drink I liked was hot chocolate or maybe a bit of cider. My love of iced tea wasn't developed in the womb, like many other southern fetuses, because the only kind I ever had was that wretched Nestea mix that my Mamaw Marie made instead of actually brewing a batch of tea to ice and sweeten.

Shoot, I guess it developed when I was a teenager. My mom brewed a nice pitcher. She uses a few Luzianne tea bags and then throws in a Celestial Seasonings or two. Usually the Mandarin Orange. That was alway nice. And she'd sweeten it with a cup or more of white sugar.

Most places around here serve it sweet. Very sweet. A few years ago I cut down my sugar intake by ordering unsweet iced tea. I've always been thirsty and usually slurp down at least five glasses of drink. At least I did as a teen. Not so much anymore. I could ask for half and half, which dilutes the sweet tea with unsweet tea and thus one can tolerate the sugar content. Part of my hesitancy to drink sweet tea anymore is that I want the real thing: Sugar. I don't want high fructose corn syrup, and that is what lots of restaurants use to sweeten their teas or other drinks like lemonade, etc.

And, if ya'll ever find yourselves in East Tennessee, find a Pal's and order one of their 32 oz. teas; a Big Tea. I order it "Plain," which means unsweetened. Then there's regular, and peachy. I recall results of a study done on campus in regards to the number of students who tote their Big Tea along to class. Supposedly those sweet teas contain at least 1,000 calories. But that can't be right, can it?