That's So Dawn: Episode One

You may remember reading Episode Two several months ago after I injured my toe. 

Why did she start with Episode Two and is just now getting to Episode One, you rightly wonder?  Well, because that is Just. So. Dawn. 

This episode has been in the queue, also known as the recesses of my mind, for almost a year now.  It all started in 2010 when Michael and I headed for Atlanta to shop for a new mattress during the big 4th of July sale and got lost in downtown for several hours!   

Getting lost in Atlanta...also so Dawn.  But not the point of this post either, so let's move along, shall we?

We finally made our way out of downtown that day and to the store where we bought a great mattress at a great price!  Two weeks later, the store delivered it. 

Now, I have some kind of a hang-up regarding home deliveries (and repairs).  I don't like strangers coming into my house and messing with my stuff.  Maybe it's because I'm an only child.  Maybe a delivery/repair man scared me in my childhood.  I don't know, but for some odd reason, when they come, I have to leave.

I spent the day running errands and visiting people while Michael waited for the scheduled 8 a.m.-5 p.m. delivery.  Throughout the day, I called and called and called and called Michael, hoping the guys would have finally shown up and gone so I could return home.

When I checked in at 5 p.m., they had just left the store in ATL and would be at our house in an about hour.  Finally, at 7 p.m., Michael called to say the mattress was in place and the delivery guys were gone.  I came home, exhausted from running around town all day, and plopped down on the new, cushy, cloud-like piece of heaven where I remained in a comfort-induced pseudo-coma until Michael pried me from the bed two hours later so it could be made. 

I fumbled through the linen closet until I found a clean set of sheets.  Still in a daze, I stretched out the fitted sheet and tucked it around the corners on my side of the bed.  Then I plodded over to Michael's side and tugged.  It wouldn't reach, so I tugged harder.

Pop...came loose on my side, so I sauntered back over to tuck it back in.

Tug...tug...YANK...POP!

It came loose on Michael's side now.

Back and forth I went, tugging and yanking, until Michael walked in and stopped me.

Um, Dawn dear, this mattress is deeper than the old one.  I think we need new sheets.

I'm glad he's smart like that.  Otherwise, I might still be tugging away at the old ones.

I grabbed my measuring tape...

Okay, you got me!  Actually, I grabbed a piece of notebook paper because I could not find my measuring tape or ruler and carefully measured estimated the depth of the new mattress.  Then I took off for Wal Mart to find sheets that would fit so I could go. to. sleep.

After walking the bedding aisles for what seemed an eternity, I finally found the right depth sheets but could not find the right color.  Because the predominant color in our quilt and curtains is country blue, I wanted white.  I feared any color other than blue would clash and blue would just be too much, well, blue.

I had to get some sheets that night, though, so we could go to sleep.  I kept looking and found a nice pink set that would have coordinated with the quilt.  Alas, they didn't have any in the right size.  I'm not too sure Michael would have been thrilled about sleeping in pink, either.  My other options were black, chocolate brown, red, purple, and gold.  Ugh...none of those would work.

Determined to get to sleep, I did what any rational person would do.  I pulled out all the gold and black sets and stacked them on the floor around me.  Finally, way in the back, there they were. 

One king set in a really lovely shade of blue. 

Blue.

*sigh*

They weren't country blue like my quilt and really were a pretty shade.  I hoped they would compliment the existing blue nicely without making my room look like a piece from Picasso's blue period.  However, at this point, I really didn't care.  They weren't gold or black and would cover the bed so I could get to sleep.  So I bought them.

Now, Michael cannot sleep on anything scratchy and I have a thing about germs, so I threw them in the wash as soon as I was home.  An hour later, the sheets were dry.  It was way past bed time at this point, so I made the bed at record speed and hopped in.  The new mattress was so NICE!  I slept like a queen for three nights...

...until I noticed something. 

This....

Um, hello, Dawn!

Those "lovely BLUE sheets" are SAGE GREEN!!

Seeing how I had washed them and slept on them for 3 nights, it was too late to do a return.  I've had a 1970's two-tone bed for a year now.

*sigh*

I'm planning on buying new curtains soon.  I hope to buy some in a neutral tone, like beige.  Perhaps I'll come home with fuchsia instead.

:) Dawn

That's So Dawn: Episode Two

I have been waiting for months to publish Episode One of what I imagine will be an on-going series, That's So Dawn.  I have already written the introductory post which better explains just how very Dawn I am, but it can't be published without pictures.  It just won't make sense without visual aids.  Since I killed the camera at Six Flags (you can read about that here in what could easily be titled That's So Dawn: The Prologue), Episode One is woefully stuck in the queue, awaiting the day that pictures will return to my life and this blog.

Well, today brought about one of those unexpected Dawn-like events that's just such good blog fodder that I just can't hold on to it until after I finally get a camera and publish Episode One. I have decided to jump straight to Episode Two (hey, if George Lucas can begin with Episode Four, I think I am within my rights).  Besides, this post needs no pictures.  Words will suffice.

And trust me...you don't want pictures.

You will thank me later for keeping this one image-free.

I suppose this episode really began a few months ago when I decided to buy a cheap violin.  I can hear all you violin teachers out there gasping.  Yes, I know.  I have learned my lesson.  I may not have spent much money on the violin initially, but boy, did I pay for it today.

I took Wilbur's sad, little violin, which stays in tune for all of 6.3 seconds before it needs to be worked on again, out of its case so I could tune it before his practice time.  I could not find our pitch pipe anywhere, but joy of all joys, there is a new piano sitting in our classroom.  It had just been delivered two days before, and this was my first chance to sit down at it and do something productive.  Read: not play chopsticks.

It's not really a new piano, just new to us.  A friend of ours gave it to us for free, and it's a very old piano, one of those very tall, very solid uprights, a monster of a thing.  Given its age, it is in really good condition, and we only had to pay to have it moved.  Again, not much money spent, but boy, did I pay for it.

I sat down at the piano and placed the violin in my lap.  I tinkered and fiddled (hee hee) until it was tuned.

Which took approximately 3,042 hours because the pegs on that cheap violin won't stay in place.  And I had to reposition the bridge about 283 times.  Which means releasing all the tension in the strings and starting the tuning process completely over each time.

Aaaaahhhhhhh!

Once it was finally done, I felt a real sense of accomplishment and, while exclaiming I did it, I jumped up from the stool, hit a slick spot on the hardwood floor (created by all the furniture polish I had used to clean the piano when it arrived), and fell backward, plopping back onto the stool.

I guess it could be said that this was an instance in which pride really did come before the fall.

Thankfully, I didn't hit the floor.  On the way back down (you know in that split second between when you start to fall and finally hit your landing, when time seems to slow down and your life flashes before your eyes) I imagined I would hit the stool which would flip out from under me and I would go crashing to the hard floor. 

But none of that happened.  I just plopped back onto the stool and didn't hit it that hard, either.  In fact, initially, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Falling and further damaging my back or causing a sciatica flare up is a big fear of mine, and I had avoided that.  Phew!  I was out-of-the-woods.

Or so I thought.

However, when I slipped, my left foot flew forward and slammed into the bottom of the piano, jamming my toes into the teeny little crack between the piano bottom and the floor. 

Instead of being out-of-the-woods, I was stuck smack dab between the woods.

As I freed my foot, all I could feel was pain.

I started screaming.

Michael and the boys came running.  Generally, I'm a quiet person so they know when I start screaming, it ain't good.  Then, suddenly, I couldn't talk.  I couldn't tell them what had happened.  Everything was growing fuzzy, and the room was starting to spin.  I feared I was about to blackout.

Then I looked down.

My big toe nail was about 90 percent dislocated.  I won't be too graphic, but let's just say I gross out easily and seeing my toenail standing on end, saluting me, just about caused me to lose it.  I made a mad hobble for the bathroom where I spralled on the floor and placed my head strategically in the tub.  I couldn't reach the toilet. 

And my college biology professor wanted me to switch my major to pre-med.  He thought I would make a good surgeon.

Ha...ha...ha...ha...ha....

I told you, Dr. Fuller, I would pass out in the OR.

Forget that...I would have passed out in A & P class and failed to complete my undergrad work.  There's no way I would have even made it to med school. 

So I'll just stick to teaching English and music, though it will be a long time before I tune another stringed instrument. 

Or play that piano.  Just looking at them makes me feel a little light-headed.

Anyway, back to the story...  We decided not go to the ER.  The toenail was beyond repair, and Michael got to play Operation and remove it for me.  Then, I pulled myself together enough to hobble to the bed where I cleaned my wound with iodine and wrapped it in gauze.

Let it be known... that was no easy task.  I thought, however, I might pass out if I didn't apply the iodine myself.  I had to be able to prepare for the exact second it would hit my exposed flesh.

Gag...bleck...ugh.

I told you that you would be glad there are no pictures.

So here I sit with my big toe bandaged up, unable to wear a shoe or walk or cover my foot with a blanket or wiggle my toe because...OUCH!  I'm going to the doctor tomorrow to make sure there's no infection and see what, if any, other treatment is needed.

I have a feeling I will be wearing a flip flop on my left foot for a while, and that it will be a year or two before I have a toenail again, if at all.

I mourned my toenail last night.  I actually cried at the thought of it not returning.  I wrestled with worries from what will happen to my toe to whether or not I will be able swim or exercise over the next few weeks.  I prayed a lot and felt comfort in the reminder that God ordained this.  And that He has protected me from so many other, potentially worse injuries.  I know this sort of thing is so very Dawn, and if it were not for His constant protection and care, I would be in really bad shape.  When I think about it, this injury could have been much worse. 

I thanked Him for modern meds...things like anticeptic and tetatnus shots.  Without them, I would be in big trouble.  Like my friend, a dentist, often says, "When you feel nostalgic about the good-ol' days, think dental care."  Think infection and amputation, too.

I have also thought about Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12, about how we should exercise our gifts without pride and value all members of the body of Christ.  About how our chief duty toward our fellow Christian is love. 

A seemingly insignificant member of my body is now missing, and all of me is hurting. 

It makes me want to love my fellow Christian all the more, to love the Body of Christ, to faithfully perform my duties and respect and appreciate the duties of others, to be mindful of how all our gifts and works are for the good of the whole...for the glory of the Head of the Body who is Jesus Christ, our Lord.

And that's not something that is naturally so Dawn.  It is the work of the Holy Spirit, and I thank God for His presence and His constant working out of my salvation so that even a trivial little injury can be used to further my sanctification.

So each time I look at my big toe, I will be reminded to pray for the Body of Christ.  By God's grace, may we be united and strong so that we may serve Him with gladness and bring Him much glory.

Happy Serving...
Dawn