There's a one-armed naked man in the display case

It is like my mom to be drama free to the extent that she didn't let me know my grandpa is dying until she had to notify me that our family picture day tomorrow is cancelled-- because grandpa is dying. Actually, she didn't even tell me that much. Family pictures were being cancelled because grandpa wasn't well. When I inquired further, she mentioned he might not make it through the night.

I was raised by a very practical, down to earth, common sense, hard working woman who came by these traits in a childhood with no room for anything but farm chores alongside her father, my grandpa. You won't find farmers blowing things out of proportion or feeling sorry for themselves, at least not in my family.

So I take the news of my grandpa in a similar vein, as if I've been told tomorrow's no good for planting because a storm's rolling in. But there's a part of me that was never weeded out no matter how sternly emotion was frowned upon and this part of me is trying not to freak out. The tough part of me is very well developed, though, after a childhood full of mom, and I'm not about to write the mush that will trigger the tears I'm holding back.

Instead, I'll just inform you that I grew up in the same small town as my grandpa; he was at my house as often as I was at his. When I spent the night with him I got to go "chorin'" with him in the mornings, and I slept in his shirts. Some children aren't lucky enough to have grandpas who are good and whom they get to see with regularity. I was.

There aren't many old time Missourians like my grandpa anymore, with his distinctive way of speaking and an ornery sense of humor; his spirit, attitude and character formed by an earlier time, a lifetime of hard work and simple living. As an adult I've many times reflected on this and wished I could preserve the piece of history and the goodness that grandpa is. But isn't it amazing easily the distractive hustle of the adult life keeps you from doing what you dearly wished to?

I keep the tears in check knowing that he knows and has known how much I loved him despite not being an emotionally expressive family. He loved me, too, and I know that. And no matter how much time I'd spent with him I'd still be sitting here wishing I had more.

I don't mean to sound like a terrible mother, but the word "nightmare" is coming to mind.

You see Thursday I was so sick I had to go to the hospital. That's the short version of the story that involved much moaning in agony and much vomiting. They said it was gastritis--something not at all contagious--treated me a bit and sent me on my way.

Now it is Sunday night. My beloved husband who has had only a few hours sleep at best is driving this dark evening across the state through "winter advisory" weather, which means sleet, snow, ice, and stupid dangerous drivers. Meanwhile, my stomach is hurting in a way entirely too reminiscent of Thursday. I'm in too much pain to even eat and was weak and tired enough to crawl into bed earlier this evening wondering how I was going to get through the next few hours until children's bedtime. I crawled out of bed long enough to send my husband off with a kiss and admonishments for safe travel when one of my children vomited all over the bathroom. My husband cleaned it up for me before leaving on his journey, and then a second child vomited in a second bathroom. Then the first child again, on the floor on the way to the bathroom. Back and forth they volley with no one to care for them and clean up afterward but sick-and-in-pain me.

There's no refuge for me. I'm pained for my sick children, worried for them, worried for my husband, worried for my non-sick children, in pain and weary.

I realized this evening that I mix "adventure" with "dangerous". Or maybe "exciting" with "stupid".

I realized this as I was attempting to get back home from a place 90 miles away in winter weather conditions while driving a twenty year old "well-loved" stick shift car whose brake light is out and whose passenger side rear tire went flat, as well as other problems we won't mention out of respect for the faithful well-worn car.

It was my first time driving a stick.

Technically, I'd driven one before--ten years ago. For one week I drove a manual transmission car and I never got the hang of it. What little I learned then was mostly forgotten now.

I had thought I'd make a day trip to St. Louis as I really don't get to go anywhere anymore. The house is beginning to feel like a prison cell and my daughter like a ball and chain, albeit a super cute and lovable ball and chain. But after numerous obstacles I downheartedly headed back home. Dull household errands needed to be ran, and who's the dull household chore doer? Me. Reality set in like congestion in the lungs. The fantasy that I could be free of this place faded.

My adventure of getting away for a day driving a stick for the first time in winter weather was, I'd say, despite its hardships, better than another day at home doing housework. However, as I slid around the road trying to figure out what gear I should be in and which pedal to push and what to do when you suddenly need to stop because there is yet another accident on the road to navigate, I was well-aware of how stupid I was being in attempting the trip, especially with no one near to rescue me and my precious little one strapped innocently in the back seat. It was exciting! Harrowing! Action-packed! And very stupid.

Nov 30, 8:20 PM (ET) By DANA FIELDS

KANSAS CITY, Mo. (AP) - The first major snowstorm of the season blew across the Plains and Midwest on Thursday, grounding hundreds of flights, closing schools, glazing highways and threatening to dump up to a foot of snow on communities that had basked in balmy weather only days earlier...Coming on the heels of near-record high temperatures, it rolled through Kansas on Wednesday, coating tree limbs and power lines with half an inch of ice.

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They aren't kidding. I ran to the store Wednesday in a tshirt and jeans and a sweatshirt jacket, and was very comfortable in the sunny, unseasonably warm weather. An hour later I returned to my car in pouring rain and bitter cold, to find it covered it in ice. By the time I got my purchases loaded up and myself out of the rain, I was seriously painfully cold. Real pain. Real cold.

I guess I'd forgotten what Missouri was like. Pictures

I just stay busy. Drop pumpkin ravioli off, steaming hot, at elementary school for Bri's special recognition lunch, as she won't eat the hamburgers provided. Run to vintage shop for costumes. Meet H. for lunch. Get to grocery store and back. Memorize lines, dress (do hair and makeup) for three girls for play rehearsal. Be Doris Walker for two hours. Have M. over for dinner. Apply for jobs online. Write a few thousand words of novel.

Get up, send kids off to school. Visit Mom and brother. Get the mail. Apply for jobs. Write. Go to wine party with K. Catch a movie with R. Spend the night with S. Do the laundry and mop the floor. Cook dinner for children. Make brownies and popcorn. Bedtime stories. Memorize lines, perfect performance. House on Tuesday, trivia on Sunday. A glass of wine, a sushi dinner. Cook, clean, laugh, cry. Write.

And you, you were just someone to cross my web.

The weather last night was that if you realize just before retiring to bed, past night into early morn, that trash pickup was coming, you could dash downstairs where the bags were waiting, out from under the rising curtain of the garage door, through the audience of crisp leaves which would titter and scatter about your ankles, in nothing but a tshirt and athletic fitted capris, barefoot, looking cute, and giggle as you trotted carrying trash thinking on the briskness beneath the moonlight. So perfectly, pleasingly autumn.
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The weather today was clearly winter, all dull grayness and a threat of snow that never came but taunted and bullied everyone into false hopes and fears. A dash today through the parking lot to rehearsal evoked giggles--mixed with pain.