Musings of a Louisville St. Louisan

It was about a year ago today (give or take a few days) that I was "officially" no longer an employee at Humana Insurance Company.  I remember that day.  My heart was a little heavy and a little sad to leave the memories and the life experiences behind of my corporate world "glory days".  I had entered Humana a shy and literally wet haired girl (I can't even talk about it to this day, but had to live with it on my ID badge) and graduated, eight years later, a mom.  I began my journey at Humana by spending three and a half grueling years in the trenches, also known as the call center.  I learned how to talk to someone who was yelling at me with a smile on my tone and answer questions about life, babies, and death in three minutes and sixty five seconds (in all fairness, they threw out the average handle time towards the end of my phone term).  After my time as a call representative, I was a team lead (who took all of your supervisor calls), a concierge speciali

I dedicate this post to the Revolution Mom's Group.  If it weren't for this group of ladies I would daily be eaten up with guilt and loneliness.  I know that every first and third Monday that I spend time with them that I will be lifted up, not judged and loved.  You mamas rock!! "Nehemiah said, 'Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks, and send some to those who have nothing prepared.  This day is sacred to our Lord.  Do not grieve, for the joy of the Lord is your strength."  Nehemiah 8:10 Growing up in church, I have heard this verse about a gazillion times.  The only problem is that I don't remember hearing the first part of the verse, just the last part of the verse, "The joy of the Lord is your strength."  I remember the song by an old Christian artist who sang, in her wispy somewhat annoying voice, "The joy of the Lord is my strength."  The first part of the verse is pretty darn important.  I will tell you why in a minute. Fir

My on-line IC ( interstitial cystitis ) friends often joke about needing a new bladder.  When you are in chronic pain 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year (366 on leap year) joking about things is sometimes the only way that you can have some semblance of sanity in your life.  The day when they will be able to replace our bladders with pig bladders or regrown bladders (which may be a possibility someday) will be a happy day indeed. This morning I was reading 2 Corinthians 5:1-5 and I gained a renewed hope that one day, even if the FDA never approves a real bladder transplant, I will actually get a new bladder. It says, " For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling,  because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, be

To tomato or not to tomato?  That is the question. The answer, if you have interstitial cystitis (aka I.C.), would be "not to tomato".  I.C. is a painful bladder syndrome that requires those who are affected by it (like moi) to avoid acidic foods.  Numero uno on the foods to avoid list is tomatoes (Among many other things.  Check out the I.C. diet cheat sheet for more information.  Keep in mind that every I.C.er is affected differently by different foods).  You say to yourself, "What?  No tomatoes?  You've got to be crazy!"  And trust me, my friends, this isn't a "no I don't like tomatoes" issue, this is a "if you eat tomatoes you will regret it and may end up in the ER issue".  I kid you not. Needless to say, it can be very challenging to prepare a tasty meal for someone who has I.C., but it can be done.  I was diagnosed with I.C. over five years ago and over these years I have developed some I.C. friendly recip

I apologize for all of the old blogs that I am re-posting.  This one is a blog I wrote after 100 Pakistani people were killed at a volleyball game on New Year's Day.  The story moved me quite a bit.  Here is the news story . "Everybody was happy before the explosion, but today we are mourning." Mohammed Qayyum I cannot imagine what it would feel like to live in this kind of fear. As Americans we live in a fairly safe, stable society. Granted we have experienced significant tragedy in the past ten years, but if we are honest with ourselves we will realize that we will never know what it means to live in a war torn land. To fear each time you go out of your home that you may never see it again and wonder as you sleep at night in your bed if this will be your last day. Can you imagine what it would be like? Waking up in your bed on New Year's day. Excited about the festivities that your town was having. A volleyball tournament. You think of the

Pain.   Needles.   Window Breaking.   Glass Shards cutting.  Knives stabbing.   Fires burning.  This is how I feel. Despair.   Loneliness.   Isolation… Hope.   The silver lining.  The cup is half full.   This is not all there is to life. Freedom.   To live my life as I choose.   This disease will not dictate it. Relief.   That there are friends who care.   Friends who know.   Friends who grieve. Victory.   I have defeated you.   You have not won.   I will not let you.   Joy.   Deep, unadulterated happiness.   The smile on a child’s face.   The embrace of my love. Redemption.   I have a purpose.   I have a fight.   I am not alone.   You are not alone.   We are not alone.

It's watermelon season and I thought you might enjoy a post I wrote almost two years ago in the heat of the summer. As I sit on my back deck I am a witness to a an interesting scene. I ventured outside to enjoy the pleasant September afternoon with hopes to get some overdue reading done. To celebrate the cool temperatures I bring a coffee cup that is steaming full of delicious goodness of a half orange juice, half carrot juice concoction . It escaped my thoughts that the flies would also enjoy the sweet fruit and vegetable combo and entertain thoughts of invading my pleasant space. And they did. Within seconds I had an army of at least 20 pesky flying critters with their incessant buzzing and gnarly little hands and bulging eyes swarming around me. Each one was determined that it was going to get a taste of my drink. I knew if they kept it up there was no way I was going to get any reading done. I tried to shoo them away, but it was useless. What a fly wants a fly g

Father's Day Morning 2012   Today is my husband, John Mark Inman's, second Father's Day.  Although his first Father's Day was celebrated without much fanfare in a sleep deprived daze.  This year we are not just celebrating Father's Day, but have been celebrating Father's Day weekend because he is just that special.  I could write you lists and lists of why he is an amazing Father, but I think I will share with you something he wrote for our sweet baby girl when she was blessed back in October.  When you read it, you will see for yourself what an amazing father and man he is.  Happy Father's Day, Da-Da 1) There are only three things that still get blessed. Food, people who sneeze, and a special class of southerners who get their little hearts blessed. 2) Blessing is God’s good intention for the world made specific, personal and verbal. 3) Blessing is not so much a moment, however perfect that moment may be. Blessing is a mo

There is a saying, “Any fool can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a Daddy.”   My dad undoubtedly fits in the “Daddy” category.   Anyone who knows him would agree. My first real memory of my father is when he would take us to McDonald’s on Saturday and buy us a Happy Meal and take us to get candy afterwards.   I used to look forward to those dates so much when I was a little girl.   It wasn’t because I got McDonald’s or candy (although I did love both of those things), but it was because I loved spending time with my Dad.   My dad travelled a lot growing up, so any opportunity that I had to be around him was priceless.   In my eyes he hung the moon.   When I got a little older I remembered asking him to help me study for my history exams in high school.   One of my dad’s favorite things is history.   He would study with me and tell me all of these additional facts the teacher didn’t discuss.   I could have probably studied on my own, but I loved hearing those st