Saturday, February 28, 2015

Vocal Rest

 On Thursday, my throat doctor put me on vocal rest so that my severely inflamed right vocal cord can heal. I am not to speak AT ALL until at least Tuesday. If my voice is still raspy, or my throat hurts when I speak, I am to stay silent longer. 

Thanks to texting, social media, and email, it is actually not that difficult not to speak for a relatively short time. (Quit laughing!) But, after several days, this people person feels isolated and alone.  

Silence does make doing business in "real life" a bit challenging. Imagine the initial reaction if I slid a note to my bank teller! I can't order through a drive in window or at a counter. I have been going to places where I know the staff and can write down my order. I have a fairly complicated call from a doctor's office to return that, hopefully, can wait. I am supposed to pick up a compounded prescription from a local pharmacy. But, again, I am reluctant to hand them a note. 

Yes, I have a sweet husband who will do what he can for me, but I don't like being any more dependent than absolutely necessary. However, if I have to stay silent indefinitely in order to sing again, so be it. 

For now, cyber communication will have to do. 



Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Who Am I?

This is a question that I have been asking myself for the past 5 weeks. Acute bronchitis has robbed me of the thing I love most to do. It has been several years since I have been unable to sing for this long. 

Perhaps too much of my identity is wrapped up in my voice. As a teenager, my identity in my group of friends was that I was the singer. Donna was the artist, Becky, the brain, etc. I was the singer.

In college there was no doubt at all what my major would be. It was music, all the way. I soon found out that, although I had talent, I did not have the competitive fire needed to be a professional singer. Competitions involved some degree of sabotage, mind games, and some pure meanness that I just couldn't stomach. 

I married, came home to Vicksburg, and used my voice in church and community theater. I sing everywhere but in the shower. I sing in the car. I sing doing chores around the house. I sing to the radio at The Mosaic Shop while putting pieces of glass together. Best of all, I get to sing every Sunday at Hermanville United Methodist Church.

Now that I have been unable to do that for the past 5 weeks, I feel so bereft. Something vital is missing. I know that I have other talents and skills, but without singing, they lose much of their luster, being part of an incomplete package.

I have an appointment with an otolaryngologist (throat specialist) tomorrow in Jackson. I am hoping and praying that whatever is continuing to be wrong with my voice will heal. At this point, I can't even wrap my mind around anything else.


Saturday, February 21, 2015

Wiping the Cup

I can sort fast food workers into 2 categories. Those that wipe off the cup, and those who don't. As a person who stops somewhere almost daily in search of a cold beverage, I always appreciate that person who takes an extra 3 seconds to present me with a drink that doesn't get all over my hands, clothes, or car. 

I usually get my drinks at the drive-thru window, so I don't always know my server. There are a few I recognize and I try to thank them for the extra effort. I like to think that they put extra effort into other areas of their lives as well. Those that are content to hand me a sloppy cup, with the lid not all the way on and dripping, make me wonder if this lack of attention to detail spills (pardon the pun) over to other areas of their lives as well. 

Over time, I have noticed that people who do their jobs well seem to be happier than those who don't seem to care about theirs. To some extent, doing a good job seems to be its own reward. I am not downplaying the importance of a proper paycheck, but doing good work gives a personal satisfaction that cannot really be bought. 

Just wipe the cup. 

You might be glad you did. 

Mystery Meat

I have recently become reacquainted with a substance I have not voluntarily encountered since my school years.  Mystery Meat  I brought ...