Back to the boot

Before stitches are removed

The best part about going back to the boot is….it comes off easily and I can have a REAL shower. I’m so happy about that I could throw balloons in the shower with me to celebrate! (That’s not a bad idea…)

I need to put the boot on when I’m up and moving around, but sitting on the couch, I can take it off. Last night I didn’t wear the boot while I slept. When I wake up and even move a little, I instantly remember I’m injured.

The additional stress of this injury and my inability to move around without further injuring myself has been overwhelming. I fell last Tuesday (hurt my right shoulder) and Thursday after my doctor appointment. My cast was removed and the stitches in my ankle cut out. I was given care directions and finally could leave. I was thrilled to have that “cinderblock” removed from my leg.

We made a quick stop on the way home. After leaving the store, I came to the end of the sidewalk into the parking lot and my cart stopped, but my body didn’t. The pain was excruciating as my foot touched down and didn’t have my boot on yet. It was at home, forgotten.

Brian and several people came running to me, but I had to lay on the ground withering in pain before even attempting to stand back up. I couldn’t stop moaning and even put my hand over my mouth so everyone in the parking lot wouldn’t hear my wallowing. It took a good minute or two before I even wanted to try.

After the parking lot fall.

Safely back into the passengers seat, we headed home and my moaning turned into crying. Poor Brian didn’t know what to think. He asked if I needed to go right back to the hospital. I shook my head no but couldn’t speak. I did have some pain, but not enough to make me cry.

“What do you need? What can I do?” he asked in earnest, truly wanting to make me better.

I finally blurted out, “My ankle’s ok but I want my mommy!”

He wisely just let me cry it out, as there was no substitute for my mom. When I’m at the end of my rope, mom is my go to.

We visited my mom yesterday. I told her the story of falling in the parking lot and crying I wanted my mommy. We laughed and laughed. My mom knows the frustration I’m going through and it was wonderful to see her and share this little sliver of life.

I know someday when I cry and want my mommy, I won’t be able to just go visit. Cherish everyday with your loved ones.

Wednesday is my first day of physical therapy. I’m excited to get started. I’ve had PT in the past for injuries, none this serious, and had great success. I feel positive I can get back on track. No jump roping for a long time. Maybe even never!!

Healing ungracefully,


My left leg is SO skinny. Good thing muscle comes back quickly.

February already

Just watching my life fly by….from the couch.

The month of Love has arrived. It snuck in while I was under the influence of pain meds. Now Valentine’s Day is nearly upon us and I have zero ideas for a gift for the hubby. I can’t even promise a good time, but I will be good company.

I’m currently in a plaster cast. It’s like having 2 concrete blocks on my leg. My toes are constantly cold and I haven’t been able to wash off all the doctor “signatures” on my leg. I covered my cast with a plastic bag and saran wrap and was able to kinda shower. If you’ve ever been laid up and tried to shower without getting certain parts wet, well, it’s a struggle. I still feel like a graffiti board.

The next appointment (and cast removal, I hope) is Feb 16th. I am excited at the thought of losing the cast and just having boot splint to wear. I still will be non-weight baring but it is a step in the right direction. One I am permitted to take.


Several friends and family have stopped by and I greatly appreciate the visitors, gifts, good ideas and prayers. The restrictions and inability to move around is worse then the pain.

I’ve also resigned to having hairy legs. Keeps me warm.

Keep on smiling,


Least sexiest boot ever

It’s completely severed. Damn.

Things were a bit rough today. It was hard to hear my Achilles tendon was completely severed. That it would not just grow back together if left unattended. I would be able to walk, but it would be nothing like what my active life has been. With surgery and good behavior, I could start to “kinda” walk again in 6 weeks and even have a full recovery in a year.

Spring is right around the corner and I have plans, so my goal is to be walking in April. Not sure how long I’ll need to wear this sexy boot after my cast is removed. Big Boots don’t work well on Boats. Big Boobs on Boats is a whole different story.

In other news, Tesla has her driver’s license after completing all necessary requirements and passing on her first try. The car her dad “surprised” her with for Christmas (that she has to pay for) is sitting in his driveway. She can’t drive it unless he’s with her because he doesn’t feel she’s ready yet. But, if I want to put insurance that covers her on the Volvo we bought her, he doesn’t care if she drives it to his house. Yeah, you read that right.

Also, Tesla started reading my old blog posts and has encouraged me to work on writing my book. We had a long conversation and I told her sensitive things that I have never blogged about because I didn’t want her to hear about them for the first time reading my blog.

As times passes, things get foggy. I am thankful I have all my blog posts and boxes, yes boxes, of paper notes. I’m going to need memory joggers.

Lastly, Matt is living with Brian’s parents. He won’t be moving back into our home.

I’m heading to bed. It’s been a day of disappointment, pain, aggravation and emotional hurt. I’m done.

Tomorrow is a fresh day,


Just Jumping Rope. Gravity Wins.

What happened? You fell down.

There I am, getting my ass to the gym, trying to stay somewhat healthy, and even improve. Yea me! I was feeling great warming up with my new rope and . . . someone kicked me from behind.

Brian gave me a speed rope for Christmas. Not sure how other wives might feel about that, but, I loved it. I finally remembered to cut it off the cardboard and take in to workout on Wednesday. On Thursday, Brian was at the gym too and watching me jump rope, even commenting on how well it was going. My gym mates are really good at jumping rope. Some look like they are effortlessly dancing, often to a song only in their head.

I was watching them and decided to give it a try. I’m decent at jumping rope, I just can’t do it very long before I get hung up. But I keep trying, it’s all about keeping the heart rate up. Sometimes, I don’t even use the rope, I just jump around and swing my arms. No one cares.

No sooner did I start trying to jump “fancy” I got hit in the back of my left leg. It happened so damn fast I didn’t even realize I was on the gym floor, until I was there. One of our trainers, John, who was starting class in 2 minutes, looked down at me. I’m not sure if he recognized my confusion. I looked behind me, certain someone had accidentally kicked me, or I had crashed into equipment.

There was nothing behind me. Not a fucking thing I could have tripped over, other then my ego from thinking I could jump rope like the twenty-some-year-old, next to me. I actually asked what happened and both John and Brian, who was behind me, said it looked like I rolled my ankle. That does make more sense.

I tried to stand up and I couldn’t. I moaned and felt my stomach lurch. Oh Lord, please don’t let me barf on the gym floor. That would be horribly embarrassing. The guys tried to help me stand up and I felt my world start to close in and get dark. My stomach began to roll and I realized the reality of throwing up AND passing out on the gym floor. I HAD to get out of there.

John and Brian picked me up and carried me to the door. People were coming in as I was being carried out. I wish I could have said, “wait till you see the other guy.”

I didn’t go to urgent care until Friday afternoon after my Facebook friends insisted I needed to see a doctor. And, hey, they were right. The doctor said I severed my Achilles tendon and the end is probably up in my calf. I told him I was going to hope it’s not completely severed. He smile and responded, “you do that.”

Tuesday afternoon is MRI day. I’ve been on the couch for 2 days. I’m probably going to be immobile for weeks and then have months of recovery. That is going to suck.

I have never had to slow down like this before. I think about my mom and how she is chair bound, for probably LIFE. She will most likely never walk, and I will most likely, will have a full recovery. I’m going to suck it up and make the most of it with 3 goals.

  1. Don’t be down in spirit.
  2. Blog about anything. (Someone I don’t know once referred to my blog as a “Mommy Blog and train wreck I can’t stop reading”. Sounds accurate and thank you.)
  3. Follow doctor’s orders.

One or more of these may be difficult.


My hairless dog died

Losing a pet just sucks.

Over 13 years ago, I decided I was buying a hairless dog. I’ve never really went into why, if people asked, and usually just let the question go away with “I have allergies.” (Which I do)

A B&W for a photo course. Ying was an excellent model.

The reason I had a hairless dog is my ex-husband didn’t want a dog loose in the house. Dogs shed. He kept his golden retriever in a small gated off area downstairs. It was roomy for a dog pen, but lonely. So, I fixed that problem easy, and this hairless pup I found in TX, was born on my birthday. It was fate. I needed him by my side. Ying arrived in December 2008.

I left the no-roaming-dog house 2 months later.

Ying was the one constant in my life. He went everywhere with me. If I didn’t have him, people asked where he was. I felt like Ying and I attended college together. As long as the weather was acceptable for him to hang out, he would lay around in the car, waiting for my class to end, and we would walk campus.

He was spry and one day, got away from me off the leash. There was no catching Ying. After about 5 minutes he returned with a dinner roll in his mouth. He was fast as fuck, as they say.

For a photography course project, I asked a local tattoo artist, Tom Keller, who has since passed away, if he would pretend to tattoo Ying. He was completely down for the photo shoot. It started a STORM on the internet!! Like I would have even have tried tattooing him, or that Ying would just sit and get tattooed at all.

I’m so glad I have these photos I took of him while I was taking all the photography courses. I will have to go through all the ones I printed to see how many final ones I have. I only have one out that was a final part of my grade.

Found this of Ying and Tom Keller hiding in a box.

He was my protector. In his younger days he would go into a frenzy when someone got near me. He bit a lot of people, no joke there. But, after our last move, he wasn’t nearly as over-protective. He was old. Now and then, he would chase the kitten a little bit. Or even walk fast when we were out for a stroll, headed back home, of course. But, I knew the end was getting near.

He had been up in the garden two days ago. I thought he might have gotten in compost or even cat turds. He was throwing up and had the poops. Even after he licked at the water bowl and ate a little rice, he didn’t look good last night. He couldn’t walk. He enjoyed laying outside earlier in the sun. It was a beautiful day. He didn’t seem to be in pain. I carried him into his heated bed and petted his head. I told him he was a good dog. He looked back at me and I know he could hear me, letting him know it was ok to go.

He was a great dog. I will miss him. What a history we have.


Tidbits I’ve recently learned

I talk to a crazy number of people. I’m a people person. I love them, they love me. I hear stories.

A friend recently had knee surgery. Her healing process was going well, and she was up and about in her home, getting stronger each day. Until the spider happened. A spider that made her say, “no fucking way are you gonna continue to live.” Since she was in her slippers, she wisely chose to fetch a sneaker, a sturdier killing weapon, by far.

She snuck up on that spider, giving it a hard look, with an additional, “Jesus, you are ugly” to be clear of her disapproval of the intruder. Just as she raised her rubber mallet footwear, the spider jumped at her. It wasn’t going down without a fight. She jump backwards, forgetting her crippled state, and shooting pain took the forefront. And the spider, was still alive.

She called for her son, and he arrived at her home just in time to beat the shit out of the offending spider, and to call an ambulance for his mom.

Lesson learned: Let the spider live. It’s a big house.

Another friend told me how he was chasing a suspect across a field. He could feel his pants begin to slip down the back as he ran, caused his heavy tool belt. He reached back to snatch up his pants, but wasn’t quite fast enough. His tool belt panted him mid-dash and anyone watching would have seen his cheeks snuggled in neon green boxer briefs for a flash, before he yanked them back up, without missing a step. Now that’s a pro.

Lesson learned: Take that belt in a notch.

Lastly, a friend recently failed a drug test. Not that the urine was dirty, it was clean. Heck, it wasn’t even real. But, what is wasn’t, was warm enough. Not to temp is an auto fail.

Second lesson learned: Use the prison wallet to ensure temp.

That’s enough tidbits for the day. I’ll always have more.


Trapped by a Hygienist

A Dental Experience.

How I felt. Credit Deviant Art

As I was brushing my teeth this morning, I could feel my electric toothbrush losing it’s spin strength. If you’ve never used an electric toothbrush (wft you waiting for?), when the batteries are fresh, it’s like using a power tool to clean your teeth, a plastic brush, rather then a wire wheel. Some peeps might need that wire wheel though.

The last two trips I went for my semi-annual cleaning, I had the same hygienist. Don’t get me wrong, she’s super nice. She is just gifted with gab. While I was in the chair, mouth hanging open, head tilted appropriately, she told me all about her niece. I didn’t have much to reply to. It was pretty one-sided with fingers and tools in my mouth.

What I did find annoying is she would stop working, to speak. I wanted her to speak and work, so this would just be over asap. When she stopped talking, I guess I was expected to say something, but I didn’t always know how to respond, because I had begun listening to the client and hygienist in the next room.

Their conversation was much more interesting as the patient was telling how she had lived in a commune (sounded cult like) and how she hadn’t seen to a dentist back then. I don’t know how the hygienist was even getting this ladies teeth clean, she talked so much. I strained my ears to hear over my chatty tooth scraper, to hear stories of commune living. It was an escape, but only in my head, not my body.

I was trapped by my hygienist, and the one next door, was trapped by her patient. Until that dental floss goes through my teeth and I’m told the dentist will be in shortly, I am stuck in an uncomfortable position, with a strangers fingers in my mouth, poking, prodding, and scrapping. The process should go quickly, and stories do not need shared.

When she was finally done, I could barely contain my excitement. The dentist came in next and gave my teeth a clean bill of health. I was ready to roll. Except, my hygienist was now busy talking to her co-workers and had not gone to get my teeth whitener. I had to wait another 10 minutes, even though I asked her twice. Once before she cleaned my teeth and once after.

It must have slipped her mind in the seconds, after she left the room and began speaking to someone else.

I’m glad I only need to torture myself with this twice a year.

Here’s to pearly bright whites!!


Girlboxer is BACK

Ten-ish Years Ago

To say it’s been awhile since I posted would be an understatement. It’s been a LONG while.

And now, Miss Clairol no longer makes a dime on me.

I never dreamed my first post, after years of silence, would be about my cellphone number, but, such is the case.

This morning, the text messages I sent to someone to let them know their glass etching was done, came back undeliverable. (More on glass etching later) It said it was because my phone was inactive. I sent it 3 times, like I could convince it, that it, was in error. I tried to make a call, no luckies there either. I had switched to the MUCH cheaper, StraightTalk company, and assumed I had some type of problem with my autofill.

If only it had been that easy.

According to them, I had cancelled my phone number. That’s what a young, female operator told me. I replied, “there is no way I would cancel my phone number.” She replied, “on Nov. 19 it was canceled and your plan has ended.”

Now, my reaction was probably one she never encountered before. I said, “you’re saying I canceled my number?” And she said replied with “yes.”

I literally moaned, and said, “I’m going to throw up.” She said, “Oh, it’s going to be ok! We’ll get you a new phone number.” WELL, that was not what I wanted to hear. I knew that meant there was NO WAY I was getting my old phone number back, because my account wasn’t just canceled, my phone number was marked as no longer in use, and recycled back into the number system.

The heat in my stomach shot up what felt like 10 degrees, and I could feel my heart beating in my guts. The kiss of death was when my mouth began to water like a geyser, and I either had to hang up, or this poor girl was going to hear me dry heave like a drunk after a bender. Fortunately, it was early and I knew nothing was coming up but some coffee, tops.

She could not WAIT to transfer my call to another dude, who eventually told me the exact same thing. I did not dry heave in his ear. It had taken a moment to get transferred. I’m guessing she filled him in that I was totally losing my shit over the cancelled phone number. Not screaming and yelling, but moaning and dry heaving.

Good news, I have a new number. It’s not a 717 area code phone number. Hell, it’s not even a PA area code, it’s for South Carolina, but at least a have a working phone again.

I have made it through the day and thought this would be a good way to jump back into writing on my blog. In a way, I’m having the same type of problem with my blog. I foolishly didn’t get around to changing my card number after it expired. My website did not auto renew, so I lost my website original name, and have to choose a new one. That sucks even more then losing my phone number, I think.

The question is, what do I change it too? Or, I’m seriously considering

I’m really into etching glass. I also etch metal and my husband and I make wooden signs together. That all can be found on our Facebook page, CopenCrider Creations.

I want this blog to be more about my arts and hobbies (writing, painting, photography, glass-etching, balloon fun and outdoor adventures) and zero about divorce, which is what this blog had started with. Am I still going to write a book someday? Yes, I plan to. That will be down the road. I can’t even bring myself to read my old blog posts about divorce and custody. I also have a box and file cabinet of notes I don’t open. It is still very painful. I am happily remarried (part of why my writing died out) and my ex is remarried with wife #5. I wish them the absolute best.

All my original blog content will still be on whatever I name my new blog. It has to be as close to my original website name as possible. I have social media that I use to promote my arts and I use girlboxer1970 as my handle.

I am enjoying my new hobby of making TikToks. My YouTube channel of fun balloon videos, that are FREE, are still online and I’m adding more nearly every day. Some of my videos have been viewed over 63K times!

Please subscribe to my TicTok and YouTube! And, if you’re not a subscriber to my blog, please join in the FUN!!

Instagram, TikTok and YouTube for Girlboxer1970 fun!

You’ll be hearing more from me, I promise! It’s been forever since I clicked, PUBLISH!


Hey…. It’s me! Making changes.

I get so angry with myself because I have this awesome website with people who follow what I write, yet I rarely write. So I need to develop a time where I regularly write again.

We’ve had a lot of changes in our lives recently. The biggest being that Brian was awarded custody of his son, Matt. Matt’s 12, same as Tesla, my daughter. The custody process was very long. It took over a year just to get a trial.

Actually, there were two. At the first one, the judge was not pleased with either Brian, or his ex-wife’s, testimony. Instead, she appointed a lawyer for Matthew and said when he was done gathering information and writing a recommendation, then there would be an actual custody hearing.

From the day Matthew was appointed his own lawyer, until the actual decision, was a year and two months. Brian was awarded full physical and legal custody of Matt. His mother can see him the first weekend of every month and then have him December 27th until the day before he returns to school.

This decision, of course, isn’t sitting well with Matt’s mom. She was expecting to keep primary custody and hoping to get some of my income as child support to boot. I knew neither of those things would happen.

Brian has all say in Matt’s life now. He is able to take him to the doctor and doesn’t need her permission for him to start medication for ADHD. All the ideas and accepted behaviors that Matt’s been taught his whole life now need to be changed. This could prove to be a challenge.

Another change that I’m working on, I want to get back into shape. I don’t expect to become a triathlete, but I would like to be able to walk up a few flights of steps and not thinking I’m going to die. I’m seriously disappointed in myself for falling out of shape.

I gave serious thought to bariatric surgery. My weight now is considered obese, but not morbid, so I probably don’t qualify. I have not scheduled an appointment with a surgeon to see if I’m a candidate, but instead began a diary to keep track of what I eat and exercise.

I’ve lost weight before, so I believe I can do this. My starting weight. 211. My goal weight, 155. I’ve got a ways to go.

I feel sad looking at these pictures! So here’s to eating right and exercising.

Fingers crossed!


His Day Was Worse

drug addct

Today started out like any other day. Wake up before the alarm goes off. (Isn’t that frustrating!?) Shower and dress, pack lunches, walk the dog, drive to work, park somewhere I hopefully don’t get a ticket for, avoid getting hit by traffic, enter work through 4 alarm coded doors, sign in, turn on my pc, warm up my coffee, and heat my breakfast, usually an egg sandwich.  Work until first break. All normal.

First break, my work wife, Kem, asks me to walk over to the diner with her and out the door we go. That’s when things took a turn.

I could see what looked like legs, sticking out into the parking lot, across the street at the strip mall.

The clientele at this strip mall are often pan handlers. They ask for a quarter from anyone who passes by until they have enough change to buy drugs, or, go into the little liquor store for a half pint of their poison. People ask for change so much that I avoid the mall as much as possible. There are nice stores there, so like today, we were on the way over.

A man, probably in his mid to late twenty’s, was lying on the sidewalk, his head against the brick column. His shirt was pulled up, way up, and his jacket was nearly off of him. He was blue and getting bluer. Kem asked if anyone called 911 and there was a lady on the phone already. No one was doing anything for this guy.

I asked if he was breathing and the lady said yes. I was doubtful. So was Kem. She checked his pulse and said it was weak. We were told he fell twice in the parking lot and they carried him to the sidewalk. I presume, “propping him against the column”.  He had blood on his knee and both hands. So we straightened him out and I did a chest rub. He didn’t respond.

He didn’t seem to be getting any bluer, but wasn’t responding, even though his eyes had opened. They weren’t blinking. Then he started to convulse. I came around to the same side Kem was on and said to watch for needles when we roll him on his side. He was breathing again and looked less blue. That was a relief. I knew we just needed to keep him as comfortable as possible until the ambulance arrived.

I tried to pull his clothes over his bare skin while he was on his side. He had surgical scars all over his lower back. I don’t know this guy’s name, though they found a credit card beside him that said Henry Something, so the EMT starting calling him Henry. Henry smashed his phone during his falling down moments.  Kem had tried to see if he had any ICE contacts listed. It wouldn’t turn on. We left after the fire truck arrived to finish her errand.

The diner employee said she thought he had just been there and used the restroom. I told her to be careful emptying the trash. She nodded, not having thought of that.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and say pain medication caused this man to go to this length, to take a drug he’s become addicted to, in a public place. Had he lost consciousness in the restroom, he might be dead. Actually, I don’t know that he lived.

And directly across the street, he can apply for assistance to break his addiction. I pray he soon gets help.

I felt sick after getting back to work. I never saw someone overdose before. I hope I never see it again.

God Bless all,


On a good note: 7 years ago today I started my blog. 🙂

%d bloggers like this: