Stuff I Talk About

by Christina Ledbetter


Nothing makes me feel more grown up than talking about how much we need rain. Not even calling my insurance company comes close. Yesterday in a conversation with a contractor I took it to a whole other level and stated how many inches we’re down year to date. This must be how 90-year-olds feel, I thought, shaking my head at the water level of our creek. I don’t know how accurate I was, but it was a number I’ve heard Benson throw out there and he’s typically right about that sort of thing, growing up on a farm and all.


One of the workers just asked if they could access my electricity from inside the house. “Sure!” I chirped, oblivious to the predicament I was putting myself in. Now I’ve got a drop cord snaking through my now cocked-open front door, draped across a couple of Chief’s toys and plugged into an outlet in my hallway. Which means essentially I’m trapped. I can’t leave the house in case they need to unplug. I’m even nervous to go pee. What if the wind blows my front door open? The bathroom’s right there!


I reached out to a neighbor for advice (Benson’s out of town). He suggested plugging their cord into my screened porch outlet. Presto pesto problem solved.

I throw out the term “workers” as if we’ve got a staff around here. Like I’m some lady who tells another lady what I’d like her to cook me and the family for lunch that day and we’ll have it on the veranda, thank you. Alas, by workers, I mean the crew of men slinging hammers outside my window.


I am actually writing this blog to thwart off a panic attack. It’s been a bit of a winky wonky day (my eyes squinch up first, my telltale sign other than the stuttering). It’s been a day of remembering what my therapist would tell me and simply doing the things: spend time with God, move my body, get outside. Use my brain. It’s sorta kinda working.


We bought a pizza oven and Benson is obsessed with perfecting dough. By God’s grace alone, I can tell you, I married well. While Benson kneads, I slice toppings. And would you like me to change your pizza making life? Hear me out: Red sauce, fresh mozzarella, PEACH slices, goat cheese, prosciutto, basil.


We’re still in a drought, I still hear the sound of a saw outside, Benson’s still out of town and I go a bit bonkers when he’s away this long.

But I feel a lot better after describing that pizza to y’all.

Categories: This and That

2 replies

  1. Not to minimize your predicament, I am also greatly disturbed when Paul is out of town. My anxiety manifests itself first by a feeling that my chest is going to burst open and difficulty swallowing. my eyes are fine. Go figure. One thing that helps my anxiety is doing something creative. I have an art journal that i smear paint in. Not that it is good…..or artistic……..but it allows me to feel like a suffering, slightly mad artist…….

  2. Isn’t it funny how it affects the body differently in us. I’m sorry that it shows up when Paul is out of town, but I’m grateful that you are in the same position I am and with someone you love 💕

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