There are few certainties in life. Even the quote - In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes - though many might think Benjamin Franklin penned those words in 1789, they originally came from Daniel Defoe's The Political History of the Devil. (1726)

What other certainties do we have? The sun will always rise. Um, poetic, but that certainly isn't what really happens.

Cm'on - any other certainties? There must be zillions of certainties!

Oh, wait a minute! I'm certain Bex will always yearn for England and love her dogs and her Paul and not necessarily in that order. Eric and Mary will certainly continue to be amazing authors - with Eric the quickest wit I've ever encountered. Maggie will certainly continue to have adventures that include swarms of mosquitoes and unique stoves and heaters. I'm certain Talking Stick will continue to place words together to the inspiring likes I've never known before. Daisy's poetry will certainly always awaken beloved memories thought forgotten. Anna will certainly always speak to my very own heart with the passion and struggles and resiliency she has with life's struggles . And Smartiplants will certainly always intrigue everyone with the breadth of knowledge she has. There are so many other certainties among my friends, but I focus on those with blogs I visit, lives I visit nearly every day.

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In addition to the certainties I just mentioned, there's another certainty I'll share with you.

Every Sunday that I attend Morton Memorial Methodist in Monteagle, I generally sit in the same pew. I don't think people are necessarily territorial. I think people are simply creatures of habit. If I meet with a certain group on a regular basis, I'll most likely plop myself in the same seat each time. And that's what I do at Morton. Plop.

There's a dear and wonderful cluster of biddies where I sit. I must clarify that I'm one of the biddies.

Sidebar: Oh my goodness, I just looked up the definition of biddies to make sure I wasn't being insulting and this is what I found:


1. Biddy: A hen, a fowl.

2. Biddy: Attractive women. For example: Look at those biddies with their little black dresses. They're a hot mess. Yeah, I wanna take *that* biddy home tonight.

3. Biddy: In Australia a biddy is a two-for-one McDonald's voucher. It usually entitles the bearer to enjoy two delicious Big Macs for the price of one, but can apply to other items, such as fries and cheeseburgers.

4. Biddy: A dumbass bitch, usually 18 or younger. Picture it: short shorts, Ugg boots, string straight hair and mad eye makeup for a high school frosh. They go out at night looking for the party so they can get tanked on mikes hard, cheap wine, or other people's alcohol. They have a bun on the top of their head as if they rolled out of bed looking like a pre-pubescent prostitute. Being a biddy means being dumb is the cool thing to do.

5. Biddy: It's actually a very interesting word because it has two separate origins, both fairly well-documented, which is unusual for a slang term. The primary meaning of "biddy" is "chicken," and it first appeared in the early 17th century. The word probably came from the nonsense syllables used to call chickens -- something like "here biddybiddybiddy," I suppose. By the late 18th century "biddy" had been adopted as a derogatory slang term for women, much in the same unfortunate way that "chick" was in the 1960's.

6. Biddy: In England we call old people old biddies...

Obviously (or maybe not so obvious) the last definition I stumbled across was the one I intended - though my cluster of Morton Biddies might opt for #2.


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So starting again:

Each Sunday at Morton, there's a dear and wonderful cluster of biddies where I sit. And even more dependable than taxes and death, I can guarantee that every single Sunday, one of the women behind me will unwrap a LOUD and CRINKLY and CRACKLY lozenge wrapper.

Thankfully, it always happens at a moment that doesn't distract me from the lessons or sermon or prayers... but it happens every single Sunday.

Anymore, I smile when I hear the crackle and unwrapping. It's a sound that now completes my Sundays at Morton. When I hear the crackling, it's the precise moment that I know all is good - that the world hasn't tipped too far on its axis. It's deliciously anticipated and slow and torturous, because the person unwrapping is trying her level best not to be heard.

****BONG BONG BONG****

It's the fucking Big Ben of crackly wrappers!

Sorry about the F-Bomb. I'm a closet potty mouth and words sometimes jump out - fly from my fingers.

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So what else is certain in life?

Um, IPF is a progressive disease. Yup. That's a certainty.

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I'm in a little bit of trouble. But I process fast. No point in wasting time. I process.

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There are no certainties with the arc of this disease - there are too many variables and unknowns. But I'm in a pickle at the moment. Perhaps it's just a blip and all I need is a tweak here and there... but I'm not certain.


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But back to certainties:

Certainty: I have the most AMAZING people at Vanderbilt in my corner.

I wasn't scheduled for a 6-minute walk yesterday, but I voiced new symptoms. Red flag stuff. A 6-minute walk is an easy test used to determine one's oxygen requirements. I kinda-sorta flunked.

A hard-to-define moment passed as Kathleen & I registered the seriousness of the quick plummet of my oxygen saturation. I swallowed a sob, swallowed hard. I squeezed her shoulder and said, "We knew it would happen..."


Earlier, before my 6-minute walk, I'd noticed a shift of tenor in Wendi, too, as I told her about my new symptoms. Her tenor was one of concern. Let's get down to business concern. You are important to me concern.

Another certainty: they care and that gives me great comfort.

Another certainty: I will continue to tap into positivity and continue to follow all the pulmonary rehab suggestions I've been given, but with closer integrity. I can't beat IPF... that's a certainty. But I can live the best life ever - of that I'm certain.

I have to change some patterns in my life - eliminate airfare for a while or maybe forever. I probably should also cutback on my Dunkin' Donut intake.


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I'm researching a train odyssey with my granddaughter - a spectacular trip that will take us across the country starting in KCMO, connecting in Los Angeles, and then traveling the coast to Portland. OR. En route to Kansas City to catch our train, we'll pause to soar high in the St. Louis Gateway Arch. It really is quite remarkable.


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I hope you'll agree - it's 100% certain that my life is still beautiful.

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Thanks for stopping by.





My summer traveling companion