Heeere's Pilly!

Couldn't think of a title, sorry.  This whole sanity thing is a bit tricky--not that I'm complaining, mind, it just takes some getting used to.  I used to just turn off my inhibition factor, (something that is fairly easy if you're Bipolar, since you don't exactly HAVE an inhibition factor) and before you could say Bob's your uncle, there I was with a Pilly story.

What that has to do with my new stove I couldn't begin to tell you, and that was what I thought I was going to write about.  Clearly I was wrong.

Also, it seems I am no longer familiar with the computer keyboard, apparently sanity affects your fingers all to hell and gone.  Who knew?

So, anyway, my stove.

Pellet stoves may be the greatest invention in the history of people.  Seriously.  Well, okay, it takes awhile before it seems alright to you to burn something that looks like a cross between rabbit pellets and cow feed, but aside from that, you couldn't ask for anything more, really.

They're clean, they're efficient and they guarantee that you no longer have ice in your bathtub.  That right there is reason enough to love them, in my opinion. You pry a few frozen towels off the bathroom floor in the morning, you get right fond of a stove, I can tell you.

Alright, it thawed that block of ice under the kitchen sink and I was not entirely prepared for the ensuing flood, but it saved having to find a bucket to mop the kitchen floor, so it all worked out, really.

Seriously, I have the most wonderful husband in the world and I should quit poking fun at my life long enough to tell you the real Pilly story, which isn't funny, but is a good story just the same.

When I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder it was a tremendous relief to me, but it also was a scary thing.  Not every husband in the world wants a truly crazy wife.  Alright, it's true he stuck by me when I was completely insane, which you would think might have given me a clue that he probably was in it for better or for worse, just like the vows said.

But in real life, knowing that your partner suffers from a major mental illness, and knowing what that might mean in terms of your future, all too often makes people realize they really aren't in it for that much potential worse.  And I'm not judging anyone.  If you can't deal with that, you can't and the person is probably better off without you.

So I confess I worried about what it would mean for MY future.  And my family's future.  At least for the moment, I can't handle our finances or take care of any of our business and Jimmy has to be away on the road.  As a rule, a truck driver needs a partner who can take care of home while he makes  the many sacrifices needed to earn the family's living.

But it turns out that I am profoundly loved, and not just by my husband, either. It is a very humbling thing to realize that you are loved that much by so many people.  It is, in fact, a little like God's love.  The Love that exists,  not because you are worthy of it, but just because you are.  It makes you want to love back, with all your heart and mind and soul.

And if you are reading this, you are,  like as not, one of the people in my life who has loved me.  And so, I want to thank you for every minute you have been in my life and in my heart, part of the fabric of my life.

Thank you for all the times you tried to keep my safe, when the last thing I thought I wanted or needed was safe.  Thank you for being exhausted by me, for never giving up on me, for not just pretending I didn't exist or disowning me when I gave you trouble or got in trouble or was the trouble, which I so often was.

Thank you for never trying to make me be somebody else, for letting me be what I was, for teaching me that love always loves, and always forgives and truly forgets, and values everything, good or bad, that makes up a human soul.

Because of you I know God.  I know about His love, because you demonstrated it for me in the best of all possible ways.  You were Saint Francis to me (preach always, if necessary use words, he said.  You did.  And you didn't need words).

And what did my wonderful husband say, when we discussed what my illness might mean for our lives?

He said, " I love you ," of course.

And he does.