Funny story…

 

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One of these things is not like the other

So a couple days ago I came home on my lunch hour to let the dog out and get something to eat. I ate my Panera salad while my border collie gazed at me hopefully (for what, lettuce?) and went out to my car to get something, I don’t even remember what. Unfortunately the combination of my wet boots (platforms) and the wood floor (shiny) resulted in me taking a slow motion but violent tumble down my hallway and dislocating my shoulder. Again.

Have you ever fallen as an adult? It is terrifying. It’s slow motion. You feel heavier than normal. You don’t know where your limbs are going next.

I knew immediately that the shoulder was dislocated and instead of thinking of pain I went into planning mode –  how I would have to call my office, somehow get to the hospital and spend the next several hours in the ER, then go home with a sling. The nauseating dislocation feeling hit me pretty fast and I started sweating and dry heaving while I dialed my sister. “I need you to come get me and take me to the hospital,” I said. “Okay,” she said, and hung up, unquestioning. You see, this isn’t her first rodeo either. It has fallen upon her to take me to the emergency room for a number of freak accidents (including two separate dishwashing incidents) so she probably has a Go Bag ready for occasions just like this.

I spent an impossibly long time in the waiting area of the ER, after having bragged to my sister about how I’ve NEVER waited to be seen. The thing about a shoulder dislocation is that they don’t so much hurt as make you sick because the entire weight of your arm is hanging on muscles it shouldn’t be hanging on. It’s awful. They seemed in no hurry to see me, as they escorted seemingly comfortable folks back to the doctors before my turn. I got a warm blank and a wheel chair but remained pitiful while we people-watched. After a couple hours my pain “contractions” as Amy called them were coming closer together. (Put two moms in a situation describing pain and we put it in labor terms.) She observed that every time I said something sarcastic I would have a spasm, so I pretty much had to keep my mouth shut entirely. Only sarcasm was coming out at that point.

Sitting there, I suddenly remembered that I was literally covered with bruises due to a fascia roller I’ve been using. My sister looked at me quizzically and I told her to lift up my hem which revealed a lovely blue patchwork of bruising along my thighs. She burst into laughter as we thought about the ‘splainin’ I’d have to do if they had to cut my clothes off. Luckily I was wearing vintage with a zipper in the back, so I was spared.

The last time I dislocated my shoulder, they had to cut off my shirt, gave me IV anti-nausea and anti-anxiety meds and a delightful twilight drug that erased all memory of the experience. A team of about seven medical professionals swarmed around me to perform a violent relocation of my arm into the socket. This time however, the doc convinced me that I only needed a Valium and he would manually raise my arm until it popped back in. This plan sounded horrible and I explained that I rather liked the idea that all the drugs last time had softened the memory to haziness, again, like childbirth. I was dubious, but eager to get that sucker popped back into its rightful socket so I relented. I have to say, it was the least painful few minutes of my entire stay and I was so grateful to be realigned that I could have kissed him.

Fast forward to today – I’ve been off work for two days and have only driven the kids to school and back. My sister has carted me around town on errands and my shoulder is immobilized in a sling. The pain meds make me sleepy and in fact I just started feeling pain today. I discovered some nice bruises on my knees from hitting the floor so I guess this month’s hemlines will be a little more modest than usual. My aunt reminded me that Lucille Ball wore flats but you will have to pry the stilettos out of my cold, dislocated hands.

I have one painting to finish before Christmas and I’m going to make it. However, it would make me feel so much better if I had a few more in the pipeline. SO – I’m offering half off gift certificates ordered this week. Maybe it’s the pain meds but selling a few more paintings would really put me in the Christmas spirit (and you’d get a smokin’ deal.) Email me at rachaelrossman@earthlink.net if you want to order.

Ho ho ho!

 


Rachael Rossman

 

Flash Sale!

IMG_5587I’m having a flash sale! Am I using that term correctly? Anyway – I’m going on a little vacay and I want to have a full calendar when I get back so…I’m offering half off custom portraits today only (order and pay before midnight tonight).

5×7 – $100 8×10 – $200 11×14 – $250 16×20 – $400

*Plus shipping Email me at rachaelrossman@earthlink.net to order. It’s a great time to order for Christmas!

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Rachael Rossman

 

Birthdaze

I turned 43 this month. Birthdays in my 20s were spent saying what everyone else was saying, “I’m getting so old!” when in fact, we weren’t, really. It’s just something people said. “I’m a quarter century old, can you believe it?” and other nonsense. It meant nothing, but we didn’t know it at the time. We were taught to dread THIRTY, but frankly I don’t remember much about my 30s. That decade I was overworked, overtired, overstressed, overweight and frankly – over it. It’s a foggy mélange in my memory of mortgage-getting and baby-having. I woke up at 40. A series of unfortunate events may have been the ugly catalyst for my awakening, or maybe it would have happened anyway. I’ve heard people say that their 40s are the best – and the worst. You’re at the peak of responsibility – career, kids going to college maybe, perhaps taking care of parents, marriages get strained, hormones change – there’s a lot going on. But what if you take all those lemons and make lemonade? What if you start going to the gym, eating right, listening to your spouse, listening to your kids, plant a garden, get a job that suits you, say no when you need to, let toxic relationships go, get a bike, wear red lipstick and five inch heels and minis if you want, travel, watch baseball….What if you start living instead of waiting for your life to start? Instead of thinking things will get better some day, make them better today? Then maybe, just maybe, you could celebrate your birthdays with the same glee that you had as a kid when you told people your age in six-month increments. Maybe you would ride your bike in stillettos. Maybe you would tell anyone who would listen, “I’m 43 today!” because you were proud of it.

”I think midlife is when the universe gently places her hands upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear: I’m not screwing around. It’s time. All of this pretending and performing – these coping mechanisms that you’ve developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt – has to go. Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy of love and belonging, but you’re still searching and you’re more lost than ever. Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through you. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.” -Brené Brown

 

BirthdayGrrl

P.S. If you are thinking about ordering art for Christmas, I highly recommend ordering now! It keeps me from going crazy in November.


Rachael Rossman

 

Coattails

PWMy mom called me earlier this week, “I saw your paintings on Ree’s Thanksgiving special.” I had just walked in the door from work and my mom was watching the Food Network east coast feed which is 3 hours earlier than mine. Even knowing this, I turned on the TV, still wearing my heels and other trappings of my day job while I simultaneously put down groceries and opened the door for Ladybird to go out in the back yard. The dog stood on the threshold, looked dubiously at the drizzle and went back in.

“I won’t get that show until 8 o’clock,” I said, setting a mental alarm that had little chance of going off.

Yes, I know there are DVRs for that. No, I don’t have one.

What I can do is tell you that The Pioneer Woman Thanksgiving Special is going to re-run and if you’re into it, you can see my paintings of her children in the background, which is pretty cool.

Sun, November 22

11:30a|10:30c

Tue, November 24

1|12c

They are also prominently featured in her Walmart commercials! This is almost as cool as the time a friend saw someone had ripped off my painting of The Bloggess and was selling them alongside Frida Kahlo prints.

That’s how you know you’ve really made it.


Rachael Rossman

 

Rachael and the Terrific, Wonderful, Unbelievable, Very Good Sale

IMG_4072Since I started my Real Job, my paint brushes have grown cold and lonely and my marketing has grown uninspired and desperate. It happens now and then…Sometimes when you’re selling art you forget why you do it in the first place – because you like making The Art. Because you need to make the art. Because you like the feel of a brush in your hands and paint under your fingernails. Because you like staying up late with a glass of whiskey and the soundtrack of Rent, ETC.

What I’m saying is, it feels good to have a full dance card.

So I’m offering a Super Good Super Rare Very Good Deal on art in case you have been on the fence or would like to order for Christmas or whatever.

Through September 30, all custom watercolor portraits are half price, 5×7″ and up.

I might be crazy, but I’d rather be a crazy busy painter than an crazy bored painter. Paintress? Whatever.

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My angst is your gain. Email me at Rachael@rachaelrossman.com to order.


Rachael Rossman