Yo ho to ho!

I'm working downtown today, rather than teleworking.  I don't do it very often (12 hour days are really not my speed anymore), but I was hoping to track my boss down - of course, he called in sick, but that's life.

Anyway... since I was downtown, I went out to grab lunch from one of the food carts.  Portland has the greatest food carts, in my opinion - unlike most cities, they're generally stationary (mobile-enabled, but stationary), and you can get any cuisine you want as long as you're willing to go looking.  I've seen Ethiopian, Cambodian, a stand devoted to nothing but takomaki... everything.  Several of the parking lots downtown have converted their fringe spaces (the ones next to the sidewalk) to nothing but food carts, and my office is right next to one of the ground-zero areas.

At any rate - I was a woman on a mission (or at least a lunch run.) It being an uncharacteristically nice Portland day (there was an Unidentified Frying Object visible in the heavens), I had on my Terminator Bitch sunglasses.  You know the kind - they cover half your face and make you look surprisingly intimidating.  They would make Mother Theresa look surprisingly intimidating.  I also had my Ipod blasting "The Ride of the Valkyries".  You know, you can make pretty good time on a mobility scooter if you really put your wrist into it.  I had people half a block away getting out of my way.  It felt... empowering. I didn't actually bowl anyone over - in fact, I was very polite as I made my way along, but a little fear in the populace is good for one's soul.

Arrggghhh! It's AARP!

I was going through the mail this morning and there it was.  My AARP application card.

Ok, first off - who snitched?  I still have 3 days to pretend that I'm not 50.  Heck, I've got the rest of my life to pretend I'm not 50 - that's the great thing about being born on April Fool's Day.  I don't have to acknowledge it if I don't want to.

Second - this may be the first time I've regretted marrying a younger man.  Ok, he's just one year younger, but still... he does not understand the trauma here.  He's laughing and suggesting we find out which restaurants have senior menus.  It's ok - I'll get my revenge later.  He's a sound sleeper.  Very sound.

Third - I look at AARP kind of like the NRA.  They're an advocacy group, yeah - but they are also like the mafia.  Once you're in, you can't get back out - and the acts committed in your name are not always seemly.

On the other hand - there is that 10% discount...

Yet Another Hank Update (Good News!)

Henry the VIII, aka Hank the tumor, aka Fat Little Lady Killer

I heard back from Naomi (my cancer doctor's nurse) - the pap smear came back negative, and the biopsy on the polyp they found was benign.  So... looks like Hank is sticking to redecorating the uterus, and has not moved on to putting up drapes on the cervix, which is a big relief.  (Surprising as hell, but big relief.)  Apparently, I am maintaining my quirkitude.

Next step is April 18th - I go in for my CT scan (I know, it's a Sunday.  I guess they figure they've got the machine standing around idle, and they might as well make some money with it.)  At that point, we'll be able to tell if he's still just hanging out, or if he's growing inside the uterus. 

Thank you all for the prayers/well wishes/karma sending - I have no idea what is retarding his progress, but I suspect it has something to do with all the mental energy sent his way, and I'm incredibly grateful for all your help.  This latest scare was a real wake-up call for me, though, and I'm talking to Ralph tomorrow about retiring - while I'm proud to have been part of the Corps for the past 25 years, I don't want to spend the rest of my life there.  It's time to move on. Anyone know of a good part-time research librarian position opening up in Portland?

The Failure of Fluff

Dancer AKA Grunk (so named for the only word she utters)

This hair-challenged sweetheart is my sister, Dancer.  She's normally a very sweet dog (well, except for puppy psycho hour, that hour in the evening between 8 and 9 when she randomly attacks everything that moves, like a tiny, crazed, drunken Irishman.)  However, as you can see... she's having a bad hair life.  She's suffering from premature female-pattern baldness, she has a tendency to be very enthusiastic about her food (which, in the case of some leftover Spaghetti-Os the other week left her looking like an Oompa Loompa, orange from ear to ear and from topknot to ladybeard), and what hair she does have tends to go 18 directions at once on a good day. 

But tonight, she managed to top herself.  I don't know how she did it, but she managed to smear feces from one end of her tail to the other and over a significant portion of her backside (and over a portion of the front room through enthusiastic butt-scootching - thank god for hardwood floors).  I ended up having to cut out the worst of it, followed by a (whisper it) B-A-T-H.  She's now wrapped up in a towel on my lap, grunking pitifully every couple of minutes or so about the indignity.  Moose and Daisy have both come up to offer their sympathies (or possibly laugh at her), but she's having none of it...

Hank Update

Spring from the front of my house - I needed something to cheer me up

So... saw Dr Steiner today for what I hoped was just going to be a "you're doing fine, see you in 6 months".  Not so much...  she saw a new polyp that she didn't see before and ended up taking a couple of biopsies, so I'm back in waiting with my fingers crossed mode.  She has a new word for me, though - you survive 2 years of ULMS and they start calling you atypical.  Well, my sarcoma is atypical.  I'm going to prefer to think of it as quirky.  Very, very quirky.

I should have the biopsy results back in a week to 10 days (what a birthday present, hmmm?), and they're scheduling me for another CAT scan up at OHSU sometime in the next week or so, so I'll let you all know when I know.

For Shirley

I first met her in the weekly Cancer Support Group.  Ok, meeting someone at a cancer support group is kind of asking for pain - we're not talking about a group that makes actuaries salivate.  But she had something.

When I met her, she was wearing what I think of as dance-wear - leggings, an oversized sweatshirt with the word "Pink" on it over a black camisole, perfect makeup and a bold pink streak in her steel-gray hair.  She was a broad in the best sense of the word - the kind of woman you know will take no shit from anyone, yet always a lady.  Even though she was in stage 4 of her fight, she still worked as a costumer for local stage shows (I was so envious of her working Evita), and she had also worked as a makeup artist.  I think she had every single shade of eye shadow MAC ever made.

She also was one of the best advocates for making doctors pay attention to you that I've ever met.  She guided me to the point where I was able to get a discussion going with my doctor (after way too long on hold), and she was a fighter for everyone in the meetings.  Even days when she was down, she was still able to cut through bullshit.  And she gave great hugs...

I wasn't the most constant attender of the meetings - people started dying and I had a really hard time handling it.  Have I ever mentioned just how much I detest change?  Never mind, that should really be between me and my psychologist.  But I didn't show - sometimes for a couple of months.  When I showed up in December, I couldn't recognize her at first, until I realized that the much shorter woman in the pirate shirt and headscarf had to be Shirley.  Especially when she hugged me - that was definitely Shirley. 

She passed away Monday... and I'm sitting here crying over someone I didn't really know nearly as well as I wanted to.  I'll miss you, Shirley.

One from the Vault

Freedom

I felt his hand on my thigh, 

My hand caressing the stick shift.

I rammed the shaft into fifth gear and

Finally achieved freeway.

The sun-roof open, 

My hair flowed straight up into the wind.

The sunlight gleamed from his smile

And the sound of some testosterone-based

Heavy-metal, brain-numbing, emotion-altering

Paeon to youth and beauty and the American automobile

Screamed in our ears

As we bellowed along with it - 

Scaring cattle all along  

A 25-mile stretch of asphalt.

I knew that we were cruising

Along a path that led to his bedroom

But I felt secure enough to take my time.

For once, I didn't feel I needed to rush to get there

In case the winds changed.

We climbed along the back road up out of the gorge,

Feeling the smooth kick-out of the car

As I caressed it through the curves,

And landed at the pinnacle at twilight.

Just in time to stand there,

Feeling his strong arms around me, 

As the sun disappeared below the horizon.