Memory Well: First Dance

Lately, they've been playing a commercial with Beth by Kiss as the background (it's actually a really cute commercial, with a dad taking his boys out for a guys' day, ending up with him texting his wife with "Beth, what can I do" and her texting back "Pick up milk".  Really smart commercial, really well done, even if it is for Volkswagen.)  Anyway... brings back memories.

The first school dance I ever went to was at Franklin Jr High in Pocatello, Idaho.  I was in 7th grade, new in town (as always), but I had an "in" - I played trombone, so I was in the band.  It gave me a group of people I belonged to.  We had a sock hop - literally a sock hop, it was held in the gym and you had to take off your shoes when you entered the room to avoid tearing up the new basketball court, and the band all decided to attend en mass.  

I spent most of the evening dancing with a mass of girls, the way that you do when you're young and herded together, but finally the last song of the night came on.  Slow song, so group dancing is not possible, but then Marc sidled up to the group.  Marc played bari sax, and had the most fascinating eyes - green eyes except for one quarter of his right eye that was orange.  Anyway, he asked me to dance - at least, I think that's what he said.  He was mumbling so low I couldn't really hear him, but he held out a hand and pulled me onto the floor, so I assume that's what he said.

Now, just as an aside - I was always the tallest person in my class, up until 8th or 9th grade.  I spent my youth in the back row of class photographs.  At this point, I'd hit 5'7", and frankly, I always took it as an insult that I stopped growing and suddenly everyone shot up past me.  Marc, on the other hand, was maybe 4'9" on a good day at that point.  Not optimal for a slow dance, but hey...  we made it work.  Revolving around the dance floor, his arms reaching up to my shoulders, me looking over his head, and "Beth" playing over the creaky loudspeakers.  My first slowdance... I'll always appreciate Kiss for that, if nothing else.  

I'll Give You Workplace Violence

Pic borrowed from Clyde_Dale at Deviant Art

Today was probably not the best day for me to be taking a mandatory class on workplace violence.  Don’t get me wrong – most days I’m not that bad to work with, I’ve been told.  But today…  for the third time in 6 months, one of two programs I’m forced to work with has managed to wipe my entire user database.  All the users, all their warrant info, everything.  And despite the fact that this is happening at midnight (when the programs interface, and there are NO FREAKING HUMANS anywhere near the system), the sweethearts are refusing to admit that it could possibly be their program’s fault. 

I’m not buying it.  Once is accident, twice may be circumstance, three times is definitely enemy action.  The only things stopping me from going medieval on someone is that a) they’re located in Mississippi, I’m in Oregon.  Slight logistical issue, but I’m almost at the point where I would be willing to conquer it.  B) The knowledge that it wouldn’t do any good – they have no more control over things than I do, but at least they could be referring this up the channels faster, drat it!  C)  the training that I just took indicates that me threatening them could be considered “workplace violence”, and advises me to temper my tone, and work with my co-workers rather than going triple-dog-dare on them.  I suppose that the adult thing to do is to go ahead, fold my computer and go home to snuggle Moose.  Boy, should they be grateful that I’m too bone tired to not be an adult. 

Oh, well… tomorrow is another day.  One that might involve some concerted retraining on someone’s part, and perhaps a reminder of just who it was that purchased their computers and/or monitors, and the dangers of pissing off Contracting.

Grandma and Dixie: Two Post Mortums

Grandma is in the middle here at Grandpa's funeral

It's taken me over a year to really write about this, but I'm hoping that the wounds have scarred over sufficiently by now.  We'll see... and fair warning for those in my family who loved either or both of these wonderful females.  There will probably be crying involved, at least on my part.

Grandma Lova was an incredible woman.  She was strong, smart as a whip, dedicated, and she had a will that burned.  If you had a task you needed accomplished, you gave it to Lova, whether you were family, the community or her church.  Her community needed funding, so she was one of the founders of the pie committee - thousands and thousands of pies.  Really incredible pies, too - flaky crust, incredible filling, welcomed a fork like a lover and melted on the tongue.  I knew that there was starting to be an issue one year when she forgot to put salt in her pie crust (she was in her 80s at this point).  (I know, it's a little thing - but you don't understand Grandma's pride.)  Then there was the time she went to make tea and put the kettle on the stove - the electric kettle, with the plastic base.  At first she moved in with her daughters once Grandpa died, but finally, she had to move into a home (and that was a lot harder on the daughters than on Grandma, I think.)  Last time I talked with her, we had brief moments of conversation, interrupted every 15 minutes or so by "How old am I again?" (This was her 95th birthday party), followed by "My, that's old.  I guess God doesn't want me."  How do you reassure a good Mormon woman about that?  I honestly believe that the last 10 years of her life were just her waiting to be with her beloved Dewane again, wasting away until her body gave up and finally allowed her some peace (after a horrible, painful urinary tract infection or two.)  I love my grandma dearly, and I miss her horribly, but I am so grateful that she's finally able to rest now.

Not sure what Dixie was winking at...

Dixie, now - Dixie was my fur-sister, my mother's dog.  I've written about her before, but she was also a force of nature - a born crone, who might not like you, but if she did, she loved you absolutely.  She was a pirate dog - she'd lost one of her eyes a couple of years back to glaucoma, but that did not slow her down - she could still take out a chicken twice her size (and did - Mom used to joke that Dixie was the only one on the ranch with the will to kill a rogue chicken.)  She spent 12 years as Mom's constant companion, but by November, we noticed that she was losing sight in the other eye, and she was starting to be confused - she got lost under the kitchen table, she was having a hard time going outside, and she slept pretty much constantly.  So, just before Thanksgiving, I called our local vet, made the appointment, pre-paid for the service so that Mom didn't have to deal with anything.  We fed Dixie her favorites for her last meal, wrapped her up in her favorite blanket, and took her to Dr. Matt, who helped her cross over while she was lying in Mom's arms.  Again, I love her dearly, but I'm grateful that she's able to rest now.

I know that of the two deaths, I would vastly prefer the second one.  It was relatively quick, definitely painless and so much less confusing to her and us than the 10 year ordeal that Grandma had to go through.  I know - very different circumstances between a dog and a human, and there were moments in that 10 years that were special - certainly I cherish my last conversation with Grandma.  I just don't know that it was worth the pain she had to endure to give it to me. 

Let It Snow (Part 2)

Now I have my own house - my own place.  In Portland, Oregon, so we're not talking a heavy snow area.  We end up having to close the schools if there is more than a sprinkling of snow, but fortunately, that happens about as often as the Trailblazers win a pennant, so...

The first snowfall after we bought the place, though - that was sublime.  You see, there were a number of factors that convinced us to buy the place, but two of the big ones were the back yard landscaping, and the hot tub.  The tub is right off the back porch, in the middle of this:

Picture that, covered in snow, with flakes gently falling, and you in a hot tub, up to your shoulders in 102 degree water and a flake landing on your nose. 

Right at that moment, the whole mortgage thing seemed totally worth it.  And then Moose came along, worried that the demon plastic duck that inhabited the hot tub was threatening his mama, and ruined the moment.  But I did have a brief moment of zen.

Memory Well: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...

One of the advantages of my peripatetic childhood - my experience pool is really wide.  Not necessarily all that deep, but definitely wide.  I've had a lot of different snow days, from a lot of different viewpoints, and seeing my friends on Facebook talking about the blizzard coming in reminded me of a few of them.  

Washington, Utah - I saw snow there once.  I think it was 2 inches and it shocked the community - snow plows?  What the heck is a snow plow?  118 in the shade we can handle - anything below 32, don't even try to talk to us.  However, this was back when practically everyone there was still a rancher, so the animals were still taken care of, and everyone had a year's supply of food in their basement (or in the freezer), so there was no run on Quentin Niessen's mercantile.  Anything short of nuclear winter was not going to phase them - they were pioneer stock.

Salmon, Idaho - The only place I've ever lived where it was necessary to plug your car in at night to keep the fluids from freezing solid by morning.  I remember stepping outside and feeling the snot in my nose freeze.  This was back in the early 70s, when elephant bell bottoms were popular (don't judge me - I was 7!), and I used to love the way that little balls of snow would collect around the hem of my pants, so I sort of jingled when I walked.  There was snow on the ground pretty much from October through April, but I don't remember them ever calling a snow day - it just didn't happen. 

Washington, DC, however - I was working in Fairfax and living in McLean, and we got an unexpected 3 inches of snow.  It ended up shutting down the Metro, and I had to wait 11 hours at the office for a cab, but I was stuck with three other guys, and we made a party out of it, with boxed wine and sandwiches we got down at the corner deli.  (more to come later)

Ignore the Woman Behind the Curtain

This one I’m writing just for me – I’m not going to be publicizing it because (let’s face it) this is not a fun read, but sometimes I have to write my fears down to get them out of my head.  You’ve been warned.

Nightmares have been creeping in. I think it’s the anniversary – almost three years now, and for three years I was able to ignore it.  I survived, hell, I thrived.  Why dwell on unpleasantness?  But late at night, when my brain is trying to shut off, memories come back and mess with me. 

It all started as I was leaving the office.  I could feel something going wrong the minute I stood up from my desk.  By the time we got home, there was a huge puddle of blood on the car seat.  I tried to get into the house and get cleaned up, but it just got worse and worse (I think it was Daniel who called it a scene out of Carrie), and I knew that we needed to go to the emergency room right then.  And that’s where the nightmares start…

First off, there’s the sheer humiliation… although for me, that’s almost the least of it.  After dealing with the sheer inconvenience and shame of Hank’s pressing down on my bladder for the past three years, a bloody mess is nothing anymore, really.  But laying there for close to 24 hours, unable to get clean because anytime the blood was wiped away, a new batch would just plop out 5 minutes later, soiling me and the sheets and gloves and mats and everything in that wretched emergency cubical – ok, yeah, the humiliation is still there.

Then there’s the fear… blood, after all.  So much blood – plate-sized clots of it falling out of me every time I sat up or shifted position or breathed too heavily.  Enough blood that they eventually had to pump three pints into me, and they didn’t seem to have any clue as to how to stop it, or even be trying all that hard to stop it.  It felt like I was just left there, bleeding away, having the sheets changed occasionally.  Somehow, I doubt that a gun-shot victim would be left bleeding away on the table like that.  But then again, that’s just it – when you’re a patient, you don’t know what’s happening behind the scenes.

Then finally, Dr. Scott coming in and telling me that they were going to do an emergency D&C, almost exactly 24 hours after I had started to bleed out.  Figuring it was fibroids and the worst was over – once they let me out of the hospital in a couple of days… and then getting the Saturday phone call that meant everything was going to change.

Annual State of the Hank Address

I really, really didn't want to write this blog entry - I've been putting it off for a couple of weeks now, but it feels like the Universe is starting to get serious with its "subtle" hints.  First last week, it was the whole moonshot mention in the State of the Union, and then every single freaking day this week, it's been someone else famous dying of cancer.  Basically, it looks like I'm getting cancer shoved in my face until I deal with it, and I really don't want to be responsible for losing Tim Curry (I think he's the next of my odd idols on the list).

So, where am I at?  Still in limbo, it looks like.  I'm not cured - I still have my tumor, it's still pressing down on my bladder (drat it) and sapping my strength.  But I'm also not sure I'm dying - it's been two and a half years now, and it's not growing or spreading as far as the doctors can tell, which is just plain odd - normally ULMS is a wildfire, and mine seems to be more of a Presto-log.  I don't know if it's because we left Hank alone when he was discovered (normally they yank the uterus out immediately), or if it's because I somehow managed to arrange a detente with him (maybe he likes being referred to by a single name, kind of like Cher or Adele.)  Maybe it was the patriarchal blessing I received - I know Mom would get behind that theory.

I don't know - but I've got to figure out the rest of my life now that it looks like I'll have one.  I am still planning on retiring - it looks like probably March or April time frame, but I'll let everyone know once that's more specific.  I'm not dying, but I'm not healthy enough for 10 hour days in the office anymore, and after 26 years, it's time for a change.  I'm not sure what the second or third act is going to be - my 20s was mostly getting to know who the heck I was, my 30s was mostly career oriented, my 40s was family...  maybe my 50s will be community.  I see a lot of things out there that I might be able to help with once I'm not Hatch Act encumbered.  But first - a local comedy club is offering a class on stand up.  I'm thinking about signing up - it's one of my bucket list items to do an open mike set.  (Let's face it, Mt Everest was never my sort of thing...) 

So... that's basically it.  Limbo, retirement, possible stand up.  So, Universe - could you please stop shouting now?