Back From The Beach

The family on our balcony

We had a really terrific time at the beach - managed to get four rooms all attached, so we had our own little hallway (which the puppies loved).  I really love going to Seaside - we parked the truck and then didn't see it again until we were ready to go.  Of course, Riley and Cassidy (and Ron) were more adventurous - they went zip lining and over to Fort Clatsop, but Roger and I were fine with just exploring the boardwalk and the beach.

The last night we were there, I was getting ready to go out for dinner, when everyone showed up at my room with a surprise party for me.  Such a wonderful surprise!  Well, for one thing, my birthday was back on April Fools Day, so it follows tradition, but also, I had no freaking idea they were planning anything like this.  We had purple forks, plates, a purple mardi gras boa for me... it was terrific!  Pizza and red velvet cake - you can't beat that.

Moose nervous someone is going to try to dress him in something

 

More tomorrow, but for tonight, I think my own bed is calling me - there's nothing like a hotel bed to make you really appreciate your own king size waterbed.

I Will Not Bow Down To My TurboTax Overlords!

Let's get this out of the way real quick - yes, Mother, I should have filed my taxes much sooner.  You taught me better than this.  I'll do better next year.  That being said...

I went to file my taxes using TurboTax - same as I have done for the past 20 years or so.  I typed in my username and password, same as always - when they come back with something like "For your safety, we need you to verify your identity by either using this old email address that you haven't used since 1995 (seriously, it was an @msn.com address) or answer this random set of questions about your life." 

Well, I didn't have access to the old email address (actually, it doesn't exist anymore - I think it was wiped out by Y2K), so I chose to go with the series of questions - and I failed.  Seriously - I don't know enough about my own freaking life to convince a computer that I'm me.  It doesn't help that I have this weird mental thingy where I can't remember events in my own life unless I'm reminded about them.  It also doesn't help that I've lived in way upwards of 30 different cities, most before I was 25.  I may have lived in Ventura briefly when I was 3 months old (actually, no - three months old, we were living a few blocks outside of Watts when the riots broke out - but I digress).  But mostly, do not try to check me on whether or not I'm related to a Delores Humphries.  Dad is one of 12, Mother is one of 4, they've both been married multiple times - last time I tried to count, I had more than 200 cousins... one of them is bound to be named Delores, I guess. 

So... I've lost my account - this would be the account that I had the username and password for.  I could get it back by putting in for a change of email, but considering that I've been using my work email with them for upwards of 20 years, and they aren't recognizing it - it's not worth it.  Way to waste 20 years of customer loyalty. 

Just A Quickie

It was a long day today, so Mom finally called it a night about half an hour ago and headed off to bed with Daisy, while Rog and I (and Moose and Dancer) stayed up to watch @Midnight.  (The thrills of being an old married couple never cease.)  Anyway, the MooseMan was acting restless, so I asked him (quietly) if he wanted an "outside".  By the time Roger had the door open, I saw this white flash of fur that I swore beat Moose outside by a good couple of feet - Daisy managed to get from the back of the house faster than Moose got off the couch.  She never passes up a good opportunity to give Roady (the dog next door who I swear has a head bigger than her entire body) a good barking to.  I would say she gets that from me, but let's face it - I come from a long line of mouthy broads. 

In other news, I'm feeling much better (fever finally broke), and I'm now learning how to make yarn baskets along with Mom and Daniel, so there's that.

Rough Day

It's storming, outside and in.  I've got one of those back of the head type headaches - not migraine level, just enough to make me hate most of humanity when I stop to think about it.  The low grade thunder is not helping any.  And while Moose and the girls are doing their best to help, this is more than their abilities can help with.

I've hit the wall when it comes to change. It's not that I can't deal with change - I spent most of my early life being marinated in it. But change can wear you out.  I'm down to the nub right now.  With both of my bosses leaving, and my family coming in to rip out my tub, and retirement heading my way...

Oh, hell.  It's not any of that.  Well, it's some of that.  But mostly, it's Hank.  I'm so damned tired of going around with this grenade inside me, wondering when it's going to burst.  Two years now of balancing between life and death, watching every footstep.  I'm already worn out, and any little thing can push me over the edge, both physically and mentally.  Sleep.  Maybe what I need is sleep.

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, at Vista Point,

Feeling his strong arms around me, 

As the sun disappeared below the horizon.

My Son Has Become A Morning Person

Where did I go wrong?  For most of my life, I was a night owl.  Well, ok, I could be considered a morning person, if you stretch the definition to early morning, as in going out for coffee at 2am morning person.  But waking up anytime before 8, I don't want to think about. 

And I know what I'm missing - for several years there, because I carpooled to work with Roger, I had to be out the door by 6 am.  It was my own little version of hell.  Sure, it was nice to be at the office with no one around to bug me as I sullenly slid into my work routine, but it wasn't worth missing the velvety embrace of Morpheus another couple of hours.

But now - my little Teutonic terriorist has decreed that he likes mornings.  And it's not enough for him to be up...  his mama must be up.  He's gone so far as to go wake up my mother, so that she can come wake me up.  His father can be up and around and perfectly willing to snuggle/feed/play with him, but that's not enough - he's still going to be stalking up and down the length of the bed, whining at me, and occasionally climbing Mt Midori-mama just to get me up and dressed and out into the living room where he can climb back into my lap... and fall asleep. 

Has anyone found the location of the snooze button on a miniature dachshund?  Let me know if you have...

Memory Well: Mother/Daughter Dynamic

Just saw a Red Carpet interview with Dakota Johnson and Melanie Griffith - of course, the interviewer went there and asked M about whether or not she had seen 50 Shades of Gray, and there was much discomfort... 

Reminded me of many years back.  A good friend of mine was into photography, and managed to convince several of us to dress up in elaborate garden party hats and jewelry (and nothing else) and have Victorian high tea in a cedar hot tub (complete with Davey in a tux jacket and speedo as the butler.)  They were lovely pictures - sepia toned, nothing explicit, and I was proud of my part in them.  For Mother's Day, I gave Mother a nicely framed shot, along with the hat.

She looked at it, and didn't say much, other than "Is that you?"   Until about 15 minutes later, when she popped up with "You know, if you were anyone but my daughter, I would love this."  Somehow, I think that's probably where Melanie Griffith is at. 

Incidentally, my friend went on to put his pictures up on the web on his website - and well he should,they were lovely and very artistic - but that's just another reason why I couldn't run for President - naked pictures of me exist somewhere on the internet.  What can I say, I was a trailblazer. 

The End of an Era

Rowdy, the Bingo Moose

Back in the 90s, when Roger and I first started dating, we went to play Bingo at Sunset Bingo Parlor over in Beaverton.  We figured it would be a cheap date - an entire evening's entertainment for (basically) $10.  He even got a $50 bingo, so it was all good - until I hit for a $1,000 jackpot.  That was it.  We were hooked. 

Over the course of about 10 years, we went regularly enough that the staff at Sunset all knew our names - heck, if I ended up going alone, they'd ask about Roger.  Rowdy (up there in the picture) was our mascot and good luck piece.  Good enough luck that we ended up buying him his own motorcycle (that was the night that I won both $1,199 blackouts for the evening - he earned that Harley.) 

But things always change.  We moved away to the east side of Portland, and started going less and less.  Moose the dachshund came along, and it was more fun hanging around with him than with the stuffed moose.  Hank the tumor came along and made it harder for me to get out and do things.  House payments made inroads on our entertainment budget.  We'd still get out there for special occasions, or when family was in town and wanted to play, but it wasn't as frequent.   

Last night, we decided to spend Valentine's Day at the hall - I know, it may not sound romantic to you, but Roger and I have never been a normal couple.  It was a chance to wear the new earrings he bought me.  However, when we got there, the place was plastered with notices that they were closing down the location and moving - we managed to get there on the second to the last night they would be there. 

We enjoyed the night - everyone still knew our name, the diner had a pulled pork special that was delicious, I got to yell "Bingo" (although my number was in the monitor twice on other games- I know, I shouldn't be greedy, but still...)  It was a little bittersweet, though.  We fell in love going to that hall.  It was a home, of sorts.  Even though we left, it's a little sad knowing that it's not going to be there anymore...

Memory Well: I Put A Spell On You

This is another of my reverse Bucket List posts - memories that make me smile and remind me that I've had a pretty good life.

Back in the 90s, before the implosion of the Drive In Theater industry, my friends and I used to pile into several cars (including my Bondage Bunny Mobile) and head out to the Foster Drive In.  We'd all get there early, park in a group, exchange various smuggled comestibles (and popcorn/hot dogs/ nachos from the shack because this was back before you had to take out a mortgage to buy a tub of greasy popcorn.)  Anyway, we'd make a night of it.

One night, we got there, and there was someone blasting his radio, playing really bad rap music at ultra club intensity.  I was there with the usual crowd, including Abe.  Abe was interesting - he occasionally sang in a band, and did the saddest slowed down version of "I Guess You're Just What I Needed" I've ever heard - and he also had the pipes to take on this dude's speakers.  Not sure who exactly started it, but he had our entire group doing the "da da da do do do" backup for him, while he screamed out "I Put A Spell On You".  It was a thing of beauty...


Silence descended on the drive in (well, other than Abe and the Abe-ettes) and for two minutes, the place was mesmerized.  He sang the last sentence.... there were crickets... and then that damn rap started up again.  Oh, well... you can't win them all. 

Sleep Apnea Issues

So, I have sleep apnea.  I've got pretty severe sleep apnea - I finally gave in and got my BiPap machine even though it made me claustrophobic when I realized I was falling asleep at red lights.  When I was the driver.  Turns out that I stop breathing around 70 times an hour when I sleep, so any sleep I get without the machine is pretty much useless.

On the whole, I love my machine - it keeps me breathing, it's relatively quiet, and it lets me creep out Roger by saying "I find your lack of faith in the force... disturbing" in a James Earl Jones/Darth Vader voice.  But when your head is a flaming ball of mucus and your life essence is trying to escape out your nose, it gets pretty disgusting, pretty fast.  Oh, and since this stupid cold has turned me into a mouth-breather, in addition to the mucus, there's a substantial amount of drool involved.  So, I'm up at 3:16 in the morning, waiting for the drugs to kick in so I can go back to sleep without drowning in my own fluids.  But at least now, I don't have to be the only one with that image in my head.  Good night, all...

Sick eating

I've got a weird cold (my head's a flaming ball of snot, I ache from my right ear down to my elbow, and I'm dumping so often I'm thinking about taking up residence in the bathroom), so Roger has been a sweetheart and made me one of my favorite "sick food" meals.  You know the kind - it's the thing that you go for when the thought of food slightly nauseates you, but you need sustenance.

Mine tend to be carb heavy and trailer trash oriented - for example, tonight's meal is Kraft Mac N Cheese (has to be Kraft - off brand just does not work) with Lil Smokies mixed in.  My other go-to meal is chicken noodle soup (either home made or Campbells, but thin noodles are obligatory) poured over mashed potatoes.  I know, I know - don't judge me, some of my formative years were spent in a trailer park or two.  Heck, at one point, Mom and I were living in a single wide - fortunately that only lasted for a year.

Next step is to watch Grimm, snuggle puppies, drink Theraflu and hit the bed.  Wake me up when I'm healthy again.  Goodnight, all.

Eating Habits of the Common Household Canine

Well, actually, let's face it - our guys are not all that common.  But nonetheless...

Moose is a mooch, plain and simple.  He doesn't care what it is, he wants a bite of it (or if he can figure out a way to take you down without witnesses, the entire side of beef.)  He'll eat anything, eggplant, okra, vindaloo with the spice level set at native... if you're eating it, he wants it.  He's not particularly subtle about it either - he will prop his head on your stomach and gaze soulfully into your eyes, given the chance.

Daisy... well, I've mentioned the whole princess aspect.  She will delicately wait to be offered a tidbit, which she may or may not approve of.  Meat is more likely to achieve approval than vegetables, seafood will actually make her stir herself to move closer to you, yogurt is spoiled milk and she wants no part of it.

Dancer, now, is the odd one out.  She actually eats kibble without being close to starvation, but she can't just eat it out of the bowl.  She'll pick out one piece of kibble, jump up on the couch, eat it (slowly) and then go back for another piece of kibble.  I'm not sure exactly how she manages to stay alive, as she burns more calories per bite than she consumes, but she does seem to be thriving.

Sleeping Habits of the Common Household Canine

Moose (Moosus Interruptus) - normally sleeps with me.  Normally does everything with me, in fact - including waiting impatiently outside the bathroom when I'm in there, occasionally giving off a whine or two, just to make sure I know he's there.  Sleeps under my blanket, curled up either in my knee space or at the base of my back.  He's very much a mama's dog, although he will occasionally pack up his jams and go to sleep with grandma, where he's usually fended off (loudly) by...

Daisy Mae (Princus Extremus).  She tends to sleep most nights with grandma, although she'll come sleep with me during the day sometimes.  On top of the blanket only, and usually no touching, although she'll sometimes take either the knee space or back space just to annoy the Moose.  Much more of a morning dog than...

Dancer (Grunkus Grunkus) - seen here doing her Beauty and the Beast impression.  Grunk spends her time bouncing back and forth between the two beds (it would be three beds if she could figure out how to get into Daniel's room - I'm afraid she is definitely a puppy of negotiable affection).  She usually will start her nights out sleeping on top of my chest in the "you must love me" position, then move down (stomping her way down my entire body) to the foot of the bed for a while before heading into Mom's room to finish out the night.

Totally Worth It

For Christmas dinner this year, we decided to make a prime rib roast.  It was a significant investment - not just in the cost ($10.98 a pound, 9 pounds), but in braving Gartner's Meat Market to pick it up.  Gartner's is kind of a Portland tradition - best meat market in town, but around significant holidays, they have to hire parking guides, rope off areas, etc...  When we got there, the "take a number" sign was at 26, and they were just then working on number 93. It was organized chaos though - we spent maybe 30 minutes there and got out with our skins, our sanity, and some of our wallet.

It was worth it though - the roast was delicious, we had leftovers for a couple of days, we made the best beef noodle soup I've had in a long time with the bones, and now Moose, Daisy and Dancer are trading off bones and having a marvelous time.  Just for the fun that Dancer is having rolling around on top of "her" bone, it was totally worth it. 

Is It Cancer Or Just The Flu? Call in the Moose.

I've been under the weather for the past few days - running a fever, chills, general achy blah... One of the uncomfortable drawbacks to Hank's occupation of my uterus is that I can't tell if it's just a side effect, or if I've got the flu.  Either way, there's not a lot I can do other than just ride it out and indulge myself in puppy therapy. 

Fortunately, Moose is the best.  I can lay down under my fluffy purple blanket and he's right there, curling up on the lower end of my spine, just like a little hot water bottle.  After 10 years together, he knows just where to settle for maximum comfort.  Of course, he also knows just how to get my goat, and he tends to move around a lot, but still...  he's the best anyway. Daisy and Dancer occasionally try to sleep with me as well, but frankly, we need a bigger bed if it's going to be a three dog night. 

Ear Trauma

I went and got my ears repierced today - I had them done back in the 70s, but my holes grew over, so... I'd talked it over the night before with Mom, remembering the bad old days, when they would hold a cork on the back of your ear, heat up a needle by running it through a candle flame and shove it through. I was feeling very grateful for modern conveniences, having scouted the internet and found a piercing artist who was a certified professional yada yada...

So, showed up, and it's a head shop.  Half piercing studio, half vape shop, run by a woman who I'm pretty sure followed the Dead for a while.  Purple dyed hair, she makes Victorian lampshades, she gave me organic instructions on how to care for the ears, the whole shebang.  I was doing ok until she had me sat down in the hand chair (see above), prepped up and pulled out... yep.  You guessed it.  Cork.  But on the other hand, she gave me a stuffed monkey to hold onto while she pierced me, so we survived.

(Must Be 18 To Read This Post)

It's been an interesting evening here at the house.  Daniel is going off to his "Boys in the Woods" pot luck tomorrow, and he's making dessert - froot loop rice krispie treats in a lovely rainbow theme with tiny candy penises on top.  He's making an effort to be inclusive - he's got 36 white chocolate (with pink tips, of course) and 12 chocolate ones.  Contrary to urban legends, they're both exactly the same size, although Daniel does claim that the chocolate ones taste better.  I'm staying out of this one...

Memory Well

Mom brought me a gift from Grandma - she was going through her papers and found a caricature of me, circa the early '80s, sitting on a horse with a cowboy hat, claiming that there was a $1,000 reward for my arrest for horse stealin', cattle rustlin' and cowboy carousin'.  I'll see if I can manage to get it scanned in somehow, but the odd thing is that I can't remember it, at all.  No clue when it was done, don't remember ever seeing it before, it's just a complete blank.  Odd...

Really Belated Self-Realization

Tonight was the last night of my mandatory "weight management" class (don't get me started on the hoops I'm jumping through), but I suddenly realized why I'm having such a hard time with dieting.  Everyone else had goals like "look good for my reunion" or "be able to play with my children" or "go for a walk with my wife".  My goal was the same goal I've been wrestling with for the past year and a half - get this damned cancer out of me.  It's a good negative goal, but I need to think about a positive goal.  Anger is one hell of a motivator, but it's hard to keep up for long distances.

Hank Sucks.

I've been doing ok lately, whistling past the graveyard and pretending everything is smooth.  But every once in a while (like today) I get reminded that I've got cancer.  Ok, not that I've got cancer.  That I've got what is currently incurable cancer.  With a really lousy survival rate. I'm really, really good at denial - World Champ, as a matter of fact.  But this tumor that I call Hank is going to kill me. 

But that doesn't mean that I have to let him win.  I am not just this collection of skin and bones - in fact, that's not the most important part of me.  I can still create something that will last for others, and I can still polish the most important parts of me - the ones that I believe live on beyond this world.  My relationships with my family and friends, my intellect, my compassion, my dreams...  Hank can't take those if I don't allow him to.

He's been winning the war so far by limiting my movements outside the home, by tiring me out, by screwing with my emotions.  But I'm going to start fighting back again. 

Thanksgiving Prep

We're doing a (relatively) small dinner - turkey roasts rather than a whole bird, stuffing, yummy potatoes (that's what my family calls them - yours probably calls them funeral potatoes or if you're not from Utah, heart attack on a casserole dish).  I'm doing up a spinach casserole/quiche-y kind of thing, Daniel made deviled eggs for a starter, and (of course) Dixie salad.

If you're from anywhere other than Washington, Utah, you've probably never heard of Dixie salad, but it's a staple with my family.  The tradition started back in the '90s (that would be the 1890s) - salads were very elegant back east, and apparently, my ancestors found a recipe for Waldorf Salad in Godey's Ladies Book or somewhere. It called for lettuce, apples, walnuts, and mayonnaise  - which sounded frankly disgusting.  My people being a practical bunch looked out at a landscape with a distinct lack of lettuce or walnuts and put together a concoction of apples, pecans, pomegranate pips and whipped cream - it was a hit, and we've been eating it ever since. 

Some members of the family (heretics) have added bananas or other fruit, but we're purists.  We used to get the pomegranates off the trees in Grandma and Grandpa's back yard (same with the pecans), but lately, we've been forced to make do with substandard store-bought.  It's not the same, but we adapt - we're Adams women.  Harvesting the pips today, I remembered when Grandpa taught me that it's so much easier if you do it underwater - the juice doesn't get everywhere, the pips sink to the bottom of the bowl and the debris rises to the top and can be scooped off easily. We've also sunk to the level of using Cool Whip rather than whipped cream, but hey - I figure all those Cool Whip containers in Grandma's cupboard (and fridge) had to come from somewhere, and if it was good enough for her, it's good enough for me.

(Sidebar:  In searching for an image for Dixie salad, I found one poor deluded soul who actually included grapes and strawberries.  That's just flat wrong.)

Rough Week Ahead

Dixie in her normal habitat - under a blanket

That photo there - that's my sister.  My mother's constant companion for the past 12 or so years, Dixie Lynn Adams.  She was a rescue and the rescue place maintained that she was a pure-bred dachshund, but in her prime, she had a four-foot vertical leap, so I suspect there may have been some south of the border influence.  We don't talk about it, though. We just love her the way she is.  

She is definitely a dog with a personality.  I'm sure that at one point, she was a puppy, but she's been a crone so long that I can't really remember her puppyhood. She was born to be a crone - set in her ways, sure that she's right, ruler of the roost.  She even had making grumpy old woman noises down pat (and there's nothing more disturbing than hearing "gruntgrowlgruntgroan" coming from about a foot off the floor in your bedroom around midnight - it was just Dixie making her rounds, ensuring the safety of the family and the lack of any available unsnacked-upon food in the house.)

She put Mom through a scare a couple of years ago, when she lost her right eye to glaucoma, but it didn't slow her down.  She just accepted it as part of her pirate personae and kept on grumbling on.  But now, I think she's finally hit the end of the road.  For the past three or four months, she's been having trouble eating, and she's been losing sight in her good eye.  Now this past week, she's been confused (she got lost under the dining room table, unable to find her way out from the legs), and disoriented.  Mostly, though, she just seems to be frightened, and we think it's time to release her soul back to the universe.  We're going to try to give her a good send-off, though.

 

Bagby Memories

There's got to be a word that describes things that you don't need to put on your bucket list because you've already done them years ago.  Maybe the memory well list?  At any rate...

I saw this picture of Bagby Hot Springs today, and it brought back happy memories of when I was young, in shape(ish), and foolish enough to stay out all night.  This was back when I was part of the Clinton Street Cabaret group and performing at the Rocky Horror Picture Show every Saturday night.  There's only so many times you can go hang out at Lyon's after the show (although that number is startlingly high), so eventually we ended up piling into several cars and driving out past Boring, past Estacada, out to BFE, and then hiking up a 1 1/2 mile trail (in the dark, mind you) to Bagby - a natural hot spring that has been tamed to flow into cedar tubs up on top of the mountains under the stars.  It's really beautiful - especially when you can look up and watch the stars and just relax with 15 or 20 of your best friends for the night - although I would recommend bringing flashlights.  We tried it one night with a single glowstick, and it was not a good time hiking. 

Voting Day Thoughts

Of course, I don't agree with any of this, but it made me laugh (especially #4).  We all have voted, so that's two male votes to one very vocal female vote (Daisy and Moose are both strictly non-partisan and under 18, so they care not for this silly political season, but they would like people to know that they can be bought for a bone or two.) 

But for those of you who think that your vote doesn't matter, or that midterms are not important - a couple of years ago, there was a local school bond measure that passed by exactly 3 votes.  I'd like to think that it was the three votes from this house.  I tend to vote for all local school and library bonds, even though I won't have children, because I look at "government" not as a separate entity, but as all of us working together to get important things done that we can't or won't do separately.  We build our society by our votes, and I want an intelligent, well-read society. 

Saturday Grandma Thoughts

Thinking about grandma this morning... I was lucky growing up - I had 4 different grandmothers still alive when I was born, Grandma Lova (mom's mother), Grandma Clara (dad's mother), Little Grandma (Kate, Grandpa Dewane's mother) and Grandma Lula (Lova's mom).

I spent the most time with Grandma Lova as a kid - Mom had me at 17, and was divorced from Dad by the time she was 20, so she needed all the help she could get.  I spent a fair amount of time with Little Grandma too, since she lived right down the block.  I didn't realize until I was an adult that Lova must have been frustrated with that arrangement - living right down the block from your mother-in-law can't have been an easy way to spend a marriage.  But she made it work.

I remember when Grandma would come home from work (usually about 3:00 - she worked the early shift at Kellogg), she and I would have a little ritual.  She would fix us each an english muffin pizza, and we would sit at the kitchen table and count her tags for the day.  She did piecework - sewing zippers into tents or sleeping bags or whatever. She's the one who passed down the deep satisfaction of statistics to me.  You know, acknowledging each piece, watching the pile grow, occasionally comparing yourself to the others in the group, but mostly just trying to beat your own personal best.

She also instilled a love of the company of women.  I find myself hanging out with the guys most of the time, but there's something to be said for the comfort of just sitting down with a mutual project (usually a quilt, but sometimes making rolls, or canning, or whatever) with a group of women.  It's best if it's a project that's fairly repetitious and not terribly taxing mentally so that your fingers can just go ahead and fly while your brain and mouth can just enjoy spending time with friends.

And then there's the fear of throwing out anything...  Yep.  I definitely got that from Lova.  One entire closet in the basement was filled from floor to ceiling with nothing but fabric - mostly yard-ends that she grabbed from the dumpster at work.  And there was the food cellar that had canned goods (both home canned and store bought) from the 1950s on up.  She could easily have ridden out a zombie apocalypse just from her basement - it might not have been all that pleasant an experience, but she would have come out of it with some nice new quilts.

Happy Halloween

I'm the one on the right

Halloween on a Friday - I used to live for this confluence of events.  I mean, I love Halloween any way that I can get it but on a Friday, when I have two days to recover... it can't get better than that.  I used to have some epic costumes, too.  Always home-made - back then, Walmart hadn't started doing its "Fat Chick" selection of costumes (not that I would have anyway, but still - a big ol' FU to WalMart anyway.)  There was the year that I put 14 pounds of product, an entire bag of bobby pins and some major pink hair spray into my hair, piled it up on top of my head in a major faux hawk, along with a homemade pink tutu and some little pink Chucks and another 14 pounds of gold chains and went as Mr T's Fairy Godmother. Or the year I wore black fishnets, a black skirt, a white bustier and a bunny tail and ears, along with a fake AK-14 and went as Hugh Hefner's worst nightmare. 

At any rate - this year, I'm going as myself, circa 20 years ago.  The me that had just met Roger a month ago, and wasn't sure about him yet, but thought she might be falling in love.  The me that still went out and painted the town red whenever she wanted to, rather than staying home with my husband and puppies (not that there's anything wrong with that.)  The me that laughed - a lot.  Sometimes over really inappropriate things.  So Roger and I are going out to see Lewis Black at the Arlene Schnitzer Auditorium tonight - hey, the 29 year old me appreciated comfort and classy surroundings too - she just couldn't afford them. 

Hope you all have something to dress up as too... enjoy yourselves!  Happy Halloween.

Ok, enough death already

I just found out that my friend Terri from my cancer support group passed away.  This death... this death makes me angry.  She was a wonderful woman - funny, loving, open hearted with lots left to do in this life.  Her husband is a terrific man who was devoted to her, and I know his heart is broken, her children are great kids, but they still need a mother's guidance - heck, even some of her son's friends looked on her as a mom-substitute - they're going to be missing her as well.  Cancer is a senseless, frustrating, terror of a disease, and people have to deal with it every single day.  Why on earth Ebola gets all the attention is beyond my comprehension. 

At any rate... goodbye, Terri.  I will miss your hugs and your smile and your sense of wonder with the world.  You were the kind of teacher I would like for every child to experience, you were a wonderful wife and you were an instant friend.  I hope you are pain-free and have a pleasant garden to wait for Carter in.

Back Home - not quite ready to process the funeral itself yet.

Snippets from the trip itself, though...

Roger was amazed to find that there were places in the United States where the speed limit went above 75.  I think he took it as a personal challenge.  Let's just say that we made it from Cedar City to Vegas in under 2 1/2 hours - and that was with parts of I-15 down to just 1 lane.

He did take time to question some of the naming choices made by my founding fathers - or at least the pronunciations thereof.  For example, Hurricane and LaVerkin rhyming, Kanarraville, Virgin...  I brought up Kalamazoo and Hell in Michigan, not to mention Willamette, Couch, Champoeg (that's pronounced Shampooy for you non-Oregonians).  That last one shut him up.

The Tuscany Suites in Las Vegas were... adequate.  I think if we had gotten in sometime before midnight, I would have like them better, but while the concept was cute (a bunch of villas arranged around a main house), the toilet was about 6 inches lower than I am used to (I'm spoiled) and clogged immediately.  Not something you want to deal with after 6 hours of flying a sub-Greyhound airline and arguing with Hertz.  Oh, and in the 6 hours we were there, I heard at least 7 police sirens.  Admittedly, you don't generally to go Vegas to sleep, but it would have been nice to get at least a couple of hours.

There's No Place Like Home

I'm heading back to Washington, Utah tomorrow for Grandma Lova's funeral.  Well, sort of - turns out that there's no room at the inn.  They're holding the Senior Games in St George, so the hotels are all completely booked.  Somehow, the fact that there's no room for me in my hometown seems... a little too Morrisettish. 

It's not really my hometown anymore, anyway.  The Washington that I knew and drifted in and out of for most of my childhood isn't there anymore.  It's been overtaken by snowbirds and Californians, and land that struggled to provide for 400 or so farmers and ranchers now has over 20,000 residents.  Quentin Niessen's general store is long gone, and I'm betting that they don't show movies on a bedsheet in the wardhouse courtyard on Friday and Saturday nights anymore, either.  Grandpa's ranch is filled with condos now.  I'm not saying that it's a bad thing - just that it's not what it was when I was born.

Maybe that's why they say you can't go home again.  When you do, it's not there.  And I'm not sure why I'm feeling so nostalgic - lord knows I don't miss the 118 in the shade with no air conditioning, or the red dirt dust that clogged everything.  I do kind of miss them testing the air raid siren every day right at noon, though.  And the bookmobile.  I really, really miss the bookmobile.  And the knowledge that everyone in town knew me as Lova and Dewane's granddaughter - you know, LaRae's girl.  There's something very validating about roots that stretch back a century or so.  But when a town grows like lightening, those roots tend to snap.  Maybe that's what I miss.

801-673-2296

That was home base for me when I was growing up.  We moved around pretty much constantly, but 801-673-2296 - that was Grandma and Grandpa's home number, and I knew that I was always
welcome there.Things do change - eventually, it changed over to a 435 prefix, but it was still a constant well into my third decade.

Nothing lasts forever, though.  I just got the phone call from my mother that I had been expecting/ dreading/hoping for.  I know that sounds strange, but for the last few years, my grandmother has been trapped in a haze of short-term memory loss, with one of the few conversations that kept coming up every 15 minutes or so being "I guess God doesn't want me".  It broke a little bit of my heart every time I heard it, and I was hoping for Grandma to know she was wanted, and loved, by the God she was so faithful to.  I hope she's going on to eternal glory with Grandpa - or at least a pleasant cottage where they can be together and get on each other's nerves enough to know that they love and are loved by each other. And I'm also dreading knowing that those of us here are going to be without her love for a little while.  But that's the way life is, I suppose. 

Happy Autumnal Equinox

Today was a perfect Portland autumn day - cool, just a little drizzly, with a nice, fresh scent to the air after the scorch of Summer.  I ended up going in to work (the latest updates from ACE-IT bricked my computer - it was taking up to 5 minutes for each keystroke to register), and took a little bit of a spin around downtown (nice to renew my acquaintanceship with the various oddballs you meet on the street.) 

The one thing about mostly teleworking - when I do get into the office, I end up spending a lot of time reconnecting.  Schmoozing, helping out...  putting the fear of Deci back into a couple of people who needed reminding that I've forgotten more about the programs that they're using than they will ever know (and damn it, stop trying to insert tables and pictures into the contract writing system!  I told you and told you that 19 times out of 20, it might work, but that 20th time, it's going to freeze you solid, and there's nothing I can do about it because CACI is just going to smugly point out the KB article that says not to ever do that - ok, end parenthetical rant.) 

It was bittersweet, though - I loved being back, but my body reminded me why I don't do this everyday anymore about 1:30 or so, started up the whining, big time.  My mind - my mind is totally there and wanting to dance the night away, but my body has become a grumpy old woman who is just there for the early bird special. 

It's funny, though - I'm sort of following a tree's course here.  I've spent my summer's course of being a solid mass of indistinguishable green, and am breaking out into vibrant fall plumage (in my case, purple rather than red or yellow, but vibrant nonetheless), before dropping into the decay of my winter.  People are telling me that I look better than ever, but I can feel the winter of my cancer creeping in.  Not just yet though.   I've still got lots of leaves to lose before I get there.

Why I Enjoy My Job

So, one of the aspects of my job is that occasionally, we have to notify Congress of projects that are about to be awarded.  It might be so that they can take advantage of it in the local press, maybe so that they know our money is being well spent... 

At any rate, out of 25 years, I've only had one action where I got a question back down the line.  And I thought you guys might appreciate the question...  "Are you sure you meant to say "tainter?"  Yep.  Tainter gates.  To quote Wikipedia "the Tainter gate is a type of radial arm floodgate used in dams and canal locks to control water flow. It is named for Wisconsin structural engineer Jeremiah Burnham Tainter."  And don't even get me started on the erecting studs, or the butterfly sexer.

What can I say?  You've got to find your fun where you can.  In September, it's good to remember the little things.

Doctor Visit Result

Not particularly satisfying result...  my weight has gone up some since last time, and my A1C has not gone down enough (it's 8.6, which is down from the 9.4 it was at, but...)  We're going to be talking again in 2 weeks, but we discussed a possible second option (Plan B), which would be taking the tumor out vaginally.  It's not optimal, but if I can't get to the point where they can do the hysterectomy, this is another option.  She's also going to check again with the morbid obesity guys - she put in a request to them 3 months ago, but there doesn't seem to have been any movement on it yet.  I'm feeling a little down, but at least this time it's just a two week wait, rather than another 3 months. 

Slow Fade Into Inward Facing Turtle Stance

I had one of those 3:00 am epiphanies this morning - I've been retreating from life (or at least from my association with it) ever since my diagnoses.  It's taken me a while to realize it, because I've been managing to blame it on pain or embarrassment or laziness, but no.  I'm spending more energy avoiding other people than it would take to just give in and enjoy them (and I used to be incredibly outgoing, so this is a major change for me.) 

The pain thing is real - my arthritis has spread from just my knees to my hips, my spine, my hands... but I'm not bothering to go in and find out if there's something else I can do to actually fix that problem, or at least alleviate the symptoms, so that's not it.

The embarrassment factor - yeah, not being able to go anywhere because I'm not sure when my bladder is going to take over is a bother, but that shouldn't be affecting my on-line presence, and yet, I've been fading away there too. 

I'm scared.  I got a good look at my mortality, and I'm terrified, and my automatic defense mechanism has kicked in - avoidance, slap a brick wall up and run like hell.  But I don't know where to run to, and so it feels like I've just gone into retreat.  Retreat from everything and everybody.  I've built a shell and stuffed myself into it, and the shell is tightening.  So instead of reaching out, or even responding to those people who are reaching in, I've just been hiding, making myself a smaller target for whatever is out there.  This has got to stop.  So, I'm starting with this post - Hi.  I'm Deci. Please forgive me for fading away - I'm going to try to be more present.

Sleep Lab Tomorrow Night

I don't know if I have mentioned it before on the blog, but in addition to everything else (cancer, diabetes, arthritis, ingrown toenails, whatever...) I've also got a bad case of sleep apnea.  Really bad - like I stop breathing 35 to 40 times an hour when I'm sleeping, and my pulse ox dips down into the low 80s.  But since I've lost a bunch of weight since the last time they tested me, they're going to test me tomorrow and make sure that the settings are still right.

So, basically, they hook me up with a bunch of electrodes (including gluing them into my hair - I hate that part), put me in a room with infrared cameras and then tell me to get a good night's sleep.  No husband, no puppies, no water bed, just me alone with my electrodes.  Really not looking forward to this - especially since I've been having an increasing issue with bladder control, thanks to Hank sitting on top of it.  But I figure I can just not drink anything after noon tomorrow, and I should be ok, right?  At any rate, please wish me luck...

Good couple of days

Friday, we got together with Don for breakfast at my place - it was really nice to touch bases with him again.  Don is one of my oldest friends - I think I imprinted on guys wearing flannel shirts because of him, so he may be one of the reasons that Rog and I are together. 

Saturday, we went to the Columbia Helicopter company picnic.  It was an opportunity to introduce the newest member of our family around, and Daisy did very well - even though she's a runner, she only got away once, and she didn't really have her heart in it.  We bought new harnesses for both pups for the occasion - red for Moose, purple for Daisy.  The harness fit Moose much better than Daisy though - it was really more suited for his body type than hers.  The search continues... 

Funny bit of serendipity on the way there... we were getting the puppies settled in and trying to convince Moose that he really can't drive so he had to move out of the driver's seat.  Finally got everyone settled in, turned on the car, and the radio had George Thorogood playing "Move It On Over" - Move over, little dog, a big old dog is moving in...

We had a lovely time at the picnic and Daisy was a big hit (Moose is always a big hit).  Funny thing, though - Moose behaved himself like a perfect gentleman, even being calm when Roger introduced him to a bull dog while he was walking around (Moose normally does not do well with big dogs - small dogs, no problem, but big dogs tend to bring out his Napoleonic tendencies).  Unfortunately, when we stopped by on the way out, Moose didn't do so well - possibly because he was on the footboard of my scooter.  He tends to be braver when he's under his Mama's skirts.

On the way out of the park, we turned the corner just in time to have a doe and her two fawns amble their way across the road in front of us.  All in all, a lovely visit.

Thoughts on Suicide

Suicide is popping up again in my lifestream - in addition to my Facebook stream being full of Robin Williams obituaries, one of my cousins' mother-in laws also committed suicide last Friday.  I've lost friends, family, a co-worker...  I was even given several really bad nights by a stranger jumping off of a parking garage in Portland and landing on the street about 8 feet from me. 

I used to find myself being incredibly angry at people who killed themselves - I felt (still feel) that it's one of the most selfish acts a person can commit, leaving a messy life behind for others to have to clean up.  Part of that anger also might have been that I have been on the edge myself - remind me to tell you all about the pickle jar incident sometime - and stepped back, forced myself to go on when I thought there wasn't a way forward, and if I could do it, why couldn't they?

But my struggle was momentary - I'm starting to realize that other people feel that way all the time.  Depression, anger, paranoia, frustration - a life with few highs and incredibly abysmal lows.  If this life is all there is, why continue on with the agony?  Alternately, if there is an afterlife (and considering my current situation, I'm desperately hoping there is) why not go ahead and skip to dessert, or push the reset button, or whatever metaphor applies?

Living your life solely to avoid harming others is a possible reason, but what about those who are hurting so much that they are already taking it out on those around them?  What about those who feel like life is already over but the shell just won't quit?  As a society, maybe we need to find a way to allow death to be a cleaner option for those who just can't continue on. 

There are a lot more thoughts about this, and I find that the older I get, the more my opinion changes, but I'd like to hear other people's thoughts.

Moose is playing his mama like a fiddle again

It's been a busy time for the pups - Daisy had to go to the vet yesterday (she's fine, it was just a well puppy visit), she had a spa day today, and Moose had to go to the dog equivalent of the barber for a nail trim.  They're both looking lovely now (and Moose is a stealth puppy - you no longer here the clickclickclick down the hallway). 

For some reason, though, Moose was acting strange after he got back from Jackie's Clip Joint.  He was hiding off in the Moose Cave (a dog bed we've got stashed under the desk in the other room), wanting to go outside a lot more than usual, just generally being anti-social.  I thought he might be moping about the clip, although normally he's fine with going to Jackie.  He kept going down the hall to the bedroom, and I thought maybe he just needed time by himself, so I left the door open.  I went to check on him a little later... 

Turns out, he was down there chewing on one of Daisy's bones that he'd unearthed from god knows where.  I suspect he's been sneaking around chewing on her bones all day.  Little stinker. 

Ok, this one is political

In a press conference today, President Obama was talking about the declassified report on interrogations that's going to be coming out soon, and one of the things he said was "we tortured some folks".  (The report is about enhanced interrogation techniques, by the way, that he had stopped when he came into office.) 

I was watching Bill Maher later this evening, and there was a Republican strategist on who was offended by the fact that he used the word folks.  Apparently, he felt that the word usage wasn't "presidential".  No.  What was not presidential (in my opinion) was using those techniques (yes, torture) in the first place. I'm a lot more comfortable with my president using colloquialisms than I am with him prosecuting wars based on shaky information. 

Late Night

I had one of those late-night blood sugar drops tonight - woke up with my blood sugar at 64.  It's always a bit unsettling - when I get that low, I start getting a little irrational, and my body goes into a "I'm dizzy, I'm sweaty, I'm going to make you pay for this" dance, which makes me scared, which makes me more irrational.  Fortunately, a little glucose, and I'll be fine... but it does make it hard to get back to sleep. 

On the other hand, sleep may be over-rated.  I'm sitting in my comfy chair, Moose curled up like a comma around my left side, Daisy snugged in tight to my right - there are worse places to be.  I was having a bit of a white night anyway - I've got my "every three month" scan on Friday, and the back of my brain has been fretting about it, so it could just be that this is my body's way of saying "You need a night of reading trashy novels". 

On the other other hand, however, Moose is starting to snore like a sailor after a three-day bender.  Daisy is entirely too dainty to snore, but let's just say her breathing has gotten a lot more... pronounced.  There is nothing more sleep-inducing than a couple of snoozing pups on your lap, and I feel the glucose kicking in, so I guess it may be time to head back for bed after all.  Goodnight.

Work Day Today

I went into the office today (had some stuff that needed to be taken care of in person, rather than over the phone.)  (Well, actually, I thought I had some stuff that had to be taken care of in person, but the person who requested help gave me a "What?  It's not doing it anymore." when I went over to his desk to help him out, so... guess who is going straight to the bottom of my "help him out" list.  Dimbulb).  Anyway, it was nice to get a chance to see everyone again - and at least two-thirds of the office ended up going out to lunch together at a pool hall down the block, so all in all it was a nice change of pace.  I'm definitely ready to drop, though...  I just can't do 12 hours days the way I used to. 

Driving home, I saw several signs of why I love Portland so much, though - we came home down Sandy (because I-84 is the highway of the damned during rush hour).  I saw a hipster bicyclist with his mustaches flapping in the wind at least a foot behind him, a sign in a window front advertising ukelele lessons, another window front with the fugliest naugahyde 50s barstool I've ever seen, and (of course) a martial arts studio straight across the street from an urgent care clinic.  It's my home, and I love it. 

Sick day thoughts

I spent most of today sleeping with my minions - one curled behind my knees, one curled up at the back of my neck.  I've been doing worse lately - having trouble with controlling my bladder, more skin infections and the weird fevers that go with them, etc.  I was hoping that getting my blood sugar back under control would help with the sleepiness, and it seems to be helping some, but every once in a while, I go through periods where I just can't keep my eyes open.  I'm hoping that it's just me and my weird body, not Hank...  fortunately, the next scan is next Friday, so I should know soon, and my blood sugar has gotten back under control, so with any luck, it won't be much longer in the twilight zone. 

The Tyranny of Possessions - Day Two

Miss Daisy is on her second day of guarding her blue bone, and an uneasy truce is still in effect.  (To bring anyone who didn't catch the Facebook post up to speed... I gave both Moose and Daisy a blue dental bone yesterday - Moose ate his immediately, Daisy spent the day curled up around her bone, growling at Moose, Daniel, Roger... pretty much anyone who came within 5 feet of her and her bone.).

I ended up moving it for her last night, putting it up on the table where Moose couldn't get at it so that she could come to bed and get some sleep.  But this morning, she's back curled up around the bone again.  It's odd... she isn't eating it, she's just guarding it.  I gave Moose a new one this morning (he ended up barking at Daisy when she came to investigate - sauce for the goose, I suppose), so she knows that there are more bones to be had, but for some reason, it's this particular bone that has her protective instincts up. 

I've been searching for a life lesson here, but I just can't relate - my method of protecting my groceries has always been to eat them as quickly as possible so that someone else can't sneak in and grab them (I know.  I'm working on it.)  But it seems to be bringing her a perverse amount of satisfaction, so I'm going to let her go with it.  Que cera, cera. 

Thoughts on the undocumented children controversy

Not going to get into the politics of it - except to say that in my opinion, our current system is broken, and rather than just dealing with current undocumented people, we need to completely revise how we let people in. 

My thoughts are mostly for these kids - how incredibly scared they must be, and how incredibly desperate their families must have been to send them.  One of the scariest trips I ever took in my life was one summer when I was in my early teens - I'd been spending the summer with my grandparents down in southern Utah, and Mom called asking them to send me back up to Idaho, because we were moving and she needed me there.  I can't remember why it was a rush - I think we got the message later than we should have because we'd been out camping.  Anyway - grandpa took me down to the Greyhound office (well, the hotel that doubled as a Greyhound office - we're talking St George in the 70s).  The office there wasn't open, so grandpa gave me the price of a ticket and the driver said I could ride to Cedar City and buy a ticket there. 

However... when I got to the ticket office, there had been a price increase that we didn't know about, and I didn't have quite enough for a ticket.  I had 30 minutes to have a mini-breakdown and figure out what to do - and no idea who I could call for help.  Considering the panic and desperation I felt - and then multiplying that by the lack of a common language, being shoved into a system that regards them as illegal, the enormity of the difficulties these children are going through...  I can't imagine how they are surviving. 

I eventually got by through the grace of a trucker who took pity on a little girl who was crying in the ticket office (and gave me 5 dollars for breakfast to boot - thank God for truckers with a heart).  And I've been hearing stories of citizens who are trying to help out the kids.  May we always find some grace in our hearts to help as much as we can.

Twilight Musings

Date night out tonight with Roger - driving home, we hit the golden moment.  I love summer twilight, right after the sun has set, but before the light has all faded, when everything is softened from the harshness of the day.  There's a distinct smell to twilight - I think it's the smell of the world starting to cool, sort of sweet and heavy, but lightening up. 

Then there's the anticipation.  Work is done, heat is fading, the night is still full of promise and adventure (or blessed rest - either way).  The most intriguing things always seem to happen right after twilight, and anticipating them is frequently the best part.

Happy Fourth

For the first time in ages, I'm not going to be watching the guys and Brigid set off a few fountains in the driveway to celebrate.  I'm missing it a little - I'm missing the Monkey a lot, but I suppose she has to live her own life.  If she has to.  I guess. 

Part of the decision not to do fireworks this year has to do with Brigid not being here - we can't blame our latent pyromania on her anymore.  But I'm also starting to feel uncomfortable about the whole concept - spending money on something that lasts for 5 minutes at best on sparkly noisy nothing.  The fact that it took me 49 years to grow up that much is a little frightening, but still...

I also have been dealing with Daisy's semi-nervous breakdowns nightly this week - I live in a part of town where idiots start loud aerial fireworks on the first of July and don't stop until the 7th (I hope they stop by then...)  I've been spoiled by Moose, who has always been relatively calm about fireworks - Daisy, on the other hand, has been shaking and rotating enough to start her own little gravitational field.

So instead, we're just getting together and watching a little silly television with friends - I'm still grateful for my country, just a little more quietly grateful.

Wakeup Call

About ten minutes before the radio went off this morning, Daisy crawled up my body and settled in on my chest.  When I didn't immediately start petting, she nuzzled my chin a little - clearly canine-speak for "make with the snuggling, woman!"  I know the next step - licking - and since she not only had dog breath, but morning dog breath, I complied quickly to head off the horror of eyeball-licking.  We had a nice couple of minutes before the radio started blaring and the boys woke up... at which point, Moose went into his patented "Hey, that's my mama!" dance, trying to shove in between me and the rest of the world (especially Daisy).  You know, there are worse ways to wake up.
 

Late night thoughts

Well, not all that late.  But late enough for a schoolnight.  I had my consult with my endocrinologist today, and she gave me some adjustments to my Lantus/Regular regimen.  I also need to adjust my diet - ever since I've been working on plant-based, everything has been working really well, except for my blood sugar.  That has been going through the roof - my last A1C was 9.4.  So, for the next couple of months, I'm going to be concentrating on blood-sugar maintenance and do an intense push to get it back down - that should be the last hoop to jump through before surgery.

I'm a little scared to let go of my plant-based routine (although part of me is also going "bring on the eggs!").  I do think it's helped keep Hank from growing - although I know that's strictly anecdotal, and I'm by no means saying that it would work for everyone.  It's also helped me to feel like I had some measure of control over something that I felt completely overwhelmed by, and we all know how I crave control.  I also want to keep being a rock star in my doctors' eyes - that's been a completely new experience for me, and I liked it! But I think that I can do plant-based plus a little protein here and there - maybe shoot for the vegan before 6:00 thing that Bittman advocates, and still keep the benefits.  We'll see how it goes.