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...