Oregon Dreaming

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but we've become a two Pap machine family - Roger finally went in and got checked for apnea.  We would check out Moose, but frankly, there's not a mask out there that could handle his overbite.  For the most part, it's been working out well, but I have to admit... I miss Roger's snore.

See, that's one of the ways that I knew we belonged together- the first night we slept together, I realized that we had the exact same breath pattern. His inhalation, my exhalation - they were perfectly in sync (his was just at a significantly louder level.)  It got to the point where his snores were kind of a lullaby to me - they were an audible reassurance he was alive and safe, lying next to me. But I['d rather have him alive, safe and not sleepy, so... sleeping with the machine, without the snore it is.

This morning, though - I woke up about 20 minutes before the alarm was due (well, my bladder woke up and dragged the rest of me along with it to the bathroom).  When I slipped back into bed, I managed to convince Roger to take a few minutes to snuggle up before the alarm went off, sans mask.  Snuggled up, under the warm covers, Moose between us, and hearing his snore in my ear - the closest I'm going to get to heaven in a while.

But then, of course, the alarm went off... and then Moose went off, standing on my kidneys and begging for attention, and the moment ended.  But it was at least one perfect moment with my guys - I'll take what I can get.

Odd Dream

Did you remember to wipe your feet and take out the trash like we asked you to

?

Just a short post, but for some reason, I had the oddest dream.  I was redecorating the spare bedroom (right now, it's mostly decorated in old office memorabilia and craft stuff - kind of like a Government "I Love Me" wall with yarn, beads and extra fabric.)  Anyway...

I'm in the process of redecorating and choosing a more comfortable bed, when a bunch of Men's Rights Activists show up and start an argument about how I'm not taking the male aesthetic into account and this needs to be a multi-gender oasis and...

And then my aunts (Sandy and Sherri) showed up, along with my mother, and kicked them all out on their significantly embarrassed hienies. My aunts firmly follow the "You may wear the pants in the family, but inside the house, I will tell you which pair to wear" rule of my branch of Mormonism - and of course, you all know my Mom.  The poor MRA guys didn't stand a chance. 

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Relationship building is proceeding at our house - so far, I've managed to get Lili to snuggle with me at times (generally times when I have treats), and both Lili and Daisy have started jumping up on Roger's lap for greetings when he gets home from work, but Daisy has wanted nothing really to do with me... until last night. 

Last night, we had thunder storms - the kind where the weather service breaks into Jeopardy to let you know that the weather is getting hairy.  (I really hate that - can't you wait until Wheel of Fortune?  Really? We just got done with the news - people know.)  Anyway, about midnight, there was a series of loud cracks, I saw the door swinging open, and suddenly, there was a shivering puppy (Daisy) by the side of the bed, begging to be picked up.  I boosted her up, started comforting her, and there was another crack...  And here comes Lili.  She went ahead and used the stairs, but still...

It felt a lot like the thunder scene from The Sound Of Music - I felt the urge to break into "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens."  The girls ended up staying with us for half an hour or so - until the sky calmed down. Moose actually handled it better than I was worried he might, but he's pretty much accepted the girls as part of his pack - as long as he gets first crack at the kibble bowl, they can stay. 

Invasion Notes, Week 2

Big doings today - first off, we had a lovely family walk in the rain.  (I know... but it's Portland.  If we wait for a sunny day, it's going to be July.)  Well, the girls had a lovely walk.  Moose had a scooter ride, from which he surveyed his kingdom and kept an eye on the girls.  The girls are surprisingly strong - when they start out, they go for the gusto, digging into the track and pulling in tandem.  Which would be a lot more impressive if they didn't have those cute little dachshund butts trailing, wiggling side to side like Can-Can girls. 

Afterwards, we had a good toweling off session, and then...  Lili actually consented to sit in my lap and snuggle!  For a good thirty minutes, and even better, Moose didn't object - they curled up together and allowed me to worship them until Daniel showed up.  This is big - it's the first time either of the girls have acknowledged me without food being involved, so we may be starting to build a pack (as for my worries about Moose, he's been accepted into their pack since the first day - he's in love with Daisy.  I think it's the coloring.)

To top it all off, both of the girls have figured out how to use the doggie door, so it's been a red letter day! 

Some Days, It Just Doesn't Pay to Chew Through the Restraints

He has a need... a need for speed!

Mom and I had a deal going while she was here - we were going to do a little exercising every day. Just a little walk through the neighborhood, nothing big - well, I say walk, but what I mean is her walking, wrangling Daisy and Lili, while Moose and I did a dignified scooter walk beside the hooligans. 

Yesterday was a down day due to various infirmities popping up, but today...  today, I showered *and* put on a bra (red letter day), as did Mom (not a big deal for her, but still...)  We performed various feats of puppy wrangling, finding Moose's harness, clipping on leashes, finding my shoes  (ok, it's been a while since I left the house).  Anyway... finally got out to the garage, opened the door... and the skies opened up. We're not talking a little Oregon sprinkle, we're talking "has anyone talked to Noah lately?" The girls still wanted to brave it, but frankly, I was worried they might float off. 

Unfortunately, I'd expended my energy getting out to the garage, so I needed to rest up before attempting the stairs, and the only convenient seat was the scooter.  Moose immediately hopped on the floorboard, shouting the canine equivalent of "floor it".  He was mightily disappointed when I explained we were heading back into the house - in fact, I had to drag him off the scooter to get him to realize it wasn't happening,  so he's definitely getting a scooter ride tomorrow, no matter what. 

We finally made it safely back inside, gave puppies treats, etc... and realized - my living room has not one, but two massive glass sliding doors.  And yet, neither Mom nor I bothered to check to see if it was raining before we started this expedition...  Yep.  On this one, title says it all.

Observations from the Invasion

I've got to get pictures, but for now - it's odd.  There are definitely separations between the three.  I'm used to Moose's baritone (he's got a big boy bark - if you can't see him, you would assume it's a doberman.  He has the UPS and Fed-Ex guys cowed - the food delivery guys, however, have seen him and are no longer as impressed.)  Daisy, on the other hand, is a soprano, and Lili is an alto, somewhere between the two.  It does make for an impressive chorus when they're all in the backyard giving Roady (the dog next door) what-for.  I'm thankful that we live in a house that's situated in a dog-friendly/dog-intensive cul-de-sac - no one can complain because we all have noisemakers...

Invasion Report, Day 2 1/2

Mom made it safely here this time (despite Oregon choosing to throw up cyclones in Bend and earthquakes off the coast), along with Lili and Daisy (Lili's sister.)  It's becoming increasingly obvious to me that Moose has spoiled me rotten, though. 

Moose has always been my pup.  Well, from the moment I found him shivering in the garage after a night outside (he ran away the second he got out of the car - we searched everywhere in the neighborhood without luck, but I left the garage door open for him, and the next morning, when I woke up, he was resting in a pile of laundry, looking up at me like "what took you so long?")  After that, he was a mama's boy, through and through.  Especially after my diagnosis, he became my familiar, always on my lap or by my side, a comforting, loving shadow.

Lili, on the other hand, is going to be work.  Right now, she's still bonded with Mom, and she's ok with occasional lap time, but both Lili and Daisy are active dogs - always moving, always running, their jewelry jingling everywhere.  I figure she and I will become friends eventually - I have patience and I have treats, and with those two things, you can rule a dog's world.  But it's not going to be easy, the way it was with Moose.  I'm also going to have to be more wary than I have been.  I made the mistake of taking my eyes off breakfast this morning, and Daisy almost made off with an entire piece of ham.  Moose has always been polite about food - he might whine, but he won't take off with it unless it hits the floor.  Of course, once it hit the floor, all bets are off.  Daisy, however, does not seem to have Moose's compunctions.  It's going to be an adjustment...

Warning: Indelicate aspects of cancer being discussed

Ok, so...  as we all know, cancer sucks.  It's painful, it's dangerous, it's deadly... but what people don't talk about (because, frankly, we know you all are sick of us whining) is that it's uncomfortable.  Seriously - go to any good cancer group, and people aren't going to be talking about the pain - we all know about the pain.  We're going to be talking about the itchy skin, or the way differences in air temperature can cause your body to go nuts, or how nothing tastes the same after chemo, or...

In my particular case, it's bladder issues.  Because Hank the Tumor is sitting there, right on my bladder, like a malevolent little goblin, I've got the bladder of a permanently 8 1/2 month pregnant woman.  Which means that I'm back to wearing diapers - when I was hoping for a second childhood, this is not what I had in mind.  Which also means a diaper pail... or at least a trash can devoted to Poise.  I had a small can - something like what you would use at a desk, but frankly, it was not doing the job.

So... my birthday was coming up.  Once you hit 50, frankly, birthday wishes can be kind of a pain - if I need something, chances are I already have it - but I thought "Ah!  A trash can!  I'll ask for a slightly larger trash can!"  Now... I've mentioned my friend/alternative backup husband Daniel before, but have I mentioned that he's a terrific gift-giver?  He's the kind of guy who is always thinking beyond the box, and he's out for all that he can give - he's wonderful, but he can be overwhelming at times.  He ended up giving me two different trash cans (because they came as a set), and the one for the bathroom is a 13 gallon stainless steel battery operated masterpiece. 

That's right.  Battery operated.  Which is lovely, and it's great that it opens when I wave at it.  But it also opens when my tits wave at it, or someone's butt, or... did I mention that my bathroom is kind of a tight fit?  And since it's filling up with used (essentially) diapers, whenever it opens up, there's a distinct eau de truckstop.  So, I had to find an odor eliminator - but I think I found the exact one I need.  It's from a company called Natural Magic, and the product name is "What Died In There?"  Somehow, I think that's just what I needed. 

Rough Moon Rising

Difficult day today.  We had to do a little home repair yesterday (the toilet that was giving me lip the other week developed a leak), and of course, this being Oregon, it involved mold issues - and my lungs are delicate enough without the addition of mold spores, so there was a lot of coughing all night, and not much sleeping. 

By the time I finally managed to catch some sleep, my brain decided it was time to remind me this week is my Cancerversary (as if I was going to forget... ever), and run a series of dreams in which Roger and I kept getting turned down as foster parents because of medical unsuitability. (At one point, we got turned down as dog fosters because "well, you might teach them bad health habits."  My brain can be a bit of a bitch, frankly.)

I'm hoping that this gets the mourning out of the way for the year, but I'm making no promises.  I can see the next week being a bit of a bugger, frankly.  Fortunately, Mom (and Lili and Daisy) are due on Sunday, so there's something positive in my future. 

The one lurking in the corner?  That's the culprit.  

Memory Well: Heading for Cheyenne Again

Back around the time that I was born, my grandmother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer.  Not a deal-breaker - she was with us for another 49 years, but it meant that (since she lived in the southern end of the state, and all the good hospitals at the time were in Salt Lake), we had annual trips up to "the city" for the first part of my life. There's an intersection on the freeway in Salt Lake where if you take the correct cloverleaf, you head back towards Washington (that's Washington, UT) and home, and if you don't take the correct cloverleaf, you're bound for Cheyenne.  Guess which cloverleaf Grandpa took 75% of the time?  Would it be too big of a hint for me to mention that Grandpa was also notorious for knowing about "little shortcuts?"  But he always got us home, eventually.

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this...  Grandpa and Grandma were together essentially forever.  You didn't think of one without the other one popping into mind, like Mickey and Minnie... well, more like Ralph and Alice, but you get my point.  Once Grandpa left us, Grandma was still there, but it was obvious that she was missing part of her soul.  And when her time was finally winding to an end, she felt that Grandpa was coming for her, to take her back home, but the days stretched out to weeks, just waiting.  Existing, but ready for that next phase - eventually impatiently waiting for that next phase.  On the day she did finally complete her journey, it seemed for two or three hours that she was looking past the living, reaching for someone only she could see, but it seemed to take forever.  Finally, we realized what had happened... she was waiting for Grandpa, and he'd gotten lost on that blasted off-ramp to Cheyenne.  But nonetheless, he did get her home, eventually.

The start of the wait....that's Grandma, second from the left

Postscript to Happy Dance! Happy Dance!

Yeah - sort of like this look, only droolier.  (And yes, Roger, I'm posting you and your wiener on the internet)

Another day, another styrofoam box, another really happy Deci.  When I talked to Mom (and thanked her profusely), she told me that the cheesecake was dessert, and the main course should be arriving today.  And it did...  a lovely, lovely 3 pound piece of marbled beef.  Moose, who initially assumed it was a BarkBox, locked eyes onto the roast like the apex predator he thinks he is, and started producing enough drool to drown a small rodent.  I tried telling him that a) it was still frozen; and b) it was about a quarter of his total body weight, but he kept on insisting that he could take it.  I'm afraid my boy has delusions of grandeur.  Or at least his stomach does.  At any rate, I'll try to get pictures Saturday and let you all know how it is - well, it's beef.  It will be delicious.  But I'll try to get more descriptive. 

Happy Dance! Happy Dance!

I have a confession to make - I watch QVC.  Specifically, I watch In The Kitchen With Dave (heck, I've watched it since it was In The Kitchen With Bob, but that's another story.)  It's a sort of porn for me - kitchen gadgets, food, china, food, cookware, did I mention the food?...  These are a few of my favorite things.  I even have ordered a few things - I love my Systema microwave bowls, they're perfect for leftovers, and the enameled cast iron dutch oven is a wonderful piece of work.  Oh, and the Temptations... I really love my few pieces of Temptations. 

But mostly I just watch and covet. When it comes to the food, there's some serious coveting - I mean, these guys could make Campbell's Soup sound irresistible, and I'm helpless when it comes to caramel apples the size of softballs, or lump crab cakes, or croissants that you finish off in your own oven so they're always hot and fresh and...  well, I say helpless, until I look at the pricing, and I just can't bring myself to push the button.  I can't justify indulging myself to that extent... but boy, can I covet.

So... my birthday is coming up Saturday, and I was a little in the dumps about it (I've never dealt well with birthdays, and now that my Cancerversary is in the same time frame, it's just a blue time of year).  Until...  there was a box on the porch today.  A styrofoam box, the kind with dry ice inside.  Turns out my mother, who knows and shares my obsession, sent me (wait for it) Junior's Cheesecake!  Not just Junior's Cheesecake, but the Red Velvet Cheesecake (everyone who knows me, knows I'm a fool for red velvet cake.)  Dessert for Saturday Night Dinner is set, and I'm suddenly feeling much more cheerful and optimistic. 

I've said this before, but I think this is incontrovertible truth - I have the best mom ever!

That's her on the left - but Grandma was incredible too.  

Penny Foolish, Pound Foolish

I believe in Social Security.  I've paid into it all of my adult life, and even if I had never taken a penny from it, I still feel that it makes sense for the society in general to pay into a pool that helps our seniors and the most vulnerable among us survive.  Not just for moral reasons, but for economic reasons - someone who receives their SS check goes out and purchases goods and services with that check, which bumps up our economy and creates jobs, and workers who contribute to Social Security and so on and so on... 

I believe in Welfare and Unemployment Insurance.  Things happen in life, and people slip down the social ladder.  If they're given a net that helps keep them from falling completely off, they can continue back up the rungs once they've got things more in control.  Again, morality should be enough, but sheer practicality here - it's easier for someone to regain control and become a productive (and tax-paying citizen) if they don't hit bottom and still have things like a bed, a shower, a phone number to give to potential employers. 

On to some of the programs that the current administration is determined to gut...  I believe in subsidized school lunch (and breakfast for that matter.)  Despite what Meathead Mulvaney may feel, no, it is not possible to concentrate on school when you're hungry, and school lunch is actually the most cost effective way to feed mass amounts of people (not to mention an inducement to keep coming to school for kids who may be on the ragged edge.) Money spent on school lunch builds (again) future tax-payers and consumers - the lifeblood of our country.

I believe in Upward Bound - you may never have heard of it, but it's a program that saved my education, where disadvantaged kids (yes, I qualified) can get tutoring help and take summer classes to advance their schooling.  Without Upward Bound, I don't know that I would have graduated high school and have become a (say it with me now...)  tax-paying citizen. 

I believe in Job Corps - for kids who can't attend college (or for whom college just doesn't fit), it's basically government-sponsored VoTech education.  Tongue Point, the Center I attended, is a terrific example - it turns out everything from bakers to qualified seamen to drafters for architects.  Again, takes kids who are on the edge and gives them a useful, employable skill (including classes on how to write a resume, drive a car, basic life lessons), which turns them into (you know it) tax-paying citizens.

This is getting a little long now, so I don't have time to get into things like Meals on Wheels or National Parks or the National Institute for Health, but what do all these programs have in common?  They were started and continue to be championed by people who realize that making our citizens a priority is worthwhile both morally and fiscally.  Someone who has gotten a little help along the way (or a lot of help along the way) will be a contributor to society (trust me- I just did my taxes, I'm definitely a contributor) long after the initial investment you make in them. 

Cancer Survivor?

Just filled out a survey, asking for opinions about the term "Cancer Survivor", used for anyone who has had cancer.  I realized that I really hate that phrase...  I am not a cancer survivor.  I mean, yeah.  I have cancer, and yeah, I'm coming up on 4 years now, when I was initially given 2, and I don't see any real issue with me passing the 5 year mark either.  But I don't feel like a survivor. 

I'm also really conflicted with where I am.  I feel guilty, in a way, because I didn't have to go through the horrors of radiation or chemotherapy like some of my friends.  But I'm also angry that I'm still in limbo after all these years - still harboring this malignant little tumor, still stuck with the bladder control of a woman who is permanently 8 months pregnant.  I know it could be so much worse... and yet, it could be so much better.  I could be NED.  I could be cured.  But no... I'm not a survivor.  I'm... paused.  And so is Roger, and so is my mother.  Feeling like if I step on the wrong crack on the sidewalk, Hank will wake up and I'll be back in the thick of it. 

Most days, I ignore the tightrope beneath me and just keep walking.  But there are times like today, when I get reminded. And I get angry all over again.  Give me an hour or two, and I'll bounce back to realizing how incredibly lucky I am.  But don't call me a survivor.  And don't bring any pink merch into the house for a day or two at least...

J'accuse

I've finally figured it out - ok, it took me 51 years, but I have identified my nemesis.  The entity determined to ruin my life...  Yep.  It's my body.  My mind loves me and wants me to be happy... but my body is a stone cold bitch.

I've suspected it for some time (Hank was one hell of a clue, frankly), but I've been looking back and realizing...  whenever I find something that I really enjoy and could potentially be good at, my body finds a way to mess with me.  Take square dancing (and no, don't you judge me!)  I started square dancing when I was in my teens, and loved everything about it - the frilly clothes, the comradery (you never sit on the sidelines at a square dance - if you can't find a guy to dance with, another girl will be happy to step in and dance with you.  I've been in squares that had 7 girls and one guy who was having the time of his life.)  I loved the math of it - the patterns and the rhythm, all being brought together by a roomful of grinning humanity.  I even loved the music - this was 80s country, back before "shake your money-maker" was an acceptable mating call.  But... my body found a way to screw it up for me.  Every evening, I'd start out the night looking good, looking sharp - and end up a dripping mess.  Every single sweat gland would go into overdrive, to the point where I could have been used to cure the California drought.  Do you know how hard it is to allemande left when the guy you're reaching out to slips off your arm into the next square from the sheer level of perspiration?

Then there's food.  I love food - all kinds, all textures, all flavors.  I enjoyed exploring different cuisines, finding new spots...  and then came Diabetes.  I'm not talking your basic pre-Diabetes.  I'm talking having to stab sharp needles into my stomach before every meal - ok, let's be honest.  The needles aren't the worst.  The worst is having to stick that damned poke-demon into my finger to figure out just how out of whack I am *before* I can stick the needle in.  Yes, I still love food - but the delight in a good meal gets taken down several notches when you have to precisely titrate that meal to avoid going a coma.

Hell, my body has even been trying lately to take reading away from me, with various bones in my hands stiffening up or freezing over or just twinging intermittently just to make it hard to hold a book (or a Kindle.)  But I've got its number now...  I know what my body is doing and I'm going to stop letting it get away with this nonsense. 

Odd Dream...

Grandpa's Domain

I had Hawaiian for dinner last night - that's about the only explanation I can come up with.  Normally, my dreams tend to go into short term memory and then straight out the left ear, but this one was odd enough that certain details stuck.  Part of that was that it featured Grandpa in a very odd role.

I've written about Grandpa before, but just as a general catch-up - he was a rancher.  In fact, he was the proto-rancher - you think of a guy who spends all his time eking out a living from the land and some really stubborn cattle, that's Grandpa.  Incredibly capable at making due and making it work, but not long on manners or affectations. When I see him in my mind's eye, I see him in his Dickie's overalls with a freebie cap of some kind on his head.

At any rate... for some reason, in my dream, the Vegas mafia had managed to establish a casino in Washington (that's Utah, by the way.)  And Grandpa was one of their local stooges - I can't imagine why, but he was working for them.  We were making a delivery at the casino in his car - it was your basic Chevy four door, nothing special - but the way that you made a delivery at this casino was that you would drive up, the valet would take your car, and 30 minutes later, you would get a car back.  You could tell by the car that you received back where you stood with the bosses - if you got your own car back, you did an adequate job.  If you had screwed up somehow, you got back a Yugo.  For some reason, Grandpa must have done an incredible job - he got back this silver Lincoln town car with all the trimmings - but being Grandpa, he went up to the penthouse to give them hell, because he wanted his Chevy back (and of course, dragged me along with him.)  I was really looking forward to the fireworks, but just then, Moose had to stage his normal Tuesday crusade against the garbage truck man at full volume.  Damn it - I was really enjoying spending time with Grandpa again...

Random Pain and Hatred For Cancer Commercials

I had a particularly sucky weekend (yes, that's a technical term).  My right heel suddenly decided (for no reason that I could tell) to develop gout-like symptoms - dull, throbbing pain that sharped into "Ninjas are attacking your foot" territory if I tried to put any weight on it.  I mean - I know from pain, I have arthritis so advanced that I am intimately aware of the various federal regulations on Percoset, but this was the kind of pain that drains everything out of you - to the point where you end up crying when you make it to the bathroom, but then realize you're going to have to go through the whole process again just to get out of there.  A couple of nights where it hurt too badly to sleep because I couldn't find a position where the foot would stop throbbing.  Fortunately, it is clearing up just as suddenly as it occurred - because my body is a sadistic little bitch, but it knows it can only push me so far.

So, the foot is clearing up - and now, I've got stiffness and throbbing in the second and third fingers of my left hand.  What the hell - I'll take that.  All it really affects is my typing speed.  But in the process of surviving the weekend, I've developed a mad hate (I had to push the anger and frustration somewhere) for cancer medication advertisers.  I'm not talking about the snake oil salesmen who claim that they can use grapefruit juice extract instead of chemotherapy - I already condemned those bastards to hell a lot time ago.  And I am totally behind the actual researchers who are trying to fight cancer - they're fighting the good fight and need all the support they can get.  No, I'm talking about the assholes who decided that putting ads on the air for Optivo (or a couple of other meds - not just trying to single anyone out here) was a good use of time and money that could be spent on... say... research and development?  Or making sure that the cancer drugs don't bankrupt someone on their way out of this mortal coil?

 A cancer diagnosis is a peculiarly personal thing - none of us have the same cancer.  But trust me - if you have a potentially life extending (note that these meds aren't saying they'll save your life, just extend it a little) medication, we'll find out about it.  And frankly, it should be from a solid medical source, not from a 90 second ad on Rachel Maddow - I don't need to get my medical clues between yelling at Trump and questioning Congress.  All you're doing here is jacking up the price, which at $150K per initial injection and then $14K per month after that, does not need jacking up.  You're also just reminding those patients who do not fit the very specific criteria for this particular med that no, there's nothing out there for them.  And while it's interesting to listen to the list of side effects (which, by the way, can include your body randomly attacking various organs even after you go off the drug - oh, and death), I would honestly rather sit through Vince and his Sham-Wow commercial for the nine billionth time (and I hate Vince) than ever see your soft-focused jazz-enhanced nonsense ever again.

Happy Birthday

That's Mom on the left- busy with her current obsession

My mother turns 69 today, although you'd never guess it to look at her.  She's got the kind of face that doesn't really change much from 30 to 80, and while I think she's actually (finally!) gotten a couple of gray hairs over the past year or so, it's pretty much still the same gorgeous black it's always been (seriously, Mom - you couldn't pass the hair gene down to your daughter?) 

I wrote recently about persisting - Mom was the one who taught me that.  We were talking once about dealing with work issues (yet another reason I love my mother - some mothers talk about housework and cooking.  My mom gives career advice - from the sharp point of the spear. Well, and cooking.)  She was engaged in some internecine conflict with some colleagues, and I asked how she planned on bringing them over to her side - she said she was going to go for the throat, lock her jaws and hang on until they gave up. That part of the DNA she passed down... 

What else did I get from her?  She gave me a love of books, a love of chocolate, and a love of words for their own sake.  She taught me the value of singing along with the radio - loudly and not always on key, but joyfully nonetheless.  She gave me the knowledge of my own worth - a powerful gift that I wish I could give back to her.  And she taught me the power of family.  She left the family physically, but she never lost that thread that binds, and I'm so glad she found her way back. 

She's my mother, and I'm so incredibly glad that I can reach out and contact her whenever I need her... but she's also my best friend, and it makes me happy that I can reach out just to tell her something silly that I've found that I think she would enjoy. 

Happy birthday, Mom - I sincerely wish you many, many more. 

My Kind of Love

I've been feeling kind of off all weekend (more so than usual), so Monday, when I finally got up, I found an email from Roger letting me know that he was working on stuff he could interrupt if I needed to go to Urgent Care.  Because after 21 1/2 years together, that's love - someone who will take the time to take care of you if you need it (even if he's got stuff to do, damn it!)  He also stopped off at the store on the way home and picked up steaks for dinner tonight - he would have grabbed asparagus as well, but the stems were all kind of woody, and he knew I'd be just as happy with broccodile.

That's the love that I wish for you all, my friends - love that endures, love that remembers, love that cares.  Comfortable love - the kind of love that you can wear pyjamas with (or dress up if you want to).  Sustaining love - love that makes you feel better just being with them.  Roger has always been my cone of calm - when he would pick me up after work, I could feel the tension leave my body just sitting down next to him in the car.  But mostly, trustworthy love - love you know is there for you, whatever life brings.

I try to tell him every day that I love him (or at least show him), but since it's Half-price Candy Eve, and it's tradition, let me try one more time.  Roger, I love you, now and for all time - I even put up with your methane cuddles of love, just for the chance to be with you, because you are the best man I have ever met, and you make me a better woman just to try to keep up with you. 

Ethics, Part II (Or SAEDA? I hardly knew her!)

More on the view of a retired civil servant looking in - pretty sure this is going to be an ongoing series now.

Looking at this weekend's news and shaking my head...  starting with Michael Flynn.  Every year for the past quarter century, in addition to the Ethics briefing I mentioned in my last post, I had to take a special Army course.  There have been a number of names for it (like I said, I took it a lot), but my favorite was SAEDA (that's short for Subversion and Espionage Against the Department of Army) - mostly because I loved having my spy prevention program sound like someone's maiden aunt.  Forget James Bond, we've got Saeda Adams.  Every year, we'd have someone come down from Fort Lewis, and basically tell us not to do *any* of the things that Flynn seems to have done.  Ever.  I mean, I know the guy was a three-star, but he had to have taken these classes - or maybe he got a staffer to do it for him.  But still... either he was incredibly arrogant or incredibly stupid - he was with the DIA, so he had to know that a Russian ambassador - any Russian ambassador on US soil - is going to have their communications tapped.  That's leaving alone all the taking money from a foreign government, palling around with foreign nationals, etc...  Seriously.  Had he been a non-political appointee, his ass would have hit the sidewalk Day 2 of the administration. 

Of course, it's not like his boss understands security either, based on his behavior.  North Korea is testing bombs, and he keeps eating his dinner in the middle of a bunch of complete strangers who just happen to have paid $200K to be able to eat in the same room as him... clearly they're trustworthy (and fiscally prudent) while discussing possible ramifications and responses.  Dude.  Remember all those things you were accusing Hillary of?  Oh, right - that would involve you using your brainpower on something other than your Electoral College win.