A Lexiphiliac's Lament

I enjoy words. When I'm listening to music, I pay more attention to the lyrics than the guitar line.  I generally enjoy the book more than the movie.  I like common words, obscure words, esoteric words - I've been a wordsmith in one form or another all my life.  Which is why my Kindle's autocorrect drives me bananas!

It's not just the curse words - I don't expect the Aunt Propers who generate the dictionary for the application to really know how to spell shitgibbon properly (although you've got to admit, it's been in common use a heck of a lot more since January 20th).  But I'll be typing merrily along in a minor Facebook feud, get ready to hit send and realize that Autocorrect has changed twit to twist.  Now, admittedly, the idiot I was talking to is both a twit and a twist, but I know what I was trying to say!

Then there's dealing with Hank.  Ok, so myxoid uterine leiomyosarcoma is not something that comes up often, but I shouldn't have to continue to say "Yes, that's what I meant" every single time.  Or if I want to be a little formal or arcane in my typing - it recognizes twerking (a truly loathsome neologism), but not grandiloquent or loquacious.  When my vocabulary is more extensive than the machine I'm using, there's a basic issue here.  And I'm pretty sure it's not with me.

Lovely Evening - sort of food review

Today was bad.  Moose hit a new low in terms of growing older and not able to do things he used to do, I was dealing with caffeine withdrawal, with the attendant headache and general blah that comes, traffic sucked... just a general bummer of a day.  But then...

Found a new restaurant on GrubHub (Alameda Brewhouse).  I order their soup and a Reuben, Roger ordered a Salmon BLT.  Everything we got was incredibly good tasting - the Whiskey Crab Bisque was rich and thick, the Reuben was thick enough to remind me of east coast delis, with bacon sauerkraut and housemade potato chips that were crunchy and salty and perfect.  Roger's sandwich was good enough that he had a hard time saving a little for Moose, and considering that it had two out of three of Moose's perfect foods (salmon and bacon), it's a good thing he managed to. Everything was perfect, even the sourdough bread that came with the soup.  But mostly, it was just that everything was comforting.  It was a spiky kind of day, and the food just sort of smoothed out the edges and made the world livable again.  You can't ask for more than that from a meal.

Some days...

So, I'm sitting here, watching Rachel Maddow, when my mouse suddenly dies.  It's one of those battery powered ones, and I tend to go through a couple of batteries a month, but it never gives a warning - the pointer just disappears.  No big, it just needs a new battery, but...

As I'm installing the new battery, the screw comes loose from my eyeglass earpiece.  Now, I'm blind enough that even installing a battery can be iffy without my glasses, but Roger was good enough to grab the mini-screwdriver for me, and fortunately the screw was still there, just unthreaded, so no big, except...

I've mentioned my issues with my bladder, right?  I'll be sitting there, perfectly fine, and then all the sudden, if I don't pee in the next two seconds, it's going to be overflow time.  And of course, I can't stand up quickly, because the same muscles that need to tighten one way to stand up, need to tighten in the opposite direction to keep my bladder from doing an "Ok, everybody out of the pool!" Still, no big, there's a reason why I've got extra towels and a Swiffer handy, but then...

I get back from my mad dash to the restroom... and my glasses fall off the table, onto the floor.  I think the universe realized it had pushed its luck as far as it could, though - the glasses remained intact. 

Frankly, I'm thinking it might be an early night.

Hamburger Helper?

When Mom was here, we made up a batch of meat mix - portioned it out, made a couple of meatloafs, some homemade meatballs... even portioned up some larger sized balls for cabbage rolls.  Of course, that was being way too optimistic for Roger and I - expecting us to unfreeze the balls *and* have cabbage on hand at the same time?  Never going to happen. 

So, we finally broke down and reformed the balls into a meatloaf for Sunday dinner tonight.  Oddly enough, the minute that the fridge was opened and the thawed meat mix came out, *someone* was off my lap like a shot, and in supervision position in the kitchen doorway. He wanted to make sure that Dad shaped the meat correctly, apparently (or that no stray meat got away.)  He's thoughtful like that.

Memory Well: Summertime A&W

Roger's hometown has an actual A&W stand, with the carhop service and picnic tables down by the creek.  They send out specials on Facebook, and today's brought on a wave of nostalgia to Roger, Daniel and I.

I miss having an actual A&W around - the combo KFC/Taco Bell/A&W is an abomination and doesn't count.  Aunt Sherri worked at the one in St George when I was a teen-ager, and I used to love to visit her at work - get a Mama Bear and a Root beer Float in one of their classic glass mugs.  When you get the root beer float just right, you get the ice crystals forming around the edge of the ice-cream, where it's half ice cream, half root beer and all delicious...  And the foot long Coney Dogs.  I have no idea what was in the coney sauce, but I still crave it, 30 years later. 

And the statuary from 70s fast food places - Mama Bear, Papa Bear from A&W, JB's Big Boy, the huge rotating bucket of chicken on top of the pole at KFC...  I miss tacky architecture.  We do have the Brown Jug on Sandy (a strip club where the whole building is shaped like a jug of moonshine), but for the most part, we just don't have odes to bad taste anymore.  Although the Portland Building does resemble a really tacky box of chocolate, so that's something...

New Computer Blues

Old Faithful was finally giving up the ghost - it was a good workhorse computer, but it was having problems restarting and the battery would no longer charge, so it's being relegated to another room as a backup spare, and we brought in the "new hotness".  Essentially the same computer, just 3 or 4 years newer (the HP Envy 17", if anyone is interested.) 

There are a few superficial differences - rather than Beats audio, it's Bang and Olufsen (sounds the same to these ears), the power cord is on the left side rather than the right, I'm going to have to convince the new hotness that no, Microsoft Edge is not my preferred browser no matter how much Gates is bribing you to think so... but the main issue is my monitor.

See, I don't really use my laptop as a laptop.  I use it as a component for the DeciPrise 5000 - I've got a separate keyboard/trackball/monitor that I hook in because I hate trying to type on a chicklet array or mouse around using my finger, and my eyes are bad enough that I *need* a 27" monitor and sometimes that's not enough.  I've got it all set up on a roll around table that is the perfect height for my comfy armchair - it's probably an ergonomic monster for anyone else, but for someone who is online pretty much 18 hours out of the day, it works really well.  Especially since when I was still working from home, I could just unplug my home laptop, plug in my work laptop and keep going... Until...

The new hotness only has two dongle slots (I know, they've got a technical name, but they're dongle slots) and no VGA slot.  There's an HDMI slot, but my monitor is not set for HDMI because I've had it just about as long as the "old busted" laptop.  I've got an adapter ordered and coming in, but for the next couple of days, I'm going to be squinting.  A lot.  So please be patient about any misspellings - I can't really tell the difference between letters, and I'm going to be relying on touch typing a lot. 

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...