That's right. when I saw $218 dollars for the round trip flight, I went and did it. I have invited the wrath of winter upon us. I have never returned home in the winter since my escape in April of 1987. We have gone to visit some bloggers in CT in Feb, but never home...in November. I am hoping that since it is before Thanksgiving that some mercy will be involved and we won't end up snowbound. with my mother. Of course there has been snow on my birthday in those parts before (9/11).
I can't believe summer is basically gone and the holidays will soon be upon us. By that I guess I mean the summer months as it will be summer weather well into October, if not November. It feels like it is time to begin cooking again. Real cooking all the time. It is certainly a commitment I want to make to myself and to eb, but then life happens and I so often feel lazy about it. Maybe with summertime leaving us, it will more readily happen.
I think a key to it happening is getting the pantry reorganized and restocked in a more naturally functional way. It's a little skewed at current and we have been terribly lazy about the farmers' market. Maybe getting this trip booked will take one thing away from my addled brain in a way that cooking can come back. Maybe not. The intention will remain present and that's a step toward achievement.
It also seems like there is so much to be doing creatively, but again, the desire far exceeds actuality. I need to be writing more. Knitting more. Creating with Arnold's pics more.
Being lazy about it less. Time will tell. Maybe I need to assign days for certain creative pursuits. An idea, but not so sure it's a good one or one that will work for me.
I picked up my tin to make this year's retablo for the show at
the Lawndale. I have picked out the photo I will use and maybe even this weekend I might get started so I am not doing it days before the deadline like previous years. I like at least having made the picture decision already.
Good Friend Irene was scheduled to visit this weekend after some company meetings in Galveston. The hurricane pile up in the gulf cancelled her meetings and her trip has been postponed until the first weekend in October. I am being extremely conscious of wanting to pout and sulk and throw a tantrum worthy of my inner fouryear old and it is taking my every effort to not let her out. Maybe she needs some cotton candy. Or annother Nutty Bar. Yes, that might be a short term band-aid.
I hate it when maybe is the word most rampant in my brain.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Time rolls around...And a Weese inspired tip-o-day...
Every two years as required by law, I have to take some continuing education classes to renew my hair artist license. Thankfully, I am able to do it online, and multitasker that I am I can do it while doing other things. I was just doing a few pages of instruction while I was eating my lunch and I came across the following gem discussing a researcher and the germs he found at the salon (or any shared) reception desk.
"He found the office toilet seat had an average of 49 germs per square inch. When he looked at keyboards, he found 3,295 bacteria per square inch, 60 times higher than the toilet seat. Even worse were tops of desks at 21,000 bacteria per square inch and telephones at 25,000 per square inch. People are constantly coughing and sneezing on them. Germs from unwashed hands can remain alive for days. In other words, if you share computer keyboards in your salon, a phone or a desk, you are sharing germs."
The instruction then went on to recommend various ways to adequately disinfect and sanitize the work area, including a recommendation to unscrew the back of the keyboard and wipe free of debris daily.
Everyone always finds it odd that I don't get sick (often) and they wonder why. The first thing I do when I enter the salon is to get the disinfectant wipes and thoroughly wipe down all the work stations and the desk including touch screens, keyboards and phones. I really think sometimes they think I am a clean freak or germ nazi and then I gently remind them that I usually avoid the illnesses that oh, the 28of them, pass around the salon on a regular basis. Don't these people understand the concept of planned sick days and how little fun they are if you are actually sick?
"He found the office toilet seat had an average of 49 germs per square inch. When he looked at keyboards, he found 3,295 bacteria per square inch, 60 times higher than the toilet seat. Even worse were tops of desks at 21,000 bacteria per square inch and telephones at 25,000 per square inch. People are constantly coughing and sneezing on them. Germs from unwashed hands can remain alive for days. In other words, if you share computer keyboards in your salon, a phone or a desk, you are sharing germs."
The instruction then went on to recommend various ways to adequately disinfect and sanitize the work area, including a recommendation to unscrew the back of the keyboard and wipe free of debris daily.
Everyone always finds it odd that I don't get sick (often) and they wonder why. The first thing I do when I enter the salon is to get the disinfectant wipes and thoroughly wipe down all the work stations and the desk including touch screens, keyboards and phones. I really think sometimes they think I am a clean freak or germ nazi and then I gently remind them that I usually avoid the illnesses that oh, the 28of them, pass around the salon on a regular basis. Don't these people understand the concept of planned sick days and how little fun they are if you are actually sick?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Four Hours to Jimmy
Dinner tonight with one of my dear brothers-in-law. And father-in-law. And sister-in-law. This begs the question...do any of them consider me an anything-in-law? I wanna know, but I won't ask. Asking would only get the proper answer. I want the oohimbloggingaboutfamilywhodontreadmyblog answer. Really.
As reward for this mini family reunion of she who is Dear *and* Sweet, though the reward was scheduled months before the dinner, we will be seeing Melissa Etheridge. Tonight. at the Brown Theater at the Wortham which I think only seats around 2000. We saw her at the Wortham a few years afo and it was a great show. Wealso saw her at a dive place, Numbers (standing room only, no seats) which was the absolute best. She was Right. There. at Numbers.
I have no idea where are seats are tonight and honestly, I could care less. Just being there is its own reward. In any seat. I am eagerly awaiting the infusion of energy.
EB is not so much a fan though more a fan after having seen her live. Will she be expecting the tears that will inevitably come(from me, not her? Maybe. I already have a tissue in my pocket. Or three. They. Will. Come.
Last Friday at work I was having a moment. More than a moment. All day long. It wasn't necessarily more busy that I can handle, I have really never seen more busy than I can handle at JCP. There was, however, a certain undefined chaos that had me on the verge of a debilitating anxiety attack most of the day. No headache. No racing heart. It was literally all in my head. It was disconcerting to say the least. It was a day of feeling as if the skin in which I reside is not my own. And it was disturbing enough that I mentioned it to EB as soon as I got home.
Twice during the day I had to tell stylists that if they weren't in my area to help, they needed to move behind the wall. I know I was less than diplomatic about it and I have absolutely no idea of whom I made this request. All I was aware of was the fact that any bodies removed from my field of vision would help ease my mental chaos. Most of the day, I couldn't imagine handling one more piece of information.
Then I went in on Saturday morning and all was normal. I just don't know. It was all very surreal and dreamlike but the constant forward movement to the day was at work. And all at grindingly slow speeds.
totally makes me want to call in sick tomorrow, but I won't. And now there is but 3.5 hours to Jimmy.
As reward for this mini family reunion of she who is Dear *and* Sweet, though the reward was scheduled months before the dinner, we will be seeing Melissa Etheridge. Tonight. at the Brown Theater at the Wortham which I think only seats around 2000. We saw her at the Wortham a few years afo and it was a great show. Wealso saw her at a dive place, Numbers (standing room only, no seats) which was the absolute best. She was Right. There. at Numbers.
I have no idea where are seats are tonight and honestly, I could care less. Just being there is its own reward. In any seat. I am eagerly awaiting the infusion of energy.
EB is not so much a fan though more a fan after having seen her live. Will she be expecting the tears that will inevitably come(from me, not her? Maybe. I already have a tissue in my pocket. Or three. They. Will. Come.
Last Friday at work I was having a moment. More than a moment. All day long. It wasn't necessarily more busy that I can handle, I have really never seen more busy than I can handle at JCP. There was, however, a certain undefined chaos that had me on the verge of a debilitating anxiety attack most of the day. No headache. No racing heart. It was literally all in my head. It was disconcerting to say the least. It was a day of feeling as if the skin in which I reside is not my own. And it was disturbing enough that I mentioned it to EB as soon as I got home.
Twice during the day I had to tell stylists that if they weren't in my area to help, they needed to move behind the wall. I know I was less than diplomatic about it and I have absolutely no idea of whom I made this request. All I was aware of was the fact that any bodies removed from my field of vision would help ease my mental chaos. Most of the day, I couldn't imagine handling one more piece of information.
Then I went in on Saturday morning and all was normal. I just don't know. It was all very surreal and dreamlike but the constant forward movement to the day was at work. And all at grindingly slow speeds.
totally makes me want to call in sick tomorrow, but I won't. And now there is but 3.5 hours to Jimmy.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Tropical Storm Edouard
Yes, it's raining, and it might be the slightest bit breezy, but we are fortunately on the west side of town and it is rather more like a regularm heyitsaugustinhoustonanditsraining sort of storm. I stayed home late this morning to give Chef a ride in to work so he doesn't have to walk 2.5 miles in it.
Sitting here looking out the back window, it really doesn't seem so bad. I was going to drop Chef at work and head into work myself. Once out driving in it, I soon enough determined the visibility sucks, and hmmm, maybe I had better continue working from home this morning. Maybe I will hit the office this afternoon. Never mind that my working from home means laundry.
The most curious thing about this storm was watching all the local coverage and seeing which newscasters would try to have a little french flair when referring to Edouard, some maybe even a little Cajun about it, and which just call it good old Edward. And then there were those that called it Edward in the beginning of their coverage and suddenly remembered it is Edouard. Amusing.
Sitting here looking out the back window, it really doesn't seem so bad. I was going to drop Chef at work and head into work myself. Once out driving in it, I soon enough determined the visibility sucks, and hmmm, maybe I had better continue working from home this morning. Maybe I will hit the office this afternoon. Never mind that my working from home means laundry.
The most curious thing about this storm was watching all the local coverage and seeing which newscasters would try to have a little french flair when referring to Edouard, some maybe even a little Cajun about it, and which just call it good old Edward. And then there were those that called it Edward in the beginning of their coverage and suddenly remembered it is Edouard. Amusing.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Will they reply? (surprisingly toned down for me...)
Yesterday, I was driving West on Westheimer near Gessner in Houston, TX at 12:30 pm. There was a vehicle totally covered with Outback logos, presumably owned by a local franchise for the owner's personal use, or perhaps for deliveries, not relevant.
I was in the flow of traffic and as I approached the intersection, this Outback vehicle was inching into the roadway, however, not committing to dashing out in front of me. The posted speed was 35 and that is how traffic was proceeding as the light was green.
The man driving the Outback vehicle was creeping and maybe he thought I was brakeing to turn into his driveway. I wasn't. My signal light was on, but the driveway he was exiting was fairly close to the intersection, and I was turning right at the corner onto Gessner not into the parking lot.
The man was leaning out the Outback vehicle window and was putting his hand up to stop me. I however, was proceeding past him through a green light to make my turn.
As I passed him, he flipped me the biggest bird you have ever seen. It was very agressive as well as rude and offensive. I totally infuriated me.
To me, this was the equivalent of your company knocking on my door and giving me a hearty F*** you, something that wouldn't likely ever happen in person, yet this driver, driving an Outback vehicle, did exactly that.
I've never been to Outback, and now I am inclined to never give it a try. That someone who is representing your company behaved in such a reckless manner should offend and infuriate you as much as it does me.
I was in the flow of traffic and as I approached the intersection, this Outback vehicle was inching into the roadway, however, not committing to dashing out in front of me. The posted speed was 35 and that is how traffic was proceeding as the light was green.
The man driving the Outback vehicle was creeping and maybe he thought I was brakeing to turn into his driveway. I wasn't. My signal light was on, but the driveway he was exiting was fairly close to the intersection, and I was turning right at the corner onto Gessner not into the parking lot.
The man was leaning out the Outback vehicle window and was putting his hand up to stop me. I however, was proceeding past him through a green light to make my turn.
As I passed him, he flipped me the biggest bird you have ever seen. It was very agressive as well as rude and offensive. I totally infuriated me.
To me, this was the equivalent of your company knocking on my door and giving me a hearty F*** you, something that wouldn't likely ever happen in person, yet this driver, driving an Outback vehicle, did exactly that.
I've never been to Outback, and now I am inclined to never give it a try. That someone who is representing your company behaved in such a reckless manner should offend and infuriate you as much as it does me.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I went and did it...
I'm in trouble now. My obsession might be on the verge of an avalanche. The opportunities for saturation are many with World Cat at my fingertips. Oh, woe is EB...
That's right. On Thursday last, eb and I had occasion to visit the Montrose branch of the Houston Public Library. I. Got. Me. A library card. I think I might have had one when Witcher was still my last name, and I have been putting it off for fear of outstanding books from when there were children using the HPL. When we were at the library for the Lesbian book group (I have learned that capitalizinig Lesbian is correct as we are a culture!)to discuss the July book, Eat, Pray, Love, I went ahead and took my leap of faith. I now have 5 books on hold and awaiting notification that they are ready for pick up. Let me clarify, five knitting books.
I should pause to point out that when one signs up for such service, one should take the time to check online account preferences such as method of notification to be sure the counter clerk entered one's email address correctly. GUEENMAXINE? I think not. Here I would be sitting, awaiting notification...forever...
World Cat is the search feature for the Inter Library Loan feature. Very handy for the ever popular out of print knitting books going for hundreds of dollars on ebay or through booksellers. I certainly want to peruse something well before spending more than the publisher's suggested retail.
I find it interesting that 4 books I searched by Alice Starmore on World Cat are listed as being available within the HPL system, and yes, I did search there before expanding my options, thank you very much. So when this occurs, which database is more likely correct? If I search online, and then I ask at the library aboutit, will they then be searching the same database I already searched? Oh, the mysteries.
I recently added 37 days as a new link on the side bar. Please, go check her out.
That's right. On Thursday last, eb and I had occasion to visit the Montrose branch of the Houston Public Library. I. Got. Me. A library card. I think I might have had one when Witcher was still my last name, and I have been putting it off for fear of outstanding books from when there were children using the HPL. When we were at the library for the Lesbian book group (I have learned that capitalizinig Lesbian is correct as we are a culture!)to discuss the July book, Eat, Pray, Love, I went ahead and took my leap of faith. I now have 5 books on hold and awaiting notification that they are ready for pick up. Let me clarify, five knitting books.
I should pause to point out that when one signs up for such service, one should take the time to check online account preferences such as method of notification to be sure the counter clerk entered one's email address correctly. GUEENMAXINE? I think not. Here I would be sitting, awaiting notification...forever...
World Cat is the search feature for the Inter Library Loan feature. Very handy for the ever popular out of print knitting books going for hundreds of dollars on ebay or through booksellers. I certainly want to peruse something well before spending more than the publisher's suggested retail.
I find it interesting that 4 books I searched by Alice Starmore on World Cat are listed as being available within the HPL system, and yes, I did search there before expanding my options, thank you very much. So when this occurs, which database is more likely correct? If I search online, and then I ask at the library aboutit, will they then be searching the same database I already searched? Oh, the mysteries.
I recently added 37 days as a new link on the side bar. Please, go check her out.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
What's a Jew to do?
I have a new obsession as of about 10 this morning. Must. Find. Manischewitz Egg & Onion Matzoh. In HOuston. I just learned it is available online, but I really wanted it this morning.
Randall's is our local big box grocery of choice, but Kroger, second on our list, is usually more reliably stocked with MEOM, so when I am feeling like making Arnold's matzoh brei, I usually check there first. They have revamped and labeled the Kosher section and there isn't a single box of matzoh in sight, let alone the one in particular I must have. I went and checked the cracker section just in case. Nope.
There was a manager stocking foodstuff and I politely approached.
qm: Excuse me.
Poor Unsuspecting Manager: Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?
qm: I am looking for matzoh and I saw no space for it in the Kosher section, nor did I find it in the cracker aisle. Is it perhaps somewhere else in the store? (I asked this while courteously standing with my full basket of groceries.)
PUM: I'm sorry we only carry that seasonally now.
qm: But...I'm a Jew year round!
Yes, that is the exact conversation and when the PUM couldn't pick his jaw up off the floor and had no reply, I promptly turned around and sashayed right out the door leaving my full cart with him. I decided he wouldn't begin to understand the distinction between the seasonal (Passover, plain unsalted) matzoh, and the flavored matzoh I was seeking.
Off I went to Randall's, where I found the same story, though their Kosher section at least had the plain unsalted dreck (Yiddish slang referring to 1. excrement; dung. 2. worthless trash; junk.)I found the manager and had a near identical conversation.
So I now have to go to a few b list grocery stores to see if my coveted matzoh is to be found. If I need to order it online? Will it arrive in tact? How many boxes do I order to offset any shipping charges? I have eaten this at times weekly, at other times monthly. It has currently been about 4-6 months since my last matzoh brei, and I have made it enough over the past 25 years to know that no other matzoh will do. Woe, is me.
Randall's is our local big box grocery of choice, but Kroger, second on our list, is usually more reliably stocked with MEOM, so when I am feeling like making Arnold's matzoh brei, I usually check there first. They have revamped and labeled the Kosher section and there isn't a single box of matzoh in sight, let alone the one in particular I must have. I went and checked the cracker section just in case. Nope.
There was a manager stocking foodstuff and I politely approached.
qm: Excuse me.
Poor Unsuspecting Manager: Yes, ma'am, how can I help you?
qm: I am looking for matzoh and I saw no space for it in the Kosher section, nor did I find it in the cracker aisle. Is it perhaps somewhere else in the store? (I asked this while courteously standing with my full basket of groceries.)
PUM: I'm sorry we only carry that seasonally now.
qm: But...I'm a Jew year round!
Yes, that is the exact conversation and when the PUM couldn't pick his jaw up off the floor and had no reply, I promptly turned around and sashayed right out the door leaving my full cart with him. I decided he wouldn't begin to understand the distinction between the seasonal (Passover, plain unsalted) matzoh, and the flavored matzoh I was seeking.
Off I went to Randall's, where I found the same story, though their Kosher section at least had the plain unsalted dreck (Yiddish slang referring to 1. excrement; dung. 2. worthless trash; junk.)I found the manager and had a near identical conversation.
So I now have to go to a few b list grocery stores to see if my coveted matzoh is to be found. If I need to order it online? Will it arrive in tact? How many boxes do I order to offset any shipping charges? I have eaten this at times weekly, at other times monthly. It has currently been about 4-6 months since my last matzoh brei, and I have made it enough over the past 25 years to know that no other matzoh will do. Woe, is me.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
On the morning after our 3rd and 10th anniversary...
Getting out of the shower, my dear sweet wife proclaimed, "Baby...I think I need some different co caulk..."
Monday, July 14, 2008
Happy Bastille Day!
Until we can celebrate in France, this or this will have to do.
J'ai Deux Amours
On dit qu'au dela des mers
La-bas sous le ciel clair
Il existe une cite
Au sejour enchante
Et sous les grands arbres noirs
Chaque soir
Vers elle s'en va tout mon espoir
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Par eux toujours
Mon c?ur est ravi
Manhattan est belle
Mais a quoi bon le nier
Ce qui m'ensorcelle
C'est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier
Le voir un jour
C'est mon reve joli
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Manhattan est belle
Mais a quoi bon le nier
Ce qui m'ensorcelle
C'est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier
Le voir un jour
C'est mon reve joli
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
J'ai Deux Amours
On dit qu'au dela des mers
La-bas sous le ciel clair
Il existe une cite
Au sejour enchante
Et sous les grands arbres noirs
Chaque soir
Vers elle s'en va tout mon espoir
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Par eux toujours
Mon c?ur est ravi
Manhattan est belle
Mais a quoi bon le nier
Ce qui m'ensorcelle
C'est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier
Le voir un jour
C'est mon reve joli
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Manhattan est belle
Mais a quoi bon le nier
Ce qui m'ensorcelle
C'est Paris, c'est Paris tout entier
Le voir un jour
C'est mon reve joli
J'ai deux amours
Mon pays et Paris
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
And then, the sky broke open...
Cats and dogs. That's what it's raining right now. Tornado weather, eb surmises. At least I won't have to water tonight.
Last night I was present at a meeting that so badly, I want to blog about and set free my current quota of snarkiness. Eckhart and common sense are prevailing. Just relaying this much has taken the wind from the sails, released enough steam that the stored energy of it has disipated. pffft...it's gone. Suffice it to say that the meeting, for various reasons, was entertaining, not the least of which being that I was reacquainted with the iceberg shawl that I started on the cruise. Delightful knitting time.
I have been talking to my mom every few days and she is on the mend. On the 26th of June, she rolled her car. I still haven't really pressed her for the whole story, because by now, I would certainly be getting the sanitized version. That she is okay and perhaps a little closer to her reality is enough for me.
She was in the hospital for a day or so and then transferred to a nursing home for physical therapy rehab. It was a week before I knew this much and a week since I learned as much. She was bruised and very stiff and the pt she needs goes beyond the accident, like to regular exercise, but at talk of this, denial returns.
In talking to her yesterday, I could sense that she might be ready to go home. I think she can release herself at anytime, and she is looking to this Saturday. There is talk of riding with a neighbor from town down to Jersey to visit with her sister for a week of further convalescing and then catching a ride home again.
The plan remains at this time to go visit again in the fall.
Not much else new going on. When I am work, all I can think about is creating. When I am at home I get lazy and all I can think about is being a slug. I know this means that my work should be creating, but I also know there are bills to pay.
So on it goes.
Last night I was present at a meeting that so badly, I want to blog about and set free my current quota of snarkiness. Eckhart and common sense are prevailing. Just relaying this much has taken the wind from the sails, released enough steam that the stored energy of it has disipated. pffft...it's gone. Suffice it to say that the meeting, for various reasons, was entertaining, not the least of which being that I was reacquainted with the iceberg shawl that I started on the cruise. Delightful knitting time.
I have been talking to my mom every few days and she is on the mend. On the 26th of June, she rolled her car. I still haven't really pressed her for the whole story, because by now, I would certainly be getting the sanitized version. That she is okay and perhaps a little closer to her reality is enough for me.
She was in the hospital for a day or so and then transferred to a nursing home for physical therapy rehab. It was a week before I knew this much and a week since I learned as much. She was bruised and very stiff and the pt she needs goes beyond the accident, like to regular exercise, but at talk of this, denial returns.
In talking to her yesterday, I could sense that she might be ready to go home. I think she can release herself at anytime, and she is looking to this Saturday. There is talk of riding with a neighbor from town down to Jersey to visit with her sister for a week of further convalescing and then catching a ride home again.
The plan remains at this time to go visit again in the fall.
Not much else new going on. When I am work, all I can think about is creating. When I am at home I get lazy and all I can think about is being a slug. I know this means that my work should be creating, but I also know there are bills to pay.
So on it goes.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Home little more than 24 hours when the telephone rings...
It was nearly 11pm our time, not that it was late for us as we were still awake, but it was late for my mom to be calling, near midnight her time...
me: Hello
mom: Before you heard it from someone else, I wanted you to hear it from the horse's mouth. Not only am I the proud owner of a car for the first time in 45 years, but also a car that rolls.
badum dum
mom: I'm in the emergency room. Lynn (my sister) is here. I'm okay. They had to cut me out. The car is totalled. But I am okay. They're keeping me overnight for observation. Just in case. My cell is going to run out. Lynn will take me home tomorrow and I will call you once I am home again. Or Lynn will call you if they decide to keep me for anything. I'm okay.
Each of the above sentences was said with about 10 seconds or so of dead air between them. My mom waited for my interruptions but I had none. I can't lecture her from Texas with any different result than if I was there, so I just let her listen to my silence. I am not sure this changes anything. She will likely just get another car.
I wonder what time this all happened. I wonder if her first thought was of me telling her a couple weeks ago that she needed to drive judiciously as to not waste gas and to drive when she is most alert, like early in the day. And to remember that she can't be running around as she did 10 years ago when she last drove on a regular basis.
Hmmm.
me: Hello
mom: Before you heard it from someone else, I wanted you to hear it from the horse's mouth. Not only am I the proud owner of a car for the first time in 45 years, but also a car that rolls.
badum dum
mom: I'm in the emergency room. Lynn (my sister) is here. I'm okay. They had to cut me out. The car is totalled. But I am okay. They're keeping me overnight for observation. Just in case. My cell is going to run out. Lynn will take me home tomorrow and I will call you once I am home again. Or Lynn will call you if they decide to keep me for anything. I'm okay.
Each of the above sentences was said with about 10 seconds or so of dead air between them. My mom waited for my interruptions but I had none. I can't lecture her from Texas with any different result than if I was there, so I just let her listen to my silence. I am not sure this changes anything. She will likely just get another car.
I wonder what time this all happened. I wonder if her first thought was of me telling her a couple weeks ago that she needed to drive judiciously as to not waste gas and to drive when she is most alert, like early in the day. And to remember that she can't be running around as she did 10 years ago when she last drove on a regular basis.
Hmmm.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Are we there yet?
I have taken zero notes along the way, and very few pictures, like, none except those my mother specifically asked for. S.l.a.c.k.e.r...
The only thing I can say about the 9 days pried away from Dear Sweet Elizabeth at the moment is in reference to it nearly being over.
It's all good.
Look for a recap sort of post soon. Maybe by the weekend.
The only thing I can say about the 9 days pried away from Dear Sweet Elizabeth at the moment is in reference to it nearly being over.
It's all good.
Look for a recap sort of post soon. Maybe by the weekend.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Travel day tomorrow
We shall leave the house at 5 am. Sucky. Our flight is at 630 through Chicago arriving in Albany around 1230. That would be me and chef, not me and eb. Apart for 9 days. Sucky. We meet up with C-man at the airport and pick up the rental car to drive 2 and a half hours up the Northway to Wilmington. We should get there by 4 on the outside, likely closer to 3. And the C-man is not okay with any of this. Losing his poppy has hit him hard and he is in shock I think. This is the first death he has had to deal with and he is totally put out about it. Should make for a week of interesting discoveries.
I plan to hike up to Coperas (sp?) Pond and just take it all in a meditational-communing-with-the-Universe sort of way and C-man is none too happy about that either but it is my highest hope that he will join me.
I would also like to drive over to Highland Lodge in VT for lunch one day with my mom and the boys too, if they care to go.
Other than those two things, I have no agenda. None other than knitting.
This will become a Clapotis. It is Fleece Artist Casbah that was purchased at Churchmouse Yarns and Teas on Bainbridge Island (Seattle leg of the last trip).
This is begging to become a
My So Called Scarf. The wool is Manos del Uruguay and is the yarn featured in the pattern. The short color runs are perfect for this herringbone stitch and this is a scarf I love to knit. The yarn was a gift from Mama D (aka Prunella)and it is totally perfect for my knitting needs this week as it was infused by her touch with the bestest energy ever.
I will also bring a few of the projects I am in need of finishing. Like yesterday. Hopefully they will get finished because they all need to be mailed (well three of them, to two places)the day I get back. There are 2 baby sweaters and the gayest baby blanket/shawl you have ever seen which I will post pics of as soon as it is done. I will also bring the socks I am working on because they are good plane knitting. If there is room, I am also including the chemo caps I am promised to do for charity.
If inspiration strikes and time permits, I will get started on stories of my friend Loretta. She has been brewing in my head since before finishing the boy I once knew.
I will post over the next 9 days if I can. Until my return, please help keep Dear Sweet Elizabeth out of trouble.
I plan to hike up to Coperas (sp?) Pond and just take it all in a meditational-communing-with-the-Universe sort of way and C-man is none too happy about that either but it is my highest hope that he will join me.
I would also like to drive over to Highland Lodge in VT for lunch one day with my mom and the boys too, if they care to go.
Other than those two things, I have no agenda. None other than knitting.
This will become a Clapotis. It is Fleece Artist Casbah that was purchased at Churchmouse Yarns and Teas on Bainbridge Island (Seattle leg of the last trip).
This is begging to become a
My So Called Scarf. The wool is Manos del Uruguay and is the yarn featured in the pattern. The short color runs are perfect for this herringbone stitch and this is a scarf I love to knit. The yarn was a gift from Mama D (aka Prunella)and it is totally perfect for my knitting needs this week as it was infused by her touch with the bestest energy ever.
I will also bring a few of the projects I am in need of finishing. Like yesterday. Hopefully they will get finished because they all need to be mailed (well three of them, to two places)the day I get back. There are 2 baby sweaters and the gayest baby blanket/shawl you have ever seen which I will post pics of as soon as it is done. I will also bring the socks I am working on because they are good plane knitting. If there is room, I am also including the chemo caps I am promised to do for charity.
If inspiration strikes and time permits, I will get started on stories of my friend Loretta. She has been brewing in my head since before finishing the boy I once knew.
I will post over the next 9 days if I can. Until my return, please help keep Dear Sweet Elizabeth out of trouble.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Today was the day
My dad drew his final breath early this morning. Updating en masse here is easier than emailing, but I will be emailing as I can throughout the week. Chef and I will be flying up there next Sunday and the services are Monday. We will stay through the following Tuesday. Arrangements still need to be made for my younger son to get up there, and I am sure that will all work itself out.
Thanks to everyone for your support and emails. They really mean a lot to me. Updates to follow.
Thanks to everyone for your support and emails. They really mean a lot to me. Updates to follow.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
They are so...not...gay...
Of the negatives of my dad's that I have made it through so far, 720 to be precise, this is by far one of my favorites. I have an actual print of it that my dad made some fifty or so years ago framed and on the shelf. It is of my dad and my Uncle Arthur. I can't help but think of Paul Lynde when I say that. My dad has his younger brother in his lap.
Several of the pics in this series have calendars in them and when I zoom in I see they all fall between 1952 and 1956 which puts my dad between 25 and 30 in any of the photographs. It could be that some of the negatives fall outside these years, but it is a fair enough estimate.
I made a few magnets with some of his pics and a postcard through zazzle.com. Great fun.
Monday, June 02, 2008
The elevator was full of competing colognes...
I got into the elevator at work this morning with four men and one woman. Four men who wore four different colognes and wore them loudly. And then the ascent began. We stopped on three, then four, then five and finally I was alone in the elevator for the trip from five to six. Alone with the eau de cologne. I need to practice holding my breath.
In other news...my dad is dieing. He's eighty and led a full life. Apparently he was in the hospital about two months ago. Don't you just love parents who have poor communication skills? At that time, Arnold weighted in at about 145. When I last saw him, March 2007, I think he was about 180 and that was thin enough to see his bony knees as his jeans draped over his crossed legs.
Last week, he was readmitted to the hospital and he informed the staff that he would not be returning home. Whether he died there or they sent him to a nursing home or hospice was up to them. His weight upon admission was 122. The doctor decided to do an MRI to see if there was anything new going on. I don't know if my dad had had one previously, not that I can recall hearing about, but there is that ongoing communication issue.
My mom went to see what was up with my dad, how he was doing, and when she showed up, he told her she didn't need to see him right then and she had better leave. He was having to drink barium at that moment and feared he would be sick and that is what she didn't have to see. I hope that long before I am eighty, I don't give a shit about such things.
so my mom is out at the nurse's station and one of the nurses comments that she is surprised to see her that day, what with Arnold going home tomorrow and everything. My mom went into full blown panic at hearing that because she had finally accepted that my dad is right about her no longer being able to care for him. And here he was getting an MRI. Who knows what would be found that might require a longer hospital stay.
Well, what was found was a brain tumor. Apparently a big one. Inopperable, not that my dad would consent to surgery anyway. Based on his recent rate of decline (I think), the doc estimates 3-5 weeks. "And you know how they pad those figures to comfort the family," added my mother.
It's such a dilemma, this long distance assisting. There is a lot of crap I can help my mom do, if she will let me. I think I am most worried that I will discover she really shouldn't be living alone. That leaves a few unsavory options. I have to be the bad guy and commit her to a facility of some sort. The likes of that covered be medicaid. Where she lives, that might be the worst option. I think here in Houston, the state facilities likely have a wait list. And the private facilities are too costly. The only other option I see is the bad dream I have had a time or two. Oh my god, what if she had to come live with us?
We would figure it out, I am sure, but let's just hope for now that it isn't the issue at hand when I go north. I could go tomorrow if I had to, but what is the wisdom of going sooner to have to turn around in 3-5 weeks and go again? Yes, I would see my dad again before he dies, but he doesn't want to be seen. I feel that if I go sooner, it is more to be company for my mom and see what I can help her negotiate.
I know when I go for the funeral(such that it will be, likely more a memorial service) I will have to stay for a couple of weeks. Then I think I will have to go back again for a couple of weeks subsequently.
Too many what ifs to even begin to wrap my brain around, yet I am thinking I will be going. Maybe on a buddy pass. Maybe next week. Maybe...
In other news...my dad is dieing. He's eighty and led a full life. Apparently he was in the hospital about two months ago. Don't you just love parents who have poor communication skills? At that time, Arnold weighted in at about 145. When I last saw him, March 2007, I think he was about 180 and that was thin enough to see his bony knees as his jeans draped over his crossed legs.
Last week, he was readmitted to the hospital and he informed the staff that he would not be returning home. Whether he died there or they sent him to a nursing home or hospice was up to them. His weight upon admission was 122. The doctor decided to do an MRI to see if there was anything new going on. I don't know if my dad had had one previously, not that I can recall hearing about, but there is that ongoing communication issue.
My mom went to see what was up with my dad, how he was doing, and when she showed up, he told her she didn't need to see him right then and she had better leave. He was having to drink barium at that moment and feared he would be sick and that is what she didn't have to see. I hope that long before I am eighty, I don't give a shit about such things.
so my mom is out at the nurse's station and one of the nurses comments that she is surprised to see her that day, what with Arnold going home tomorrow and everything. My mom went into full blown panic at hearing that because she had finally accepted that my dad is right about her no longer being able to care for him. And here he was getting an MRI. Who knows what would be found that might require a longer hospital stay.
Well, what was found was a brain tumor. Apparently a big one. Inopperable, not that my dad would consent to surgery anyway. Based on his recent rate of decline (I think), the doc estimates 3-5 weeks. "And you know how they pad those figures to comfort the family," added my mother.
It's such a dilemma, this long distance assisting. There is a lot of crap I can help my mom do, if she will let me. I think I am most worried that I will discover she really shouldn't be living alone. That leaves a few unsavory options. I have to be the bad guy and commit her to a facility of some sort. The likes of that covered be medicaid. Where she lives, that might be the worst option. I think here in Houston, the state facilities likely have a wait list. And the private facilities are too costly. The only other option I see is the bad dream I have had a time or two. Oh my god, what if she had to come live with us?
We would figure it out, I am sure, but let's just hope for now that it isn't the issue at hand when I go north. I could go tomorrow if I had to, but what is the wisdom of going sooner to have to turn around in 3-5 weeks and go again? Yes, I would see my dad again before he dies, but he doesn't want to be seen. I feel that if I go sooner, it is more to be company for my mom and see what I can help her negotiate.
I know when I go for the funeral(such that it will be, likely more a memorial service) I will have to stay for a couple of weeks. Then I think I will have to go back again for a couple of weeks subsequently.
Too many what ifs to even begin to wrap my brain around, yet I am thinking I will be going. Maybe on a buddy pass. Maybe next week. Maybe...
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
A boy I once knew...part ten...the finale
The party went on until about midnight, and everybody had a good time. Colleen stayed over and went home in the morning, dropping me off at church along the way. As soon as I entered the church, I could feel s diminished joy. Something was up. As I walked up the stairs, the view of the altar brought the somber mood into balance. There was a large display of white lilies. This particular arrangement was significant in its design alerting the congregation that a member had passed on since the previous Sunday and that arrangements had yet to be made.
Before I could start contemplating who might have died this week, I was suddenly joined by my church-friend Lynn (also not really my friend, but more a friend than Wendy). Lynn was a year older than me and we went to different high schools, but were in the same Sunday school class for the past six years. I had also seen her a bit over the summer at the hippie house. I knew her well enough to be friendly toward her, and she had been at my party the night before.
Lynn and I often sat together making plans for the church youth group or for other church activities. For both of us it was a haven to camouflage our mischievous doings. This is not to say it was false, because it wasn't, but it wasn't necessarily pure. There was an immediacy to the closeness of her body to mine in the pew. Service was not terribly over crowded to warrant this degree of closeness. I was distracted by it enough to not make connections to what Pastor Mark was saying. He was lamenting the sadness we all must be feeling for Sandra having lost James so early in life, and that the phone tree would be in effect later in the week as details for the service became available.. I looked at Lynn and whispered to her asking for clarification of who Sandra and James were. "We'll talk after service," was all she said.
During the benediction, Pastor Mark included those facing challenges and named Sandy. It was at that moment that I remembered I was supposed to see Sandy at church to learn what was going on with Jamie. We stood to sing a final Amen, and the synapses in my brain were suddenly firing on overdrive. Sandra was Sandy. James was Jamie.
I looked to Lynn with hope for her to be able to explain this all away, for her to deny what I knew must be true. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't stem the flow of tears that had began cascading down my face. Lynn took my hand and led me down the stairs and into the pastor's study. Mark was in there waiting for us as Lynn had already conveyed to him a concern about how I might take the news of Jamie's death. She led me to the chair directly across the desk from Mark and then took the chair to the left. we had our Sunday school class in the pastor's study and I was strangely comforted sitting here as my brain was spinning out of control.
Mark spoke softly in a very clinical and matter of fact manner. James had had an episode of his illness that required medical intervention. After he had seen his doctor, Sandy wasn't able to bring him home and thought he was resting peacefully when she finally left him to go home at around one in the morning. James had experienced this several times over the past year and an adjustment to the medication had always overcome his agitation.
Mark had gotten a phone call at 5:30 this morning from the state police. There was an accident involving a tractor trailer on the way into town. The identification found on the victim listed him as the pastor and would he like the courtesy of contacting the family. Mark told me he was as shocked this morning as I was right then at that moment when the officer gave him Sandy's name and number. He knew James was the only family she had. He went on to tell me a few more details and then he let me know that Sandy asked that I wait to see her at the grave side service which would be small and private and held on the following Saturday.
Jamie's funeral was on my eighteenth birthday.
That week was a blur of activity. I have no clear recollection of anything that happened. Did it fly by? Did it drag on interminably? I have no idea. All I know is that Saturday morning found me at a small local cemetery sitting under a huge oak tree watching Billie Mae work the backhoe that was digging Jamie's grave. I was already dressed for the service in a long black dress that fanned out around me as I sat under the tree and wept. I was struck by the cold reality of how much I would miss the quiet charm of Jamie's company, of how little I really knew of him, of how much his presence had meant to me in the short time during which we were acquainted.
I sat there in silence as the backhoe came and went. I was still sitting there in silence as the hearse arrived with Jamie in his coffin. I had no words to say when Sandy was suddenly sitting beside me in her own companionable silence.
Sandy explained to me in detail everything she knew about the accident, starting with Jamie being so agitated in a different way than any previous episode. Something was different and immediate and Sandy knew right away they would be going to the hospital, that is was beyond her scope to deal with on her own. She called his doctor before they left the house and he met them at the hospital. Jamie was compliant enough but also in a near catatonic trance.
Once the doctor determined Jamie was off his meds altogether, new meds were introduced, one a strong sedative, and within thirty minutes, Jamie was asleep and Sandy was filling out his admission papers. That was Saturday night around 10:30. Sandy said she was home sometime after one and went to bed straight away exhausted by the ordeal. the next thing she knew, Mark was at the door shortly before seven with the state police. Jamie was on a bicycle riding toward home when he was killed instantly by the impact of the collision with the truck. No one had seen him get up. No one had seen him leave the hospital. They didn't even know he was missing until she called them to confirm what Mark and the police were telling her. she called thinking they had mistaken someone for Jamie. Jamie must still be asleep in his hospital room.
The service was brief. There were five bodies present in all, Sandy, myself, Wendy, Pastor Mark, and Jamie. Wendy left soon after Mark was done speaking. She had a few brief private words with Sandy and they hugged. Mark was the second person to leave, again, after a private word with Sandy.
Sandy and I sat under the tree as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Soon after that, Billie Mae returned with the backhoe to fill in the grave and by the time she was done, the sun was low in the sky and there was little evidence that someone had just been buried.
I had gotten a ride to the service with Wendy and Sandy offered me a ride back into town. On the way we took the white roses that had been graveside and dropped them on the side of the road where Jamie's death had occurred, not a permanent marker, but a marker just the same.
Sandy didn’t make the turn into the campground but continued on around the corner to the hippie house. The car pulled into the driveway and Sandy killed the motor. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like very much for you to join me for dinner.” As we walked into the house, Sandy smiled as I instinctively opened the porch fridge and grabbed us each a beer. I could smell the vegetable soup simmering on the stove and I didn’t have to look to know there was a loaf of bread in front of the open kitchen window. The table was set for one and there was a note leaning against a candlestick. “You have to eat,” was boldly written in the most elegant script.
I went to the shelf and got another place setting down as Sandy brought her bowl to the soup pot. I exchanged bowls with her and then got a knife and sliced some bread. The candles were lit and we both sat to eat in silence.
Once dinner was done I got up to clear away and wash the dishes. This house functioned on simple routine and I had been around enough that the routines were automatic to me. Sandy marveled at this and let out a soft laugh. She then told me to leave it all and just come and sit. That was fine with me because I wanted to talk to her about getting to know her better and arranging a time when we could hang out much as we were doing just then.
That’s when Sandy broke the news to me. She was only there because Jamie wouldn’t move away when their grandmother passed a few years back, and he could not be left unsupervised. Nor could she bring herself to involuntarily committing him to a facility where he would get the care he needed. The only choice for her was to put her life on hold and move into her grandmother’s house.
For the past few years, Jamie had been her only concern, but now it was time to move on with her own life.
The house had already been sold. The moving company was arriving on Monday. She would be back in her own house by the following weekend in Montana. She said she would keep in touch. She didn't.
Before I could start contemplating who might have died this week, I was suddenly joined by my church-friend Lynn (also not really my friend, but more a friend than Wendy). Lynn was a year older than me and we went to different high schools, but were in the same Sunday school class for the past six years. I had also seen her a bit over the summer at the hippie house. I knew her well enough to be friendly toward her, and she had been at my party the night before.
Lynn and I often sat together making plans for the church youth group or for other church activities. For both of us it was a haven to camouflage our mischievous doings. This is not to say it was false, because it wasn't, but it wasn't necessarily pure. There was an immediacy to the closeness of her body to mine in the pew. Service was not terribly over crowded to warrant this degree of closeness. I was distracted by it enough to not make connections to what Pastor Mark was saying. He was lamenting the sadness we all must be feeling for Sandra having lost James so early in life, and that the phone tree would be in effect later in the week as details for the service became available.. I looked at Lynn and whispered to her asking for clarification of who Sandra and James were. "We'll talk after service," was all she said.
During the benediction, Pastor Mark included those facing challenges and named Sandy. It was at that moment that I remembered I was supposed to see Sandy at church to learn what was going on with Jamie. We stood to sing a final Amen, and the synapses in my brain were suddenly firing on overdrive. Sandra was Sandy. James was Jamie.
I looked to Lynn with hope for her to be able to explain this all away, for her to deny what I knew must be true. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't stem the flow of tears that had began cascading down my face. Lynn took my hand and led me down the stairs and into the pastor's study. Mark was in there waiting for us as Lynn had already conveyed to him a concern about how I might take the news of Jamie's death. She led me to the chair directly across the desk from Mark and then took the chair to the left. we had our Sunday school class in the pastor's study and I was strangely comforted sitting here as my brain was spinning out of control.
Mark spoke softly in a very clinical and matter of fact manner. James had had an episode of his illness that required medical intervention. After he had seen his doctor, Sandy wasn't able to bring him home and thought he was resting peacefully when she finally left him to go home at around one in the morning. James had experienced this several times over the past year and an adjustment to the medication had always overcome his agitation.
Mark had gotten a phone call at 5:30 this morning from the state police. There was an accident involving a tractor trailer on the way into town. The identification found on the victim listed him as the pastor and would he like the courtesy of contacting the family. Mark told me he was as shocked this morning as I was right then at that moment when the officer gave him Sandy's name and number. He knew James was the only family she had. He went on to tell me a few more details and then he let me know that Sandy asked that I wait to see her at the grave side service which would be small and private and held on the following Saturday.
Jamie's funeral was on my eighteenth birthday.
That week was a blur of activity. I have no clear recollection of anything that happened. Did it fly by? Did it drag on interminably? I have no idea. All I know is that Saturday morning found me at a small local cemetery sitting under a huge oak tree watching Billie Mae work the backhoe that was digging Jamie's grave. I was already dressed for the service in a long black dress that fanned out around me as I sat under the tree and wept. I was struck by the cold reality of how much I would miss the quiet charm of Jamie's company, of how little I really knew of him, of how much his presence had meant to me in the short time during which we were acquainted.
I sat there in silence as the backhoe came and went. I was still sitting there in silence as the hearse arrived with Jamie in his coffin. I had no words to say when Sandy was suddenly sitting beside me in her own companionable silence.
Sandy explained to me in detail everything she knew about the accident, starting with Jamie being so agitated in a different way than any previous episode. Something was different and immediate and Sandy knew right away they would be going to the hospital, that is was beyond her scope to deal with on her own. She called his doctor before they left the house and he met them at the hospital. Jamie was compliant enough but also in a near catatonic trance.
Once the doctor determined Jamie was off his meds altogether, new meds were introduced, one a strong sedative, and within thirty minutes, Jamie was asleep and Sandy was filling out his admission papers. That was Saturday night around 10:30. Sandy said she was home sometime after one and went to bed straight away exhausted by the ordeal. the next thing she knew, Mark was at the door shortly before seven with the state police. Jamie was on a bicycle riding toward home when he was killed instantly by the impact of the collision with the truck. No one had seen him get up. No one had seen him leave the hospital. They didn't even know he was missing until she called them to confirm what Mark and the police were telling her. she called thinking they had mistaken someone for Jamie. Jamie must still be asleep in his hospital room.
The service was brief. There were five bodies present in all, Sandy, myself, Wendy, Pastor Mark, and Jamie. Wendy left soon after Mark was done speaking. She had a few brief private words with Sandy and they hugged. Mark was the second person to leave, again, after a private word with Sandy.
Sandy and I sat under the tree as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Soon after that, Billie Mae returned with the backhoe to fill in the grave and by the time she was done, the sun was low in the sky and there was little evidence that someone had just been buried.
I had gotten a ride to the service with Wendy and Sandy offered me a ride back into town. On the way we took the white roses that had been graveside and dropped them on the side of the road where Jamie's death had occurred, not a permanent marker, but a marker just the same.
Sandy didn’t make the turn into the campground but continued on around the corner to the hippie house. The car pulled into the driveway and Sandy killed the motor. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like very much for you to join me for dinner.” As we walked into the house, Sandy smiled as I instinctively opened the porch fridge and grabbed us each a beer. I could smell the vegetable soup simmering on the stove and I didn’t have to look to know there was a loaf of bread in front of the open kitchen window. The table was set for one and there was a note leaning against a candlestick. “You have to eat,” was boldly written in the most elegant script.
I went to the shelf and got another place setting down as Sandy brought her bowl to the soup pot. I exchanged bowls with her and then got a knife and sliced some bread. The candles were lit and we both sat to eat in silence.
Once dinner was done I got up to clear away and wash the dishes. This house functioned on simple routine and I had been around enough that the routines were automatic to me. Sandy marveled at this and let out a soft laugh. She then told me to leave it all and just come and sit. That was fine with me because I wanted to talk to her about getting to know her better and arranging a time when we could hang out much as we were doing just then.
That’s when Sandy broke the news to me. She was only there because Jamie wouldn’t move away when their grandmother passed a few years back, and he could not be left unsupervised. Nor could she bring herself to involuntarily committing him to a facility where he would get the care he needed. The only choice for her was to put her life on hold and move into her grandmother’s house.
For the past few years, Jamie had been her only concern, but now it was time to move on with her own life.
The house had already been sold. The moving company was arriving on Monday. She would be back in her own house by the following weekend in Montana. She said she would keep in touch. She didn't.
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