Ignorant people make me angry angry angry

B and I have a nice little morning coffee-and-newspaper ritual to start our day. He goes out to his 'place' and reads his section while I read mine, then we meet at the coffeemaker to trade off. Usually it's a nice, peaceful way to begin the day.

Today I picked up my section and read a letter in the editorials that lit my fire but good. I suppose it was too much to hope that he wouldn't see it, but when he came in upset I knew that he had. Here it is in all of its glory. It was too long to print all of it, but you get the point.

Don't Fight Nature's Way

The first-ever human trial of embryonic stem cell research has been
approved by the FDA. A biotechnology company in Menlo Park, CA plans
to start the first-ever treatment on up to 10 patients suffering from spinal
cord injuries. The treatment will consist of a one-time injection of
"glial" cells that the company thinks will restore nerve cells.

I find this to be a barbaric act. Abortion is one thing, but to
take a human life and turn it into a science project is completely
inhumane. Embryonic stem cell research should be banned
forever.

If someone has a disease IT WAS MEANT TO BE. People are born
every day and people die every day and that's just the way life works.

We need to quit fighting nature. Americans have such anxiety
over what "could happen". We need to quit worrying about
everything and just live life instead of trying to fight death. Instead of
worrying about "the dying", you should just start enjoying the lives we are
fortunate enough to have as Americans.

Nice. Just fricking nice.

Last night our neighbor friend came over to visit, distraught. His father, who had been feeling poorly for about four months, just got the news that he has an aggressive bone cancer which has metastasized quietly throughout his whole body during that time and he has less than three weeks left to complete his life's business. One of the things that he has to do in that time is not only to spend time with his first new grandbaby, but to go to the nursing home and tell his 90 year old parents that he's dying. I'm sure that his family would move mountains with their bare hands if they could change one iota of his diagnosis.

I hate people who come in with their quasi-religious "if you were only a better person you wouldn't have been punished with this affliction" crap. Are you telling me that those people don't use modern medicine when THEY are sick or hurting? Or that they wouldn't move heaven and earth if someone came to THEM and said "Hey, you have this incurable disease and it's going to be really miserable and then you die. We COULD treat you, but you have a moral objection to it, so.... enjoy your suffering and revel in the thought that you will be revered as a good little martyr on the other side." Please.

We know that my husband has a disease and that though he didn't earn it, he can't change it, so we do the best we can to make our way through this blessed life despite it. But it doesn't stop us from hoping and praying and greeting every new thing with the hope that this will be the thing that arrests the disease where it stands.

I know this is a rant. I'm really sorry. This post is the only thing stopping me from logging onto the newspaper and posting a venomous reply letter, which, since they read the same paper at my workplace, would only stir up the pot. Those kinds of people, by the careless things that they say, are really saying to B "Your pain, your fear, and your future does not matter. Just deal with it." And that makes me livid.

Before he read that letter this morning his symptoms were at his normal around-a-two range. After he found that little gem, they were up around six. I wish I could protect him from things like this but I can't all the time and it frustrates me to no end.

OMG: Braces!!

Soon I will look like this. Wow. Never anticipated this one.

I went into the dental office today to have a crown put on one of my side teeth on top. It's cracking, and really needs to be rehabbed. A long long time ago, when I was a teenager, I had full top and bottom braces. Before I did, they did oral surgery to bring the top canines down from where they were hiding in the roof of my mouth, pulling them slowly into place with the brackets and wires and monthly tightenings. I wore my retainer semi-well; the results looked good. The right one settled into place like a good little tooth, adapting to its new place with ease. But, over the course of my adult life, the one on the left decided that it missed its spot in the roof of my mouth, and began to drift. Eventually it left me looking like I do today: as if it's missing, because it sits so far sideways and back into my mouth.

I thought I could live with it, but several problems emerged. I tend to bite my tongue with it a lot, and the bottom canine on the same side has grown long, since there's nothing for it to wear against. Finally, the day came when the bottom canine began to push against the other teeth next to it, and now I'm left with one of my front teeth loose from the wear. It would be incredibly bad to lose a front tooth.

He sent me straightaway to the orthodontist, saying that he didn't even want to do the crown on the tooth next to it yet, for fear that the size of the crown wouldn't fit the hole once we pulled the errant tooth back into place.

So, at forty years old I am scheduled to once more wear the moniker of "Brace Face". I have an appointment on Monday to see how long I have to look like a teenager, and how many of my organs I have to sell to pay for the procedure, since it's not covered at all by my insurance.

Ug.

Mondays are SOOOOO......

....Monday.

LOL

It's been a whole lot of fire-extinguishing today. Wish I could say I did better, but... que sera sera.

The girl got all A's this last quarter! Yay! Tonight she gets herself a big fat C note, courtesy of B. The boy's not so lucky; since he decided to be a pugilist, he missed at least one of his finals, and so the B he started with dropped to a C. The other three A's will only net him $60. Bummer. He should feel lucky that he gets anything at all.

B and I worked in the garage all weekend on a mirror frame, which encourages us to actually try building picture frames for my paintings. I'm thinking he can do it. I'm so proud of him.

Tis all I have to say today. I'm grant-hunting, and it's boring work. Back to it...

Answers.... maybe

So, we got through the dreaded colonoscopy. I know it's mostly a routine exam for the majority of people, but in our case, looking forward to it involved a whole lot of apprehension on what we might find.

We went in fairly early in the morning. The ironic part was that the patient scheduled for the first procedure of the day just ahead of B turned out to be my dad! I hadn't had any idea that he was going in until I spoke with my mom the night before. Evidently he'd had a pretty intense attack of diverticulitis himself over the holidays and after, and was just now recovering. I called her to find out how he was doing before we left the house, and they were just leaving to go to Denny's for breakfast, since he was awake and ravenous. That was encouraging.

B's a veteran of the procedure; he had one ten years or so ago, so he wasn't nervous at all. He left me in the waiting room as the nurse called him back, waving at me with a jaunty grin. "See you in an hour!"

I sat back down when he went through that door in a waiting room chair, holding my unopened book, staring at the wall. The whole import of the exam, what they were looking for and what they might find seemed to thrum in my brain. Five minutes later, the nurse came back out and called my name. "He's asking for you," she said, and led me back to where he was, lying in the bed begowned and IV'ed, my beautiful blue-eyed man.

He captured my hands in his. "I forgot to tell you I love you," he said, scooping me close for a kiss.

"I love you too," I whispered, touching his cheek. "I'll be right out there, and I'll be right here when you wake up."

The hour and a half wait was difficult, knowing that he lay behind me only the thickness of the wall, undergoing anaesthesia while the doctor dug for the answers to his mystery pain. Before he went in I confessed to him, "I don't know whether to pray for them to find something or to find nothing."

And then it was over, another nurse coming out to tell me he was okay and awake, waiting for me. She sat down next to me to talk to me and laughed. "Do you know who I am?" she said. "I didn't realize it either until I looked at the name on his chart." She shook my hand. "My sister is married to B's brother." We both laughed. Small world...

They made me wait by the back door until he was dressed and ready, though I could hear him in the recovery bay just twenty feet away. I wanted to go help him; I could hear that he was having some difficulty with his clothes and getting up and about. And then finally he was there, shuffling down the hall a little carefully and wobbly, but gloriously, wonderfully there. The second nurse, his sister-in-law, helped him into the chair beside me but before she did, he turned to her and introduced me. "This is M," he said, pulling me to his side, "This is the love of my life." His beatific smile was its own reward.

To make a long story short, when the doc came out and showed us the pictures, they found some of what they expected - the pockets of diverticuli that were infected and hurting him (and ironically enough, we had marked them with a pen on the outside of his tummy the night before, and they were sure enough right where he'd felt them). But they also found and removed a polyp, far up in his colon, which they were sending off for biopsy. It was rather large. It may or may not be anything of concern, but for the week we wait for results, it'll be enough to keep us on our toes waiting. And they found nothing whatsoever in the kidney area where he was having so much pain. So in a way, we had a lot of relief, but still some frustration.

The only bright spot is that mom reported that dad, with his diverticuli, was having the same sort of pain that had referred up to his lower back/kidney area too, so perhaps we have found the source of the problem. There is no treatment other than the antibiotics that he's already made his way through, so only time will tell.

Things like these underscore the tenuosity of life, and how very fortunate we are to have it. It also makes it so much more urgent for him to be done with his legal problems, so that we can take care of our own union. We went through the 'what-if's' the night before; how would he set me up as the next of kin to make medical decisions if he couldn't, how we would handle our affairs, whohowwhatwhenwhere. It's time for us to be able to legalize this love... we are each others' whole world. As in the diverticuli, only time will tell.

I've had enough now, Amen.

Yesterday's appointment with the GI guy panned out just like we thought it would. He wants to see B for a colonoscopy. Which wouldn't be nearly as scary if it were being done as routine maintenance rather than as a reason for the pain and fever. And add some new and scary symptoms to the mix: he's lost four pounds in two weeks, and is experiencing some bleeding. Which we attributed to benign causes but now are beginning to wonder about. The GI guy was concerned.

B was awake most of the night last night, wrapped in his own blanket of apprehension. He didn't even pull close as he always does, with that far flung leg thrown possessively over mine. Instead, I felt him far away from me. I reached out a hand to touch him, and felt the tremor beneath my fingers, an electric current under his skin. He pushed back against my palm, taking comfort like a spooked horse seeking contact. And we slept that way. Or I thought we slept.

This morning he overslept the alarm, and was contrite. He said he'd been restless and unable to sleep. I felt guilty for not knowing.. for dozing so soundly while he wrestled with his demons there beside me.

(The girl came in white-faced yesterday evening. "My friend's mother just DIED", she said. "She went in to wake her up in the morning, and her mom was DEAD. She hadn't even been sick...")

"I was thinking about that girl and her mother," B confessed. "And worrying about all the 'what-if's." I knew what he meant. I knew what he wasn't saying. While I'd been sleeping, he'd been grieving.

His mother has been gone such a short time, and he's still hurting. We talk about her from time to time. I can see her there sometimes, a ghost behind his beautiful blue eyes. Her music still plays in his soul, and when it's quiet he cranes to hear it; searching for her comfort, somewhere.

Somewhere a girl woke up in the morning and found her mother, gone.

Somewhere a few short years and breaths ago, a man found his mother, gone. And now he lies here with something ticking inside his body that the doctors can't name, as the fear that shuns the daylight comes drifting in the dark reaches of the night while the house is silent and there's nothing left to distract it away.

I know his fear, or some of it. It's eddying around me today, as I sit here alone and he toils at home, prepping for the medical procedure tomorrow that will tell us what lies inside of him. I don't know what to pray for: that they don't find anything, which would leave him in unrelenting pain and illness for who-knows-how-much longer, or that they find something, which could be bad.

At least the PD has a name and a face. This thing, the unknowing, is the worst. And so we wait, and they wait with us: the ghost of his mother, and the spectre of the Big C. She can come along with us, for as long as we love, but God... we could surely leave the other behind.

Please, now... Amen.

To-do List

I'm sitting here staring at my to-do list. Every day there seems to be one. And even though I cross things off of it, I would swear the tasks seem to be breeding.

1. Buy a card/flowers for B's daughter, who just had another surgery back in Darncold, IA, where she's going to be laid up for six weeks in a wheelchair. (Reminder to self - do not ask WHY in the heck she decided to have surgery on BOTH FEET at once). Pray that their pipes do not freeze tonight.

2. Call the teachers at my son's school and try to persuade them to make special arrangments for him to take his final semester exams, since he's not allowed on school grounds after his pugilistic extravaganza of last week versus the ex-friend who monkeyed around with his girlfriend (Said girlfriend being the only one not suspended from school, incidentally).

3. Talk to new boss about taking time off work for Item #2.

4. Call around to orthopedic surgeons to find one who will do a consult on daughter, who needs the same surgery as in #1. Make sure they can do both of her feet in succession, work around school and her summer job, and the two pageants that she's planning on running for. Ensure they can change the surgery schedule in case she wins one of them.

5. Write letter to GM CareCredit regarding the $4500 credit line they extended me that I never used, since we decided against the cosmetic procedure we got the credit line for. Ask them why the heck they decided to write "Closed for account abuse" on the explanation line when they closed my inactive account, prompting a 50 point drop in my credit score. Follow up with letters of explanation to all three credit bureaus and beg for mercy.

6. Transfer money to daughter's checking account to cover the check she wrote this morning for the grande quad-shot nonfat Americano and low-fat coffee cake that it took me to get jump started into my Monday morning.

7. Drop off dry cleaning. Beg them to do whatever magic that they do that I can't manage to do at home - ie: NOT shrink all my husband's shirts by four sizes!

8. Whoops! Feed dogs....

9. Umm... take something out for dinner? (Realistically speaking - decide what to call out for for dinner).

10. Pay the neighbor guy (who owns an auto shop) for whatever he did for my daughter's car that made her text me "I don't know what J did to my car, but it's awesome! It doesn't want to do the speed limit!!!"

11. Look up ingredients for Afrin nasal spray on Rxlist.com to find out if there's a weird drug interaction with B's Requip, Sinemet and antibiotic that gave him dyskinesia all night long. Which he slept through. Like a baby.

12. Remember to take sleeping pill tonight after B uses nasal spray. Couch looks good too....

13. Put "Bridal show 2009" date on the whiteboard calendar. Reminder to self - quit blushing when someone mentions 'weddings' at work.

14. Work out on exercise ball. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

15. Work on painting.

16. No, wait. Clean house.

17. Decide to do neither and go shopping instead. B needs to go to Gottschalks, where everything is 50 to 75% off and he may be able to find shirts that AREN'T pre-shrunk. Vow to send all his clothes to the cleaners instead.

18. Help daughter finish scrapbook for best friend who is moving to Texas in a week.

19. Set traps for the dust bunnies underneath the furniture. (Call Elmer Fudd?)

20. Find B out in the 'man-cave', grin as he unzips his big down jacket and wraps me up inside it, against his chest, where the snuggle spot is. Listen to that heartbeat... let the silence of everything else fill the world until that is all that is left; his heartbeat and the suss of his breathing. Hold on tight and melt, feeling the slow dance of his body and it's motion, like kelp in a gentle sea. Give thanks, because this... THIS... is all that is, and all that matters at the close of the day.

And breathe...

Personal satisfaction

I found this article today on the youngparkinsons.org site. I liked it so much I wanted to share it. I'm direct-quoting with attribution; hopefully the original author will not mind.

What Defines You?
By Pamme Boutsellis

What defines you?

What would you say if you were asked this question, and what does your response say about you?

It says a lot. For those of us who deal with a chronic illness on a daily basis, whether as a caregiver or one with the illness, this question becomes even more important. What defines you? Have you become the sum of your illness or role as a caregiver, or have you allowed the illness to just be a part of your life – one more component in what is essentially a full life?

Sure, easy for me to say, you might be thinking. I do not have Parkinson’s disease, but I have lived with it for almost twelve years in the role of supportive spouse, eventually leading to that of a harried caregiver. I made a choice early on not to be a victim, not to let our lives be overwhelmed by this tough change in our life. It was a choice. This illness would not define what our lives could be.

So we carried on, and did the best we could to move forward and keep our perspective. Our lives were nearly shattered by the discovery that I had non-Hodgkins lymphoma almost five years ago. Again, I had the choice of allowing an illness to define who I was and what my life would be like. I chose life and all it had to offer, good and bad. I learned very quickly that my reactions would be mirrored in the faces of my children. The impact this illness had on how I defined myself could be positive or negative. I opted for the positive.

So this is the question and perhaps the challenge we all face each day. What defines you, or better yet, what will you allow to define you? When you figure that out, think about what elements have led you to that conclusion. What happens when the mix changes or varies? Who will you be then? Will you continue to grow in a positive way or will you find yourself lost in search of who you now are?

If the sum of your life is your role as a caregiver, who are you when that role is no longer there? Have you continued to have outside interests, hobbies and most importantly, friendships and relationships? How much of your life is wrapped up in caring for someone else, exclusive of your own needs and desires?

If it is you that is ill, how much of your life is all about you? Do you think often of others, and how your actions and illness affect their lives as well? Do you rail at the gods and feel it is just not fair that you have to suffer this injustice? On the other hand, have you accepted this illness with dignity and strive to work toward the best health you can have? You can’t control your illness, but you can control your reaction to it. We all have a choice.

Face it. Life is not fair. We all have so much to be grateful for, though. Our reactions to the things that happen to us, both good and bad, define who we really are and what we project to others. We may not be in control of what life deals us, but we can work on how we allow these things to define us. Give it some thought. It might change your life, for the better.

It's been an ugly and frustrating week all around. There's been a nasty fight on the bulletin board, during which two of my friends jumped in with both feet and showed their shining defiance of this rotten disease to the world, defending the honor of all of us who refuse to define our lives by PD. Bless their hearts... they took the words not just out of my mouth but out of my heart. Our little household is still undergoing a boatload of troubles, with physical illness and topsy-turvy teenage angst, and topped off by the weather woes, we're sure ready for some smooth sailing.

But through it all, one thing shines through: we are SO glad to be alive. To have the kids congregate on the big master bed in the evening during one of our 'pouring out our hearts' sessions. To be able to fall into that same bed late at night and listen to the person you love the most in the whole universe breathe in and breathe out there on the pillow six inches from your ear (even when he has a cold and is snuffy!). To know that there's a safe place to go when life gets too overwhelming and we need a haven: HOME.

We have so much to be thankful for; so much to LIVE for. This illness does not define us. Our love defines us. THAT'S what I want to be remembered by.

Interlude with Duckies and Fishies

Aren't they CUTE??

I just bought about a hundred of the little fishies, and fifty duckies to use in our stormwater campaign at work. The duckies will be used to shoot a video PSA which will show where the stuff that you dump in your storm drain goes. The little fishies are the cutest - they squirt out their mouths when you fill them up! I thought I'd use them as giveaways at the fair this year. They were clearancing them for $.11 each, so I bought up all they had.

Fun stuff...

B's off for another dental appointment today, the girl needs an appointment for a chronic kidney infection, B's daughter is currently getting slammed over there in Iowa with the midwest cold front and B's scheduled for a exploratory lower GI next week. Business as usual. And that's all the news, that IS news!

Buddy

WE lost our old dog last night.

B and I were just climbing into bed when we heard the girl screaming from the dining room. Nothing chills a parent's heart like hearing that "Mommy!!" in the tone that you know something dire has just happened. I went out to look, and there he was, on the back patio just below the step. There was rain in his fur. I didn't have to touch him to know that he was gone.

Buddy was at least 18 years old, as far as we could track. He was my birthday present in 2005. We got him at the animal shelter here in town. We went in looking for something else, and were getting ready to walk out, not having found what we were looking for, when a shelter worker stopped us. She had him on a leash, wet from a bath. "You should take this dog", she said. "He's on his last day." He looked like a wet rat and smelled like death, literally. I was dubious at best, but the ex bent down to pet him and he bounced. I knew I was sunk. We were taking this ragmop dog home with us.

His coat was so unkempt and tangled that he could barely move his little legs. When I went to investigate why, I found out. There were mats beneath all four legs tying his limbs to his body. I spent hours cutting mats from him on that first day. Three or four baths later, he looked like he'd been eaten by moths and still didn't smell any better. After a quick trip to the groomer, he finally looked like a real dog. The next stop was the vets, where we discovered that he had a couple of good ear infections going on , plus many hot spots where the mats had begun eating into his skin. The shelter had told us he was ten; the vet estimated at least two years more than that. On top of it all, his facial hair had been long for so long that it had scratched his corneas, and he had cataracts. I wondered what I'd gotten myself into.

But once we got him up to snuff, he was a funny, charming little dog. He was my ex's special favorite. For an old guy, he could sure get up to the dickens. Every morning he would get up and be the first to the food bowl, bouncing and growling his funny little cough-bark. "A - wuff!" We later found out that in a funny twist of fate, he'd actually belonged to my daughter's boyfriend's family before they took him to the pound. He had been a show dog at one time, and was a purebred Shih Tzu. Moreover, he was fourteen when they'd dropped him off.

We had him for three years, and sometimes his idiosyncracies got on my nerves. He had a terrible snore, so for the last year we banned him from the bedroom, because he kept everyone awake (including the other dogs). He had a tendency to pee in the house if he felt like it was inconvenient to go outside, like when it was raining. He had gotten quite deaf, and would use it to his advantage. I was always a little skeptical of what he could and couldn't hear - if he was trotting down the street after having slipped his collar on a walk, or you were telling him to get down off the couch, or sending him out of the dining room while people ate (that's a house rule for pets - behind the carpet line dividing the dining room from the hallway, or else), he would look at you with that "Say WHAT? I can't hear you. A little bit deaf over here, sorry" look. But you could open the refrigerator in the next county and he'd be right there. I think Buddy was smarter than we gave him credit for!

In the last year or so he did a lot of sleeping during the day. We used to joke about it. He'd lay so still on his side that you'd have to go check to see if he was breathing. But he was absolutely hilarious in the mornings. He got up before everyone else, and you'd hear him out in the living room, doing his funny little morning thing where he'd talk to himself, grumbling and mumbling and whuffing while he rubbed his head all over the floor. He had a whole routine. First the head, then he'd roll over on his back and scratch his back... big wide gyrations, groaning in pleasure the whole time. It was great to watch. He loved an audience, too. One of his greatest pleasures was to do the whole back scratching thing on a favorite toy, rolling over and over it grunting and groaning while he made the toy squeak frantically.

He got up yesterday morning and stomped for his breakfast like any other morning. The girl commented on how loud he was in the living room doing his daily exercise routine. He chased a couple of thrown toys in the evening, then sat stubbornly at the base of the kitchen table begging while we ate dinner, resisting our efforts to chase him back behind the line, as he did day after day after day. At eight o'clock the kids went to DQ for ice cream, and everything was quiet. At 9:30 she found him. Sometime between there, he must have gone outside for something and had a massive event of some kind, something cerebral or cardiac was everyone's best guess. He only had time to fall over on his side, and then he was gone.

We knew it was coming. We had hoped it would happen someday in his sleep; that we would just find him in the morning still on his little pillow-bed there on the floor, having not gotten up for breakfast. It hurt to see him out in the cold, with ice and slush in his fur where the eaves were dripping. But I think it must have been fast.

We'll miss him. He was a frustrating, aggravating, good-hearted, funny little dog, and the house will be quieter for the lack of him.

RIP, Buddy.

Snow and more snow

I got a phone call this morning after we'd been milling around drinking our coffee for awhile. I've been on quite a downer for the last day or so, feeling sorry for myself because there are a million things that need doing around here and no one seems to be able to help out on their own accord. And yesterday was just one of those days, lets just leave it at that. One of those ones where every boogery thing you could think of happening, did happen.

Anyway.

We have enough snow up here in the Pacific NW to set records this year. Imagine that! Elsewhere on our side of the state there are roofs collapsing and declarations of emergency being made. Last year there were reports of the deicer compound running out before the winter ran out. This year I think they've budgeted for more, but there's been a problem with the supplier, so there's less deicer to be had than ever. Not that deicer will help much right now: there's just too much volume of snow.

So we do what every municipality does: plow and sand. Our crews have been out round the clock what with this weird weather. We've gotten a new storm every few days since Thanksgiving. There must be a foot and a half of snow all told (which is stunningly less than Spokane, who got more than their usual entire winter's worth of snow in two storms and it keeps on going). The usual plan is that our street crew does the plowing if there's two inches down, round the clock. But we're still a small town. There are only a few plows. So we contract with private companies to come out and help. Which makes a difference between getting just the main arterials done - with the private contractors, they can get into the neighborhood streets and clear them while we concentrate on keeping the main flow of traffic clean.

But where does all that snow go?? On most streets it piles up to either side. Right now the curblines are at about two feet, which means parking on the street is rough. But even that is preferable to what happens on the larger arterials. Because they're so wide, not only does a significant berm get piled to curbside, but an even larger berm collects in the centerline. This is a hazard, cause it only takes one enterprising yahoo to get high centered and gum up the whole works. It's bad for everyone. So, they do what they do: go out and collect it in dump trucks and haul it away.

Now, I want to make it clear: I don't work for the Street Department. But I do watch these guys work their tails off each winter season, making sure everyone can get where they need to go. It's a thankless, round the clock, freezing, boring job. They have to make those kinds of decisions that are going to make them unpopular no matter what they do. If they plow an arterial, the people gripe that the plows are in the way. If they plow a side street, the people gripe about being plowed in (it just isn't feasible to pull up that plow on every driveway, folks). If the policy is 2", the people gripe that they aren't plowing at 1". If the budget goes over, well.... they should have called on magic to get rid of the snow.

The thing I hate the most is to listen around town and/or open the local paper and see and hear from all the people who think our snow guys are idiots. I'd just like to say this: Hey, help us out here. Those guys are working at their maximum capacity, just to make sure that the Fire trucks and the ambulances can get to you if they need to. Getting you to work and Wal Mart quickly is second on their list. They sometimes don't see their families during winter and particularly over the holiday season with any regularity. Cut em a break. Stay back from the plows and let them work.

Your driveway is your driveway. We all have to shovel ourselves out when the plow goes by, but we should give thanks someone cares enough to make sure we can GET from our driveway to town. Most of all, care for each other. If you're able bodied, help out those who can't get themselves out - the elderly and the infirm. If you're one of those people who need help, let someone know! If we all work together, we'll get through this.

It's only snow. It happens often enough that everyone should know to expect it. We are all at the mercy of Mother Nature. Nobody expressly ordered it to be inconvenient for you. Sit back and relax and enjoy the enforced break that the weather has provided for you, and the next time you see a plow guy, thank him.

This year, we've had such a generous load in such a short period of time that we've exhausted our Street employees. They're on overtime, and have been for quite a while, running 24-7 when it's bad. And we need them all to operate the large equipment. So, they've been begging and borrowing from other departments to get people to run the flasher truck while they pick up snow from the berms. They do it in the middle of the night so it inconveniences the smallest volume of traffic. Thus far, Sewer Department employees, Water Department employees, and even the front office girls have been taking a turn at helping out. It does a body good to see it. And now it's my turn.

I got my call to work graveyard shift today. I just got up from a little nap, and my grumpypants attitude has somehow melted away. Maybe it was just cabin fever? It will be cold and boring and uneventful.... but I think it will be good for me.

The big 4-0

Well, folks. Yesterday was the big day: the big 4-0! Woo hoo!

So, I spent the morning half-nervous, half curious about what kind of surprise my family had in store for me. They've only been talking about it for six months....

Me, over the hill.

Humph.

But the morning came and went, we came home early from work and read the paper and mucked around, and then we got mysteriously 'sent to town' by the kids. I knew something was up. When we got back, it was a full-on surprise.... banners and balloons and decor and a CAKE! Zowie! The kids really outdid themselves. I was so proud of them. My kids were there, and B, and they'd called two of my 'other' kids that I had at one point in time or another (both girls were part of my 'floater' kids, that came to stay in and out of our house because of problems at home). We had ice cream and cake, and OH what a cake! This thing had black frosting galore! Once you ate a piece your tongue was at Defcon 5. Zombie tongues abounded at the table... It wasn't quite like the three tier chocolate frosted wonder, but I'm here to testify that it DID have raspberry filling!

It was positively covered in candles. The girl had used one box of tall multicolored striped candles, and three boxes of little pastel birthday candles. She was mighty proud of the fact that she'd fit all forty on the surface! It lit up the whole darn dining room. I was hoping they'd called the fire department to be on standby.


So there I am, pre-huff, trying to figure out how to blow out FORTY CANDLES AT ONCE. The girls are sitting there looking at the cake like it may go off at any minute.


(Did you see how I got surprised, and didn't even have a chance to change out of my work-around-the-house grubbies before the picture-taking commenced? Niiiiice. LOL)


Aah, success! We have extinguishment. Note the flock of hungry kids thinking "Are we gonna cut this sucker or WHAT?" Alas, that's my son in the foreground, towering over me by a foot. If he grows any more we're going to have to see the building department about a permit for a roof raising.

Well, to make a long story short, we ate the heck out of that cake, and then everyone's tongues were green and black, and then Mom and Dad showed up (wow!) and we had a lot of fun watching the boy demonstrate his pickin skills at Guitar Hero.

And then, of course, I got asked the perennial question: Where are we going to dinner? It's our tradition that we all go to dinner on someone's birthday, at the location of their choice. It's your special day to pick. Well, being as it was New Year's Eve, I was pretty sure there wasn't any place to go that didn't need reservations. So, I figured Denny's or Arby's might be an okay choice. But B was having none of it. There was a little sparkle in his eye. "You already MADE reservations, didn't you!" I exclaimed, and he grinned. So we all piled in the car (B & I and the kids plus one), and Mom and Dad followed us downtown. To: the sushi place. Oh My Heavens TO DIE FOR.

We ate until I thought I'd explode, and it was a lot of fun. We tried a new kind of sake, B got pretty tipsy, the kids tried three kinds of sushi for the first time, and Mom even braved a couple of pieces! It was a blast. As we were leaving we got invited out to my folks' to play cards tonight since we weren't doing anything better. I had a great time and my birthday was far over the top from what I'd expected. The kids had their own places to go for the evening's festivities, and I thought they'd probably take their car from the restaurant and do their thing while B and I went home to bed.

But I was wrong.

The kids followed us home. As we walked in the door, I found out why. "Here's your real present" B said, handing me a little bag. I looked down and my breath went away.

So.... what was in it? Any guesses?



Nope, although he's the best gift ever. Might be a little hard to gift wrap, though.








The weenie??

Nope. That was my birthday gift a couple of years ago. But we did put the bow on her head and laugh our butts off watching her fall over trying to shake it off.

(Look..... this time they took a picture that doesn't make me look like a goober!! Must be the presence of my lucky weenie.)








I opened the little bag, which contained a little box. Now, any female knows the significance of The Little Box. And this one said "Fine Diamond Jewelry" on the top of it. I turned white and went into the other room, amid a storm of protests. They brought me back to open it, because they knew half the pleasure was going to be in watching.

For Christmas we all made each other "Santa lists". Mine had a few things on it, and quite a few joke items. You know, the things you'd never get as a gift, starting out low and going to the absolutely ludicrous. "I want: world peace, ten pounds less on my butt, a new house, and the winning Lotto ticket." On everyone's lists were slipped in all of those things that you really want but you don't want to tell anyone. One of the items on my list was "a significant piece of jewelry".

Over the course of the last year I've worn a little necklace with a simple ring on it, plus a token that we got from the Hallmark shop that reads "Forever". B has a similar chain, with two tokens, "Strength" and "Faith". They are our promise rings, so to speak. We never are without them. I put mine on early on in our relationship, because even though he wasn't done with all of his legal wrangling, I wanted something solid to tell the world that I was faithful and true, that I was his. I couldn't have the ring, but I could wear a facsimile. The ring was an old one I picked up from Avon, but the symbolism was there.

So, back to the box.

I opened the box, and there it was. A perfect piece of sterling silver on a tiny chain, with a little diamond in the center. My breath was taken away.

Of course they had to get a picture post-shock & awe. I still look like a goober, but a happy one, no?

(Actually, I look like a really pale flasher....
or maybe the offering in a vampire feast.

The 'before' ad for a tanning salon??)

Nevermind.




This is the little beauty up close, where you can see it.

He put it on my neck and you would have needed a crowbar and a winch to pry him out of the embrace I gave him.

"Now you're wearing something of mine." He whispered in my ear.

Oh, yes.

His.

I love the sound of that.


To sum it all up, I am a thoroughly surprised, well loved, and happy woman with an incredible family. We stayed up for a little while last night and then went to bed. The kids sent us a couple of text messages from their party. "Hope you enjoy your TIME ALONE. LOL" Wink wink nudge nudge. (What, did they think the box contained a lifetime supply of Viagra?)

Well.

Bless their conniving hearts, anyhow. I am thunderstruck and feel very special.

If the end of 2008 is any indication, 2009 is going to be grand.