Too long gone

I HAVE been too long gone from my blog, and it shows. It's been a crazy summer. I'm not even going to try to recap. We have a new house, a new son-in-law, and two new job titles. The girl is in her Senior year of HS and well on her way to college, and the boy is doing great too. The girl is currently recuperating from one foot surgery and has to have the other over Christmas break. And there's lots lots more, large and small, good and bad, but I don't have the energy to backtrack.

Actually, I haven't had a lot of energy at all lately. Not sure what the story is, but I've just been bleah. And the worst part of it is that I've been indecisive, depressed and crabby, and have made life miserable for the people I love the most in the world. Is this hormonal, or just me? Am I a malcontent? Or imbalanced? I just don't know. I just don't like it, and want to be back to me again.

We are slowly but surely making this new house a home.... OUR home. This is a place with no memories attached... no baggage. This too is blessed. But it comes with a burden. All the decisions I make here stay here. This is no rental to be painted over white and erased when we leave. The things I do here say who I am. I've been paralyzed over how to decorate (how silly does that sound in print??) for months. We finally made SOME decision (actually, I abdicated to B after three gallons of failed paint colors), and it actually looks wonderful. All except the color *I* insisted on that I painted on the trim. That has to be painted over. Cause I was wrong. Self fulfilling prophecy? Ugh.

But it is our home, and I love it.

I love this house.

I love this neighborhood.

I love what moving here has done for my children's self esteem.

I love this man, and everything he has opened the door for, for me and for my family.

Thank you, God. May I be grateful, and wake each day with a happy heart.

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.

OH WOW OH WOW OH WOW

OH WOW.

B and I have been talking about a family vacation in this upcoming year. It's the last summer the girl will be home for good (she graduates in 2010), and we haven't had a vacation since 2003. I asked him to finally decide where he'd like to go.

Here is where he picked:

The Long Beach peninsula: Oysters. Clams. CRABS. Beaches. Cranberry bogs. Sand. Kites. Shells. And two lighthouses.

I am in heaven. I clicked on the visitor's page, and there's a little media player clip of the surf. It's playing in my head right now. How I miss the ocean!

Heaven.... I'm in heaven....

Half empty or half full?

You know, I've come to the realization finally that I've spent a large portion of my life in the company of 'discouragers'. You know the type: that glass is always half empty. If you said the sky was blue, they'd say you were crazy: EVERYONE knows the sky is pink! If you allowed that maybe sometimes the sky was pink, they'd scoff and say that was just to be expected - only someone like YOU would insist on taking a perfectly blue sky and trying to convince everyone else it was all your way. I've struggled with these people and how to please them (and God only knows there is no pleasing them) all of my life, and been drug down, exhausted and discouraged. I finally found the perfect term for these individuals in some self-help book somewhere: emotional vampires.

These people are so sunken into their own mire and their own way of thinking that everything you do is automatically wrong. It doesn't matter what you choose to tell them. You could point out that they'd made the same choices. You could tell them that everyone has their own opinion and you have a right to your own. You could have all the scientific data in the world to back up your position. You could justify your choices and your life six ways to Sunday, and it's all going to come back down to one black-and-white concept: that glass is only ever going to be half full. And that glass is only half full because some damn person came along and took their glass and STOLE it from them, by God.

These people, who can't fix their own lives, will sure enough try to convince you that they can fix yours. If only they could fix yours, they might feel better. But since they can't, the next best thing is to make you feel worse, so they can feel good in comparison. You will exhaust yourself trying to please them, all the while you jump through their endless series of hoops feeling like you are betraying your own self and your values. You will feel like if only you could convince them that they were wrong, that things would be all right. But it's not possible. They will never approve.

Sometimes these people are your friends (or frenemies. How I love that word!) Sometimes they're your family (in which case you don't have much of a choice in the matter). Sometimes they're your coworkers.

Or maybe complete strangers.

In this day and age, we interact with complete strangers all the time online, the internet and its little communities both creating an artificial intimacy like a little closed room, and underscoring just how far apart we all are in the universe. These little online communities are a great thing. When they work well, the work really well. They're a place for support and information, someplace you can go and vent without having to show your face the next day to be embarrassed. ("Hey Bob - how's that ED going? And by the way - see you at the staff meeting!") But frequently, that anonymity can lead to hurtfulness. I've been on many boards where gently differing opinions have degenerated into the kind of venom that would lead to physical violence if it were happening face to face.

But then, we don't DO that face to face.

Why do we reserve our worst selves for this place? Is that how we want to be eternally memorialized in print? If the internet is forever, is that the stamp we want to give the world? ("Hi, I'm Sally, beloved mother of two, Rotary president, church secretary, den mother and the woman who just called another poster a @#$%*& *#$%$*$%$ for suggesting I use a quarter cup of sugar in my recipe rather than a half!")

Wow.

I know this is kind of a rant. And it's a conglomeration of a whole lot of events that have preceded it, not just one single thing. But I frequent a bulletin board that I've not always felt very welcome at. I've gotten a whole lot of really good and valuable information, and been privy to a whole lot of heartache, tragedy, and human support and kindness. The posters on the board for the most part are so good to one another, and so helpful. But I posted a query about a year ago, before B and I got serious about one another, looking for information about beginning a relationship with a partner with PD. I was hoping for some good suggestions and advice about how to approach this new journey, which I was so eager to begin. And I have to say I got pretty roundly criticized.

Some went so far as to say that I was crazy - that they would never have chosen to love someone if they'd known they would have PD. That I was naive and I would never be able to handle all the physical caregiving that was right around the bend. That I was just in 'puppy love', and I should essentially just 'grow up'. Of all of the avalanche of negativity, I got three notes of encouragement: one from a woman who still believed in love, no matter what. One from a patient, who was appalled at the concept that people out there would deem him 'damaged goods'. And one, thank heavens, from another woman who is further along in the same journey I've undertaken.

Now, I know that maybe that wasn't the best place to ask for advice. I've made all the little excuses in my mind for the group members that responded, thinking "Oh, well.... they've been caregivers longer. They're tired. They're burned out. They can't remember when it was good." And I just let it go. I lurked for a long time on that board, still reading, still taking in information. And I posted a couple of comments and questions over the course of the year and realized that I was essentially getting the 'virtual cold shoulder'. I asked myself 'what is wrong with me that no one wants to interact with me??' I felt hurt for a long time.

And then, earlier this month, I watched it from the outside. Another newbie to the group made a post, almost exactly like mine from a year ago. She's in love with a man with PD, looking for information, because she wants to cleave her life to his. She wants to know everything, because it's part of who he is, and she's looking to the group to tell her how she can help him.. how they can make this life work, despite the small challenges. All she was asking for was hope. I knew they would excoriate her. I knew how it would feel for her. By the time they'd all weighed in, my letter of encouragement was lost in the melee, and she'd posted a sad little postscript, as I had a year ago - the voices of discouragement succeeded in making her question her own choices.

And I've finally figured it out. It isn't me, per se, nor her. It's that we belong to that other group, as did the other three posters that responded to me. We're 'encouragers'. Our glasses are half full. You see, we're threatening to the burned out people, the negative ones. They don't want to change. It's painful to contemplate change... to reach out for hope. It's so much easier to sink into the quiet dark places of resentful acceptance, and lash out when they're challenged. They want us down there too - to see us filled with hope reminds them that they're empty. Perhaps they were on the other side once.

As for me - I refuse to give in. I logged in to the board today and found a wonderful letter on that thread, from my friend who is traversing the same road. She and her husband are fiercely waving the banner of hope, clinging to life and eating it with gusto. They haven't given in, and neither will we. We don't care what life throws at us... we're going to weather it together, because that is what love is all about. B could have thrown me away a long time ago. I'm plenty 'broken' my own self. But instead, he's brought me some glue and between us we're figuring out where all the pieces go back together. And like the china hutch, between the two sets of our hands, we're going to make something beautiful.

That glass is half full, and boy... it's been mighty tasty. When we finish this cup I think we'll pour ourselves another.

Cheers!

Taking the lickings and keeping on ticking

THE older I get, the more I learn. But I have to unlearn first.

I fussed last night about having to go out to B's brother's house for a family get together. We had a long conversation about how hard it was for me to want to leave the house and go visiting, since I don't find it pleasurable. But you know, every time I kick my feet and plant myself, God seems to tell me how wrong I am.

To make a long story short, we went, we had prime rib, there was lots of people. I laughed at the robotic dinosaur toy, joked with the adults, played with the little kids and the dog, had great conversation, dandled babies, ate wonderful food, and had a great time. Wow. If home hadn't been calling (lonely kids who didn't want to go with us but didn't want us gone long, either), I could've stayed a couple more hours. Is THIS what family feels like?

"They like me, they really like me!" LOL

___________________________________________

B is feeling okay. He claims that he's feeling better, but I've caught him in the ibuprofen, with his hands rubbing at the bottom of his ribs in back. His kidneys still hurt. We need to find out what this is soon. If they can't figure it out here, we'll have to go to Seattle to Virginia Mason.

It's snowing this morning, great big hanks of flakeage the size of your thumb, huge and wet. At least its an improvement over the freezing rain that we chipped off the car this morning. That gives us about a foot of snow all told. It's going to melt soon and flood all the catch basins that are frozen over. The plow guys are on the 2 way radio hot and heavy this morning, trying to keep up. It's going to get interesting.

______________________________________________

My 40th birthday is Wednesday. In our office, we get the choice of taking one of two half-days off: either Christmas Eve, or New Year's Eve. B and I worked Christmas Eve and are taking Wednesday afternoon off as our 'gimme' day. That way I get half a day to play at home on my birthday. We don't really party, either one of us, but we'll probably settle in with some Little Cheesy Smokies and a case of beer. If either of us sees the ball drop it'll be a miracle. LOL Some things just get less important as you get older. For me, I'd take cuddling in my nice warm bed with B over sitting up watching everyone else party on TV any day.

The daughter has been beside herself: she's absolutely convinced that she's going to 'get me good'. She has all the black balloons and streamers planned. I told her I was going to post guard so she couldn't come in and decorate my office! Ah well....at least there may be cake! I told her I liked chocolate. ;-)

Something like THIS would be okay.

But you know what? I already have all the gifts I need. I told B he wasn't to buy me a thing. All I want... all I need... is what I have. My family. My B. This life.

I could not ask for more.

Not so much about things

Wow..

I hope everyone had such a wonderful Christmas as we have. This year was just incredibly blessed. I'm overwhelmed...

It wasn't the things, though we finally had a decent haul under the tree, due to some good luck. The kids were very satisfied with what they received: new jackets, some Lush bath stuff and a couple of the "Twilight" books for the daughter, "Perfect Pushups" and a seat massager for the boy, plus the Xbox system to replace their stolen one as our family gift. B got a table saw and a brad nailer, and I got some of the best gifts EVER: a handful of new paintbrushes, a french press from Starbucks, and A NEW WACOM INTUOS 3 GRAPHIC TABLET!!!!!!!!!! Wa HOOO!!

For the uninitiated, this means that rather than trying to draw and do digital detail work by using a big and clunky mouse, I can now use the digitizing tablet to paint and draw. The pen has incredible control. I've been playing with it a little bit, in between things. It has been number one on my wish list for several years, and B is a hero. I never expected such a wonderful gift. The thought that went into the choice of my gifts is illuminative... this man is so supportive of my little 'hobbies'. "Go... paint... play" he told me last night.

So we got some great things, and had a wonderful day. We got up early, just B and I, and spent it lazy after we stuffed stockings and prepped the area, savoring our coffee and the paper before we woke anyone up. The grand event was cool, as Christmas morning always is, and since we were all sleepy we went back to nap for a couple of hours. We had a little glitch when we got up - the kids wanted to go out to Grandma's, and B wasn't in the mood for visiting, so he decided to stay home and prepare the rib roast while we did our thing. This, mind you, is a HUGE change in my kids. I've always had to pry them out of the house to go to Grandma's.

You know, I would have just as soon stayed home as well. I have to admit that I was loath to leave my new toys just to venture out into a foot of snow to go visiting, particularly since we'll be seeing them again on Saturday for the 'official' Christmas dinner, when my brother and his fiance can make it down from their city. And I haven't driven our new car very much in the winter conditions, so it makes me a little bit nervous. But once we got there, I was so glad we did. Mom and Dad were glad to see us, welcoming us with cheese and crackers and cookies and hot tea.

I have to stop here to note that my relationship with the rest of my family has been rocky over the years. Seldom have they approved of anything I've done, and it's been a strained relationship at best. I'm afraid that it's leaked into my kids' relationship with their grandparents as well; whether that comes from the kids being tainted by my own black sheep status, or whether they've sensed my reluctance to interact with the larger family group and picked up on it, I don't know. Whatever the reason, since B has been with us I have been seeing some major changes in both my kids and my parents. I'm somewhat bewildered by it, and don't quite know what to make of it all.

Anyway, we had a great time out there. They boys all trooped out to the garage for awhile to go see Grandpa's project car, which had been freshly painted (purple!), and my daughter and mom and I sat inside and chatted in the kitchen. Mom and I talked for a long time about church, and how she's found a new home at the one she goes to, and how happy it's made her. Sitting there talking about God made me want to cry. It's one of the few sticking points between B and I yet.

I'm not a rabid churchgoer, but I had a church that I went to once upon a time, back when I was married to an abuser and hurting and searching for a place where I could feel whole and safe again. That was the most amazing feeling - to walk into a building and sit down and feel safe, to feel as if I'd come home. I remember crying through many sermons, sitting there in the very back pew with my Goodwill clothes and my baby, trying to hide from the world. Somehow when I went on those occasions, that man up in front of the big cross was always talking directly to me. How he knew just exactly what to say, just what was happening in my life, right at that exact moment, I never knew, other than to ascribe it to God. I've gone to a couple of other churches to try them out on the advice of friends, but never felt that feeling anywhere else.

B came from a Mormon family that was excommunicated and wanted nothing more to do with any other sort of God, so faith had no place in his life. And I think he really believes that God has sent the PD to punish him. Deep down, there's a hurt and an anger at being so betrayed by God. So he drifts, bearing all of his burdens on himself alone. They're all his problems alone, and all he can do is deal with them. He doesn't mind my having my own beliefs, but he doesn't share them. And in a way, that hurts the most of all. Will I lose him forever when I lose him to this world? Maybe it wouldn't resonate so much if the disease weren't there, reminding me daily that someday we'll be apart, maybe because we believe different things and he won't be able to follow, maybe because I'm the one who is wrong and there IS no afterlife. And of all the things in the world that I fear, it's losing him.

Mom and I sat and talked for a while about it, and I confessed some of those thoughts and fears, and I was shocked to find how fragile I felt about it all. I was shocked at the feeling that I wanted my Mom, after all these years; wanted her to tell me it was all going to be okay. Big strong me, who never needed anybody.

And then we all opened our gifts, and I was undone all over again.

I feel like this past year for a large part has been about deconstructing me. Taking away the hard edges and replacing them with soft, tearing down the protective walls I've built for so long, leaving me to face all of the things I've feared and vanquish them. Taking away the false beliefs... the destructive self-talk; changing that record. I've found a peace and a joy that hadn't ever been there before.

I brought the gift my parents gave me home to share with B. The gift cards were nice, but unremarkable. He opened and read the card, which was the real gift. In my mother's handwriting, she told us to take the gift cards and get out for an 'adult night' to see a movie and have dinner at the city's nicest restaurant. She told B how much they had come to love and care for him, and that they had seen our little family grow and blossom since he'd come there to unlock it. And she said to me how proud she was of the woman I'd become.

My B, my treasure, my precious man, took me in his arms and held me. "I'm leaking again" I apologised.

"Do you feel like you have your mom back?" he whispered in my hair, holding me tight. And then I knew I was leaking.

I'm not sure how or where I'll take my next footfall on this path. The terrain is so unfamiliar and all the things I've done before don't work here. This is all new. My whole life is new. All of the relationships in my life have changed. There is only one thing I know: I want to push through the curtain and see what's on the other side.

I am so overwhelmed - we are so blessed.

Song of Solomon

I can't type much today. My brain feels like it's hooked up to a car battery, on overload. I'm so full... so full.

B's still feeling punky. After he got home from shopping, he retreated out into the garage again, and I was left to rattle round the house like a lonely ball bearing in a big old boxcar. The kids were occupied, the dogs were asleep, I didn't feel like writing, and there was no one online to talk to. I went out to make dinner and he still didn't emerge, even as I rattled in the kitchen on the other side of the door. Thinking he was perhaps feeling worse, I popped a head through the door. No, just buried in his sudoku, his beautiful brow creased in concentration. God, the little hairs at the nape of his neck are grown longer now, softly curling. They undo me.

I just stood looking at him until he looked up, concern coloring those beautiful eyes, the color of a summer sky. Bloodshot today again, my 'mother's mind' spoke up; he's running a fever again. We take his temp and I am still at a loss for words. "What, honey?" he asks.

"I'm lonely." I don't mean to say it but it slips out.

He comes to me and lies his head on my shoulder. I'm still standing on the step, so his head falls so perfectly into place, there in that soft place on the crest of my chest. I breathe him, his soft curls brushing the cheek I lay against his crown. "I'm so sorry you don't feel good again." I whisper. We stay like that for a long time.

_____________________________________________________

Later it's time for another Vicodin. The pain is getting worse. I'm on the phone, solidifying family Christmas plans when my cell phone alerts a text message from the other room. "I'm lonely." When I take him his pill and some comfort I see that he's pinched around the eyes. I know he's off for bed soon.

I turn the mattress pad on so it will be warm when he gets in and go out to check my email one last time. Ah, someone familiar! His daughter, so far away, has been on the bulletin board, leaving a lonely message of frozen pipes and a bad day, seeking comfort. I take the laptop out to show him where he stands taking one last cigarette. He smiles after he reads it and pulls out his cell to call her. He looks a little perkier; the call and the Vicodin flowing through his veins to soothe his soul.

I post her a funny little message of encouragement, thinking about how lonely and frightening it must be to be out there in the big old world so many states away with no one but your boyfriend to call when the pipes freeze and you are sick and in pain and snowed in and helpless. I can offer only my humor and what flows through these pixels across all those state lines; me: a relative stranger, a strange relative.... but someone who understands. I can only stretch out my hand. It's so new for all of us. He treasures her; I want to be her friend.

______________________________________________________

He comes to bed smiling. "You made her giggle," he says as I get ready for bed.

I grin back. "I'm so glad."

With a groan he pulls me close, holds me tight, face buried like a child. "I love you so much." His voice is muffled. And it is one of those nights, one of those times when being close to him is like being an iron man next to an electromagnet. We cannot pull away, not for all the world. There is nothing but each other, nothing but this ocean of us that we sink into. An amnion of peace.

"This is our safe place," he repeats my mantra from the Hospital Day, when we'd sunk into a huddled embrace, waiting for some word from above. It will become our phrase; it hangs like a sugarplum between us, so right. "This is our safe place."

______________________________________________________

We awake as we slept, entwined; two halves of eternity. I can feel his skin hot on mine as soon as I wake. It will be time for another doctor today. Will we finally get answers?

Today, I am full. I had no idea there was such a thing as this love, this thing that still simmers beneath the surface of illness and chores and work and kids and all of the inconsequential things that mark the daily progress of life. I am gravid with it, all of the time. And my heart sings....

Comfort and Joy

An open letter to B:

You left early today, right after lunch. Mexican food; I can still taste it on my tongue. This building seems like it contains less oxygen when you are gone. I struggle to concentrate in this wizened air.

You're with the boy, off to do your Christmas shopping. I wonder how you're doing, you who hate the whole shopping-thing, on this one of the few days left till the big day. I imagine you out there fighting the throngs of fellow procrastinators, my hero in grey. You're both out there on my behalf, and the thought of it is touching.

You've been so sick for the last week and a half. I wonder if you know how much it tears at my heart, to see you feel so punky. The night I spent on the couch nearly killed us. The next night I knew how little you slept; I laid awake most of those hours listening to you breathe, feeling the heat come off your body there next to mine.

And then we thought we had it licked. You felt better. We went in for that routine blood test only to have them get all upset. I knew from the doctor's face that they were sending us right over to the hospital. I waited in the radiology waiting room while you had your CT scan, my brand new book upside down forgotten on the floor. Were you all right? Was God even listening? And then when the on-call doctor came in on his day off to see you, I knew they wanted to keep you. Frantic while you talked to him I must have paced a hole in that waiting room floor. When he gave us the choice whether to have you admitted for the night or to come back for more tests in the morning, I knew what you would choose. Oh, you were coming home with me!

That night you slept in my arms as I breathed you. And over and over again the movie played in my head: how there was hurt, and pain, and fear, and then there was nothing... and then, by some miracle, there was you. And in this short year I can barely remember a time when there was no you. My joy, my treasure, my beloved, my B.

We went back for the lab tests the next morning after a long and leisurely breakfast, just the two of us, with the snow and the Sunday paper, over coffee. We went back prepared for the news, that the white count would still be dangerously high, that they didn't know why you were ill, that they were admitting you to the hospital.

And miracle of miracles: the lab results were back to normal! The doctors baffled, but pleased. Praise the Lord...

Today you're out doing the things you meant to do two weeks ago, and I'm so very thankful that you feel well enough to do them. Not because of the task, but because of YOU. Because you were my gift last Christmas, my gift this Christmas, and for every year to come. I want nothing else but you, B. You are my comfort and my joy.

How great and wonderful is this life!

May everyone's lives be blessed, this Christmas season, and all year round.

Cuddled in love

Awwww.

I'm back at work today, Thank God. Couldn't take staying home any longer. Three things make me happy today:

1. My stepdaughter got her Christmas package! Yay! (But her Lush package won't get there till after Christmas, darnit. Silly weather, anyway!)

2. I got my Performance Review, and it was AWESOME. My boss said I was doing a great job and to keep it up. The only thing I could improve on would be to be out sick less often (including being out because of the kids.) I have to agree; this year just seems to have been a terrible one as far as one crisis after another. Let's hope that 2009 is better! My boss is going to be leaving the organization and his replacement will be moving up from the next position down, so change is in the air. I got a new timesheet blank today with my new department on it. I am officially my own department now. My boss is going to tell the new boss that he should just leave me to run wide open - that I know what needs to be done and he can count on me to do it without having to babysit me. That's big praise.

3. I got the letter back from the state regulatory department that oversees my department's activities. I'd gotten the call from their office that they had to write us up due to an oversight in making a phone call in a timely manner during a recent incident that happened. I had, obviously, been dreading it. Instead of being a violation, the letter actually was a commendation for our department and the organization in general in handling the incident, for the most part. It did tell us that we needed a more cohesive plan next time, but in the grand scheme of things, I was well pleased by the result. This is my department, and I am proud of it.

Oh... and I was just sitting here thinking of how blessed I am when B came in from his break where he'd been having a cigarette, and wrapped his big fuzzy scarf round my neck. Mmmmm... it smells like him. It was made by his daughter, with her talented fingers. I feel so loved.

And we're both feeling better today, praise the Lord. My tummy muscles ache, but at least eating isn't such a risky proposition. Now if we can keep B's potassium levels up, we'll be golden.

Back to work. Much to do. Sounds like the winds of change are blowing here at work, so I need to keep on top. Spreadin' my sails wide......

Good mornings

GOOD morning, world!

I heard a funny little song on the radio this morning as we listened like hawks to see if school was going to be closed for a snow day (actually a wind-chill day.... it's -20 here today with the wind chill). I've been sitting here searching for it but I can't find it. Shame.. I would have liked to share it.

Anyhow... I'm sorry I've been gone so long. Things have been just sweeping along these days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, as they so often do. And there's been our share of ups and downs. We had a semi-major spill event here at work that involved a report to the state agency and a whole lot of legwork on my part for the better part of last week. My uncle passed away unexpectedly during that same time, and that was somewhat of a shock. And B got sick on Thursday evening and is still feeling crummy. We thought it was a garden variety bug, or maybe somebody's buffet item from the office Christmas party that had sat out on the counter maybe a little too long, but on Saturday we went to the hospital because he'd gotten so dehydrated and weak. I'm glad to report that he's feeling better, but he still can't eat much, and it's been hard.

While he was up there in the ER, he (unfortunately) got the student nurse, who received the duty of starting his IV. I watched her fish around in there for what seemed like an hour, pushing it in, pulling it out, rolling it around, while he laid there with his eyes closed. All the while she was talking to herself under her breath. "Oops... maybe this way. Nope, not there. A little more maybe..." I finally turned my head because it was nauseating me. Finally she got it in, but couldn't get any blood back. Despite that, she went through the whole process of taping it down and setting it up like it was a perfect job. I was pretty certain it wasn't it the vein. When she started the drip she was surprised to see that it wasn't moving. "It might work better if you took the tourniquet off" he said between his teeth. She took it off and disappeared. I think we ruined her whole day. I was glad he said something because I was just about to the point where my patience with someone who was obviously still learning was overcome by the fact that she was causing him pain. Ugggg. Another nurse came in afterward and fixed it, but it still put more of a damper on the experience than was already there.

B was different this time. He was miserable, and I think that its dawning on him that sometimes even when you're miserable and no one can do anything about it, the simplicity of having someone who cares about you be there with you is a good thing. He was there for four to five hours while they gave him several liters of fluid, and although they gave him something for the pain so he could sleep, each time I got up to stretch my legs he awoke, wondering where I was.

The first night he was sick he didn't want me to catch the bug, so I slept in my daughter's room (while she was gone) at his request. I was surprised at how hard it was on both of us. While it was nice to sleep with my dogs again (the whippet curled up behind my knees as I slept on my side, and the weenie - bless her funny little soul - nosed her way up between my forearms, curled up on HER side, and laid her head on the pillow next to mine! lol B would have had a fit.), I missed my husband beside me. The next night, I told him I didn't care about his germs, and we spent a restless night since he was up and down, but he had a hand or a foot on my body at all times, even when we slept. I rolled over once and felt him reach out in his sleep, his searching hand finding my shoulder. That he claims to be (and is, to be true) a big, strong independent man is in no way diminished by the fact that we as human beings need each other. These are small lessons, but in so many ways so much more profound. We sleep so much better when we are together, and we each draw strength from one another.

So, on to more exciting subjects! Christmas is coming, and the tree is getting ridiculously crowded. I made many of our gifts this year, and began shopping earlier for others, so it looks like we have a whole lot. I think everyone will be happy. :-) B, the original Grinch, even burned me a CD with 72 minutes worth of Mannheim Steamroller Christmas music, so I could have my beloved music with me wherever I go.

***LOL*** Status Update ***
He's dug out his "Bah, humbug" button and pinned it on his shirt. He says if he hears ONE MORE RENDITION of Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer downstairs he's gonna go postal. That's my baby.

And on that note, I have several things I need to get done, so I'll wind down for now. All is well in Washington. We'll be back soon.