sigh

Regis and I met with the PA at my surgeon's office yesterday. I was irritated that they hadn't returned my phone call about the pathology results. Once she started talking, I could see why they hadn't. Poor Jan who talked to us must have drawn the short straw. There are three pages of medical lingo which the oncologist will explain but which means possibly more surgery, most likely chemotherapy, and for sure radiation.

They were not cells that escaped during the biopsy. They were cells that had deliberately gone there and set up camp. Angry cells, bent on destruction. About to send more troops out to distant locations. Scouts with orders to set up more camps. I could say something about catching them before that happened, but I have learned this about optimism: It only goes so far.

It was a stunning conversation. When the medical professional gets tears in her eyes and grips your hands, you know you're in for it even if you don't know what IT is yet.

I did wear my ass kickin' boots even when I wore the lovely blue gown. I'm staring at the ceiling. It would be a nice picture if I weren't posing like a damn corpse. The crown helps, of course. I had to take it off because it was hard to get the boots and the crown in the picture...not enough space in the exam room.

I'm trying to mold my attitude. Lots of people get this and lots of people are fine later. I feel lucky that they found it and I feel lucky that I have such competent folks taking care of me. I feel lucky that I have such good family and so many good friends to support me. Regis is a saint. He empties my drain, makes me eggs, and has offered to cook the Thanksgiving dinner.

I hope some day I'll look back on this and think, "God, what a drama queen!"

As we left the hospital yesterday, I told Regis I wanted to pretend like things are fine until next week. I wanted to dodge questions and avoid the subject and not write about it on my blog and on Facebook. By the time we sat down to lunch, I had changed my mind. Not realistic at all. I decided to just be honest about the uncertainty and about my fears. I think it was the best decision.

So, all in all, this sucks but not as bad as some things suck. Day by day, we have decided. Regis has two good knees that should stand him in good stead as he waits around for my appointments. We have good insurance. We live close to great medical care. We have kids and friends around to help us. We have good food, a cozy house, and a sweet dog. Today...my favorite day.

waiting becomes an art form

WTF.

The plan was for the doctor to call me BY Thursday with the results of the pathology tests. BY Thursday, not sometime after Thursday. I started carrying my phone everywhere I went at 7 am yesterday because you know, the minute you take a bath, the phone will ring. I carried that damn phone, in my hand, everywhere. I took a nap with the phone on my pillow and I ate my lunch with the phone right next to my plate.

At 2 pm, I called and talked to a nurse and asked her to remind my doctor's nurse and the PA that I am waiting for a call. Nothing. 

And you know how your mind goes right to the worst case scenario? You start thinking the cancer has spread everywhere, you have two weeks to live, and they're going to amputate both legs in the meantime.

Dramatic over-reaction? Maybe. Whiny and self-involved? No doubt.

I have great respect and affection for my surgeon. He is on vacation in California so I know I am not first on his list of priorities as he is most likely walking the beach and visiting wineries but I also know there is a special kind of hell for people who make a guy wait for medical news.

I have an appointment at 11 to have my alien embryo nursery removed so I will demand answers then. Harrumph.

Ah, hell. Finally, at 6 am, I realized that this monumental news (to me) is already written down somewhere. The waiting is over, really. It just hasn't gotten to my ears yet. I plan to relax. This is not good for my juju to be so upset. If they call to schedule my leg amputation, then I will worry.

oh, the sleep we take for granted

I know it's probably an anesthesia hangover and the effects of Percoset but I love the way I sleep now. It's like falling into clouds and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I have fallen asleep in the middle of conversations. I have dropped my book to my lap and fallen asleep with my glasses on. I sleep so hard that it takes me a while to wake and I am always confused about where I am. The end of the nap is a little disturbing but the rest is bliss.

Since I lurch from one nap to another, it's hard to remember what day it is.

This will end. Tomorrow, I go in to see the PA who will remove the drain. Have I written this before? I'll be glad to get that thing out of there. Alien embryos and all.

I read over my last few posts. I notice I repeated myself several times. I don't know if it was unintentional or if I thought I was using a sophisticated literary device.

Regis is off to therapy and I'm going to take a shower. I requested a trip to River Rock for a latte later this morning.

Here comes the sleep monster. I better either wake up or go to sleep as the median is not good. I'll post here when the doc calls with the news.

dreams and sucking out the bad stuff

I don't really know what kind of drugs I was on during surgery. I know they gave me Versed right before I was wheeled down the hall. Just a little something to take the edge off, I guess. It also does a good job of erasing the memories. I recall seeing the OR but then the lights go out. The next few days have been like this Van Gogh painting...lots of starry naps and dim memories.

I've been taking Percoset since I came home. It does a good job on the pain but today it created some nausea. It also makes me fall asleep in the middle of conversations which some people find disconcerting. I skipped my 2 o'clock dose but decided about 6 that a little nausea is worth the pain control. I am not a hero when it comes to pain. I don't even like a hint of pain.

This is an interesting part of my post-surgical experience. It's a suction drainage thing. The tube end disappears into my skin under my arm and is fastened there with a couple of Frankenstein stitches.It operates by suction...you squeeze the bulb flat and all the bad stuff gets slowly sucked out of me and into the bulb. The stuff that collects in the bulb end looks like watered-down blood and floating alien embryos. It's probably not something you want to see (or hear about) if it isn't hanging off of you but I like it. It looks like a lava lamp.

This is a lava lamp in case you are too young to remember them. The alien embryos are not this large in my personal lava lamp but you get the idea. Regis has to help me dump the contents every few hours because I can't see the point of origin. This is a wonderful invention because if I didn't have this...where would all that crap go?

Tomorrow my surgeon should call with the results of the pathology whatever you call it. They took the lymph nodes and are growing them or examining them or something. What they find will determine if I only need radiation or if I have to have chemo therapy. There's that therapy word that makes this sound so...innocuous.  I'm not fooled.

Every time I wake up from a nap, which by the way, is frequently. I had three naps today. Two were about two hours each and one was a little more than an hour. I've slept more in the past three days than I have in the past two months. I swear. Oh, yeah. Got distracted. Every time I wake up from a nap, I have to lie there for a long time thinking about where I am and what day it is.

That's it. Big day tomorrow. I'll keep in touch.

after I wake up but before the Percoset kicks in

Day two. I had a good night's sleep, waking only one time to take the Percoset and read for a while. Then back to sleep.

Percoset is a good drug for pain relief but it has a few side effects. It makes my brain fuzzy for about 3 of the  4 hours. By the last hour, the pain is creeping back in but my brain feels better.

Funny how my brain will distract me from the cancer shadows by thinking about my fashion look when admitted. By thinking about the Thanksgiving menu and especially the dessert. By thinking about how Percoset makes me itchy and hot. By wanting to review every detail from the last few days. Poor Regis is probably getting tired of telling the same stories because I either can't remember or I can't remember all the details and how it fits with something that came after. Something that came after.

I'm sitting in the office. It's dark and chilly outside and it's dark and chilly inside. I'm drinking coffee and thinking about to think about the real thing. I will get a phone call today or tomorrow. I know this happens to people all the time...they are left poised on the edge of the cliff, waiting for the rest of the news.

This cancer could be a thing that is just sitting there in one spot, not allowing cells to escape and ravage other parts near and far. Or it could be that the tumor has allowed cells to escape and make a run for it to other parts of my body,

Then I would have possibly more surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy. Adjuvant therapies they call them. All of these words I had no personal relationship with before last week. Now, I can spin off estrogen receptor, progesterone receptors, and markers.

I wish I didn't have a need to know these words. My vocabulary building exercises should come from a good book, not from a booklet handed me at the cancer center. I don't want to see any more drawings of breasts and lymph nodes. I don't want to know about this and that and the next thing. I don't want to think about a future that is unknown.

My surgeon, bless his heart, said his sense (valuable) is that it is early and there is no mad dash to deliver cancer packets to distant locales. I am hoping that all of his years of experience are  guiding him to the right path. No false hopes but no dismal prognosis either.

I took two tabs of Percoset forty minutes ago, hence my thoughts are a bit scrambled.

The nursing care at the Mayo System Hospital in Mankato was superb. They were all very kind and accommodating.

I struggled to remember their names while they were in the room. The primary nurse and the assistant nurse (?) always wrote names on the white board. That helped.

Speaking of the white board, I was remembering that white board at St. Mary's. The primary nurse would makes notes on it like: Teresa walked the hallway today! +++. I really liked the report card and reminded them a few times to jot down my medical milestones. I loved the +++'s and the smiley faces.

I'm going to take my fuzzy brain and go back to bed for a while.

musing the day after

I slept most of the last 24 hours. Good thing about the good drugs...they reduce pain and help with sleep. Bad thing about the good drugs...they mess with your memory. I introduced Tiffany and Peter to Eleanor three times.

I feel rested and ready to go home. There are some things to learn before they give me the boot, like the drainage business.

The food here has been fine. I ordered scrambled eggs for breakfast. There is a seemingly endless supply of coffee. Not great coffee but drinkable. I have had worse.

Everybody who comes through the door wants to know what else they can do for me. I suggested a cheese plate and a glass of wine but I couldn't get anyone to go for that. Harrumph. What kind of hospital is this anyway?

I haven't looked at the actual surgery site yet. The nurses peek from time to time and maybe I will look next time.

Round #1 is almost over. The pathology report will be back by Thursday and that will determine the course of action. I am resigned to radiation but I hope the conditions are right so I can dodge chemotherapy.

I like the language of illness. Surgery is called a procedure and treatments are called therapy. I know I heard other examples yesterday but today, I can't remember.

The nurses tell me I am a rock star patient. The fluid in my drain has improved in appearance and I am putting out grand amounts of fluorescent colored urine. That would be the radioactive stuff they injected into me. Not that any of this has been through my efforts so I am not bragging...just providing information.

Later...

Regis came to pick me up about 11. It took a while to get checked out so we didn't get home until 1. I went right into bed and slept for two hours. Thank you, Percoset.

Here's hoping for a good night's sleep.

Teresa in Recovery

I just spoke with Teresa's doctor. The surgery was more extensive than originally anticipated because of the positive results in the first node. They ended up taking 8 more nodes, I believe, which means there was more tissue disturbed under her arm and thus a longer recovery. The best case scenario is that in doing the original biopsy a cancer cell was dislodged and ended up in node #1, the natural filter. If this is the case it will be considered a false positive. They took the additional nodes because they can't take the chance that this was the case.
Now comes more waiting. Teresa won't know more until perhaps Thursday morning when the pathology comes back from the lab. When we know the tumor size, the hormone receptor types etc an Oncologist will make the determination as to further treatment. It will be radiation at a bare minimum perhaps followed up with chemo. Keep your fingers crossed.
Regis

Sent From My iPad

Teresa in surgery

Teresa has been in surgery for about 90 minutes now. The surgical nurse just called out to the waiting room to tell me that one of the 4 sentinel nodes that they removed came back from pathology as being positive. So there is more work to do and she will be at least another hour. Keep her in you thoughts.

Sent From My iPad

the hospital look

My hospital look is important to me. Regis rolls his eyes but I tell him you can't walk in there looking all downtrodden and mopey and shit. You have to look like you could be walking into a party. He suggested wearing bedroom slippers when I was at the part where I had to decide footwear. My turn for the eye-roll. I wear slippers to the Pulse some mornings but I do not wear them out of the house to other places. I suppose that would be acceptable...they're like moccasins...just not chic.

Like pajama pants. I have seen people actually wear those in the grocery store. Please. It doesn't take that much effort to put clothes on, people.

I've decided to wear my ass kickin' boots as a statement. I am sorry if someone has to tote them through the hospital because they are a handful but it's important to me. In the HyVee gift shop (which I love) yesterday, I bought a long, asymmetrical hooded vest with big pockets. It's very hipster. The only problem is that I would call the color taupe. What the hell is taupe anyway? Does a guy wear black or brown with taupe?

I am ready to go an hour early. That is a lesson from my dad.

Remember Regis is guest blogging today so do not be surprised by anything.

the whisk that found me

I think someone has been after me with the metaphysical whisk of life. Yesterday, I was busy all day but didn't seem to get much done but make a bigger mess. Today will be better. I have a long list of tasks for this weekend and the first job will be to write them down so I remember what they all are.

My sweet friend, Amber, gave me a bottle of Big Ass Cab for my birthday. Over the last few days, it has disappeared. What a nice red wine for a November evening. Cabernet, pumpkin candles, and my honey across the table from me. I am a lucky woman.

You can tell I have been brain scrambled as I didn't even post any Halloween photos. The party at Tom and Betty's was a blast, as parties at their home always are. Elliot and Alex are waiting to get trick or treating. Ella is probably playing with the puppies. Great ideas bringing puppies to a party with small children and adults who are imbibing. Ha! Jan is onto something. Could be like a Tupperware party only for finding homes for puppies.

I had lunch with my friend, Kris, last week at River Rock. As I turned to scan the deli case, I saw these amazing little darlings...local maple pots de creme. Perfect size and delicious. Good thing the glasses are small because there would have been some licking going on, let me tell you. Sweet little pleasures of life.

So, here is what I have spend a lot of time doing in the last week...organizing medical information. I am rarely sick and have had only two surgeries in my life so the prospect of this on Monday, and the paperwork, is daunting.

I've tried reading things but even the booklets they gave me or sent me are too overwhelming. I think I might take them with me so after surgery I'll be able to read about the specifics, although reading on morphine can be tricky.

Regis and I went to Mankato yesterday where I bought some things I will need and some things I won't need. Ah, retail therapy. I found a teal sweater at TJ Maxx that I could not resist. It's my new favorite color. 

I have been perseverating on some stupid details like my footwear for Monday. I told Regis that I am worrying about that kind of thing so I don't think about the rest. I checked the weather report for Monday...temps between 20 and 30. Brrr. But I don't want to wear boots because someone will have to tote them through the hallways of the hospital. But they are my ass kickin' boots and kind of important for my mental well-being. I am also worried about my hair. But...you can see where this is going.

My biggest problem the last week (ha!) has been that I can't remember who I told what and now that I'm writing this, I think I have even written this before dammit. Stop reading or tell me to stop talking if you have heard any or all of this before. Regis calls it the pall of idiocy.

Funny how when something occupies so much of your brain, you forget momentarily that other people have shit going on, too. Lots of it. Many of my friends are in pain or healing from their pain and that they take the time to think about me is gratifying. Have I always been so kind in the past? This is how we learn our lessons.

I've been awake since 3 am again. Not worrying, just stewing. It makes a guy look forward to sedation and anesthesia. Just a little something to take the edge off.

for updates

Regis will be posting here for me on Monday until I am able. For updates, because neither of us will be able to remember who likes email, who likes texts, and who is on Facebook, and who likes phone calls...so this is the universal landing pad for information. I still don't have a surgery time but they should be calling soon with that. You can sign up for email updates on this site. Check the sidebar to the right...past all the poems and pictures of me in wigs.

Thank you to everyone who has written called, posted encouraging words on Facebook, and sent big checks. Haha! Just kidding about that last one. I appreciate every funny, profane, and sympathetic message I have gotten from my friends and family. You all rock.

i've been let out of the cage

The first few days after the diagnosis of breast cancer, I was angry and terrified and sad. I went from thinking about dying to thinking about my first and worst fear, puking. We all see things differently and hey, throwing up is not my thing.

After talking to my doctor yesterday, I was almost giddy. He is so calm and reassuring and conveyed the sense that he was going to help me through this. It was liberating. I don't have to deal with alone! Here was this strong, handsome, professional man who is going to cut me up and put me back together. I felt great!

Today, I feel like I have been unleashed, let out of the cage. I have plans and lists to make. I'm not going to sit around all weepy and shit.

I read the most inspiring blog this morning, sent to me by a long-distance friend, Di Keller. I said I was ready to talk about "support" but this blog is amazing.

Back to the support thing for a minute. I wasn't ready for support, or to talk to most people, because it felt like that would make it too real. That would be like signing up for the club of which I did not want to be a member. I don't want to know about carcinoma, sentinel nodes, or estrogen receptors. Well, you know what? Whether I want to or not, here I am.

Ann Marie's blog, Stupid Dumb Breast Cancer, is raw. She posted pictures of herself after a double mastectomy. She uses the F bomb liberally and she wears pink stiletto heels...in the hospital.

This is another powerful blog by a strong woman. Here's a warning, though. This one does not end happily and the pictures, again, are stunning. I'm drawn more to blogs than medical sites.

They told me to bring comfortable clothes and slippers to the hospital but I think I'll wear my ass kickin' boots and some sparkle. I'm not even sure I own what they might consider comfortable clothes. Oh, yeah...I have some sweat pants but ugh, not in public. Gross.

Eff cancer. Yes...in all it's many putrid forms.

my doctor rocks

I had an appointment with Dr. Deaconson this morning. He's a saint and he rocks. He is so calm and reassuring and even though he was going to be on vacation next week, he is coming in Monday to do my surgery. He said his gestalt is that this is early and the outlook is good. He will do a lumpectomy with some exploration of the lymph nodes to see if it has traveled. I will have radiation because that will help ensure that cancer cells have not strayed from the one site and stirred up an unwanted ruckus. I''ll be in the hospital overnight if all goes well.

All the pre-op stuff is done.Chest x-ray, blood work, EKG, medical history. I don't know why I always feel compelled to confess to smoking for one day when I was in college. The PA said the statute of limitations has run out on that sin and I can erase it from my card. I feel so much better except that I have a headache and I'm tired.

I think I'm going out to sit in the sun.

“Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”- Mary Oliver

this one is not about the C word

I'm feeling much stronger and more peaceful this morning. I slept well, took Gus outside at 4:30 and I think the sun is going to shine today. All good signs!

Regis and I went out for dinner last night, seeking comfort food. He had a pot roast commercial and I had ribs. The pile of ribs was like a meat tornado. We'll be eating those for the next three days. We came home early, watched some Arrested Development, and went to bed. No election returns for us.

I was almost too nervous about the outcome to attend to it. I avoided the articles in the paper and I refused to think about the possibilities. Regis woke me in the middle of the night to tell me Obama had been re-elected so we don't have to move to Poland. Ha!

I'm on my way to River Rock to work which means I take photos, gab with people, and enjoy a latte while I stroll around. A good job, eh?

morning...and then afternoon

I was awake from 3 am to 6 am. I slept from 6 am to 8 am. Regis woke me up with the promise of coffee. I'm sitting here staring out the window. Then I slept again from 10-12. I woke up at noon, thinking it must be later than that. I don't believe it's good to sleep in little patches like this.

I talked to Jackie, a friend in Wyoming. She had a double mastectomy 13 years ago and is here to tell the story. I can't talk about it to everyone but I could talk to her.

I knew this would happen because it's my way. I am writing my way through this. Thoughts I cannot articulate in spoken words can be written.

Here's how you know that life goes on....bad shit keeps happening but we continue to celebrate that we are alive and for the most part, happy. This is my journey but other people are traveling their own paths at the same time. My brother Bruce attended the funeral for his little grandbaby, Piper, today. She died of SIDS last week. This is more manageable than that, I know.

In the mail yesterday...a lovely card and letter from one of my oldest friends. So good to read that again this morning. Linda and I made doll houses out of cardboard boxes when we were kids. We walked back and forth to each other's houses through the hedge. Her house fascinated me because it was quiet, unlike mine where four boys lived. I loved playing in her basement..it was like a refuge from the world.

I was doing some reading online about breast cancer but it's too complicated right now. I know so little and the range of possibilities is endless, or so it seems. I'll know a little more after I meet with the surgeon and I will know more after the surgery.

Ah, well. We'll get through it.

I am sorry for causing such a ruckus. I meant to keep this to myself until I had more details but it's just not how I roll.

Thanks to all my friends and family who have responded in my time of need with email, phone calls, comments here, prayers, positive energy, and cuss words. It all helps!

It's 6 am and now what?

I'm on my way to bed....again.

I don't know how to deal with this. Who do I tell and what do I tell them?

I don't want to be dramatic and scared and freaky but that's where I keep going. Scared, creeped out, dramatic. Freaky.

I imagine these feelings morph over the next few days.

What do I do until the meeting with the surgeon?

How do I keep moving?

rain and early morning

I can hear rain against the window. I am going to bed again.

writing my way through cancer

It's 3:45 in the morning. I am awake.

I had a mammogram on October 15th and then an ultrasound on October 26th. Then a biopsy on November 1st. Today a nurse called to tell me I have invasive ductal carcinoma.

There's something that will fuck up your day.

Carcinoma. What the fuck.

I wrote a few notes, looked up from my notepad, asked Regis to take me to Patrick's to start the wine therapy.

As we talked, I said I would write my way through this and I will. It's 3:30 am and here I sit, glass of wine at my side, numb from the wine and numb from the news.

There is no history of breast cancer in my family. I thought I was immune. I have regular mammograms. I thought I was immune.

I read this several times.

What the fuck. Mastectomy? Radiation? Chemotherapy? This is my 60th year?

I wanted to stop saying shit so much in my blog posts and instead I have progressed to saying fuck. Multiple times.

I am going to wallow in misery for a few days then I will buck up and carry on with my life.

For this moment, I am miserable. How can this be?

My first thought was that I am not so attached to my breasts. They can both go if it will protect me from the other bad shit. The chemo and the radiation.

I am not a sick person. I rarely get colds. What the fuck. How can I have this crap? Cancer. I have to put my head down on my desk for a minute to weep...long and deep sobs.

I appreciate my cousin's email with the subject heading s.o.b. That's it. Son of a bitch.

My brain is banging from one side of my head to the other. One minute I am feeling optimistic. I can beat this if I buy enough pink stuff. The next minute I am picturing my own funeral.

I don't want to talk to anyone about this right now because that will make it real. I don't want a support group or counseling. I appreciate your concern but I can't call you back. I can only write here.

I know this can be fixed. Maybe. But I have a dear friend who died from breast cancer. What the fuck.

impending sense of doom

One night, several years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible pain between my shoulder blades. I got out of bed to check my symptoms on the internet, as any modern woman would do, and found that pain between the shoulder blades, and an impending sense of doom, are common symptoms of heart attack in females. Whoa. I didn't have an impending sense of doom until I read that. I had Regis get out of bed and take me to the ER. Turns out I had a bad case of heart burn.

I get that impending sense of doom sometimes and I don't know if it's a true feeling about the future or just a hidden anxiety poking its head out of the closet. Dusting itself off, turning on its faint light, and stalking me in the predawn hours. When I have insomnia, I'm never sure if I am awake because I'm anxious or if I'm anxious because I'm awake. Usually the latter. What else are you going to do at 2 am except watch the gray-faced men march around the bed?

Regis has had trouble sleeping lately. We know this is a side effect of his knee replacement surgery so we aren't too concerned but it gets tiresome. He moves from the bed to the couch several times throughout the night. I get up at 4:30 to sit quietly in front of the fireplace and read. He comes out to sleep on the couch and I move so the lights don't disturb him. We're like two cats slouching around the darkened house.

I can hear him out there now so I know he still isn't comfortable.

Yesterday, I packed up all the Halloween decorations and set out some Thanksgiving and fall things. I love holidays. Not only did I pack up the Halloween stuff but I hauled the three tubs to the basement and put them back where they belong. A miracle. My tendency is to let them sit in a stack by the back door for weeks. Hurray for me.

I took Gus out to the back yard about 5 this morning and there is a misty rain with a heavy cloud cover. Oh, lovely. A day like they have on the moops...perfect for the impending sense of doom.

saving time

I can't figure out how the time change saves anything. I can't even figure out if it just ended or started. Seems like we should find a way to save some daylight in the winter but if there are only 8 hours available, I don't think it matters what you do with the clock.

Some people think they get an extra hour of sleep but for me, it only means that I wake up at 3 am instead of 4 am. I woke up early yesterday, was tired early so I went to bed, and woke up at 9:30 thinking it must be morning. What the hell.

I'm not a fan of the short days of November and December. I only survive with strings of party lights, lots of candles, and extra Vitamin D. I'm trying to get outside a little bit each day to absorb what little light there is. I'd like to get Gus to wear a string of lights like this dog, but I'm not hopeful that will work.

Regis and I went to Pappageorge for dinner last night. He had the London broil and I had scallops. Both were quite delicious. We decided we were celebrating, in spite of all the bad news, that we are both healthy enough to rake leaves and enjoy a cold beer at the end of it. Be sure to read the poem Gratitude in one of my recent posts.

I was hat shopping this morning. I have to return a pair of boots so I decided with the money I'm saving I'll buy a couple hats. Hats can be very expensive...these are not. I realize the economics of this is not something they would practice on Wall Street...well, then again, maybe they would.

We're going to the Pulse this morning, then doing our Sunday night dinner and tv with Emily. It's gotten to be a tradition and is something we look forward to at the end of the weekend.

I meant to take a picture of all the leaves we raked up yesterday. The city is coming around to pick them up tomorrow and I always wait until the last minute, thinking some of them would blow away. I think more blew in than out as a lot of those leaves were not from my trees. Anyway, it's a nice pile the whole length of our lot and gives me some yard cred with the neighbors. We're sorely lacking in that department as we don't water, fertilize, trim, or blow. And we don't mow nearly as often as some. I tell them wee're making oxygen in our yard.

Off to Sunday. Won't someone come and do the dishes I have allowed to pile up disgustingly?

gratitude

I was raking leaves...then came in to read an email from our friend, Bob, about his wife Marilyn who just had heart surgery on Wednesday. They are both doing well and that is wonderful news in a week of mostly bad news!

The two things, raking and Bob's email, reminded me to be grateful...and that reminded me of this poem. I have it posted on the sidebar but I'm going to paste it here again. If you're reading this, find someone to read this poem aloud to. Or go to your favorite coffee shop and read it aloud to yourself. Maybe somebody will be listening.

Gratitude

by Barbara Crooker 

This week, the news of the world is bleak, another war

grinding on, and all these friends down with cancer,

or worse, a little something long term that they won’t die of

for twenty or thirty miserable years—

And here I live in a house of weathered brick, where a man

with silver hair still thinks I’m beautiful. How many times

have I forgotten to give thanks? The late day sun shines

through the pink wisteria with its green and white leaves

as if it were stained glass, there’s an old cherry tree

that one lucky Sunday bloomed with a rainbow:

cardinals, orioles, goldfinches, blue jays, indigo buntings,

and my garden has tiny lettuces just coming up,

so perfect they could make you cry: Green Towers,

Red Sails, Oak Leaf. For this is May, and the whole world

sings, gleams, as if it were basted in butter, and the air’s

sweet enough to send a diabetic into shock—

And at least today, all the parts of my body are working,

the sky’s clear as a china bowl, leaves murmur their leafy chatter,

finches percolate along. I’m doodling around this page,

know sorrow’s somewhere beyond the horizon, but still, I’m riffing

on the warm air, the wingbeats of my lungs that can take this all in,

flush the heart’s red peony, then send it back without effort or thought.

And the trees breathe in what we exhale, clap their green hands

in gratitude, bend to the sky.

From Line Dance (Word Press, 2008).

one thing then another continues

I always think about how much to share here. I wouldn't want to read a long litany of woes on a blog but sometimes things happen that take over my thinking and it's not possible to go on unless I write them down.

It's been a long season of bad shit, some way worse than others. I think one thing is bad, then another comes along to change my definition of bad shit.

Thursday, my niece Cybil and her family lost their sweet, two-month old baby to SIDS. It's been an awful trauma for my family. This morning, I ordered flowers for a baby's funeral. Something seemed wrong about that.

I had a breast biopsy on Friday. There was a major CF with the imaging clinic again and when I got to my appointment he said he couldn't do the biopsy because they hadn't sent the mammogram and the ultrasound. Good grief. He could tell I was about at the end of my rope, so he called and made some special arrangements so I could get it done that day. Bless his heart. Just when you get cynical and cranky, someone does a kind thing and you feel better about humanity.

Not the first time this surgeon has done something nice for me. He was scheduled to do an endoscopy for me but when I got to the hospital I found out it was someone else. My doctor had been awake doing surgery all night and wouldn't be able to come in for my thing. I started weeping. They must have called him because thirty minutes later, he showed up. What a nice guy.

Our friend, Marilyn, is recovering from heart surgery. They knew it was coming but it's still disconcerting to have surgery on your heart. Miracles of medicine...she will be going home on Monday. I wish her well as she continues to heal.

Regis is sleeping on the couch this morning. He has had more muscle pain with this surgery and seems to be more tired. We think it's his low iron so I bought Total cereal yesterday. We're heard about it and read several places that it can do the trick. This is not a scientific study but we will keep you informed as results come in.

The good news is that today, we have no plans. No plans to do anything or go anywhere so whatever we do will be a nice surprise. I might take Gus for a walk. I might rake some leaves. I might put away the Halloween stuff and move on to election night decorating. Red, white, and blue. Thanks, Mom!

I must go have a latte this morning. I have been doing the Facebook posts for River Rock and all the luscious photos of lattes make me thirsty. I'll miss sitting outside like I did this summer. One of my favorite things...sitting on Minnesota Avenue with a blueberry tart and a latte.

My goal for the week is to say shit less often. Or maybe my goal should be to have less bad shit happen. Agree?

if it ain't one thing, it's another

I should be writing about the Halloween Fun Run, which was fun, but my photos are in the other room so I'm going to forego that topic for now.

Many reasons not to watch the news, or television for that matter. It's nice this year, not to be subjected to constant political ads, since we ripped our cable out after the last election. Not literally, but it went missing. Do people really make up their minds based on that drivel? Someone posted a link to an awful crime and punishment story on Facebook and I had to read it. Very, very sad. No reason I had to know about that.

Now, I'm reading about Hurricane Sandy. I would have been long ago gone from that path. What the hell. An 11 foot wall of water? It sounds like one of those apocalypse movies and you know what a fan I am of those.

I was driving to Mankato the other day on 169. I happened to be by the regional treatment center where the speed limit is 45. I was going 45 mph when a woman came barreling up behind me, got right on my bumper, then passed me giving me the finger as she went. What the hell. It was that important to her to get where she was going a few minutes earlier? How uncivilized. I stared straight ahead but Regis, Philly driver that he is, responded in kind.

Regis turned 60 in July and I'm turning 60 on Wednesday. Life in the months before 60 has been fraught with peril for both of us. Some of it could be funny, I think, depending on your view of things and we usually take a dark comedic view which helps us get through the bullshit.

Since last May, we have been diagnosed with atrial fibrillation, bladder cancer, cataracts, osteoporosis, breast cancer, and we've had two knees replaced. It's not so important who got what...it's a medical shit storm. Someone from the insurance company is going to come out and shoot us.

We're managing quite well and hope by the end of the year, the worst of it will be behind us. (It could be quite a Christmas letter. Haha! Not, really. Don't be afraid to open it when it comes.) Seriously, all in all, things are good. Regis fairly skipped down the front steps the other day and I ran a 5k on Saturday. Not fast, mind you, but faster than the folks on the couch.

Bob and Marilyn, we'll be thinking about you both on Wednesday.

I found the pictures so here's the scoop on the Fun Run.

I'm an artificial knee.

Every time I get one of these pictures taken, I'm walking. Hmmm... 

Joanne and I have done the Halloween Fun Run together for four years. The first year, during the reconstruction of 169, was the worst because we were on the hill and the wind was fierce. This year was perfect, crisp and cool, no wind. There were 1,400 people registered. The Fun Run Facebook page has tons of pictures. Some of the costumes were great! The headless boy was very creepy. I didn't win any prizes but I got a lot of laughs.

It will be a busy week. PT three times, working out at the Pulse, working at River Rock, party at the Paw on Tuesday night (I'm a costume judge, believe that or not!), and my birthday on Wednesday. It will be the party what started out as dancin' around!

soggy afternoon and everybody gots the blues

We are not complaining about the rain. At all. It's the first time we've had a decent rain in months.

We are only complaining about the gloom that seems to have descended on everyone. We are hunkered down, sighing heavily, speaking in hushed tones. Our spirits have been hung out to dry...in the rain. Woe is us.

We are lacking in gumption. Even to do the simple things like the dishes and picking up of stuff. Damp jackets hang limply from the backs of chairs. Junk mail is piled on the table, probably hiding today's to-do list. Even the dog is without ambition.

A rational and thinking person would turn on the radio and make some cookies or invite a friend over for a glass of wine. But who can think rationally in the blue funk of this day? So, here we sit, lamps unlit, dinner not made, quiet in every corner.

I'm going to grab the reins and drive this horse down a different road. Radio will be turned on and jazzy music will be heard. Something will be cooked. Candles will be lit and old friends will be called.

Ta da!

restless night and sleepy morning

We were up and down all night, first one then the other. Bed, couch, chair. Even the dog couldn't settle down. Must have been one of those nights my doctor used to describe as "forces in the universe at work".

Regis has therapy at 8 so we're up and moving in the right direction. All is well when that's true.

We're expecting rain today which is a welcome weather event. It hasn't rained enough all summer to even get the ground completely wet. Tomorrow will be colder.

There must have been a football game somewhere last night. I heard the muffled voice of an announcer and the cheers of a crowd. It was kind of a sweet sound for a fall night but the distant noise is as far as my interest goes. As for who and what sport and the final score, I don't care.

I went to a coffee training at work last night. I walked downtown in my new boots... a mistake. They're very comfortable but not for long distances and I almost wore holes in my toes. The coffee training is fascinating because the art and science of coffee, which these folks know...is complex. They did explain why some coffee tastes good and some tastes like cigar ash. Small growers, attention to detail, hand-picking and sorting, careful processing. They are turning me into a coffee snob.

Usually when we pick up prescriptions, we use the drive-up at Walgreen's. Yesterday, I went into the store. Fifty dollars later, I had a sack of unnecessary junk. I rationalized that it was Halloween stuff for the little kids but the truth is, it's probably not anything they want either.

Regis has been having some vivid dreams which we attribute to Percoset. The other night his dream was about the ice bag belonging to the dowager countess but since someone had taken that one, we had to use the lesser ice bag of the footman. Last night he had a dream that our friend Emily had rented out our couch to Eli and the recliner to Dave so Regis had no place to go in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep.

Chauffeur duty calls.

this getting old shit is for the birds

I just wrote a paragraph about our continuing medical woes and then I promptly deleted it. I have vowed not to talk about medical stuff so remind me if I go off on a tangent about it. Enough already.

I'm warming up my writing brain to do about four blog posts for River Rock this afternoon. They are in varying stages of completion in a notebook written in pencil and on my computer. I write spasmodically, if that's the word for it. I rarely write in long-hand anymore and can hardly compose an address unless I'm at the keyboard. Writing on cards can be a challenge.

I looked at the marathon coverage in the paper this morning and had a brief moment of regret for not committing to that until I read about the folks who were vomiting and in need of IVs by the end. Nah. I don't think so. As I have said before, my right brain, the side that avoids pain and seeks pleasure is too well-developed. My mantra usually goes something like this, "If I walk for a while, I will feel better and I won't break any bones. This will be over soon. What in the hell made me think this would be fun?"

We had a very busy day yesterday. I picked Elliot up in the morning, Ella and Alex came for lunch, Emily took Gus to the park then came back for pizza and we watched Downton Abbey. A fun Sunday!

One more cup of coffee, one more paragraph...then I have to hit it.

I'm reading Major Pettigrew's Last Stand. I can't remember who recommended it to me but I like it. It's a love story about an English man and a Pakistani woman. Sort of a gentle tea and crumpets story which I don't mind as I'm not much for murder and mayhem in my reading material.

My new boots just came via UPS and that means Zappos is a modern miracle. I order boots on Saturday afternoon and they are delivered to me by Monday. Ah, the smell of new leather.

Here I go.

feelin' pretty cocky so early in the morning

I just reread yesterday's post. I was being optimistic when I wrote it, apparently. The truth of it is that we spent the day trudging slowly from task to task and from couch to recliner. I did the dishes, made two meals, and got my Halloween Fun Run costume ready but that's about it. My brain was resting a good part of the day.

Today will be different. I'm picking Elliot up at 9:30 and Ella and Alex are coming about 10 o'clock to play. There will not be much resting today, believe me.

The sky was clear when I was out with Gus at 6 but now it looks cloudy again. I don't mind...I still love these fall days. Our birch tree is raining yellow leaves, slowly slowly slowly. It's beautiful.

Regis is still sleeping, Gus is taking his first nap of the day, and I am going to the kitchen to make coffee. There you go.

saturday in slow motion

Regis and I are slowly getting our wheels back on the tracks. We woke up this morning at 4, got up and drank coffee in the dark, then went back to sleep for an hour. It's a strange kind of timeless feeling.

The good news is that my sleeping patterns have been better knock on wood. No long periods of wakefulness for three days.

I think we're going to take Gus to the dog park for a while this morning. Regis is itching to get out and so is Gus. I can drive and Regis can park it on a bench. His butt...not the car.

I just ordered myself a new pair of boots. I have been so frugal with clothes lately that I decided I could splurge. Yesterday I washed my three favorite sweaters from the thrift and consignment stores. Two of them should have been hand washed but I'm not a believer in that monkey business so I tossed them in the washer on the delicate cycle.

One had red wine stains on the front from the time I apparently had suffered an unfortunate head-on collision with a glass of wine. It happens. I found a tip online: Mix a teaspoon of dish soap with a cup (about) of hydrogen peroxide. Squirt it on the stain. Ha! Amazing! I guess this works on carpet and upholstery stains, too, so if you're a red wine drinker, tuck this information in your memory bank.

Kind of a western look, right? I bet I can kick some serious ass in these boots.

Back to caring for the patient who is a rock star. He is showered, dressed, and sitting in his chair. No long periods of convalescence for this cat. He's on the move. Staples come out Wednesday and he'd like to be off the Percoset as soon as possible.

end o' the week

It's Friday finally...or already...depending on a couple of things. Surgery was a roaring success so we have that out of the way, just physical therapy for the next month.

The hospital has been a good experience except for the food. I won't say where Regis had his surgery because you know my paranoia about google searches. The hospital gets it's patient food from a nursing home. It's an abomination that old people and sick people and folks recovering from surgery (who ought to have the very best nutrition) have to eat that highly processed tasteless food. Fake butter. Fake coffee creamer. English muffins that look like they came with a play kitchen set. If I ever have to spend time in the hospital, please bring food.

Regis sent me a dream story by text sometime in the middle of the night. He was sleeping in the recliner in his room and woke to hear some noise in the hall. In his Percocet-induced slumber, he thought he was in a motel room but realized I was not there. A while later, he woke and saw me writing on the melamine board so he croaks out, "Where the f*#* have you been?" and of course, it is the sweet and pretty, twenty-something nurse who is writing on the board, not me. I hope she has a sense of humor.

Gus and I have slept well the past two nights, only waking once. He was very agitated the first day of Regis's absence but seems to have adjusted now. Yesterday, Emily took him to the dog park to play with his dog pals and Young Reg and Amber took him for a walk and over to their house to play with their cats. He had a full day.

Two pictures from my mostly pathetic garden this summer. I'm still making the transition to shade plants since any sun I used to have has been usurped by the trees. I'm not much for watering so it was simply a matter of survival of the fittest. A man I know in town who is a wonderful gardener came into River Rock yesterday. I'm embarrassed to talk gardens with him. He has rotating plants so his garden is blooming all summer. It's very artistically arranged and he takes meticulous care of it. My garden is random and wild, like me. Ha!

spending my time

This is how I like to spend my time. Sitting, drinking coffee, eating something little and tasty like a blueberry tart, riding my bike, watching traffic.

This will not be how I spend my time this week. This week my calendar is full. I don't even like to look at it now and there are some things I haven't written down. I wonder how I had time to work full time and keep up with my life before I retired. There must have been a lot of things I didn't do...or maybe I had more gumption.

We had such a nice Sunday yesterday. I put out the Halloween decorations (of which there are a ton), cleaned up the house a bit, bought a take and bake pizza, and our friend, Emily came over for dinner and a movie. Such a nice way to end the weekend and begin a busy week.

I slept fitfully last night. Awake until almost midnight, awake several times over the next few hours, awake at 5 am. I have decided to just put it out of my mind. There doesn't seem to be any fixing it and you can't really catch up on sleep so I'll just muddle along. Maybe my worry about not sleeping is contributing to my insomnia. Bummer.

Spending time. It's important how I decide to spend my time. Everybody gets a limited amount of time and I don't want to spend a lot of my allotment vacuuming spider webs in the basement or obsessing about the state of my lawn. That's trivial shit. I want to spend my time standing in the yard looking at the stars in the morning or drinking coffee and pondering my existence. Ha! 

Hey, that guy jumped out of the balloon and his eyes didn't explode. Hurray! Crazy stuff people do.

Regis had a dream the other night that involved Marlys, Vern, and their daughter Hermione. Where does he get this stuff? If he had been writing it down all along, we'd have the material for a book. A very strange book, but a book.

On to Monday. The week will be busy but I'll check in because this is where I collect my brain cells. I'll check in with a cup of coffee, a little bite to eat, and an open curtain so I can see the stars.

scarecrow tour and more

We went to Canby to visit Mom on Friday afternoon. We had a good time doing what we usually do which is sitting around and visiting over wine and pizza. Saturday morning, Mom and I did a little looking around downtown. They have a new coffee shop and bakery so we popped in there. Busy place! When we got home, Mom took a nap and Regis and I did the scarecrow tour. There are a few pics in the slide show that are not scarecrows...some interesting homes (love the one with Big Bird on the porch), some tombstones in the cemetery, and some of the dog. Gus loved Mom's yard...especially the wild turkeys.

We're going to spend today getting ready for a busy week. I am hoping that after October, things will slow down some. I don't like to be quite this busy. I'm more of a sitting around kind of girl.

That's my Dad's cowboy hat I'm wearing. Mom gave it to Regis but I claimed it when we got home. It's a good look.

Regis is wearing a shirt Peter left behind. Southpole is favored by hip and young urbanites who frequently cut thumb holes in the cuffs of their shirts. Regis just likes the soft thermal knit. He is not a hip or a young urbanite.

We got home about 5:30 yesterday. Regis took Gus to the dog park for a run while I unpacked the stuff. When they got back, Regis and I went to Patrick's for a cheeseburger which was a minor mistake. It was GAC homecoming weekend and the place was rocking. They had a bouncer at the door at 6 o'clock and it was a good thing. There was an old dude in the next booth who was loud and obnoxious. I don't know how the people sitting next to him could stand it...we barely could. We ate and left quickly.

I'm going to finally get my Halloween decorations out today. I don't know what has made me so slow this year. Emily, and maybe David (brother from St. Paul) are coming late afternoon for pizza and Downton Abbey.

Regis is having knee replacement surgery on Wednesday. We have to be at the hospital by 5 am so he should be out of surgery before the sun comes up. The hospital here does not have a cafeteria so they get their food from the nursing home. That doesn't sound very appealing. I'll have to plan ahead.

On to Sunday.

a journey without a goat

I love the things I misread. I looked at one of my favorite zen blogs this morning and the title was "a journey without a goal", which I read as "a journey without a goat". I like that.

My friend, Steve Schipp, used to say that the world is made up of two kinds of people, those who can drive a forklift and those who cannot. He was right.

I've been in a very philosophical mood lately and I think it comes with turning 60 the end of the month. And it comes from spending so much time in doctor's offices lately. I have vowed not to spend so much time recounting our current woes (which are not really woes, but maintenance) because, for one thing, it's hard to keep them straight, and for another, it leads to no good.

So, my philosophical state of mind. I'm reading a book about habits. How to change the bad ones and fortify the good ones. It makes it seem so simple, changing the habits of your life.

I've never been much for philosophy. I took a class in college and left after the first day. I didn't want to debate if a chair was really a chair or if it was a dream. That's a journey without a goat, right there. I suppose the whole point of philosophy is to examine your own life by pondering the thoughts of others. Hmmm.

Part of my current mission to rid myself of junk. I have another pile of bags and boxes by the door for pick-up tomorrow. I regularly get rid of stuff by giving it to Jan. Unclutter the house, unclutter the mind.

If I had more boxes, I'd be in better shape to continue.

What do you do with photo albums from your early twenties? I never look at them anymore and certainly nobody else wants to look at them. High school year books? Old vinyl records? A set of three martini glasses that I haven't used in five years? Gone. Gone. Gone.

I read this article in the Tribune a couple Sundays ago. I'm going to paste the whole thing in here because I love it and I know it will disappear from the internets eventually and I will never be able to keep track of a newspaper clipping. This is my virtual scrapbook.

Autumn blues: loss into life
David McGrath
We have begun the season of heartbreak. Fall in the north woods, like Shakespeare's Ophelia, is a tragic beauty.
The weather cool and paradisiacal. No insects. None of the heat and humidity of July. No ice, no snow, nor the slashing winds of February. A cornucopia of color.
Yet fall evokes loss. Tourists are gone. Children off to school. Loons flown south. Hummingbird feeders desolate.
I am haunted, still, by an owl from last night, its lonely wail waking me at 3 a.m.
Dr. John Sharp, writing in Psychology Today ("Autumn Now") describes autumn as the most emotional time of year, for the many memories it stirs of childhood and of change, triggered by "sights and smells and sounds that remind us of what we might have experienced."
Like recent losses in my own life. My good gold dog. All that's left is a photo on the refrigerator -- Frank escaping with my wife's flip-flop.
Now I watch the crows and squirrels he chased, and I beckon to them with an absurd, unspoken question: Is Frank OK?
And then I scold myself, a rational being, and try to adapt to his absence. He remains as a thought, a wavelength between a proton and an electron in my brain.
My father's been gone for decades, but I felt a fresh pang down by our lake. Fifty years ago, the two of us sat in a boat as he rowed seemingly effortlessly, not both oars at once, but the left and then the right in perfect syncopation, propelling us straight.
Toward the end, I had begun reading a story to him in the hospital, got halfway through when visiting hours were over. He died before I could return the next evening to finish.
His picture is in an 8-by-10-inch frame on the coffee table, a black-and-white mugshot of the old man in a suit, his mirthful smile. His life still sending current through me, my siblings, my children. Would his relevance vanish if unremembered?
My friend Joe and I began first grade together in the fall, stayed friends through school, through discoveries, successes, travails. He was instrumental in my meeting the woman who would become my wife. Since his death in January, how long can I preserve the sound of his laughter in my head? Should I?
And in another cruel trick played on us humanoids, we also suffer the loss of that which technically does not even exist. I look in the yard and see an image of my children in colorful hooded ski jackets, playing with a balloon in the yard. Their voices tinkling like a wind chime. And though they are grown up and on their own journeys of memory-making, the imagined picture fades to today's empty yard, overgrown and mottled with dead leaves, making me sad.
But they're still present in this world, so what exactly am I missing? The feeling? A dream? A segment of time that has passed?
Are time segments even real?
Sorry for all the questions. A column should not be all questions. It should have a resolution. Therefore, I offer two.
The first is that the pain of loss -- the litany of losses we start and never stop accumulating from middle age -- teaches us that we should live in the moment, clinging with bare hands to the high-voltage wire of life.
It's the theme of Thornton Wilder's play "Our Town," in which a character returned from the dead wants to shake the daylights out of family members still living, make them realize they should never take even a split-second for granted -- not the briefest conversation with a sibling, not an embrace from their father, certainly not an "I love you" from a spouse. Grasp and stare into their eyes, soul to soul.
Years ago, I callously advised my wife to get rid of everything -- the faded baby bonnet, the discolored photograph -- since they only reminded her of what was lost.
I was wrong. For anything that encapsulates a memory, enhances the present and future. There is something good in a remembrance that is spiked with sadness, because loss and regret compel us to change, to live better, more intensely, more hungrily, more generously.
The second resolution is that memories of the people and things we have lost, though painful, are therapeutic. They keep us connected to a story that, though invisible, is real, vibrating through those photos, bonnets, smells, sounds, letters, thoughts and dreams.
And as long as we can recall and relate that story, we will never be lonely -- even if we are alone.
I walk to the fridge and Frank's picture, recollecting that sunny noisy afternoon. Maybe I'll get a rescue dog from the shelter. Doesn't even have to be gold.
----------------
David McGrath, an emeritus English professor at the College of DuPage, lives in Hayward, Wis., and is the author of "The Territory."

And so, to conclude my Wednesday morning ramble, this picture, which I have published before but which seems to sum it all up...bear on a bicycle.

Keep pedaling, my friends.

coming out of the versed fog

I had a couple of very good naps yesterday, then slept well last night. What a gift a good night's sleep can be. I woke up several times but when I tried to read, my eyes closed and I drifted back to sleep. Ah, so nice.

Versed is a good drug if you have to have a medical procedure but it seems to leave me foggy-headed. Of course, with my sleeping patterns this past week, it could be that, too.

King Karl and Queen Silvia of Sweden were in St. Peter yesterday. I don't recall all the official reasons for the trip but I am sorry to have missed the pomp. Ella attended with her elementary school class so I'm sure she'll give me the full report, although I think she will be as disappointed as I was that they were not wearing royal robes and crowns.

The forecast was for snow flurries this morning between 3 o'clock and 5 o'clock. I didn't stick my head out the door to to see if that transpired because I think there should be more than a week between sandals and winter boots. Truth is, I have been wearing boots and socks for a couple weeks now. I hate cold feet.

I'm actually thinking about not putting out all my Halloween stuff this year. It's a considerable amount and with Regis's surgery right in the middle of the month, I'm worried that suddenly it will be December 1st and we'll be sitting in a roomful of ghosts and witches. I'll probably succumb tomorrow when Peter is here to tote the bins out of the basement for me.

Gus and I just went to the back yard and there were no snow flurries.

The other day on a trip to the thrift store, I found a vintage red swing coat for $9. A few years ago, I was in a lather to find one and spent a lot of time on the internet looking. And here it was, right there. I'm not sure it's vintage. I asked the woman working there what vintage meant and she said, older than the young women doing the pricing. (I took it to be cleaned, Deb!) It will be a hoot to wear.

I've been vintage fur coat shopping on Etsy. I know, I know. I haven't bought anything but I've done a lot of reading and research.

Here's what vintage means, according to the interwebs: Vintage clothing is defined as previously-owned clothing, that with age, looks better and maintains style. Time is not the only criteria used to define vintage, but rather other elements such as enduring style, perceived quality and accrued value. Vintage clothing usually comes from a different era, but the definition should not be confined only in years.

I'm not sure all the stuff hanging on that rack fits this definition. I think polyester pull-over blouses are not examples of enduring style.

Moving on into the day. Happy Saturday!

ahhhh....what day is it?

I haven't slept well for several days. Tuesday night I was awake by 3am. Wednesday night, I was awake between midnight and 6am when I fell asleep for another hour and missed my workout appointment. Thursday night I fell asleep at 3am and woke up to the alarm at 6am.

The sort of good news is that I had to go in for an endoscopy this morning. It's only what the doc calls surveillance so no need for concern. I've had these before and they make it pretty painless. And so the good news part of this is that the Versed and Fentanyl they gave me were a great gift of relaxation, then sleep.

I can be a bit of a handful as a patient since I had a bad experience with an endoscopy without sedation once. The medical people who recommended that should try it themselves and see how they like it. The next time, memories of that led me to grip the handrails of the gurney on the way to the procedure room and tell everyone in a panicked voice that I am a nervous patient and they shouldn't let me choke. I burst into tears the time after that when told that the doctor I expected to do the procedure had been in surgery all night so there was a substitution. A substitute surgeon. Oh, no.

They must have called him and explained because shortly after, the real doctor showed up looking like he was prepared to deal with a recalcitrant child instead of a 55 year old woman. He was making a pinched face. I told him that the notion of having a garden hose put in my throat by a stranger was distressing. He said they always try to use an endoscope but he was patient and kind and in the end, I was sorry for being such a pain in the ass.

We stopped at Guenther's for a bite of breakfast because I was instantly hungry when I woke up since I hadn't eaten since last night. A nice omelet and toast...comfort food.

I came home, crawled back into my bed and went to sleep for almost two hours. Bliss. I just asked Regis when he thought my marbles would come back and he said two weeks. Ah, no.

The wind has been torturous the past two days. It howled all night giving me dreams of parties gone awry, dust bunny sweeping, and wild fires. I've said before that Regis dreams in detail with plots and names. I dream in amorphous blobs and images.

Elliot went to the park this week with his other grandma and grandpa. It's been a trying fall for him with the changes in daycare. Sweet boy.

I have to go lie down again. Thanks for listening!

warming up and getting control

I'm sitting in front of my computer, thinking about River Rock's blog. I have to get the wheels going here to I'll hammer out the contents of my brain on this blog first.

Thinking about writing. I rarely write with a pen anymore. At least not more than signing my name or writing on a card. I am fairly fast at writing on a full keyboard, but NOT on a phone. Not text messages. Regis said I give myself away as a person of the older generation (like this would be a surprise) when I text with one finger. Really? I cannot manage to write anything intelligible with my thumbs.

When I was in high school, my grandma really encouraged me to take typing so I would have something to fall back on. Boy, that's a different time, eh? I wonder if they even teach keyboarding, or whatever the hell you call it, these days.

I am going to watch my online cussing because I read some research that said a lot of online cussing is a sign of sociopathy. It's not the only sign, obviously, but it's one. Hahaha! Not like using the F word is going to cause it.

If you look up sashay in the dictionary, this is the picture.

Two guys taking a nap at the Rock Bend music festival.

This is the photo I was looking for but I got distracted by the other two. I'm not sure I agree completely with this sentiment although I try not to cuss around small children or people who it offensive. I don't cuss loudly in public places but I do find a well-placed F bomb to be healthy for my mind.

I started reading State of Wonder by Ann Patchett this morning. I can feel it calling me....

Back to work. Oh, yeah. The control part of the subject line refers to all the appointments we have in October. What the hell.

happy birthday buns of stone!

On October 1st, 2006, Regis and I started this blog. It had a different purpose when it started than the purpose to which it seems to have evolved. It started as a way to document our 500 miles walk but once we abandoned that adventure, it became mostly a documentation of our imperfect lives...cooking, eating, entertaining, books, Gus, grandchildren, and other miscellaneous observations and commentary. So, happy birthday to my blog!

I think it should be Sunday today as I am not quite ready to take on Monday. Let's just do that, shall we?