Strange Days

It's a strange thing when what you have been trying to avoid most for 8 years becomes the future you must face. First there's a time of relief.  Everything you have done to prevent something from happening ultimately did not work. Huge sense of relief comes with that knowledge. You are no longer trying to hold back the sea. No longer looking for minor positives in the most mundane of medical test results. This fight is over. Relief.

I very much wanted to be one of the ones with my disease that are able to find stable enough ground to just keep going. But my heart seems to be set against this. It just does not want to get smaller. So now it's time for a drastic change.

Thankfully, the bulk of my testing is done for now. There will always be more tests, more pills, but no more big hurtles right now. For this I am grateful. I recently went through a short period of panicking at the thought of being touched. Too many painful intrusions from the medical community I guess. Unfortunately, it translated to freaking out at the thought of someone hugging me or coming into my personal space. I could have almost kept this to myself and my beloved caregivers, but my birthday fell right in the middle of this embarrassment. I didn't follow up with any of my friends to see if they were still coming. If I had talked to them, I probably would have shied them away. I almost didn't show up. But my beloved small group of friends are...I can't even think of the right description right now, but trying to makes me smile. Adventurous, spontaneous, extremely giving, loyal and at times totally forgetful. Which is why they were not there. It makes me happy just knowing that they are in the world just being themselves, doing all that they do.

Now I am trying to plan for a future that I am not sure exists. Legal papers, house repairs, house updates. Lung transplant for a pulmonary hypertension patient is a little tricky. All of my blood vessels are under more pressure, so I am fast to bleed. They will also have me on large doses of anti clotting solution. Then there's the right side of my heart. It's 3 times too big and pumping hard. When my lungs are replaced and the pressure is relieved from my heart, it will keep trying to pump at the same rate. Way to hard and fast for healthy lungs. It's supposed to take a couple of weeks for it to stop trying to compensate. The walls of the right chamber have also thickened up to be able to keep up with my body's needs. Right now I am still okay, but if getting the lungs get drawn out too long then I may have to also have a heart transplant. But we are not there yet. Please give me time to take care of what I need to, but please make this over with soon.

I think about swimming a lot these days. Floating on water. I daydream that there is a pool in our backyard. Nothing deeper than 4 feet. Just big enough to do a handstand in the middle without hitting the edges when my legs come down. A semi circle bench and then a small waterfall in the middle of the seating on one end. Not the huge kind with water going just over the rocks. More like a short waterfall shower so that I can sit on the bench in the pool and have water pour over my head. Salt water pool. In my favorite daydream there is no chlorine smell. Just the sound and feel of water surrounding me and pouring down on me. This is the image and feel that my mind takes me to when I try too hard to think of other things that I cannot change. One more thing I am thankful for.

The Right Words Correctly Felt

There is a popular story amongst PHers, although I do not know that it is exclusively ours but it could be. The story goes that there are two women friends out to lunch. One of them has PH, the other is healthy. The healthy friend is curious and wanting to be supportive, asks what it's like to live with PH. The friend responds by getting up from the table and collecting all of the spoons off of the other tables in the restaurant (probably quite slowly) and brings them back to her friend. She tells her that each day she starts with a certain number of spoons and that each thing she does takes away from that number. Start the day with just a few spoons and it doesn't take much to run through your supply.

Personally, I never liked stories like these. Too....cutsie.  But it gives a quick language between PHers that provides comfort and immediate empathy. The story also narrates to others outside of our world what it's like for us. But still, spoons just aren't my thing. I guess I am a little grateful that the woman didn't grab all of the knives from the other tables. "The Knife Story" seems like it should narrate something a little different. Although the facebook posts could get interesting. "So many things to do today, and I've already run out of knives."  Or if they had been at a cheap fast food place, thus naming it "The Spork Story".

Last month my family and I staid the weekend in Beavers Bend. We used to do this every year, but over time - actually almost all at once, many of us left home for other states.  Now some of us are back, all of us are older, and having these weekends together is even more special. At least to me they are. I'm not doing any roller skating in front of the cabins anymore, and I don't think any of us own a tennis racket. But we did sit outside and blow bubbles. We went on a train ride, grilled, played games.

I've found that family relationships get trickier and yet simpler as I've gotten older. I still hope the best for everyone, but it seems to hurt my feelings more now when I see them making excuses for unfortunate behavior. I know the reality of my situation, and I think my family does too, and not talking about it is kind of my way of staying positive. But too much watching others behave poorly kind of weakens the resolve to stay private. Well, that and tiredness. Tiredness always spills the beans. I bet some extra spoons would help clean that mess up. That paragraph barely makes sense. Must need nap.

And so I divulged to a few family members in a weak moment that things were not getting better. I am not holding stable, that everything I do in hopes of this has showed little effect. I told them I felt like I was caught in a mudslide moving quickly down a mountain and there was nothing I could do to stop from being devoured.

This month our PH support group meeting was a little different. We spoke to a group of people with various other lung conditions. During our story sharing it very unexpectedly came out that many of us do feel like we are at the edge of some presipice looking down. Walking on the edge of a cliff, at the top of a roller coaster about to drop down. How's that for relatable Spoon Story?

And Then Everything Changed Again

I have been losing track of time. I think it was almost a year ago that I changed PH doctors. About a week later I was put on a schedule of Flolan increases. I'm truly hoping the next time I read this post that a cure has been found and what I have put my body through will be a distant memory. Actually, lunch today is a distant memory so safe bet that even without the cure I am going to block most of this out. Oh bother.

Each increase, done every two weeks, has been a new adventure. For one of them I was really sleepy until the next increase when I had a headache until two days before the next increase. That one brought nausea. Some are a random combo of side effects. I now have a box of immodium at each of my caregivers homes, along with pain and nausea meds. I lost 20 pounds last year and I sleep with oxygen on. I also use it after meals and whenever someone just offers to turn on Darth Vader. Not so named for its looks, but rather for its sound as it pumps air down a canula to me.

 My platelets have staid down, so this past year has seen some pretty spectacular bruises. Most notable would be the black eye I gave myself from rubbing my temples during one of my two week headaches. That one just laughed at pain meds. Next notable was when I rolled out of bed hitting and taking with me the nightstand drawer. My cheek hit the corner of the table, my arms landed hard on my porcelain trash can and bed frame sideboards. It didn't help that our bed sits high. So many bruises. Karl was concerned about being seen with me in public. Thankfully, the weather was cooler that usual and wearing a cardigan everywhere was not out of place. Must remember to not roll out of bed during summer. And there really was no reason for it to happen. I was awake, my tableside lamp was on. I think the only reason why I went over was because my pillows were arranged a little funny. I was rolling over and the pillows kind of kept me going in that direction.

So many events that I had to cut short, not getting to spend as much time or even any time with loved ones. Snapping more for no reason at all. I noticed a pattern of prolific imaginative cursing whenever I was tired, so I trained myself to say "biscuits" instead. Jane still recognizes it as being fowl language and will still leave the room even when I whisper "biscuits". At least it's more socially acceptable in the children's section of Target.

Having PH was already life limiting. Adding on med increases takes away so much more. But then there's the hope that it will all be worth it. That when you are done increasing, you will have gained health back and will be able to make up for the time you lost.

And then sometimes it goes the other way. I don't know why, but my heart is just unwilling to fully cooperate. My last MRI showed that the left side of my heart does have a little more room to beat, but the right side is still three times too big.  The blood test that measures the amount of heart damage I have is getting worse and faster. But still we hope. Still we do these increases. And another MRI is just over a month away. I'm guessing that afterwards I will be told that I will have to be on the lung transplant list again. This time it will be for real. I'm getting around pretty well, but with the stress that my heart is under, the worry is that I will go to sleep and then just not wake up. It's a little strange to wake up from even a nap feeling relieved to do so.

So I am flailing. I've started going to an energy healer about twice a month. Having enforced meditation time has been very relaxing and I always leave feeling happier. I have started seeing a personal trainer twice a week. If there is a chance that I am going to being having a major surgery, I want to make sure I have as much strength as I can muster. I enjoy the workouts even though I think the pain of creating new leg muscles is cruel for someone on diuretics.

I worry for my husband and family. I knew that death was part of life, that was the package deal. What made me fully understand this was losing my dad. Living without someone, even a person that you had problems with, is hard. Not having their voice in this world, them not being reachable, knowing that their experiences here have stopped, that's harsh. It's hard to figure out how to live that way. I see people on facebook who are obviously unable do so. I very much want to spare my husband and family and friends this experience. Ugh. I have got to stop moving the tissue around the house. I shop at Costco, there is no excuse for this.

I have got to get some sleep. This was a good start. It's nice to get this all down. Whenever I think on these things, my mind floats me back up with hope that maybe this round of increases will work, that I shouldn't worry because everything could work out and then I would have wasted perfectly good time worrying. We could find out that pixie sticks cure PH. Anything is possible.

Just.. Ugh... Everywhere

As I am sure I have mentioned many times before, I am on massive diuretics. My heart and kidneys just can't handle my water addiction, so I take lots of little white pills. An inconvenience, but whatever. The annoying part is how often I'm in the loo. I sometimes feel like I have visited every public restroom in the greater DFW metroplex. All of this sitting has taught me a few lessons and I now have a bit of a personal manifesto.  I have considered mass mailing parts of my list to gas stations and restaurants. Undecided on whether or not to include a complementary air freshener.

Always put toilet paper on the seat before you sit. This insures that you know ahead of time about any water droplets left behind and if there is enough toilet paper on the ring. This is a vital step that I believe is worth a few seconds of closed knee dancing.

Bathroom doors should always have a coat hook. Two would be better. Locks should be regularly checked and repaired when needed. Having to hold your purse on your shoulder and keep one foot against a door of the handicap stall takes practiced balance.  Not that I often use the handicap stall, it's just that sometimes you aren't given a choice.

There should always be a trashcan next to the door. I have a preference for grabbing bathroom doorhandles with the paper towel that I dried my hands off with. My 3 to 5 ft. dunking skills are pretty great, but an extra trash bin is just courteous.

I absolutely hate it when the floors are wet. I don't want to have to worry over whether or not my long line touched the floor. The line would be okay, but I keep it tucked against me or in my pocket, so...ew.

All this being said, let me tell you about how I tagged two bathrooms in one week.

One was in the emergency room. I had a pump malfunction and had gotten a bolus of my heart medication. The malfunction was totally different from any of the others that I had before, and I truly thought that the problem was with the internal part of the line. I had never had a bolus before and I thought I was going to have a heart attack. The whole thing was just weird.

Of course, if I had thought about it for more than a second, I would have remembered that I was using a new refurbished pump and I would have started by trading it out with my old reliable one. But I didn't think of the obvious until I was already in the emergency room being x-rayed, stuck with rather large needles and hooked up with my very own ekg. Sticky tape everywhere.

They had me take my shirt off and put on one of their gowns, but let me know that I could keep my jeans on. I thought this was a benefit. Then I was asked to give a urine sample.

I had my pump on my shoulder, jeans around my knees, trying to keep 10 yards of hospital gown and long line out of the toilet while holding a coffee mug sized sample cup between my legs, desperately hoping that I was capturing anything because I had somehow gone into silent mode.

Well my cup runneth over. This was something that I could not see until I was prying it out from between my knees. The cup was covered in urine but I couldn't do much about it in my current position. I tried to utilize the closest ledge, but it was half the width of the huge cup and it tilted towards me. I opted for the equally uneven sink thinking that with it I at least had a 50/50 chance that it would fall into the sink and not on me.

I gratefully used one of the wipes they provided and somehow managed to get dressed and quickly got the lid on the cup. Urine immediately started leaking from the top and onto the sink and floor. I couldn't figure out what the problem was, and I couldn't make it stop leaking. So, handling it like an explosive, I took it back to the toilet and slowly removed the lid. I finally figured out that the flimsy handle on the cup had a leak. I resealed the container and then looked around the small room surveying the damage. It looked like a small boy tried aiming while chasing a squirrel. I cleaned up as best as I could. The whole thing made me feel like Leslie Nielsen was going to bust in at any moment.

I was in there so long that my nurse finally came to check on me. Nothing like being 37 and having someone ask if you need help doing something you've written a manifesto for.

High on the rush of my first act of nature's vandalism, I tagged a Starbucks. Actually, I tagged myself at a Starbucks. I try very hard to buy a little something from the places that I intend to quickly use and then quickly forget about. Gas stations make this easier for me by providing oversized peanut butter cups for my travelling companion.  Starbucks actually poses a slightly greater challenge because of the need for strategic caffeinating. Best not to get hopped up on lattes late at night when you already have an insomnia problem. But oh the temptation.

It was dinner time, my mom and I were heading home from the mega grocery store, and I very suddenly absolutely had to stop. Thankfully, there was a coffee shop oasis just seconds away. I think that if I visited there on a more regular basis that maybe I would not have been so distracted with all of the coffees and sandwiches. Must...not...order...latte. I tried to pick out my snack en route so it would be ready by the time I reemerged a lighter woman, but there were too many choices. The slight slow down was my downfall. I made it to my destination and all was going well until I saw that I had left the door unlocked to the single throne room that I was occupying. All cushioned seating was taken outside my door that just happened to open out directly to the room. Anyone else trying to occupy my space would have given everyone a glimpse of my one woman show. The door could not remain unlocked. I tried with my best muscle control to stop midstream to push the button, but I failed like Jane when she rushes from her squatting place when being asked if she wants to go to the park. Except I did not also twirl like she does.

Turns out, the door was locked the whole time. I hadn't realized that it was an "outie" I cleaned up as best I could, and then confused my mom by turning down food (free food!). I think I said something like, "Yeah... we should go now." I wonder if the baristas noticed that I tipped without ordering.

Lessons learned: When given a hospital gown, just get undressed. Inspect any small plastic cup that you are going to pee in for cracks. Hospital cleaning staff needs a tip jar. Double check bathroom locks before unzipping anything. Carry hand sanitizer. Starbucks sells decaf lattes and passion lemonade iced tea.

Something's Missing

If you told me that someday I would miss a man that cackles like an old woman, manic to distraction, and still pulled stunts like peeing in his sister's shampoo bottle, well I would have told you that you were as crazy as that guy sounds. It's been six years since Dad was killed by a drunk driver, and I miss everything about him. Well, almost everything. That shampoo business was just wrong.

I wish I could say that I honored him well today, that I did and cooked all sorts of fun stuff. Instead I watched sad movies, ate little and napped long. But something that I'm truly thankful for, I had a nice dream about him. I think it's hard enough to have a dream about the person you want to see most, but to do it and have the person look how they are supposed to and act like they are supposed to is darn near impossible for me. Usually my naps include some stressful nightmare. This dream was lovely and fun. When I got up, Pandora played lots of Van Morrison.

A very long time ago, I went to an outdoor Van Morrison concert with him and my family. I was too young to know who I was listening to, and all of the music sounded the same to me. What stayed with me from that night was resting on our picnic blanket and watching the clouds drift. And how happy he was to see this guy sing.

I have a small dark bonus that surprised me. I can't remember the date I was diagnosed with PH. I know it was just the month before he died, but I have no idea when. So many other people that I have met have that date seared in their mind. I can barely remember the moment I was told.  I gotta say, I'm kind of grateful for that. So much about this condition is paralyzingly scary, but having such an immense distraction happen at pretty much the same time really helped to cement that this is just a thing. Today I have PH. Who knows about tomorrow?  It's not something that made his death meaningful or anywhere close to worth it, but it is the tiniest string of silver, and I need every trick to keep my mind on track.

I know I'll be thinking of him even more over the next few days, and I'll try to contain any manic overabundance of cooking, but I will be practicing my crazy hag cackle and my kitchen dancing skills. Just me and Van.

Not The Blue Ribbon I Was Wanting

Winter has awoken, and so has my internal champion weight prized pig. And she is huuungry. Christmas before last, our family lost someone who was deeply cared for. I marked the occasion by putting on 5lbs. I guess over the last two years I had been worried that my 5 would be lonely, so I gave them another 5. Now I'm in no pants land. The size I should be in is snug and the size larger falls down.  My abdomen stays on the tender side because of water retention and my ever changing Flolan Rorschach spots. So it's either wear something that hurts or risk accidentally pantsing myself. I'm starting to see the sense in velour jog suits.

When I was at my if-I-turn-sideways-you-can't-see-me-weight, I was thrilled to put on some poundage. I needed the body fat to stay warm, not get painfully hungry, not fear wooden benches. I don't think you can know the importance of a padded bottom until you sit down hard at a picnic table. The extra weight seems to fit me well, I've gotten more complements than ever. But still....

Somehow this last 10 seems unfair. Like squatters have taken over my thighs. My goal is to evict 5lbs. Doing so will put me back into all of last year's fashions and pants size. So, in an effort to reclaim what is mine, I decided to write down the healthy meals that are easy for me to make and then cross referenced them with what I actually had in the pantry and then made out an excel file of the items (numbering 8) I needed and which stores I would need to go to (numbering 4) . Then I had to clean out the fridge of desserts and dinners past that were not actually going to get eaten, got rid of the stuff that no one should eat, poured over recipe books sure that someone else could come up with better meal plan that did not include protein powder mac&cheese. Grilled my husband on what he liked to eat, tried to come up with a game plan of restaurants that were safe for me to eat at (sushi, Thai, salad bar), realized that even what I actually eat there is never as angelic as I had originally hoped (fried tofu, green curry, opt for pizza instead of salad). Decided that I could no longer be trusted to eat out and must give it up. Mourned the loss of my lunch's out with mini ranger cookies. After 2 hours of making myself crazy, I decided that just paying attention to what I ate would be easier.  Today was going to be the first day.

Pre-Breakfast
1 cup OJ mixed with fresh Pomegranate Cranberry Juice
100 Calories

Breakfast 7a.m
1 cup Buckwheat Flakes with 1/4 Banana and Flax Milk
200 Calories

Snack 10a.m.
1/2 small bag Potato Chips with 1 tbl Salmon Spread and Cherry Coke
310 Calories

Lunch 12:30p.m.
Cheeseburger and Fried Onion Petals with Iced Tea
Oh the humanity! Calories

Stop on the way home 1:15p.m.
Chocolate Croissant and Almond Pastry
Oh the pounds will show up tomorrow, bet they're on your bottom, tomorrow! Calories

Nap to avoid eating anything else 1:37p.m.
Considering a sleeping pill - does it have calories?

3:30p.m.
Woke up waay too soon.
3 bites of Almond Pastry, 1 of Chocolate Croissant
1 Zantac after I remembered that heartburn was the reason I woke up. Pastry did not help.
Doesn't count, still asleep. Calories

Dinner 6:30p.m.
Rotkohl, Steamed Asparagus, Honey's Turkey Meatloaf
No idea, but I didn't use oil, butter, bacon, salt or cheese, so I don't care. Calories

11:30p.m. Bedtime
5 large purple Grapes
? Calories

Okay...sooo. Yeah. How have I not put on 15 lbs? How did I fit all of that food into me? Is there any Cherry Coke left? At least I know that whatever I do tomorrow will automatically be better than what I did today. Especially if I put the cola in Karl's lunch bag.

Runaway Shopping Cart

Day 1, Living Like We're On Food Stamps
Breakfast started late, so I made a quick pad thai, Karl had coffee and I had iced mint green tea. 
Total cost: $1.75

Then we went to Costco.  The experiment was declared dead all of four minutes later. One of our staples was on sale, so we loaded up. A third of the month's food budget was gone. We celebrated by going to Burgers and Brats - I had a veggie burger with onion rings, Karl had the Road Rage Burger with fries. We both had iced teas.
Total cost: $23.46

After my nap, I had a small ramekin of greek yogurt with a bit of blueberry jam and a glass of my iced mint green tea.
Total cost: 50cents.

Dinner was chipotle honey braised chicken with cheesy rice.
Total cost: $5.50.

What I decided to do instead was to create one chart for our monthly expenditures and another for what exactly I'm buying at the grocery store. The second chart also tracked what got used up, and what got tossed. These charts are kept on the front of the refrigerator.

This system has totally worked. 12 days into the month and I have already been shamed into eating out much much less. Our household had collectively eaten out more times than days had gone by for the month. Unfortunately, Jane and Coco cannot be included in the math. If they were, I so would have had Thai food today.

Charmed Life

There have been plenty of times I have opened my adorable mouth and out popped something that I totally regretted. Like, "But you're my Watermelon Man" or "Yes, I would like another margarita" or "Sure, that Zipper ride does look like fun". Lessons learned: no one likes to have confirmation that their tummy resembles in both size and sound a watermelon, never have more than one drink in a night when you haven't had any in a month, and rides that spin in two different ways at one time will become what makes you shudder every time you pass by an amusement park.

My latest faux pas was "You'd have to do it for than a month before you would start to see what it's really like". Two months would have been more like it, but thankfully I did not say that. My innocent statement has signed us up for a month of eating like we're on food stamps. Almost. And really, not at all. But it will be different.

Karl had read on the internet that the Governor of Arizona was going to eat on $27 for one week to see what it was like to be on food stamps in his state. Arizona gives the least amount of food assistance than any other state. He lost four pounds. In the beginning our budget was $54, thinking that we would just double what that guy was doing. Then I looked up what Texas gives, $367 maximum for two people, to it's residence. I liked that number better.

Something else that is giving much relief is that I do not have to take into account what is already in the house. That's the main way that will be much different in our food stamp experience. I'm actually okay with this because I do have quite a bit hoarded away that should be used up. Sales of favorite items can lead to a cluttered closet. I think stocking up on food may be to me what shoes are to other women. Right now I have 8 jars of jam in the pantry, and 8 pairs of shoes in the bedroom closet; 3 pairs that I always wear, 5 that I hardly ever do but will never give up.
I love all of the jams.

Tomorrow will be our first day. What I like least about this experiment is that I am losing my lunches out. On most days I put together a small breakfast for us, lunch for Karl to take to work, a midday snack for me and, on most nights, a dinner. Our small dishwasher is always ready to run or unload and the counters always need wiping down. For my lunch I looove not eating my own cooking or having to clean up after myself. Huge luxury, one that I am not ready to give up. This is the second reason that I am happy to not have to count the food already in the house. It still allows for the possibility of a taco or a springroll, and possibilities make everything better.

When I started my meal planing, the first thing I decided was that I was not going to sacrifice some of my personal food policies. All meat and milk brought into the house will still be organic, grassfed or free range. I know, the end result is that the animal is still be used for food in some way, but I like to buy from people that I at least think are treating them more humanly before they end up on our table. I'm also going to keep buying certain organic foods. Potatoes that don't sprout kind of creep me out.

All of this has mostly just reminded me how lucky we are. We're not about to put a pool in the backyard, but my weekly grocery budget is more than $91 and we still get to eat out. Karl wants to see if it can be done, and with a little adjustment and much complaining on my part, it can. My greatest hope would be... that we get to buy a swimming pool.

Not That Kind Of Girl

You may think with having an incurable heart/lung condition that I would be the constantly praying type, but I'm not. I do think loads of happy thoughts for my challenged organs and I think tons and tons of happy thoughts for loved ones, but very rarely do I ever send out a real prayer. When I do it's usually because someone else has just told me that they have been praying for me or that they need prayers, so I oblige. I know, all of this isn't very Texan of me, but there it is. I also liken telling everyone your religious views to telling everyone what you like to do in the bedroom. All of it is very personal, and none of it is anyone else's business. That being said, there is a point to confessing my praying habits. Don't worry, I'll leave my bedroom out of it.

Something else that I hardly ever do is tell complete strangers about my condition. I also most definitely do not dominate conversations with information about me. I have no need to make hostages out of the people I meet. But all bets are off if I get started on what I made for lunch or dinner. I can talk about that till you fall asleep, and with so much detail that you probably will.

This year I have been helping with the local pulmonary hypertension 5k run and 1m walk. I would tell you the name of it, but it has changed so many times that I no longer know what it is. It may be Zebra PHriends 5k Run and 1m PHun Walk. Our mascot is a purple zebra in running shoes. So many of us are first diagnosed with adult onset asthma that we need doctors to go a bit against training and instead of handing us an inhaler and sending us on our way, we need them to do the unpopular thing and schedule a possibly unnecessary test (echo). In other words, those hoof beats might be a zebra, not a horse.

We've gotten so much help with fundraising I've been a bit overwhelmed. Neither Mom nor I have asked for funds before and the experience has been terrifying and amazing. The first person we asked for money is the man who owns our favorite local Italian restaurant. He gets asked so often (the first of many times that we would hear this) and he usually turns people away, but instead he was our first donator. We were so nervous excited that my mom accidentally knocked over and broke her water glass when we got back to our table. Still not sure if maybe we should have given that gift certificate back. They shrugged it off, but I still do not recommend smashing stuff as a celebratory act after someone gives you money.

And that's how the roller coaster ride started. In a flurry of e-mails, meetings, printings, towns officially recognizing a pulmonary hypertension month, and a dinner, everything was coming together. Everything but the media.

Most of my time is spent grocery shopping, resting, napping or cooking. My group of friends is much beloved, but very small and also very far away. When the subject of getting our name publicly out into the world came up, I automatically knew that I was not going to be the person to do it. But still, I recognized the importance (HUGE!) of it, and so I prayed.  Someone with connections contacted me, but still not knowing what to do with the information, I passed it on to our group leader.  Pretty much all I was certain I could do was hope that someone else in our group would get inspired. That, and pray.

I do hope I've properly painted the picture of two women (Mom and myself) who have no idea what they are doing and who constantly feel like maybe someone else should be in charge. Even after all of our accomplishments and successes.

This morning we met with Parks and Recreation in Coppell to start finalizing our plans for race day.  Even though Mom confirmed our appointment yesterday, we were not on the books for today. We were the third ones there and if it hadn't been for the niceness of the guy who showed up after us, we would have been selected last for the day. An unexpected benefit of the lateness is that the woman on our committee who should most definitely be in charge of doing all of this organizing stuff was also able to attend.

My last right heart cath a few weeks ago was less than stellar. My orders have been to increase my flolan once a week for 6 weeks. Last year I increased 3 times total. Last night I finally had to add an extra vial to the mix. I pretty much feel retched. Leading up to the meeting and all through it my mantra was "don't hurl on the table, don't hurl on the table". Thankfully, I did not hurl on the table, but after a couple of hours my morning apple apricot sauce was gone and the particular pain and nausea that accompanies flolan is quite unique.  I either needed food or a trashcan. I haven't been to Cafe Express in a year, but it suddenly sounded like the best place ever. Amazingly we were heading right for it. Massive water pills had kicked in so when we got to our destination I about jumped out of the car for the lady's room.

If the Parks Department had seen us on time, then I would not have been so hungry when we left, my water pills would not have gone active when I was on the road, if I had gone into the restaurant with my mom instead of bolting out of the car, then I never would have met Melissa d'Arabian from the Food Network in the lady's room of Cafe Express. I wouldn't have gone with my mom to Williams Sonoma for her book signing after our lunch.  We wouldn't have taken one look at the huge line and decided to leave, we wouldn't have met the nicest cashier who I amazingly told that I would not be able to stay for the signing after all because of my heart/lung condition, and wouldn't have found out that her mom had a lung condition, I wouldn't have bought a new cookbook, or been taken to the front of the line where I had my picture taken with and had my book signed by Melissa d'Arabian, I would never have given her information on our race and pulmonary hypertension and let her know that I had been praying to meet someone that could help us get the word out about our cause, I wouldn't have been given the chance to let that nice sales lady know that I was going to pray for her, and Mom would never have wept a little in a Williams Sonoma because the whole experience was just too sweet.

I still can't believe that I met Melissa d'Arabian in a lady's room and I am extremely thankful that I did not hurl on her.

Where Am I & Who's Snoring?

Oh geez, I could remember what I wanted to write about before I took that nap, now all I can remember is that I wanted to get some thoughts down before I forgot them.  I should have skipped the nap. Then again, I may be one step closer to being able to answer the question, "what came first, the pillow face or the drool?" I'll give you a hint - the crease on my face is 3 inches long, the diameter of the drool is 2 inches.  Now I need a mathematical equation for rate of creasage vs droolage.

I have never been a graceful napper. I complain and pout on the way to bed, I stay awake way too long once I'm there, and then I sleep as if I had been boozing it up. 9 times out of 10 I wake up because the setting sun is blinding me and the swimming with Freddy Krueger dream was starting to get weird. And then begins what I like to call the Red Queen Hour, where the answer to all questions is "Off with their head!"

My mother, aunt and grandfather are/were spectacular nappers. All of the world's problems could be solved with a nap. My mom is able to conjure dreams of flying and fuzzy bunnies and kittens. I conjure geometry classes and hitmen. I am never teaching the geometry class but I do get to change if I am the hitman or the hit.

All I can remember now pre-nap is that Kate and Marg have both requested more writing from me, and the combination of the two was finally enough to inspire me to do it. And then the dreaded nap and now all is forgotten. That trick is really only handy if there is a fight I want to quickly get over, an expensive shopping receipt whose location I would like to forget or half a mushroom pizza that I would like to pretend is not in my stomach.

Ugh! This is so frustrating!! Off with their heads!!!! (not Kate and Marg- I love them both and wish them happy flying bunny dreams)

note:
Karl came up with mathematical equation.
crease times drool divided by pillow time equals honey
It looks better on paper.

Autofocus

My oh my but a long time has gone by. Almost a year since my last entry. I'm feeling a bit rusty already. I had originally put off writing anything for a bit because I was going to be taking a weekly pottery class and I thought zaniness would ensue and funny stories would be abundant. Instead, I missed a few classes because of a cold, an ice storm, and almost worthless legs from too many leg strengthening excericises perscribed by a maniacally happy chiropractor. I knew I was going to skip my next class because I had to ask Karl to help me get up from the toilet. And of course I'm on loads of water pills.

Turns out I have little natural skill at throwing clay. On a wheel or at the wall. I was behind everyone else in my class and did not come close to using up all of my clay. Ugh, just remembered that I left several pieces there. I really should have thought twice about taking a 3 hour long class that was 45 minutes away.

 

In the spring Karl and I went to Scarborough Fair. It was his first time there. Karl had never before seen so much inappropriately used synthetic material. Ever. I rode a small elephant, pet a goose and came away with the plague. Yep, it took the doc about a half second to diagnose me with shingles. A few very painful weeks later and I was no longer going braless in Walmart (I was quite popular during that time) and then the hottest summer ever began. I know I got out into the world, I know I had some fun, but right now all I can remember is the heat. Oh, and Karl went to Germany with his dad for 3 weeks just for the hell of it. Very cool.

  

I had a master plan of leaving Texas for the summer, but a nagging feeling and constantly rescheduled doctor's appointments kept me in town. Doctor's visits came back all good, and the nagging feeling turned into a lost filling and a root canal. I would have much rather been elsewhere, but it was nice to get those things out of the way.

 

Now we're heading into autumn, Karl has taken up running and finished his first race in 18 years this past Saturday. From his age group (40 -44) he was #16 out of 48 other men. He's really excited about his next race, and the one after that. He's also looking into taking some classes for fun at the local college. If I were to guess, I would say on the history of anything, but that man does often surprise me.

 

I am in a bit of limbo. My birthday is in one month and if I do not renew my massage license that I have not used in 5 years, then it expires. To get my license back I would have to retake the state exam. If I renew it then I will need about $450 for this and last year's fees and a couple of online ceu courses. Money that I do not have pretty much because of that art class, Scarborough Fair (with a couple of days in Austin), several doctor's appointments, a root canal and a replacement pair of eyeglasses. Somewhere in Paris, Tx my glasses are having fun.

 

I really hate to let that part of my identity go, but it has been 5 years and I was a massage therapist for only one year. One really great year. It feels like life is lacking a bit of focus lately. I'm not a fan of wanting to be told what it is I should be doing in life, or at least aiming for, but just now I kind of wouldn't mind a little help.

  

I think the only thing for it right now is to finish my now cold chamomile tea, sleep well and enjoy whatever tomorrow brings.

TV Made Me Do It

There is nothing like having pizza for dinner and then remembering just as you crawl off to bed that you did not take your evening pills. Skipping them means you'll be out of breathe halfway through brushing your teeth and then you'll curse having such a high bed. Taking them means you'll be up every 2 hours of the night. Outside I can hear the storm moving in, the cold wind is blowing. I think I have to vote for skip the pills. Not interesting in checking on just how cold the toilet seat can get tonight.

The Superbowl starts this weekend, so you know what that means. Tons of commercials for Velveeta and pizza, both of which I now have wicked daily cravings for. In an effort to keep from having to buy new pants, I've gone for a cross between abstinence and adjustment.

The Velveeta that I bought is in the smallest package available and is made from 2% milk. Never mind that I am about to finish the last of my second package in a month. I have been trying to stick to vegetarian pizza, performing a kind of surgery on the slices to remove as much extraneous bread as possible and also only eating the pizza that I really really want. My favorite pizza is a solid half hour out of my way to anywhere, so that helps.

Tonight we tried a local place that I have read some really good reviews for. One person from Chicago gave the deep dish 4 stars. The pizza we got was awful. The only thing I can figure is that the reviewer ate only at Domino's and Cici's. I take that back, Cici's is better than what we had tonight. I think tonight's pizza has saved me from any cheese addiction that winter and the Superbowl have brought on.

I may be skipping the evening pills, but I am most definitely taking a tummy pill. I really hope that my diet tomorrow puts rabbits to shame. I also really hope I don't have that dream about a giant deep dish pizza and his mushroom sidekick are trying to eat me. Not that I have had that dream, I'm just saying if it's going to happen, then I think tonight is the night.

Don't Wanna, Can't Make Me

Karl and I recently took off to Galveston for 24 hours. The day before his 2 days off, I realized that we could either blow town or take care of a greatly mounting list of to-do's. I had Karl's consent and a hotel booked within a half hour.

We left early enough the next day to have a late lunch close to the seawall. We topped our po' boys off with an afternoon nap that lasted until dinner time. Ah, the life of the lazy. Personally, I kind of hate naps, so mine was a bit shorter than his. I knew I had to resist the temptation of jumping on the bed, so I decided to be just a bit responsible and actually write out my Don't Wanna Do and Want To Do lists. Sadly, the former was much longer. To be fair, the Want To Do list would have been longer, but the "bad" list was so long that it made me a bit blue and good times got harder to think of. We enjoyed the rest of our time in Galveston and the list was not spoken of once. We were so good at ignoring the list that we continued our silence on the topic even after we got home. And for the next couple of days.

My dreams were just about the only thing that kept the list from being totally discarded. Lots of stressful action sequences. I have played characters in Crouching Tiger, Lord of the Rings and some version of King Arthur crossed with the Matrix.

Actually, I think the Lord of the Rings was a shout out for my medicine. I was Frodo and another random hobbit was telling me how the ring was so awful and how they would never be able to bear that burden. I was thinking, yeah, but if you knew how bad it really was, you would carry it, too. Thankfully, flolan themes rarely invade my sleeping hours. Flolan is invasive, but the PH is debilitating. It's worth it to carry the medicine.

3 days have gone by since the list's conception, and it has only grown. Tasks include paying the house taxes before the end of the month, calling a friend that I haven't talked to in such a long time, not for the purpose of chatting, but because I have something that only they can repair, calling various repairmen for non-vital but comfort improving repairs, and I truly cannot remember anything else right now without getting out the list which I have hidden somewhere. Okay, I know where, but you'll never get it out of me.

I have so much time to take care of these things, you would think I would just get them done instead of prolonging the avoidance. Anyways, I have stalled too long today to get anything done, and I'm fighting off a cold and the hot toddy I have been sipping on is insisting on me getting some sleep now. I hope I get to have a Narnia dream tonight.

When The Moon Hits Your Thighs

Winter is upon us and so are the pizza cravings. I would say that I am just trying to put on a little winter weight, but squirrels have taught me that I was supposed to have done this during the fall and I should be fasting right now. Instead, all I can think of is pizza.

I used to be satisfied with any ol' pizza. This was back in my elementary school days. I didn't care what kind of pizza it was, I just wanted the pizza. Probably more than french fries, probably less than a lollipop jewel ring. It wasn't until I heard my dad saying that Chuck E Cheese's pizza tasted like cardboard that I started to think about what the pizza really tasted like. I still ate whatever was put in front of me, but those slanderous words would haunt me the rest of my life.

Oh so slowly I began to turn against fast food pizza. The crust was too thick, or the sauce too sweet or our house was the last on the delivery route and the cheese had already begun to revert back to plastic. Still, the cravings persisted, although with less frequency.

Pizza restaurants have renewed my cheesy interests. Thin crust pizza truly made when you order it. Hawaiian pizza is awesome, but lately I have had a love for a tomato sauce pizza with cheese, mushrooms, basil and thin tomato slices. Big fat basil leaves would vastly improve the fast food world.

Then, last Christmas I went to a cheap pizza buffet with family. Perfect way to fill up kids high off of present opening. I turned my nose up to most of the pies and had decided to stick with water when a hot fresh pepperoni jalapeno pizza was laid out in front of me. One slice and I was hooked. Half a pizza later and I was ready for a nap. And a gallon of water.

It took a couple of more visits and a friend getting a bladder infection from overdosing on bread to realize the pizza really did taste a bit like pepperoni jalapeno cardboard. Finding my perfect pizza restaurant sealed the deal. Unfortunately, the golden pie is 30 minutes away, which is close enough for an indulgence every month or two but far away enough to give me time to decide that I do want to cook dinner.

Wow, I have to stop writing this now or I am going to have to make a pizza out of... celery. I have got to learn how to make my own pizza and then keep those ingredients onhand. Maybe Karl wouldn't mind driving a half hour out of his way when he comes home tonight. Maybe I should make a vegetable stew - I've put on 3 pounds of weight this winter, most of which I suspect is my Italian addiction. Enough! Vegetable stew it is! Or maybe barbeque.

The Squeaky Wheel Lives Forever!

When we moved into our first house in Fort Worth, I said that the first thing I was going to do was to rip out that awful 100 year old green carpeting on the 3 steps leading to our bedroom. Someone had a some point glued on a strip of really thin grey carpeting down the middle of the steps. I don't know why you would want to spend an extra cent to keep that stuff looking new. I am quite sure that particular carpet came off the line looking old. The carpet staid until the dog couldn't stand it anymore and ripped it out herself. Pretty much all in one go. 4 years had gone by and this was the project I vowed to take care of first.

We are in a new house now, and again, the first thing I was going to do was to fix the Banshee Door. Actually, first was going to be to install gas logs in the fireplace. This Christmas we gave our house the gift of gas logs. Now I just need to make the call to have them properly installed. To bad that phone isn't just a couple of inches closer.

Back to the Banshee Door. It leads to the master bathroom which at 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. is my water closet of choice. I could use the one off of the living room, but this increases my chances of stumbling over a furry animal or shoes that have (yet again!) been left in my pathway. Okay, usually the shoes are mine. Anyways.

If the door was just squeaky that would be one thing, but ours contains a family of at least 3 banshees. It happens the same every night, twice a night. I carefully pull the door open, but the first and youngest banshee has been waiting for me and starts the alarm. 3 inches is not wide enough for me to squeeze through, and so I open the door wider hoping the sound does not get worse. But no, the second banshee has awoken, adds her voice to the first and then wakes up the third sister. Shrieks are coming from the hinges so loudly and shrilly that the dog who sleeps outside 2 houses down starts barking. Karl is always awake when I crawl back into bed. All who hear the banshee cry are cursed.

Somehow, the only time I can remember to buy WD-40 is when I have just opened that awful door. Sleep erases all memory of their hauntings. Today is pretty much the first day that I have been able to retain what occurred during the night and I know what must be done. My only chore for the day is to go to the hardware store, buy the WD-40, possibly get it blessed, and then apply it to the door. Please, please, let me remember to do all of this one thing today.

Update: January 31, 2011
WD-40 has still not been bought. It is now time to go to bed. The Banshee Door Survives another night.

Bubbly And Bobby

The women of my family are notorious lightweights. 2 glasses of champagne and we're completely silly. My aunt, my mother and I all spent this New Years trying to finish off two bottles of bubbly. The bubbly won, but really only because we accidentally froze the last part of the last bottle. We tried warming it up next to the fire, but once we finally noticed that it was ready to drink, the bottle was too hot to pass around. There was dancing, laughing, Mom kept running into me saying that it was a legal hockey move. We watched Ladyhawke and then wobbled off to bed.

No one drank to the point of crying, although there was reason enough to do so. All three of us were apart from our men, all for different reasons.

New Years has never been one of the important nights for Karl and I because retail has beat it out of us. Stores still close early enough to be able to enjoy the celebrations, but champagne guzzling does not mix well with early rising. Karl's team is all younger than him and so we both prefer to try and give them the morning off. My sadness came from being away from home. He had come to see me just a few days earlier, but still, I was missing our quiet days together rocking on the porch with Coco and Jane close by. There is no place like home.

Mom had not seen her husband since before Christmas and New Year's is a very big deal for them. His family is in Canada, hers are in Texas. Spending New Year's together has been a wonderful compromise to avoid travel on Christmas day. Besides, starting the year together is kind of an ultimate date night.

And then my aunt, Ruth Ann. Her fiance had died suddenly just four days earlier. She had last seen him Monday morning, but had been unable to be close to him when he died. And so from that night till a week later, we staid close to her.

It's surprising how events around a death speed up, as if the world is trying to fill a vacuum that the person left. The phone rang constantly, arrangements were being made, dismissed and then remade. Unwanted drama upon unwanted drama. The brother that no one wanted to talk to, the windshield that got bashed in during the night, the unexpected house guests. All 7 cats went into high gear naughtiness mode. So many flower vases to knock over onto original copies of documents, so little time.

I have been home 5 days now, and time has been so slow here that months must have past by at my aunt's house. Today is Bobby's memorial, and it's a beautiful blue skied day.

Just a bit ago I was sending a message to someone that had the word "prayers" in it. Sometimes my forgetfulness affects my spelling, so I starting typing "prayers" in the searchbox on my computer, hoping that the word did not have 2 a's in it. I barely had the word spelt when the dropdown box gave me my suggested spelling along with another word. It read "Prayers for Bobby".

Turns out there is a movie with this title, but still what are the chances that on a yahoo searchbox the first spelling suggestion for my word is a full phrase with the name of the man who we just lost?

Coco and Jane are napping in the sun, the sky is blue, I have a warm blanket wrapped around me and I am sending my best wishes of peace and happiness to Ruth Ann.

A Woman's Il-logic

I rarely start a fight when I think I might possibly be in the wrong, but it does happen. I am usually right. On occasion, it is necessary to apologize to my husband even though he was most definitely in the wrong. I am grateful during these times that he has been satisfied by my "sorrys" through clenched teeth with a look of death in my eyes.

Logically, I cannot always be right (grrr). I am pretty sure that it is not actually acceptable to start a fight because my husband is not able to locate the butter in the refrigerator, even though it is kept behind the little clear door in the fridge marked "butter" causing me to get up from a very cozy position on the couch. For the hundredth time.

Slight matters of il-logic also play a part in packing, which brings me to today. I am throwing a handicap placard burning party today. When I got the placard 4 years ago, my husband had worried that I would not be around to renew it. My blue pass expires this month, so my genius husband (I know, I know - now I call him a genius) said we should throw a party. Mom and Dirk's house is twice the size of mine and has a lake in back, so they graciously offered their place for us to use. One of my guests is my aunt who stayed with us last night.

This morning she came into the living room complaining about her lack of under packing. It seems as though there are only two ways to pack 1) as if you will never see home again and you will only ever have what you bring with you 2) as if you were backpacking in Europe where no one you know will ever have knowledge that you did not use eyeliner for a month.

(blog abruptly ended because of excitement over potential shopping and lunch with aunt)

Fried Bacon, Frutti Di Mare & Food Poisoning

Today Karl and I went to the Texas State Fair. This is the second year we have braved the Dallas traffic to pay heartily for the privilege to pet a calf, sample hot sauce and avoid the paths of aimlessly spinning unattended children covered in red slushy and powdered sugar.

Karl's days off have felt so random lately. Meetings get scheduled at the last second, another store needs help, or he very understandably gets his days off mixed up. This is how later on this week he will be going with me to get my hair cut instead of visiting the heart doctor. I thought that surely since he had a free day that the world would intervene. Apparently even the world likes a Fair Day.

We started our adventure by going to the bank. Last year's visit taught us that things generally cost money. I guess I was all geared up for a Fletcher's corny dog, because my stomach was going crazy. I thought Karl's idea to stop for fast food close to the bank was pure genius. Thank goodness for jr. cheeseburgers. And husbands who order double cheeseburgers with jalapenos that fall out the bottom of the sandwich after the first bite. It was my Texas duty to save them.

The weather was just about perfect for walking around. Nice and cool with blue skies. A couple of hours later and the Texas Glare was in full force. I had on sunglasses and a baseball cap, but somehow the brightness of everything was still overwhelming. I'm sure the temperature had crept up a little bit, but it was still... oh right, I had forgotten. The later part of summer has been hard on me, and I've spent so much down time that my endurance is a bit low. Disappointing for the girl who just a month ago had her best 6 minute walk test time ever.

The heat makes everything hard. Even when I spend the day inside with the air on. It gets hard to remember anything. Weeks after it has cooled down and I'm running around everywhere, I'll look back on summer and wonder what happened. So here's your reminder, Honey. You were prostrate with heat at the fair. At least it afforded the opportunity to watch spontaneous line-dancing. Got to love Texas!

The Texas State Fair has become famous for frying up things that had previously only been accidentally fried. Fried butter, fried cola, fried beer. For the past few years official judgement has been past on these culinary stomach aches. 2 will win, one for creativity, one for taste. The butter, cola and beer all won for creativity, none for taste. The fried bacon, however, was a 2008 taste winner. Talking Karl into spitting some with me was a non issue. That poor bacon. It was just awful. Even with barbecue sauce. So sad that someone took a perfectly good animal and turned it into that. The queasiness of that bacon stayed with us both for the rest of the day.

We sampled wine, pet a calf and toured the Made in Texas barn. I think that is my favorite barn. I know, the others have livestock and cute fuzzy bunnies, but the Made in Texas barn has free samples of food that are made in Texas. And I like the ecological displays. Last year I did the fair in a wheelchair, and we saw every last corner of the place. This year I walked it, and decided that staring from the path was well enough.

Finally, it was time for the corny dog. This year they offered one stuffed with cheese and jalapenos, both of which were near invisible. Last year was the first time that I had ever had a Fletcher's. I think this year will be the last.

We greatly considered walking to the Butterfly Museum, but it was a little too far from where we were at and I wasn't sure that once I got there I would be up for spending time in such a humid place. You can pretty much see the air in there. In previous years I had stayed away from butterfly museums because I thought it was going to be rooms of butterflys pinned to paper. I had no idea that they would be alive and well flying around in basically an oversized greenhouse.

Thankfully, Dallas was happy today and let us return home quickly. The couch was a gracious and welcoming hostess, but it seemed to me too soon when we got hungry again. Apparently, even if it's greasy, a jr. cheeseburger, a piece of bacon and half a corny dog will not fill me up for the day. This was actually pretty much okay with me. I had plans. Big plans.

A couple of days ago I was at the good grocery store and bought a combination of seafood that I had not purchased before. I have made sea scallops and shrimp, but I have never used calamari. What I am most proud of is that I cooked the seafood perfectly. I have a tendency to overcook proteins, so any step forward is cause for a celebration. I can understand wanting to impart safe cooking methods, but telling a child with a vivid imagination that something needs to be cooked until it's dead means that you risk creating an adult who loves a medium-rare steak, but can only make it well-well-done. Too bad the statement didn't inspire vegetarism.

My next hurtle for this dish will be to use mussels in it and to not overcook the pasta. I used one made with rice flour and had forgotten to remove it from the heat when the timer went off. Next time I think I might make it with just chunks of toasted bread.

I think it's time to take a shortcut and right down the recipe, because I am pretty sure that the next time I read this I will have no idea what I put together. I sauteed scallops, shrimp and calamari with olive oil and a bit of spicy seasoning, diced tomatoes and served it with pasta. I also made a side of artichoke hearts, baby tomatoes (all colors, very pretty), basil with small toasted bread from the bakery. Simple, but yummy.

I was so happy with my dinner that I decided to treat myself to a dessert drink. I remembered that I had bought small packages of chocolate soy milk, so I mixed that with a bit of vanilla vodka. Very tasty. Until the stomach cramps came. I can't believe I had forgotten that my stomach really hates chocolate soy milk. Hopefully, I will never make that mistake again. I suspected the seafood at first, but Karl was fine and he had eaten more of it than I had.

I spent the rest of the night moaning. In the bad way, ugh! I was rewarded for my illness with a couple of blessed hours of sleep until I woke up ravenous hungry. So unfair. I know it must be strange, but I get really frustrated with growling stomachs. I don't mind eating, I obviously really enjoy it, but I want it to be on my schedule. I love the planning and the making of something that I have never made, or something that I know I make well, and I'll enjoy it to it's fullest. To have my stomach say "Now" seems rude to me.

Oh well. I think the computer has made my eyes sleepy enough and this blog has gotten a bit of the day's excitement out of me, so hopefully I can fall back to sleep before the sun comes up. I hope I have time for an apple.

Leaping Lizards!

My dog is laying on her white over sized dog rug and is staring intently at my husband's shoe. Typically this amount of concentration is focused on a treat of telling one of us that it is time for a walk. Acceptable objects to stare at: said treat, leash, open door, any person controlling those items. Unacceptable: brown shoe. Especially after the lessons of the week.

One of the perks of living in Texas are all of the fun critters that hang around in and outside of the house. Infestations rotate with the seasons. Most would probably say that their least favorite event is cricket season. For me, it's the junebugs, followed closely by the web worms. I guess I'm not a fan of insects that are or were white worms that eat the leaves off my trees and the roots of my grass. Ugh! How could I have forgotten about the mosquitoes?

However, I am a big fan of hummingbirds, mockingbirds, egrets, blue herons, butterflies, ladybugs, frogs, grass snakes and lizards. There is a little pink house gecko that particularly likes our house. They blend in very well with the mottled red and pink colored brick. Leave the porch light on and you have provided a banquet for them. They are there every night during the summer and I still get a thrill when I spot one of those little guys.

Recently they have gotten a little too comfortable around the house. 2 nights in a row now they have run inside when I opened up the back door. 3 in total have graced our walls. 2 left with their tails. I have always felt a bit bad when they drop their tails. We're not going to eat them and they might have just given up their escape route from a real predator. The wiggling tail did provide much entertainment for Coco. Ugh.

All 3 were caught by my husband and released into the backyard. I thought one of them might have been a repeat visitor, but it was hard to tell. Small and pink is really all you see as they speed acoss the walls.

I guess I have to see what Jane is staring at. I really hope it's a ladybug.

Nope. Giant hairy spider.

When I moved the shoe to see what was there, the spider jumped out onto Jane's bed. The spider jumped, Jane jumped, I jumped and Coco ran out of the room. I was hopeful that maybe the spider could catch a junebug, so I dragged the bed out to the deck and ran back into the house. I really did not think it was necessary for the spider to charge up towards me. At least it didn't jump again.

Fire Hydrant

When I was 6 years old, I wanted to name my first child "Fire Hydrant", I got my first bicycle and I was still too scared to climb to the top of the jungle gym rocketship at the park. This was also about the time when I had my last bowl of Mom's Taco Salad.


I picked out the bike with my Dad and his wife. I can still remember going to one of the 'Marts and finding the bike I wanted from the top shelf. Why anyone would think that it was okay to store bikes above one's head I just don't get. The bike was to be my birthday present and so was not bought right then. Unfortunately, it was gone when they returned for it and the pink one was replaced by a slightly larger red one. It took me a little while to grow into it, but once I did, mobility was mine!

My next bike was also a gift. One of my uncles won it with a lucky seat at a kid's matinee. The bike must have been too small for him and he was visiting from Alabama, so I became the lucky owner. It was a black and grey Mongoose. I remember riding around on one other bike (it had a banana seat and was appropriately yellow), but I outgrew it, too. Longer legs put an end to my biking career.

That is, until today. My husband took me to one of the 'Marts and I picked out my bike. I knew it was the one before I got anywhere close to it. It's the perfect shade of lemongrass. I got a new seat because my seat appreciates a little extra padding and not having a saddle wedging up it. It has speed controls and brakes on the handles, all of which is new technology for me. There is also a luggage rack on the back. Large enough for a lunch, way too small for any of my luggage.


I was feeling pretty nostalgic at the 'Mart, which is probably what caused inspiration to strike. I knew there was only one thing that I could make for dinner tonight. This also meant that contraband had to be bought. I checked sodium levels on everything, and then took Karl's wants into consideration. Maybe I'll try the baked Doritos next time. Ranch Style Beans were a bit tricky to pick out. All of the other beans have a picture of what is inside of the can. Ranch Style has a black label that infers you only want these beans if you know what you are doing. Karl reminded me of my southern roots, and then I knew we would be alright.

The following recipe is messy deliciousness.

Taco Salad:

1 small bag Doritos per person (unless you are eating with Karl, then he gets 2)
1 can Ranch Style Beans
1 Avocado
Lettuce
1/2 lb Ground Beef
Taco Seasoning

These are your basic components. Some people turn the avocado into guacamole and use it like you would a ceasar dressing. I prefer avocado chunks. Some may also prefer to use the entire can of beans. My preference is to drain it off some. Mrs. Dash Fiesta Lime is an excellent sodium free taco seasoning alternative. If you use the ground beef, please be good to your heart and use grass fed.

Cook the ground beef with taco seasoning. Layer in a bowl, Doritos, beans, avocado, chopped lettuce, and taco meat. Perportions are pretty much up to you. Serve immediately. If dining later, add the Doritos in when you are ready to eat.

Any other ingredients such as sour cream, cheese, onions, hot sauce, etc. is up to you.

Day 2:

Biking is harder than I remembered. I thought the hill in front of our house would be fun, not a potential deathtrap. As long as turning and breaking are not required, then I am almost okay at this. I thought the wind in my hair would be exhilerating. Instead it has been my signal that I am going too fast. Or that the wind is up. Either way, a good excuse to take a break. I think this is going to take a little practice. I will not let this be another jungle gym rocketship.