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.

Babysitting

All day long I carry around a baby. It has no gender, weighs 3 to 5 lbs, and screams when dropped.

It is always on my shoulder or hip, causing enough back trouble to justify almost daily trips to the chiropractor. I have to keep it cold, have to keep it clean, have to change it once a day. Once a month special supplies are ordered just for it. The supplies take up lots of prime real estate in my modest home, no matter where I put them. There are always remnants of them around the house, which serve as a constant reminder of my little burden. I am constantly paying medical and insurance bills for it. I take all of it's blood tests, I undergo it's procedures, I take all of the calls from the nurses who are checking in on it.

The tie that binds us is an important one. It is a direct link to my heart. And still, I slam it in the car door, kink it, pull on it till I bleed, catch it on doorknobs. Our link also means that I have to tend to myself every 3 days to a week. Infection is the silent threat. Showers are complicated, stressful and quick. I miss when they were easy, sexy and luxurious. The baby is never allowed to get wet and neither is our connection, so full submersion is just a dream.

People that haven't seen me in awhile are always surprised that I have a baby. They tend to pity the life change in a kind and sympathetic way. I pretty much want to talk about anything else even though the baby is the main constant in my life. I never have any time away from it. My husband helps but cannot fully take over its care. The baby insists on sleeping with us, but thankfully, under a pillow. Still, there is no denying that there is something else in bed with us. Especially since it snores.

My body has undergone many changes since I have had my baby. My curvy parts are inches lower than they had been, my hair is coarser, I have a varicose vein on the front of my knee. I have a couple of small abdominal hernias that have caused my ego a little pain. My skin feels and looks different. I am grateful that my husband seems to be blind to all of this and just sees me. I wish I could do the same for myself.

Some days my baby makes me so happy that I can do anything. Other days I'm exhausted and laid out on the couch. Both extremes are so different that people who have only witnessed one mood cannot imagine me any other way. For some I am always tired. For others I am inexhaustible. The latter has a hard time understanding how I am not out conquering the world every day. The changes can be subtle, which is the worst. Either I feel mildly crazy for not wanting to move or I do not realize that the down time has past and it's time to jump out into the world again.

My mother and my family have been very supportive. My mother has taken on several of my responsibilities, which has given me much relief. My family rallies during emergencies and has been very forgiving when I am too tired to visit or too forgetful to call. One more thing that has been hard to forgive myself for, especially knowing how often they have remembered me in their prayers.

Every two years I attend a conference for people who have babies like or similar to mine. Lots of seminars hosted by people who do not have babies telling us how to handle them. They are also the ones providing the food for the conference, which is fine for them, but inappropriate for struggling moms. Some of the sessions are lead by mothers like me, but even though we all have children, all of our relationships with our babies are very different from one another.

The baby does bring a fresh breathe of air into my life and I have been able to do many things since I have had it. But still, I wish I didn't need it so. I miss my freedom.

The Tree Whisperer

I have always seen myself as shy, awkward and reclusive. Apparently the world has seen differently. I have reconnected with several people from my teenage years recently and their memory of me is totally different from mine. Descriptions of my personality vary, the only constant has been the length of my legs.

I had lunch earlier today with someone that I hadn't seen in 15 years. It had been more years than that since we had spent any length of time together. That person gave a description of my younger self that was determined and independent and, embarrassingly, love obsessed and of course naive. It's always surprising to me how a person's actions can be seen as so different from what one is actually feeling. I guess 'never let them see you sweat' is more true than I realized. Unless you tell someone that you are uncomfortable, they may never know. This holds true for both physical and mental discomforts.

My Wise Woman of the Day award goes to my chiropractor. Of course she's fabulous, as are all of the women in my life, ... wow. I had never thought of that before. Okay, points to me for surrounding myself with the fabulous. Anyways, I have become more of the person that I want to be because of her. And again, wow, that seems to be my theme for the summer. Surrounding myself with fabulous people that have helped to reshape my self-perception and live my life in a way that I have always hoped for. Best summer ever!

So back to the chiropractor. The back adjustments have made amazing improvements to my endurance. I am now able to do several things in a day that used to take me a week to accomplish. She also has a treadmill available for me, so I now have the most awesome running shoes ever. They have blue stripes and Nimbus 3000 is written in tiny script on the sides. My chiropractor has done wonders for my heart. She keeps setting goals for speed and distance, I keep accomplishing them ahead of schedule. I was telling her how I loved the program she put together for me - simple but effective. She said she pretty much just says to herself at the beginning of each session "How is Honey going to kick butt today?" That doesn't really sound like a mantra assigned to a meek person.

I have many times been inspired by the impassioned stories of other people. Someone describing a favorite hobby, tradition, job, vacation, whatever. Every time it happens I want to go out and have a similar experience. Not that I really want to kill a deer. But listen to a true hunter (not the drunk lazy kind) tell the story of a kill, where they went, tracking the deer, finally finding it and how it looked standing in the trees, how they felt at that moment (usually a bit humble and prayerful), I kind of would like to be along. Or maybe it's that I want to have a chance to nudge the gun in a different direction at the last second.

I'm convinced that simply being passionate about your own life is the key to inspiring others. Everyone wants to love their own life. I think we're all just looking for a way to tell our own story. Obviously I have found one way to do it. I think a person should go out into the world and do things that they want to be able to tell stories about. Strangely, the things that I want most to do in the world are things that I want to keep private for myself. When I'm with other people I love to talk, but I think I may love more hearing their story. Sometimes I feel like a cheerleader to the world, wanting the best for everyone, hoping that they see the best in themselves, hoping that they do the best thing for themselves and for others.

Myself, I could spend a lifetime staring a trees. Not a lot of banter in that. But that's when my moments of being overwhelmed in world happen.
"What did you do today?"
"I sat in a rocking chair on the deck and stared at my garden for an hour."
"So I was hunting the other day..."

Marco

Written on 07.24.10

Today I went wading. I waded through ocean waves, a swimming pool and lots of wet towels and swimsuits. I had the best time. I know my enjoyment of it all has a lot to do with me just enjoying life, but the two women and two girls I was with made it unforgettable.

I am in Galveston with my grandmother, mother, my cousin & her friend. The two girls are 9 and 11 years old. Earlier today we took the ferry over to Bolivar. Highlights included the excitement of the girls being on a ferry and seeing dolphins jumping in front of a tanker. I had to wonder if they were trying to lead the tanker safely to dock or if they were hoping to beach it.

I was amazed that we found the right road to the beach that we had always used. The road is barely marked and everything looks different since the hurricane. The girls were in the water before the van came to a full stop. It took me another 15 minutes to join them because I was wrapping myself up in cellophane. Not in a sexy way.

I have to admit to being a bit scared of the ocean. I absolutely love it, but I am also absolutely terrified of what lurks beneath. Sharks and stingrays and crabs, oh my! I really wanted to get wet, so I also had to get brave. I shuffled my way out into the waves because I think shuffling helps to scare away the stingrays. The sand is like dunes under the water, and with every dip I would pause, feel around with one foot and then would continue forward. After doing this several times, I finally got used to being brave and barely hesitated before walking into the abyss. I got all the way out to where the water reached above my knees. Victory was mine!

Mom and the girls jumped into the waves, laughed, would ride them in a little bit and then jump back into them again. I did the granny squat and would jump up at the last second so I could keep all of my gear dry. I was almost one of the girls. I did get to laugh with them and I most definitely enjoyed watching them have a good time. My grandmother stayed back in the van with all of the doors opened and rested while enjoying the sound of the waves.

Highlights for the ferry ride back included walking to the top deck of the ferry with the girls and being flirted with by a ferryman. I must also give many thanks here for oblivious little girls that demanded my attention away from the ferryman's attentions.

Back at the hotel the girls made a mad dash and splash for the pool. I took a shower (the adult thing to do) and then joined the girls. I reclined while they did flips, double flips and handstands in the water. We also sampled different pools. Our hotel has two. One has a giant toadstool that showers down water into the pool, the other has a rock fountain. The rock fountain was decidedly the better pool. Lots more swimming ensued.

Several swimsuit changes had happened by now (seriously, how many did they bring?) and the balcony was brightly dressed in small two-pieces and oversized beach towels. More swimming after dinner had been promised and the girls were adamant that they could comfortably eat dinner in their suits. After soaking my seat, I became adamant that they use a towel under their bums. Mom's pants also bared the mark of a wet couch. It got her twice.

By the time we made it outside, the pool lights were on and there were lots more kids splashing about. I had to join in. Okay, I was in the shallows, but I still got to watch. The water was lovely and cool. I was sitting on a ramp that led gently down into the water. I know that I should have been thankful for getting to do even that much, but I couldn't help thinking of a line from a movie talking about how we want it all. Not in the material way, but in the experience way. It's wonderful that I get to recline in the pool, but I want to dive. That's when I remembered what one of the girls asked me earlier. “What have you always wanted to do that you've never done?” I said skydiving, she said walk on the moon. Then she said, “Okay, now imagine you're doing it.” She started moving through the water at an exaggeratedly slow speed. I was laying on a long beach chair, so I lifted my arms above my head. She walked on the moon, and I soared through the sky. After remembering this, my imaginings of diving were quite satisfying. As an added bonus, I didn't have to wash my hair again.

A large group of kids playing Marco Polo pulled me out of my daydreaming. This is a game that I didn't like so much when I was their age. Something about people trying to evade you that bothered me. Now I see it a bit differently. I like that you are going on faith that you can close your eyes, call out in the darkness and know that your friends are waiting for you to find them. Soon my friends all joined me and we went inside, anxious for both sleep, happy dreams and more swimming tomorrow.

When Travelling With Cat or Child

Written on 07.23.10

I think you should always keep a cage in the car. You never know what you may want to confine. For instance, a cat that is unused to travel. Some of the most terrifying sounds I have heard have come from a cat that was sitting safely on my lap in a car. Hearing the Yowls of Hell pretty much always makes me wish that I had a small cage. I get that same feeling while travelling with children.

Any happy well-adjusted child can turn into a menace to society once placed in a vehicle for more than 20 minutes. 5 minutes if they know that ice cream is waiting for them. Today I travelled with two lovely young girls, my mother and my grandmother. Our destination was Galveston, a mere 5 ½ hour drive.

Snacks were asked for as soon as the doors and seatbelts were locked. Thankfully, the kids were riding in a van that had at least five different kinds of chips. Mine were of the rice or baked variety, whereas my grandmother brought the much more fun Bugles and cornchips. After a short sampling of all that was easily reached, the girls fell asleep. I swear I waited till the last possible second to stop, but my waterpills are quite demanding. I knew that any break in travel would arouse their curiosity and then there would be no more rest for the remainder of the trip.

During hour 2, I drove and the girls played different car games. There were several rounds of “What Animal Am I?” and “What is Your Favorite (ex: Kind of Hamburger or Kind of Butterfly)?” And then it was time for me to inspect the lady's room of a Shell gas station.

Hour 3 had coloring with crayons and more snacks. I took care of some business at a Bucky Beaver's gas station . Hour 4 had rain that cooled everything down and then gently went on its way. I slept through the better part of the final hour and a half. Sometimes that's the only way to travel.

A large flock of pelicans greeted us at Galveston Bridge. The girls asked everytime we past by water if that was where they were going to swim. We tried to explain that the marshes were really just for fishing and crabbing. I'm still not sure they believed us. We decided to torture them by making them eat dinner before getting into the water, although Mom took pity and they all walked over to the beach while Jackie and I finished up. On second thought, maybe she was taking pity on Jackie and I.

I do have to correct my implication that I ate dinner with Jackie. What really happened was that Mom and I accompanied them while they ate, and when they went to the pool, we went to the Gumbo Bar.

My favorite bar. Oh the gumbo! Delicious dark rich roux. Large shrimp and tender muscles. The perfect amount of okra and rice. To enhance the experience, Mom had a glass of wine, I had a dark smooth beer and we split a big bowl of garlic bread. It's been 3 ½ hours since we ate and I'm still full. There are very few restaurants that I would like to take a cooking class from and this is most definitely one of them.

If I can get back over there, I will have gumbo again on this trip. I'm sure the other things on their menu are lovely, but we are here for three more days and that is just not enough time to eat anything but gumbo.

Now it's the end of the day for us and I can hear giggling in the other room. It does remind me of being here with other girls in my family when we where their age. If you come here with kids you really do need a balcony to throw bread from for the seagulls. I can remember running all over this hotel having fun, always waiting and hoping that it was time to go to the beach. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to spend the entire trip in the waves. All we needed was someone to drive us. Now it's their turn to yearn for the waves.

Being an adult, as our family rules dictate, I now get to sleep on one of the real beds. Secretly, I want to toss the kids off of the bunk bed and claim the top as mine. I would be envious of the memories that they are going to take from here, but I am enjoying the experience too much with my more adult perspective. Besides, I get to have a bedroom with an ocean view, eat gumbo at a bar as often as I can stand, and blessing above blessings, I can drive.

Pillow Talk

I have a passion for pillows. I love their soft sleepy goodness. Both feathers and poly-fill are equally welcome in my home. I greatly admire embroidered decorative pillows for the couch or chair, but my main obsession are bedroom pillows. If you stay at my home, better bring one of your own. I have bought several for the guest rooms, but they prefer it on my side of the bed.

This plush appreciation has slowly been spreading throughout the household. My husband was quick to steal back the two pillows we had begrudgingly sacrificed for the comfort of our last house guest. They were originally my pillows. They are all my pillows. Except for the ones that fall on the ground. Once Jane sleeps on it, then it's officially her pillow.

As much as I enjoy this fluffy luxury, there is one thing that hangs over my head a little bit. Every 3 months I have a heart doctor's appointment, and every 3 months I lie to my nurse.
One of the signs that I am not doing so well is that I need to be elevated to sleep comfortably, so being asked how many pillows I recline on is a routine question.

My plethora of pillows serve different purposes. The first one gets wedged slightly between the bed and the headboard. The second pillow makes up for the lack of the first. The third props me up while I read and the fourth pillow is just for curling up with. I use a fifth one to smoother out the sound of my pump. I swear the small mechanical noises it makes are amplified 20 fold as soon as it touches the bed.

Almost every night I'll wake up and I'm sleeping on either one pillow or none at all. So what do I say when the nurse asks me the question? I definitely cannot tell her that I sleep with four. They'd be eyeing me for that transplant list again. Actually, that might be a fun one to have to argue myself out of. "No, no, I'm not sick. I just can't stop buying pillows."

It's not like they really have any identifying markers (except for size and squishiness). I've tried to use the "But this one has white on white stripes" excuse. Karl didn't buy it. Or the pillows. And still, when I see an aisle of plumped up plain white lovelies, I want to bring them all home with me. Saying that I need to replace the old ones works much better but has also over time become an unbelievable statement. Either my pack-rat tendencies or my loyalty (to dust mites?) keeps me from hardly parting with one.

I think I can blame this all on my mother. Ever since I can remember she would travel with her own pillow. The smallest thinnest pillow you've ever seen. It took years for me to realize just how right traveling with your own is. You get to someone's house or a hotel and you are confronted with one of the four dreaded pillows. The flat stiff pillow that you only get one of, the fat pillow which has a plastic covering on it that rustles whenever you move, the pillow with stiff feather ends sticking out of it or the pillow that has been kept in a closet that has not been opened in the year since your last visit. Travelling with your own pillow is a survival must. Many a bad mattress or cheap quilt can be forgiven if you have your beloved to rest your head upon.

Of course, a small amount of ridicule must be tolerated if you are an adult travelling with pillow. You might as well be travelling with a teddy bear. If you are on a plane, order drinks. This helps, but don't be surprised if you get carded.

The one true woe of carrying your own comfort is leaving it behind. Only once have I lost a pillow to a hotel. I now take precautions when I leaving the room for an extended period of time. Leaving a pillow at a friend's or family's house gets a little tricky. At a hotel, you pretty much know that the pillow is irretrievable. You mourn and eventually you move on.

When your pillow is still out there, that's the hardest. Too embarrassed to convey the panic that sets in when you realize what you've done, you must either wait for another visit or beg someone to mail it to you. To date, I have not been brave enough to ask someone to overnight ship a pillow.

There is only one sure way to know that you have your pillow with you when you leave - pack it first. Don't carry anything else out to the car besides that pillow. I also suggest you walk very slowly as to not accidentally trip and use it to break your fall. You don't want to drive for 3 hours with a pillow speckled with mud, grass and fire ants. It will be hard to let your companions carry out the heaviest of the luggage while you safely store your own precious cargo, but you must be strong. The pillow should be used as a flag to mark wherever it is that you want to sit. You may want to keep guard over your pillow to make sure that your travelling buddies don't mistakenly move it to the driver's seat. They may say that they are tired after all of the trips they made, but really they just want you to rest comfortably on your clean pillow while they quietly drive you home.

This brings me to my final casualty of travelling with pillow: the risk of the pillow becoming damaged. I took a lovely pillow (a bit longer than standard, down filling, quite squishy) with a hand embroidered case on a plane going to Toronto. I learned while filling out the customs form that not all ink pens are flight friendly. Now my case and pillow have a beauty mark. The pillow that I travelled with today (king sized, poly-fill, squishy yet slightly firm) has a store embroidered case that it now is speckled with strawberry juice.

I really don't know how strawberry juice got on the bottom of the Tupperware container. It's not like I rubbed strawberries on the outside of it before eating them. And I only had 3. I really really wish I had seen the spill before I slept on it. Anyways.

I Felt A Draft

True story from Spring 2009, as requested.

It was a slightly special evening because we had guests for dinner. They were the kind of guests that you don't have to shine the silver for, but you do anyways.

I was minding my own business. Actually, I had been taking care of my own business in a little room off a long hall that leads back to the dinner table. The lights were low and there was a lovely glow of candlelight reflecting off of silver and glass. My Labrador, Jane, was faithfully by my side, matching her stride to mine. I had been ill for a long time, so my dining gown was actually my sleeping gown paired with a pale blue robe, which is how what next was even able to occur.

My underwear had hit the ground. I was slowly walking, more shuffling, and then there it was. I was one step closer to au naturale. I froze, Jane froze. Everyone was busy enjoying their dinner and the company, but I was just steps away from them. I looked down at Jane, she looked up at me, we both looked down at the rogue underwear, and then back at each other again. I wish she could have vocalized what she was thinking. “Um, do you want me to go for help?” or maybe, “Well that doesn't happen everyday”.

I retrieved what I had lost as quickly and as quietly as I could. Jane staid with me for a couple of more steps, and then excitedly ran ahead to the people we were rejoining. I am kind of thankful now that she doesn't' speak English. That night would have turned her into a gossip.

What's In The Bag?

I went to California and all I brought back were groceries. Forget Nordstroms, forget William Sonoma, when I get excited about shopping it's because I'm going for groceries. I have not always preferred produce to petticoats, in fact, shopping for clothes usually trumps all. I once choose a Patagonia store over the last day of the American tour of a Rembrandt exhibit. Somewhere something changed.

Ever since I can remember, visiting my grandmother and aunt was synonymous with shopping. I think I always went home looking more stylish than how I arrived. My fall back style is a tee shirt and jeans, so getting fancy new duds created this strange mishmash of dresses and flipflops. Or cut-offs and patent leather sandals. The complete wardrobe transformation was fun, exhausting & fun. I have to admit that over time I started to get a little paranoid about what I took with me to begin with. Surely something that I already had was fit to be seen in?

Sometime after an unfortunate dress phase in junior high and a bit of high school, I graduated to not caring so much about what anyone thought about how I looked. I gave up all purses for a wallet and most of my haircuts were of my own creation. Sometimes I would take up wearing a watch, sometimes it was all about the scarves.

Then came the clothing store jobs. Cheap clothes with a short shelf life. And it really didn't matter. I was hooked on buying clothes again. I kind of loved having the excuse of needing it all for work. I can no longer remember how long I had those jobs, and there is little more than these few sentences that would even be worth repeating. Except that it taught me that I love to work hard. I was fine with the long strange hours, and the physical (100 boxes of clothes don't unpack themselves) and mental (stay awake, do the paperwork) side of it.

The job title that meant everything to me was “Massage Therapist”. This title came with an entire wardrobe of scrubs. I favored Dickey's style - bootcut drawstring pants with a faux wrap shirt. When scrubs were no longer required, I returned to my roots and traded the wrap shirts for tee shirts.

Not that long ago, my years of storing clothes finally came to an end. Hence known as the Great Exodus of 2006. Plastic bin after cardboard box after garbage bag left the attic. My Mom's back was the one lasting casualty. That back just hasn't been right since.

As anyone except for the person hoarding the clothes could predict, nothing looked good on me anymore. Both styles and my body had changed drastically over the last 15 years. A few sentimental pieces stayed behind (like the dress I was wearing the night I met Karl. Black polyurethane never looked so cute), the rest went to Goodwill.

I completely replaced my wardrobe a few more times as the scale dictated. At first the shopping was a reward of sorts. Kind of for being sick. When I lost that last chunk of weight it became a bit of a necessity. I mean really, you just can't go around with your underwear falling to the ground.

After that last hospital stay I became food obsessed. My casual infatuation turned to full blown lust. Being able to eat again after not keeping anything down for so long can do that to a girl. The small amount of body fat I was carrying around did nothing to help the situation. Without any reserves, I was ravenous hungry every hour. It was hard to keep me fed and I was at the mercy of whatever was in my Mom's fridge. I still have a fondness for soy corndogs. I really wish Morningstar would start making those again. It's very likely that the grocery store was my first outing once I was able, but I can't swear to that.

I still get excited when I know that I get to buy food. So buying gifts for my friends at the grocery store was the highest luxury I could think of. Himalayan salt, lemon cookies, dark chocolate wafers, dark chocolate almond cookies, candied ginger, dark chocolate candied ginger, wine, low-sodium soy sauce and I can't remember what all else came back with me. My luggage was outrageously stuffed. I almost didn't make it through security. I could have bribed them with lemon cookies, but those boxes were mine!

I have receipts from 4 different Trader Joe's trips, and I know I went to at least 2 other stores, during a span of 7 days. Ah Trader Joe's. So much contained in so small a store. I came back with no pictures of famous people or landmarks, but when those yummy cookies run out, I'll have to go back.

Huggy Monster

Written 07.01.10

I love hugs. I have always been big on hugs. This is a trait that is cute when you're a kid but a slightly risque practice when you are in high school. I tend to give more hugs when I am feeling over exuberant. Like on a first day of school. I know I dazed at least one guy goofy after one of my hugs. If you are around me when I am overjoyed, my apologies for the 4 hugs that I probably bestowed on you as you were trying to go home. Just try and go with it. I will eventually stop.

I got the most compliments on my hugs when I weighed over 150 lbs. Squishy hugs are a comforting thing, and some extra weight definitely makes this hug possible. The last compliment that I remember receiving on a hug was actually a shameful moment for. I was in 2 glasses of wine on Christmas Night surrounded by family. I've always been embarrassed by compliments and was immediately flustered by this one, a very simple “Oh, you give the best hugs!”. I said something about how that was because I had a husband to practice on. The woman who gave the compliment had been divorced and was still single. Probably (hopefully) a long forgotten slight, but my respect for her is so great that even now the memory of it makes me wince.

Over time I became more hesitant of hugging complete strangers. I found that it was usually safer to wait for the other person to make the first move. This slight adjustment immediately cut down on the amount of married men that hit on me. Given permission once and you'll always get a hug (unless you are a married man hitting on me). After that is when the hugging madness takes hold.

I am often surprised by the people who want hugs. At one doctor's visit, a visiting physician who had given me some grim consults had come in to check my status. I was doing tremendously better from the last time I saw him and everyone in the office was relieved and hugs were being generously handed out. When he left he seemed to want his hug. Since he had been such a bearer of bad news, I just couldn't do it. His attitude the whole time he treated me was dismal. Whenever he came around I was pretty much counting the seconds until he left. But what gets me now is that I regret not hugging Doctor Doom. Would it have been so hard to give the guy a hug? I don't know how much he may have worried about me or how relieved he might have been that I was better. Maybe he was trying to become a hugger. So frustrating when I do that to myself. I really could use a delete key for some of my memories. I'll keep the truly painful memories if I can just have the option to drop the small jabbing ones. Maybe I need a hug.

My favorite all-time kind of hug are the heart hugs. I'm not sure that arm placement completely matters, but hands on your back over the place where your is, that's the crucial part. What's even better is when this particular hug is given to you by someone that you love. Just recently I received a heart hug from persons that I did not yet know that I was going to love.

This past weekend I was in a fashion show at a PH conference. The last one I had attended seemed a bit shy on adults, which is truly amazing because it was held in Texas. I thought we would have represented a little better on stage. I sent an email to the woman who was organizing this year's event, just a casual noncommittal kind of note. “If you need another adult I might be available, if you don't, no worries.” The response back was immediate. I was most definitely wanted. So started my worrying.

I had no idea what I would wear. This year's Old Navy fashions are comfortable, but I wouldn't strut them down a runway. “Honey is wearing a blue Henley tee shirt with frayed seams, rolled cuff faded denim shorts and gold flip flops. Her hair is held in place with a matching blue rubber band.”

As it turned out, all I needed to bring was me and a nice pair of black shoes. The black shoes I was wanting anyways, and the world presented me with the perfect pair. Everything was going smoothly. The first full day at the conference I met Rynna, the woman who let me know I was wanted, and her sister, Sherri, for a dress fitting.

I have said this once already, but it needs to be said again. Every woman should have the experience of walking into a room filled with dresses that someone has picked out with you in mind. Of course the experience could only be complete if Rynna and Sherri were there, so you must also travel to California. This trip is another must if you are a Texan trying to survive the second month of summer. I tried on 5 dresses, 4 of which look wonderful on me, 3 of which I was to wear in the show. Scarves, hats and purses were brought out to coordinate and hide anything medical hanging off of me.

I looked completely different to myself trying on those dresses. From my little fitting room I could half hear my shape being discussed. That's something else that every woman should get to experience. 2 women describing you in the most kind and positive way possible. Personally, I feel I look like a Gustav Klimt painting. Not the one of the pretty red head, but the brutally honest looking one of the woman in her 40's or 50's. I have to admit, looking at one of those almost harsh paintings, there is beauty in even that.

These two sisters are some of the loveliest women I have ever met. Maybe it's that we share a common Texas background, but something about them, I fell in love instantly. And then came the hug.

My fitting was done, I got to show off to Karl a little bit, and it was time to start the PH sessions. Both women embraced me with a smile and gave me the best heart hug. It was the kind that you receive from the ones that you love. You just feel it deep in your heart.

I went to Anaheim to connect with other PH people, to learn and to find new hope for the future. All of those things did happen, but I also found part of my family that I did not know was missing. Part of my heart is with them now. I hope they feel special when I forget to send them a Christmas card. Just like with the rest of my family.

Heart hugs to you all.

Fresh Conference

I love the smell of a fresh conference in the morning! Despite having an awful night's sleep, I was awake at 6am California time ready to get the day started. The only thing that kept me quiet was my fear of wrathful Grumpy Morning Bears. A handsome but surly breed if awoken too early in the day.

I busied myself with my morning routine (I'm sure it's much the same as yours. Unless you wear makeup), went downstairs to renew our room key and got some burnt, overpriced coffee and then finished writing about yesterday's antics.

Karl got up not long after that and we went to Block Orange for breakfast at Jamba Juice. I chatted with a woman who was about my age, in yoga gear (on her way to work, not yoga), where she thought there was a healthy place to eat at. She suggested Subway. Ugh. I've come to California, and the healthiest food people can come up with is at Coco's, a tavern knock-off and Subway.

Our first stop for the day was my dress fitting with quite possibly the loveliest women in California, Rynna and Sherri. Every woman should have the experience of trying on clothes that have picked out with you in mind. I loved every dress, even the one that didn't fit. Hats, scarves and purses were layered on me. I felt fabulous.

One of my favorite things is to meet women that you could easily spend the rest of your life having lunch with. I've been here one day and I already have a reason to come back to California.

First session of the day was Travelling With PH. We actually got directed to Living With PH in an Upbeat Way. One of the speakers couldn't talk without crying. That's the thing about these conferences, you get so excited to be amongst your people that your emotions tend to live close to the surface. I might have cried, too.

As soon as it was appropriate we snuck out. I got some great tips on travelling with oxygen, although I am still not sure what I am going to do about the flight back home.

We had lunch at the hotel. I wish we had dinner at that restaurant. I was grateful for steamed vegetables that had not been overcooked.

Walking to the next session was when I noticed that all of the hotel employees were wearing the periwinkle ribbon pin. I really liked that. All of the staff there were so nice. Very smiley. I liked that, too.

Something else that I appreciated was seeing people at this conference that I had seen at the one in Houston two years ago. When we first researched PH, the reports on life expectancy were just awful. After getting more information and meeting other PHers, I got a new perspective. It really is still the same deal. No one knows when their last day on this earth will be. There are no guarantees. That's a very reassuring thought for me.

We also went to a Flolan/Remodulin support group. All of this medicine... different dosages, different ways of getting it into us, different peripheral drugs. No two people are on the exact same plan.

Dinner was in one of the "ballrooms". Large tables that sat 10, and at one end of the room we had various speakers. Dinner was not heart healthy or tasty. Our table was a mix of very active PHers and people for whom this was their first conference. They had decided it would also be their last. I can understand their frustration with the sessions. I think in the end we all want the session entitled "How to cure PH". At the very least "Fool-Proof Way to Make You Feel Like You Don't Have PH".

And that was our day. Maybe there was another session that I am forgetting about right now. I am very sleepy and my focus is on some white fluffy pillows. Tomorrow is going to be busy. Must hurry off to it.

Travelling in the Debit Column

Written on 06.24.10

Trouble was looking for a woman in yoga pants and a butterfly tee shirt and it sure found her. I think Trouble knew that I had no plans for yoga and decided to teach me a lesson in flexibility. Actually, it was really targeting my wallet.

The trouble, like all trouble in my life, began with fogginess and forgetfulness. The first thing I forgot to do was to eat nicely. 2 days until departure and I loaded up on lumberjack sized sandwiches. I have no idea what I was thinking – well, I do, but that's another blog – but for some reason – yes, a reason I could tell you but won't yet – I had an Italian sandwich for breakfast and half a barbecue sandwich with 2 ribs for dinner. A stronger women of 14 could of handled that, but not me. I didn't even come close. One bad sandwich decision made in sleepiness lead to another one. So then of course I had to spend the next 7 hours laid out on the couch. 7 hours that I needed to be spending packing, cleaning and making phone calls.

I woke up feeling like I had spent a night out on the town with a lumberjack. I pretty much kept moving from the time I got up until I went to bed. There would be no rest for those who ran with lumberjacks. I am a bit proud of myself that I was able to keep up.

So started Travel day. This was to be the first time we have flown using Flolan. I quickly packed the last of what needed to be packed (because that's the sane thing to do 2 hours before your plane departs) and wrote down random phone numbers and addresses for our various destinations. Karl got together the last of the medicine and loaded the car.

The second thing I forgot to do was pick up a prescription that I had filled. Thankfully, Walgreens is just about everywhere that I will agree to travel to and they have fancy computers that let me pick up things I forgot in other cities. As we drove off I realized that I did not say goodbye to Coco. Unfortunately we were feeling short on time. I also forgot to grab a nutritional book that I was wanting to read on the plane. Then again, that did give me a reason to buy a magazine, so maybe I should move that one to the "pros". 1st increased expense, Simple magazine $3.95. I also forgot to move any of the potted plants inside. I am not sure that any of them will be alive when we get back. If they are indeed all dead, then I will be replanting 8 pots with cactus or some other plant that is not as offended by the Texas sun's hospitality and the random neglect of a good intentioned person. 2nd increased expense, whatever the booze costs for a decent wake and burial.

Then came the dreaded airport parking. I had been preparing for a half mile hike in the humidity that always seems to end with a quick sprint for a departing bus. My fabulous husband decided to forgo this traditional event and parked directly across from our gate. 3rd increased expense, 2 ½ times the parking rate that I planned for. Benefit, no one had to lift heavy luggage up into a bus.

At the self-check in line I thought I was saving time by putting both bags under my name. Karl later told me that doing so cost us an additional fee. Then came the scales. Nothing good comes of weighing in when you are overstuffed. The suitcase carrying my medicine was 7 lbs overweight. This cost another very hefty fee. 4th increased expense, a total of $110 for luggage. Benefit, none known at this time.

On to security check. Again, first time flying with Flolan. I could have gotten the expert advice from another Flolan patient who is the mecca of all things cool in PH, but instead it was much easier to completely forget and just wing it. At least I had the letter with me that explained why I needed to take a bag filled with needles and vials of white powder and clear liquid onto the plane. The small bag of contraband went through the x-ray machine without a second glance. I, however, was put into the special “Veal Holding Cell” to await a woman who pat me down in a way that should only be done after at least one of us had some cocktails. And now she won't return my calls.

We had a little time before departure, so we hunted down breakfast. You know you're in trouble when the healthiest thing in front of you is a McDonalds. I really wish I had made a meal for us before we left. 5th increased expense, $5.65 for the meal plus $15 for antacid. Benefit, we won't be ordering $4 bags of chips on the plane. Tummies now filled with fattened cement, a pack of gum in my pocket, a funny book for Karl, a magazine for me (yeah!) and we were ready to fly.

I love flying. I had gone through a phase where it truly scared me, but I got over it. All I have to do now was think about how my everyday life is pretty laid back, and today I get to ride on a roller coaster. Instant thrill to fly ensues. The plane takes off and I happily laugh.

All was well until about 25, 000 feet. That's when I lost my hearing (gum was both too sweet and worthless) and it felt like there was a lumberjack curled up asleep on my chest. I slowed down my breathing while Karl rubbed my back. I think I may have to request oxygen next time. I was feeling pretty roughed up until the drink cart came around. Iced cranberry juice always improves my disposition, even when it comes with 50 grams of sugar to a 12 oz can. Once I was breathing easier I went back to enjoying the flight. Then we landed and I got stupid again.

It seemed important at the time to immediately get signed onto the internet so we could look up our driving directions. Of course I also had to inspect their ladies room and then a passerby chatted with us for a moment. All of this time our bags were waiting for us. Yep, we abandoned the extremely costly and very inconvenient to replace suitcase filled with life sustaining medicines. The kids were left at school and apparently no one was coming to get them. By the time we got to the baggage claim our children had left and the school had turned off it's lights. Our extreme panic ended 15 minutes later when Karl found them stowed behind a check-in counter. The bags had possibly decided that it was just best to try and make it home on their own. Silly thing to do since we have the house keys.

Because I had forgotten to print off directions to anywhere, my husband got a gps for our rental car. 6th increased expense, $66 + tax. Benefit, I didn't have to get carsick reading a map. The drive to our friend's house was both lovely and unnerving. Lovely because everything was blooming so profusely. Purple lillies of the nile and jacaranda blooming everywhere you looked. California was definitely welcoming the PH conference. I was completely unnerved because a large part of the sky is the same color as the road and the air tastes dirty. I don't know how you could look at that sky and not want to immediately start living a “greener” lifestyle.

It wasn't until we were about 2 minutes from our destination that I realized we were not expected. Our travel plans changed so many times, and I never did inform anyone of our arrival. So we found a nice place to have lunch. I was really enjoying my pumpkin soup until the waitress told us that all of the recipes had been the cook's mother's. Suddenly it made more sense why it was so delicious, great quantities of cream and butter. 7th increased expense, the size of my cheeks. Benefit, culinary inspiration. I've got to try making my own pumpkin soup with cumin.

Next stop, the hotel. I thought checking in a day early would be a breeze, but my using a website to pay for the room and then not writing the itinerary # down made for several long conversations that almost drove me to drink. Everything was settled by the the time we got to Disney. 8th increased expense, overpriced hotel room. Benefit, none known yet.

We asked around for a healthy place to dine, but none was to be found in the land of Disney. Just lots of family chains. The hotel concierge suggested we try ordering a salad from Coco's. The pharmacist at Walgreens suggested a place that had "Tango" in the name. We decided on the one that referenced exercise. Oh what they did to that poor mojito. And the fajitas! They never had a chance under the heat lamp. The tragedy of it all! Out of desperation I tried a fish taco at a place proclaiming to have the best. I don't know, maybe the best fish taco that you can make with rancid oil. Any meal that was that awful definitely goes into the expense column. 9th increased expense, 2 really bad dinners. Benefit, I doubt I will eat at a chain restaurant again.

The time has come to go to sleep. Tomorrow starts the conference. I'm really happy that Karl is here with me. I hope he enjoys the experience, too. Expense of going to California, only American Express knows now. Benefit, I'm really excited to find out.

Boundaries

I have had an annoying problem lately. Just when I get in a happy little mood and I'm all ready to write something out, a bit of the grumpy life sets in. Sometimes it's my grumpy stuff, other times it's someone else's.

My grumpy stuff is just boring and I don't even want to hear about it. Typically it's that I'm tired, I don't want to be tired and now I'm grumpy because I'm tired, which usually just leads to a blue mood because I don't want to be grumpy or tired. Why would I want to share that every time it happens?

Other people's grumpy, well that I do not share for a different reason. My name and my stories are on this blog because I choose for them to be. I just don't feel like I have the right to put my friends and family on display. Even if I do not mention them by name, someone somewhere will know who I am talking about, starting with the person that is the subject of the story.

And it goes beyond just grumpy. For example, someone you love continues to walk into a brick wall that you deperately want to point out to them, but you know that they have to know the wall is there, I mean there is a huge flashing sign that says "Wall - Do Not Walk Into Me" on it, and yet...

All of this, of course, reminds me of my father. Now him, I have no problem telling stories about. Partly because he's dead and any arguments we have now are very one-sided and partly because my father was a huge fan of letting it all hang out. If someone was holding back a secret, he felt it was best to talk about it. Not in an "Enquirer" kind of way, but in the "Secrets only hide shame and fear" kind of way.

I have tried his way before with family, but was horribly unsuccessful. I guess openly airing secrets should be left to the people who regularly burn sage and smell like lavender and patchouli. And so, on many topics I have become mute. A very hard thing to accomplish when it involves the people you are rooting for.

One time I tried to write out my feelings in the extreme abstract, but in the end I still identified my subject just a little too well. I think the only way I could ever publish that story would be if I removed the last few sentences (which I refuse to do) or if my blog was published completely anonymously with absolutely no ties to the people I know. I think I'm starting to see how easy and enticing it could be to share a personal story with a complete stranger.

During the day I worry too much over the hearts of my loved ones, and at night when my heart is resting, I am able to think of the stories that make me smile. Maybe I should set up the laptop in the bedroom. The last story I wanted to write was going to be called "Pillow Talk". I am very much look forward to reading that one.

Tonight I'll end this entry with the mantra I have for the people whose lives I want to change just a little bit to make me happy. "They are doing what they need to be doing right now. Later they may do something else, but for now, this is what they are choosing for themselves and I love them."

Much love to everyone tonight. I hope all of your hearts are resting easy.

To Live A Life In Art

My dad liked to talk. I have no idea how many times he called me and just talked while I listened. 20 minutes or so later, he might have realized that he hadn't yet asked me one question. By this time I was always a bit on the dazed side and couldn't think of a thing to contribute. Even though he is gone now, I still worry that he probably thought I was a bit boring. Today I am remembering a conversation we had that was a slight departure from the norm.

We were talking about the creative projects we had been working on. At the time, I was painting and he was thinking about pottery. I think a friend of his had gotten a kiln and was hoping to set up a small studio. I don't know why, but the imagery I have of the set up was that it was going to be on the roof of a building. Maybe the friend was a roofer. Actually, now that I think about it, that friend is a man who could only be described as Dad's brother. This man is not a roofer.

My project was going to be a combination of acrylic on canvas with different materials glued to it. It was gong to be an ocean scene with sea turtles riding on swirly waves. I think the waves were going to have glass beads glued to them with a little bit of glitter for magic.

And that's when my dad said it. I'm sure he had told me before that he was proud of me, and I know that he had told me that I was talented. And quite often that he loved me. But this one tiny statement meant more to me than anything he had ever said.

"Wow, you live your life in art."

What a compliment! The honor of it coming from him. What a scary thing to hear. I believe my father did lead a life in art, and he was crazy. And not always the good fun kind of crazy. He had an obsessive neglectful side that I wanted to have nothing to do with.

It seems as though there are two different kinds of artists. There are the ones who lead a calm and peaceful existence and then there are the ones who seem calm, but are truly insane. In public, they are slightly more guarded. Possibly more distrustful of themselves than others. With their friends, the crazy lets loose. Their public persona sells the art, the private one makes clothing for their hippie ferret colony.

My father created breathtaking pieces of art in jewelry and in his dining room he had put together an entire fossilized dinosaur. Was this also to be my fate?

I have always been drawn to creating - anything. It pretty much all sounds exciting to me. Whenever I get started with a project, I fall in love with it. Unfortunately, just as I am about to really get somewhere with it, I completely abandon it. As I am typing, clay and paint are drying out and paint brushes are slowly disintegrating in neatly stacked clear boxes in the next room.

So now I must apologize to my blog, and to whomever is reading this, for trying to abandon it. I am still very much in love with you, I guess I was just worried about having a dinosaur in the kitchen. I must keep writing, even if it's bad, even if it's good. Maybe for the first time in my life I will live in art. I guess we'll find out together what kind of artist I am.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

It's one of those nights. It's been one of those days. Wake up rested, but I'm still tired. Rest on the couch, but I'm still tired. I rally, get dressed & go out for lunch. Short trip to Big Lots, and then an unfortunate trip to the grocery store. It's been one of those weeks. Every day I have been tired, and every day I have gone to the grocery store.

Today when I was checking out, a helpful lady stopped to tell me a remedy for the blisters on my legs. My medicine causes red splotches that will come and go. Most days, like today, it was on my legs. My legs were showing because I was wearing a new short sundress that my husband bought for me. I was adorable, and I was flashing my splotchy legs. Showing off splotches or the tubing on my chest is a daily fashion decision. Do I feel confident enough to not care and show off anything? Today the answer was "barely". But I really wanted to wear that dress.

Came home from that tired. Rested, ate, rested. Gardened. I'm digging out an extension to my flowerbed, just a couple of feet. I had to rest after every shovel full of dirt. I called the project done for the evening after I moved the bricks to their new boundaries. Turns out that an ant colony had made it's home under those bricks. Poor guys.

Came inside to rest. Now I really need to start cooking dinner. Karl will be home in less than an hour, and everything is waiting for me in the refrigerator. But right now I am tired. And I don't know how I am going to get the energy to get up off the couch. I've been trying to pay attention to my energy level the last couple of days to see if it is time to increase my Flolan dose. Obviously, the answer is yes. But even if I increase right now, I won't feel it till morning. And that is not going to help with dinner. I would forget about it, but Karl has been at work since 9 this morning, and I really want to do this one thing for him. And for me.

I tried calling family for moral support, but quickly realized that what I need is to rally. Again. And to increase my Flolan. When I increase the dose, I'm going to have a few days of random back pain that will steal my energy during the day and wake me up at night. I will also get the shooting jaw pain for the first bite every time I eat something. Right now it all seems so exhausting. Okay, I can do this. On the count of three. One. Two. . . . .Three.

G-Rated

I don't know what to do. There is something going on between Karl and I, and I'm not sure that we can fix this.

We've been married over 13 years. I know things change in marriages... but not this. I thought we would never lose our enthusiasm for this. I guess we can still enjoy other things together. It's just so frustrating! This should be an easy thing for us, but now we have to make ourselves want it. Maybe we're just out of sync. He has been working more. I guess I've been a little bit wrapped up in worrying over family. We seem to have different desires, and we're not connecting. Whenever I want it, he doesn't, and when he wants it I don't. I want to believe that this will sort itself out over time, but what if it just gets worse? Oh well, I've gone this far. I might as well tell you.

Karl and I, we're um, we're not dessert people. I know! How can we not be?! I love to eat and Karl's not a lightweight, either. But the proof is in the refrigerator.

3 days ago I made the yummiest chocolate coconut pie. My mom calls it my "Reformed Sinner Pie" because I exchanged out so many of the "bad" ingredients and it's still an award winning pie. The first time I made this pie, it was a "10". This second one was an "8". There is no reason to ignore a pie that is an "8". Not even a quarter of the pie has been eaten. I don't know what to do. I know Karl loves this pie. It just never seems to be the right time to have a slice. I fear I will have to give it away.

This pie has not been the first sign of something wrong, although it has been a blaring bullhorn with a flashing strobe light. My worrying started when I threw out a container of bonbons from my freezer that were over 2 years old. Mocha bonbons. Ugh. Then there's the Almond Joy in my pantry from Halloween. I picked it out for myself because it's possibly my favorite gas station candy treat. And then there's the cookies. I'm too ashamed to say how many boxes of Girl Scout cookies are in my freezer. I refuse to get rid of them. I hold out hope for a cookie binge.

I finally decided to stop buying sweets from outside of the home. At least until we have finished off what we already have. It surprises me that I may also have to put a ban on my own cooking now.

Oh no. Does this mean I'll have to change the name of my blog? That's it!! Enough is enough!! Today I will have dessert!!! Just not right now.

First you think it, Then you say it, Then you do it

I am exhausted. I think in a good way. Health is great, I'm just lacking a bit of inspiration. This is a bit embarrassing because inspiration is all around me. New life is everywhere, my trees are beautiful, the flowers are blooming, the weather is gorgeous. But still. All I want to do is nap on the deck instead of put my house in order. Hmm, maybe I'm just being hard on myself again. Who wouldn't rather nap outside with that breeze over having to do all of the dishes.

Yesterday was the same way, but I did go out and take care of some errands with my mom. Actually, we were out longer than expected and as it turned out, Mom's day wasn't over yet. Really the only thing I could do to make her evening easier was to drop her off at her house. Right before I left her place, I decided to get a cold drink from my new groceries in the hatch of my car. This one innocent action was the beginning of the end for all of my day's good endeavors.

My mother's next door neighbor is lovely. She's just stunning to look at and her yard is a small sanctuary. She was out front filling up some pots, we waved and greeted each other, and then she started giving me one compliment after another. I have been behind on my laundry, so the cleanest thing I found to wear was a sundress. Just a simple sleeveless cotton dress that is a nice purple. I'm not sure I had brushed my hair. Apparently the combination worked very well and the neighbor wanted to take my photo in front of her coral honeysuckle out back. I very much have been wanting an invitation to visit, so even though photos were involved, I had to go.

It was totally worth it. The coral vine was thick and growing over a lovely archway. This is where I got to stand and have a couple of quick pix taken of me. Lovely! Of course, I looked slightly uncomfortable as I always do in front of a camera. But that doesn't matter. The honeysuckle was the real star. And of course I got the grand tour. I loved every second of it. I drooled a bit over the ginger flowers. Thankfully, the neighbor took this as a sign of a kindred spirit instead of a sign that maybe inviting me over is something that should never happen again. I was experiencing a complete garden high.

And I was not quite in my right mind when I finally did head for home. For the second part of my story, I have to back up a little. When I was driving with Mom back to her house, we past by my new favorite barbecue place. It's located on a little piece of land in the country and the food is served from a trailer. All I did at that particular moment was to think "Yummmy.... Barbecue".

At the neighbor's house we discussed both flower and food gardens. I had said that because of my medication and barbecue addiction that I try to make everything else that I eat organic. Even my cayenne pepper.

And there it was, the action. I was driving to the barbecue trailer. I joyfully ordered my sandwich and skipped back to my car with it. This tasty tasty sandwich sat alluring on the passenger's side seat. Traffic was working against me. So against me. I took a bite. And then another bite. The cars moved 2 feet and I put the sandwich down. Once I was at a full stop, I closed up the sandwich and put it on the floorboard. Someone should really do something about the length of the lights on Swisher.

I stretched for the sandwich, stole another bite and returned the contraband to the floorboard. Ugh. We all inched forward. Slow inches. I grabbed for the sandwich again, and then this time when I was done put it in the backseat. If I'm not using my cellphone in the car (I also don't know where my cellphone is), then I'm pretty sure that drooling over my chopped beef sandwich with spicy sauce, pickles and jalapenos is also out. I was 12 minutes from home and already halfway through the sandwich.

About a quarter of it made it into the house. Oh forbidden barbecue, how I love you. What I really need is a carrot farm to drive past. Then my day would end with spicy carrot soup. Oh well, it was worth it. My only worry now is if my husband or mom will want to eat there tomorrow. I'll have to work out a secret wink with the barbecue people to not out me.

If you happen to be out my way, go to Tredway Barbecue. If you are supposed to be having dinner at my house, pick me up a sandwich, too.

E-mail to an Etsy Artist

hi!
you do have my correct address and you are also right about this being my first purchase on etsy. i found your art while doing a search on etsy for a recipe box. i became disabled a couple of years ago, but i am finally having a good year for health (i love 2010!). since i'm all bright eyed and bushy tailed i've been cooking again. and i have been really good at it. i often forget how i made something, or even that i made it. i tried to keep recipes on my computer (didn't work), tried a notebook (didn't work), really really wanted a recipe box.

once i decided that i was going to buy a box, i knew that i wanted to buy one from etsy. i have been looking at your recipe box for a very long time now. i have also looked at hundreds of others trying to find anything that i like as well. your box is so lovely, and nothing else compared. so i didn't buy anything.

tonight i finally decided that i was going to buy one. another great night of food, and another batch of recipes that may be forgotten. i had picked out 2 others that were the best i could find in my price range. asked my husband to help me decide which seemed to be the best for me. we've been together 14 years and i really value his input on things that i am not enjoying making a decision about. one was totally out (he was right, i picked it because it reminded me of something my aunt would love) and that left the other one. neither one of us were really excited. but i was resigned to buying it.

he asked me if there were any others that i liked. i told him about yours, but that it really was art and not quite in my budget. then my husband asked me what i would buy if money didn't matter. i showed him yours. he immediately agreed that it was perfect for me. he also pointed out that this would be the one that i would always have and always love. i think he was right about that, too.

to complete my tale of chilvalry, his birthday is on sunday. he has asked for nothing but for me to be happy. on his birthday he wants us to go to an art fair in a city close by. balance needs to be restored. maybe he'll spend the night snoring really loud.

thank you so much for your offer to engrave the box. if it is possible, if this is not too long, i would love to have engraved:

Every day in Every way I Am getting Better and Better

if that is too much, then this would be my second choice:

Happy Birthday Sweet Man!

would the engraving go on the inside of the box? i would really hate to chance hurting the outside of it.

thank you for creating this box. it is beautiful and i have loved looking at it. i would actually hold my breathe just a little until i had seen that it was still there. i am very happy that it will soon be in my kitchen.

if you have any stories of making the box, i would love to hear them.

i just re-read this message and realized that i am going to have to post it in my blog. i haven't written anything in way too long and i obviously needed to. this message is definitely long enough to call a blog. if you would like to see it posted, the link is
www.thislifecomeswithcake.blogspot.com

thanks again,
honey
hi!

Anniversary Blues

I hate anniversaries. I have too many bad ones and not enough good ones. Actually, I probably have lots of good ones. I hate that the bad ones are somehow easier to remember than the good ones.

Karl has come home from work many an anniversary (the good kind), roses and chocolates in hand, a big smile on his face and "I love you" on his lips. I'll have dirty dishes and a cleaning sponge in my hands, a look of complete confusion on my face and then an immediate "D'0h!" followed by lots of apologies. Thankfully, my husband finds this funny. He also seems to find humor in me forgetting my birthdays.

Bad anniversaries have a different way of announcing themselves. An unexplained dark mood sets in. I very much dislike feeling grumpy for no apparent reason. I think I dislike the ambivalence that comes with it even more.

What makes this bad anniversary especially frustrating is that there is much to celebrate now. Sometime within the next 2 weeks marks the date that I went into the hospital last year. Having that 50 lbs of water on me (most of which was in my abdomen) was painful, breathing hurt and there was little food that did not start an exodus. I think if I had kept a log during that time, little would have been written about fear, lots would have been written about my determination to get the water off of me.

The first thing I did this morning while I was still in bed (after determining that the bird in my tree was the first robin I had seen this year) was stare at my stomach. I love how my stomach is flatter when I'm laying down. I breathed deeply and appreciated being able to effortlessly fill my lungs. I thought about what I would have for breakfast and was grateful that I knew I would be able to keep what I ate down.

I don't know if I have mentioned this yet, but giving thanks has been a point of contention for me. When I used to hear "Give thanks for the little things", or "Don't take the little things for granted", I always thought of being thankful for flowers or clean water. I never thought about being grateful that I could load and unload the dishwasher or complete a load of laundry. Or be grateful that I could walk to the end of the yard to get the mail. Jeez, or even have the strength to pet Jane.

Right now I want to feel the happiness of coming so far from last year. I want to feel proud of my accomplishments. Instead I'm fighting the sorrow of what last year was and how it affected myself and my family. I'm sorry for the people that I lost and the good-byes I was not able to say.

But I'll do what I can for now and celebrate my life by living it and have faith that the sadness will lift and peace will settle in. So now I'll turn off my computer, get my mom for a lunch out, go walk a half mile down by the lake and then garden with Jane for an hour or so. I think I'll take some birdseed out for the robins. Jane will like that.

Hangin' PH Style

Day 1
Moved into house

Day 2
Put together bedroom and started to decide on drapery style
Decided that none of the drapes I already have will work

Day 26
Purchased 2 curtain rods

Day 194
Purchased curtains

Day 198
Returned curtains

Day 278
Let husband pick out and purchase curtains
Started fight with husband because I could not return curtains

Day 396
Borrowed sample curtains from Grandmother's stock

Day 428
Returned Grandmother's curtains

Day 464
Purchased curtains

Day 499
Stored curtains in closet with rods

Day 574
Cleaned out closet and found curtains and rods

Day 625
Brought out curtains and rods
Removed rod parts from box
Got box cutter from living room, used it and left it there
Returned to bedroom
Struggled with hardware packaging, returned to living room for box cutter
Returned to bedroom with box cutter
Knocked hardware in between bed and frame
Retrieved hardware
Sat for a rest
Attached decorative ends to curtain rod
Searched house for step ladder
Found step ladder in garage behind boxes
Returned to bedroom with step ladder
Sat for a rest
Got power drill from garage
Returned to bedroom with power drill
Got drill bit from living room
Returned to bedroom with drill bit
Took down dusty Christmas swag from above window
Held curtains up above window to determine placement of hardware on wall
Took 5 minutes to badly drill and strip first screw into wall
Got screwdriver from living room
Returned to bedroom with screw driver
Sat for a rest
Finished screwing in first screw
Decided to leave second screw for husband
Moved step ladder
Took 4 minutes with power drill & screwdriver to find there was a brick wall behind sheet rock
Let dog outside
Got nails from garage
Returned to bedroom with nails
Went to laundry room for the hammer
Found hammer in dining room
Returned to bedroom with hammer
Hammered nail into same hole
Removed nail and a dime-sized circle of sheet rock
Inserted a stabilizer and a smaller screw into wall
Decided husband could install second screw on this one, too
Moved step ladder
Hammered hole into wall
Let barking dog back inside
Removed nail and a nickel-sized circle of sheet rock
Decided husband could find nail on floor later
Inserted a stabilizer and a smaller screw into wall
Decided husband was already going to do two other screws, so a third one should be easy
Checked on barking dog in living room, found nothing amiss
Sat for a rest
Hung curtain rod
Realized curtain rod was slightly higher in the middle
Returned to living room with curtains
Got box cutter from bedroom
Returned to living room with box cutter
Removed curtains from packaging
Clipped on curtain rings
Realized I clipped half of the rings to the bottom of all 4 curtains
Returned to bedroom with curtains
Removed decorative ends from both ends of curtain rod
Placed curtains onto rod
Reattached decorative ends to curtain rod
Sat down for a rest
Saw that with curtain rings, drapes were too long and now drag on the floor
Decided that I did not like the style of the curtains or curtain rod
Took nap

Bacon Week

Oh the greatest of all weeks, Bacon Week. I love Bacon Week. It only exists because of Costco. They sell the center cut bacon that's lower in fat and low enough in sodium for me to have two precious slices. That's supposed to be two slices for the day, not per meal like I've been doing it. Of course there's enough bacon to make breakfast for my entire block twice in each of the two vacuum sealed packages. It would make more sense for me to me to open up each one, divide it up into smaller containers and then freeze them. Instead, half goes into the freezer, the other into the oven.

A lot of love goes into my bacon. First, I trim off as much of the fat from the edges as I can. I used to carefully trim the edges until they were more tapered, like a carrot, but now I just chop off an inch from the end. The fatty end, not the nice bacony one. Why is there always a more fatty end? Second, I soak the bacon in a cold water bath with potato slices. I do this in hopes of removing more sodium from it. I then take the water logged bacon and place it on a wire rack that is set inside of a casserole dish. Third Step, baking commences. Fourth step, carefully removing the hissing bacon from the oven, gently placing it on paper towels and then smothering it to death. The bacon is then transferred to another set of paper towels and left to rest and contemplate how it really should not be so full of fat. The bacon can now be layered with fresh paper towels and stored in tupperware.

This week I have made BLTs, corn chowder, breakfast, spinach salad... I can't remember what else. If I could just figure out how to make it work with a Girl Scout Cookie then I would be the happiest girl.

The BLT was my favorite. I ate 3 the first day. Throughout the day. The corn chowder was fabulous yummy, and I did feel a special victory with this one because I had never made it before. The breakfast wrap was a no-brainer. The bacon was the star but the Laughing Cow Cheese made it a legend. I thought I might have finally met my match with the spinach salad with warm bacon dressing. Then I remembered who I was and it was so good that my salad hating husband ate every bite.

So what could possibly be wrong with such a fabulous week? Well for one, my house still smells like bacon. It has been several days since I baked it up, and the aroma is still here. Secondly, I have put on weight. It could be because I forgot to take my water pills... again, but maybe not. I had to take the heavy weight pill to make up for so many missed ones, so hopefully tomorrow morning's weigh in will say that Bacon Week may continue. Those are my only two complaints. Everything else about bacon week is awesome.

So please, please Water Gods, say it's the forgotten pills that have put on the four pounds. Please, don't let Bacon Week end yet. I have some brie and I know there's yumminess there just waiting to be made.