The Healthcare Issue Comes Home

It's been one of the most, if not the most, horrific of allergy seasons.

I've been on the verge of a sinus infection for months. Sometime in the last two weeks, I went hurtling over the edge. Part of the resulting domino effect found me fighting an ear infection last weekend.

Early on Monday, I called the doctor's office. Once I finally got someone on the phone, I was quickly told that sure, I could have an appointment … on July 3. Seriously?! Five minutes later, I was on the website for our local Walgreens' Take Care Clinic. 

Less than three hours after that, I was back home with drugs in hand. Today, while worn out and hardly 100 percent, I am actually better. Without medication, I wonder, how much worse would I be right now? I'm just glad I don't have to find out.

But … what if I were among the millions without health insurance? Chances are good I wouldn't have bothered to call the doctor. And the clinic? Chances are better I wouldn't have the $89 fee and the subsequent $100 plus to pay for my medication. (Being among the fortunately insured, I paid a $20 visit fee and $10 for my medication.) It was a struggle to get up and out the door all week, even though I was being treated. Just how sick would you ultimately have to become to be cared for?

I think a lot. (Probably too much for my own good sometimes.) And this little experience really got me thinking.  As I type this, my own state is notifying THOUSANDS of people that they will no longer provide health insurance premium coverage (for adults who make a certain percentage above the poverty level) or prescription coverage (for seniors at or below poverty level). 

My fear is that this could soon be the national experience we face after the November election. And to extend the fear to my own doorstep, if l lose my remaining thread to employment, when it comes to healthcare, I could be just like those who are pulling those happy letters from the state out of their mailboxes: screwed.

Think you're outside the healthcare debate? Think the election doesn't matter? Think again.

Silenced

I can't believe this is actually working. Eureka!

I've been trying for three or four days now to post and spent almost TWO HOURS yesterday trying to contact Blogger re: the issue. For some reason, I was having trouble with ALL things Google so it was tres frustrating. Especially considering that, while the blog is largely an impromptu exercise for me, I actually already had a few readymade posts to share. (Watch for those, assuming this works ...)

If you posted a comment, I apologize. I have NOT been able to moderate them. (Still don't know if I can.) Still curious to see what's going to happen once I hit publish ...

A Father's Day Wish

Happy Father's Day to all of those great men who happily answer to the name "Dad" and who couldn't imagine life without the people (little or long-grown) who call him that.

Father's Day has long been an awkward and mostly overlooked holiday for me.

No year though has been more awkward than this one. Short of dying on my birthday, my father found an even better way to imbed himself in my thoughts – by dying the week before Father's Day.

Hug Dad. Last-minute gifts for Dad. What did you get Dad this year? I've been under continuous assault of reminders via television, email and other online channels. I've probably thought of my father more in the last week than I have in the last 10 years combined. 

Not all of it has been pleasant, but even I have to smile at some of these images. Even if this shot, which I think is the first ever of the two of us together, seems to show that things got off to a less than happy start.

Some of these other shots though, well, they look like ones you'd expect to see in a family album to illustrate a loving relationship between a father and his child.

There are more shots like this than I thought there'd be (a dozen or more, easily)  but nothing after about age 4 or 5. Nothing. Talk about a life just stopping.

I wish I could remember these images as more than a sweet little moment in time, forever captured. Maybe though it's best that that's all they are, lest even that be ruined somehow by reality. So, I'll take them at face value, be thankful they exist … and smile at them. Happy Father's Day, Dad.

Shoes!

I've been too busy I think for the enormity of recent events to really catch up with me. So I'll allow myself to remain blissfully unaware for now and speak of happier topics.

One of the side benefits of the mother's great room clear-out has been becoming the beneficiary of multiple pairs of shoes. (A total of six pair – and a dress!)

Now I knew my mother had several pairs of shoes but watching all of these slowly emerge from her bedroom showed me just how much even I underestimated the vastness of the collection. Imelda Marcos had NOTHING on the mother. But ...

Holy Jeez! She only has two feet.

I'm not sure why exactly but the mother, who wears a Size 7 shoe, frequently buys Size 8. (Wearing a Size 8, I guess I shouldn't question it and just be grateful.) This is what I managed to gain. And this is where I tell you that Blogger sucks and won't let me upload photos correctly. Sorry. They're cute shoes though; trust me. Two pairs of flip-flops, two pairs of Converse-type sneakers with open backs, a pair of black patent mules (ADORE!) and a pair of moccasins.

I only declined a handful of pairs and then had to pass on a few others because they were too small. Looks like the Salvation Army will be hitting the motherlode quite literally.

The Send-Off

Papa was a rollin’ stone.
Where ever he laid his hat was his home.
And when he died,
All he left us was alone.  – “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone”

Ernest Hemingway always offered this advice to aspiring writers: “Develop a built-in bullshit detector.”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot during the past 24 hours or so. You see, I got the call yesterday that I’ve known was coming for a few months now. My father died yesterday morning.

Regarding Hemingway’s advice, I had a fabulous teacher, the absolute best: my father. If I’m a little crusty around the edges, exceedingly streetwise and street-weary (without ever having lived on them), more than a bit cynical and perhaps a bit too reluctant to trust, I have him to thank.

That probably sounds cruel or resentful but it’s not meant to be. It’s genuine. And because it is, you’ll find no sweet or flowery eulogies here. To provide one would be dishonest to both him and me. I know it’s cliché, but I latched onto the catch-phrase, “It is what it is” to describe the last chapter in the saga that has linked me to my father. I refuse in death to treat it any differently than in life. We always said his world was ruled by "The Three Bs" (booze, broads and bullshit) and no one knew them better.

I may someday regret not having gone to see him during these final weeks or even to have spoken with him. I just don’t think it would have changed or resolved anything. And, I didn’t think it was worth upsetting a dying old man to prove it. I think that in his deluded way my father would have expected me to express all manner of things that, in all honesty, I cannot.  (Or maybe this is my way of giving myself a pass. In either case, it’s done.)

As I was not the person in charge of his medical decisions, neither am I the person handling his burial. (Other than not knowing what is going on, I am OK with that.) Considering our estrangement, it seems appropriate. And, it seems typical of the uncertainty I’ve experienced with him for much of my life.

It’s uncertainty that is, at the moment, impeding the one thing I think I can do for him at this point: write an obituary. I’ve basically done this, leaving placeholders for service/burial information for now. It’s brought my PR skills to bear and tested my journalist’s objectivity at the highest levels.

The other thing I can do is try to vanquish, once and for all, the host of negativity that a lifetime of wrongs has generated. Easier said than done, but the task is lightened by the fact that during the past few years and especially since this all started in April, I've been hefting stuff overboard.

I've identified this as a long-term task. In the short term, I've vowed to focus on a few of the things I can point to as happy memories, even if they did come to a screeching halt 30-35 years ago.

• He taught me to play chess – and poker – before I was 5. The latter got me in trouble the first day of first grade in Catholic school – but only because I was beating a bunch of boys and taking their milk money. It also meant that during the many family poker games with my uncles and extended family members and friends, I was the only kid who would get left at the game table to cover while their dad took a bathroom break.
• He made football understandable enough for a 4-year-old and forever spurred my interest in the game. 
• When I was 7, he came home with a kitten in the pocket of his trench coat. He had been closing up at the bar he owned at the time and when he took out the trash, he met up with two guys who were bouncing said kitten back and forth and saying what all they were going to do to the unfortunate feline. After a few seconds, the story goes, he intervened and told them that he had a gun that said they were going to give the kitten to him. (Considering that the old man packed a .357 in those days, it was probably a wise choice. And it was probably one of the nicest things he ever did.)
• When I was 11, we moved into a rental house that was a nightmare. But the mother's decorative eye scored us a deal on rent and served as my introduction to DIY.  During the next 18 months, I would have some of the best – and worst – times of my life in that house.

I could probably add two or three more fondly held anecdotes; it's a pretty thin collection. And while they don't go very far in outweighing all the terrifying memories, at least they exist.

The one thing I really do owe him a debt is for developing, installing, fine-tuning and regularly testing my "bullshit detector." I don't think my writing would be what it is without the rich experiences that intangible device helped me to cultivate as a reporter. Without it, I don't think I would have the depth of understanding and empathy that I have for those who are abused, chemically-addicted or otherwise downtrodden that I do.  Nor would I be able to spot a flim-flam man at 20 paces.

All in all, it's been an invaluable tool. So thanks, Dad. There will always be that. May you find in the next part of your journey what managed to elude you here. I wish you peace.

A Crazy Woman … with a Trash Bag

It all started because of a three-pronged adapter.

I own several. I needed one. I couldn't find any.

This failure touched off a lengthy string of profanity as I ran from place to place looking for the half-dozen or so adapters that I know are located somewhere within This D*mn House or at least within the confines of the property (extending to My Pimped-Out Shed). And it touched off a frantic pitching session that is almost legendary among pitching sessions. (Every once in a while, living in a work in progress takes its toll. When you can't find things you are used to having readily at hand, that's often a blasting cap.)

But I'm jumping too far ahead. Let me go back a few days to the mother's brave undertaking to begin clearing out her room, a job which has been long-neglected and, as a result, might have qualified us for an episode of "Hoarders."  In fairness, a lot of it is due to stuff from the bathroom being "temporarily" (more like "long-term") stashed in there.  And, some of it is due to the fact that 2012 hasn't been the greatest year for her health wise. This is completely atypical of the mother who is a neat freak (yes, I am Oscar Madison to her Felix Unger) and I know it's been a sore spot with her for some time. Over the long weekend though she dove in headfirst.

So, while the mother was dutifully sorting and pitching, I started an effort of my own. I have a feeling that a few of the things may be regrettable but, overall, I'm starting to see a little progress. (And am now on a third trash bag, one of which is full of things to be DONATED.)

It's made the living and dining rooms temporarily unlivable but for the short-term, I can stand it. It's one of those things you learn to deal with when you are living in and serially remodeling a home and doing multiple massive projects simultaneously.

Sometimes you get to tell yourself to chill out, forge on and appreciate PROGRESS!!!

Under the Wire

It's hard for me to recall a Memorial Day weekend in recent history that did not include the purchase of paint. Memorial Day 2012 was no exception.

Thanks to an extended weekend, I managed to buy three gallons of paint with just hours to spare to still qualify for Behr's $5/gallon rebate. My receipt said 4:52 p.m. Very close indeed.

I just managed to complete my online rebate form. Online rebates are one of the greatest inventions evah. No UPC codes to clip. No paper form or envelope to fill out. No postage required. Now I just wait for six to eight weeks for my $15 to magically appear. (Those are always a fun surprise because you wait so long usually that you've already forgotten about it by the time it arrives.)

Completing the online process was probably one of the easiest, fastest and most productive things I've done during my time off. I've largely been involved with sanding cabinet doors and digging through all of the debris associated with the plethora of projects in progress at This D*mn House and trying to make sense of them all. And yard work. Lots of yard work. And much planning and preparing.

It was hardly the major progress I'd hoped for but, together with a little shopping and a little sleeping, it could qualify as a mini-vacation. So, you'll hear no complaints from me. 

Except that I have to get up at 5 a.m. tomorrow. (Not that I mind going back to work so much; it's more returning to the early-morning routine that I'm not that thrilled about. You get a pattern going after just a few days and it's hard to go back to your regular bit, or at least it is for me.) Having said that though I'll be happy to go back.

Here's hoping that your short week is going at least as well.

A Visitor

We don't get a lot of visitors. And we rarely get visitors this young.

Or this cute.

But that's how we started Saturday afternoon. This is one of my cousin's GRANDbabies. (Her first grandbaby, in fact.) It was painful to type that actually. I have several cousins who are 10 are more years older than me (because my dad was the youngest of five), but this is a grandchild of a cousin who is only about half that much older. So, it makes it all the more surreal.

My cousin, her daughter and Baby S. stopped by for a while. At first, the baby was very quiet, almost sullen. For nearly an hour, she would sit silently as we chatted, only occasionally fussing.

During the second hour though, she seemed to come to life, cooing, babbling and thrashing around. She did NOT cry, something I feared more than once she was about to do. She even let me hold her ... for about 3 minutes. Then, she had to go right back to mom!

She's not much of a smiler, or at least she wasn't on Saturday but I did manage to catch her waving. (Pretty impressive for a not quite 7-month-old!)

I got to share some of my newfound family genealogy and was pleased to find that my cousin's daughter was at least interested, especially now that she has this whole new generation to share it with! (To me, that gives all the effort some real value, beyond sating my own curiosity.)

I TOLD you my Memorial Day weekends rarely ever go as I plan them. But at least this one has, so far, had PLEASANT surprises. Let's hope it's an ongoing trend...

Welcome to the Season

It’s Friday. Finally. And this particular Friday brings two things with it. First, Memorial Day weekend is the unofficial start of summer. (Of course, with the weather we’ve had this year, summer started back in March sometime!) And second, it is the official start of the DIY season.


I’m extending my holiday by taking a few days’ vacation (first of the year). That means when I leave work on Friday, I won’t be back until THURSDAY! Don’t envy me too much. I’ll be plenty busy.

I haven’t completely set on the duty roster because if I know one thing about planning for Memorial Day, it’s that those plans never quite come to fruition. I almost inevitably end up working on something I’d never planned to, generally courtesy of the mother and some project she manages to whip out of her backside. (I mean that lovingly, of course.) Or else Mother Nature intervenes.

That said, it will be busy.

Whatever you’re doing this holiday weekend, I hope that it is enjoyable and/or productive. Don’t overstrain, my fellow DIYers or next week will be intolerable! Be safe and have fun, everyone!

A Permanent Location

I did a strange thing on Wednesday. Strange for me at least though I know other people do it every day: I put a down payment on a home of another kind.

No, This D*mn House is not for sale and I'm not planning on vacating it any time soon. And, after almost 26 years, it's hard to think of anything more permanent, though there is. No, this residence has a much more permanent nature: a spot in a mausoleum.  

It's not actually for me. It's for the mother.No, don't panic. She's still very much with us!

The mother kind of sprang this on me a few weeks ago. (I think this flirtation with mortality came about in part because of all the craziness with my father and then the arrival of an advertising postcard.) I sent in the card for her and then promptly forgot all about it. And since it's not a topic I've ever been comfortable with, I was happy to do so.

So when the day came, I was very uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable because it's not a happy topic and uncomfortable because I couldn’t wait to see how much this would cost. Let's just say I was pleasantly surprised.  Since the cemetery is planning to build two new mausoleums, it was offering a heavily discounted price on its remaining slots in the existing one.

As I said, while this is technically for the mother, I can ultimately hang there, too, if I'd like. (I plan to be cremated so they said a two-for-one deal was acceptable. We can even add Ozzie if we want. And Toby, too, if that's how the mother wants to handle him when his day comes.)

While it doesn't cover all the costs of burial, it does cover the vast majority. And since funeral costs do nothing but increase (we were just told that the average lower-end, non-cremation burial was somewhere around $11,000!) it seems like a solid investment.

I want to be cremated. The mother doesn't.  Essentially though, a mausoleum does the same job (reducing you to ashes) just over time. And because it's a more efficient use of land than a grave, it's even environmentally friendly. That made me warm to the option, at least a little bit.

So we've made the plans.  We're now clear on each other's wishes. We've got a location. And ideally, by the time either of us needs it, it will have been long ago paid for. She'll need a casket. I'll need an urn or a box. (Or for that matter, a coffee can. Why the hell will I care? I won't know.) We've had the conversation. And now we don't have to talk about it anymore. *putting hands over ears* Lalalalalalalalalalala. End of discussion.

Seriously, I can say that it seems like one less thing to ever worry about. And I have to think, for whichever one of us goes first, there will be at least a little comfort in that.

Tuesday ToolTalk: B&D Rapid Charger, 9.6-24v

I have a number of Black & Decker cordless products. (If you follow the blog, you know that I love my 24v trimmer and my 18v combo tool set.) All but one, my trusty-dusty first 9.6v cordless drill, use the slide-in battery packs ranging from 18 to 24v. I am a huge fan of these products.

But trying to keep track of the chargers and making sure I have the right one for the right battery and watching the time to make sure I don’t overcharge the 18v batteries … whew! You need a traffic cop for this stuff. I borrowed this summary from an online review that I thought summed up the various B&D chargers out there.

B&D chargers also come in (at least) 3 varieties:


1) "Dumb" chargers that supply a constant charge current/voltage, i.e., like the charger that comes with most B&D products that has the brick that plugs in the wall and a small piece that slips onto the battery; these have 2 terminals.


2) "Semi-intelligent" 2 stage chargers that supply a constant charge current/voltage for charging, but then drop to a "maintenance charge state". These also have 2 terminals.


3) "Intelligent" fast chargers that charge at a faster rate, can sense overcharging and modify charge current accordingly, and then drop to a "maintenance charge state" once the battery is charged. These chargers have 3 terminals.

So when I saw that I could narrow my chargers down to one, I was thrilled. When I saw I could do this for under $30, I was ecstatic. And when I saw that this also was one of the “intelligent” chargers, meaning that it charges at high-speed AND I don’t have to babysit my batteries with a stop watch … I was out-of-control happy.

When I recently did my first trimming of the season, I was amazed how quickly my batteries were ready to go again. I had initially charged them the night before, periodically checking the charger light to see when one finished and then swapping it for the next. I set it on the counter, plugged it in, slid in a battery and voila! As I’m gearing up for more cabinet work, I’ll be using my drills and sander pretty steadily. It’s nice to think that I can always have a battery ready to roll while that work is under way.

Pros: This “intelligent” charger lets you know what it’s doing. A steady flashing light tells you it’s charging; a solid light means it’s done – no more guess work. A super-fast flashing light means you have a bad cell in the battery and it needs replacing. The unit is small, only a little bigger than the battery, so it doesn’t take up much space. I LOVE the versatility of a single charger. “Maintenance state” means that if I’m off doing something else and leave the battery in place for hours after its charge, no harm done.

Cons: I should have bought one much sooner. So far, that’s the only negative I can think of.

Conclusion: If you have multiple B&D tools like I do that use the slide-in (not lithium ion variety) batteries, this is a must. Frankly, I don’t know how I’ve been using these tools this long without it.

Availability: I got mine at Amazon.com for $29.98 – with free shipping. Not sure if this unit qualifies, but through May 31, Amazon is offering $10 off a $50 purchase of select B&D items. They’ve got some good deals on batteries, too, (which I took advantage of; watch for those results soon).

A Mostly Quiet Weekend

Hope everyone had a good Mother's Day.

It was a peaceful one at This D*mn House. The mother didn't feel like doing anything so for me it ended up being a rare day of lounging.  It kind of made up for being in a perpetual state of motion on Saturday.

For some reason, I was awake at my normal weekday time (5:20 a.m.) and still up nearly two hours later.  I made the most of it by going shopping ahead of what I anticipated would be a crazy crowd (11^th hour Mother's Day shoppers). I was right because as I departed each store and drove off every lot, I noticed a steady stream of shoppers quickly taking mine and several surrounding spots.

Once I was back home, I got some information about a local recycling effort so that I could drop off the old TV. (Illinois passed a law that took effect back in January making it illegal to throw out electronics products.) I couldn't, however, get the TV out the door by myself and the mother was having trouble with her hands so wasn't able to be much help. It's not so much the weight, though it is a bit heavy. Mostly, it's the bulk and the fact that I can't seem to get my arms under and/or around it in such a way as to keep a good grip.

And so, for now, the TV still sits on a canvas in the dining room floor. Sigh.

Doldrums

I spent the entire afternoon working in the yard on Saturday – in 90-degree heat. Not exactly intelligent and yet I knew that if I didn't get it over with, it would only be worse.

How right I was! It has rained off and on since the wee hours of this morning and the grass is already showing signs of more growth. Sigh.

Despite feeling bad much of yesterday, I pushed along to get more things done. And today, I paid the price for it. In part being sick and in part because of raging storms between midnight and 4 a.m., I got very little sleep last night. So when the alarm went off this morning, I groaned.

And I stayed home.

I slept a good chunk of the morning – when I wasn't awakened by the trash truck, my neighbor's motorcycle or wrong numbers on my cell phone. Even so, I still don’t feel much better.

It's been a bitch of an allergy season, so I'm guessing that's part of it.  I had a fever so I hope it's not a bug. If it is, this is NO time of year to catch one – they never go away! Another part is that I'm just out of energy. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

 And all of this is complicated by an itch to jump back into house projects and GET THEM DONE! I'm sick of living in a sorta kinda done house. Especially when it should have been done a year or two ago. I'm hesitant though to get TOO deep into working on something lest the job front change for the better and equally hesitant to get TOO deep monetarily – lest the job front change for the worse.

This year is fast approaching the halfway mark.  I'm thinking it's about time that it does  some major improving. And soon.

So, to help it along, I need to make some kind of plan to move forward. Why should the universe make any effort on my behalf if I don't, right?

It's Only a Super Moon

Call me jaded, but I expected something a little more impressive than what I saw from something with "super" in the title.

1. It wasn't that big.
2. It wasn't that bright. (Seen brighter ones that were just any old "full" moon. Or that's how it seemed to me.)
3. It didn't even seem that close. (Even though the moon was supposed to be closer tonight than at any other time this year.) I've remembered walking out and thinking "wow -- you could touch the moon." Didn't even remotely feel that way tonight.

The best viewing time was supposed to be at 10:34 p.m. CT though the moon wouldn't be closest to the earth until around 11. I shot the upper shot at 10:55 and the lower shot 20 minutes earlier.

Stalking the Dead

One of the ways that I've been coping lately with all the craziness of the living is to walk among the dead. No, I've not been strolling through cemeteries. I have, in fact, been walking – virtually – through generations of lives.

 I have been finding and documenting birth and death records and all of the little things that go on in between. Land deeds. Marriage licenses. Birth announcements and obituaries. Military service records. Newspaper clippings about the latest family get together or church social.

In taking these little sojourns, I've identified family I didn't even know I had and unearthed ancestors I could never have planned on finding. I've even connected with a few new distant cousins along the way and is THAT ever cool! And, having reconnected with some of my first cousins recently, it's a nice way to share what we know – and don't – about our family.

I've been doing genealogy off and on for 25 or more years, and with any kind of real dedication for about half that. I even started a blog a few years ago to share my findings and brick walls with any would-be relatives but I wasn't very good about keeping it up. (I'm back on the wagon though so if you stop by, you'll find a handful of very recent posts.)

I've already gotten my paternal grandmother's line farther back than I ever thought possible. And this has included a PHOTO of my great-great-grandparents! Booyah!

There are SO many more online resources available than there were when I first started checking in the late 1990s. Back in the day, you had to load up MICROFILM and painstakingly scroll through to "browse."

My interest has been rejuvenated in part by the reprisal of the PBS series "Finding Your Roots" with Dr. Henry Louis Gates. (LOVE that man and this is one of the fastest hours on television for me every week.) NBC also has a genealogy-related show called "Who Do You Think You Are?"

Sometimes, it can be incredibly fun to find out. So, if you've got the itch to shake your family tree I say, "Shake, baby, shake."

A Real-Time Meet and Eat

Sometimes, our real and virtual worlds get to mesh and you actually meet a bloggy friend live and in-person! Vicki from Not so SAHM and I have been talking about such a meeting since way back when she lived in Missouri and it didn't sound like a pipe dream.

Sadly, I missed out on a chance to meet with Vicki and her two darling girls last year during one of her whirlwind stops in St. Louis. But when she recently gave me a head's up several days in advance that she and Du were bringing the girls to town for another visit, I was NOT going to miss out again!

During their stopover, the Not So SAHM fam wanted barbecue. Well, there was only one place to take them: Pappy's. I've only been there a handful of times but have eaten food from there LOTS. (Work uses them fairly often for catering.) And every once in a while, I've been underwhelmed. It seems to go in cycles. For the most part, though, totally delish.

I'm one of those people who worries about food recommendations. It would be just my luck that the one time I have out-of-town guests primed from primo BBQ that something would go wrong – except it didn't. Not only were Vicki and troop able to arrive ahead of schedule (because there's always the fear that Pappy's will sell out) but the food was great.  The family seemed happy with their ribs.

 The meal and the time both quickly disappeared. (Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.) It was a pleasant visit and such a great kick to see Reagan and Ashlyn live and in action. Thank you so much, Vicki, for making the effort to meet and for sharing your beautiful family with me. Oh, and for lunch, too. (By slyly asking me what I was going to get, Du managed to stealthily purchase my lunch.) I was pleasantly surprised and a more fitting thank-you will soon be on its way.

Better News

I've been absent for a while and man, has it has been a craaaaazy time. I've got lots of catching up to do, so I should probably start out with one of the positive things that have gone on in the past month.

Many of you have been following the recent health saga with my estranged father. I am happy to report that, at least for now, he is doing better. He was rushed back to the hospital last week but, despite a rather grave prognosis, is doing better than when he was the last time he had been returned to the hospital.

So, for his sake, I hope that he is able to resume some quality of life.

I found out today that he is no longer on oxygen so at some point, I should be able to talk to him. I'm not sure what I will say. I'm sure that it will get awkward pretty quickly after "hi" but we'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I'll just keep putting little bits of positive energy out there, pointing it in his direction.

It's Raining Bowling Balls

I'm not sure what it is about April hailstorms. I do know that I am SO done with them.

Last year, they managed to rain down golfballs onto Pearl's trunk – the only part not covered by the carport. This year, they rained down TENNIS BALLS on the MonkeyGirl's ride, Luna. (A really pretty Volkswagen CC.)

We were scrapbooking on Saturday at a charity event the MonkeyGirl's office has each year (sometimes twice!) when the tornado siren went off shortly before 6. We all went into an enclosed stairwell and rode it out. We didn't have to wait long before, as the MonkeyGirl put it, "it started raining bowling balls." As it turned out, it really wasn't much of an exaggeration.

It's not a great photo but it's good enough that you get the idea. Bear in mind, too, that I took these pictures 15 minutes or more after the fact, after I had been holding it for a minute or two and then it was melting while my volunteer held it -- and it was about 70 degrees at the time. So this is smaller than when it fell. These suckers were MASSIVE!!!!

I've never seen hail this size firsthand before and I hope that I never do again. The scary part was that hailstones this size were NOT rare. They were still all over the parking lot after they'd done their damage. Windshields were cracked or busted out. Like in the car above which belongs to a fellow scrapper and was the first damage I noticed in the aftermath. Back windows were smashed out all over the place. Car bodies looked like they had been target practice in some kind of a bizarre game.

I knew there would be damage but to so many cars and all so severely. Meanwhile, Pearl was at the MonkeyGirl's house and appears to have come through the much smaller hail storm that happened there unscathed. Knowing that made me feel even worse once I saw this. That's the MonkeyGirl's windshield -- and only the beginning of the damage.

She has an incredible attitude about it. Luckily, we weren't on the road when the storm broke out, so no one got hurt. And, as she put it: "That's what I have insurance for."

Like I said,I've never seen hail like that before, except on TV or in pictures online. It's just unreal how much damage it can do and how quickly it can do it. Let's hope that we're DONE with this stuff! While I'm not bold enough to assume we'll never have hail again, it would be nice if it would be a while before it comes our way.

Resurrection

When I called the hospital on Friday, the ICU nurse told me they had no patient by my father's name. She redirected me back to the switchboard to see if he'd been moved.

"Sorry, ma'am," the operator said. "There's no one here by that name."

Huh? "Are you sure?" I asked. I didn't see how this was possible. I had intended to contact the social worker anyway so this seemed like as good a time as any. It took three phone calls but I got a quick call back and learned that he had been moved to a floor below. It took five more calls throughout the day to find out that he was able to follow a finger for a few seconds before trailing off. Sounded encouraging.

By Saturday, he began coming out of it. For the first part of the day, he couldn't talk much and once he could, all he would say is no. No to food. No to medicine. No to anything they tried to get him to do. By late afternoon, "he'd done a 180 and was cooperating." He's still very confused but otherwise, doing much better than anticipated. They'd gotten him a priest for his own Easter service.

I'm glad. I hope he will be able to resume the level of life that he knows in the not so distant future. Thanks for all the thoughts, prayers and well wishes during this time. I really appreciate them.

I'm unaccustomed to the drama of it all or I should say, out of practice. As I was growing up and through my young adulthood, it was a way of life; they just weren't always in hospital settings. During the past few decades, I'd forgotten how crazy his infrequent appearances in my life could be. The past several days were a big and not so subtle reminder.

It seems apt that this happened during the Lenten season. It gave me a chance to reexamine a few things. It gave me a chance to check my "forgiveness" level. I may not be all the way there but definitely pretty far along. I'm only human. I'm also not stupid. It's important to note that forgiveness doesn't equate with forgetting. Forgetting would be insanity. (Using the definition that insanity is doing the same thing – and expecting a different result.) Forgiveness then is guided by the heart; forgetting by the brain.

I know that his "friends" (they who set up the password) who, during a call last week, were quick to criticize my lacking forgiveness with Scripture, are probably good people and well-intentioned. So, I can't really fault them. I don't expect them to understand my experiences any more than I might understand theirs. But, I can share a bit of applicable Scripture they obviously overlooked: "Judge not lest ye be judged."

Burst of Insanity

After days of being crazed (up to and including this afternoon), I am almost eerily calm.

It's amazing how acutely you can feel insanity and chaos when you're thrown headlong into it – after you've been distanced from it for an extended period of time. But, of course, as my father is involved, I should expect nothing less.

On Tuesday night, I found out from one cousin, via another cousin, that my father – who has lived about 200 miles away for the last several years – is in serious condition, probably dying. A friend of his had used an old contact number to reach my cousin; the friend thought family should be involved because he was on a ventilator.

Determined to at least try to do the right thing, I responded. I found out that sometime on Wednesday, he'd been taken off the vent – and was breathing on his own. By Wednesday evening, his vital signs had stabilized. He had not regained consciousness.

When I called back the next day, I was confronted with an interesting twist: "Do you have the password?" the male nurse asked me after I explained who I was and who I wanted an update on. Password? What password?

The nurse rattled off names to me. One of them was obviously the friend. The other was the name of his most recent ex-wife. "Can you call one of them to get it?" the nurse asked.

I don't know these people. I don't have their phone numbers – and the nurse can't give them to me. (That's not entirely accurate. I HAD the friend's phone number. His wife was supposed to call back on Wednesday but never did. I wrote them off as unreliable and called the hospital myself after that.) Exasperated, something just snapped.

"Look," I began. "I haven't had a face-to-face conversation with this man in 25 years. I haven't spoken to him at all in at least three or four years. He calls. My mother will talk to him sometimes, but I refuse to. I know this is not your fault, so forgive me, but I left my secret decoder ring at home today. I'm trying really hard to be decent here and to do the right thing – so how do I get a password? Someone needs to help me. Who can I talk to who can help me?"

An understanding charge nurse heard me out, asked me a few questions I could easily answer and I had my password. She put me right through to ICU and to the care nurse. I got my update: still unresponsive. And, while the friend had said he had voiced wishes to not be on life support, no DNR is in place. The nurse gave me his vitals and said he was due for a bunch of lab tests on Friday. I asked the nurse about his prognosis. She couldn't give me much. "His heart could stop tonight. His heard could stop six months from now," she said. "He's very sick."

Well, I'd kind of figured that much out on my own. I asked if he could rally and come out of it or if his current state was as good as it was likely to get. I was trying to get at how the lack of a DNR was playing into his care. "As it stands, if he codes, we will do everything in our power to save his life." But, that has a limit. If they had to do anything "invasive" – like a trach or a feeding tube – that would require the permission of next of kin. "I guess that's you."

Yep. That's me. And this was just the start of 36 hours of insanity …

A History Mystery

For me, the enduring history geek, what could be a better way to get my mind off things and to channel a bunch of energy in an infinitely more positive direction? Well, I did specify the history part ... but I digress.

In short, I stumbled upon a mystery without really trying. It revolves around this postcard. It's a picture of the Old Courthouse in downtown St. Louis. The mystery part is that statue. I have a bunch of postcards featuring the Old Courthouse and an assortment of other photos, all capturing different moments in time. I've never seen this before and it really piqued my curiosity.

So, I went to the Courthouse today and spoke with a historian and an archivist. I thought for sure that the folks at the Courthouse would look, nod and say, "Oh, yes, this is ..." and instantly solve the mystery. Except they didn't. They had never seen it either!

The best they could do was confirm my theories about this card.

1) While it is postmarked January 1913, I think the photo was taken in 1907-1910 range. (Courthouse folks say may be a little earlier - 1905).

2) Statue is likely something from the World's Fair/1904 Olympics.

3) Likely was part of a very temporary display (year or less).

I've looked through a bunch of photos and some of my postcards from the era roughly but no dice. We'll have to see how this shakes out.

Parking post drives blog traffic

I thought it was a little odd that my blog traffic had spiked in the past week ... even though I hadn't posted. When this happens, I like to check and see if there's a specific reason.

Many times, it's because of search hits for images or linking to reviews I've done in the past four years. Not this time. Well, not entirely anyway.

Some of that traffic has been generated by The American History blog on the American City and County website! At first, I didn't see why This D*mn House would be connected to a story about cities and parking. Before the page came up, I guessed it might be one of my references to downtown St. Louis' penchant for tearing down old buildings and turning them into parking lots. But no.

It was my post on Union Market. That made me smile. And I didn't even have to force it.

Houdini Sunglasses

For days, my sunglasses have been trying to escape from me.

They slip off my head. They fling free of the pocket in my work satchel where one arm has been tucked inside. They leap from my lap onto the bus floor. They bounce down the stairs behind me as I exit the train’s subterranean cave.

This morning is no exception. They are peeking through the top of my bag with a stance not unlike that of someone checking to see if the coast is clear before bolting.

As I weave through the darkened streets of downtown, it occurs to me that if I was my sunglasses, I might well try to escape, too.

***

I rediscovered both my Kindle and my iPod this week. In part, it’s because I’ve been taking the bus, having wrapped Pearl up against the threat of potential severe weather. And the din of the afternoon bus is maddening sometimes so I drown it out both audibly and visibly.

I pick up where I left off this morning and swaddle myself in music and words. I see all kinds of words in the book I’m reading that seem to leap off the page. In some ways, the author is my male counterpart and I see glimpses of myself in his thought processes, his humor, his emotions. Then, what he says speaks to me in a tone far louder than the Gorillaz tune that is thumping through my earbuds.

I am becoming frustrated with the fact that I am pretty much mad from the moment I wake up until I go to bed. I have no control over my emotions and I can’t figure out what to do or how to stop it. … I can’t stop being mad.

I stare at the Kindle screen and it occurs to me that in roughly 50 words, this guy has described my general state of being. Yes, I’m mad. There. I said it. I finally admitted it. No matter how much I laugh, how cheery a tone I may temper my speech with and regardless of the number of ;-) I might add to a message, I AM TOTALLY P*SSED OFF! At most people. Most of the time. Every day.

And apparently, I have been for some time. This is normal, or so multiple websites tell me. Depending on who you believe, there are either five (Kubler-Ross, that I read in college) or seven stages of grief. All of them, however, agree on three things: Grief is not limited to the loss of a person. Anger is one of the stages. And the stages don’t necessarily happen in a defined order. I have clearly hit the anger stage. And stopped.

Now that we’ve cleared that up …

***

The phone rings. It is the mother. No greeting or acknowledgement, just: “What’s wrong with this TV? It says no signal.” (What a difference a week makes. We HAVE the new TV! More on that in another post.)

I know immediately that, despite my repeated cautions to the contrary, she has tried to change the channel using the TV remote instead of the cable box remote. I am now challenged to do techno-diagnosis/techno-resolution over the phone. Seriously? This morning?

God. Help. Me. Please.

***

I survived that experience. And I laugh. I laugh both out of sheer relief and because I suddenly remember the last page I read in my book and the message the author shared from his “sidewalk writer.” (Someone regularly writes messages in chalk on the sidewalk outside his building and he regularly shares the messages. It makes me like the author even more.)

YOU LEARN FROM EVERY EXPERIENCE – ESPECIALLY THOSE THAT ALMOST KILL YOU.

Yeah. What he said.

As a precaution, I check to make sure that my sunglasses haven’t disappeared.

A Step Closer to Tuning In

Last night, I bought a TV. This evening, I got an email saying that said TV is on its merry way to a local store. It should arrive on or before April 3.

The good news is that I have purchased several things online at Walmart in recent years and never had a problem. And, I have to think that if they did not have any more of these TVs, they would not send me an email saying it had been shipped. I have to think that I wouldn't have heard from them at all except maybe in a week or so saying they couldn't find one.

On that note then, I remain hopeful.

In the meantime, I'm stuck watching the TV for which contrast and brightness have very serious issues. Cross your fingers ...

So I Bought a TV

I just didn't buy it at Kmart.

Turns out that before I went to bed last night, there was already a second email in my inbox CANCELING my SECOND order. At least this time they acknowledged that the cancellation was a result of the item being out of stock, not trying to pass it off as something that I supposedly initiated. Being me, I sent them some "feedback." I got a response earlier tonight, a response that made it clear to me that the person responding didn't completely understand the problem.

It did apologize and did acknowledge the loss of my time. (That and $1.50 will buy me a cup of coffee.) I'll give them a little slack because Sears is going through a rough time. Maybe in the not-so-distant future we won't even have a local Kmart. But what they need to learn is that when times are tough, the way they handle experiences like mine makes or breaks a company. So, for now at least, I'm sticking by the Charlie Babbitt assessment: "Kmart sucks."

On the positive side, so far at least, I have purchased a TV and I should have it next week.

Even better than buying the TV is that 1) It's still local and 2) It was $11 cheaper than what I was going to pay for it! That is, of course, if I don't get an email tonight telling me that the deal is off ...

Can It Be ... a New TV? Wait and See

Charlie: Let me let you in on a little secret, Ray: Kmart sucks.

Raymond: Yeah. Kmart sucks. – Scene in “Rainman”

I am a creature of habit. So for as long as I have been a purchaser of televisions in my life, all of them, save one, have come from Kmart. The one lone TV came from Circuit City. It lasted just long enough for the warranty to expire. Every other TV? Kmart. And they last years and years and years ...

I’m trying to remember how many TVs that actually is. Counting the three that are currently in the house, I think we’re talking at least eight, maybe as many as 10. Of the three currently in the house, one is in the mother’s room; it’s not very big. The second one is our current model which, for all intents and purposes, stopped working properly 4-6 weeks ago.

You still get a picture (lousy), the sound remains OK and you can barely make out anything written that appears onscreen unless it’s a dark background with white type. Otherwise, forget it. We’ve learned to adjust and only occasionally b*tch about it. (Usually, when there’s something we can’t read.)

And then, there’s the third TV. It’s a 32-inch I got for a huge bargain on Black Friday. (I bought it having a feeling that after being on almost non-stop for 2+ years, and in regular use for several years before that, this TV would eventually die.) It’s sitting in the dining room, still unboxed. Well, you say, what luck! One TV is broken and you have a brand new one.

Except that the 32-inch TV (which is 31 inches wide) will NOT fit in the Queen Anne entertainment center in the livingroom. Not unless I take the doors off. And the mother won’t hear of it. So, I decided that that TV will go in the family room – just as soon as the family room is relieved of its current warehouse duties. So, for the last month or so, we have been locked in a bad relationship with the current TV. (You know what I mean. The not ideal relationship; the one you know it’s not. It might even border on abusive, but you get just enough of what you need that you tune out as much BS as you can and tough it out. It’s easier than starting over. And it’s easier than hefting the behemoth out of the cabinet.)

Except yesterday, I hit the breaking point. I’m divorcing that d*mn television! The clincher was being unable to read the outcome of a docu-crime show. And the deal-breaker was seeing a TV that WILL fit in the entertainment center in a Sunday ad flyer. From Kmart.

I decided to just stop on my way home and see if they had one in stock. They didn’t. I asked about a store in a neighboring town. The clerk sent me to customer service. The girl at customer service kindly complied and called the neighboring town’s store – TWICE. No one in electronics ever picked up the phone. “I can give you the number and you can call a manager,” she offered sweetly after I’d stood there for 10 minutes. Sure, I thought. And get put in eternal hold hell like this again? Um, no. I left.

I’d now tried in person and over the phone. Neither channel got me a TV. Hey, I’ll go online! I buy all kinds of things online. And, while this has been a crazy experience on occasion with Kmart, I always end up getting my stuff. When I got online though, the website told me that the neighboring town was out – but my LOCAL store had the TV. Huh. So much for trying to do it in person! I placed my order and figured that sometime this evening I’d be going to pick up a new TV.

Instead, I got an email informing me that my order had been cancelled – as I’d requested. Wait. Cancel? When the hell did I cancel the order? Furthermore, WHY would I cancel it when I’ve already been through so much crap to place it?! So I called the customer service number in my email. Nice gal but I could barely understand her. And, I noticed that this number was different than the one in my original email. It made me paranoid. While the gal offered to place the order again, I passed. By this time, that scene from “Rainman” is playing in my head. Loud.

I went to the website and clicked on the “chat” option. Five minutes into that conversation, I am told that my store DOES NOT have the TV; neither does the neighboring town. The town after that, however, does. Do they REALLY have the TV? I actually asked that. Yes, says my chat buddy, at … and gives me the store address. I want to shout at the computer. I KNOW where the store is. But will I find a TV when I get there?

I guess we’ll find out tomorrow. Stay tuned …

Duckin' Back In

They’re baaack. The ducks are back!

They showed up again a little over a week ago. I was looking
out the kitchen window and there they were. I don’t think it’s Jemmy and I know
it’s not Frank. (You may recall that Frank lost a foot somewhere.) I am
convinced that poor Frank didn’t survive, despite the almost unrealistically
winter we’ve had this year.

No. I think this is Esther Williams and whatever beau she
has managed to collect since the fall. I think that because almost as soon as I
saw them last week, the hen was strutting around the area where their small
pool I bought early last summer had been. Even after several subsequent visits,
she still keeps walking every inch of that former area. So, I’m fairly sure she
is Esther.

Well, the ducks aren't the only ones to reappear. Meanwhile, I'm re-entering the scene again, too. I’ve been quiet for the past month as the mother has been battling some kind of illness. Doctors, hospitals, labs. Not a fun scenario. On the plus side, this week is getting off to a good start, so send good karma in the form of prayers, thoughts … whatever manner you can manage.

It’s pushed me farther behind on trying to get started again on the house as time and money allow. But, we’ll deal with it as it comes. The most important thing is just getting her well.

The ducks have been a welcome distraction and we’re very glad to see them again. As soon as we get to more stable spring/summer temps, I guess I’ll have to replace Esther’s pool!

Architecture and Shape: Arches

St. Louis is filled with a variety of architectural styles and shapes. I never fail to be amazed by the many glimpses of beauty I am treated to throughout downtown alone on a regular basis.

Downtown, of course, is home to the granddaddy of all arches, the symbol that, to many people, the city is synonymous with: the Arch. Well, yes. There is that.
After all, 630 feet of gleaming stainless (in both height and width) is a little hard to miss. But long before THE Arch and even long before its designer, Eero Saarinen, were thought of, St. Louis was awash in arches.

Let me show you what I mean.

First stop: Eads Bridge. Predates the Arch by almost a century. Have to think Saarinen found some inspiration here ...

At the corner of Sixth of Washington, is 555 Washington. This is one of the oldest extant buildings downtown (c.1870-ish). And, it is also full of arches.

Likewise a block away at the Missouri Athletic Club where the marquee and first-floor windows make my point.From there, just look across the street to the Roberts Vista. (The J. Kennard Carpet Co. building.) There's more of those arches!

In fact, the arches cover this building from top to bottom. This building is an early illustration of how the detail of an arch can break up an otherwise towering building of squares and rectangles.


Go a few blocks back down Fourth Street, toward the heart of downtown, and head up Pine until you hit Broadway. There you will find the two-towered Marquette Building.


Built in 1913, it was already a half-century old when they started building the Arch! More proof that the shape has dominated St. Louis architecture for more than a century.


If you have a certain view like some people do (oh, like maybe ME!) you can see that it, too, is topped off with arches.

Go down any block in downtown, any of them.

I defy you to make it all the way down a single street without being able to spot at least one arch. And, I'd even be willing to bet that you could spot a whole lot more than just one.

Even though downtown's modern architecture bent has been more focused on triangles and cubes, I guarantee that you will still find arches neatly tucked away somewhere.


The ultra-modern 600 Washington, which takes up a good chunk of Sixth Street, and is a study in cubist construction can't help but get in on the act.


So the next time you're surrounded by skyscrapers, (especially if you're in St. Louis) look up and look around. See any arches?


I'll bet you do.

Desiderata

“And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” – Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

I am, by both propensity and profession, a writer.

D*mn, it felt good to type that … and for that, I owe thanks to Morgan Freeman. (Yes, the actor.) I thank him for reminding me that bad, good or indifferent, that is what I am. I should neither profane it nor profess it begrudgingly.

Freeman was on Oprah’s “Master Class” last night, one of her new shows on her OWN network. I have always liked Freeman. I remember him from The Electric Company. Rather humble beginnings for such an incredible performer … but there you have it. Unlike so many who hit it big, he remembers it, too.

I knew I would enjoy this interview; I just didn’t know how much. As a writer, I am, by nature, a storyteller. I love hearing other people’s stories and, for much of my life, have relished the opportunities I’ve had to share them with others in my own personalized way.

At one point, I could have sworn that Freeman was speaking directly to me. The introductory subtitles on some of his lessons, struck me that much.
· Nurture your natural gifts.
· Keep your principles.
· Follow your muse.
· Listen to others.

And I’m sure there were one or two others I found just as relevant but that are escaping me in my sleep-deprived state. But those were pretty awe-inspiring for me as they were each paired with some of his personal experiences. One of my favorite anecdotes from the interview was when he lost a job as a clerk/typist and, by virtue of being on unemployment, was obligated to go out and look for new work as a clerk/typist. During one of his meetings with an unemployment counselor, he explained that he just couldn’t justify continuing to seek work as a clerk typist. “I am an actor,” he boldly pronounced to Mrs. Lipton. (He even remembered her name.) She approved his extension with: “You’ve got six months. Go be an actor.”

And he did.

For everything in his life, every decision, opportunity or setback, Freeman attributes it to providence. He referred to a poem, Desiderata, -- Latin for “desired things” -- that I had never heard of, but that I now know I will never forget. (You really should go and read it. Trust me – it will be worth it.)

Something Freeman didn’t mention, and may not even know, though I bet he does, is that Max Ehrmann, the man who wrote that poem, seemed to have a hard time finding his own niche. “At age 40, Ehrmann left the business to write. At age 54, he wrote Desiderata, which achieved fame only after his death.” (Wikipedia)

It took about 45 years between the time the poem was written (1927) before it joined the mainstream. (1971-72). Makes me think all the harder that I need to decide what I want to be when I grow up … and go be it.

So far, so good

Crazy ... I haven't even blogged yet and this year is two weeks old!

It's been a busy time. Things have gotten off to a good start. In fact, here I am at my scrapbooking weekend. Needing to go and get coffee, but otherwise GREAT! Fun times, great folks and laughing, laughing, laughing. There can never be too much of that.

So, here's to a fabulous weekend. Excuse me while I get back to it ...

Out with the Old

It's too easy to take potshots at 2011. It is a year that, while not my worst, and while considerably good by the standards of the less fortunate, will go down as infinitely less than a stellar one.

The year saw fit to meddle with (in chronological order) my car, my dog, my job, my family. It affected almost everything I hold dear. Almost.

With the exceptions of my immediate family and closest friends, 2011 did its damnedest to slime my life.

Fate seemed to forget something though. I'm a stubborn sumb*tch. I can take a punch. In fact, I can take quite a pummeling. I may fall down. I may even stay down for a while. On the way back up, I may have to crawl a bit. I may stumble. And for a time, I may be less than steady on my feet.

But in the end, I will get up. I always have. I always will.

So, go ahead 2011. Trifle with me if you must, while you can. Your hours are numbered.

And yet, here I stand. Maybe a little unsure of my next step but vertical just the same. While my stance is uncertain, my resolve is not. It is as strong as it has ever been. With it, two words are poised on my lips, poised to greet the year that will soon make its appearance: "Bring it."

Take heed, 2012. Take heed.

The Winter Project

In one of my most recent posts, I alluded to a landscaping project ...

I had wanted to start this project toward the end of summer. But it seemed like something was always happening to postpone it. I couldn't have imagined that I'd be working on it in DECEMBER! But there I was.

After months on and off of collecting bricks, I was putting them into the ground in an attempt to rein in the quarries of white marble chip that surround three sides of the house and regularly end up all over the yard. I thought it might also add a little shot of color around the house.

I FINALLY started Thanksgiving weekend. And while it's straightforward work, certainly not rocket science, it was a very time-consuming task. And Mother Nature kept challenging me to get it done. Right after I started, we got hit with a string of days with highs in the 40s and winds almost that high. Then, we had a couple days with highs in or near the 60s, so I got my silly self moving at top speed.

It wasn't too hard, considering I was still working with a messed-up left hand. But, it did require some elbow grease, a few adjustments to allow for my injury and LOTS of patience. The biggest challenge was dealing with all the decades of rock I was hitting as I attempted to dig up weed-filled dirt, create a small trench, line it with plastic and then put down each brick.

Finally, last weekend, I got it finished. Well, all but the back yard. I got the sides and front done. Now we just need to add some rock, straighten out the brick bases in the rock and get the trees out.

Even though it's not completely done, I think it looks pretty good. Here's a look.

Merry Birthday!

Here's hoping that everyone had a great holiday yesterday and that today (Dec. 26), the MonkeyGirl had a fabulous birthday.

It's been a very lazy day for me. Other than braving Wal-Mart, a grocery store and Michael's this afternoon, I haven't done a whole lot. (Believe me when I say that was quite enough!) I made it home ahead of some sleet and it's done nothing but rain ever since. Really wishing it would stop as it has saturated my poor bones, including my still-healing hand, making all of them ache.

I did take a vacation day on Tuesday (thank God!) so that means I don't wake to a pre-dawn alarm. Yippee!! While tomorrow won't be as lazy as today, I'm hoping it WILL still be a slow one. We were pretty busy around here from Thursday through yesterday so the quiet, easy pace will certainly be a welcome one.

Back to Monday

It was a busy and productive weekend.

Saturday was sunny and created the deception of warmth. While the temp supposedly reached 45, with the associated wind, the wind chill factor made it feel like 39!
If you’re me, that’s at least 15 degrees below “passable” work outside temps!

Yesterday was infinitely better. While there wasn’t much sun, the wind was mostly quiet until just before sunset and it hit the upper 50s. YAY! Much more conducive to working outside for a solid EIGHT HOURS. I am sore and tired today but I got some nice landscaping nearly done AND I got the yard mowed and a lot of leaves picked up. (I’d share a photo so you could see my latest project, but it’s raining.) We also needed to get some rock down and some trees out but that just didn’t happen. We’ll have to see if Mother Nature gives us another decent day to wrap things up out there.

Meanwhile, things are progressing inside, too, though much more slowly. The mother has been doing the “deep” cleaning of everything in addition to unboxing kitchen stuff. It’s beginning to resemble a house again! Don’t think I can ask for too much more for Christmas than that. (Except maybe a decent-paying, centrally-located, full-time job. Maybe even one that I could be passionate and truly feel good about. Or else just win MegaMillions tomorrow night. That would work, too … )

Albert, Androids and Apple

It's been an interesting few days. First, after early-morning rumblings to the contrary, we learned that Albert Pujols was leaving the Cardinals.

It sucks, but it is what it is. The Cardinals will be fine. Really.

Then, I started getting emails about stuff I downloaded from Apple iTunes. Wait. WHAT?! (I hadn't purchased anything since September!) Some asshat decided it would be fun to hack and raid my account. They got my store credit (somewhere around $12) and another $70 or so from PayPal. PayPal was awesome. They were on it and reaching out to Apple post-haste. Apple? Not so much. Apparently, you can't talk to anyone to fix your woes with them.

I was relieved to find out that my iTunes account was shutdown temporarily. But, what if I need/want to use it? I'm in the resolution process now but told it could take "several days." We'll see how that goes.

And then, there's the Android. Yep, I am the proud owner of a tablet. (Not an iPad.) I bought an IdeaPad. Thanks to a new addition as of this very afternoon (a compatible portable keyboard which WILL fit in the bag with it) I am LOVING this thing. I think it's going to do just what I need it to. Just as soon as I can figure out how to copy and paste ...

A Month of Mourning

It's hard to turn down a "command" performance. So, OK, Karen Anne, I'm speaking!

And the first thing I want to say is thank you again. As I told a group of my "realtime" nearest and dearest yesterday, the last few months have not been exactly stellar ones for me. It started on July 21, in the hours before my birthday, and just went to hell from there.

I'm grateful for the glimmers of good fortune and goodwill that have managed to shine through despite it all, especially the kindness of those on the blog. Some of those glimmers have kept me pretty busy. That's a good thing as they have allowed me to replace, at least temporarily, almost all of my lost income. While one of those opportunities will likely go away soon, I'm hoping to quickly replace it with another. Wish me luck. In the meantime, I still have another ongoing opportunity that has allowed me to revisit my journalism career. (Between you and me, I rather like it!)

A special shout-out to the MonkeyGirl is in order, and to Mr. Monkeygirl, too. See, she "kidnapped" me a few weekends ago for a scrapbooking event. Got me away from the house and away from what seems to be a constant cycle of work (I'm not complaining, really!) for about 36 hours. It was a fabulous respite and a nice prelude to our annual scrapbooking pilgrimage which is now less than six weeks away! (And while MG had been traveling quite a bit in the weeks leading up to our recent adventure, I'm grateful to Mr. MG for sparing his best girl during her brief time back home.)

You might notice, too, that some new advertisements have popped up. I'm equally grateful for those. (More on that in a separate post.)

So, it hasn't been all bad. Not by a longshot. Just incredibly hard. Things have been further complicated by an injury to my left hand (1 broken finger, 1 bruised finger and some joint and ligament damage in my hand). Sometimes I just get really sick of the struggle. Can't ANYTHING be easy? Ever? And then come reminders of just how bad I don't have it. This year, that reminder has come in the forms of about nearly 50 people, the people our charity program at work will be helping after "adopting" them for the holidays.

These are people whose entire lives, in most cases, have been a string of tragedy, hardship and pain. Mine hasn't been all rosy but it's surely been a cakewalk by comparison. I'm grateful then to not only have been thusly spared but to be given the chance to have an impact on their lives, albeit a very brief and small one.

I allowed myself to wallow a bit last month and provided myself with a bit of a pity party. No more. (Well, outside the occasional overwhelming sense of loss of Ozzie. I miss him terribly!)

I've been thinking a lot lately (drives and train rides tend to give you that opportunity) about what's next. Where do I go from here? I wish I knew just what that answer was. It's a huge uncertainty. I like to think though that also means there are myriad possibilities. Surely something good has to come from that. Right?

New Year's Eve will be particularly meaningful this year as I can't wait to kick this year to the curb and get to the blank canvas that is 2012.

General Weirdness

It's been two weeks. Two weeks.

I've been silent but I haven't really had much to say. Ozzie's absence has been felt acutely. Each day I seem to find myself expecting to see him turn the corner between rooms. Sometimes, I swear I hear him as I enter the house. It's going to take a lot of getting used to, this post-Ozzie world.

A lot.

The one thing I do have to say is a huge THANK YOU for all of the support during this phase of general weirdness. It has helped immensely and means so much.