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.

Thievery!

It’s a sad state of affairs when you can’t leave something in your front yard without someone having the gonads to come onto your property and take it. But, that’s what happened last Saturday.

You may recall that I recently sealed the driveway again (watch for some product reviews to come). When I finished, I took my two sawhorses (metal, with legs that fold up into the base) out and put one at each of the driveway. I was a little concerned about the one at the edge of the alley. We have junkmen who drive up and down the alleys all the time and then there are mischievous kids who like to occasionally destroy property out back.

I had them up all last week and I had both cars parked in the yard. On Friday, I had Pearl washed so I wasn’t pulling a dirty car onto my nice, freshly painted driveway. When I got home mid-afternoon, there was no traffic coming, so I was able to stay on the four-lane roadway long enough to jump out and put the sawhorse into the front yard before bringing Pearl through.
I left the one in place out back and didn’t think any more about either one on Friday, planning to deal with it over the weekend.

When I came out of the house shortly before noon Saturday, the sawhorse at the alley was still in place. As I backed out of the driveway to run some errands, I discovered that that the sawhorse I’d put in the front yard less than 24 hours earlier – and which had still been there as recently as 12 hours before – was gone. Seriously?

It had to be scrappers. And why they took the one OUT OF MY YARD and left the one that was at the edge of the alley is beyond me. They physically had to walk at least 3 feet onto my property to do this.

It's not that it's a major loss, as frankly, I've been planning to replace them anyway. It is, however, sad commentary on just how brazen people are today.