COMING UP ROSES

Ruben is having a root canal tomorrow. We have excellent dental coverage.

My dryer is broken and I need a new one. Ruben hung a line on the back deck and the sun and wind have dried my clothes for the past few weeks.

I need to buy a new car. Said car is running fairly well right now and I may be able to wait until after the root canal and dryer purchase.

The economy is in a slump. From this comes a collective appreciation for less expensive and more meaningful exchanges.

I can't lose for trying around here.

EXCEPT WHEN IT'S SOMETHING

Levi has a cyst on his iris. The iris located in his eye.

It is very small. Tiny. Minuscule. So small that the first doctor didn’t even think it was a cyst. Maybe just some inflammation creating some swelling. Or a cyst. Maybe.

(And BTW - I brought him along to the eye doctor because his sister needed to be checked. His eyes didn't need to be checked. Perfect vision. Whatevs.)

So she sent us to Dr. No2. Who said, “Yup, it’s a cyst. Probably nothing. It is likely nothing will happen. But we want to monitor it. Oh, and by the way, I want the team of experts at UCSF to have a look. They probably won’t call or anything, but you know. I just want to check with them.”

So, yeah.

They want to see him. The UCSF folks. For an ultrasound biomicroscopy. It's basically a high resolution ultrasound to evaluate the iris cyst. Even though the cyst appears totally benign.

So there’s that.

And I don’t deal well with worry for my loved ones and their well being. And my crazy pills may not keep this panic rising in my chest at bay.

Cause I don’t have that thing. That, “Nothing bad will happen! Everything will work out. My people will be perfect and everything will be ducky!” thing.

I happen to know that sometimes shit goes left and your world crumbles down to the ground and you are left with dirt and sticks and now you have to make something like a life out of this pile of shit.

And I can hardly keep the tears from squirting out of my eyes right now except the guy in the cube next to me clearly has a hairball he’s trying to cough up. Or a sinus infection from hell. And no snot/throat etiquette. Geez, where was this guy raised? Step into the restroom, my friend. None of us need to hear this! And now I’m shaking and I’m not sure if it’s laughing or crying but I know if anyone sees it, it will not be good. One sec.

Okey dokes. I’m back.

Anyhoo, I was IMing with my hubs after I emailed Dr. No2’s response to him. And he knows just what to say to make me feel better.

hubby: just got Dr. No2's response. Thanks

me: np

hubby: cool

me: it makes me nervous

hubby: me too
but worst case scenario....
he's the cool guy with a patch
and an eyeball in a jar

me: in fact, we'll call him patch

hubby: so there's that

me: or jar

hubby: oh, you mean call him jar?

me: yes

hubby: or leftie
or Cyclopes

me: eagle eye

hubby: ooooohhhh
that's the one
hawkeye too

me: yes

hubby: madeye moody

me: now that's what I'm talking about

Which is why I will love him forever.

SUPRISE!

For the past few weeks my behavior has been a crap shoot. Inappropriate outbursts. Joyful celebrations. I've been an emotional pendulum.

I have recently found myself fuming at a lovely group of friends. For asking questions. And not being mind readers.

Weird, huh?

Turns out maybe it isn't my friends. Turns out, I have some repressed anger issues.

I'm very angry. Furious, actually. And not about anything that has to do with my friends. About how a moment can change your loved ones lives forever. About how my broken heart is never really healed, even after eleven years, one marriage, two kids, various jobs, cars, vacations, "Simple Abundance," therapy, bi-annual retreats, weekly womens' groups, time and space.

Nothing will ever heal it.

And for that fact I am enraged.

And I found out this week that the big company I work for has replaced my group with a "lower cost solution."

And I found out about this in an email from the new group soliciting me to apply for my own job.

LOVELY.

So that not smoking thing - it is off the table for the moment. I'll keep you posted. For now, I have to find a new job. Or bump off the entire replacement team.

I'm seriously torn.

Give me a light, will ya?

STUPID FUCKING HATE - FTW

In the car on the way to school this morning we listened to election results. When the news about Prop 8 (AKA "Ignorant Haters for Nixing Love if it isn't Exactly How They Deem it Acceptable") was announced I was audibly devastated.

Me: Oh my god, NO!

Maddy: What's wrong?

Me: Prop 8 passed. And I'm just really super sad about it.

Levi: What is Prom 8?

Me: Prop 8 is a proposed constitutional amendment for California stating that gay and lesbian couples won't be able to get married if they want to.

Maddy: Why not? Why would anyone care?

Me: I don't know why not. I can't imagine what two people loving each other and wanting to get married has to do with anyone else. I would be so sad if my state or country told your Daddy and I that we couldn't get married because other people thought we were too different.

Levi: Well, they would never do that, would they?

Me: Well, a long time ago it wasn't OK for people to marry if their skin colors didn't match, which would have meant I was only allowed to marry albinos. And there really aren't very many of them, and none of them would have been your father. Which would have sucked.

Kiddos: ???

Me: I know we need laws to protect people and animals but it's not like our gay friends want to get married and kill puppies. They just want to get married. If they feel like it. When the time is right.

Levi: Yeah, killing puppies isn't OK. But getting married is.

Maddy: I'd vote "no" for killing puppies but "yes" for love and marriage.

Me: Me too, pal. Me too.

A GOOD HARD LOOK

I went on my retreat this weekend. I usually go every April and October, but I missed this most recent April because I'd just started my new job. So it had been a year.

A year is, apparently, too long for me.

I haven't needed a retreat so badly in many years, and I've been going regularly for eleven.

I will not share specifics of this weekend away. As with every precious and special thing in the world the details are for the attendees. I will share, however, the theme: Self acceptance.

What if I accepted myself, totally and completely?

How would I be different in my life? How would my relationships change? How would I face life's challenges? How would I face successes?

So, I am sitting with all of these questions. I am considering myself in a way I have not previously.

And I have quit smoking.

Because no matter what, I cannot reconcile the future I hand myself by continuing to indulge in that behavior. Plus I fucking stink.

Pray for me.

"I want you to help me kill myself."

Sweaty, itchy, feeling too fat with my two month old daughter strapped to my chest, I had pushed my brother in his new wheelchair to the Starbucks about 10 blocks from my parents home.

"I already asked Mom but she said no. I'm not going to ask Dad. I don't think he would be able to."

"Well, I'm thrilled that I'm your third choice."

"I'm not kidding. I need your help."

And as I sat there with an iced chai and my new fussing baby I considered weather or not I would kill my brother.

All I could think was how the fuck did we get here?

Seven months earlier, at around 6:00 AM on Saturday, April 12, 1997, I was awakened by the phone. It was my Mom.

"Bumper has been in an accident. He's at Valley Med. They won't tell me anything."

I assured her, "They can't tell you anything. He's fine. He always is. I'll meet you there in a half hour."

Just a few months before that she had gotten a similar call that my brother Bumper had been in a snowboarding accident. He had bruised his ribs and spleen and hit his head. He'd temporarily lost his short term memory, his friend later explained to us.

The resulting phone conversations that my Mom and Dad and I had with him proved ridiculously funny. In part, I'm sure, due to our relief that nothing too serious had happened to him. But also because talking to him that day was an exercise in frustration. He could remember who we were, what our voices sounded like, but not what he had just said to us or us to him. He repeated himself again and again and we laughed and asked him questions so he would repeat himself once more. We were ridiculous. But we were laughing and really, you can get through anything if you can laugh, right?

That boarding accident proved to be relatively minor and he had recovered fully. He was a big strong strapping young man. At 21 years old and 6'4", his body was remarkable and resilient.

I felt sure everything was going to be fine this time as well.

We arrived at the hospital and asked at the admissions desk about Bumper. They made us wait. Then a nurse came for us and took us to the "Family Room," closed the door and left us alone. There I stood, four months pregnant with my first child, my mother and father looking confused and worried and overwhelmed. I tried to soothe them and comfort them. I tried to think why the nurses weren't telling us anything. I tried to hope for the best.

Then the doctor came. He spoke to my parents.

"Your son has broken his neck. He is paralyzed."

The doctor said a lot of other things. I heard none of them. I think I shook my head. I think I said "No. No. No. No." But honestly, I may have imagined that.

The following weeks were a blur of concerned friends and family, ICU, surgeries, Bumper's halo, recovery, ICU again, the rotating bed, endless batteries for the Sony disc man, my folks and I taking shifts around the clock to sit by his bed and then - when they would kick us out - to sit vigil in the waiting room with once hourly peeks in on him.

The hospital staff and management told us we should leave. Go home and let him face his recovery on his own. They told us that we weren't helping, being there all the time. That his adjustment would be easier if we didn't hover so much.

Over the weeks and months he had a number of roommates. Many of them had no family with them for days and weeks at a time. Some of them would leave the hospital and go "home" to a nursing care facility. No one who loved them would be caring for them. They were alone.

We did not budge. My folks and I stuck it out. We were there. With him every single day. If we couldn't trade places with him we were certainly going to do our best to know what brand new doorway of hell he was going to be "walking" through every day.

During his stay at that hospital I watched my brother move his arms, more and more with practice. I watched him get into the power wheelchair and roam the halls of the hospital after weeks of laying flat. I watched him do physical and occupational therapy every day and learn to tell the hospital staff about his needs. After a number of months he went home with my folks to their house. Ramps were built. A new bed was brought in. The front bathroom was remodeled to accommodate the shower wheelchair. Attendants were hired to help him with his daily needs.

While I was watching this, my little brother was living this. My parents baby boy was experiencing a life none of us had ever imagined. He was learning how to live a new way. Without the use of his hands and legs. Without the freedoms he had known his entire life. Without the ability to storm out on it all with a grand, "Fuck you!" letting the door swing behind him.

And, of course, I was pregnant. And let's be clear. I did not want to be pregnant anymore. I'm not saying that I wanted my baby to come out of me, here into the world. I did not want to be a mom. I did not want to hold my baby in my arms. This creature inside was, in my opinion, sapping energy and attention from me that I could not spare. I wanted this pregnancy to go away. I wanted it to end. I wanted God or the universe or whoever was in charge to know that I was not capable of giving any more of myself. That I was destroyed. Broken beyond repair and I had no business becoming a parent in the middle of this. But god/the universe/whoever turned a deaf ear to my desperate requests.

Because my daughter was born.

The OB nurse (phenomenal, amazing, wonderful woman) carried my minutes-old daughter over to Bumper and held her to his cheek, resting the weight if this new person on his shoulder. And things shifted.

Suddenly our tears were joy soaked. All of our sarcastic and surreal laughter that had helped us to survive the months of fear and misery gave way to laughter sprung from genuine delight. My new little person brought with her healing and peace and potential that none of us expected. She was an angel. Sent here with the daunting task of healing my whole family of our deep, open, painful recent wounds. And, apparently, she was up to the task. Who knew?

Hope springs eternal, or some shit like that.

So as I sat there at the Starbucks, with milk swollen breasts that I was resistant to whip out in public, I considered my brother's request.

If I really love him do I kill him or do I say no?

ASTROLOGY IS AN EXACT SCIENCE

Today's horoscope:

Your work activities get in the way of your real purpose today. It's not that you are a bad employee; it's just that right now your mind is not on pleasing your boss. You are ready for a real vacation or, at least, for a quick getaway to take your mind off the same old mundane tasks that prevent you from living out your fantasies.

By Rick Levine

I will never doubt this shit again.

SOME OF EACH

I will never be one of those people who slips away quietly in their sleep not to be discovered for 13 years because no one notices that I am gone. I have too many loves. Too many people keeping tabs. Plus, I live with 3 other humans and two dogs who still have a sense of smell, but I digress (as usual).

My last post had my friends in a frenzy. Not exactly up my ass, but openly concerned and texting, calling, emailing, etc... while I was away on my family vacation. And now that I am home there is more of the same.

Thank you. I am loved and I am so lucky and I know it.

I am not slipping away into the ocean of despair never to be seen again. And this really isn't the first time I have felt a great loss. This may well be the first time I've experienced it sometime near the time it occurred, however. And that is new for me.

So I am having sad feelings every day. I am also having feelings of joy and gratitude every day.

I am having some of each.

SILENCE

Many attempts to communicate are nullified by saying too much.

Robert Greenleaf

I have gone quiet. I am shocked by how little I have to say. If you know me at all this is a surprising phase for me. I am constantly sharing, endlessly prattling on, always coming up with something to say about one thing or another. And I really don't let lack of knowledge hinder me. Like the Energizer bunny I keep going and going and going...

Until now.

Now my heart is aching. My mind is full and my throat closes often.

Now I am reading sad books and watching sad movies and working myself too hard and trying to be with my kiddos during their fun Summer. I am quiet there too. I don't have anything to say so I am quiet.

I wonder when I will feel like me again. I wonder if the way "me" feels is changed forever.

But here is what I want people to know: I don't care that her body was just a vessel. I miss the fucking vessel. I miss it and I want it back. I don't care that we will have her in our hearts forever. She is too big for my heart. It hurts every day with her all crowded in there. I want her out of there and in the world where I can say more things and go to more movies and laugh more and seek her counsel more.

I know we will tell the stories but I want her grandkids to grow up with her, not the stories about her. I want her husband to not be so unmoored by the loss of his partner that his grief doesn't let him through the grocery store with enough food to sustain him. I want him to not have to berate himself when he calls every woman her name. That name that is supposed to come out of his mouth forever, same as it has for the past 40 years, but there is no one here to receive it, to respond to it.

She should be here. My heart is so sore. My chest feels bruised.

And what I know is that everyone I have ever loved will leave me in this way. And I'm scared to death.

I'm so scared.

IN LOVING MEMORY

I met Heather in Mr. Williams 7th grade homeroom class. She sat in the next row. She had thick red hair and Jordache jeans. We started out just talking in class. About the teacher (Crazy. Not just odd, actually NUTSO. Left teaching the next year cause he was honest to god crazy.), about boys (Vance Beltran - 7th grade GOD sat right behind me. And occasionally he spoke to me. She witnessed these events), about school work (Lame. Always.), about ourselves.

We became best friends. We walked to school together every day of high school. We spent summers together. Mostly at her house because her folks were there. Her dad worked out of a home office in the converted garage long before it was normal to have a home office. Her mom was a stay at home Mom. She encouraged us to be kind and respectful. She called us MITs (Moms In Training). She cooked delicious treats (popcorn, chocolate donuts, fried fish and okra, biscuits and gravy) and made us feel welcome and loved.

Heather's Mom was a devoutly Christian woman. She knew her Bible chapter and verse but never forced her beliefs on anyone. She was kind and gentle and strong and loving. For the past 24 plus years she has been a second mom to me.

Heather's Mom loved my kids and their accomplishments and quirks like they were her own grand kids. She was lucky enough to have 2 grand kids of her own and she has delighted in them from the moment they hit the planet.

A little over 5 years ago doctors found a lump. Since then she has weathered 3 progressively worse rounds of chemotherapy. She withstood radiation, fatigue, pain and nausea. This year things got a lot worse for her and about 2 1/2 months ago the doctors told her family that she would not be surviving this. When Heather's dad asked if the doctors were talking 18 months (?) they let him know that they were talking more like 3 months.

From that moment everything changed. Suddenly people she loved were making time. Time for long distance visits, time for dinners and shopping and chats. Time for making chocolate donuts. Time together.

When she was asked what she would want to do she said she wanted to go to Greece.

And so all of those people who loved her and felt impotent because they couldn't do anything to change her prognosis suddenly had something they could do. They chipped in and sent her and her husband to Europe. To Italy and Greece for two weeks. This vacation was to have ended last Thursday.

Heather's mom, Phyllis Davis Kelly, died peacefully tonight. About one hour ago.

My best friend's heart is shattered and will never be the same again.

I loved Phyllis. I will love my friend and will remember her mother with with her for all the years that I have left here. I will tell stories to Heather's children about their wonderful grandmother. Her kindness, her humor, her amazing capacity for love and depth of patience beyond my understanding. I will make chocolate donuts and know that they will never taste as good or as sweet because the woman who perfected them is gone.

This is too hard.

TOMORROW WILL BE HARD PRESSED TO IMPROVE ON THIS DAY

Madigan started dance classes this week. She has been dancing forever, literally since she was two. This year Maddy is starting late (January instead of September) because she had a play earlier in the year with a relentless practice schedule. No room for dance on the family calendar.

So, tonight was her first time at the ballet class she'd picked out. Good size. Good age range. New teacher. She went in at 6:15 feeling good. I told her I would return in an hour.

I went to look at furniture at a nearby store. Just killed some time. Made my way back to the studio. Sat myself down in the waiting room to start watching her class on the CC television.

Oh no. I could tell the instant I laid eyes on her. Maybe it was the way her shoulders were scrunched up so high; maybe it was her eyes as big as saucers; maybe it was just that way a mother knows when her child is not OK. I'm not sure what tipped me off but I KNEW that she was freaking out. On the verge of losing her shit.

At 7:15 on the dot she ran from the room. Ran. She bolted. None of the other girls did. I asked her when she got to the lobby, "Is the class over?"

"I don't know. I'm never going back there. Let's go!"

I started in with the "Wait a minute. What's going on? What happened?" but she would not talk until I got her to the car. And then she was crying over her talking and so I had to take it to the next level. I called in backup.

Over New York Cheesecake (for her) and low fat, no sugar added Berries n Bananas (for me) we discussed the situation. She HATED the class. New teacher Nickoli (Russian trained ballet dancer himself) was not, as it turned out, mean. He corrected her endlessly because SHE COULDN'T DO what he was asking her to do. The stretches and poses he asked her to hold were so hard they were painful in the extreme. No matter what, even with extra help, even with lots of time to come up to speed, she didn't want to be in this class anymore. End of discussion.

And I told her it was OK. And it was.

Until we got home. To my husband, her father, the 24 year football coach, that guy. Remember him?

Good times.

Needless to say, there were more tears. Needless to say, I was frustrated. To be fair, so was he. I've always taken a different view of sports and extra curriculars (or as I like to call them, "hobbies") than his. We do not see eye to eye. He believes, deeply, in the power of the team dynamic. How "rising to the occasion" by "pushing past the pain" can be so "character building."

That may be true, however I don't think any of those things applied to this situation.

I'm going to have to interject here that being a quitter was not OK in my home as a child. If I signed up for something I was expected to complete the season, year, session or whatever. I also have to interject that this knowledge made me not want to sign up for stuff. Cause I would rather sit on my ass and watch TV than try something new if it turned out that I hated it and had to suffer through endless weeks of torture.

So, what ended up happening was Maddy and her father talked. I broke it up for a bit so she could shower, during which time I tried to manipulate Ruben into thinking like me, failed miserably and finally gave up. When I was tucking Maddy in I asked her what she thought about her talk with her dad.

"It was OK." she said. "I know Daddy really wants me to take the class. But I told Daddy that even though I know that this class might be good for me, I really don't think it is the best for me. And he said that was OK."

I told her I was so proud of her for standing up for herself.

And now I know that this day was a pretty good day after all.

CHARLIE'S BROTHER CALLED

Charlie is my husband's very best friend in the world since high school. Ruben loves him like a brother. Maybe more, actually. Rube tries to get a hold of him a couple of times a year, usually around Charlie's birthday and the Holidays. Charlie sometimes calls on Rube's birthday. I haven't seen him since their 20th reunion when I was pregnant with Levi, who is now nearly 7.

Rube has always wanted Charlie to be a bigger part of our lives. To know our kids and celebrate and hang out with us. I understand Charlie's resistance, though. We are a non-partying family. We play board and card games and make delicious meals and go to bed at a respectable hour. This is not now, and has never really been, Charlie's speed.

Rube and Charlie's history has all those crazy stories that best friends just have from those wild years. There is a hitchhiking (in the wrong direction) story where Charlie came to rescue Rube. There is the "bug rolling" story. Tales of eating fast food meals and double-dip ice cream cones over the very windy Highway 17, all while driving a stick shift. A lifetime of memories, really.

At nearly 11:00 PM on Tuesday the phone rang. It was Charlie's brother, Robby. My heart sank. I was instantly hoping he was in jail or rehab.

He wasn't.

Charlie died in his sleep on Friday. He just didn't get up that day.

We don't have any details about the circumstances. Ruben didn't ask. Robby didn't offer. Doesn't really matter.

Ruben is wrecked. Ruined. So desperately sad. The reconciliation process hasn't begun. What does his life look like without Charlie in the world? I'm not sure Rube knows. I'm not sure he will any time soon. Despair is hanging around him like a cloud. He physically hurts from the loss.

And I can't do a fucking thing.

Today I will love my husband. Today I will love all of you stupid, crazy, irritating people. Today is all that I've got.

I DON FEE GOOD

I have a cold. Hopefully not the flu, but I'm getting that bleary head woozy feeling with the tingly feverish skin. So I'm going to deliver these kid to Rube so they can all go to a football game and I'm going to come home to spend an evening alone drowning my sorrows in hot tea. And maybe a hot tub. But maybe that's too much work.

Are you wondering if you have the flu? Here is where you can find out for sure.

In the event that you do, I've found this self care guide to help get through it.

That's all I got.

I'M SOOOOO OUTTA HERE!

I must sound like the whiningest, complainingist, pain in the ass on god's green Earth. Well, you know what? Too bad. My blog, my rules.

This week was - how shall I put this? Ummm, let's see. Oh! I know! Shitty.

Husband took a fall and totally f-ed his hand up and threw his back out. Which sounds like he should be the one who gets to have the shitty week, right? Uh - NO!

Husband is flat on his back for days. So you know what that means? I get to do his stuff and my stuff. And I get to go fetch him stuff. And I get to hear him detail the levels and duration of his pain in every position he is able to exist in. Which, thankfully, is not a long list. No really, thank god it is not a long list. The short list is so much more than enough.

I'm going away with my girlfriends. He's getting better at hobbling around. In the event of a fire Maddy knows to roll him out the house like a log. I'll not be back until I have been nurtured and fed and loved back from the emotional brink. If that doesn't happen for six months, so be it. I'm aiming for three days. I'll let you know.

SONG STUCK IN MY HEAD

I'm gonna hold on to what I been given lately. Which, since you ask, is a husband with a stitched hand and a back that is thrown out. LAWDY.

TWITTER RECAP

Some days are easy. This wasn't one of those. Ended OK - because kid's arm isn't broken - just sprained. Yup, that's the highpoint.