All About Us: A Dracut Weblog

Light and Faith

2012-01-17T11:45:00.001-05:00

So, I had this figurine thingie that Dave and the boys picked out for me a couple Christmases ago. It had a tiny blue light at the underside of the "F" (See, it spells out the word "Faith" - duh), that shone a special beacon down on Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus. I'm thinking it meant to emulate the Star of Bethlehem.

Very nice. I would leave it out all year, changing the location now and then. And at Christmastime, I'd turn on the light.

But, last year I think, something happened to it. It fell or was dropped, and as you can see, there's a crack in the "F". Anyway, although the crack was repaired, the light has not worked since. We tried some new batteries, and it still doesn't work. Maybe the wee bulb broke, or the wiring went wonky after the damage. Still, it's a pretty image, and it was displayed with the rest of the Christmas things.

This morning I had to be up extra early. I had not slept well, and by 9:00 am I'm dozing in a chair while looking at cookbooks. I woke up just as a ray of sun was shining on this scene, hitting precisely on the little family. It was almost eerie, like in that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

And what does it all mean?

Oh, heck, I don't know. Not exactly. But what I'll take from it is...even if you feel your faith has been fractured or weakened or trampled on, hang on anyway, and God will light your way. Truly!

Saving Grace

2012-01-10T13:04:00.002-05:00

I'm going to save a scrap of paper. Silly idea? Maybe. I save way too much as it is, even unintentionally. I just cleaned out my old purse and found all manner of trash, scraps and wrappers and crumpled tissues.

But I think I need to hold onto this wrinkled Burger King receipt, and here's why: Recently I was at the mall with the two Princes. We were exchanging Christmas gifts and spending new gift cards, you know, the typical post-holiday activities. We were at the food court Burger King, and I had just ordered a meal for Tom. While I was waiting for the food, a girl was ordering french fries from the dollar menu. She was a bit surprised when the total came to $1.09. The BK employee reminded her about food tax. "Oh, OK, sure." But since she only had the dollar bill, she was calling to her companion to bring her purse so she could get the extra pennies needed.

She hollered over a few times, and the friend either did not hear her, or was just too slow. A bit of a line was growing behind her. A little voice inside me said that maybe I could just hand over the nine cents, and move things along. But a moment passed by and the friend was not responding. So eventually (like 30 seconds) I did respond to my inner voice and gave the girl the nine cents. She was grateful and I imagine, so was the BK guy, and everything moved along. Then when they called the number for my order, I looked down at my slip to confirm.

"109"

Yeah, that's right 109, like ONE dollar and NINE cents, like $1.09.

OK, OK, I didn't cure cancer or save the world from nuclear terror (like my old pal Jack Bauer) - it wasn't the most noble or generous of gestures, but the confirming truth of what happen hit me anyway.

Listen to that still small voice inside. It may not direct you to cure cancer or save the world, but grace will abound from unexpected sources and circumstances. Share it, and you will save more than you can imagine.

A Christmas Haiku

2011-12-22T17:12:00.000-05:00

Milky sun shines down

on a December morning

we prepare for Him.

More Christmas

2011-12-10T11:43:00.000-05:00

Christmas Window


Christmas Buffet

More images. This is one of my favorite parts, making things beautiful in the house. Wouldn't it be nice if that's all that I had to worry about?

We had some company* last night, so much of the day was spent cleaning and tackling some larger decorating tasks (fixing the mini white lights in the living room that I love to have on all the time, and then they get burnt out - so - it was time to replace. And maybe I'll post a picture of that later.)

Anyway, that old pre-stress appeared, along with the requisite backache and bitching at everyone. I so much don't want this to happen again this season, especially on Christmas Eve. That's when we are always scrambling - taking care of last minute shite.

*Company as in mom and bro in-law and a few of the kids' friends who all gathered here for dinner before taking off for the Riverhawks game - leaving me alone! So..it wasn't "Company" company, but still - one wants the house looking somewhat decent, ya know.

The Days Before Christmas

2011-12-09T10:00:00.002-05:00

Muted sun on a chilly December morning -
Coffee, muffin, and chore list -
Candle lit, holiday tunes on Pandora -
And on we go!

Random Check-in

2011-11-07T23:43:00.000-05:00

House is at it again, Mr. Machiavellian. Taub and Chase are back, it's nice to have some continuity besides Wilson and Foreman. I'm intrigued by Park. She's odd. Patient nearly needed a liver transplant.

Speaking of transplants, the Young Prince had a visit to Boston today. Went fine, blood work fine, iron will be decreased, and soon, the Valcyte will be gone. Still sorting out the nausea/vomit episodes, and we will discuss another endoscopy in a month.

So, I've become enamored by Blunt Cards. These are profane little bits of hilarity dressed up in 1950s garb with a topical message.

But topical and hip and "now" and "wow" aren't all they're crackberried up to be. I've become increasingly dismayed by the speed that life demands of us. We are urged to go faster, do more, and we are saturated to the point of suffocation with information and how can a person even think, let alone breathe?

Vacation Report

2011-07-04T17:46:00.000-04:00

Brief report from Vacay land. Trailer had a flood, and it happened as long as a month ago, and was left unattended - only because none of us had a chance to come here since the service company was here fixing a leak. Some family members were here before others and started wet/vaccing and dehumidifying, so that was a help, but WOW, did it smell bad.

We are still learning the extent of the damage, been here for almost two days and we keep seeing trouble spots and more mold. Service company that most likely caused this cannot get here till Wednesday, which is unacceptable, but holiday and all that, what can you do. And it still smells bad, although not quite as bad as before.

Today, the 4th has been dry, sunny, and mildly breezy, so this all helps too. We are having some laughs, and last night we got to see a good friend jam with some great musicians. They were all really great. So, we are making the best of it.

But today we had a whole other scare. Tom came back from playing badminton with some extreme pain/discomfort - so bad he really couldn't communicate with us. He was pointing to his chest, (right side, so at least it didn't seem like a heart problem) and was agitated. Surely, we were headed to an ER. Never seen him so uncomfortable, he couldn't even concentrate on the "from 1 to 10, how bad is the pain?" question.

But within about 10 minutes, he calmed down, and he is feeling much better, seems to be a pulled muscle.

Don't need this much drama!

Things that Piss Me Off - or - Haven't People Got a Clue?

2011-06-30T20:56:00.000-04:00

As I always say, the world would be better if everyone were like me. Alas, they are not - so every so often I see fit to rant on what is just - plain - wrong.

Well, that can't last very long - the imperious/smug act, I mean. I actually am more humble, or try to be, than I let on. I work on empathy, and I have little tolerance for those who have little tolerance.

Still, things piss me off - such as this:

Couple mornings ago, dude in large pickup pulls up in front of my house, honks the horn and looks at the house expectantly. I was still had not had enough morning Joe to make sense of it for a moment. My first thought was that he was picking up a child from a sleepover, but then I realized that 1) did not recognize the vehicle, 2) there were no kids at my house but my own.

I am now a little pissed. I've never been a big fan of honking outside someone's house, but it's not a deal breaker necessarily. But, it appeared that this dude was a stranger, and that's just wrong. I briskly walked to the front door and stuck my head out. I'm not sure who spoke first, but I think the first thing I said was..."why are you honking outside my house?" And his oh-so-[important/validating] reply was, "I got some extra asphalt, you need some?" He then pointed to the end of the driveway that meets the street. There were the average cracks and dimples and messed up bits that I figured everyone has, everyone who has not newly re-surfaced in the last bunch of years. Nothing too bad. No sink holes, nothing deep enough for a punji stick. (pity, one way to get rid of solicitors)

Still, didn't need his leftovers. And if I did? Is this a way to go about business? It's one thing if you're cruising down a street and you see a neighbor out - you could ask. But to stop outside a stranger's house and just honk your flippin' horn?

Flippin' tacky is what it is.

Next up - I get a phone call the other night. Did not recognize the caller ID.
Me: Hello
Them: (Spoken with very poor elocution, and with higher volume than decorum allows, basically poor manners) Yeah, this is (a three letter alphabet company name, which I forget, I will just refer to them as ABC), I want to come drop off (or was it pick up? I really forget) the check.
Me: Who?
Them: ABC, the transportation company, I want to do pickup/drop off the check.

- I think, wait, is this the limo company that did the airport transport for the Make-A-Wish trip? No, the name sounds wrong, the ride was already paid for, and besides, they'd be a hell of a lot more professional and pleasant.

Me: I'm sorry, I'm confused, who are you looking for?
Them: Wait - (longish pause) ...
--Click--

Me: Hello? Hello? He hung up...I wonder why he hung up. -( no wait, that's Pink Floyd.) But he did hang up abruptly, and without a gracious goodbye or a "sorry my bad" or nothing.

Still - I was gobsmacked. What just happened? OK obviously it was a wrong number situation. Hey, no biggie, it happens to all of us. But wait, this was different. You don't call, and keep saying the same thing, when the person on the other end obviously does not know who you are or what your business is. You change your tactic, you explain things in a different way, you don't breath through your mouth, you don't get all nearly shouty. You enunciate, dear man.

And then when you realize your faux pas, you don't just hang up on a person, as if you'll get cooties!

You know, I called that number back. I really did. It went to voice mail. But boy, had I got my loud boorish ABC guy on the phone, I would have gone all Emily Post on his ass.

Oh, and then there's the walking medical dictionary with no filter at Starbucks. Let me explain. I got my latte and cookie and sat down to kill some time and start in on a new book, Brother West: Living and Loving Out Loud, A Memoir, by Cornel West. I don't know a lot about Dr. West, but he's intrigued me for a while - so it was on sale, yaddah, yaddah.

So, I'm sitting there, and there are two women at the table right next to me, chatting and there was also a small girl who belonged to one of them. Because of the proximity, I could over hear a lot of what they were saying, but I was able to tune it out, and it wasn't anything that was too loud or two weird.

But that changed in a little while. Evidently a woman who was two tables away from my neighbors overheard their convo, and started asking questions of the one of the woman, the one with apparently a multitude of health issues, including a poorly working social filter, or internal editor.

Deal Lady - you don't go yakking about such things as your procedures and your hysterectomy and your hormones and your this and your that, to a person two tables away, in a mixed company setting, that is NOT a doctors office, or a support group.

A brief blurbie is fine. Oh yes, you tried that med? Me too, it worked/it failed - etc. Done.

But this convo went on, and on, and on, and ohDearGod, just move to sit next to your audience and lower your voices, for Pete's sake!

Who raises these people?

So - these are the things that trouble me. The thing is, sometimes life is so difficult, I need to focus on these other things that in the long run, don't matter one fucking way or another. Well, they do. I wish people had better manners, but still - I think the need to just ramble and vent about dumb things as well as the important things is crucial.

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

In the (Google) News

2011-06-26T11:09:00.003-04:00

The Kindness of Strangers

2011-06-25T19:51:00.001-04:00

I'm amazed really, at how much it hurts. Each time that Tom goes through something, and after he's getting better, and the care-giver adrenaline subsides, I'm left with a wound. It hurts, and each time it surprises me at the severity and at the recurrence.

Oh, and the timing.

That's the kicker. It's been a little over a year since Tom had his transplant, and I think we all thought that most of these sorts of days and worries would be behind us. Yes, we expected some new worries; the rejection question, and his susceptibility to illness would be the big ones. But this other stuff, the CVS* type of sickness, or whatever it was that plagued Tom from November to March and caused him to lose over 30 days of school this year, no one quite expected that.

Yet, here it is, back again, for a brief stop or an extended run, or something new is going on.

He's fine now, sort of. The Make-A-Wish trip/getting ill thing was horrible (and the Memorial Day weekend illness was a bit scary), but he made the best of it and at least got in the last day of E3. Fine for the rest of the time, and for the trip home. And he was fine for his last week of school/finals, and fine for his first week of summer vacay, but last night - he vomited.

It's makes me sound a bit mad - getting all dramatic about a puke session. But when this has happened again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and then wethoughtitwasoverbuthegotdreadfullysickinLA - the drama is already built in.

Last night was hopefully a one-off. It could have been anything. Food at Chunky's didn't sit well? He was overtired from two sleepovers this week? Who knows. And he felt better after that one vomit. Been OK today, just a little tired.

And we've mostly recovered from the LA thing, that wound is healing.

But I am covered in bruises. Not the cool kind I used to get at the dojo, although I feel like I must have earned some sort of new rank by now.

These bruises are quite invisible, but just as real. These ones though, I didn't expect. I'm really sucker-punched, each time.

However...

I'm also hugely and amazingly amazed at the "kindness of strangers" Did I say amazing? I'm having a hard time processing it still.

Now I would imagine that an organization that knows they are dealing with a Make-A-Wish recipient is going go out of their way to please the kid. That makes sense. But what happened with Tom - I still don't know how to describe it.

Well, he's been getting stuff. Lots of stuff. I was putting pictures on Facebook, but I'm not going to do that anymore, I don't think. I don't appreciate these gifts any less, but I'm thinking it will look "showy". We pretty much expected these items, because all the gaming folk showed Tom stuff and then promised to ship these items out, but it's almost too much.

Don't misunderstand. This isn't a criticism of the gamers. It's incredibly cool. And we are receiving things in the same spirit, we get why they are doing this.

But when I consider all this generosity, I'm still at a loss to describe how surreal it all feels at times.

This Reads: "We'd like to thank Tom Williams and his family for supporting our family. Bethesda Softworks" Yes, really.

But for now, I'll leave it with "humbling."

*Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome

Scattered Vacation Thoughts

2011-06-16T12:50:00.000-04:00

Scattered and distracted, ignoring the disarray of luggage and souvenirs. Questions remain about biopsy results and blood counts. Photos need tagging and describing. Dead flowers are wilted from overdue stay in milky water but I don’t have the energy to get rid of them.

So many to thank for helping wishes come true, but the miasma of battle fatigue and depression keep me motionless. Heavy arms and weary heart thwart my good manners.

It will pass. It will pass.

Persistence - and Passion - Pays Off

2011-05-02T13:14:00.001-04:00

A year ago today, Tom had his liver transplant. We celebrated with just the four of us last night at the Olive Garden, one of Tom's favorite restaurants. I'm sure his docs would have been thrilled to see him eat two bowls of chicken gnocchi soup, most of his steak and potatoes, three bread-sticks, and dessert. We certainly were thrilled.

And how did he celebrate today? Well, the kid had to go to school. They sort of require that. : )
But Tom was able to realize a big dream, of having a huge assembly/presentation at his school with (I believe) most of his sophomore class, and many seniors, and perhaps some juniors were there too. Lots of kids.

Tom is stubborn. He annoys me greatly much of the time with his persistence about stuff. But I've known for a while that this quality was going to serve him well, as it did today.

For this assembly, Tom had lined up quite a few speakers. He had Mike Slama, a man who received a heart transplant a few years ago, talking about how lucky he has felt every day, and how happy he was that Tom was able to share in that same feeling of gratitude. Also on the agenda was Sam Scott, one of the program managers of the American Liver Foundation, who spoke of liver health, and had some stark images of healthy and sick livers. At the sight of very diseased, cirrhotic liver - I heard one student exclaim, "oh please change the slide" - yeah, it was pretty gross.

Also speaking was Nancy Erhard, a woman whose son died several years ago, and Nancy and her family made the difficult, yet easy decision to donate whatever was needed from her son Bo. Nancy speaks at functions often about Bo's story, and she has worked with Jamie Redford (Hollywood legend Robert Redford's son) through the Share the Beat organization.

We also heard from Nick Giordano, a man who has run 11 marathons, and who himself was diagnosed with liver disease. Nick was chairman of the Run for Research Team this year, and at the very end of the day, he graciously and humbly gave Tom his marathon medal.


Even at a younger age, Tom was a fund-raiser. Here he was preparing to ride the Pan-Mass Challenge for Kids

Tom, recovering from his first surgery, age 12

And because of Tom's persistence, he was able to line up Matt Noyes, the meteorologist for NECN. We talk about Matt a lot, because he has been such a tremendous support not only for our family and for Tom, but for the New England chapter of the ALF. Matt is a very, very busy guy and he's also got a beautiful young family to take care of too. But this year, the great staff at the ALF convinced him to run in the Boston Marathon. Matt has been involved with the ALF for several years, as MC for the Liver Life Walk. He's also involved in other charities as well, and his enthusiasm for life is contagious and inspiring.

And of course, there was a nice plug about the upcoming Liver Life Walk by Hung Pham, an ALF staffer.

It takes great persistence to make all this happen. Of course, I took care of a few emails and phone calls, but Tom's passion was the driving force to bring this event alive.

It also took a lot of passion for a shy-ish 16 year old to get up in front of an auditorium of peers and tell his own story, starting from first diagnosis to his surgery a year ago. He spoke of various procedures he endured, holidays that were basically ruined, too much time out of school and other snapshots of how his illness impacted his life.

But he also spoke of his friends, and how much they meant to him, and how he appreciated their support. And Tom spoke about Rachel's Challenge, and how by either joining him at the Liver Walk, signing up to be an organ donor (for those 18 year old students), or just being more aware of others' suffering - can answer her challenge and "Start a Chain Reaction" of making life a little bit better for someone other than themselves.

Look at the Alternative

2011-04-29T19:31:00.000-04:00

Funny but true exchange between the mammogram technician and myself:

MT: OK, now put your right sleeve in and take your left sleeve out.

Me: (trying to use humor to deflect the awkwardness of the situation) Sure, but just don't ask me to "shake it all about."
MT: (laughs)
(pause)
Me: "Only if you have some $1.00 bills to throw at me"

MT: "Well, I guess we could get some people in off the street with their dollar bills."

Yeah, seriously this happened.

Mammograms suck. But look at the alternative.

While I was getting mushed and tugged at, and at times I gasped from the discomfort, I kept saying to myself, even when it got quite painful. "You can do this. It hurts, but not as bad as cancer"

No Agenda

2011-04-07T09:11:00.000-04:00

Awesome pre-game warm up viewing

OK - here I am. It's been a while. I've been a slug about writing. A slug I tell you! But I haven't been a slug in real life. Most of March has been chock full of stuff. There have been doctor appointments for the princes (this is the norm, anyway), dental appointments, a fund-raising event for the Liver Foundation, a concert, a night out with brother and GF, another Liver event (working a water stop for a training run), a Celtics game (courtesy of Make-A-Wish)...


Dropkick Murphys Concert

Oh, and OF COURSE, the birthdays! Three birthdays just in our wee family, which meant shopping and restaurant a-going. Except for me, I opted to stay in and have takeout from the delicious Blue Taleh. And then we did it again with the extended family, for there are THREE MORE March birthdays. More shopping and one more restaurant meal.

And Tom was ill a couple times during the month. Not much to say about that. Wait and see, wait and see.

Here's a random thought -


Two-Bit, - grooming The Young Prince.

Children and pets. What we love and even admire about them, is their unabashed manner of asking for what they want. When they want food, it's obvious, when they want to go out, they ask, over and over and over - again.

And when they want love? They just take! They know will not be denied. And we love that! How did things change to put us adults into a more coy, aloof, polite mode of living? OK the polite thing has a place. Discretion and tact are necessary.

But really, wouldn't it be great for us to all act more like children and animals? Private toileting aside, there are many virtues that I think we are missing out on here.

So this post had no real agenda, just a catch up for my legions of followers. Stop laughing!

Take care and I WILL be back.

Less is More - part Two

2011-03-15T08:21:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday was a clinic appointment for The Young Prince. About a 25 minute wait in the lab, and then upstairs for another while. Then the usual height/weight/BP. All fine enough. Seems like Dr. E. was hoping for a little more weight gain, but not hugely important.

As I expected, we spent most of the time talking about how to proceed with the cyclic vomiting issue. And we have a plan! We're going to try and tweak one of his current meds that may help calm down the GI system. And if it does happen again, we will most likely bring him to the hospital as it's happening - so they can do a CAT scan, or maybe an upper GI

I guess there is a possiblity that there could be adhesions or a blockage that didn't show up before on other tests. And if there is a blockage? I guess we won't worry about that now.

So, it's really a minimal amount of fuss at the moment. We don't have to mess with his diet again, and he does not have to start a new med. Actually, he is going to now substitute his much hated Mepron for Bactrim! Mepron is a thick yellow liquid - the visiting nurses always called it "yellow paint". But the Bactrim, a tablet, only needs to be taken three times a week!

Less is more!

Less is More

2011-03-14T21:10:00.000-04:00

I thought this was timely, for Lent and all. The photo, not the bracelet. Of course, any cross is always timely for Lent, but I took the photo for a different kind of synchronicity.

Recently, I hit the Dracut High Performing Arts Boosters Craft fair . It was great to see a bunch of friends and familiar faces, and try to support the program. It's shopping for a cause and I'm on board!

And because it's a craft fair, it's only "fair" that I treat myself, just something wee is all. So I had fun looking around, talking to crafters and sniffing, touching, and tasting. Two cool days in a row, the day before was a an overdue Lunch with Miss S. (Not to be confused with my other friend Miss S, who really is a "Miss S.", where the first Miss S. is not really an S. at all. Yeah, I've confused myself here.

We had a nice conversation, and delish food at LA. We spoke of the usual, mutual friends, our kids, karate - naturally, and faith.I won't bore with details, the faith topic was interesting. And good.

Back to the craft fair, I was wandering around and then I found this bracelet, nearly hidden under some other groupings of baubles. It was exactly the kind of thing I like in jewelry. A nice mix of minimalism and flash. Yeah, I know, maybe above is a teeny more BeDazzled than Mies van der Rohe. But who's quibbling.

The cool thing was, as I saw this It felt like a fate moment. (Or perhaps a 2 x 4 moment?). The bracelet - as they say - spoke to me. (C'mon, they say it in all the decorating magazines). I do believe that certain purchases are really meant to be for whatever reason. And an added bonus, the price was right. Kidding aside, it perfect timing.

Must trust me on this.

Forcebook.

2011-03-12T09:59:00.003-05:00

I’ve been thinking…

When I put a “status update” on Facebook, I’m all sorts of things. From pithy to profound, from silly to sanctimonious with the occasional lunch updates in between, I think I cover a pretty wide range of posting possibilities. And naturally, because of our family’s issues these last few years, I have overwhelmed the FB community with all sorts of liver disease/Tom’s health/fund-raising bits of anguished or celebratory “sharings.”

For good or for bad, that’s what I do.

And what my friends post isn’t too different. Coolness all around.

I just don't like to be forced to do something.

A pattern has emerged lately that I am finding bothersome. Very well-meaning folks have taken to posting these little slices of emo-bossy “show your support” PSAs – if you will.

“I’m posting this to show my support of fill-in-the-blank-dread-disease/social-injustice. Only 3.24% of my besties will have the guts to re-post this as their status for one hour, please do this for all those that suffer from aforementioned dread-disease/social-injustice”

Now I’m as caring as the next person. But these bits drive me totally nuts. Sure, social networking technologies can be a real boon to those who have great messages to impart. I have NO problem with putting up blurbs for your cause. I have done that numerous times myself, as I think we just determined a few paragraphs earlier.

But please, oh please, don’t tell me what to do. Don’t tell me how I should show my support for one cause or another. I’d nearly prefer you ask me for money than to just use these campaigns. Seriously, it smacks of coercion, and that’s off putting.

Yeah, and that goes for the multi-forwarded email tell me how sad it is that no one has the guts to continue a chain letter that mentions God more than once. Sorry, the chain is broken with me, every time. So, if you really want benedictions from the Dali Lama, or the Blessed Virgin Mary, or you really, really want your CD drive to magically pop open on cue, or you want to stop the ghost of some tragedy victim appearing in your bedroom at midnight – don’t put me in your address list.

Hey, some of those emails have some sweet messages, or kick-ass funny jokes! But if you add the bit about “please forward to all the strong women/smart men/caring folk you know” then you must realize the message fails with me. (Oh and how hard REALLY is it to just copy and paste the original message in a fresh email? I don’t need or want to see the trail from whence this message came. I really don’t.)

For the record, and not that it’s any of your business, but I support either financially or emotionally lots of causes. Special Olympics, Lymphoma and Leukemia, Gay rights, Diabetes, Epilepsy, MS, MD, the ALF, Scleroderma, Rachel’s Challenge, the Vets, the Blind, and Sun Santa. Don’t forget the Dracut Food Pantry, my church, PTO volunteer for 12 years, Scout volunteer for – I dunno – six years give or take. And some of my jewelry supports stuff – my breast cancer bracelet, my Organ Sharing pins, and those cute woven bracelets that support a school in – umm…a different country. Hey, I wear them proudly, I just forget why. (Which reminds me, I really should send a check to my local Alzheimer’s association).

Sunny with a Chance of...?

2011-02-20T16:37:00.001-05:00

So, it's pretty sunny out. Quite nice actually. Well, cold - I guess. I have not been out, but it looks nice.

Sunny outside, but cloudy inside. The Young Prince - down again. No vomiting (not since Thurs) - but nausea and fatigue and general unhappiness. The unhappiness - like the cold everyone's been passing around - is contagious. I feel like a slug. I don't want to do anything, although I think I will force myself to do a mini-workout. If it were warmer, a walk would be super.

While the meteorologists, like our new friend Matt Noyes from New England Cable News, can predict upcoming weather patterns, no one can really predict the course of Tom's health. But I must hasten to add seemingly contradictory remark that yes, we can predict some things. He really should have fewer and fewer problems the further along we move post-transplant.

Big picture stuff is that he's had no rejections, he's gained weight, he looks great, he feels usually very fine, and he's become quite a spokesperson for the American Liver Foundation and for Organ donation. School is going pretty well...

And here is the BUT. The unpredictable weather event.

Tom's been having a tough time keeping up. Not because of his intelligence or effort. But he keeps getting sick every 2-3 weeks. It really seems like CVS - which is Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome (not the pharmacy). This CVS thing, it doesn't all fit. It seems like many patients have a migraine component, or their vomiting is more severe during a cycle (multiple times in one hour). That's not Tom. But much of it does fit, especially the part where these bouts of illness follow a real pattern.

And now, where does this leave us? The thing is, I feel like I can almost predict now, when he will get sick. And I'm starting to look at the calendar thinking, "OK, it's been two weeks since he last got sick, what's coming up that's going to get ruined?"

I've kept these doubts mostly to myself, certainly not telling Tom what I'm thinking. I don't need him to expect to get sick on any particular date. Mind over matter, or in this case, Mind or soul getting flattened with depressive expectation. Although, he's smart enough to worry that this will keep happening.

I suppose that after having major mucking around in his gut, there can be some after effects. That all made sense the first few times he went through this. But now? Well, we just don't know.

But I know that even as miserable as this has been for all of us since November, it's not the same as having a sudden urgent issue, like rejection, or a scary infection. I guess you can equate those surprise events to a micro-burst. You might not see it coming, and it can lay down some terrible damage.

Coincidentally, Tom, along with his fellow campers, was in a micro-burst during 2006, at Camp Wah-Tut-Ca, in Northwood, NH. He survived fine, with a huge story to tell for the rest of his life.

Happy Valentines Day

2011-02-14T11:36:00.000-05:00

When we got married,

This was a card I made last year, it's still pretty apt one year later, with the exception of a certain TV show.

We had

Then we had

And real life set in. So, sometimes we argued or said:

But that's OK. We're still here and we have

And each other.

Just Fooling Around

2011-02-08T12:41:00.000-05:00

Hearts and Lace

Hearts!

So, I'm just messing around with some still life pictures. I'm supposed to be organizing paperwork and paying bills. Just having too much fun with art!

I've got to break out the new digital camera we got for Christmas - I'm sure I'll get even better images. (hoping).

Maybe I should make hearts a theme for the month - what do ya think?

Hidden Heart

Old Things

2011-02-07T16:30:00.000-05:00

Bottles on the Shelf

What can I say about these bottles that's already been said?

You're thinking, "Wait, what? Am I supposed to know this image? Is this something from a famous exhibit that I slept through during art appreciation class?"

Not necessarily. Not at all, really. The bottles and jars to the right are just old bottles that I started collecting around 15 years ago. They are not special at all, but they still intrigue and delight me. My small collection has been augmented by my husband's cousin Ed. He too, evidently likes these old bottles as well. And he gave me some about a year ago, and well there you go. Old bottles, just sitting and making me happy.

I really love the concept of old things. Of course, I love new things, as in new technology, but the idea that an item used to belong to someone else, someone who you don't' even know...well, goodness, that's just too cool!

Lining up and Falling into Place

2011-02-05T15:37:00.002-05:00

Mini-Golf, replicating the alignment of the heavens.

At your left you see several brightly colored golf balls, lined up as if someone created a funky design. Which is fine, if one had lots of time on the min-golf course to play around with the balls. Usually the courses are busy at the height of summer, as it was on this day last August.

But this design was not made by a bored golfer, it was the random way our balls landed after we each took our first strokes at this hole.

Pretty cool eh? Yeah, I thought so too!

Once upon a time, I was watching the flick Lara Croft: Tomb Raider starring Angelina Jolie and some other people. The movie had some cool action, and a convoluted plot. Part of the plot I remember, something important, or dire was going to happen once all the planets aligned - an event that was astrologically rare, yet conveniently going to happen during the time frame of the movie's setting.

Aside from coveting Angie's eyebrows, my take-away from this was that I knew that "on-the-verge" feeling. Yet in my case, this alignment wasn't a portent of a disaster.

I've had the funny feeling during these last several years that I was very close to becoming...myself. Yeah, that's a good thing. I can't describe, or remember really, what made me have this feeling, but I swear I could feel a "click" now and then, as if some puzzle finally fit in place, or some ratchet-y thing had settled in the correct groove.

All this self-actualization or navel gazing wasn't just about my amorphous state of being or my faith, or my health, it was really about something more concrete: my writing.

I have had some wee successes now and then in this area, like the time I pumped poor Eric O. (former owner of Blogcritics) to tell me EXACTLY what a PR dude (he's actually the Director of Publicity) from FOX said about my 24 write-ups. It was a bit pathetic, like a girl interrogating her friends about what her current crush said about her. And E.O., bless his patient heart, kindly sent me the emails where the FOX guy said some sort of compliment about my writing. No, I can't remember what he said. Pity. But still, it was a good, good moment.

There's been a few other moments, that I won't bore you with now, but the point is, I felt pretty convinced I was on the cusp of something grand.

And then the proverbial (and some literal) dung hit the fan, and life got complicated.

I've had forgotten my cusp-y, verge-y feelings and right now my successes are vastly different. Woohoo, I answered that email finally! Cooked a meal instead of take-out! Remembered everyone's appointments this week!

And the successes I hope for are more like: Cool, I finally fit into these jeans. Or, most of the rooms in this house are presentable for guest viewing.

But those other goals, they are still viable. I think my stars will align again, I think things will happen when they need to happen. I have to have lots of patience.

Kind of like a golfer.

It's Winter, Damn It!

2011-02-02T18:34:00.001-05:00

Yeah, snow. Lots of snow. A major F-ing pain. But still, what are you going to do? Everyone is complaining, where are we going to put it? In the cities, naturally it's a concern. It's a bit tough out here in suburbia too. But in some ways, the complaints crack me up. As if there's a choice? Can we ask God, or Mother Nature - please take this (snowy) cup from me?

No, it's Winter, and we get snow. And yes, the kids might be going to school all of June. What are you gonna do?

Funny, I was just emailing a dear cousin. Dear cousin has been diagnosed with cancer. I know, right? It''s so scary, and I am having a hard time wrapping my little head around this diagnosis.

So, what did I do? Remain silent. Silent as winter. Well not totally silent. I mentioned this news to some local folks. But did I reach out right away to Dear Cousin? Nooo. Not me.

And I should freakin' know better. After all Tom (and us) have been through, I know very well the value of support. I'm hoping that my waves of fear and disbelief translated into surges of encouragement and hope all the way to Dear Cousin.

Since this is my husband's cousin, he has been calling and cooking, and he made a trip to her house over the weekend with food and good cheer. So that's cool. And I did email. I said that a minute ago. But it shouldn't have taken me this long. In my email I commiserated about the nature of illness and how it is not fair when it strikes. But what are you gonna do. Just keep going. Just keep shoveling.

Sure, it's OK to whine, hell - I'm a whining queen! But eventually - we just. Have. To. Keep. Going.

Actually, earlier today I was IMing with a Dear Friend - talking about the same thing - being a supportive friend during hardship. She felt very bad about not being supportive for us recently - Oh forget it ! I say. This is a friend who is a true friend, who I know cares deeply, even if she is silent for a while. So, I hope she feels better about her imagined shortcomings in the friend department. She does just fine.

If Driving Home from Boston ever becomes a reality, a goodly section will be devoted to friendship. Something that can be beautiful, even in the face of disease, unemployment, and even winter.

Keep shoveling my friends.

Transitions?

2011-01-31T10:32:00.003-05:00

Ugh. He's sick again. The Young Prince is ill again or should I say, still. I spoke of how it started last Wednesday evening, and by Saturday he was feeling quite recovered. Normal foods, lots of X-Box. Yay! He had asked for some special things for dinner Saturday night, it was just the two of us. But his choices were all fatty ones, like a triple Whopper from BK, or a meatball sub. Finally we settled on fried haddock from Scolas.

Now, of course, you (and perhaps the folks from Children's Hospital) would think me quite mad. Fried foods? Are you insane? Well, yes, but that's not the point. Only those that deal with Tom on a close level know how hard it is to say no to him. And believe me, I say "no" plenty. With conviction. And often I "win".

But that night he was firm about not wanting ANYTHING else. Perhaps another mother would have been stronger, resisting his persuasive ways, especially since his health depends on it. Now, it's not that he has a food allergy, or he has a heart condition, or high blood pressure. In fact, Tom has always been pressured to eat, to gain weight - etc. Fried, fatty, greasy foods were never a problem.

But these last several months something has gone wrong in his GI tract. It has nothing to do with his liver, not directly anyway. I supposed his three episodes with C. diff. may have "weakened" his gut, maybe the flora aren't happy, or something, but since November, Tom has been getting sick every two weeks. So the theory for now is that fatty foods are exacerbating the problem, and he should refrain as much as possible.

So why oh why did I let him have the fried haddock? Lesser of three evils I suppose. I checked the fat content as best I could of all the choices, and the haddock was the winner. So, he had some haddock, maybe one or two french fries - if that - and one onion ring.

He was fine all night long, into the morning, when he had cereal and milk and then we were off to church.

This was a special occasion. It was to be the very last sermon of our pastor, the Rev. Keith Weekly. Keith had been our interim pastor for about two and a half years. This is the way it goes in a Congregational church. Our permanent pastor had retired, and the typical procedure is that the area conference sends a substitute pastor until the church can form a search committee, and select a "settled pastor". This takes time, the forecast is usually for one or two years - give or take.

Tom at his Confirmation, exactly six weeks to the day after his transplant.

So, while we all hated to see our former pastor (Rev. Larry Zimmerman, he had been there for 30 years!) leave, Keith quickly became part of the church family and things flowed along fairly well.

Tom and Keith

Keith was great about getting to know everyone, and he got to know us well, probably by default, because Tom's illness got to be quite a big deal. When we were going to be part of our first Liver Life Walk, Keith made sure that this event was well publicized in the church, which was fantastic, between free-will offerings and a Youth Ministry-run car wash, Christ Church United raised roughly $2,000.00 for "Tom's Team".

And when Tom had his transplant, Keith was keeping the congregation updated during the lengthy surgery, and he came to the hospital to see Tom post-op.

So naturally, we wanted to be there for his send-off yesterday. And there was a luncheon. And cake. Actually two cakes, one was a pretty one - welcoming a couple new members into the congregation, and the other was Keith's "Happy Vacation/Retirement/Thank you" cake. While the first was pretty (and tasty), the second was amazing! Decorated like a professional - wish I had a picture!

So, you are all wondering, what did Tom have? Well, he had some cake, then he had some pickles, one small piece of sharp cheddar, some red peppers...nothing very substantial. And by the time the lunch was over, Tom was helping put away chairs and clean up, but he really wasn't feeling well.

Was it the pickles and peppers? The cheese? The cake? The punch? Who knows, but he was home taking showers and feeling crappy. NOT horrible, but not great. He tried to do some homework, tried to play some X-Box, but eventually he felt worse and vomited around 5:30.

No dinner, just some fluids. Pills went down OK, but by 1:00 am, he was up sick again. Then sick again at 2:00 am. Staying home from school again, but managing to be on his laptop for now.

So, while the transplant would ensure a good level of health, we knew that the first year would be tough. But this is not what we or the doctors had anticipated. While these bouts of vomiting don't seem to point to anything life threatening - it's very, very exhausting. Especially trying to keep Tom's mood up, keep him motivated for school. And that's a whole separate issue. The consensus from Boston is that these periods of illness could have a strong emotional component, and a combo of anxiety and the foods are bringing on the illness. It fits, but I'm not sold entirely on this theory.

It's hard to get through this transition period, because in some ways it feels like we're going backwards, or rather starting on a whole other path of health problems. While God is guiding these transitions, at our church, and in our lives, I understand the church part, but this stuff here? I'm clueless.

It's Coming, it's Coming.

2011-01-27T11:09:00.002-05:00

Spring really, really is coming. Of course, so is the Fourth of July, and Christmas, and another Spring, and so on. But we need to have something to hold on to today, during one more snowstorm, one more day off from school. I guess I must have realized I needed the boost when I bought these flowers a couple of days ago.

Not just a boost from the weather, but from other things. I have to actually almost laugh at my carefree post of yesterday, stating that "all are healthy" or some such innocent comment. Truth is the Young Prince is ill again.

Again.

I cringed internally when he said yesterday, "my stomach was a bit upset in school." But he had an appetite, and ate a nice after-school snack of fresh fruit and some cheddar cheese. (The cheese might not have been the best choice - since we are trying to watch his fat intake).

But he wanted a shower. That doesn't usually bode well. To explain briefly, whenever Tom feels ill, he showers. A lot. It's not an obsession with being clean, his need is for the calming heat, rather like a hot tub, (closest he can get to a hot tub since they are verboten.) However, yesterday he actually wanted to wash. With soap and everything. So I took heart.

And even better he was pumping away on his homework between showers. So...he didn't really seem as sick as he's could have been. Dinner time came and he did have an appetite. Not huge, but decent. Even asked for nachos after the dinner. So I made those too, trying not to use too much cheese.

Things seemed OK, but I could tell at bed time he wasn't really himself. Or he wasn't his "healthy" self. He asked for the neck-warmer (those neat cloth sacks filled with cow-corn and are microwavable), and really wanted the cat with him.

Evening progressed uneventfully until about 1:30 AM with the first vomit. The wild storm outside matched the churning of his poor tummy. But he went back to bed quickly and slept well till this morning. Then another shower, interrupted by more vomiting. A bit concerning, the color was too green for my liking - and we may call Boston later.

Of course I want this to clear up quickly for all the obvious reasons. But in addition, Tom is supposed to be interviewed by The Lowell Sun tomorrow, they have been talking since last fall about running a feature on him.

Well, we'll see.

Spring is coming. I just have to hold on to that - with the fierceness of the Lion that the season is associated with.

Other People's Stuff

2011-01-26T12:47:00.000-05:00

I've been reading some other blogs lately, and feel immediately jealous, yet still inspired...and grateful.

A colleague of mine, Lisa McKay, has been posting some yummy sounding bits on Facebook about what she's making for dinner. She is a former executive editor over at Blogcritics but now she's writing more about food and gardening. How wonderful! Not that writing about current affairs or the latest TV show is a bad thing at all, but I love the flair she brings to something simple.

Blossoms in Waterford

Another blog I just started reading is something called Moments of Perfect Clarity. The author knows stuff about sewing and is a quilter, which initially would - well not exactly turn me off - but not excite me so much either. But that's OK. She has some very gorgeous photography that's worth checking out, and her posts are actually quite interesting. She's an expat living currently in Denmark, and she seems to enjoy shopping, decorating, and railing at life's inequities. Works for me! Oh, and I'm definitely inspired to add more of my own photos to this blog as well, like this picture of orphaned flower blossoms that fell of the stalks. But they got a second chance to shine while in my Waterford sugar bowl.

Another blog that's wicked cool (as we say here in New England) is Face to the Sunshine. Miss Sunshine is a personal friend that I met in karate class some years back. Although she was always very pleasant, I didn't think we had that much in common at first. Miss S. was a homeschooling mom, something that I could never imagine doing. Not just the challenge of keeping up with the curriculum, but the challenge of spending THAT much time with my kids. Of course, I spend a lot of time with them anyway, but the homeschooling concept, though a great plan for many families, kind of gave me the willies. Anyway, Miss S. proved to be a great friend, a fantastic friend, a fun friend. And we have LOTS in common, besides a love of karate. Coffee, chocolate, good writing (and she's quite a good writer), exploring...and much more. Her blog is a general "slice-of-life" type affair, and very well done.

Well, that's it for now. Must clean, do laundry, the usual. But all are healthy, so it's a good day.

Little Cat Feet

2011-01-21T11:39:00.018-05:00

Do y’all remember the poem by Carl Sandburg? I barely did, so here you go:

FOG

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Pretty nice imagery and the analogy is fairly apt, fog comes in quietly, just suddenly appearing and then it is gone. Cats, hunters by nature, can operate with wonderful stealth. And they do whatever they please, appearing and disappearing without invitation. I can’t see Lewis Carroll using a Cheshire dog*

But my cat? He’s freakin’ loud! I think he needs to have this poem read to him, take a hint or two. Alright, if you must know, he’s perfectly capable of being quiet and stealthy. He’s caught a few mice in the house – so I know he can do it.

Then again, he seems to have some canine genes, or something. Dogs have a reputation of being very dependent on their owners, not just for food and toileting, but for companionship, for love. And cats are thought to be aloof and rather patronizing. Our Two-Bit is…different.

This kitty LOVES to be petted. When he gets a ~~victim~~ family member nearby, and a wee bit of petting and purring has commenced, he then does “the Plop”. That’s when he arches up his back, getting hindquarters as high in the air as possible, and then just sort of collapses in one heap on the floor, his desire for increased petting and stroking made evident by his posture. This goofy boy rolls to his back in a totally submissive pose, looking more like a dog than a cat, and he actually wants his belly scratched. Oh, and the purring…talk about – he sounds like he is at the starting line at Loudon Speedway.

So, the loud thing I mentioned earlier. When Two-Bit is feeling needy, he follows us around, meowing with real gusto, back and forth. In this room and out. Into the living room, into the kitchen. If the bathroom door is not securely latched, in he stamps, meowing questions or statements – not really sure what it all means. Of course, at certain times of the day he is asking for a meal. And maybe an hour later, he’s asking for a snack. And in the mornings, he’s developed a habit of asking me for attention, I call it “coffee and cuddles”. Sometimes, the minute he sees me with my coffee cup, he gleefully clomps into the living room and hops up on the windowsill, looking at me expectantly. He wants me to sit in the chair by the window and sip my coffee while we both look out the window and of course he’d get petted.

Not that I or anyone else in the family begrudges cuddle time with the kitty. But c’mon, we have our own lives/chores/needs/schedules. It’s like having a two year old following you around asking to play with you all day long, or feed him, or change his diaper, all the while asking “why”.

Bed time is especially hilarious. I’m usually the last one to bed, typically between 11:30 or 12:00. The habit is for the cat to go up to bed with Tom (sometimes Tom has to force the issue) around 10:00, and “tuck him in”. This means that Two-Bit lies on the bed, never in the right position for Tom’s liking (he usually gets a face full of cat butt), or sometimes the cat pounces on Tom’s feet – just for fun. But this tucking-in time only lasts about 10 minutes, tops. Then down the stairs comes the cat, and then he sits and stares at me. The minute I get up off my chair for anything, wee Two-Bit is up and following me around, stomping his feet, meowing, getting tangled up with my feet – it’s not a lot of fun.

And when I am really showing signs of going to bed, he’s so thrilled! The going-to-bed preparations take a few minutes, and Two-Bit follows me every step. Often I finally head to the stairs, and ohhh MAN is he excited – but his fervor is squashed when he sees that I have abruptly turned around because I forgot to turn on the dishwasher, or blow out a candle, or turn down the heat. He’s rolling his little kitty eyes for sure.

So, NOW I am going upstairs for good. Two-Bit races up next to me, and he’ll skid to a stop at the threshold of Tom’s room. He will typically take a few steps inside, meowing really loudly. I infer that to mean that we should check on Tom for a moment, and sometimes I indulge him. Mostly I just keep trying to shush him, as I make my way into my own bed.

Kitty is still mewing, maybe it’s not that loud, but it seems loud, because of the contrast of the very quiet of the bedrooms. Once I’m in bed, Two-Bit paces on the floor, waiting for an invitation to come up. I do invite him, hoping to just shut him up. So then there he is, purring again like a race car, and he comes up to my face and sniffs me. I scratch his chin, and his ears, not for too long, because I’m tired and lazy. Sometimes he licks my forehead, or puts his paw in top of my hands. It’s all very sweet.

And then he’s off the bed minutes later, plodding down the stairs, looking for mischief, or mice. Sure, now he’ll quiet down.

I Hate Cliches

2011-01-17T14:36:00.029-05:00

So - right. It's January and time to: manage my money, manage my weight, get rid of wrinkles, overcome my shyness, stop smoking, exercise, learn how to speak a foreign language (merde!), or - last and least - learn to juggle. Those who know me know realize that most of these familiar life change thingies are not my own resolutions, but a few could and should be. Anyway, my point is that I really hate being typical. I hate the flippin' cliche concept that is a grand marketing shtick this time of year - self-help and New Year’s Resolutions.

I don't want to be a cliche!! I don't know why this bothers me so much. Sometimes it seems to me as if people make resolutions solely because the calendar prompts them. Has there been soul searching? Insomnia? Has that person really, really given this a lot of thought?

Well, damn it, I have! And it's high time I did something about my angst. Need to make some good life changes. But now, does this mean that I am one of those unimaginative types? Gym-flocking, calorie counting, Rosetta Stone uttering, ball-dropping sheeple? Hold on now.

Wait a minute.

This needs to be sorted out.

See, as a parent of a high school kid, schedules and life choices often follow the school year calendar. Typically, September is the time to re-think a lot. Backpack weary and stinky? Time for a new one. Last year's pants too short? Gotta hit the Mall. New teachers, new friends, maybe new activities/sports etc.

And then the pace picks up. By mid-October I think I might want a break. But ahead is Halloween, then November comes quick and then it's The Big Holidays - and like my expensive-but-tasty roast - I'm all done. I can't bear to think about much else. Hell, and that's when times are "normal". So it only makes sense that we look to a future time to regain our footing in our life paths.

These last few months brought some odd stomach ailments for Tom. Some of it has been recurring bouts of C. diff., while some of what's been going on has been harder to figure. Problems with digesting fats, or acids getting too active - something isn't right and we've found ourselves in a similar roller coaster of illness that we faced in the extended spring of 2009, and again in the spring of 2010, I guess you could call it the Chronic-Coaster. Of course more recently Tom's illness put a strain on our holiday prep, not to mention his schoolwork, and other things. The good thing is this has nothing to do with his new liver.

But since Tom's health ordeal began three years ago, and I occasionally ride that Chronic-Coaster, it's been taking me longer to recover, to bounce back into normal patterns and schedules. Thinking is muddled, I'm distracted, and naturally somewhat depressed. And a lot of important things get neglected, or at least postponed, à la Scarlett O'Hara, which brings me to the fresh slate month of January. It's probably illusion, but I feel like I have more free time in January. And I want to try to pick up some threads of my former interests and needs.

So, now with that pesky list I opened with. There are things that should have been on the list, and one big one is to write. Anything. Write more often, and write better.

I have several Works In Progress going, and very recently I did some revising - which is great. But I know I need to get back to blogging and blog simultaneously while working on other projects. I know I jokingly blamed Facebook for my lack of blogging, and there’s some truth to that.

Or sometimes I can get caught up in my email. My good friend Mark Saleski and I have occasionally written our share of email screeds a-back-n’-forth about all manner of things. Music, food, our fellow Mondos, the Internet, books – etc. As a matter of fact, just before I had started my re-blogging adventure recently, I interrupted my work to shoot him an email – “do you know that I have tried to spell ‘resolution’ three times, and I keep making a typo?” (And he’s just one friend; I have other email pen pals that I write nice long letters with.) Of course, I had to laugh at the irony, here I was trying to be really productive, and I couldn’t last but a minute before I had to go off into email land. Which reminds me of a funny story.

One day Mark and I had planned to meet for lunch and before that I had been doing some shopping. I had just picked up Julia Cameron’s great book How to Avoid Making Art (or Anything Else You Enjoy). It’s done cartoon style (and tongue-in-cheek) with statements like “tell your most negative sibling your dream, and then listen to their reasons why you shouldn’t do it”.

Basically it’s a humorous way to look at the toxic relationships in our lives or our own bad habits and how they hurt our creativity. I had thumbed through it briefly, and was feeling extra magnanimous and offered to let Mark borrow it for a while. He flipped it open and randomly landed on a page with the illustration of a dog (the characters are mostly all some canine breed) sitting by a computer. The copy reads “write long emails to your friends instead of writing your novel.” Mark just closed the book with a resounding “Fuck you.”

He still borrowed the book though.

But regardless of the source of my lack of productivity, and my aversion to New Year’s Resolutions – I have not been writing enough, and I need desperately to fix that!

Crooked Cookbooks!

2010-08-10T13:01:00.007-04:00

There’s something that gives me a little weird tingle – right here in my kitchen. It’s the sight of one of my Pampered Chef cookbooks – complete with Doris Christopher’s happy shiny visage – placed in the row of books – upside down. It’s a simple thing, and I could fix it in an instant. But it gives me the strange perverse combination of chilling and comical.

We all know the connotation of an upside down cross, or an upside flag. Thoughts of loss, chaos, evil or distress come to mind. But a cookbook? Well unless it’s some sort of item like How to Serve Man, or The Anarchists Cookbook, then cookbooks are fairly innocuous, right? So it really just makes me laugh, but it kind of creeps me out too.

Weird, I know.

So, as I ponder this week – it happens to be crazy full of stuff – the age old challenge “what can I make for dinner?” weighs on me. Then I remember my upside down Doris – and realize that the cookbook in question is Busy Moms Cookbook.

I’m thinking I better right her up immediately and start cooking!

I Blame it on Facebook

2010-07-28T21:13:00.004-04:00

I really do. If it weren’t for that damn addictive (and I don’t even play Farmville!) social networking site – I’d be blogging much MUCH more.

The thing is, it’s not that I spend that much time on Facebook. Not an inordinate amount anyway. I go for days w/o reading or posting. OK – at least a day without FB – but the matter is not the time spent – it’s what I’m doing there.

Expressing my feelings is what.

All those giddy/profound/pissy or just plain dumb Facebook postings have taken the place of my typical blog entries. Mostly my Facebook postings are little slices of the mundane – “I had the best sandwich for lunch” or “I just took a walk and now I’m a ball o’ sweat” and so are many of my blog entries. But here in this space (swanky space don’t forget!) I don’t have to compete with everyone else’s mundane stuff. And, I don’t have to read the glowing reports of a social event that my peers attended and I couldn’t get to. (Or as it sometimes happens, wasn’t invited to – oh the shame)

So here is for the real good stuff. Or for the mundane. It's all the same.

24 Preview for Monday February 15, 2010

2010-02-12T19:14:00.000-05:00

Check out this preview

Quantum Media

2010-01-26T11:40:00.001-05:00

There is a phenomenon in the world of Quantum Mechanics called wave function collapse. I can barely understand it, let alone explain it very eloquently, but this collapse seems to occur when wee tiny bits of matter change their patterns of “behavior” during observation. I won’t elaborate on the whole double-slit experiment – but the general idea is that the wee particles or electrons were doing one thing, creating waves and interference patterns – which, by the way, was pretty astounding and confounding. But the even more astounding thing was that when the brainiacs (physicists) decided to get a closer look at the electrons by setting up a measuring device – and then all of a sudden the electrons behaved entirely differently. True story.

So, this is what comes to mind when I am being bombarded by the news media’s sound-bites about whatever is the current event of the moment. Last month it was Tiger’s tales of woe. Before that we had the D.C. gate crashers. And Balloon Boy. And remember the diaper-wearing-astronaut?

Now about Tiger Woods. I’m just as confused and saddened by these developments as anyone else. Compared to so many public figures, he really seemed like someone to admire, to look up to. His whole story, complete with moral outlook is still untold. And yet so many are quick to write him off. Maybe he deserves the vilification, maybe not. But what really gets me is the media’s involvement. A respected Boston radio station ran one of their many polls for the listening audience; “can Tiger Woods make a comeback?”

Hell, I wanted to shout at the radio – “Not after all these stories you keep running!!!!”

And, coincidently, 60% of the responders said that they will not be able to look at Woods in the same way.

Ack, the media has a job to do and all, but when my usual outlets start acting like TMZ, it’s too much to bear. The schadenfreude is clear and getting worse. Oy. I’d ramble on about that, but maybe another time.

Synchronicity, Gratitude and Beyond

2009-09-25T08:57:00.006-04:00

I do believe in synchronicity. In fate. In higher powers. I have seen this poster in Life Alive, a local restaurant. Not only did it make me fall in love with the restaurant even more, but I put this on my list of things to search out. Literally, I took pen and jotted down, "find "How to Build a Community Poster." That notation, along with "get more kitty litter", "call the bank", and "kill viruses on Mike's computer" sat quiet, waiting for action until this morning.

OK, I have not jogged out to my nearest poster store, and I have not ordered it online (yet?) But I have not let the timing of recent events slip by unnoticed - I rejoice in what God is putting in front of me.

Last night Dave and I attended the presentation of Rachel's Challenge at the high school. The program was led by a young man named Luke from Denver, CO. He is a good friend of Craig Scott, who was nearly killed at the Columbine shooting. Craig's sister was Rachel Scott, the very first victim on that horrible day. He also lost two good friends at the hands of the killers.

You can check the site for the particulars, and please do, but the main point of the project is to spread kindness. Young Rachel was a strong believer in reaching out to others, to show that no one needs to be alone, and that it's easier to spread kindness than hate.

This was an overwhelming experience, even with Tom's previews. He had attended the same assembly yesterday, and was not only tremendously impressed with the presentation, he was impressed by his fellow students. "Mom, everyone was SO...quiet."

There are other things coming to my attention that involve the concepts of charity, altruism, kindness, gratitude...it is not just a coincidence.

Speaking of gratitude, one of the cool things that I'm referring to is the site, The Whole 9. I read many great essays on the site, and there was one piece, a write up about the photographer Sebastiao Salgado. The author included one of Salgado's image, a heartbreaking, but beautiful image of a naked boy. A starved naked boy. This boy was standing next to a tree that was as naked and stark as he was. It was done in B&W, and it looked almost like it was set in snow, the sand was that white.

The comments following contained the word gratitude, many were immediately so thankful as they were reminded of their own blessings. That's important.

But what kept haunting me was this thought...

"It can't stop at gratitude."

Clarity

2009-09-03T08:30:00.006-04:00

Those dreaded "Dog Days of Summer" have finally departed, leaving us with the some truly gorgeous weather.

As the thick humidity clears from the air , I find that my mind functions a little bit better. Now this is not a out and out guarantee of brilliance, functionality,or organization on my part, but it sure does feel good.

New Beginnings, New Name?

2009-09-02T08:15:00.003-04:00

Love this time of year. Although the calendar shows time is beginning its final descent into the realm of End of Year Clean-up, for me - and maybe because I still have school age children - it feels like a new beginning.

And here's my proposal. I want to change the name of this Blog. I have not liked the name for years now, but was hesitant to change. So maybe all you fine readers can help suggest a new name. Maybe I should hold a contest, and do this reality show style with creating teams and stirring up egos.

No, forget the ego stuff, but you may work in groups. : ) Discuss.

What Does it Feel Like?

2009-08-31T17:14:00.012-04:00

(Note- Previously published at Blogcritics Magazine on September 28, 2009)

Or translated: How are you doing? How are you coping?

Of course, we must begin with the neurotic disclaimer - coming from the part of me that must fend off criticism or doubt before it surfaces - is that Tom's story is not my first visit to hell. No exaggerations, but I've been in the shit before.

And so, what does it feel like? How do I manage this whole illness thing?

Mostly not very well, or so it seems.

I walk through the kitchen, fairly numb to the impossible to clean floor, which looks every bit as impossible, grit trapped in relentless pockmarks that make a once white surface a collection of dingy stains. But what really catches my attention is the sight of the full pill cup.

Not just full, but seemingly abandoned. This means meds not taken on schedule and this observation reaches up and smacks me across the head, hard, with the dire message that I'm perhaps not a very good mother. And inside I think, "see, you shouldn't have spent so much time with your email, or you would have been on top of this." Even if the previous 40 minute email session was a chance for me to vent, rant, cry, and even laugh with some good souls, the pure organic goodness of that unburdening is trampled on, muddied with my own constant guilt of not measuring up.

That's one thing.

Another thing is exhaustion. Physical, mental, emotional. Nothing that parents - OK, humans - don't typically deal with anyway, but this is still unexpected. Especially the end of the day collapse, I feel like I'm the mother of very little babies all over again. When the meal is done, the dishes are cleared, all I want to do is melt into the television or a good book - and then I remember. I have to get the night pills ready. Or I have to prepare the tube feed. And really, it's not all on me to do this. D is very capable and is usually ready to do what needs to be done on top of his own crazy exhaustion. But that's not the point.

The point is - those extra steps - they suck. We shouldn't have to deal with pills, weekly blood draws, infusion bags, tube flushes, stool checks. We shouldn't have to refinance the house because money suddenly got so tight, we shouldn't have to run around collecting signatures, and forms, forms, forms, forms to apply for additional insurance.

We shouldn't have weeks piled with clinic visits in Boston, nurse visits to the house, social worker visits, clergy visits, Make-A-Wish visits. Make-A-Wish? Isn't that for real sick kids? Kids who might die? Indeed, it is.

And the worst really is that whole "might die" scenario.

All parents go through this, from the time they tip-toed out of the nursery, to the time they tossed over the car keys, to the time that their very precious child said, "Mom? I've enlisted", parents hold collective breaths all over the world, willing that nothing wicked this way will come. Never, ever. They chant the universal pleaseDearGodkeepthemsafe prayer until their rosaries and prayer beads are worn smooth from anguish and hope.

Tom could have died last February when he had the esophageal bleed. He could have died this June when his kidneys failed. He could have died each time he had a simple endoscopy, in fact one simple procedure resulted in an unexpected overnight stay, because his lungs weren't responding well during recovery. And he could have died during the seven hour surgery he had in 2007.

So, naturally, of course, this brings us up to the big T. The transplant. The waiting. The uncertainty. Tom does appreciate on the surface how significant his "listing" is. He knows in theory that the surgery will help his life dramatically. But he's remarked, "Everyone keeps congratulating me - but they don't have to go through it."

And so next week Tom starts his freshman year at Dracut High, he'll have to "go through" this new school year complete with ninth grade anxieties and an NG tube taped to his cheek.

And how am I doing? I'm a mess like any other parent, yet I'm damn proud of that kid.

What Gives Hope

2009-08-29T09:48:00.001-04:00

(Published first on PNN.com - the Personal News Network)

Note: I started writing this back in March - and finally find time and inspiration to finish.

I was at the doctor's office yesterday, it's a family practice so the patients come in all age groups, young and old, male and female. I was there for some funky female issues, nothing horribly upsetting, but still somewhat concerning. So, before actually being seen, I was OK, but feeling a bit apprehensive. And in walks this tiny little girl with her mother. The wee thing had to have been not much more than two years old, if that. (Rather like Cindy-Lou-Who, who was No Bigger Than Two - just as cute, if not cuter). She had this adorable little poncho and an adorable little purse. And her poncho hood was still on, which gave her a sort of Kewpie-esque /Snow Babies appearance.

While her mother checked in at the window, young "Cindy-Lou" toddled over to near where I was sitting, attracted to a toy house. " 'ouse, 'ouse", she said. I smiled and confirmed, "house!" Then, too soon, I was called in for my appointment.

My own appointment went smoothly enough, but even knowing my issues were most likely going to be OK, it was still nerve-wracking to be setting up further appointments for an ultrasound and then a biopsy. Once those dates were set I was ready to leave. And out comes little "Cindy-Lou", still no bigger than two, but even cuter than before. She sported a smile that was killer. And the energy between her and her mother was tangible and lovely.

And if you know me at all, you know our family's story - how the Young Prince has been battling liver disease, but at this very moment was healthy and in school (for a nice change). You also know that the Crown Prince was dealing with a new diagnosis of diabetes. In fact, at that very moment he was with his dad at the Joslin Clinic in Boston, having been called in on a somewhat urgent basis, based on the blood numbers that his doctor had sent them.

So our lives had been shaken, our family momentum had been thrown quite off course, and I was trying to be calm about every bit of it. And if you know me - am I ever calm, really? So, it was an effort.

But this little girl, this tiny sweetie carried a wave of pure goodness with her, it was hard to feel anything but happy in her presence. I imagine even still following her and her mom around, not just to observe, but to maybe absorb the good juju that she was blessed with. Little "Cindy-Lou" gave me a boost that stays with me even now.

Fast forward to June 9. Tom has been sick. He was sick in May with a GI thing (in the hospital for three days) He never really felt very well once he was discharged, he still had odd symptoms that brought us back to his pediatrician the very next day. Within a week he developed a cholangitis infection, and directly on the heels of that news, a cellulitis infection in his foot. Eventually the two antibiotics did their work, and he felt a little better.

Better, but not fantastic. His liver docs stressed that he needed to eat better, he'd lost maybe ten pounds in just a short time, so we struggled with that during the end of May. But he just kept feeling worse, and by early June he was eating even less. And on the 9th we were on our way to Boston, knowing he was probably going to be admitted for fluids and testing, and perhaps insertion of a feeding tube.

We were driving through Boston, I think just merging onto Brookline Avenue, when I saw this small gaggle of school children on an outing with their teachers. It was a rainy drizzly day, and the kids were all wearing the most damn adorable rain gear. Boys and girls alike, they were like little water-repellent jewels splashing their way through the afternoon. Polka-dot boots, striped slickers, brilliant little backpacks; the sight of them made me yearn for my old camera, and my old life when I used to take lots and lots of photos of scenes like this.

The reality is though, that those kids - just like little "Cindy" - have stayed with me. Seeing the utter naked joy that floated over these bright souls like little auras of hope was a kind of a tonic. A mini-salvation in the midst of real worry.

We perhaps laugh in our jaded adult ways, at the innocence of children. Not out of meanness, but sadness that we lost our innocence, and dearly wish for it back. But behind the laughter, we have hope. Hope that these sweet precious babies never lose that natural buoyancy of curiosity, laughter, and love. Hope that their goodness will rub off on us. Hope that somehow, life will get better, and even in the midst of the nastiest of nasty days, there are still good and sweet things in our lives that must be recognized for what they are.

Little blossoms of hope.

Making My Wish

2009-07-17T06:54:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago we learned that Tom was going to be eligible for a wish from the Mass. chapter of the Make-a-Wish foundation. He has not formulated his wish yet, but he's meeting with his "Wish Team" next week, and I imagine it should be interesting.

And the whole fantasy granting process has always been something folks indulge in - as a day-dreaming exercise. If you won the lottery, what would you do with the winnings? If you had a Fairy Godmother, what would you have her provide? When I was a kid we used to just riff on the "how would you spend a night if locked in the Burlington Mall?" theme. (Who knew that Kevin James aka Paul Blart would be able to answer that one?)

As Tom's illness has progressed, many family members and friends have offered help. Much of the time I appreciated the offers, but didn't know what to ask for. Clueless! I'm not crazy about other people interacting with my laundry, and it seems silly to ask someone to remind us to get the oil changed in our vehicles. But it does open up the fantasy floodgates.

I'd like a personal secretary/assistant. Not only to remind us to get the oil changed, maybe to take the vehicles themselves to our mechanics and get it done (and it's a fantasy, so the assistant can pay for it too). I'd also like a pedicure. The beautician/manicurist shouldn't mind a little nail fungus, I'm hoping. Ideally the assistant would have already driven me to my podiatrist to renew the scrip for the fungal stuff that I should have taken care of a year ago.

Personal Trainer...yeah, that's the ticket. I have not been to karate since late May or early June, because of Tom being in the hospital, or us being on vacation, or just being overwhelmed with life and forgetting how to put one foot in front of the other. Fat rolls have given birth to new rolls. Ugh. But with my desire to work out comes the fact that I can't right now, due to the funky bizarre knife wound. I'd love for the trainer to also be a cook and nutritionist. I'd reallllly love for someone to recreate the goodness that is "The Swami", a brown rice vegan affair that is at the top of my list as my go-to take out food.

Now back to that assistant. Maybe he or she is fully magical like Mary Poppins, or maybe they have that snarky sensibility that comes with the head wag and the "Oh no girl-friend, you are NOT wearing that outfit in public" type shtick, but either way - being financially savvy would be a real plus. The paperwork is a pain. Seriously.

Oh, and they need to re-order the enteral feeding supplies for Tom too. Make it snappy!

Notes to Self - Under Glass

2009-07-02T01:36:00.006-04:00

It sounds a bit maudlin, but I can identify with Sylvia Plath somewhat. I never see it descending, but at some point I realized that the bell jar is already covering my existence, creating a distorting view of the outside world. My experience of life is skewed, voices are muted through the thick, bubbled glass of situational depression.

One event that hovers outside the jar is an upcoming vacation. We're just going to the trailer on the Cape, so no airline weirdness or strange climates to consider or worry about. But still, clothes need to be washed, other details need to be attended to, and we have a whole bunch of new items to bring this time, with all of Tom's tube feeding paraphernalia. And there is still, a great deal of paperwork to take care of in the next few weeks. But the whole idea about getting ready to go seems like something not quite within my grasp. Like maybe it's an episode on a TV show that I stumbled onto. Mildly entertaining, but no identification with my real life.

But since I know that our departure is in the short future, I'm trying in my muted, bubbled over way - to make lists of things to do. Lists upon lists, and notes to myself about what to bring and what to do before we go.

Sleep is something I need to do, because health and a cheerful attitude is something I need to bring, not only on vacation, but with me everywhere.

Tears

2009-06-29T17:28:00.003-04:00

Tears for the peony flowers, heavy on the stems from too much rain - now muddy and trampled. If my mind was present, I would have cut them and brought them in the house. But my heart is muddy and trampled and so the flowers languished in the rain and no one but God saw the blooms.

Tears for the U.S. mail. I cry when I open a bill, I cry when I open a document that asks me for more documents in order to get the process going where we'll need no more documents. And I cry when I open a card for Tom and feel the love rising from the goofy cartoons and sweet sentiments.

Damn laundry. Enough said.

Tears for the immeasurable kindness of the staff from Lakeview Jr. High. They made difficult things a little bit easier.

Tears for the words not spoken, the thoughts not expressed, and the stories not told.

I ache from the silence, I drown in the tears shed, I choke on the tears inside still.

Midnight Rambler

2009-06-05T03:02:00.002-04:00

Well after Midnight actually.

I have not had this insomnia thing in a long time. So that's something to be thankful for.

But here it is, caused or accompanied by a dull ache in the gut. That will sort itself out come morning I expect. Morning and a cup of coffee.

But for the rest? What will sort out the worries? Worries about money, worries about Tom, worries about Mike. Even silly worries about moi! The surface health issues seem fine. Yay. But I had one of those horrible daydream musings about --- what if -- what if I was suddenly struck by a deadly staph infection and succumbed. (and we can substitute struck by a renegade truck or renegade meteor)

That would be most inconvenient. Just entirely horribly bad timing. I picture a dead me, sort of floating above myself, not unlike Patrick Swayze in Ghost, floating and full of anguish. It's never a good time really, to die. But if it were to happen right now...well I just couldn't bear it.

I see myself floating above Dave - trying to comfort and guide him to the right medical websites, pushing Tommy's health folder under his nose...screaming.."look here! Here are all the meds, the phone numbers, the notes, the scribbles, the authorizations."

Then I would try to help Tom get through whatever he needs to deal with, but in such a mournful way. Too soon, too soon. If ever there was a time to bargain with death - this would be it.

It's such a needful thing - the desire to do whatever you can do to help your child - and if you were suddenly robbed of that ability - it's beyond frustrating, it's pure torture. Really.

The Perfect Mother's Day

2009-05-14T08:39:00.004-04:00

I'd had the perfect Mother's Day planned. Well scratch that, I never have anything really, fully planned. I have wisps of ideas and with luck and work they turn out into something tangible that sometimes doesn't suck.

And so there were some wisps and daydreams about what would constitute the perfect "day off" for me.

Sleep late, but not too late. Wake up and wander downstairs to find freshly made hot coffee and a breakfast pastry of some sort. Like a low fat corn muffin and... and some fresh fruit...yeah, that's the ticket. (Amend dream fragment to include taking thyroid pill an hour before waking up for coffee and muffin) Enjoy muffin and fruit and coffee. (Amend further to include natural morning activities that leave one feeling more...relaxed, and ready to enjoy food)

And important note - all this is done so far in solitude. The family is off in another room, playing video games or doing homework or whatever - just leaving me time to wake up without queries as to my health, or my willingness to do laundry or drive someone somewhere -- NOTHING. Just solitude and maybe some quiet jazz streaming discreetly from the dining room speakers.

And the windows are open, and with no neighbors are awake, the only sounds that the light breeze carries in are bird calls. And during this hour or so of quiet time, I'd read the paper, listen to the news on the radio, and check email. OK maybe just a little Facebook too.

The thing is, I do get these quiet mornings several times a week, time where I don't have to answer to anyone. I don't have to get dressed and go to work and worry about being late. I don't have to take someone to a bus stop or to daycare. Well, I haven't had to get a child off to school in two years, unless you count bringing The Crown Prince to some college classes. And I don't have to worry about getting to work on time - I just have to make sure that I turn the heat on in this room, and that the coffee is made. And I certainly don't have to worry about what I wear to work.

But even though these mornings are not necessarily rare, they still feel precious. And what else would I include this in my perfect, precious fantasy day? Probably a chance to sit outside in the sun, either reading or talking with whomever would want to join me. See, that's what would make this the optimum day - sacred time alone, and then sacred time with the family. And of course the family would be in the most sunshiny of moods, no arguments, no homework questions, and no illness.

Does that mean that the perfect Mother's Day would have no "Mothering" involved? Really, isn't that what the commercial fantasy is? Mom is taken to brunch, to lunch, to the theater - she's shoo'ed away from the kitchen, pointed in the direction of the chaise lounge in the pest-free garden, and she's a goddess for a while.

And that's a great image. And it's not always a fantasy. But to try to make it happen on Mother's Day, is not easy. Not when we planned to have in-laws over in the afternoon - there's the hustle and bustle of bathroom cleaning and straightening up - one can't really call the day their own when one needs to play hostess. And not when there's illness in the family.

Years ago, maybe 10 or 12, one of my boys, I think it was The Crown Prince, had a stomach bug. I have a memory of him running to the bathroom to vomit, and in his urgency, he forgot to lift the toilet top. So, you can imagine the aftermath of cleaning up a projectile mess that was intended to go into a vessel, that instead spewed with force on top of a flat surface and then sprayed out in many directions.

You're absolutely right, it was a disgusting mess. And as I remember, it was the Friday before Mother's Day weekend. I remember saying to myself with bitterness mixed with a little humor - "Happy Mother's Day to me." It wasn't my first bathroom mess and certainly not my last, but the irony of the calendar did not escape me.

And that irony was again present during this weekend.

My Tom, AKA The Young Prince, the boy with the sickness, the boy with the liver disease, the boy who is more fragile than we realized, and the boy who has surprising stores of strength, of spirit, and of love - caught a stomach bug.

He came home from school on Thursday, exhausted and complained of a mild stomach ache. He managed to eat a bit here and there, and although he stayed home on Friday, he seemed to feel a little better by late morning. He took a walk with his brother and when he came home he was wiped out again. By Friday evening he was vomiting and had diarrhea.

It continued during the evening and on Saturday morning I was calling for the GI folks in Boston. I spoke a few times that day with the on-call doc, and we decided that by Saturday afternoon he was on the mend. Fever was gone, vomiting was gone, he was asking for food. It was encouraging. Then Saturday night he was back to vomiting again, and by Sunday morning he was very miserable and asking to go to the hospital.

We took him to a local ER, and they found he was quite dehydrated. After a couple liters of fluids, he wasn't responding as well as they'd hoped, plus they found blood in his urine. They transferred him to Boston, and he was ultimately admitted for more tests and observation. The next couple of days were a jumble of worries - tests for this, tests for that, everyone had to gown-up before coming in his room, it was not horribly scary, but rather a drawn-out event of recovery tempered with many questions.

He's home now, slowly recovering, and the rest of us are trying to recover too. Some Mother's Day weekend, huh?

Yes...some Mother's Day weekend. I did what other moms - and dads - do all the time, take care of someone without thinking of thanks, without noticing the calendar. You just do it because you love that person so much that to do otherwise is not an option.

But yet my Young Prince surprised me. While we were still in the Lowell emergency room, while Tom was still nauseous and nervous - he turned to me and said..."Mom -- Happy Mother's Day -- I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier."

It really was kind of perfect.

My Own Real

2009-04-14T16:07:00.006-04:00

This poem by John Boyle O'Reilly has been in my head recently, although the original meaning, about appreciating kindness and generosity of spirit is something I highly, highly value - the poem sparks an internal quest for my own Real.

First, the poem:

"What is the real good?"
I ask in a musing mood.

"Order," said the law court;
"Knowledge," said the school;
"Truth," said the wise man;
"Pleasure," said the fool;
"Love," said the maiden;
"Beauty," said the page;
"Freedom," said the dreamer;
"Home," said the sage;
"Fame," said the soldier;
"Equity," said the seer.
Spake my heart fully sad:
"The answer is not here."

Then within my bosom,
Softly this I heard:
"Each heart holds the secret:
'Kindness' is the word."

So, O'Reilly and I are seeking truths. What is my Real Good? What is my Real Purpose? What is my Real Truth? I won't add any more quotations, but words from another group of Irishmen are tempting to recall here - the lyrics of U2's "I Still Haven't Found what I'm Looking For"

Besides trying (and more often then not feeling like I'm failing) to be the best parent I can, what is my purpose?

I've got a pretty strong inkling that writing is a part of it. Writing to entertain, communicate, or educate, what is my real strength? Is the world best served by reading my take on all things 24 related? If so, then that is cool. That is not a bad gig at all. But I feel there's more that I can do, I feel that there's more that's expected of me, or maybe needed from me.

And oddly, I feel that my Real Good, my Real Truth relates to what O'Reilly summarized as being important in not just his life, but all our lives - kindness. That's a worthy message to pass on as often as possible.

The Dark

2009-04-04T00:34:00.006-04:00

During the day, especially if it was a gray rainy day like today, I like to have as many lights on in the house as possible. I'm not afraid of the dark, but I need to have the lights on for other reasons. It's just a comfort, a healing thing during that winter-time light deprivation situation. And a sunny day, like yesterday is even better.

But at night, I enjoy the dark. It allows me to just be still and quiet. It allows me to appreciate the contrasting flicker of candlelight that combines with the rhythmic rain drops outside to create a meditative space in my head.

And the dark usually means that everyone else is asleep, and I can absorb and process everything that happened during the day, or during my life, whichever needs processing the most right then.

This has been a tough week. And I don't see a respite coming yet. Only what I can create myself, only what I can forcefully hold onto, or just snatch away from the powers that deny me peace of mind.

But first, I have to step into the Dark. I have to write down the worry and the worry and the worry. I have to accept the fact that there might be a seventh daily med added to the list for The Young Prince. I have to convince myself that this stupid lingering cough is just a stupid lingering cough. Sure enough the stethoscope proved clear lungs and no crackling or wheezing. But the fatigue. The lowered hemoglobin, the lowered crit, the lowered albumen. Nothing horrible, but a little lower than last time. Enough to prompt phone calls and faxes between doctor's offices.

I didnt' want this life. This ain't no fucking trip to Holland, it sure ain't fucking Italy - tell me where is this place? This world of trying to keep all the pills straight, this one has to be taken two hours after a meal, this one is only in the morning, this one is only at night, and not a full pill, not a half pill, but 3/4 of a pill. Not easy to cut up a tiny pill without turning half of it into dust. It can be done though. And cut down on the caffeine, doesn't mix well with a beta blocker. And doing the paper route, later and later every day. Hoping that the Young Prince will feel up to it this time. And he's not. Not this day.

And when we try to think ahead, to plan a vacation maybe, for the first time we realize that maybe we better not plan too far ahead. I don't want to be this fatalistic. I DON'T WANT TO BE DEBBIE DOWNER.

But the reality is that we have no fucking clue how to proceed. Oh, sure we operate on the premise that the liver function is OK. Not fantastic, but workable. There was weight gain, energy, sparkle. But slowly the jaundice showed up in early winter, again. Then the bleed in February. The ER. The two unsucessful attempts at NG intubation - and finally the third time worked. Banding procedure, ICU bed, transfusion, and another ultrasound. Then another banding procedure in March, adjusting the drugs to a tolerable level but not after losing another week of school. A bone density scan. Easy peasy, but still - one more test.

Then more sparkle, paper route on schedule, mall time with friends, homework, family... And then a cold that just won't quit. Fatigue...again.

And really, how can I handle the Crown Prince? I don't know how to even get my head around this one. OK, we got a grip on diabetes, meter, strips, lancets, Metformin - but, but...the Crown Prince does not take change very well at all. He knows that these changes are imperative. He understands it all on paper, I think. But the truth is that there cannot be a casual relationship with soda any longer. Either it's diet or it's out. There cannot be ice cream runs - just cuz. And your friends are probably not going to be very impressed by your news and just might want to eat those chips and slurp that soda in your face. And this stuff has to change very soon or there'll be a daily injection.

It's exhausting, is what it is.

So tonight I did carve out that little respite, the oaisis of Just Me and Tom watching a movie together because he didn't feel well enough to see South Pacific at the High School. I lit a bunch of candles and we had the dark, but we had the light too.

My Boys and My Boys: In the House

2009-03-31T22:49:00.006-04:00

I wrote a blurb for tonight's My Boys season three opener here. But now I can talk about what I really thought. I can release how it was gratifying and sweet to see PJ come out of left field and open up to Bobby. And then the kiss! Here's the thing though, I'm no body language expert, but there was too much distance between them. They sounded convincing if you just saw their faces, heard their words, looked into their eyes...it was a nice moment. But panning out, they lost me a little. Over all it was a great episode. Stephanie still regrets her fling with Kenny. The boys and the mustaches were funny, and King Baby Jim Gaffigan's Andy and wife Meredith just had their second baby, little Oliver. So it's off to a good start.

And then there's my boys. They've been going through stuff, draining and all that. I've been seeing way more of the inside of doctor's offices than I'd like. But what are ya gonna do. And on a side note, watching House last night with Tom was pretty interesting, Kutner (I think?) was trying to follow the clues from a paralyzed Mos Def. Figured out that the patient's foot was itchy. And then House says (paraphrasing), "itchy feet is a sign of liver failure". Tom and I stared at each other. Weird that we actually understood what they were talking about 'sclerosing cholangitis' and the like.

Old Idea, New Words

2009-02-25T07:38:00.002-05:00

It's amazing, really, how many different ways there are to promise a man (or woman) of making a better, thicker, stronger schlong. Or the promise of more wild times in the bedroom, "make her shriek with pleasure", that sort of thing.

As you might have guessed, I was cleaning the spam lint out of my filter. That's really all spam is - just fuzzy harmless emails that - if not cleaned - tend to gum things up.

And I never realized, apparently there is a huge market for fake watches. How freakin' silly. Kind of dumb enough to go the fake purse route - why do people have to worry that much about impressing someone with a fake watch?

Does it tell fake time?

"It's time to tell yourself how damn beautiful you are."

"It's time to uncork another bottle of champagne to celebrate YOU."

"It's time to go make someone shriek with pleasure!"

Oy!

Love and Loss

2009-02-19T21:08:00.005-05:00

I read something today that was sublime. The most rational yet dreamy treatise on love and loss and acceptance - by horror author Dean Koontz.

From Odd Hours:

"Grief can destroy you - or focus you. You can decide a relationship was all for nothing if it had to end in death, and you alone. Or you can realize that every moment of it had more meaning that you dared to recognize at the time, so much meaning it scared you, and you just lived, just took for granted the love and laughter of each day, and didn't allow yourself to consider the sacredness of it. But when it's over, and you're alone, you begin to see it wasn't just a movie and a dinner together, not just watching sunsets together, not just scrubbing a floor or worrying over a high electric bill. It was everything, it was the why of life, every event and precious moment of it. The answer to the mystery of existence is the love you shared sometimes so imperfectly, and when the loss wakes you to the deeper beauty of it, to the sanctity of it, you can't get off your knees for a long time, you're driven to your knees not by the weight of the loss but by gratitude for what preceded the loss. And the ache is always there, but one day not the emptiness, because to nurture the emptiness, to take solace in it, is to disrespect the gift of life."

An Exercise in Navel Gazing - My "Wordls"

2009-02-19T09:42:00.002-05:00



Click on the image and you'll be connected to the original site (easier to see)

Speed of Thought

2009-02-03T22:11:00.013-05:00

I used to go to libraries pretty frequently. Some of the time the motives were purely social, but I also used the resources there for lots of school work.

Then I used to work in one. A library, that is. It was a bit heady to have all those resources, the reference listings, the microfilm, the Mil-Specs, and all the ACM and IEEE goodness any person with an IQ of 155 could possibly want, all that...information really, really close by. You want the GNP of Algeria? CIA World Fact Book is ready with your info. How about the President's secretary's phone number? Exectutive Yellow Book -- here ya go. The ABCs and 123s of a Russian SCUD missle? Please - step this way.

Those were the easy requests. The harder ones sometimes involved me leaving the comfort of my carpeted cubicle (when I wasn't taking my shift at the Reference Desk), and hoofing it to Kendall Square, Cambridge - to one of MIT's fine libraries. Granted that only happened a few times, and no - I didn't actually "hoof" it. I drove to the subway station and then rode the line to Cambridge. But still, a bit of an unwieldy way to retrieve documents. And as you might have guessed, I worked in a tech library. No story time or quilter's corner here.

This was about 15 years ago, maybe more.

In a way, what I saw, what I dealt with, was cutting edge. Back then, the average consumer did not have or even understand what HDTV was, nor GPS, nor PDA. But these were terms I saw pretty frequently in the research that I pulled together for our staff of scientists and engineers. Much of the jargon and the nuts and bolts technologywas over my head. I didn't know an array from an alogorithm. (well OK I kinda did), but I understood the basic concepts of what HD and the rest meant.

So like, that's all cool and stuff. Right?

But our methods of getting the info, though sophisticated for our time, in retrospect seems so - so --

slow?

Yes, slow, that's the word.

Today, anyone with a computer and a decent connection can get nearly the same information all by themselves - if they know were to look. Of course, tons of erroneous stuff comes up as well, it takes a seasoned surfer to discern the difference. Yeah, like I'm all that.

My mother would have loved this stuff.

Fringe Thoughts

2009-02-03T22:10:00.007-05:00

I've been watching this show nearly every week, and you know something...it's pretty damn good. I'm glad I don't blog on it regularly. I'd get too lost, too caught up in the mythology. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just think I could get lost in it, and I don't have time for lost!

(Incidentally - I don't have time for Lost either - which is why I made the conscious decision not to follow the show at all - no offense ABC - I'm sure I'd love it to pieces like the rest of my fellow sheeples!)

Anyway, Fringe is really something. Starting with Joshua Jackson who plays Peter Bishop. Good for him! Really, good for Pacey of Capeside. Kudos to some nice acting.

OK back in the day - when Jackson's and James Van Der Beek's mugs appeared on the screen every time - IMO they were spouting some sophisticated dialog for some dudes who were supposed to be only...what...16? Or 18? Or however they aged in Dawson's Creek. Same thing for Katie Holmes' Joey. They all looked adorable and full of earnest conviction, but really were/are kids that - darn motivated and bright?

But back to Jackson as Peter Bishop. I had my doubts but he does just fine.

John Noble, who plays his dad Walter, looks like he's have a blast. Even though his character is a bit of a whack job, and has some serious baggage, it seems to be a much more lighthearted role than that of Lord Denethor in LOTR - The Return of the King. Please - the dude set himself on fire. Not very happy and shiny there. And his role as Anatoly Markov from Day Six of 24 was memorable because Jack Bauer snipped off one of his fingers for being a nasty man, so that was sort of a drag, eh?

Anna Torv, who plays Agent Olivia Dunham is very lovely to look at, she has the kind of face like Cate Blanchett - who is more beautiful than pretty. Torv's acting pedigree is not as full as some of the others, and I'm not sure yet about her pure acting talents, but she seems to suit the role anyhow.

Any other fans?

Notes to the Universe

2009-01-26T11:52:00.004-05:00

Or at least to my closest Internet Neighbors.

Step right up! Be the First to comment!

1. What is a Ponzi Scheme? No. Don't tell me - I KNOW that Madoff did it. But what the blue blazes is that? Money laundering through mall pizzerias? Fonzi's evil twin who wore Kevlar and an attitude? I Googled a little, and finding nothing, I grew bored and listless and move along to a Michelle OBama fashion gallery. Hey, she looks good, they all look good. Reminds me of Jack and Jackie, Caroline and John-John. Here's hoping they all live long healthy lives - but I digress.

2. SAGs - who saw 'em? (A separate post being worked up currently)

3. Most Bizarre Spit-take. Corinne would have loved it. Well, actually perhaps been grossed out - unless I was on stage taste-testing Kick-A-Poo Joy Juice.

- took a nice hot sip of coffee, got a tickle in my throat and convulsively coughed out a spray of Folger's (mixed with a little Newman's Own) not only ALL over my laptop, but reached about five feet beyond me, seriously. Caffiene dew-drops all over our year and a half old sofa, some paperwork sitting on the half-wall (The Young Prince will notice this - it was his school work). Ew. But funny.

4. The Colonoscopy. No need to really elaborate, that much. But if I were a writer - Oh Lordy, look at that, I am a writer - I'd devote a separate post to that. There was a lot of comedy gold there. And no polyps this time (and I thank God for that). So, this was the Happy Birthday procedure, and a follow up from the first time.

5. OK, all of these deserve separate posts. And THE FlOOD, that's another saga in the max-series that is my life.

Here's a brief look:
Ice Storm in December. Subpump failed because generator failed. Finished off sports bar basement with two inches of standing water. Ironically, (besides the XBox, which Tom was quick to save and the TV/Stereo thingies that I was quick to save) the only things really kept high and dry were the unwanted but un-sold household items/toys/books/crap that we tried to unload at our failure of a yard sale. (good stuff cheap but bad timing). Those treasures have been sitting on top of the air hockey table and foosball tables - safe as you please.

Fuck, right?

Notes on the 15 Annual SAG AWARDS

2009-01-26T09:38:00.008-05:00

I did not watch the show from the very start, and probably missed the first award or so. But I watched the rest, as I do love these award shows.

And before continuing, I know that award shows in general are often denigrated as fixed, boring, or not a true representation of talent. And that's fine, to me part of the appeal is when you get these glimpses inside the star of the moment, unscripted joy or disbelief, admiration, and the odd flash of jealousy now and then. And I'm a sucker for the glamor and fashion too.

Just a few reactions to last night's two hours of honors:

As Kate Winslet won for Outstanding Performance in a Supporting Role for The Reader, she made a touching and most gracious speech. Golly I'd forgotten what she said but it was sweet and humbling.

Hugh Laurie, winning for his work in House, was the anti-House, yet was full of snarky (albeit lighthearted) quips as he accepted his Actor award.

For the second time this season, Heath Ledger won posthumous honors in the supporting role of The Dark Knight's Joker. (He has also been nominated for an Academy Award). Gary Oldman accepted the award on Ledger's behalf, in a quick, restrained, but classy speech.

One of the funniest speeches was from Meryl Streep, winning for her role as a strong-willed and suspicious nun in Doubt. She admitted she didn't expect to win, she hadn't even worn a dress. Streep was utterly charming in her honesty, and expressed her deep thanks and admiration for the not only the other women in her category, but for all the female actors who have done such good work in the last year.

Nip/Tuck DVD Review: Season Five - Part One

2009-01-21T20:16:00.002-05:00

Previously posted at Blogcritics Magazine.

Part one of Season Five shows our Drs. Troy and McNamara packing up and moving from Miami where they are big fish in a small pond to glossy Los Angeles, where they nearly down in the Pacific (figuratively speaking, of course). Since LA has nearly as many plastic surgeons as it does wannabe actors, our boys Sean and Christian wait in their new ostentatious offices…and play basketball.

There are a few minor cases, but not enough to pay the expenses of their glamorous real estate. Fortunately the boys soon meet PR big fish Fiona McNeil (the wonderful blade-free Lauren Hutton) and things turn around. She finds them consulting work on a hit TV show about plastic surgeons called “Hearts & Scalpels”, and then more opportunities present themselves. Both doctors get small speaking parts on the show and more importantly, begin to capitalize on the all important networking among Hollywood’s vainest.

Christian (Julian McMahon) is invited to pose for Playgirl, while Sean (Dylan Walsh) begins to date one of the stars from the show, Kate Tinsley (Paula Marshall – Spin City, Cupid, Californication). And the clients steadily come in for consults and surgeries. But we know that nothing on Nip/Tuck really goes as smooth and straight as the doctors’ stitches, and this first half of Season Five is filled with even more bizarre twists and turns then ever. Several fascinating guest stars are featured in these first 14 episodes include Rosie O’Donnell (who reprises her role of Dawn Budge), Oliver Platt, Portia de Rossi, Donna Mills, Sharon Gless, Jennifer Coolidge and Jai Rodriguez.

Some of the intertwining plots involve Sean (and Christian’s) estranged son Matt showing up in LA with his and Kimber’s baby Jenna. Previously the two had been involved in the Church of Scientology, and now Matt say’s he’s left the church, but not after Kimber gave all of his money to the church. Sadly it was just a ploy to get some drug money from the “two dads”, and Matt and Kimber spend it on crystal meth, and not much else.

Another arrival in LA is the radiant Julia, announcing her plans to move in with “Ollie.” Sean and Christian seem to take the news fine, until they find out that Ollie is short for Olivia (Portia de Rossi) and Julia is now a lesbian, or at least in love with one. And daughters Annie (Julia and Sean’s) and Eden (AnnaLynne McCord) are along for the fun. And Eden – it’s not enough to just classify her as a bitch, although she certainly is. It’s much more satisfying to refer to her as a heinous serpent.

What else, stalking, car-jacking, blackmailing and sex. Threesomes, twosomes, and freaky age differences. Incest, poisonings, stabbings and clawings. Pornography, drug addiction, surgery addiction and sex. Gays, Straights, and everything in-between --- yes, it sounds like a season of Nip/Tuck.

My only problem with this whole set was the actual viewing. To watch the episodes on a steady basis, say three or four in a row, can leave one a bit depressed or ill-at-ease at seeing so much off-the-wall depravity. The material was written to be viewed once a week; submersion any deeper takes its toll.

COVER ART

An eerily beautiful scene shows the two stylin’ docs in the California desert gazing down at the beautiful and scarred body of a fallen angel. What does it represent – is the blond figure meant to symbolize Julia? Olivia? Kimber? Or maybe the symbolism is more esoteric, perhaps the woman signifies all the sad debris of the harsh world of Hollywood. You decide.

FEATURES

The DVD set includes a few deleted scenes, one funny but too short set of outtakes, and a featurette called Hollywood Hedonism. It’s a 10 minute “Making Of” type offering, with supporting clips and a mildly entertaining look at the actors’ take on the new season, and what it means to the show.

My Funeral Playlist

2009-01-21T19:33:00.002-05:00

No need to really read anything into this, but sometimes I hear these songs and think, yeah, that’d be cool to help ease me into the after-life.

I've got a couple obvious tear-jerkers, what can I say; I’m a sucker for certain songs, despite the huge commercial appeal.

Spirit in the Sky – Norman Greenbaum

Being an oldie but goodie, this song never really registered with me until I was grown up, with the family at a beach amusement park. This song was being played while we were leaving, and it struck something inside. It’s so full of joy and faith and makes me want to dance. Which, I won’t be able to do, when the time comes, actually. So, I rely on those present to dance for me.

Angel – Sarah McLachlan

I don’t know which is more heartbreaking – McLachlan’s voice full of ache and promise, or her haunting lyrics. It became a personal anthem after my father died.

The Precious Jewel – Roy Acuff.

Instrumental version by Charlie Hayden and Pat Metheny

I’d never heard of Hayden, just barely knew the name Pat Metheny. And certainly never heard of Roy Acuff. Then one day Sir Mark wrote one of his usual thoughtful Friday Morning Listen column pieces highlighting how this song came along at just the right time as he and TheWife™ were dealing with some tough family stuff. Triumph in the face of Adversity and all that is how it sits with me.

Cast Your Fate to the Wind – Vince Guaraldi (George Winston version)

Not only is the appeal of this Charlie Brown favorite ageless, the very title is liberating.

The Long Day is Over – Norah Jones

Lovely Norah comforts with her voice, inviting a warm respite.

Glasgow Love Theme – Craig Armstrong

Trust me, it’s a very pretty song.

Fix You – Cold Play

OK, so it’s a little manipulative. But to me it’s God’s ultimate promise in Eternity.

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m looking For – U2 (Live version from Rattle and Hum)

And neither have I, quite frankly. But this gospel inspired hopeful anthem by one of Ireland’s better exports makes the quest not only bearable, but downright invigorating.

Thy Word – Amy Grant

Catchy and inspiring. Good stuff.

Run Like Hell – Pink Floyd

Because the perverse part of me insists.

Cinematic Goodness

2009-01-17T13:56:00.005-05:00

Some gems to share:

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - directed by Milos Foreman, 1976.

Jack=Hollywood Gold. Sure, we all know that.

But don't forget Louise Fletcher as Nurse Ratched. She captured the character's manipulative, controlling, and sadistic demeanor masked with sweet-faced concern perfectly. No wonder she took home an Academy award for her work. And Danny DeVito - fantastic. And Christopher Lloyd - wow.

And then there's The Namesake - directed by Mira Nair, 2007.

I have not seen the whole movie yet, but so far it's just lovely. The cinematography pops and enhances the story of Ashima and Ashoke, who are married by arrangement in India, and move to New York City and take care of each other and their new family. The story will ultimately showcase the work of our favorite stoner, Kal Penn, but the unhurried look at his parents' love for their family and each other is a wonderful setup.

What's in a Name

2009-01-07T15:47:00.002-05:00

An oldie but goodie Rant o' Mine.

Corporate Naming. I hate it. I really do. I was looking at a press release earlier for Fleetwood Mac's upcoming tour. And I really can't believe my eyes. Sure there's comfort in seeing Madison Square Garden and the Nassau Coliseum listed as venues. But can you imagine telling your friends, "yeah, I'm gonna hit the Blue Cross (Rochester, NY) for some fine tunes tonight." Or how about "Hey Monster Mike, I scored two tix to the Izod (East Ruthorford, NJ) - our ears are gonna bleed for sure!"

Silly indeed.

Can corporations be so desperate for market recognition that crass over-saturation is just collateral damage, and do they hold the attitude that nostalgia for the old stadium names are for the weak and unhip?

Fuck 'em.

Well, I don't think I have the chutzpah to not mention these brands when I write some entertainment pieces. I can't follow the Denver Post's lead when they refused to use the name of Invesco Field, and instead stuck to the beloved moniker of Mile High Stadium.

Or can I?

Hot Pocket!

2008-11-28T13:44:00.003-05:00

Today I had my first ever Hot Pocket. It didn't suck, so that's a bright spot. It's not something I'd want to look forward to every day - but it didn't suck. I said that already. And it's funny, that on a day after Thanksgiving, I'd have a freakin' Hot Pocket to begin with. With all this food in the house, we have no food, to like - eat. Sure, there's some leftover pie. And the yummy mini-quiches. And some crabmeat and artichoke parmesean dip. Another yumm-o.

But, I had 3 mini quiches for breakfast. And later a mini cinnamon roll. And then later on a lemon poppy seed muffin. And I wanted something normal for lunch. But I realized the deli meat was dicey, same with the leftover chicken from the great Call of Duty 5 lost weekend. I had made a chicken casserole when our friend Dave (AKA known as "Captain Awesome") stayed over. But, umm, that was *cough* a couple weeks ago. I had planned to make chicken salad with the left over cubed up chicken, but never managed to do it. But the poor cubes still sit in their little plastic storage thingie - sick with the knowledge that they are doomed for the Top Secret penicillin experiments (covertly engineered by Massive Dynamics).

So, I peeked in the freezer. The other day I picked up some frozen/junk food type items. Taquitos. Burritos. French Bread pizzas. Yuk - nothing appealed, but then I found the breakfast Hot Pocket - and well, it didn't suck!

But the funny thing about the little HP. It comes with a special 'sleeve' for crisping. Or browning. Or both. But one must do some folding and tearing with these little 'sleeves'. It's very odd. I'm not a stupid person, but it took me a minute to get it.

It's nuts though, because the Pocket itself, is not that big...it's nearly pointless to take the time to build this sleeve contraption, just so someone can 'eat it on the go'. Eat what? It'd be gone before you start your car, or put on your backpack.

So, after I started eating mine in its little sleeve (I can see why they don't call the sleeves "pockets"), I realized why it had the sleeve.

It's HOT!

I suppose some dumb kid (sorry..but they are dumb sometimes - I have two, I know) burned himself on the pastry, and now they are putting these swell sleeves in the packages. Too bad they don't keep you from burning the inside of your mouth. I guess I'm still a dumb kid too.

Love, Like a River.

2008-11-23T19:03:00.005-05:00

She wonders:

Why does all the sadness, the frustration,

and the deep longing not seep out of my pores

like water from an overflowing basin?

How can it be that this quiet, secret love

does not drip and drip and form streams

and puddles flowing from me along the floor,

out the door, down this street and through

that grove and cover miles until

it reaches the very heel of his foot?

Would he look down and say,

“Ah, here she is.

Do I lift my foot to avoid getting wet?

Do I bend down and drink from this stream?”

"Or do I just collect the liquid love,

bottle it and keep it where I can see it

– just in case.”

(from Long Ago)
- Photo from New Zealand Hot Pools

Over Saturation on a Thursday Night

2008-11-21T08:24:00.011-05:00

ER, last quarter hour or so. Simon has had a major freak-down and punched out a patient. Went to town on the man. The patient was nearly blinded. It was a mess of out-of-control bone on bone bloodletting.

And the staff seems to be less concerned about that, and more concerned that later he throws around some equipment. Well, sure now they have to be sterilized -- but --

OK, the thing is, he punched out the smoke inhalation guy. (The man who was an accused of and later found innocent of pedophilia). Wild stuff.

Then when the ER quiets down, Archie talks to Simon about the repercussions of his actions. And slowly, Simon starts to tell his story.

"I was ten, the first time."

Wrenching. Simon is crying, Morris tears up as he listens. The story is nauseating.

And then when we've really had enough, a scene is being played out in a recovery room down the hall. A young girl comforts an older man. They hug. He tells her, "We'll be special friends. Don't tell anyone."

And then the news...

It is NOT a damn party!

You know, I understand that TV execs, from network, or cable, to local branches are concerned about viewership. Especially the news, because it's all so available right here - on the Internet. So, viewers drift away from conventional news sources.

Got it. They want to bring viewers back; they want to keep viewers after the previous drama or comedy just ended. So, they do the following:

1) The anchors jump right in before the commercial break with a relentless couple of minutes of 'headlines.' These promo bits grab the viewer, who is probably a bit comatose from either the late hour, or the previous show (in my case, a riveting ER).

2) The female anchors and reporters dress like they are at a party. Shiny clothes, sparkly accessories, low cut tops, lots of leg. Sure they look pretty, but to me, it's pretty tacky. Big freakin' whoop that they are on TV. It's fucking NEWS, not a cocktail party. Even if every story ended in rainbows and kittens, the attire is totally inappropriate.

3) The men look a little too shiny as well. It's not a funeral, but it's not a party either. I mean shit, they might as well be hoisting martini shakers and clinking glasses.

4) A little too much glee when reporting stories. Some joker from News 7 Night Team was launching into a breaking news story last night, and the dude looked a little too happy.

Yeah, I know this trend has been around for a long time. "Dirty Laundry", written by Don Henley was released in 1982.

It's just getting worse.


I make my living off the evening news
Just give me something-something I can use
People love it when you lose,
They love dirty laundry

Well, I coulda been an actor, but I wound up here
I just have to look good, I dont have to be clear
Come and whisper in my ear
Give us dirty laundry

Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em all around

We got the bubble-headed-bleach-blonde who
Comes on at five
She can tell you bout the plane crash with a gleam
In her eye
Its interesting when people die-
Give us dirty laundry

Can we film the operation?
Is the head dead yet?
You know, the boys in the newsroom got a
Running bet
Get the widow on the set!
We need dirty laundry

You dont really need to find out whats going on
You dont really want to know just how far its gone
Just leave well enough alone
Eat your dirty laundry

Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down

Kick em when theyre up
Kick em when theyre down
Kick em when theyre stiff
Kick em all around

Dirty little secrets
Dirty little lies
We got our dirty little fingers in everybodys pie
We love to cut you down to size
We love dirty laundry

We can do the innuendo
We can dance and sing
When its said and done we havent told you a thing
We all know that crap is king
Give us dirty laundry!

His Name is Sal

2008-11-16T23:02:00.005-05:00

Something was hinted at earlier this season, and tonight was the night that we learned Turtle's first name. Entourage's Jerry Ferrara's alter ego is Sal.

And not just Sal.

Sal from Queens' who answered a booty call from a miss Jamie-Lynn Sigler, and who is now looking a lot like a girlfriend.

That Sal.

(Photo ESPN.com)

Wisdom from the 80's

2008-11-15T17:34:00.003-05:00

Got to pull out a Ferris Bueller here:

" Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"

Life DOES move too fast, and you know what? WE LET IT HAPPEN!

The Spin, the Sizzle, the Story

2008-11-13T23:28:00.018-05:00

When I watch a movie, read a book or invest myself anything involving a story; I find myself increasingly absorbed by the telling of the story while the plot, climax and denouement become secondary interests. I know that storytelling has been around since figures were carved on cave walls or symbols scratched onto papyrus. Were there favorites among these artists and scribes?

And when histories and fables were passed on by oral tradition, surely some performed better than others? I do know of this Jewish guy, before the glory days of the Borscht Belt Catskill comedians, who excelled at stand up. (Although he often sat down among his audience.) He could craft a story that had crowds enthralled, asking questions, wanting more. He'd perform tricks too, well not really tricks - no Houdini stuff. He caused a bit of a stir at a wedding once - switching jugs of water with wine - something like that.

But the thing is, the basic theme of his stories was not so unusual, it was his delivery that impressed folks back then. Even today, he's quoted often. Good stuff from that carpenter/story teller. Good stuff.

And still, it's the process that intrigues. Why will one filmmaker use lots of bridging shots, and another favors the slash cut? CGI? Animation? Gritty urban dialogue or drawing room monologue?

This all goes to my frustration towards the average consumer and/or critic. When someone dismisses an effort, let's say a film - for example M. Night Shyamalan's apocalyptic The Happening - they might say, "goofy plot", "not enough gore", "woeful clunker of a paranoid thriller*". OK, fair enough. To each his own and all that. Personally I hesitated after hearing all this panning. So, I ended up seeing The Happening on the small screen. Well it was amped up a little bit. Surround Sound and a 40" flat screen.

But here's the point. Shyamalan's work is fascinating. The story itself was flimsy. That didn't bother me. Flimsy has it's place. But it had so much going for it. Zooey Deschanel's eyes. (Yeah, her big sister Emily is the title character on Fox's Bones.) Anyway, Zooey's got a crazy kind of flat-affect delivery, but I find it charming. Her eyes though, they were really sooo - appealing in The Happening. She could express so much with just her huge eyes. Also - the falling bodies. Amazing shot, that. Chilling in a -- straightforward way. Hey, I could go on and on. But I'm trying to keep to a point, as hazy as that's starting to become.

There is an old adage among the admen. "Sell the sizzle, not the steak." So does that imply that the message is better recieved in a slick package? It just could be so.

*This from The Wall Street Journal's Joe Morgenstern

Been Too Long, My Dear.

2008-10-17T04:18:00.006-04:00

It's not that I don't need to catch up on these pages. It's not that I don't like to write. It's not that I don't have plenty - I mean plenty to say.

I'd just rather be sleeping is all.

But here I am in the very, very early morning hours, trying not to be pissed off at insomnia, trying instead - to seek the sun. Not that big orangey-yellow star that I do love. No, I'm trying to see the goodness in all things. I'm trying to be accepting of what is in front of me.

Although I love the concept of acceptance, and I freely advice, cajole, or lecture those around me that "it is...what it is", I have an ultra-hard time following this myself.

But I try.

And yes, it's been too long.

Oh, and another thing I work on. Or is it the same? Anyway, lately or maybe it was just the last painful 24 hours, I have been a swirling vortex of negativity. And I know it's wrong. I think being positive is the bee's knees. But my own knees are crap, and bees annoy me, so although I try to think happy shiny stuff - it's not happening so much.

Stuart Smalley would not be so proud of me. Some daily affirmations typically include: "ya big dufus, why did you sleep so late?" Or, "yer a bloody eejit who spent too long Googling shit instead of writing shit!"

I don't want to be in denial about my real failings, but I don't suppose these hateful messages are healthy either.

So, this was my round-about way of saying that I am aggravated that I haven't posted that much.

But it's funny that I looked in my 'draft' sections here, and I have some juicy stuff started. I just wish I knew where my mind was going - so I could have finished the posts.

Hey, just for fun, I'm going to go ahead and put up my Olympics post and see how it looks. Why not?

OK I did it. You'll have to scroll a bit to find it. Not very far though.

Next is something I wrote, or started to write about the...I don't know...smugness?...of the U.S. Unfortunately, I can't remember my initial intent, so I have no idea how to end the piece. I guess I will keep it in 'draft' for a while longer.

The Landscape of Grief

2008-09-11T08:10:00.004-04:00

Writing has always been a cathartic exercise, and a look around bookstore shelves or right here on the blogosphere will testify to that.

So, on this day of September 11, the gorgeous weather gives us the same incongruity as it did seven years ago, how can we reconcile such beauty with such horror? Many years ago, I attended the funeral one of my husband's best friends. He had killed himself, so this was such an uneasy tragedy. I also remember the sunny day felt like a slap in the face. How can nature dare be pleasant, when so many were in pain?

Of course, there is no answer to that. But I'd like to think that when the sun is shining so beautifully, it'll give comfort, and guide us through the murky grief landscape we all must travel.

I wrote the following piece, which was published yesterday at Blogcritics Magazine.

A Wednesday Afternoon Listen
Dropkick Murphys – The Meanest of Times

With respect and homage of sorts to my friend Mark Saleski – I am borrowing his well-done column idea for my own today. It just seemed the right thing to do.

Tomorrow being September 11, my thoughts naturally drift back in time. I was talking to my older son, discussing why 9/11 was not a national holiday. I said that we need to send a message that we are not cowering, not whimpering. Memorializing and praying, yes. But we are surviving. Maybe even business as usual. We are defiant in the face of terror, however muted with time it might be.

It’s that quiet, somber reflective feeling that gives me the strength to feel that defiance. Seven years of healing helps. But on this same day, my husband prepares to help and support his friend and colleague Jim, by attending the wake of his son Joseph.

Joey Larracey, 16, collapsed after a football scrimmage last Friday night, Sept 5^th and died later that evening. And his parents, family, and the whole community are lost on the most treacherous grief terrain. They don’t have the sedating comfort of time that smoothes the rough footing of this savage landscape.

The Dropkick Murphys have felt all of that. I don’t even have to know them personally to know that they suffered. It’s in their songs. You hear it in their adaptation of “Green Fields of France” (Warrior’s Code), a poignant anti war song. You can’t miss it “Last Letter Home” (also from Warrior’s Code), a collection of real letters to and from Andrew Farrar, a Marine who died in Fallujah in 2005. DKM sounded absolutely pissed off in that song. Damn straight.

But today as I drive through the beautiful September sunshine, I listen to “Never Forget” from Meanest of Times. And I play it full blast.

“When you got love and we got family
Keep 'em close and don't forget
To hold them right there in your heart
When you got love and family”

May all the strength of God, friends, family and Love support the Larracey family in these very meanest of times.

Random Olympic Thoughts - Opening Ceremony

2008-08-08T23:30:00.008-04:00

Immense.
Precision.

Intriguing culture.
Hopeful.

(Photo: Chang W. Lee/The New York Times)

Although I care about human rights, and cannot let China off the hook for whatever their government(s) have done or not done in the name of human suffering, I could never boycott these events. The Olympics will never be entirely free of some taint. Hello, humans running the show here.

But this is about patriotism. And not just for one's own country, not just honoring the host country's magnificent efforts, these Olympics are about world patriotism. Or if you don't like that phrase, something more simple - something that every Boy Scout or Miss Universe hopes for:

World Peace.

And even now, fresh fighting has erupted in South Ossetia, and there's turmoil in Pakistan.

Even knowing that the Chinese have some skilz with fireworks - their pyrotechnic display at the end of the ceremony was really jaw-dropping. And the last torch, the lighting of the Olympic cauldron - couldn't get any better.

*Note - this never got posted during the actual Olympics. But I don't want to rob the world of my unique take on those days, right? (stop laughing)

God Greed

2008-07-29T10:40:00.005-04:00

“The God I believe in isn’t short of cash, Mister!”

- “Bullet the Blue Sky”, U2, The Joshua Tree.

I know I’m not alone in loving those words, that line spoken by Bono with a nice bit of snarl. It’s sickening what man does in the name of God. We can expect our good U2 frontman to address this, in the same way he does the shout out for other social causes, with conviction and often -humor.

Now, I have nothing against tithing. I believe that everyone can scrape a bit of money to help their church/clergy/temple/ashram/guru do some good work. You know how you watch those feel good movies were some kind benefactor steps in at the last moment and saves the orphanage? Or how community teamwork helps get that church built? Lilies of the Field anyone? (another Sidney Poitier gem).

Charity is a wonderful thing and it works. It really does take a village. Have faith, share, make Stone Soup, think loaves and fishes, and work together Yaddah, freakin’ yaddah. Y’all know the drill.

But some know it all too well. Them shysters, those flim-flam men – con men. Slick and smart and masquerading as The Lord’s workers. These men and women will convince you that you can only find the way if you pave it in a lil’ gold first.

Speaking of that, back in my college days (read, still young and stupid) I joined up with this group of nice happy shiny kids and decided I was going to temporarily throw off my Catholic shackles and really, really learn the Bible. I went to meetings on and off campus, and it was all nice. I had been introduced to the group by a fellow alumnus of my high school, and he was a decent guy, so – it’s all good, right?

Wrong. (You knew I was going to say that, right?)

More next time.

Some Interesting Shit

2008-07-23T18:56:00.003-04:00

Seriously --

There's an organization that investigates consumer services - and they take the complaints, and whittle them down NCAA style with brackets and seeding - and they decide on a coveted (not-so-much) award called The Golden Poo. Read More.

The Times had an interesting piece on consumer friendly people and the sites they run. Check that out too.

The Random Tuesday in July

2008-07-22T22:58:00.007-04:00

The following is I came across it this evening, totally looking for something else - but thought it was interesting.

The Haves and the Have-Nots

Now, I'm not espousing one party or government over another. But this - well you certainly can't call it a 'newsflash' - piece has merit because we can't forget that the extreme economic disparity that exists in the U.S., it's...what - shameful? Unnecessary? Just throwing in a little conscience.

And, the Wants and the Needs-

But all that lovely Socialist chat aside - let's talk about me.

I want to:

Take Sir Brewster's advice and go rent The Seven Samurai (or Shichinin no samurai) by that Kurosawa gent they always rave about.

Justify the coolest shite I bought at Marine Specialties in Provincetown, by finding a home for it. I tell you, I had to have that Czech medicine bottle, and that pillow, and those couple of cobalt pieces - Don't you Just Love a Bargain? (Ha, wrong store!).

Write.
Write about my vacation. (Well, you know where I shopped at least), write about the upcoming television season, write about the environment, about the most sublime oatmeal-walnut-raisin cookie, share the experience that is guitarist Dan Byrnes...delve deep into the lake of love, the subtle currents, the cold shocks, and all the sunny goodness that make up that emotion.

Set more time aside to play Lego Indiana Jones on the XBox with the boys. They love watching me f*ck up. I always jump too far and land in the water with the crocs or in the mine shaft or I accidentally whack Indy with my saber/wrench/shovel. (and then he whips me). Good times.

I need to:

Get the Young Prince motivated for summer reading/book reports

Buy new pillows for the trailer. Some of them have been around since the Carter Administration. Ok, maybe just one. And maybe it's only since the Sr. Bush's time -- but man...it's old!

Ditto the pillowcases

Sort out those damn pesky hospital bills

Call Bryan for some network help

Write those reviews.
Write those emails
Write anything.

The Reading Luxury

2008-06-16T22:45:00.009-04:00

Yes, it is a luxury to just sit and read, and read, and -- well it's a luxury to be able to just sit and do anything pleasurable for more than a half hour. And reading is the topic currently.

I just finished tonight, Armistead Maupin's The Night Listener. I have a vague recollection of this coming out as a film, but never saw it. Anyway, the story is incredible. Actually that adjective that I meant to use for "great, awesome, compelling", actually is more apt then I realized. You have to read this to see what I mean, but just remember the word, incredible and it hits home. Definite recommend.

Previously, I enjoyed the sad satisfaction of finishing Brother Odd by Dean Koontz. I actually started a separate piece on authors that surprise me, and Koontz is in that category. But let me just touch on the story. There's this dude - a sort of a wise-ass but kind - young man who lives in a small desert Southern California town. He lives simply and works as a fry-cook at a nearby diner. He has a swell girlfriend, a great boss, and some other dear friends, and he sees dead people. Yep, just like that twerp in The Sixth Sense. Luckily the sheriff understands Odd Thomas's secret, and even recruits Odd for various freaky-deeky cases.

Anyway, Koontz ended up liking this character of Odd Thomas enough to create a sequel or two, or series...and so that brings me to Brother Odd, which places Odd at a monastery/convent/school. The dead and other creepies follow him, of course - and the story is well told. But this telling, it's something special. Something beyond just spinning a good yarn. There are pieces in the pages that make your heart do funny things. Not in the sense of stopping while turning a page, but more in the fashion of "how can he possibly be able to convey this much hope and love without resorting to quoting from Shakespeare's sonnets or at the very least, a tear-jerker Hallmark Card." But really, I shouldn't be so surprised at the texture of Koontz's writing, I've seen this from him before, but certain passages from Odd are extra-amazing. I was struck deeply while reading this last installment, and I'm hoping that when I get around to my little piece on surprising authors, that I can dig up the proper words to explain what the fuck he's capable of.

And there's been some non-fiction too. A nice treat was Truth and Beauty by Anne Patchett. This is the story of the friendship between Patchett and the poet Lucy Grealy. Fantastic writing, even with a somewhat depressing subject matter.
Lastly is James Rollins' Black Order. I had not heard of him when my brother-in-law lent me Amazonia, which was a very good read. Very good up till the part where I inexplicably stopped and still have not finished. I have not heard Rollins mentioned anywhere, but he's got at least two hits on his hands. Black Order is tense mystery thriller type, mixing sci-fi with ethics and morals, and I so would love to see this made into a movie.

And what's funny, but I don't have the energy to start a whole 'thing', is that several of these books touched, even rather deeply, on quantum physics. Whodathunk?

Control Theory

2008-05-20T10:08:00.002-04:00

I started to think about commercials. Mostly I tend to see a TV ad as a time-out so I can run and finish loading the dishwasher for the night, go to the bathroom, or email a friend. A radio commercial is just a damn interruption from some good tunes. Print ads continue to do their good job of making me feel all inferior-like. (Skinny models and well decorated homes – don’t take no rocket scientist does it?) And everyone knows that the Super Bowl is just a mish-mash of clanking helmets and grass stained uniforms that appear in-between some of the finest efforts that Madison Avenue has put forth since – last year.

And it’s this effort that I applaud. For a long time I’ve harbored a secret desire to work in advertising. I don’t know much about story-boards and branding, and the industry is not exactly stress-free. Yet it fascinates me. The concept of creating a situation or series of imagined controls that will sway the behavior of a demographic. Of course, this is all around us. It’s not just on our TVs or radios. It’s in the way I plan dinner. (If I make something they like, they might take out the trash with less fuss.) It’s in education. Religion. Politics. (Duh!) And the Wachowski Brothers made a cool couple of bucks messing around with this concept of control.

Yesterday a local radio station was having issues with the Oprah show. They played a tape of Oprah announcing she was NOT doing some sort of long anticipated give-away on that day (for whatever reasons, they are not important). But the crowd went wild anyway. The DJs were laughing over this phenomenon, and played the tape of the cheering audience over and over.

Now, they didn’t exactly use the term ‘sheeple’, but it was implied. People get in a mindset of behaviors and seem to revel in doing what is expected of them. Again and again. Though I think this is not always such a good thing, I am still struck by the process. I think back on folks like Charles Manson and Adolph Hitler, or for that matter the Rev. King. What kind of charisma, or cojones did they have for getting their disciples to follow them? In the case of the former two, I have long wondered, ‘what if they used their powers for good?’

But with advertising, there is no wondering. There is no hidden agenda. Experts in manipulation and persuasion work in all fields, but in advertising their work is celebrated. These brainiacs can come out of the control closet with their heads held high; their blatant application of influential techniques is out there for all to see. It is what it is.

The Post from Hell?

2008-04-09T22:21:00.002-04:00

For lack of a better title –

So, here we go. Just riffing on all that’s good and all that sucks in my little world. No order, not much rhyme or reason either.

Here’s one for the ‘Good Excuse for Not Blogging’ category.

I’ve been quite sick. If you’re so inclined to check dates and all – well don’t bother. I haven’t been sick since my last post. Perhaps just sick-at-heart. Or just freakin’ busy.

So, right – about this sick thing. On Monday 3/31 I woke up feeling not so great. I felt worse during the day and realized I’d need to cancel my afternoon karate class. I’d been teaching some wee ones the fine art of self-defense in an after-school program. Mostly just teaching them different ways to say “Timothy* – stop doing that.” “Timothy – you cannot practice blocks sitting down.” “Timothy, you’ll have to head over to the office now.” Yeah, little Tim (*not his real name) has been a bit of a hand-full. Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind that I can legally whack the boy, this being a martial arts class and all – but it would serve no purpose, really.

So, Tim and friends had to do without me for the afternoon. And things got worse. The next few days were a weary blend of fevers, chills, coughs – that sort of deal. I’ve missed all kinds of rehearsals (five so far), and have contributed zero to the family concern. Well I take that back. I managed to drive the Crown Prince to a few classes, and help the Young Prince with his paper route here and there, and drive both Royals to a mall at one point.

On Friday night I felt OK enough to go see my Goddaughter in a local dance competition. This was a real treat. She and family (one of my bestest friends Mary-Margaret, her husband and kids) live about an hour north of us in New Hampshire. So to see Mallorie locally was pretty cool. Gosh she looked so pretty, like a real ballerina. She made that whole pointe business look easy too.

So anyway, I was talking about being sick. And realizing I’m leaving out some details. But y’all don’t need to hear about my new electronic thermometer, or the way my phlegm rattled in my chest like a tired ole 1930s Airstream window shade a-quiverin’ and a-vibratin’ on the dust bowl plains of Kansas.

Or do you need to hear about coughing fits so – vigorous – that dinner was, shall we say, revisited?

Yeah, a while back I mentioned rehearsals. I’d do the whole drum roll thing, but I’m mighty tired. I’m in Lil’ Abner – shows are the first weekend in May. So, here’s the all important link for now.

I really want to add some other good stuff in. I had a big party for my 50th. It was swell. I got some swell gifts. Have not done thank – you’s yet. But my friend Judy wrote a great post on her site. Speaking of friends and sites, another friend, Dave has started up his own blog. He’s quite a fine writer too.

I think I’m at an end here.

Whining

2008-02-08T11:03:00.000-05:00

It’s not been a real gas around here lately – I haven’t stopped to look, but is like…Mercury in retrograde or something?

Let me preface this fine whine with the fact that more or less, our health is OK. Not fantastic, but OK. OK ain’t bad! (We will learn more about the Young Prince’s liver situation next week too)

Anyway, the house and other things…pretty crappy.

Last week – I think? – The Tahoe needed some work. Who knew an oxygen sensor would cost so much? Hey, I can do it for free…see, watch me breathe. See that? There’s oxygen, I have not dropped dead. I mean…really.

The following day the Toyota needed a check up at the dealer. However, that only cost $45.00! But I did have to bring it to the dealer, not in the same town. That was more of an expense of time – but I did bring the lap top, so some work was done while waiting for my $45.00 to be spent...

And it also led to a somewhat impromptu lunch with Sir Saleski. He works about an exit away as the crow flies. It was lovely, but I did secretly covet his chicken curry soup, or whatever it was. It smelled so good! My apple squash soup was ok, but it lacked something.

Then the same day…my mobile broke. I was on my way to pick up the Crown Prince after his last class, and I had short words with him on the phone. I snapped the flip top shut in a bit of angry haste. A minute later I picked it up again, and saw that the flippy top was – well excuse the expression, like a limp dick. No, that’s not right. But it wasn’t tight, taught, and seated correctly. I tried to open the phone but I was afraid to force it as I saw exposed wiring. That’s never a good thing.

And there is the lovely new phone. No flippy top here. (that's not to say that I am not capable of breaking it, but at least the poor thing's got a sporting chance.)

And then Gentle Reader there’s the story of - the oven. See, over the last while, we had noticed much tension in the oven knob control. I mean. like all of a sudden it was nearly a Herculean effort to turn the knob to the desired heat setting. And then the oven itself started burning everything. So, we couldn't use it without much trepidation, (timing really is everything) We’d have to pop stuff in while it pre-heated. Of course if you were only going to bake things at 500º, then it’s all good, right?

Behold, the new Maytag Performa Range above.

So, over the next few days I gained one new mobile, one new oven and one new water heater.

Oh yes…there’s that too. The water heater was due to be replaced – we had caught wind of a neato cool indirect system. We used Nana Williams’ plumber and phone calls went back for months, finally the date was set for this past Wednesday.

Yay!

Of course, nearly all day we had no running water whilst the work was being done, but that’s no biggie. (Well, it is, but I was trying to be rather brave about it all).

So, yesterday, on Thurs. as the day went on, we realized that either the temperature had significantly dropped outdoors, or we had no heat.

We had no heat.

And as of this morning, no hot water.

Damn and Fuck. Double that while you’re at it.

But I do, honestly and sincerely try to see the positives.

Shelter – check
Electricity – check
Water – check
Cable TV – check
Internet – check

A sense of humor?

Priceless.

2008-01-31T20:48:00.000-05:00

I’ve been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love and I am not only fascinated with her story, I’m compelled to be a better writer. Rather, I wish I could write better, now, instantly. That compelling feeling is more of a knee-jerk reaction, nearly a jealousy, but not quite.

Her words are lyrical, yet earthy. She makes you want to befriend her instantly. She makes you want to travel to those wonderful countries – seeking out gurus and chefs and old men and young children who cannot speak English, but what does it matter?

Gilbert also makes me not want to have a divorce, nor a sad messy love affair. Her anguish over those lost loves is conveyed with a visceral despondence.

Oh, and she makes us hunger, mostly for that glorious pasta and pizza, but steadily a desire takes hold for enlightenment, self-actualization and contentment.

And I'm not even finished yet.

Bravo Liz - Bravo.

Random New Year Entry

2008-01-10T23:44:00.000-05:00

If we give into temptation Tricky Transitions would be turning us over and over like a tornado – twisting, turning, churning…

Change is good.

But not at the risk of severing limbs or sanity.
So far, these kinds of changes I can handle

Resurfacing

2008-01-01T17:19:00.000-05:00

Yes, coming back here to write of things that need to be written about. Poorly - mostly likely.

Ack -- can't believe I haven't written here for several weeks. But then, that's me lately, isn't it? I haven't been a regular blogger in some time, have I. Much to say, but too much guilt and not enough time for a proper post. Excuses, really, but that's what I'm offering up for the moment.

So, spurts and squirts --

Christmas - beautiful roast beef from Lowell Provision, pricey but real damn tasty. Stayed up too late on Christmas Eve - but we had fun. Family all arriving for either brunch or dinner on the big day, and it was good.

Beloved presents of note: Master Chief Helmet for Tom. It does nothing whatsoever but look bloody cool. The Godfather, Animal House, and other neat DVDs for Mike. Some time to relax for me. (plus some nice perfume, books, movies and REI socks for me). Eddie Bauer sweaters and jeans for Dave.

And...a Cuisninart DC 1200 for the whole family! OK, it's really for me. : )